Questin' fer Knowledgez
The winds of Chaos blew over the limitless angles of the Impossible Fortress with a fury unfathomable by mortal men. Spawn wandered its twisting, endless halls with no beginning yet several ends, lost for the remainders of their pitiful existence. Only greater minds could traverse such a landscape unhindered, protected by their lord. Well, as long as there existed a spot for them in the grand scheme.
Then there was the innermost sanctum, hidden behind nine hundred sealed gates, each with ninety key holes, with each of those keys possessing nine teeth. The chamber was an irregular nonagon, with no ceiling nor floor, dominated by bookcases laden with all manner of tomes, floating in space, the distances between them shifting with every moment. The being floated there, a mass of appendages and other organs, constantly changing in size, shape and function. But one thing remained constant, a set of nine eyes, each a different hue, fixed upon a shimmering globe, the Changer's eye into the remainder of reality.
Switching over from Palace of Pleasure, a very frequent stop on his daily browsing, he turned to check on Nurgle's blasted garden, busy encroaching on everyone's territory again. The khornates were already rallying a warhost, sounding mighty horns from the top of their master's bastion. Typical. And then, there was him. Perhaps the favourite of his pawns, ever resourceful, ever on a journey for knowledge. And currently heading towards a very, very interesting place. Nine pairs of hands clapped in unison, the echo forcing several sections of the fortress to shift.
Just as planned.
A portal was torn open in the fabrics of time and space, disrupting the otherwise calm marketplace. A figure stepped out, clad in a mighty suit of power armour, blue as a cloudless sky, with golden highlights. He clutched a massive staff, black as night, as he looked around, taking note of the surrounding creatures. They did not seem to pay him much heed. Natural. He was, after all, a rather frequent visitor.
Something tugged on his cape and he turned around. A tiny daemonette stood there, her skin of a pink hue, dressed in a green uniform. The stylish beret on her head had a hole in it to make room for a single, thin horn. With an utterly calm voice, deep yet perfectly pronounced, the sorcerer asked:
"And how may I help you, dear?"
"I was wondering, sir," she held out a large yellow box, "if you'd like to buy some of our cookies? We're raising money for new decorations for our den!"
"Those wouldn't happen to be Winds of Change flavour, would they?"
"Indeed they are, sir!"
He rubbed the bottom of his helmet, where his chin would have been:
"Oh, my favourite. How much?"
"Two shinies, sir!"
The coins he presented were priceless by mortal standards, perhaps enough to buy a small backwater world. She accepted them with glee, bowed slightly and then ran off, giggling all the way.
With a single thought, he temporarily banished the box to another plain of reality and started walking, quite certain about where to go. There weren't too many high-quality establishments on the Big Rok, after all.
Joe's was packed, as always. But the variety of clients was greater than ever before. There had been changes since his last visit, evidenced by an arm-wrestling lictor in the corner, and even a new face at the bar. Someone quite feisty, judging by the speed the bolt of eldritch energy crossed the room. Had he not seen it coming, it could have proved to be a minor nuisance.
His mind became a mighty fortress, its walls redirecting the attack elsewhere. An unfortunate gretchin waiter was fried on the spot, leaving behind only a confused, wriggling hair squig. Her own mental defences were strong, though, he was quite sure he could get through, with sufficient force. Half-cursing, she spoke his name:
"Ahzek Ahriman."
"My reputation precedes me, as always."
Just then, a small hill of green muscle stepped between them, a trademark confused look on his face. His hat seemed to have a few more patched up scars, though.
"Oy, oy, oy! No weirdboy fightin' in da' bar! Wot'z dis all about, anywayz?"
"He is an enemy of the eldar."
The sorcerer chuckled:
"All I want is to read some old tomes. Not my fault you do not know how to share, is it?"
She wanted to retort, but Gorasho was faster:
"Enuff of dis stuff. Everyone be welcome on da' Big Rok and Ahrimun 'ere comez around often. If youz don't like it, youz can leave."
With a defeated pout, she exclaimed:
"Oh, no, I'm keeping an eye on him."
They seated themselves rather awkwardly, Miriana right to the other psyker's left, maintaining a death glare. He did not seem to particularly mind as he turned to the owner, bartender and substitute cook, all in one:
"Joe, I'd like a glass of Slaaneshi Delight."
"Comin' right up."
