Tymons first night on this world was not uninterrupted. Either the squawk or scream of some native creature would shock him into a state of half consciousness, or his own body would deny him the right to comfort on the medical stretcher that was his bed. However, when he did finally awaken to the start of the day, his body beneath his overalls and amour was damp with sweat while his eyes stung not only from the piercing daylight, but from his own sweat dripping into his eyes from his brows. Yawning, the guardsman stretched his arms outwards and then, propping himself up against his elbows, looked at the end of his makeshift bed to find the heater still doing its job, albeit a little too well throughout the night. Weary with tiredness, Tymon sat up with his flak vest still stuck to his torso. He unclipped the light piece of armour beneath his arms and, after removing his helmet, took the chestpiece off over his head and placed both pieces of equipment by his side. Immediately, his chest and his almost bare head were struck with a sudden cold as the fresh breeze drifted over his moist skin while a vain attempt at clearing some of the sweat from his head resulted in him simply running his hand through his centimeter long, unkempt brown hair. Other than this, he almost blankly stared forwards and at nothing in particular while his mind and body was waking up.
With another yawn, the guardsman grunted as he slowly got himself up and onto his feet, feeling his joints clicking and snapping from the hours of motionlessness in the cold night of his new home. While Tymon's mind was at least partially awake, his body comparatively was not. Every bit of motion caused his joints to ache from the seemingly non-existent yet ever present pain that was his half asleep body. However, this would not last as Tymon picked up the heater, turned it off and made his way out of the half constructed tent where his bed resided. With the intent of getting himself some breakfast, he opened up his survival bag and grabbed the partially eaten slab of nutrient brick that was inside, taking a couple of frugal bites. While Tymon was not particularly hungry, he knew the importance of the day's first meal, though the bland taste and slight smell of burnt cabbage was not particularly appetising. As he was chowing down, he remembered the stockpile and the crates he had moved the previous night, he also remembered that among them was a crate labelled 'nutrition bricks'. He figured there must also be one for water purifiers or other survival equipment refills. With that thought he recalled the objectives he had set himself yesterday and, picking up the heater, went straight over to the stockpile which he had inadvertently left a mess last night. The vox-box remained untouched, yet there was an irrational sense of relief in Tymon as he made his way over to the clunky device, heater in hand, almost as though he thought something would come and destroy it just like the command tent. Although, considering his situation with the planet and its unliving inhabitants, that relief may not have been entirely irrational. He put the heater down next to the vox-box, resting atop one of the crates and turned it around, revealing the battery pack and, above it, this time only three lights were lit; two green, one red.
"So it's days then..." Tymon said to himself, noticing that the number three was red this time. Moments later, he removed the battery pack from the portable heater, slotted it into the vox-box and switched the power on. Then the guardsman watched as the small display flickered into life like last time with the numbers '300.5' being shown again and, with admittedly little hope, Tymon reached for the microphone, and prepared to broadcast.
"This is private Tymon Kim, 57th Farsighters, broadcasting in the blind to any imperial forces planetside… I'm located at prospector three, but I'm alone and have no uplink to foxtrot charlie… If anyone can hear this, please respond…"
She was snapped out of her meditative state upon hearing the vox-cast which was rapidly making the irrational thought of not being alone a reality. Quickly the eldar focused her thoughts once again, mentally commanding her helmet to analyse the broadcast, what frequency it was on and… It turned out to be the same frequency as that burst of static yesterday.
"I repeat… this is private Tymon Kim, 57th Farsighters, broadcasting in the blind to any imperial forces planetside… I'm located at prospector three, but I'm alone and have no uplink to foxtrot charlie… If anyone can hear this, please respond…"
The voice was sounding weary now, almost hopeless. She considered answering, but it certainly was not the voice of an eldar. Then she realised, if perhaps a little late; 57th farsighters, the alien name, he was a human, a 'private' in the scout legion that was sent to this world. She was alone on this vaul forsaken planet, with a mon'keigh. The striking scorpions rambling thoughts were promptly interrupted by a notification from her helmet's HUD: 'TRACKLOCK SUCCESSFUL, DISPLAY COORDS?'
Kneeling at the entrance of the small tunnel her camp was set up by, she contemplated going to these coordinates as the notification hovered on the top right corner of her HUD while gently flashing. On one hand, she could try to use the mon'keigh to her own ends, like a tool to increase her own chances of survival, but on the other, could she really tolerate being alone on an alien world with only a small minded, dim witted being for company? She could just imagine some of the imbecilic things this excuse for sentient life would do, yet at the same time, he could be useful. With that final thought, she simultaneously listened, yet also ignored the part of her mind that yearned for company besides herself and mentally ordered the helmet to display the coordinates. Then she commanded her stealth systems online and started on her way to 'prospector 3' according to the coordinates given.
