Shadows rose, consuming scarce light as I heeded deeper into the heart of Il'sariadh. The air was rich with the fragrance of freshly spilled blood and blooming nightflowers, a blanket wounding around the jagged black spires slicing into the sky akin to teeth of a ravenous beast. I took a deep breath, invigorated by the omnipresent energy, feeling truly alive.
As I sauntered, a gathering of eldar at the base of one of the spires caught my attention. Their laughter bubbled in the air like a finely aged wine, tinged with a sprinkle of malice and mischief, promising the entertainment I sought for myself today. Yes, they would make a fine company.
"Place your bets!" bellowed one of them, gesturing toward the summit above.
The crowd erupted with cheers as a xeno was pushed over the edge. Its screams filled the air, a symphony both haunting and exhilarating. My heart quickened in anticipation as the xeno flailed helplessly, arms and legs thrashing wildly, plunging towards the jagged ground below.
"Five slaves on the left spike!" shouted one eldar, excitement spilling from his voice.
"Ah, look at how beautifully it flies!" called another, his melodic tone layered with macabre delight. "If it hits there, the blood will paint the spire exquisitely! Three slaves!"
"Four for the split!" a third giggled.
The xeno crashed into one of the spikes, a visceral splatter silencing the crowd momentarily. Then, we all shouted in gleeful unison, some of the eldar immediately engaging in fervent discussions about the peculiar flight path of the xeno and the artistry of its demise.
"The head was cleanly cut off! Perfect landing!"
"Told you so! Pay up now!"
"Such a true testament to the beauty of carnage," one of the onlookers wiped a tear from her eye.
The head rolled free from the body, grotesque yet beguiling. It tumbled across the ground, glistening in the pale light, finally coming to a halt at my feet. Frozen in a grimace of terror, mouth agape in a final scream, it was akin to a mottled tapestry of colors. The bloodshot eyes remained wide open, sparkling with an eerie luminescence, as if the last flicker of life still clung to something inside.
"Curious," I whispered, picking it up.
The texture beneath my fingers was shifting, flesh pulsing and quivering under my touch with an unsettling fluidity. I blinked, and for a brief moment I caught a flicker of familiarity brushing against my mind. It resembled an eldar now…
"Something is wrong," I murmured, a strange sensation creeping along my spine.
The flesh erupted, a horde of scarabs spilling forth, their dark carapaces glistening like obsidian. In ravenous eagerness they crawled over me, an overwhelming tide of sharp mandibles burrowing deep into my skin.
I lurched back with a gasp.
"Waking up already?" came Fia's voice, pulling me fully from the dream.
It was the middle of the night. Countless stars painted the sky above, casting a soft light over the forest. I turned to see the veraphraxes soundly asleep in the underbrush, their regular breaths peacefully serene. Fia sat nearby, keeping watch, gentle breeze ruffling through her hair, the ranger's silhouette sharp against the luminous backdrop.
The nocturnal choir of wildlife sang serenely; distant chirping of crickets accompanied by rustling leaves, filling the area with a sense of deep tranquility, in a stark contrast to the sensations filling my dream.
"I had a nightmare," I breathed, the images still vivid in my mind. "It's strange. I can't even remember when was the last time I lost control over my dreams."
For someone who had walked a Path of the Dreamer, this was highly irregular. Such loss of control would be a sign of slipping deeper into Khaine's embrace - if not for the distinct absence of the ecstasy accompanying combat and bloodshed. Though, in all honesty, I would have preferred that, instead of dreaming about marvels of what would be considered a cheap pastime in Commorragh. For there was an undeniable excitement I remember feeling in response to this horror…
"For Cegorach's sake, you too? I thought mine was the effect of Korhil's constant nagging," she scoffed. "Or maybe you both conspired against me?"
I cast a quizzical gaze towards the rifle Fia carried. It housed a spirit of a long-deceased eldar, one who refused returning to the Infinity Circuit, claiming he was an integral part of the weapon she had earned.
"When has it started?"
"Korhil first mentioned them once we approached the island. As for mine; just now, during your earlier watch. Bloody scarabs…" she shuddered.
+Oh woe, my children. The madness stirs. The swarm hunts. She's no longer three steps behind!+
"Heard him? He keeps up with those jumbled attempts at poetry instead of communicating plainly," she furrowed her brows, trying to mask her concerns. "Since we landed here, he has become even less aware of his surroundings than usual. "
"For the dead reality itself is akin to a dream. If we've been influenced by something, Korhil might be more susceptible to it," I wondered. "He mentions swarms, you - scarabs. I wouldn't say they were the main feature of my nightmare, but the theme remains too similar for mere coincidence."
"At least the veraphraxes sleep soundly," Fia said with a touch of envy, her eyes drifting toward the peacefully snoring creatures. "I wish I could do the same. As if orks alone weren't enough."
"Is it finally getting too interesting now for your liking?" I laughed.
