Space Elvez

Most mornings on the Big Rok were pretty simple. Wake up at a random time, after going to sleep at a random time, put a gob squig in your mouth, call it a morning and go muckin' about. That morning was quite different, if only because everyone woke up at the same time. Big Rok rammed into something. Even more peculiar had been the note, left at the door to his humble shack. 'Go see da' boss', its short message.

Boss Nignub was not an ork who liked to waste time, so the kaptin took such summons very seriously. He pushed past another particularly shiny door, guarded on both sides by particularly big orks. Not as big as Gorasho himself, but big enough to keep gits in line. The boss was waiting in his chambers, right next to a massive rack of hats, staring out of what had been a hole after a failed rokkit assassination, repurposed into a bone window.

"Ah, kaptin. Come in."

Gorasho took a few steps in, taking note of an impressive array of pointy stikkz, each decorated with a head of some freebootin' git:

"Youz called, boss?"

"I suppose you'z 'eard da' lil' crash dis mornin'?"

"Yeh. Wot we hit?"

"Dat be da' problem, kaptin," Nignub turned, arm-shoota' dangerously stroking against his chin, "deyz be real feisty. Took out a few a' me boyz already."

"And youz want uz ta' shoot 'em up, right?"

"No, kaptin. Deyz be eldurz."

Gorasho attempted to reach a realisation as to why this was bad. Eldar were sneaky gits. Runty, squishy, easy to chomp up. Tasted like old gretchin, or so he had heard.

"And?"

Nignub seemed to lose himself in his hat collection for a bit, then continued:

"Eldurz be real smart gitz, kaptin. We'z neva' had 'em on da' Big Rok, but Iz know enuff ta' know a mad eldur is bad fer livin'. Iz don't want mad eldur comin' on me rok with their weirdboyz. Iz want dem gone, but without shootin'."

"Well, dat ain't gunna' be easy, fer sure."

"Iz wouldn't give dis job ta' any otha' ork, kaptin. Now stop muckin' about and go!"

"Got it, boss!"

On the way out, he clobbered one of the guards over the head and immediately pulled out his talky-majig. It was going to be a long day.

Sawblades filled the air with racket as the polees orks, after an hour or so of a fruitless search for a door, got to work on the ship's hull. It wasn't the biggest craft, but not the smallest, either, its sleek design in stark contrast to the Big Rok's own architectural eccentricities.

Gorasho watched the work a fair bit away, flanked on all sides by a row of blue uniforms. At his feet rested what little remained of a sign. He could still remember its full glory, hastily bolted above a worn steel door. Gretchin Bruwery for Grotz of all Sizes never saw it coming. A tragic loss of potential snacks.

The sawblades came to a halt and the orks gave Gorasho the thumbs up. He nodded and they, in response, tore down the plating. A small storm of projectiles filled the air, disposing of one of the cutters immediately in a cloud superheated metal. Polees personnel took cover behind whatever object they could find, as Gorasho slowly approached, Snogrot and Ugu close behind.

He stood right next to the opening, shurikens flying inches away from his face, and shouted:

"Oy, ya gitz! Stop shootin', I'z jus' 'ere ta' talk," it took a few moments for the barrage to finally die down. A nervous silence ensued, interrupted only by voices Gorasho couldn't hope to understand, "fankz. Now, I'z gunna' send one a' me boyz over 'ere. No gunz, no 'andz, jus' teef."

Snogrot reluctantly let his pet squig walk into the opening, where it stood and eyed the firing squad. The squig did not seem concerned and started scratching its back.

"Don't 'urt lil' Ugu!" his handler managed to scream out.

"Gud. Iz see ya ain't feelin' killy. Gud start. Anyone dere talk a propa' orky?"

After a bit more incomprehensible muckin' about, one voice silenced all others, female, audibly used to giving commands:

"I shall indulge you, ork."

"Not propa', but close enuff. Listen 'ere, pointy earz, you'z be on our turf now an' da' Big Rok Polees Departmunt," confused murmurs immediately erupt among them, "don't like it when dere be gitz muckin' about an' shootin'. You'z lucky, 'cuz da' boss wants ya nice an' 'ealthy and off 'is rok. We'z 'ere ta' help ya get off."

