Dramatis Personae

Mercia - Astropatica Experitus

Victus - Captain of 1027th Storm Trooper Company, Voltai Regiment of the Tempestus Scions.

§§§

The elven cutters gracefully crested along the waves. Their white hulls shining with a strange inner light that made them stand out, bright between the dark ocean and star filled night sky.

Their sailors continuously fine tuned the sails according to the everchanging waves and winds. Repeatedly adjusting and aligning the multitude of rope sheets. Not one command was issued, they all knew their craft, but some of them hummed along in the fortune hymns.

Between the moving sailors stood the elven warriors, keeping out of the way and easily balancing with the shifting deck. Some had parts their armour on, most had not. Some of them whispered between each other, low voices so as to not disturb the night. Most of them just looked at the horizon, preparing themselves to once again oppose one of the various threats to the world.

On the prow of the leading cutter, a serene pair stood out even among their fellow elves. No one disturbed them. Their simple but ornate robes were filled with curved writing that formed interwoven and advanced symbols. Both had their hands clasped in front of them. The male elf looked up into the star filled sky, waiting. The female elf had her head lowered, eyes closed.

The male elf was the first one to break their long silence, whispering, "I sense your tension, ll-Avia."

"Something has changed, Bel-Zezaen" Ill-Avia whispered back, only audible to elf ears.

"Nothing has changed," Bel-Zezaen assured her, still looking up. "Your vision will come to pass. As they inevitably do. And your Guardians of Fate will follow it to the end. As we always do."

When he got no response he continued easily. "And the world will be just a little bit safer when we find and deal with this new disturbance, thanks to your vision."

"Maybe so. But nothing is certain." Ill-Avia answered at last and she too looked up. "But the burning descent came early… and we are running late."

Like embers they started to appear in the night sky. Slowly at first and streaking over them, impossibly high. Then larger pieces came, like a meteor shower appearing and spreading out northward from them.

The sailors and warriors all stopped and stared up. Their whispers and hummings died out as all watched the spectacle.

Then a larger centrepiece emerged. Like an asteroid it went over them higher than anyone could fly. Their elf eyes, dazzled at first, but quickly adjusted and saw contours through the glare and smoke. Cathedral like spires, what looked like canons, statues. The scale was strange and hard to ascertain in the distance. Impossibly it seemed like the burning object didn't fall naturally even though it plummeted from the sky burning, more and more embers falling from it in all directions. Rather it seemed to ever so slightly change direction and decelerate, as if steered by something.

Ill-Avia became transfixed, raised her hand and pointed to a specific ember falling closer to them, ignoring the rest. "The disturbance is in accordance with the vision. It will land in the Badlands."

Bel-Zezaen followed the embers' descent before he did an easy turn and produced a small panpipe. His high-pitched notes cut through the daze and the sailors redoubled their efforts on all ships. The guardians all started arming themselves and tended to their horses below decks.

"We are some short hours from the disturbance." Bel-Zezaen stated to Ill-Avia as he watched the new momentum across the shining fleet.

"We are late," she repeated.

"We have time," he assured her. "We are inevitable."

§§§

Richtor stood on top of a dune crest looking at the night sky. With his sharp, black uniform, stiff posture and piercing gaze he dominated the group on the dune. Some glowing traces of the meteor shower still flew across the night sky. They moved strangely, as if they were not satisfied with their allotted paths across the heavens.

"Ulrics' wrath upon us" one of his landsknechts whispered again, continuing making warding signs from where he stood by the rest of the patrol. His hauberk clinked with the movement. "May his judgement be tempered by Verena."

Richtor ignored him and instead turned to the sergeant who scanned the horizon with the foldable field telescope. "Do you see something of the southern impact, sergeant?"

"Not a thing, sire. No flames, no nothing." The sergeant answered.

The men awaited Richtors decision in a tense silence, most of them with their eyes on the sky.

Another mounted troop galloped up the dune and joined them on the hilltop, their horses glossy with sweat. They were the same dark uniforms as the landsknechts on the dune.

Their leader immediately dismounted behind Richtor and bowed deeply.

"Sire," the man said. "It is as you feared. The tomb was hit as well. The Prince has already been informed."

"Define 'hit'," Richtor demanded calmly while still thoughtfully scanning the horizon in the other direction.

"Straight through, sire" the man answered wide eyed. "It hit the massif and caused a cave in. There's just a hole where the meteor hit," he continued gesticulating back the way they had come.

"And what did you see in the hole?" Richtor asked, turning to meet the man's gaze.