"I repeat… this is Tymon kim…" The guardsman, likely for the tenth time, spoke his message into the microphone and after waiting another twenty odd seconds for someone to answer, he had lost hope, placing it beside the vox-box with a sigh. At this moment he felt truly alone, sure whoever may be left on this planet probably does not have a vox-box, but it was seeming less and less likely that there were others besides him. No one had returned to prospector three and on his way back, he saw nothing but the trees and those weird looking bushes, not even other corpses. Then the guardsman froze in fear, did the 'necrons' use vox-boxes or some xeno equivalent? If so, he had just given away his position in the stupidest way possible. He looked around, quickly running back to the half built medical tent to find his lasgun and, with that, the other objective he had set himself came to his mind; fix his lasgun, the frontal lens was still shattered and without it, the lasgun was effectively a glorified heater with the added bonus of singeing ones hair if it was used it as such. Tymon then quickly made his way back to the stockpile to look through more of the crates, trying to put aside the terrifying thought of possibly having to abandon prospector three.
'Survey supplies', 'mobile ordnance kit' judging by the somewhat larger and older looking box, it was likely a mortar. Why such a heavy piece of hardware was taken to a survey mission, was beyond Tymon, but either way the kit was practically useless to him. The guardsman's search went on; 'Preserved H2O', 'Rangefinders', 'Lasgun maintenance kits/comps'. As soon as he read those words, he eagerly lifted the crate off of another, almost outright dropping it onto the ground as it slipped through his grip and landed upon his boots. Their hardened synth-leather caved slightly, but not to the point of crushing his feet. With ease, he withdrew his left boot from beneath the bulky crate, but his right boot would have to be levered out because now the crates' whole weight was resting upon it. With some effort, he managed to twist the boot out from beneath the crate resulting in it thudding onto the ground. Swiftly ignoring his now slightly warped boots, he quickly set about opening the crate and inspecting its contents and, once its latches were lifted and its lid opened, he peered inside, finding three familiar rows of cases, one of which was thinner than the others. This is where the hours of monotonously dismantling and reassembling his lasgun would come into play. He grabbed one of the thinner cases, took it over to his makeshift vox-box assembly which, as far as Tymon could tell, had remained silent this whole time, and opened it up to reveal a pristine and well padded lasgun barrel accompanied by three spare frontal lenses. Without a second thought, he picked up his lasgun, releasing the clamp that held its currently broken barrel into place and slid it off, immediately replacing it with the spare one.
There's no way this barrel is broken, he thought and, with that, he pointed the weapon at the ground in front of him and pulled the trigger, causing the weapon to release an all too familiar beam of red directly into the ground, blackening the small spot it touched.
"Right… Now I can defend myself" Tymon whispered. Although he was relieved at the fact that he could fight back if he had to, it was overshadowed by the thoughts that prompted him to fix his weapon in the first place. What would a single lasgun be able to do to another one of those eight legged horrors if twenty could not even slow one down. Once again, Tymon tried to ignore the thought of another engagement with one of those spider things as he instead tried setting about trying to solve his power crisis. There was three days worth of power in the heaters battery pack, probably less now that he used it in the vox-box. He remembered the plasma microgen crate and figured that there may be a couple of battery packs within, possibly even charged, or maybe an instruction manual for the microgenerator itself if things truly got that desperate.
It was a relatively short hike to 'prospector three', but she was in position; approximately 35.7 meters away from the origin point of that vox cast her helmet had intercepted and, around what looked like the camp's stockpile, was the seemingly oblivious mon'keigh. Crouching beside a tree that was on the far side of the lit up landing area, the striking scorpion raised her shuriken pistol while the helmet displayed the projected trajectory of where her shots would land. She could kill him right here and he would have no idea what would have happened. In fact, in any fair engagement, she knew that she would win consistently, but the eldar put this thought to the side as she devised a plan to disarm and capture the primitive being alive if necessary. The scorpion had the element of surprise and with it, she had ample time to analyse her surroundings and plan her attack.
The camp itself has virtually no usable cover. He will likely retreat to a defendable position if I reveal myself.