Despite the looming, unknown danger, relief washed over me. If there was an external source to my dream, it meant that I wasn't unknowingly slipping towards the Path of Damnation.
I deftly caught a pebble Fia had thrown warningly, "we'll see if you maintain this mood over tomorrow. Let the veraphraxes rest till dawn. Come morning, we scout for this vol'gitz tribe. Nightmares can wait for another time."
As we ventured deeper into the mainland, the veraphraxes grew increasingly skittish. They flinched at the rustling of leaves and any louder sounds emanating from the forests below. Coupled with Korhil's repeated warnings about the awakening of 'swarm', both Fia and I felt uneasy. At least, in a fleeting moment of clarity, he managed to pinpoint the towering volcano as the source of his distress.
"We found no other traces of orks so far, let's investigate this first instead," I suggested.
The veraphraxes needed a lot of coaxing, but ultimately carried us in the direction of the looming volcano. As we got closer to it, changes in local wildlife became evident.
"No local dragons dwell there anymore. Only squigs."
Elsewhere, the diverse fauna of Onellon fought and rivaled against the orkoid ecosystem. Here, they were suspiciously absent. Colossal Wyrm Squigs bared jagged fangs at each other in displays of dominance. Unchallenged by dragons, the twisted serpentine beings competed with each other, be it for food or territory.
As we soared past above, one of them lunged, snapping at a lesser squig that flapped its wings frantically to evade its maw. Flailing, it crashed into the midst of Horned Squigs, the beasts immediately lurching at the unfortunate flyer. However, before they could have feasted on their prey, the Wyrm growled menacingly and charged, causing them to scatter in a frenzied attempt to survive.
"Could they have killed-off all the animals here?"
"We wouldn't have seen regular fauna just a hundred meters earlier. It's as if they all have simply fled," Fia guessed.
"The veraphraxes would have surely wanted to. Let's move on."
As we flew further, a grotesque sight caught our attention. A carcass of a freshly slain Wyrm Squig lay sprawled across the ground, being devoured by a group of bloated, beetle-like squigs. They scuttled over the decaying fungal matter of their gigantic cousin, their shiny carapaces pulsing in sync as they frantically gorged themselves.
"Ugh, are those Scarab Squigs?" the ranger said with barely concealed disgust.
"I wish I had never known such things existed," I agreed.
"After today's dream, I'll never look at the insects the same anymore."
When we finally landed on one of the massive outcrops surrounding the volcano, the sight only confirmed what we've been already suspecting. Not only the nightmares originated from here.
Previously, we assumed the ashen clouds surrounding the volcano were merely a result of its eruption. Now, from our vantage point, we had a full view of the area previously hidden by the outcrops and the fumes.
It was a massive rift valley spread between the outcrops and the foot of the mountain. Geysers of fire and magma erupted sporadically on the volcanic ground, countless rivers of lava cutting through the valley, bathing the terrain with fiery glow.
"Vol'gitz and volcano, how creative of the orks," I said dryly, lacing my unease with sarcasm.
The whole place teemed with orks, it was a sprawling encampment built at the base of the volcano. It was brimming with activity; laughter, shouts and guttural chants were filling the air, mixing with a deep rumbling coming from the earth itself. Orks and gretchin hustled around, clad in or carrying mismatched pieces of armor and metals.
"They even built mills over the lava rivers," Fia mused.
"I'm more concerned with the amount of their boiler boyz."
Out of the countless dwellings, each adorned with a variety of trophies and scarps, what caught my attention in particular was the vast number of makeshift workshops. Forges, smitheries, lavamills, and many others, scattered throughout the encampment. Even from a distance, amid the general din of the place, I could discern an unmistakable clang of metal striking metal, the sizzle of welding and the hissing of steam. I noticed some of the orks laying groundwork for Kans and other vehicles, as well as producing strange contraptions that were unidentifiable to me.
In a brief span of our observation one of the workshops exploded in a sudden conflagration of green light, laughter erupting from nearby orks as they marveled at the sudden destruction.
"You know, with how often and eagerly they enter the caves at the base of the central mountain, I'm starting to wonder if this is really a volcano," Fia said.
There were scores of grots moving in and out, a handful equipped with pickaxes and various tools while most slaved under the weight of bulging sacks filled with unidentifiable goods, darting to and fro between the workshops.
"A mine perhaps?" I shook my head. "I think that isn't within the scope of things the exodites expect us to deal with on our own anymore."
Muttering in assent, we retreated back to a more secluded part of the forest. Here I sat onto a large stone, retrieving my worn pouch of runes. It was the same which I have received upon stepping onto the Path of Thought-talker, a tangible link to the times I had first learned about mysteries of the Skeins. Even with fabric frayed from years of use, it served me better than any alternative I could have procured over the years.
After all, such connections were important in matters pertaining to the Immaterium.
Soon, I settled into a familiar breathing pattern, one ingrained into thought-talker-me. I prepared to reach out to the Val'Nae'Runth.
