Author's Note: I cannot for the life of me figure out if Eldrad is still a member of the Seer Council of Ulthwe or not. So we're going with he is. If he was exiled, they let him come home. Move on, nothing to see here…
When the refit of the ship was done and they were given their next mission, Oramoton was deeply apprehensive yet, he also saw an opportunity.
"We're going to Solemnance." What?! Why? "To deliver these to Trazyn the Infinite… here, you should take a look." Valdar offered him a folder. Oramoton took it, feeling baffled, and opened it. Inside were pieces of paper, placed in archival slips for preservation. That seemed a bit odd, as they were clearly very recent works and not the originals, just very good copies. Oramoton flicked through the images of an alien organic race, pausing a bit over the landscapes and the sketches of figures in front of them.
"N-Necron architecture, but this species is u-unfamiliar to me," he said, moving back to the portraits. Valdar and Casimir exchanged a glance and Oramoton felt like he was missing something. "What race are t-they?" Had some xenos race discovered their ruins and adopted some of the necron culture? That had been known to happen on occasion.
"Oramoton… they are necrontyr." What? "Recently, a Necron Warrior was awakened with full memories of the Flesh Times. She was able to work with a sketch artist and produce these portraits." Oramoton stared at Valdar before looking down at the pages he was holding. He felt a great disbelief but as he looked at the female, he realized the truth of the matter. She was wearing the symbol of the Uhnashret Dynasty.
"This is t-truly…?" Oramoton moved to the colored images, staring at the portrait of the male. A commoner of the necrontyr, he suddenly found it deeply moving. "This is what we l-looked like?" A great wonder filled him as he gazed at the image. It had been so long, they had all forgotten. Oramoton had always rather agreed with Orikan, that Trazyn's fixation on the past was absurd but even so… "H-How incredible." To finally see themselves again, that had great meaning. He was sure everyone would think so. Well, aside from the Maynarkh Dynasty but they were noted for being incredibly psychopathic. Oramoton was sure they would just toss these pictures aside.
(Oramoton vaguely wondered what would eventually be done about the Maynarkh. Their ethos could not be more diametrically opposed to the Sautekh, they were fated to come into conflict, unless the Imperium of Man could crush the Maynarkh first)
(from what he knew of them, that was unlikely)
"Isn't Trazyn the guy who robbed your Tomb World and took your staff?" Sisus asked and Oramoton nodded, still looking at the pictures. "You could always stay on the ship while we deliver these." That made him look up from the portraits.
"N-No… I want to speak to h-him." Oramoton had no idea if it would do any good, but this was an opportunity to get his staff back. He desperately, desperately wanted that, it had been given to him by the Phaeron, so long ago. Valdar and Casimir exchanged another glance and Oramoton easily interpreted it. "D-Do not be concerned. I k-know we have no power." He intended to give Trazyn the only thing he could… a heartfelt apology. Perhaps the High Archaeovist would take pity on him. If not, nothing would be lost but his pride, and Oramoton felt like that had already been flattened quite thoroughly. It was unlikely that Trazyn would detain him or hurt them in any way… if he'd wanted to do that, he could have done it when he'd taken the staff.
"Hm, well, if that's what you want. We just need to get these papers to Trazyn," Valdar said before taking back the folder and putting it away into a sealed compartment. "Settle in everyone, this will be a bit of a trip." Oramoton nodded before going back to the game he had been playing with Sisus. Valdar handled their exit from Hope, and they plotted the course to Solemnance.
The tiny scout ship would make the trip faster than anything but a very lucky warp drive, but it would still take them a while.
Even after so long, things can surprise me.
Eldrad Ulthran, greatest Farseer of craftworld Ulthwe, examined the globe in his hand thoughtfully. Such a strange material, it was a silvery grey and had a grain that made it resemble wood. Eldrad gently breathed his psychic power into the globe, easily enough to completely flatten a Baneblade, and watched in fascination as the globe glowed brilliantly, containing the power with ease. Then he gently drained it out, accepting it back, and the glow faded.
"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant," Eldrad murmured, tapping the globe. He knew – he had started with three – that if he did anything at all physical to it, like crush it in his fist, the globe would pop like a soap bubble. They had no durability at all, unlike Wraithbone. But what they could do was remarkable.