The purple liquid seemed to move on its own accord. As he drank it, it attempted to touch his mind, influence him, toy with his emotions and loyalties. He brushed such feeble attempts aside and finished drinking.
"So, wot brings ya back 'ere?" asked a familiar-looking ork, ah, yes, Snogrot. The squig, though, he could not name.
"As always, my thirst for knowledge. I have evidence of a warpal anomaly somewhere deep within the hulk. And my curiosity simply will not let me ignore it. I shall not trouble you, I do not expect any complications. Not ones I could not handle easily, in any case."
"Right den. If any of me boyz try ta' stop ya', tell 'em Pain gave ya permissiunz. If deyz still keep muckin' about, clobber 'em, I'z got more where those came from."
"As you say," he rose from his seat and the farseer mirrored him shortly afterwards, already putting on her helmet, "is something the matter?"
"As I said, I'm keeping an eye on you."
"Suit yourself. Just try not to get in my way."
They left the bar like a dysfunctional couple, Miriana trailing a few feet behind him, akin to a really bad assassin. The kaptin sighed to himself and ordered a squig pie. Weirdboyz and their muckin' about.
Together, the duo gained far more gazes than as individuals. This did not seem to improve their cooperation, or lack thereof. Her unbreakable stare proved unnerving to any onlooker, though he did not seem to even notice and strode forward with an aura of calmness. The further they progressed, the less gazes they attracted, on account of civilisation getting scarcer. It was then that he finally exclaimed:
"You know, frowning does not improve your looks."
"You will not break my resolve, sorcerer."
He came to a stop and turned to her:
"You eldar antagonise others so easily. At this point, I figure it must be an evolutionary defence mechanism."
"The universe does not give us much choice."
"A fair point. I, myself have nothing against your kind, I assure you. You just have the bad luck of owning the greatest repository of knowledge in the cosmos."
"It is not yours, or even mine, to view."
"Forbidden fruit always tastes the best. Isn't that right," he had seen the scene minutes ago. The eldar raising her spear into a combat stance, dangerously close to his chin. It was cute, "farseer?"
"Do not tempt me."
"Or else what? I have already glimpsed your every possible move," she moved the spear away, yet still held it. He sighed, "will it appease you if I tell you the item I seek cannot possibly aid me in accessing the Black Library?"
He almost immediately felt a bit of death leave from her glare.
"Is that so?"
He nodded:
"It is a minor anomaly at best. The darkness around it is what piqued my curiosity."
That disarmed her, literally and figuratively:
"Darkness?"
"Indeed. In a place like the Big Rok, warpal activity is the norm. A complete void then, is something worth looking into. The little trinket, whatever it may be, is a beacon at most. So, what do you say," he extended a hand, "shall we bury the chainaxe? At least for now?"
She did not take it, but she did nod.
"Very well. It could, after all, be a danger."
"Things like that usually are, in my experience."
They descended further into the depths like a slightly more functional couple. Their surroundings grew ever more decrepit, here and there showing signs of actual stone, rather than rusted metal. Eventually, they reached a massive chamber, with malfunctioning lights and two metal islands on either side, connected by a precarious, narrow pathway. Beneath, a never-ending blackness stretched in every direction.
"I am always amazed how these hulks manage to create such fantastic sights."
"Sights of nothing, you mean?"
"Don't ruin the mood. It seems our path is set," with a grandiose gesture, he motioned towards the path, "after you."
Her voice dripped with sarcasm:
"Oh, what a gentleman," nonetheless, she did go first, her gaze locked on what little ground they had.
Step by careful step, they crossed the bridge. The utter silence around them did anything but help their concentration. It was unnerving, somehow, unnatural. She started the conversation this time:
"I hate complete silence."
"Something we can agree on, finally. It leaves me with my thoughts and those often wander to memories. Those, I can do without," a brief pause, "sorry if it's inappropriate, but did you survive the Fall?"
She did not truly know why she was surprised he knew, considering his reputation. Nonetheless, no painful memories surfaced:
"I was one of the few born after it. I have heard of it only in tales, from my," there though, was a chunk of sorrow, "father."
"You were spared, then. In all my years, I have been haunted by my past," images flashed in his mind. Pillars of smoke rising into the sky, while wolves approached their position like the savages they were, "it is a shame the horrid memories linger and poison all the rest."
"Yes, it is quite," their conversation and movement stopped as a crack sounded from beneath them and echoed within the chamber, "oh, no."
"Move, quickly!"