"And why should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, greenskin?"

"Propa' questiun. I'z got enuff boyz 'ere ta' start a waaaaagh. If wez wanted ya dead, you'd be dead already, eldur."

After a pause, there was a short bark of commands, before she replied:

"Very well, greenskin," an armoured boot stepped next to Ugu and petted him on the head, earning a soft growl. Her armour was of a dark green hue, with golden highlights. A massive weapon, half stave, half spear was clenched in one hand and on her shoulder shone a trio of triangles, encased in a ring of azure flame, "farseer Miriana, of Craftworld Ylgath."

Gorasho appeared from around the corner just as Snogrot snatched up his squig, standing a good couple feet taller than the farseer:

"Kaptin Gorasho Pain, Big Rok Polees Departmunt," he extended his hand for a handshake, but received only a confused stare, "now, wot can wez do ta' 'elp?."

"Any aid shall be appreciated. We haven't had much luck ever since we became separated from our main fleet."

"Right," he turned to the assembled police and shouted, "Tekbrain!"

The mek immediately started running towards them, his tool arm going crazy due to insufficient concentration:

"'Ere, kaptin!"

"Gud," he turned back to Miriana, "dis 'ere'z me best mek. Get one yer smart boyz and 'e can repair anyfin'."

Another voice suddenly entered the conversation:

"Fixing would not be a problem," the eldar was clad in what seemed to be a customised version of guardian armour, reinforced in certain places, "but our systems were critically damaged and we lack several crucial replacements."

"Captain, this is Malakar. He is a savant when it comes to machinery."

Tekbrain butted in:

"Oy! Youz need stuff? We'z got lotsa' stuff stashed away from da' odda' boyz. Wez culd find somethin' fer ya'."

"Direct me to this 'stuff'."

"Dis way, eldur. I'z got a buggy round da' corna'."

As the two gearheads disappeared, followed by a mixed escort of polees and visitors, the farseer commented:

"So my visions did not lie, after all."

"Visiunz?"

"They come and go, it is the nature of a farseer. A warrior, armoured in green, aiding me on a journey through the stars," she emitted a light chuckle, "I suppose I misinterpreted the armour."

"Well, me skin iz pretty tough," he guffawed, his trophy belt shaking with each movement.

It almost immediately caught Miriana's eye, the short, curved blade resting within a dark green scabbard, dangling on the captain's belt:

"Where did you get that dagger?"

"Wot," he held it up, "dis ol' fing? Dere'z anodda' eldur wreck on 'ere. No eldur, but 'ad some stuff."

"May I see it?"

The farseer slowly unsheathed it. An azure gem was embedded in its centre, among a web of intricate carvings. Her hand seemed to shake a bit, for the faintest of moments. She sheathed it once more and looked up at the big ork:

"I need to see this wreck."

Elsewhere entirely, in a conveniently located junkyard, a pair of figures sifted through a hill of trash. Or treasure. Depended on one's point of view.

"Your technology has always intrigued me," Malakar threw aside a busted slugga', only to find another, "so crude, yet ultimately effective."

"Let me tell ya', uz orkz likez our fingz shooty. It'z not 'ow somethin' lookz. It'z gotta' be killy, loud and 'ave lotsa' dakka. Youz Eldurz waste time on makin' it pretty."

"There is a hint of truth in your words."

"So, wot we lookin' for again?"

"Anything of eldar origin. With so many of our systems damaged, I will need it."

Tekbrain suddenly stumbled upon an old favourite:

"Oy, it'z me kan!"

Indeed, under a pile of mangled choppas, the head of a mechanised beast, missing most of its limbs, peeked from the junk.

"It's seen its fair share of combat, I see."

"Nah, I'z jus' used it fer targettin' practice. Seemed like a gud idea at da' time. Come ta' fink of it, me dredd should be somewhere around," a massive chainsaw suddenly burst from another pile not too far from them, "'ere?!"

