"Alright, now you'll talk."
Gudras didn't blink when the wraithbone lamp shone its light right on his face. Slimy, instead, croaked in protest.
Gudras watched quizzically the child. Irilgen was holding the lamp in a hand, while in the other he clutched his toy-sword threateningly. His expression was one of grim inquisitiviness and fierce combativiness. After the first surprise, he was ready to take on every challenge.
"What are you?" He barked. "Start talking!"
Gudras tilted his head by a side.
"I am Gudras."
"Yeah, i get it. But i haven't asked who are you, but what are you." Irilgen pointed out.
Gudras seemed to think on the question for a bit. When he talked, he did it slowly.
"I am an aspect of Nurgle." He said. "An emanation that the Grandfather has unleashed upon the galaxy to be unbounded by the burden of divinity and return to the old times. You can even say that i am Nurgle, yes, just another, smaller version of him."
Just after saying those words, surprise took him. And that where it had came out?
He made a mental shrug. Meh, it felt right enough, he supposed.
Irilgen was watching him with suspicion. He had no idea what Gudras' words meant, not the slightest clue, but he didn't want to appear ignorant. He had a family honor to maintain.
"This Nurgle you are talking about…" He said, booping him with his sword. "Is he a bad guy?" He had to make sure of that at least.
Gudras opened his mouth, then stopped, thoughtful. Was Nurgle a bad guy? Was he a bad guy? Well, he brought delicious plagues to everyone and loved every and each creature of the universe equally. So…
"No." He shock his head. "I am a good guy."
Of course he was.
Irilgen didn't look very convinced.
"And what are you doing here, mh?" He apressed. "Didn't you know that this is Eldar territory?"
Gudras exchanged a glance with Slimy.
"Well…" He looked a bit sheepish.
"Well?" Irilgen bopped him on the stomach with his sword.
"I…" Gudras looked at his shuffling feet. "I think that i am lost."
Irilgen blinked.
"You're… lost?" He repeated.
Gudras nodded.
"I was on an errand for my father and, well… i lost my way." Gudras' form slumped slightly.
"Oh."
The toy-sword hang low as Irilgen rubbed the back of his head. That changed everything! He was a lost kid! Even if he looked like a ugly frog, with a true frog between his hands. Still, he was so little! What even he could do?
He felt bad for having threatened him like that.
They remained both silent for a moment, atmosphere hanging thick with unease for Irilgen while Gudras seemed taken by his own thoughts.
Thankfully, Slimy decided to croak in that moment, and Gudras shook himself from his daze.
"You said that your sister is a Farseer?" He asked.
Irilgen nodded with a bit of hesitation.
A big smile cracked the large face of Gudras open.
"Then, maybe she will know where i can find what i seek!"
"I.. don't know." Irilgen said slowly. "She has very important stuff to do…"
Gudras took an air of calm solemnity.
"Well, then, i will find her and then i will talk to her when she isn't busy, is that ok?" He said, with all seriousness.
Irilgen eyed him suspiciously. "Only that?"
"Only that."
"Is that a promise?"
"It's a promise."
Irilgen nodded, a smile breaking out over his face.
"Then, i'll come with you!" He declared.
"Really?"
"Yes! I want to talk with my sister too!" He said excitadedly. "And then…" He puffed up his chest proudly. "If you're lost, i will help you to find your way back. That's what a true Eldar warrior would do!" He wanted to apologize for his behaviour too, but that he didn't say it. Not that there was need after all.
"You're very brave." Gudras said solemnly.
Irilgen had to repress a snicker while pink tinted his cheeks.
"Let's go!" He declared, the enthusiasm of adventure blasting away the rest of his doubts.
Of informing his caretaker not a chance. He would stop him with another of his fairytales about prudence and whatnot, and then he was no wimp that needed help to deal with a little thing like that. So, the child took his backpack, stuffed Gudras in it and sneaked out of the house.
The pathways of the Craftworld were elegant and sleek, and Irilgen dashed through the sparse crowd, attracting glances left and right. Still, enthusiasm pumped into his chest and he didn't care.
