On a small, temperate world towards the fringes of the galaxy, there lay a planet known to its inhabitants simply as Fall. Colonized and named by a rather uncreative group of settlers during the Golden Age of Humanity, the ship that brought them there suffered a slight catastrophic engine failure and crashed into the world. It is a planet of vibrant forests, majestic plains, and some of the most awe-inspiring mountain ranges in the galaxy.
Cut off from supply lines and unfortunately lacking an STC to create a paradise for themselves the people of this world were forced to do with what they had to hand. Fall provided, but at the cost of a gradual decline. They knew on some level that they were far from the only humans out there, and that they were not born of this world. Indeed though the technology of this planet had fallen ever so far, a scant few records from the Golden Age show that Fall was settled due not only to its favorable climate but its remarkable similarity to the homeworld of Humanity. They know that ancient technology carried them here, and that their ancients possessed wonders beyond belief. Such beliefs would not be uncommon amongst the Imperium, had the people of Fall knew it existed.
And yet as the years passed true understanding of what they once held went with them. Those who live on the planet after millenia of regression believe this to be a gift from their Gods, a beautiful world for the worshippers of their pantheon. They believed that magic ran through the core of this world, whispering to its people to guide or punish them as it saw fit. The Gods themselves must have brought them here, and it was up to the people of Fall to pay due respect to them for granting them such a boon.
Such traditions in any other world would likely draw the ire of the Ecclesiarchy of the most holy Emperor of Mankind, the inhabitants swiftly introduced to the proper forms of worship while the land was introduced to the proper forms of environmental collapse to fuel the Imperium's ever-increasing demands. And yet Fall was spared by sheer distance - out in the Halo Stars, the Imperium's influence is minimal. After being discovered by a passing (and no doubt overly ambitious) Rogue Trader, the Imperium scheduled it to be absorbed into Mankind's dominant realm as an Agriworld. Come the Age of Apostasy however, the Imperium had to contend with far more pressing issues than yet another lost human colony in the middle of nowhere. By the time any further Rogue Traders may have passed by, warp storms prevented any entrance to the sector of space Fall was lucky enough to inhabit.
This ironically merciful fate was not unique to Fall and its inhabitants - the T'au Empire came about through much the same way, perhaps even via the very same warp storm. Fall, however, appeared to have much better luck than the T'au. For despite its perilous position at the Eastern Rim of the Milky Way, it escaped the many horrors known to haunt that region of space. No malicious Xenos to raid the inhabitants, no warp-spawned horrors to tear them apart in mind and in soul. Even the mighty Hive Fleets of the Tyranids seemed to pass them by, failing to notice the planet in favor of greater meals. The very warp, though Fall's people knew it not as such, somehow seemed calm and tranquil on the planet. Despite their precarious placement in the galaxy, Fall seemed almost destined for something approaching peace.
This has led the inhabitants of Fall to develop their own culture without interference from the galaxy at large. They were not forced to rapidly advance their technological base to serve the Mechanicus, nor was their home turned into a recruitment world for some Astartes Chapter or other. Their home was one of mysticism, an appreciation for the land, and a healthy respect for the magical arts. One recent tradition had the inhabitants making a pilgrimage to a powerful seer in the mountaintops. She would rarely speak straightforwardly, yet her advice had come to be highly valued by all those who heeded it.
"Oh gracious Seer," intoned one such pilgrim. "I have come to you seeking guidance! My people have suffered the most terrible of famines. The river no longer gives us what fish we need to survive, and the sky itself has abandoned us! Please, Seer, how can we overcome this trial? Are we to be cast aside by the Gods themselves!?" The pilgrim seemed on the verge of hysteria. Shaking in his boots and head cast downwards, he awaited outside the simple yet elegant hut the Seer resided in. For what seemed like hours yet was only a few minutes she did not appear, and the pilgrim wondered if she too had forsaken him and his tribe.
As he was prepared to turn around, resigned to damnation by his world, he heard the sound of footsteps echoing throughout the hills around him. He looked up and saw exactly as the stories of others described - a tall, thin figure dressed in robes of unequaled beauty. Gentle greens and blues cascaded into one another, giving the appearance of a Dryad stepping out of the forest to come greet the pilgrim. The pilgrim was ecstatic. 'She has come! The Seer has deemed me and my people's plight worthy!'