The monstrosity burst from the junk, towering above them like an angry building. The chainsaw was on its right arm, while the left was home to an oversized powerklaw. Massive shootas were also attached, to provide some of that ranged firepower, along with a pair of rokkitz on the shoulders. Most surprisingly, in a heavily modified cockpit, sat a grot in a tiny suit of armour and a welding mask, which had a hole cut in it for his massive nose. He shouted at them like a god, through speakaz:

"Look at me and fear, ya' gitz! I'z had enuff of da' kickin' and jokez and muckin' about! I'z gonna stomp dis place up! I'z da Iron Grot!"

Down at ground level, Malakar was feeling inquisitive:

"You left that thing unattended and mostly intact?"

"Seemed like a gud idea at da' time."

Their trukk was unusually silent. The ones behind, filled with a mixture of eldar and orks, seemed to be having the time of their lives. But the lead trukk was silent, as two orks watched the farseer just sit there, scratching Ugu on the back. She seemed to be deep in thought, but finally exclaimed:

"I've always wanted a pet."

"Why not get one?" asked the senior kadet.

"A race on the brink of annihilation has no time for such things, sadly."

The kaptin changed the subject:

"Dis 'ere stabby choppa'," he subconsciously grabbed it on his belt, "you knowz it?"

"Yes, it belonged to someone."

"Friend?"

A short pause:

"Father. A warlock, powerful and wise. He left once on a recon mission. And I never saw him again," she seemed to gaze into space for a moment, "I must know what happened."

"We'z gunna' 'elp, right, kaptin?"

"Dat we are."

Ugu growled in approval, as well.

"Thank you."

They finally reached their destination. Most of the eldar immediately scrambled after exiting their vehicles and assumed firing positions, before getting laughed at by every ork in the area. The assembled gaunts, along with their warrior leader, were to blame. Gorasho calmly approached them:

"Punctuul as always," the warrior growled something in response, "gud. Stay out 'ere and don't let anyone in."

After receiving a nod, Miriana commented:

"Your allies are bewildering. How did you tame them?"

"Tame? Nah, wez jus' talked dem into stuff. Deyz like beer," feeling the answer was sufficient, he turned to a squad of 'ard boyz, suited up and ready to roll, "okay, fellaz. Wez goin' in with some eldurz and wez goin' lookin', got dat?"

"Yeh, kaptin!" screamed the group in unison.

The insides of the ship were as barren as the captain had implied. No weapons, no items, no bodies. A bit too barren, in fact. The farseer, however, seemed to know where she was going.

"Come, this way."

"Ya' know where ta' look?"

"I know this ship, captain," they seemingly came to a dead end. She stopped for a few moments, her mind probing their surroundings. Soon, one of the walls slid aside, "like the back of my hand."

"You eldur and yer trickz."

The short hallway they revealed led to a crossroad. Their escort split up, leaving only a handful of troops with the two leaders. They reached another door. This one would prove to be a hindrance. Try as she might, the farseer couldn't make them open.

"This one has been sealed."

"Don't worry," Gorasho looked at a confused 'ard boy, "I'z got a key."

As their new 'ard ram burst through the door, it revealed a large oval chamber, its walls lined with rectangular pillars. Between these pillars, stood peculiar statues, a small host lead by a much larger statue in the middle of the chamber. The kaptin was more interested in the next door, located at the far end of the room. As soon as he took a few steps towards it, Miriana shouted:

"No, stop!"

But it was too late, as something in the room stirred. The statues woke, their skeletal forms moving almost in unison. Massive weapons could be seen in their hands, undoubtedly ready to spew death and destruction. As Gorasho prepared for a fight, she added:

"Please, do not harm them. I sense immense rage, but I can calm them."

"Do it fast, den."

The 'ard boys charged into the fray, flanked by rather reluctant pointy ears. A black squig pounced at one of the wraithguard, preventing it from doing anything remotely useful. A few shots rang through the halls, as the constructs unleashed their firepower. One shot struck true, ripping right through an unlucky 'ard boy's armour.

Gorasho saw something dash into the fray. A closer inspection revealed the farseer in a furious melee, her blows carefully timed and aimed to avoid any permanent damage, concluding with a wave of pure force, sending several of them flying. The kaptin's attention was, however, attracted to the giant statue, which also whirred to life.