The man glanced at his compatriots but Richtor cut him off before he could answer.

"You didn't dare to look," he said, waving the man away dismissively. Disappointment in his eyes.

The man backed away, bowing.

Richtor mounted and beckoned for his men to follow him down the dunes to the desert camp. Even though it was in the middle of the night, the meteor shower had stirred the camp. Like ants the hundreds of servants, soldiers and hangers on moved around with their own immediate purpose.

§§§

Mercia opened her eyes wide and took a breath in panic as if emerging from underwater. She was still strapped into her harness in the emergency pod and there was a weak, green light blinking slowly in the large compartment. The air tasted foul.

Everything hurt. Her spline felt crushed together, her breathing was laboured, her neck felt like someone had tried to snap it off. Something foul was dripping from the person hanging in the harness above. He was hanging limply, dead. Mercia looked around and saw only death. All the bodies without minds to read scared her out of the paralysis. Empty flesh containers without souls.

Without thinking she took the hand of the handler beside her. It was cold. He was slumped over in his seat, held up by the harness. A large piece of metal is protruding from his neck. In the faint light she could see that his whole uniform was wet with blood.

Instinctively she closed her eyes and went into the mantra of solitude. Imaging the blue flame that devoured all thought. All panic, all sensory input, all questions and all doubts went into the flame as did all thoughts that came after to fill the void. In the end, there was only stillness. She opened her eyes again. Breathing level. Mind focused.

Once again she looked around. The emergency pod seemed to have broken apart in atmospheric entry. Large pieces of wall were buckled inwards. A whole section of passengers on the other side har flashburned in their uniforms. Dozens of men and women were dead, hanging lifeless from harnesses all over.

She felt a faint mind, a survivor in one of the harnesses on the opposite side. No wonder he survived, he was built like a grox with muscles you only gained from enhancements given to servitors or menial workers.

With weak fingers she unbuckled her harness and climbed down. She kept the blue flame in her mind to stay level. Her breathing continued being laboured, she felt along her ribs but stopped. Some of them were probably fractured.

She felt another mind before it entered. A mind dominated by stress, searching and the feeling of responsibility. She tried to pull back from it, cradling her head in her hands. She needed her drugs. Losing the blue flame she started looking around the pod in its terrible light. It must be medical equipment somewhere.

The man entered, clad in ship crew uniform. The tailored kind. His uniform is wet with sweat and someone else's blood. He stops wiping his brow with dirty hands and stares at her.

"Soldier," he said, trying to give his voice the slowness of control. "It's good to see you survived. I'm Internal Ship Transit Operations Officer Starboard, Kerghan. Are you okay?"

It took Mercia a moment to remember the soldier uniform the handler got for her during the flight to the escape pod. She glances down to the uniform tag on her breast.

"Eh, I think so," she started in a thin voice. Not used to speak to people outside the choir. "I'm Battlescribe Second Class, Mercia," she continued, trying to sound official even though she had no clue as to what a 'battlescribe' was. "What's happening?"

"An event affected the ship in transit and the evacuation order was issued," Kerghan explains. "Our escape pod has crashed into a planet. But don't worry. The air is breathable and rescue teams will pick up our transponder signal and gather us in no time."

Kerghan sounded more secure with every sentence. But Mercia's unclogged senses could not keep away from his mind. His mind said death. This situation was far beyond any emergency plan and they shouldn't be here. No rescue would come. Outside the pod there was only heat, sand and emptiness.

"Trust me," he continued when she didn't answer, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Now help me look for survivors. Our mission is to get people to survive until the rescue arrives."

It was hard to be reassured among so much death. Mercia felt he believed his own lies, keeping himself together by hope and a genuine urge to help.

"There's only one more survivor," she said looking up at the large man.

Kerghan gave her a strange glance but climbed up to the man and started examining him. Mercia felt the large man getting back to consciousness when disturbed in the harness. The thoughts that emerged were aggressive, like a cornered animal. Not even aware of his surroundings, but still the man's body was already preparing for violence.

"Eh, careful," Mercia said weakly to Kerghan who deftly searched for wounds and measured vitals on the man. "Maybe you should leave him in that harness?"

"No worries, he seems unharmed." Kerghan answered her, misreading her intentions. "With your help we should be able to move him down safely"

Suddenly the large man lunges forward in his harness with a guttural growl. He takes Kerghan in a bear hug, completely overpowering the surprised man. One biceps thicker than Mercias waist was crushing Kerghan's head while the large man tried but failed to grasp his situation. Mercia felt his mind being locked in survival mode, but also another feeling she knew all too well. Withdrawal.