From a crawl, they accelerated into a mad dash, which did not increase the bridge's chances of remaining intact. Chunks of it started collapsing into the darkness at frightening speed, each impact below almost thunderous. They were almost at the second island when the ground finally caught up and collapsed right from under them, both grasping for anything to hold onto.
It could have gone worse, he thought. Sure, he was hanging onto her leg with only one hand, since the other had to hold his staff, but it was better than hurtling down into the shadow. He looked up, enjoying the view for a moment, before calling out:
"I'd hate to trouble you..."
"You already are," she shouted between grunts. Her leg felt like it was about to snap in half, "Khaine, you weigh more than a grav tank."
"Not everyone is destined for a perfectly slim form," she did not know what to make of that, in the moment, "can you pull us up?"
"Not with what feels like two tons of extra weight!"
"Very well, plan B, then," his mind reached out into the surrounding space, forced it to obey his will, "brace yourself."
Without warning, a mighty wave of pure force blasted from beneath them, sending them hurtling through the sky, screaming. And then they came back down, since gravity was very strict about such things.
Landing on his back proved to be a bother, as his armour did not actually help cushion the impact by much. This pain was increased when the farseer fell on top of him, ramming her helmet face-first into his own with a crack. She cursed something under her breath and slowly took it off. A crimson trail was running from her cute little nose, but she otherwise seemed fine. The faint light in the chamber seemed to bring out the silver hue of her hair.
"You alright?"
"Better than most, I imagine," she wiped the blood away, frowned when she imagined how much cleaning her gauntlet would need, and then finished, "neat trick. You owe me a new helmet, however."
"Not my fault your gear snaps when you sneeze on it."
"Hmph," she rapidly sat up, earning herself a groan, "you should be grateful you don't owe me a leg. Those are harder to replace."
"Depends on whose leg I'd give you. Now get off, if you don't mind."
She smirked:
"Very well, oh great sorcerer."
Back on his feet, he examined the new chasm:
"I suppose we'll have to go around on the way back."
"Unless you feel like catapulting us across."
"Not likely."
With each passing corridor, they delved deeper into the hulk. Each item they passed could be considered a relic of some sort, but they did not attract his interest. And then, after rounding a single corner, it came into view. The wall stood out like a tyranid in a bar. Perfectly smooth, black as night, it blocked their path:
"Foreboding, isn't it?"
"Indeed," she brandished her spear, "doesn't seem to be a way around it, either."
"Nope," the immediate future was quite something.
"Such a shame."
With a single, mighty strike, which combined both strength and raw psychic power, the wall was shattered, leaving behind a sizeable hole in its stead. Yes as soon as the damage was done, the surrounding metal moved to replace it, ever so slowly. Beyond, a darkness awaited, both in the materium and immaterium.
"After you."
"Ugh, again?"
Once inside, he raised his hand and a globe of contained warpfire lighted their surroundings. Skittering could be heard in every direction, as metallic creatures scurried away from the light. The walls did not have any decorations to speak of, no writing or statuettes, nothing. Just pure, purposeful design. And she was quite certain they were lost.
"All these hallways look the same," they stopped at another familiar crossroad, "I do not wish to die in a blasted labyrinth."
"Allow me," closing his eyes, he focused. He projected his consciousness in every direction, explored several dozen hallways at the same time, creating a mental image of the intricate labyrinth. A mere moment later, according to the farseer, he pointed to one of the paths, "this way."
The way he lead them through the labyrinth, it almost seemed like he had grown up in the horrid place. Finally, the monotone hallways gave way to a large, oval room. Its walls were of uneven stone, barely even carved out of the surrounding rock. A gateway of sorts was in sight, an imposing structure of black metal, sealed shut. With each step towards it, the more it became apparent that they were not welcome. Shapes darted at the edge of their vision, skittering sounded from every direction.
"We have..."
"Company, I know," her spear was ready once more, "let them come."
The beasts struck from the darkness in perfect unison, eager to end the confrontation with a single strike. The psykers had other plans. Warpfire and eldritch bolts showered their line and their charge shattered. They were massive, metallic, each with several dozen insectoid feet. Claws sharper than a chainsword lashed out, some deflected by force of will, others by martial prowess. The automatons tried to dart between realities to shield themselves from blows, yet the duo always seemed to know when they would choose to reappear and struck accordingly. Divination was a bitch.