The Seer stopped at the entrance to the hut, speaking nary a word. For what felt like even longer did she remain in the entryway, and the Pilgrim once again felt doubt. Had he misjudged her? What if she was simply deeming whether or not he was worth her time? Perhaps she would refuse to help him, and his people truly were doomed. Or worse still, what if she judged him not just unworthy of guidance, but unworthy of this very world? The Seer's wrath was not often spoken of, but no doubt of being of such wisdom carried power in equal measure! The pilgrim once more began to shake as terror gripped his mind. 'Should I run? But what would I tell my people, my friends, my family!? Could I even get away before she cast her terrible judgment upon my very soul? Oh Gods above, I never should have-'
"East."
"...what?" questioned the pilgrim.
"What you and your people seek lies East. You shall know what you require once you and yours have found it." The Seers voice seemed to echo around the mountainside, coming from across the trees. It seemed to come from everywhere, and at the same time only from the hidden mouth of the Seer beneath her hood. The pilgrim was stunned. For a moment, the shock of it all threatened to overcome him. The moment passed, and he was filled with a joy he had never felt in all his years. His pleas were answered! Travel Eastward, that was all they had to do!
"Oh thank you, great Seer, thank you! You have saved me and my people from the surest of dooms!" The Seer said nothing once more. The pilgrim turned to leave, as did the Seer, and yet suddenly found he had one more question.
"Um, oh great Seer?" Silence.
"I was wondering if you could, ah." More ilence.
"You see there's this woman in my tribe. She is beautiful beyond measure - surely not moreso than you, of course!" he hastily added, not wanting to appear irreverent. "She is the kindest soul I've ever known. Aside from you, in your infinite grace of course! Would you know how I could win her heart?" The silence, far more deafening than any that had settled upon the pair thus far, was almost suffocating.
The Seer turned once more, her head turned to the side in an almost quizzical manner. For a brief moment, the lovestruck pilgrim would have sworn he saw her form shimmer. Suddenly in his palm was the most beautiful stone he had ever seen in his life. It glowed hues of greens even more vibrant than the Seers dress, and in his hands it seemed to calm his very soul. The pilgrim felt in that moment that if he held onto this stone, his very being would know tranquility forever more.
"Oh thank you, Seer, thank you! You've done me and my people more good than I can ever dream!" The pilgrim bowed as deeply as he could, and began the long trek back home. The Seer watched him depart, before returning to her abode once more.
Sigh
Sangala Rhea was many things. Tired. Vaguely amused at how the people of this world thought she was some great seer. A Dark Eldar. Most importantly however, there was one thing that Sangala was nearly every waking moment of her life ever since her exile to this backwater planet.
Stoned out of her Khaine-damned mind.
"All I did was say go East," muttered Sangala, "and he acted like I single handedly brought him to Isha's garden." She took off the robe her Kabal - 'ex-Kabal,' she reminded herself, had taken from some exiled Eldar house or another without a Craftworld to protect it, and plopped herself down on her sofa.
"Still not sure if I even need to wear this thing anymore. I don't think these Mon'Keigh are as rabid about 'purging xenos' or…whatever they go on about all the time." She paused for a moment, before giggling to herself.
"Pretty funny though. 'Oh great and mighty seer,' pffft."
Sangala Rhea, as you've no doubt figured out, was not a mere mystic hiding in the mountains. She was a Drukhari, a member of those Eldar who saw the folly brought about by the actions of their ancestors and thought that it looked like a rather tame way to spend a Sunday afternoon. At sixty Terran years of age, she was hardly more than a newborn. Doubly so given her Trueborn heritage.
'Not that it helped,' she thought to herself as a wave of self-pity came about. All because of a joke the Archon of the Kabal she joined apparently wasn't much a fan of. A joke! The Kabal's most talented member and one of the select few lucky enough to be Trueborn was cast aside because of a harmless bit of fun! All she wanted to do was surprise the Archon just a bit. Backstabbing was practically a sport, but just passing the hours by was apparently a step too far for the Dark Eldar!