Eldrad was also startled that a tiny colony of humanity, that was arguably much worse than any of their kin in the ability to manipulate the Immaterium, had created such a unique substance. Although he knew the story behind it now… the person primarily responsible for this was a natural soul healer, who had been altered by the Spear of Ancients to be more powerful. Given his abilities, the nature of the material made complete sense.
Carrying the little globe like a precious thing, Eldrad went to join the Council of Farseers. He had information and advice to give them, and this little thing would be used for a demonstration.
Eldrad was part of the Council, though, and once they had met he waited patiently for his turn as they discussed many pressing concerns. Of particular concern was the matter of the Night Lords and their failure to turn aside that fate. It had yet to happen, but all the signs were that it was still aligning to be a tragedy for Craftworld Ulthwe. Still… despite how important the lives of their diminished race were, there was something even more important than that.
"What is that thing you have, Eldrad?" Ah, what an excellent segue to his concerns.
"This is a new material with some similarities to wraithbone. It is called 'ghost wood'." Eldrad said as he gently set it down upon the Council table. It rolled for a moment before he gently stopped it. "It was difficult for me to acquire, but well worth my time… it has very unique properties that I believe will be of great value in our efforts against She-Who-Thirsts." That caused a brief silence around the table. Countering Slaanesh was of course their top priority, but all Eldar felt a great despair at the thought of it.
"Can you expand on that?" One of the oldest members of the Council leaned forward, gazing at the ghost wood intently. Eldrad nodded.
"First, let me explain where it came from. It is a human made material, from a far-flung colony named Hope. The colony belongs to Imotekh the Stormlord." That made a coldness enter the room. Everyone remembered that Imotekh was a great enemy of the aeldari, even if it had happened long before even Eldrad was born. "The material itself was invented by someone who can barely be called human… you likely already know of him, Overlord Manric Duleth. If you don't, he is a natural born empathic telepath who has been augmented and refined by the Spear of the Ancients, then converted to a necron body, but maintaining his soul." That made his species rather confusing, in Eldrad's mind.
"This material was created to manipulate souls and as you know, empathic telepathy is the natural gift of a soul healer." It seemed like fate, that everything had come together so neatly. "It is a very strange thing, incredibly fragile." It certainly couldn't be used the way they used wraithbone. "Yet… watch." Eldrad picked up the orb and demonstrated the way it could absorb and hold power. Then, he went a step further… standing up, he gently called upon the Infinity Circuit. It responded well and surrendered some of the souls it contained. Eldrad gently poured them into the ghost wood and it glowed again, feeling beautifully warm in his hand.
"Is it acting as a small Infinity Circuit?" One of the eldar said in a tone of surprise and even awe. Eldrad nodded.
"Yes… honestly, it is a very one-dimensional substance compared to wraithbone. It only does this one thing, but it does it exceedingly well." Eldrad gently returned the souls of the dead to the Infinity Circuit. How many had that been? At least fifty souls, he thought. "And this has changed all of my visions."
"Every time I have tried to find a path to victory, to recover the final sword from She-Who-Thirsts gardens, I have foreseen only failure," Eldrad said gravely and the rest of the Council was grimly silent. Many of them were Farseers and had tried as well, but no one had seen anything of use. "Until now. Now, I see a path to victory and it hinges upon this," Eldrad tapped the ghost wood. "In my visions, the right composition of heroes could penetrate all the levels of the gardens. They could reach the sword… but not penetrate the final guard. The sword is held in a barrier composed of thousands of aeldari souls, held in eternal torment. It is not a barrier that can be breached by anything we have, not before our champions would be overwhelmed by the daemons."
"Until now, until this." Eldrad picked up the ghost wood, cradling it in his palm. "Manric Duleth can create and carry dozens of these and each one can hold roughly fifty souls. With the mental abilities of a true soul healer, he can break the souls out of their torment and funnel them into the ghost wood, stealing them from the grasp of She-Who-Thirsts. Then we can claim the final sword to summon Ynnead." Eldrad paused for a moment. "However, to do any of this, we must do one very difficult thing… bargain with Imotekh." That was actually quite a problem. Eldrad could see numerous paths to success, but each one required some kind of massive concession that the Council, and often the Craftworlders as a whole, would choke on.