The battle did not last long before the creatures decided to tactically retreat. The functioning pair stood in the middle of a new junkyard, breathing heavily. There was no time for compliments, however, as a voice echoed within the chamber, cold and unnerving:
"Trespassers!"
They both ran in opposite directions just in time to dodge, as the entity sprung down from the ceiling, landing with a loud crack on six large, spider-like legs. Its torso was humanoid, but forged from the same living metal as the labyrinth, silver in hue, with bolts of green energy darting through its ridges.. A single, emerald eye watched them as it pointed a staff-like weapon at them:
"You shall not pass!"
"And who will stop us," Ahriman was feeling cocky, "you?"
"Affirmative. In servitude to the Sautekh dynasty, I shall annihilate you!"
Miriana charged first, aiming at its back. With frightening speed, the metallic abomination turned and unleashed a powerful shockwave from its staff. The farseer flew like a comet and impacted the stone wall with about as much force, collapsing onto the ground soon afterwards.
Without hesitation, it turned, just in time to erect a protective barrier against a small barrage of doombolts. Psyker and scientist measured their strength time and time again, using various elements, from warpfire to nameless energies that shifted the very fabrics of time and space. Still, neither seemed to gain the upper hand.
Then, he suddenly felt a cold grip close around his mind, like a serpent of pure ice strangling his conscious being. He collapsed, clutching his helmet. Images from his past flashed before his eyes, each a painful memory. The lies, the failures, the dead... Ohmurzd... they all came to haunt him once more.
The necron chuckled like an articulate engine:
"Your tainted minds are so frail. Many have tried to breach into the tomb. I will not allow it!"
A series of surprises was in store for the machine. Firstly, the frail mortal mind spoke back:
"You cannot chain me."
They were just that, memories. Snippets of the past, long-gone and shattered. He would not be their slave. The serpent tried to bite in again, he struck back first. The cryptek flinched as a whole, as warpal energy struck his inner circuits.
"You..."
Ahriman rose back up, his eyes lit up with a literal fire:
"My mind is not yours to invade, necron," he chuckled at the immediate future, "I'll give you a tip."
Before the scientist could process every single meaning of the sentence, the farseer's weapon had already pierced through its upper chest. Its howl was unnatural, which only made her strike again faster, severing one of its legs in the process.
"Step aside!"
She did so just as the cryptek was showered in doombolts, what remained of its form collapsing onto the ground. She stepped to the sorcerer to admire their handiwork and spit a bit of blood onto the ground. Her armour was cracked in several places, her hair a bit messy, but she seemed fine otherwise. And really fine in general. He raised his hand, clenched in a fist:
"Fistbump?"
"Fist-wha?"
"It is an ancient human custom. Older than the Imperium, even."
"Oh, well, why not?"
After their two armoured fists briefly clashed, they walked towards the supposed wreckage, which was still squirming a bit.
"I always forget how sturdy these damned things are."
"My kind makes sure to never forget."
"N-no... he must not be... released. T-the S-s-s-stormlord demands it." finally, green energy seemed to drain from the body and it once more fell lifeless.
The psykers looked at each other and she suggested it first:
"Just to be sure?"
"Indeed."
Another explosion rocked the chamber, scattering metal shrapnel in every direction. They approached the gate and it surprisingly opened on its own. On the other side, only shadow awaited them, predictably. But then, emerald green lights flickered to life, illuminating row upon row of coffin-like pods, each housing a slumbering nightmare. There was no need for words as the two psykers continued silently. They were endless, a legion forged of living metal, a thousand strong at the very least.
The path went on for at least a mile, twisting and turning as it went. After one final turn, they reached a large chamber, surprisingly decorated. Large tapestries were hung along three of its walls, depicting mighty battles between various different races, some not even featuring the skeletal horrors themselves. Display cases were set up, as well, housing strange tools, weapons and even tomes, most of them partially turned to dust. In the middle of it all, overlooking its collection from an elevated throne, was a quite eye-catching construct.
Its metal was painted silver, with golden linings on its shoulder plates and its... gauntlets? Indeed, its form was modified or augmented in places, concealing the otherwise skeletal frame with more humanoid shapes. Even the aforementioned shoulder plates were bent in order to conceal a good part of the upper torso. Most notable, however, was the mask attached to its face, completely white and plain, with only two holes for its ever-burning, emerald eyes.
It rose from its throne with surprising speed, left hand clutching a large ornate staff, the other, clenched in a fist, rising in a greeting, its voice strangely pleasant to listen to:
"Ah, visitors to my realm! It has been so long since my imprisonment."