The large man's stare found her below and Mercia could feel him trying to assess her while the fighting but forgotten Kerghan suffocated in his grip. Eyes locked she connected to him, her training keeping her from being swept away by his raw instincts. She isolated, smothered his frenzy, and then brought his mind up from the debts to actual awareness.

Kerghan was released and the large man seemed in shock, looking around himself again with new eyes.

Mercia just stared. She had led colleagues in the choir on such a mind journey several times before and it always took time and drained her. But here it was done far too easy. Whatever happened in the storm, the veil was really thin here. Dangerously thin. She needed to numb herself and quickly.

The three stumbling survivors left the pod and its bodies. It was night time outside. Mercia was the first one out, eyes darting around the wreckage looking for some kind of medkit. Then Kerghan, coughing and gasping. Lastly the large man, holding his head and squinting.

There lay people outside, many of them bloody. None of them moving. In the middle of them was an open chest with the imperial symbol for medical supplies. Mercia ran to it and rummaged through the contents at the bottom.

"It's no use, miss," Kerghan said. "They are all dead. I've tried to save everyone I could get out of the capsule but the impact was too great. It's a miracle any of us survived."

The few medical supplies she found fell from Mercias hands. She looked around and saw the bandaged wounds and empty drug capsules all around her. She felt her heart race and went into a silent mantra to not lose control.

"Are you okay?" Kerghan asked the large man, laying a hand on his arm. "I'm Internal Ship…" he started presenting himself but was interrupted.

"What is this place?" the large man boomed, his voice deep and shocked.

They all three looked out over the sandy valley around the crash site. It seemed like the pod had hit the dunes at an angle and skidded down to the bottom. The air was dry and dusty.

"Some kind of desert it seems" Kerghan answered. "But don't you worry. No one has disturbed us yet and rescue…" he continued but was once again interrupted.

"What rescue?" The large man said, squinting down at Kerghan. "No one will come" he stated, looking at the crashed pod and then towards the horizon. "Have you found any weapons?"

Kerghan held up his hand, speaking in a calm voice. "No reason to be defeatist, the Emperor protects after all. Let's start from the beginning. I'm Kerghan with the Revenge of Nixtor officer corps."

The large man still had his back towards Kerghan. Instead of answering he started rummaging through the wreckage, turning over metal sheets the other two wouldn't be able to budge.

Speaking a bit louder and gesturing, Kerghan continued. "The Soldier over there is Battelscribe Merica from the army contingent. I see that you have the attire of the maintenance crew. Which department, if I may ask?"

The large man turned around towards Mercia and Kerghan again, having found water. He emptied the whole container in a long swig.

At last he spoke. "I'm Mord. I'm a Sanitation Maintenance Worker." He threw the container away. "Where's the last of the stimms?"

"I've used them, as mentioned." Kerghan answered. "How so? Are you medically trained?" he asked slowly.

"I don't fracking believe you!" Mord said in a low voice and then looked at Mercia. "Did you take the last ones from the box? You did, didn't you?"

Mercia was snapped out of her mantra by his stare. She felt Mords mind slowly regressing back towards violence but also desperation. Kerghan placed himself between them.

"Give them to me" Mord continued in his low voice staring them down. He bent to the ground and lifted a metal rod with a nasty looking torn of pipe at the end. The primitive weapon looked menacing.

"Sir. Calm down" Kerghan answered in an equally low voice. In a quick movement he folded up a compact shotgun. "Sir, I'm the commanding officer of this crash site and we will cooperate until rescue arrives." The shotgun was a small model made for ship combat, its shots strong enough to penetrate flesh but not the vital equipment of a star ship.

They both stared at each other. Mercia could feel them both closing to their respective edges, both thinking that they should act first.

Their minds were so distinct to Mercias unclogged mind, transparent even. And the warp so impossibly close behind the veil. She closed a hand around the hilt of her Mercy Blade she had hid in her new soldier uniform. Then tapped into the warp, searching for tools the only way she knew how.. She felt not only the three of them. She felt the desert around them. The myriad of small life with their small minds, its history, the feelings of travelling beings long gone. She was almost swept away with the sensations. Then she found them. Familiar minds with familiar feelings. Humans, a host of them, not too far away.

Like she had done hundreds of times before in her work, she prepared the message. An astropath does not transmit text, sounds or pictures. They transmit a concept tangled in feelings which is always tainted by both the sender and the receiver.