"Bargain with the ancient enemy? Are you mad?" Well if they couldn't even get past THAT idea, this was going nowhere. Eldrad resigned himself to a lot of back and forth and bickering as the Council debated even the idea of talking to Imotekh.
They were truly going to lose their minds when he told them some of the things he knew the Stormlord would consider an acceptable trade for Manric's services.
"Oh yes! This show is pure genius! I have not seen something this good for centuries!"
"Uh?" Tadutep said, roused out of his calculations of force and inertia. "What are you on about now?" He had no idea why the Cryptek was so fascinated by this show in particular. Semephren had been watching it for what felt like days.
"This play was written most excellently, by someone who considers absolutely everything. I have seen necrontyr works of lesser quality." Hey now! "Every single plot point pays off and if there is something that catches your eye and particularly if it repeats, it WILL be paid off in the end. I have just seen something I predicted come to pass."
"Oh? What is that?" Tadutep asked, mildly curious. Semephren was not loathe to explain.
"Do you remember those two necrons acting as extras? They joined the story as I predicted but their appearance in the background was explained by the fact that they were observing the main character. One of them brought with him an organic pet, what humans call a 'monkey'." Semephren changed the screen and Tadutep got to see a furry little creature with surprisingly articulate hands. What was it doing? "In this scene, it picks a lock. At first it seems to just be an abnormally intelligent, animal assistant."
"But I knew it was too smart. In another scene… here, let me show you." Maybe he shouldn't have asked… but the scene changed to the monkey looking at a set of necron runes? "In this scene, the animal can clearly read our language. He acts on that knowledge later in this scene." Tadutep scoffed.
"An animal read our language? PAH! Absurd!" He said and Semephren nodded enthusiastically.
"Indeed! Which led me to the conclusion that this was NOT an animal." Ahhh. That was interesting. "And in the grand finale of this season of the play, I was proven correct! It seems the 'pet monkey' is actually a demonic entity not affiliated with chaos, the Monkey God Hanuman. He stepped in just as the main character and his necron allies were about to claim a great prize, an item that could have dispelled the demons entirely from New Hope, and claimed it for himself. As he did, he gave a rather nice speech about how he'd pretended to be an animal for thirty-three years, all for this moment." Tadutep still wasn't going to watch it but he was starting to understand what Semephren was so excited about. "I am so glad I was able to see this." Although, this seemed excessive. "I would have been sad not to finish it before our time comes to an end." Wait what?
"What are you – oh." The door hissed open and Tadutep wondered what sign Semephren had seen that their time had come.
They could have tried to resist and Tadutep did contemplate it, but his intelligence did not just come into play when calculating naval maneuvers. He could easily calculate the likelihood of a badly stripped Overlord and a Cryptek who was noted for never throwing a punch in his life, defeating three Immortals and another three Necron Warriors. The odds of their success were hovering around zero, so Tadutep just gave up and went along. Semephren seemed to feel the same, behaving and specifically staying away from the one Immortal equipped with a power whip. What was that about?
(Semephren could recognize a weapon designed to inflict minimum damage, but absolutely maximum pain, specifically on a necron body)
(it was hard to make weapons that would activate necron pain sensors, but not impossible)
They were taken, together, to what seemed to be an experimentation room and they were both restrained within a force shielded platform. Then they were joined with a human in a lab coat and what seemed to be a Necron Overlord?
"Who are you?" Tadutep asked. He didn't recognize this Overlord at all, which was a bit odd if he was sworn to Uhnashret. They didn't have THAT many Overlords, he thought he'd known all the notable ones.
(Manric's body had been slightly remodeled before the transference so he would not be completely identical to the original owner)
"This is General Duleth and you two are very lucky to be getting his personal attentions. Also, I am Researched Zivok." He hadn't asked and didn't give a damn about some worthless organic. "General, please, I know you have difficulty tolerating the pain of others but please take it slowly? We only have seven more sentient test subjects and I do NOT want to ask Imotekh for more."