While Ahriman stared on, curious beyond words, Miriana entered into a battle stance once more. The mere presence of the entity sent a shiver down her spine.
"Save your words, necrontyr."
"Oh, I wish, my lady. The Time of Flesh is long-gone at this point," it gazed down at its gauntlet, before swiftly changing subjects, "I suppose this means Szer is done for?"
The sorcerer took the lead:
"If you refer to the cryptek, yes, he's resting in pieces."
"Oh, wonderful. Not a good conversation partner, that one. Very meticulous when it came to monitoring my prison. How joyous, I am free once more!"
Her gaze was possibly lethal once more:
"Not if I have a say in the matter."
Unlike the farseer, Ahriman was not as eager to turn the lord into scrap just yet and motioned towards her to calm down, before turning again to the lord:
"Why were you imprisoned in the first place?"
The noble was silent for a moment, then replied:
"A curse of complete loyalty and tolerance. I trust you have seen my legion? The Great Sleep had not been as merciful to them as it was to me. The mind of each and every one had been affected by a deficiency I could not hope to accurately describe. Long tale short, they were tied into utter, unwavering loyalty to me and me alone," he took a few steps to a nearby display case, which housed a torn, silver banner, the remains of an image of a spear and shield still visible, "this alone irked the Stormlord, but I proved my loyalty, so he let it slide. Until..."
"Until?"
Miriana still kept her weapon at hand as it turned back to them, its eyes somehow burning with an almost lifelike quality:
"Until my own idiosyncrasy became apparent. Like most of my brethren, I too was interested in apotheosis. As soon as the Stormlord assumed his position as ruler of the dynasty, I was tasked with procuring specimens. I suspect mighty Imotekh wanted me at armss reach and no closer. It was then that I first came into contact with your kind, sorcerer. Humans, fighting what I later learned was the Tau Empire. It seemed to be a secluded society, scarcely prepared to combat an opponent of such calibre. We intervened, partly because crypteks informed me we had not performed too many tests on the blue skins."
Ahriman had managed to find a strangely ornate chair among the items and dragged it over, the lord either not noticing or not even caring. Even she was starting to feel less confrontational, as the soothing voice continued its story:
"We a retreat, gathered some prisoners. With no direct orders to the contrary, my forces merely left the humans be. It was then, that this," he seemed to tighten the grip on his staff, "this tiny little thing comes up to me. Visibly afraid of us, yet somehow mustering the courage to continue. Me and my guards just stare at her as she looks up with these huge, sky blue eyes. And she says, 'T-thank you.', in their local dialect, before handing me some sort of local plant matter and scurrying off. I felt... touched. For the first time in sixty million years. Afterwards, I felt the urge to question our prisoners. They... they reminded me of times past. Proud warriors, every last one of them, willing to sacrifice all they had to ensure the prosperity of their empire. How were these creatures of flesh our lessers, I thought. Devoted, proud, even kind to strangers, with their blood untainted by the tamperings of deceitful deities and foolish kings," without warning, his fist made a dent in a nearby wall, which mended itself in moments, "my deficiency was tolerance. My flaw, compassion. I let them go free. The Stormlord was partly glad I had given him an excuse, I imagine. Not wanting to risk what effect my destruction would have had on my legion, we were imprisoned within this tomb," he turned finally back to them. Miriana had come to rest on the sorcerer's knees, seeing as he kept hogging the only chair, "the rest of my time, I have spent mostly on hobbies. I have found my digits still hold sufficient dexterity to weave," closer inspections of the surrounding tapestries did reveal certain rough edges on many of the features and figures within, "though, the results are mixed. I may have exaggerated certain features," he pointed to depictions of several space marines, their shoulder pads probably big enough to carry a predator tank, "I suppose it could be considered satire, my sense of humour is not what it used to be."
"If I may ask, your augmentations?" the farseer, this time.
"One of the few liberties Szer allowed. I grew disgusted by my cold visage. This gives me some flair, don't you think?"
"Well, umm, I suppose? Not much of a fashion expert when it comes to death machines."
"Your words wound me, yet they are not without basis. Our races do not have the best track record, after all. I would not blame you if you impaled me on the spot. Is that your intent, eldar?"
She considered the notion for a second, standing up and looking down at her weapon, before looking back at the skeletal lord:
"If there is one thing I have learned in the past weeks," she took a few steps and slowly extender her hand, "is that everyone deserves a chance. Be sure not to squander it."