With that thought, she scanned her surroundings, looking for anything he could hide behind while her helmet consistently pointed out the presence of this oblivious radical. The only place anyone could conceivably take cover behind was an upturned tree on the far side of the landing area, closest to the stockpile. Its roughly three foot diameter trunk would do well to stifle her weapons munition. From a distance, she inspected the uprooted tree; its back, relative to her, was against the forest which provided an ideal point of attack due to the cover those tree's would provide if she flanked him. With that observation, phase one of her attack plan was completed; force him into that defensive position. The other components of her plan practically fell into line; Phase two, coax him into attacking so that she could pin him behind his cover in retaliation and finally, phase three; While he's pinned, flank him through the trees and disarm him. Her plan was complete, her shuriken pistol and silent chainsword were primed, she was ready to execute while he was still oblivious and, with that, she quickly, but visibly and without her active stealth systems, darted towards the half constructed tent. Then, once she was in position, she brought them back online.
Tymon was moments before opening the almost daunting feeling 'plasma microgen' crate, but just before he could lift its latches, he heard;
Footsteps? What the frack?
His mind was suddenly racing, was he hearing things? Going insane? He had only slept one night on this wretched planet and it normally takes weeks for psychosis to set in, at least as far as he knew. Incautiously, the guardsman made his way outwards, towards the landing area to get a look at what that was and… he froze… that color scheme… he only saw its arm but he knew that deep blue and vibrant yellow all too well from previous briefings. In the blink of an eye he scrambled back to the stockpile and grabbed his lasgun, quickly darting his eyes all around his surroundings and finding a large upturned tree. With no second thoughts he vaulted the trunk, lasgun in hand and immediately ducked behind it, tightly gripping the weapon close to his unarmoured chest with both hands. If that was an eldar, he would not emerge victorious or even alive in a fair fight, this was a fact Tymon knew with absolute certainty. He was briefed on their weaponry, their weaknesses, their wargear, even parts of their anatomy, but despite wracking his mind for all of this information, he saw no use in any of it; 'Eldar are physically weaker than humans' well they wear armour, 'Eldar shuriken weapons are partially controlled by the mind', all that means is that they can attack at the speed of thought, none of this helped the situation he was presently in. He strained his neck, turning to get an idea of where this less than welcome xeno was.
"Oh frack you…" Tymon whispered through gritted teeth when he saw the armoured enemy eyeing up the stockpile. Seconds passed and his observations only worsened when he saw the damned xeno open up the nutrition bricks' crate, it had found his food. Could they even eat nutrition bricks? No matter, he had to attack, it was about to take away what was possibly the only edible food source on this planet. He theorised, one clean shot to its head should kill it, could it truly be that simple? Once again, he gave no further thought as he quietly primed his lasgun, resting it upon the trunk as he took the long-faced xeno in his weapons sights and squeezed the trigger.
In the blink of an eye, a thin but bright beam of red seared the air between the lasgun and its intended target yet the eldar effortlessly evaded the lasbolt and slipped behind the stockpile almost as though it had foreseen the attack. This lasbolt was quickly answered by two shots from the striking scorpions shuriken pistol, forcing Tymon to duck as they screamed twisted melodies while darting over his head with unnatural speed. Silence overcame the area for the next two seconds as the guardsman poked his head up from behind the upturned tree, ready to fire again, but the blue and yellow warrior was nowhere to be seen. That very fact shot fear into Tymon's mind as he, completely oblivious to the fact that he was exposing himself, came up from behind his defendable position while his eyes scanned his surroundings. Nothing… Then a twig snap… Behind him… He spun on his heels, lasgun in hand and there it was charging towards him while nimbly darting over the roots and between the trees. Instinct kicked in as he discharged his weapon in the general direction of his rapidly incoming adversary. His shots missed, either because he had no time to properly aim his weapon, or because the eldar seemed to merely slink out of the way of all incoming las bolts, all but one. It seared the edge of the warriors helmet, causing the release of a muffled yet female grunt, but before he could hit her again, the eldars chainsword struck his weapon right out of his hands. The unarmoured Tymon was then suddenly greeted with a swift kick to the chest, knocking him down and against the tree. He was about to get himself up and go for his lasgun again, but an array of rapidly moving teeth from her chainsword mere centimeters away from his neck stopped him.