"Yes, I know. I will do my best to demonstrate my technique to you," the Overlord said and Tadutep wondered what they could possibly be doing. Well, he wasn't going to ask –
"Ah, if I might ask? What exactly are you doing to us?" Semephren would do it for him. Tadutep basked in the faint glow of achievement, that he'd correctly predicted the Crypteks actions.
"We are giving you souls." Wait, what? "In case you wonder why, it is because this appears to be a fool-proof cure to the Flayer virus." WHAT?! "We believe that the curse can't recognize you as necrons if you have a soul, since your kind are by definition soulless." That… would make sense… but a soul?
"Where did this soul come from?" Tadutep asked, dreading the answer. It had to have been harvested from organics.
"Everyone asks that… human clones, grown specifically for the purpose. Necrontyr genetics are not available, I'm sure you understand." Well he wanted to be sick but yes, he did understand.
"How fascinating! Does this cause a change in quality of life?" Tadutep rolled his optics. Manric was ignoring them, attaching something to his body and Tadutep twitched slightly at the odd feeling.
"I'm told it gives a feeling of 'life'. Very vague, I know, but all of our recovered subjects indicate a substantial increase in quality of life." Recovered? What did that mean? Then Tadutep started to experience warmth.
"Uhhhh…. ARGH!" Tadutep choked on a scream as the warmth quickly built into pain. "Make it… stop…!" He'd never experienced a pain like this in his life, it felt like he was being slowly atomized.
"I will… oh god, I will, I just have to let Zivok watch. Forgive me, forgive me," Overlord Duleth muttered while making apology glyphs that Tadutep could barely see. Then he tapped his chest cartouch and it was like a drop of water was dropped on a raging forest fire. It did nearly nothing, but it had the intention to help.
That continued for an unconscionably long time, with little moments of soothing interspersed with agonizing pain. Yet, after what seemed like an eternity yet was only perhaps thirty minutes, his pain began to genuinely ease. Tadutep felt an incredible, flux deep feeling of fatigue. It reminded him a bit of one time he'd remained fully awake and aware for over a month.
(while necrons did not experience tiredness like an organic, or need to sleep, they did require some time to run internal maintenance or they would suffer consequences)
"Very good, I believe I caught most of that," Zivok murmured, gazing intently at what was happening and taking notes. "We should be able to replicate this with several of our psykers. Although it's regrettable that this will always require a personal touch, it simply cannot be done by non-psykers, unlike the soul transfer process."
"It's most regrettable for me. I think I know who is going to be in charge of conducting the re-souling operations on Mandragora," Duleth said, still gently tapping his chest cartouche.
"Well, and so you should be. Even if Imotekh was willing to come here, can you imagine any of the psykers here actually working on him? They'd have a nervous breakdown at the thought." Tadutep could easily understand that. An organic inflicting this kind of pain on the Stormlord? Even with full consent, he'd be in absolute dread. "I would only trust Zelda to do it, honestly, but then she is your daughter."
"A point I suppose… we can send the less, hm, imposing members of the Dynasty to Hope for their re-souling. The Crypteks for instance. Are you about done?"
"Very close…" Manric murmured and Tadutep thought to ask.
"What do you prefer to be called? Duleth? Manric?" Humans often had more than one name, he knew, and the last normally indicated their lineage. Still, it was pretty variable which one they preferred to use, from what little Tadutep knew. The Overlord tilted his head slightly to one side.
"General Duleth is my formal title. Manric is for those I know and respect." Duleth touched his chest cartouche again and Tadutep felt a kind of relaxation. He was actually feeling rather nice now and he could see what they meant by a feeling of 'life'. It was hard to define, but he felt more… present than he ever had before. "For now, you may call me Duleth. If things change between our Dynasties, we will see."
"I wonder if they might," Tadutep murmured. It was almost treasonous to say, since he was sure Sautekh had designs on the Silent King, but the acquisition of souls might be an excellent bribe. What had Szarekh done for them anyway? Besides lead them down this path of ruin and misery? As General Duleth moved on to Semephren to repeat the process, Tadutep thought about it. What would the Phaeron of the Charnovokh make of all this? What would the other Dynasties?
It was going to be interesting to see.