The handshake was brief, overall rather awkward, but it was the thought that counted. The lord bowed slightly.
"I shall do my best. Now, only one question remains. How did you find this place?"
"Your prison is part of a larger space hulk. We detected an anomaly and came to investigate."
"Oh, that would explain the crash one thousand, three hundred and fifty-nine years ago. An anomaly, you say?"
"Warpal in nature. A beacon, considering your surroundings."
"Ah, you must mean the tome! It was here when we," he seemed to be stuck processing for a second, "moved in, I suppose you could say."
This unnerved her slightly, while Ahriman bolted from his chair delighted:
"May I see it?"
"Oh, of course. Allow me to retrieve it." the lord scurried off somewhere behind the throne.
She was giving him that look again.
"Oh, come now! It cannot be a source of any importance, its energies are not sufficient!"
"You'd best hope that's the case."
A crash sounded from beyond and the lord returned soon afterwards, clutching a large, violet book in his gauntlets:
"Forgot it was behind glass. It is a fascinating read, especially when you're trying to remember how things work."
He wanted to ask, but as soon as he saw the title, he knew it would not be necessary. The farseer immediately took notice, as well. The writing itself seemed to shift slightly in the eyes of every reader, so that it could be perfectly understood. The Great Book of Love.
"A slaaneshi tome?"
"It would seem like it. No greater knowledge in this sort, from my experience. A peak couldn't hurt, I suppose."
"I-I guess."
They flipped a few pages. Each was accompanied by detailed illustrations which even moved on their own accord. Most unsettlingly, a viewer saw themselves and even their acquaintances depicted in the pages, either receiving or delivering assorted brands of love.
"The fleshling rituals contained within are fascinating. And close enough to be familiar." well, if the viewer had any warpal connection to speak of, anyway.
He was glad he still had his helmet on, so his reactions were hidden from the outside world. Hers were quite visible, from the bright red shade of her skin to the rather flustered, rather cute expression she had.
"I-Is it even possible to bend like that?"
"I suppose a daemonette with a few extra joints would not have any problems," or anyone blessed with particular talents, for that matter, "I think I shall hold onto this for, uh, research purposes."
This made her chuckle:
"Research on daemonettes, I bet."
"I've never been one to summon them. Their mutations disturb me. I prefer a pure form, like that of humans or elda-," his vision immediately snapped to her as he realised what he was saying and he closed the book with enough force to create a small cloud of dust. She had a mischievous grin, though she was even redder.
"Is that so? And who did you see depicted in the pages, then?"
"You heard nothing."
"I am not quite sure about that."
They then noticed the lord was standing at the entrance, patient as a statue:
"May we leave? I must get acquainted with any inhabitants of this hulk. I have already made arrangements for escort."
A set of relatively short awakenings later, they were on the move. The several dozen necrons walking slightly behind them sent chills down her spine and she decided to stay as close to the only other Warp-touched creature as possible. The labyrinth itself proved to be no hindrance, as its walls had shifted to provide supreme access to their lord. Familiar corridors dotted their path and they finally reached the fateful room, one which had once contained a narrow bridge.
"Ah, yes, we forgot about this," the sorcerer exclaimed, sighing for good measure, "we may need to find a way around."
"Oh, nonsense," the lord raised his free gauntlet and snapped its fingers with a clang, "that was purely for dramatic effect, I assure you. They should not take long."
She took the next few seconds to examine their escort. It consisted mostly of the rather pitiful members of their ilk, simple peasants or craftsmen during the Time of Flesh, turned to simple, yet nonetheless terrifying harbingers of doom. The flank, however, was guarded by much better equipped entities, their mighty weapons larger than a small man. Then came the buzzing and she noticed a black cloud forming in the corridor behind them.
The metallic scarabs filled the air in the thousands, flying dangerously close without actually harming any member of the entourage. Diligently, they positioned themselves on the edge of one platform, before stretching forward to the other, forming a wide bridge of questionable stability. The lord was not deterred and confidently marched forward, the others following suite.
"Such useful things. I'll have them construct a more permanent solution later, I think."