"Still." He said while running. "I am not very sure where my sister could be right now."
He scolded himself for that. He had to remember it sooner, what a dummy!
"Don't worry." Said Gudras' placid voice from his backpack. "I can perceive her position."
Irilgen almost fell down.
"Y-you can?"
"Yes."
Irilgen felt a sense of marvel.
"What even are you?" He asked.
"I told you. I am Gudras."
"That's not actually an answer."
"You fear my powers? Wimp."
"I-i am not a wimp, i told you! A-and i don't fear anything!"
"Good. Then run. We're on the right path."
"I fly!"
The strange duo disappeared into the crode streets of the Craftworld city.
Yrithiel lowered her staff, her delicate features twisting into a frown.
Something wasn't right.
She turned around, meeting Caerabar's gaze. The warlock's concern mirrored her own.
He could feel, like her, the twisting of the strands of fate. They were churning, curling, taking new shapes.
Yrithiel's gaze snapped at the crowd before her. She and her retinue were inspecting the streets in search of spiritual abnormalities. A line of Guardians in the colors of Biel-tan separated her from the Eldars going about their businesses.
The Farseer' eyes narrowed. The strands of fate churned around her, a sea of golden locks in movement.
Her gaze moved to an Eldar walking between the crowd while talking with a friend. It was unremarkale, really, just another citizen going about his day in the Craftworld.
The strands twirled, then gathered, then returned to their places once again.
Yrithiel increased her concentration. No, weren't the fates to change. It was her own ability to predict them. It was like… like…
The Edar she was looking made a gesture in the middle of the conversation. A normal movement to emphasize his words.
… like, someone was interfering with it.
Yrithiel's eyes snapped wide open, realization flashing through them.
"On your guards!" She yelled while raising a hand, a nimbus of power blooming over her fingers.
The projectile, small enough to almost being invisible, crashed against her kine-barrier, shattering in fragments.
Still, she had seen and caught only one. Other three shattered against her wards and those of her chief-warlock, while others sank into the necks and through the armors of the Guardians all around her.
The world exploded into action.
Eler dashed forward, her sword a blur of light. While almost all the Guardians fell without a sound, dark figures bounded out of the crowd, wicked blades flashing in their outstretched hands.
The exarch met them in a clash of blades that resonated through the entire street.
At the same time, a psychic message echoed like a thunderbolt through the entirety of the Craftworld.
"Mon'keigh spaceships have been sighted. Prepare for battle."
Yrithiel exchanged a rapid glance of understanding with Caerabar. That attack wasn't a coincidence.
It lasted for a brief moment, then the Farseer had to focus her attention on the figure dashing toward her.
She raised and hand and let loose her attack. A blast of lightening exploded from her palm, darting forward in burning tongues. Her assailant dodged it with superhuman speed, before cutting short the distance between them with a lunge. Yrithiel gritted her teeth when the blade smashed against her kine-shield, psychic whispers attacking her mind at the same time. It felt like a licks of black water sloshing against her skull.
"Dark Eldars." She noted mentally.
And right now, the Craftworld was orbiting around a supernova, using the death throes of the star to recharge its sails.
No, it wasn't a coincidence at all.
From aboard the gargantuan Emperor's Wrath, Lord-General Astorius watched with utter contempt the image displayed on the great monitor of his bridge. The Craftworld of Biel-tan, an offence to the Imperium and the Emperor itself, hovered into space like some sort of bloated fish.
Astorius registered with barely contained scorn the elongated form of the enormous ship, the fins protuding from it, the domes and its delicate radiance.
It was an offence. And it had to be eliminated, the space purified by its filthy presence.
"All ships in position and ready." His second-in-command said, a solemn look on his face.
Astorius nodded. A sense of grim satisfaction already lessened his disgust while he leaned toward the trasmitter.
"Soldiers of the Imperium!" He declared. "It's time to put an end to these savages' vile assaults over our beloved worlds! To all the forces under my command, strike with the Emperor's fury itself! Destroy the Craftworld of Biel-tan! Attack!"