It did not occur to Sangala that stuffing an Ork into the Archon's closet appeared to the untrained eye much closer to an assassination attempt than a prank. Doubly so when it was revealed the Ork had apparently eaten a bomb squig that had somehow failed to detonate until exactly thirteen seconds after its untimely death at the hands of the panicked Archon.
Sangala had an interesting sense of humor.
The Drukhari sat for some time, staring off at her blank ceiling and wondering what she would do for the rest of her day. She had no shortage of things to keep her occupied - books both ancient and new, a few holovids nicked off of Imperial merchant ships. One of them somehow had a Necron Tesseract Labyrinth amongst its cargo, and the Dark Eldar had used it to store quite a bit of loot. Sangala guessed the Imperials either didn't know what they had, or one of its more important members was hiding it in plain sight to be retaken later. As it was, it was now serving as her personal vault of goodies. She managed to make off with a great deal of valuables before the Archon managed to find her, taken both over her years of service and in her mad dash to escape. Thankfully, the rest of the Kabalites were too busy laughing to listen to his angry demands that she be drawn and quartered, then quartered and drawn. Sangala wasn't even sure how that one worked, but she was in no hurry to find out.
Ultimately after what felt like minutes but had mostly likely been hours, she decided to do what she had come to do the most since she came to Fall.
Wallow in self-pity.
"I was to be the next Archon. Just a few more raids, just a few more captured slaves to be sold, and I would've been the next Archon. The next Vect! Instead I'm stuck on some backwater world in the middle of scenic nowhere, population me and a whooole lot of Mon'Keigh. At least they don't shoot at me. Not like those damned Iyanden Eldar I got this coat from." The Spiritseer who wore it yelled something about Isha when she took it. Sangala couldn't care less, she just thought it looked nice.
Talking to herself was another hobby Sangala had picked up since her stay on Fall began.
She took the Tesseract Labyrinth and stepped outside to watch the sun set. 'I thought it was morning when that human came by.'
It was, but such is the passing of time for those whose lungs contained more Smokeleaf than air.
"I wonder what they'll find out East," she wondered. "Probably something eventually. 'sa big planet after all. Whatever I say seems to work out for everyone else. Can't imagine they'd keep bothering me otherwise." In truth, most of Sangala's predictions managed to come true. Helped in no small part by the fact they were little more than the first thought that came to her head, all she really did was inspire the people of Fall to take action. Salvation came their way more often than not, if only because they thought a light in the tunnel had been found and were determined to reach it.
She shook the Tesseract Labyrinth around a bit and reached into it. She had no idea if this is how they were supposed to work - she never encountered them herself, but she heard higher-ups in the Kabal speak of them as if they were prison cells for those unlucky enough to be captured by the Necrons. Or something like that.
Ever since she emptied most of the trinkets and other odds and ends she had out of it, Sangala mostly just used it for holding snacks.
"At least it's quiet here. Nobody to tell me what to do. Odd how I never feel the Thirst out here. Makes my life easier, I guess." How the soul thirst that afflicted the Drukhari failed to affect her was a mystery indeed. She chalked it up to another perk of her Trueborn heritage.
"And today wasn't so bad!" She exclaimed to no one in particular. "I got rid of that spirit stone that was bugging me. Stupid Spiritseer, see how she likes being stuck with some lovestruck human. All I did was take her coat. Not like it was some ancient relic of our dead gods."
It was, in fact, an ancient relic of the dead Eldar gods.
"And," she mused, talking through a mouthful of some pastry or another, "those damned rats didn't raid my fridge today. Someone should've told those Dark Age Humans or whatever not to raise them so big. I swear I heard one of them talking once."
Hours went by, and the sun gave way to the twin moons of Fall. One a small white orb, another a larger rustic red color, they were a sight to behold. Even Sangala could appreciated they were beautiful. She had, after all, spent countless hours staring up in the sky as she ruminated on her fate.
Three years. It had been three standard Terran years since Sangala was forced to adopt Fall as her new home. She did not know how long she would be forced to remain on this world. The Webway portal that had taken her refused to cooperate, and even if it did she feared reentering would end in a messy death at the hands of her former Kabalites. Standing up to return to her hut and retire for the night, Sangala Rhea took one last thoughtful look at the nature around her and sighed.
She wondered what she would do tomorrow.