Towering even above a nob, the machine wasted no time and immediately swung with its massive sword, missing him by no more than a few feet. A shuriken cannon on the other arm attempted to rectify this mistake, but also came nowhere close. The construct did not even bother trying the lance-like armament on its shoulder, and instead slashed again and again, to no avail. A shout came above the fray, from a smart git:

"Kaptin, da' legz!"

He immediately turned and charged right towards the beast, ramming his full weight into one of its lower limbs. The wraithlord stumbled, but had miraculous recovery and delivered a crushing blow which sent even Gorasho flying. It closed in for the kill, blade raised to the ceiling. A scream suddenly echoed throughout the halls, touching ears and minds alike with a mind known only to some. The walker turned to Miriana.

They seemed locked in a staring contest for a moment, before slowly kneeling in front of her. Gently, she grabbed hold of its head, placing her helmet on it in an embrace of the minds. The other constructs seemed to be trapped in the trance, as well. Then it was gone, as fast as it had arrived. The wraithguard formed an orderly squad, the big one right next to them.

She walked over to an astounded nob and extended a hand:

"Their rage has been soothed. They shall trouble us no longer."

He took her deceptively delicate hand, only to feel an iron grip:

"Fankz," now back on his feet, he turned back to the door, "wanna' go dere?"

"It seems like that's our only option."

"Gud. Senior kadet Snogrot!"

"Yeh, kaptin?" Ugu was sitting on his head again, chewing on a plate of armour.

"Stay 'ere and make sure dese gitz don't muck about."

The room beyond was smaller, with racks for weapons on the walls. And what remained of the defenders on the ground. Bits of armour, helmets, broken weapons. All stripped clean of any blood or organic material. In the corner, she knelt, clutching some sort of plate. Carved hastily into its surface was a message in her language.

Gorasho stood there, watched her put the plate into a hidden compartment on her armour. Her hands were shaking as she removed her helmet, setting free a shoulder-length mane of silver hair. And then... she sobbed. Loudly, clearly, while a few tears ran down her face. She turned her head slightly, her dark brown eyes almost shining in the dimly-lit room:

"Captain... please allow me this moment of weakness."

"Yeh," he almost left, but then, added, " Miriana?"

"Yes?"

"Youz ain't weak. Youz jus' 'ave an 'eart." said he, noting the slight hint of surprise in her expression.

"T-thank you, captain."

She emerged from the vessel perfectly composed and spotted the kaptin yelling into some sort of talky-majig. As she approached, the words became clearer:

"Wot ya mean, rokkitz ain't killy enuff? Use da' deff beam," mumbling from the other side, "'ow'd 'e manage to smash da' toolshop? Oh, woteva', we'z comin'."

"Problems?"

"Nah. Just' one. But it'z real big."

The Iron Grot was on an unstoppable rampage. No amount of polees could seem to stop the monstrosity, their weapons ineffective against its several layers of steel plating. Gorasho Pain arrived on the scene first and ran up to the nearest polees boy:

"Oy! Statuz!"

"Kaptin," the boy was frantically gesturing with his arms, "we'z can't kill it! Our gunz be no good, bug boyz say deyz don't 'ave a big enuff bug and da' 'umiez and goody boyz be fightin' a few gangz."

"We'z gotta' do dis ourselves, then."

"Wot we gonna' do, kaptin?"

Gorasho simply smirked and looked behind him. The boy's jaw dropped, almost completely.

The host marched, numbering in the dozens, led by another fearsome giant. The smaller constructs stopped first in a single file and unleashes a destructive barrage of energy at the Iron Grot, causing the dredd to stumble. Its engines roared as it raised its arms in retaliation, the multi-linked shootas filling the air with lead.

To no avail, however, as the wraithlord stepped in their way, the small-arms fire a little less than useless against its frame. Both giants aimed their heavy weapons. Rokkit and beam filled the air and each combatant was struck, losing their respective armament in the process.

And so, they charged. Each step sent shockwaves around them, until they finally met. Blade clashed with the klaw, neither weapon having the advantage in the struggle, while the wraithlord's other arm barely kept the saw at bay. But it couldn't hold indefinitely.