I anticipated it to be an ordeal. This was not merely conversing with Fia, who remained close by, nor engaging with other Asuryani, whose wraithbone armors were deliberately designed to ease such communication. He was distant; both physically and metaphysically; I've met and conversed with him only a few times during my stay on Onellon.
Nonetheless, the difficulty of the task caught me off guard. The currents of the Skeins felt particularly uninviting, and I struggled to grasp them with my will, much like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.
Or perhaps, I merely tried to find excuses, having grown complacent over the recent passes, allowing the fine craft of telepathy to atrophy, reveling in my newly found ability to physically traverse the Immaterium as a Warp Spider.
Fia's growing impatience became an almost palpable sensation before I managed to latch my mind onto a particularly strong current. It washed over me, as I steered it towards the psychic echo of Val'Nae'Runth.
I shared what we have learned about Vol'gitz, the images of our findings weighing heavily upon the connection.
+The last time Dragon Riders scouted those lands was two years ago. The mountain was calm, without any visible natural caves, nor volcanic activity. They never saw the need to explore it further. But such is the nature of Onellon; it changes quickly. However, the tribe you found is concerning. Wait.+
I felt a soft tug on our connection, indicating a third mind joining our conversation. It belonged to Marlya Spiritbranch, one of the Currentshapers, whose role mirrored that of the craftworld seers.
+The Skeins are clouded. I perceive a potential for great danger within the mountain, but its true nature eludes me. Something obscures my attempts at scrying. I shall consult Currentshapers of different tribes; perhaps together we manage to unveil this mystery.+
+The yearly moot has been already planned. In a month, the leaders of all tribes will gather to decide which orks warrant sending a warhost against them. Having more in-depth knowledge about the true extent of the danger posed by those Vol'gitz would facilitate the preparations,+ Cydamyr Starshade's displeasure was echoing through the currents. +We must prioritize our enemies and assign adequate forces against each of them. The means employed by the Currentshapers may take long and ultimately bear no fruits. Since you are already there, I would like you to utilize mundane methods to ascertain their capacities.+
From the inhabited continent, it would have taken an eldar flying on veraphrax in a straight line around two months to reach here. The warhosts were bound to move slower. The sheer logistics required to organize them efficiently, especially if there were also threats elsewhere, was a foreign concept to me. If only they had the convenience of a well-developed webway connection or at least access to Asuryani vehicles for quicker transportation…
+It is not our way. We do what is natural, not merely easy nor convenient. Here lies the thoughts that led to the Fall,+ the Currentshaper admonished me.
My thoughts must have bled through the link.
+We have our own pride too. We won't be asking the craftworlders for help if you were going to suggest it; not for as long as we can deal with our problems ourselves,+ Cydamyr reasoned.
Given his argument, it seems that over the time we spent amongst the tribes, we had ceased to be mere 'craftworlders', and Onellonans had begun to recognize us as one of their own. Regardless, it wasn't like they had forced us to take up the mantle of Dragon Riders; both Fia and I had volunteered for it, fully aware of the expectations placed upon us.
+More scouting it is, then. What about the tribe's boss? Should we attempt to remove him?+
+With the unusually high numbers of Meks within the tribe, it is plausible that the current leader possesses means to promote their position and encourage their growth. If another were to take command, it may change. Yet, if his death incites infighting, we risk the orks becoming even more advanced through the struggle. If the tribe scatters, its remnants might also uplift lesser tribes. What would you advise, Currentshaper?+
+The currents are elusive, and dangers creep within all streams. Though, whether the boss lives or dies, the mountain remains their main source. If its secrets were to be revealed, we could offer better counsel.+
Cydamyr fell silent, his presence weighing heavily as he contemplated the options.
+As Val'Nae'Runth, I expect you to prioritize gathering intel. If an opportunity presents itself to kill the ork, take it, but do not seek him recklessly. If possible, I'd prefer the tribe to remain unaware of our presence.+
+Speaking of information… have there been any other conflicts on Onellon? The weapons used by Vol'gitz seemed… peculiar, for something they crafted on their own. Also, all of us experienced a varying degree of unease and nightmares,+ I relayed Korhil's warnings and recounted the strange behavior observed in the local fauna and the veraphraxes.
+We have no such records. Nor have any other Dragon Raiders experienced similar symptoms. What is possible, though, is that the orks are unearthing devices left by the original Waaagh! that first crashed on Onellon and adapting them for their own use.+
Eventually, I concluded the communication and shared what I learned with Fia.
"So no less than three months, realistically more than five or six until the warhost arrives here. Honestly, I am fine with not engaging this tribe. We would scout the caves, inform the exodites, and move on to scout somewhere else. Have I told you that I hate massive battlefields?" she rubbed her temples. "Should be easy enough, one, two days tops. Whatever we find, it will be their problem to deal with."
I cast her a wry glance.
"Stop. Giving. Cegorach. Funny. Ideas."