Authors Note: Haven't written a story in a hot minute. This may remain a oneshot, or maybe it'll be something I return to every now and again. Either way, if you're wondering what in God's name the inspiration for this story is, allow me to explain.
First off, the Dark Eldar. More specifically, The Deldar from an AU of 40k referred to as MidHammer 40k I believe, where things aren't quite Grim and Dark but it's not a pleasant stroll in the park for everyone. In it, the Dark Eldar as a whole aren't the ones we know and love (to hate.) They exist in the Kabals, but the overwhelming majority of Dark Eldar exist in a state of melancholy in the rundown streets of Commorragh. They don't need to torture to survive, they don't desire to be the sweatist of sweat goblins. They just sort of…exist. Trying to push the situation and reality in general out of their minds with whatever minor pleasures they can find, be it drinking or just each other's company. And while I didn't necessarily want to write a story in that little setting, I thought it'd be fun to write about a Dark Eldar stranded who takes on this lifestyle. Without her being surrounded by other Drukhari, and being young by Eldar standards (not that we've ever gotten an official statement on what THAT means) our dear Sangala has been given a chance to be something a bit nicer than most Dark Eldar.
Nicer is relative of course. There's only so many ways a Dark Eldar can get ahold of a Spiritseers valuables. Even less ways for said Spiritseer to end up inside the spirit stone.
Nicer by Dark Eldar standards.
And secondly, Rimworld. Amazing game, I'm perpetually anxious when I play it. Highly recommend it. There's a few way it influenced this story. One of the things from that game that can happen is that your colonists can become stressed and have a mental break. One of those mental breaks is "Dazed wondering," where they reach a breaking point and just kind of walk around and exist. Combining that with the MidHammer AU interpretation I mentioned earlier, and you get how Sangala views life. Another inspiration is Fall itself. In Rimworld, Humanity spread across the stars but never quite figured out FTL travel. So over the centuries of separation, some human worlds regressed in technology. Be it through war, lack of resources, or whatever else you can think of, you get tribal societies that have regressed FAR back in the tech tree. Once highly scientifict and rational peoples now fear the shadows for what daemons may lurk in them. It's very 40k, I think. It's also where I got the terms "Smokeleaf" from, as I'm sure will plenty of other references if I continue this. That and it feels slightly classier than just saying Sangala is smoking a ton of pot in her wallowing. Obviously the same thing, but feels a bit more proper.
Another fun fact about Rimworld is that your colonists behave like completely irrational, insane human beings. You will confine a colonist to bed because he is sick with the flu and will die without rest, he looks at his slightly dirty floor and goes "my room looks like shit" and then wanders into a field because that was the last straw that triggered a mental break. If/when the Humans of Fall make an actual appearance beyond one desperate, slightly lonely pilgrim, expect them to behave like that. Fun times, I expect.
As for the general tone of this story, who knows really. I intended it to be funny in a real dry way, then it got real melancholic real fast. Both I guess is what I'm aiming for.
Some last miscellaneous stuff is that with this, you might notice that Sangala doesn't talk like you might expect a Space Elf to talk like. That's because I'm not a Space Elf, and don't really know how a Space Elf would properly talk. Probably all mystic like, but again - not a Space Elf over here.
There may be a few lore bits you look at and go "huh?" at. I'm throwing in the occasional bit of homebrew lore that if this continues on, may be expanded upon. If it doesn't, feel free to slot it into your own headcannon however you wish. I'm writing a fanfic after all, homebrew's my bread and butter. It won't be dominant by any means, just the occasional reference is all.
Also, since I feel her having this thing is a bit of a longshot, allow me to explain why I chose to give her a Tesseract Vault and make her collect trinkets. One is that I like kleptomaniac/museum curator type of characters. It's a personality trait in fiction I always find fun to read, and it can be quite narratively convenient. If Trazyn pulled out some artifact from a long lost civilization that just so happens to help him out in a tight spot, you just go "Oh that's just Trazyn, he's probably got loads of crap like that." Same idea. Of course, the other reason, and this one is very important because it'll explain a lot about this story and any future chapters so pay close attention, is because I thought it'd be funny. A member of an ancient race using a powerful relic of another, even more ancient race as a snack bag. Makes me giggle.
Anyways, I've rambled on long enough. Hope you enjoyed reading and have a good one!