A figure stood up from behind the lord's head, her armour a little scorched, but otherwise undamaged. Weapon in both hands, she sprung right at the enemy giant's pilot, who was busy screaming and trying to somehow escape. Her spear cut through the monster's plating as if through butter and struck its intended target.

Grot and dredd both collapsed, one with more devastating effects than the other. Miriana stood on top of the remains like a victorious hunter and slowly walked along the surface towards a group of spectators. The kaptin was among them:

"You'z dead killy."

"Thank you. I usually leave this up to the warlocks, but we are in desperate times."

Celebrations were temporarily halted when a pair of gearheads appeared from among the crowd. Malakar began:

"Farseer, I hate to be the bearer of bad news."

"Yeh, wot 'e said. We'z couldn't find da' right stuff, kaptin."

"But we have come up with a secondary solution."

"Plan B, kaptin." Added Tekbrain, after seeing Gorasho scratch his scalp.

A tower rose near the new eldar wreck, a mixture of exotic and downright barbaric technology. Its purpose would be that of a beacon, transmitting a constant distress signal, both through space and channels known only to the eldar. With the Big Rok's penchant for warping around, it was bound to run into another vessel eventually. Time was the only obstacle now.

Boss Nignub stood at the base of the tower before an assembled crowd, held aloft by a dozen gretchin. To his side stood the farseer and the kaptin, while the crowd around them consisted of every colour and race. His speech began, his gretchin barely able to stand upright:

"Today be a new day fer da' Big Rok. Not only 'ave we clobbered da' biggest danga' during me bossin' so far," always the record hunter, "we'z also got some new boyz muckin' about, fer now. The eldurz are welcome 'ere on da' Big Rok, as are 'umiez, goody boyz, bug boyz and any otha' kind Iz can't think about right now. So let dis be a great new era on da' big rok and stuff. Gud, now let'z get muckin' about!"

As the crowd cheered, the boss turned to Gorasho and gave him a thumbs up. Gorasho smirked back, then turned o Miriana:

"Oy, you'z want a drink?"

Joe's was full that night, full enough to burst, with some new inhabitants testing its offerings for the first time that day. But distance was kept around a set of VIP seats, reserved for only the best of the best and separated by a small, thorny fence. Most of it consisted of specialty squigs.

"Nice new thing ya' 'ave 'ere, Joe."

"Yeh, Snogrot," Joe was polishing a jug with loving care, his squig-wig squirming a little, "I'z charge extra fer dese, but not fer me best guestz."

"Mighty kind of ya', Joe."

The kaptin took another large gulp of his beer, then turned to Miriana. The farseer was enjoying a bowl of gretchin stew, along with Ugu, seated right next to her.

"I must say, this tastes better than it sounds."

"Only da' finest gretchin be ground into dust fer dat. Trust me, I'z put 'em dere myself."

"And here I was, getting used to rations," she suddenly realised, "wait, you will require compensation, yes?"

"Wot?"

"Reward, money?"

"Ohz, dat. Kaptin'z payin' today, but youz can otherwise jus' bring me some shiny bitz. Boyz pay gud teef fer shiny stuff."

"Yeh, and Joe always gives ya' a fair price. Speakin' of shiny, though," he placed the fateful dagger onto the bar and slid it over to her, "Iz think dis be yourz."

She tried hiding her smile, to no avail, and carefully grabbed it, as if it was made of glass:

"Thank you, captain. It means a lot."

"We 'ere at Big Rok know our hospitalitey."

As soon as he said that, an argument broke out, between an eldar and a slightly intoxicated ork. Apparently, opinions about the inferiority of squig pie would not be tolerated. The ork charged, but the eldar expertly dodged to the side, grabbed hold and guided the ork to the nearest street-facing window. Laughter erupted after that and the winner fit right in.

"Somehow, you were right."

My brightest sun,

If you are reading this, it is a miracle in itself. I am dead. We ran into problems, the wretched denizens on this hulk not the least of them. Know that I died a warrior.

Please, if you find this, know that I always loved you and I am sorry if I had ever seemed stern or cold. The day you were born was the happiest in all of my countless years. Please, for the good of yourself and our people, never give up. Shine for them, my sun, just as you shined for me.

Your shadowy moon.