They attracted substantially more gazes than as a mere duo of bickering psykers, especially because the lord insisted on waving at everyone. Human, tau, ork, tyranid and eldar alike turned to the entourage as it passed. Word spread fast, as it tends to do, and by the time they reached Joe's, a small army of polees had gathered, headed by a nob and a dashing boss. The entourage stopped and Nignub took a few steps forward, measuring up the newcomer:
"Right, then. You'z a new landin', or you'z been 'ere fer a while?"
The lord stood upright and looked the massive ork right in the eyes.
"We have been imprisoned here for over a millenium."
"Huh, soundz like a lot, okay. You'z look kinda' funky. Are ya at least a lil' killy?"
"I would say so."
A group of gretchin just so happened to be passing by. With another unnecessary snap of metallic fingers, several of the horrific constructs turned and fired. Their weapons were lightyears ahead of any foe's and stripped the poor grots down, atom by atom, until there was nothing left but a steaming, scorched spot on the ground. Nignub scratched his head:
"Right then. Real killy, gud thinkin', gud initiateeve. You'z gunna' fit right in, skelly boy. Wot'z yer namez?"
"I am Thebes-Ra of the Sautekh Dynasty."
"Right then. 'Ave a bloody gud time and stuffz. Oh, and, if ya need anythin', Pain 'ere will gladly 'elp ya."
The kaptin audibly sighed as the crowd started dispersing, Nignub still quite visible even in the distance, his tower of hats swaying in the slight breeze.
The atmosphere at Joe's was quite different that evening, even though there was only one newcomer. The lord had attracted the attention of a handful of listeners, those brave or curious enough to ignore the unsettling aura that accompanied him. Tales of past wars were told, secrets were shared, questions answered:
"Yes, I posses the necessary attachments."
Any daemonettes nearby giggled mischievously. Gorasho was busy picking out a bit of tough squig from between his teeth and looked over to his right. Snogrot, Ugu and assorted VIPs, yet no weirboyz in sight. Strange. Ech, he was sure they were quite fine, considering their skillset. They even seemed to get along a bit better.
She had not felt particularly hungry that evening, though, she could not say why. Instead of heading to Joe's, then, she climbed one of the only safe staircases on the Big Rok, up to her spot. Several floors from the top, she could already feel a second, powerful presence. Sure enough, as soon as she climbed the stairs, she spotted one of the galaxy's most notorious sorcerers, just standing there against the roof's railing. He called out first, turning his head to look in her direction:
"A peculiar meeting, is it not?"
"I suppose, sorcerer. Due to chance rather than any effort on my part, I assure you. This is simply my favourite spot."
"Another thing we can agree on," his gaze turned back to the city below, "it is a quiet place, but not silent. One needs only to close his eyes and listen. Life, death, pleasure, agony, streaming from every corner at the same time. It is a relaxing sensation."
She stood now to his right, overlooking the seemingly endless lights of Big Rok its many districts and communities, living together, in a mostly civil manner.
"It is a place unlike any other, isn't it? In the bleak, dark vastness of space, it is akin to a shining soulstone, carrying hope."
"What a fitting metaphor. Yes, it is a place without equal, truly."
A brief silence befell them, before he turned to her. A faraway light made it seem like she was surrounded by a beautiful ethereal glow. With a single mental command, a gate to a pocket dimenion was opened and a small, yellow box emerged. He grabbed onto it with one hand and moved it close enough for her to notice.
"Cookie?"
A smile almost immediately appeared on her lips.
"Those wouldn't happen to be Winds of Change flavour, would they?"
"One and only."
"My favourite," she gladly took one and bit in. Winds of Change flavoured ones were always akin to a roulette, as the taste would keep shifting rapidly during baking, until proper enchantments could be put in place to contain it. Her expression revealed her enjoyment of that particular piece, "it's almost like you know me, Ahriman."
"Well," his was something crossed between a chicken and a bloody steak. Not bad, especially considering the darker combinations out there, "I would not be against that, truly."
She laughed at that, not in a mocking way, either. The near future was... interesting. Interesting, indeed.
Nine pairs of limbs clapped once more, creating eighteen new pathways into the fortress, while closing twenty-seven others for eternity. Thirty-six digits commanded the scrying orb to view other planes, observe other schemes coming to fruition, their victories just more steps within the grandest of machinations. It would still take some time for the inhabitants of that most interesting of hulks to be ready. Good thing that time was on their side. Relatively speaking, of course. After all, the winds of the Primordial Annihilator could be so unpredictable.
The images within his orb finally settled back on the Palace of Pleasure. Ah, it was animal husbandry hour again. His favourite.