Mercias concept this time was of 'needs being met by the known'. It was almost too easy when she could see the minds in front of her, usually she transmitted blindly to strangers she would never meet. Mord's need to get away from withdrawal and Kerghan's need to perform his duty of saving at least someone were both so dominant.

To send an astropathic message between star systems was no different to sending it a couple of steps. Distance didn't exist on the other side of the veil. But she was not supposed to transmit to blunts and observed the men carefully as she did anyway.

"Over there," Mercia said, pointing along the valley in the direction where she still felt minds. "I saw some light. It's probably another pod just beyond sight." The concept fell into place. She didn't release the blade as she tried to mentally step away from the veil.

Mord seemed unaffected at first but when Kerghan turned Mord also followed her direction with a suspicious gaze. Weapon still raised. Nothing could be seen except dunes and darkness.

"Are you sure, Mercia?" Kerghan asked her and glanced at her. Still holding his shotgun ready.

She nodded stiffly. Taken aback by the ruptured blood vessels in his eyes. What had she done?

Kerghan faced Mord. "Truce?" He asked. "I'm ready to forgive your lack of discipline as the situation is a bit on the harsh side. But I'll lead from here," he continued.

Mord just nodded, lowering his weapon. Mercia could still feel his aggression but also his cunning. Like an animal biding its time.

They picked up some supplies and started walking along the valley.

Mercia noted that Kerghans sleeve became red when he wiped his nose.

§§§

Richtor and his men cut through the camp tumult. No one could miss the mounted scouting party riding through the throng and everyone moved aside when they saw their dark uniforms.

His sergeant rode up to him "Sire, it seems our Prince has ordered an early start of the excavation today," the sergeant started, carefully. "Do you think he has read some signs in the skies tonight?" he asked.

Richtor just shook his head while observing the camp.

"No. We are leaving," he stated. His dissatisfaction with the decision colouring his answer.

"So there was a sign?" the sergeant concluded.

He got no answer.

They got to the centre of the camp and the huge circular tent that dominated it. Richtor noted its old faded stories that could be hinted at in the patterns on its sides. He had spent enough years around this tent to know there were no starfalls but still wondered if there were some other hints of this very situation.

He dismounted his horse between the Prince's banners and personal guards outside the main entrance.

"Wait here," Richtor told his men, throwing the reins to the sergeant.

The guards saluted him when passing, the servants bowed.

The servants were everywhere in the large tent. Taking down the textile sections creating the rooms and packing books, silverware, scrolls, pillows and all the rest that made up the Prince's home on journeys. Some of the heavy furniture had already been carried out.

"My boy," the Prince's frail voice stopped Richtor in his stride. The old man beckoned Richtor to join him in the one untouched room before he continued. "I know what you are going to say. But you also know you can't change my mind when it's set."

The Prince was sitting in his usual scholarly robes. The robes were worn but adorned and hinted of old prominence, just like the old man himself. A half filled parchment lay on his writing desk, the ink still wet.

"This is absurdity and you know it, Caius." Richtor stated simply but reverently. Bowing slowly to the old man. Richtor's stiff demeanour became slightly more relaxed, but his tone was still even. "After all this expense, hardships and time?"

"Time?" Caius asked, with a glint in his eyes. "Time is all we have, my boy. To take risks without knowing the odds is absurd. To await one's moment is not. The book will be in the tomb the next time we travel here, or it will not. To live is to get more than one chance at one's goals, and there is always more than one road."

"Is it the glowing stones in the sky or our easier way into the tomb that makes you want to go home?" Richtor asked.

Caius soured and put his pen away slowly while continuing. "I note your frustration. Boy. Now guard your tone"

Richtor bowed deeply and then straightened, looking straight ahead.

"My Prince. I spoke out of hand. But I know how much this means to you. Let me and my men try to enter the temple after the caravan has left this place."

"Denied, Lieutenant" Caius said simply, looking up at Richtor. With a raised hand he stopped Richtors objection. "It's not about your life or that of your men. There is an ancient power sleeping under these sands. I will have it disturbed more than it has already been."

The old man's tone and gaze got a hint of regality. They couldn't be contradicted.

"Then at least let me take my scouting party down south to the secondary impact far from the tomb to see if we can find any answers there?" Richtor then asked instead.

The old man thought about this, not lowering his gaze.

"Fine," Caius said at last. "But heed my warning. Some things coming from the sky are dangerous for the very soul. Take care."

Richtor bowed again and then left.

"One more thing," Caius continued to Richtor's back. "If you aren't on the ship when the caravan is loaded…"

Richtor turned his head, nodded, and continued out to his men.