The xeno held its pistol to its hip, only for it to be kept there by some unseen force as it moved that same armour clad hand up to the damaged helmet, there was a deep black scorch-mark accompanied by some minor deformation where the bolt had hit. How the hell did the eldar survive a shot to the head. With a bit of effort, the victorious adversary wedged a finger beneath the helm and, with a hiss and click, its centremost piece came free revealing a somewhat feminine yet eerily human looking face with fairer skin and almost no notable blemishes. Following that, she moved that same hand to the back of her helmet and, with possibly an irritated grunt released something there too as the rest of her helmet came off with a mere shake of her head. The eldar's deep red hair then, as it came loose, fell to its full length around two finger sized pointed ears, seemingly uncaring of the fact that her helmet had just fallen to the ground. Then her attention was focused entirely on Tymon as she shot an undistracted glare straight at him. Why had she not yet killed him, there was every opportunity to do so right in front of her, but she was taking none of them. This did not stop the guardsman from anticipating death however, the thought scared him; he was not giving his life in glorious battle, instead he was pinned against a tree trunk by her moving toothed blade.
Feth this… Tymon thought, if he was going to die, he was going to die screaming.
"GO ON THEN! KILL ME! XENO SCUM!" Screamed the ever patriotic guardsman at his adversary as loud as his strained vocal chords let him.
"MY LIFE FOR THE EMPEROR!"
"STOP BLEATING! MON'KEIGH!" She yelled in return, silencing the guardsman as an irritated glare of hers pierced his eyes. Still straining his neck to avoid the blade, Tymon tried to anticipate what would happen next, but nothing came to mind apart from some stories about eldar taking humans as slaves or simple bodies to be tortured.
Frack! Tymons mind screamed in fear, could she be one of those eldar? He tried to remember the briefings about the various different xeno's publicly known to man, supposedly the 'Drukhari' were a faction of eldar who did this, but they bore armour much different than what he was seeing, at least according to his memory.
"Have you found others?" She asked with a strange accent and almost stunted speech but no longer yelling. Tymons mind now somewhat at ease with the fact that she was no Drukhari, struggled to answer the poorly phrased question:
"What… other guardsmen?"
"Yes, are there others!" She answered, sounding more irritated now.
"Don't you think they'd be here?!" Tymon shot back.
"Give my question an answer!" She demanded, her tone escalating once more. Flinching slightly, Tymon answered again.
"I doubt it… They called a full ret~" The eldar interrupted dismissively.
"I know what your full retreat is, I ask only are there others with you!" Once again her inexperience with speaking the language of low gothic came through with her stunted and heavily accented sentence.
"No… no, I'm alone right now" Tymon answered. The eldar woman probably looked confused for a moment, though this did not last as a stoically blank looking expression formed replacing that relief.
"Then why did you stop your communication?" When those words left her mouth, Tymon immediately felt both angry and stupid, she had eavesdropped on his broadcast.
"You were eavesdropping?" was all that Tymon could muster in response.
"It was not encrypted" She said, sounding as uncaring as she seemed initially.
UN-ENC… Un-Encrypted… Once again, Tymon felt stupid as he realised what 'UN-ENC' likely meant. Moments after his realisation however, she pulled the chainsword away from the guardsman's neck with two words:
"Get up" Tymon, still confused at the absurdity of the situation, clicked his no longer strained neck somewhat before standing up, though his confusion got the better of him as he asked:
"What, you're letting me live?"
"If you can be of use" That response caught him off guard as she stowed the chainsword on her back while mounting the pistol to her hip, that unseen force once again holding it in place.
"What the frack do you mean with that?" She was expecting an answer similar to this. As far as she could tell, he had no idea that she was in an almost identical situation.
"I am stranded too and I intend to survive.. If you will not aid that, you are a threat" With this calculative response, she pointed at the shuriken pistol now on her hip:
"If you are a threat.." the eldar paused, trying to think about how to best convey this message with her somewhat limited knowledge of the language she was trying to speak in:
"Then I don't need you alive… clear?" At least relatively confident he got the idea, she awaited a response while picking up the damaged facepiece of her helmet.
"Right…" Tymon was quickly growing to dislike the situation he was finding himself in. She had pretty much full control over his fate right now and so, he reluctantly asked:
"What's the plan then?"
The Eldar was inspecting her damaged helmet before she tossed it back to the ground, irritatedly stating:
"We are coming to my camp now… to take equipment here" With that, she started making her way towards the perimeter of prospector three. As far as she was concerned, she had lost her helmet due to sheer carelessness.
"Okay then…" were the only words that barely even escaped Tymon's lips as he went to grab his lasgun.
"That stays here" She quickly said before he was able to even touch the weapon. She was not even facing Tymon as she told him to leave his weapon behind. Bewildered, the guardsman shot back, almost stuttering:
"Can I at least get my vest and helmet then?"
