Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 225

"The adder's poisonous bite, is your tongue," Vitcos sub-vocalised with a chuckle.

"Attacked me he did, the aggrieved party am I," Sechura sniffed.

"A look from you is as the Arcupine flashing its tail," Ilquitio snorted.

Vitcos added, "Still t'was an amusing exchange, warm my nights will the memory of Il-Tzak's frustration."

The Smoke Jaguars grinned under their helms, those that wore them. Tachna was at the fore, stomping along after the Censors. His ire was great, as was his frustration. That bloodshed went unrepaid struck to the core of him, his bond as a Headsmen was onerous and could not be denied. Yet he was under command of He Who Must Be Obeyed to work with the Censors, and to defy Vendrick would end their association. Tachna was caught on the horns of a dilemma, and Vitcos was loving it. To see his hated rival flummoxed brought him great joy.

Vendrick was leading them to the Strategium and when they arrived it nearly made Vitcos miss a step. A vast hemisphere, deep within the ship, set under a crystal dome. The floor was black marble, threaded with gold, and thrones of sable wood ringed the edges, creating a wide circle. A massive telescope hung overhead, suspended not by wires but by shimmering Grav-fields. To the heavens it pointed, swollen with strange crystals and numerous mirrors. Not into the ship's guts did it peer, but into realms of Immaterium. Vitcos had no idea how he knew that, but one look told him it was true.

At the heart of the Strategium Lazar waited, the Magos bristling with impatience. His lanky frame was quivering with excitement, as the young swain awaiting his true love. The shadowy inquisitors numbered four today, hanging back, content to watch as always. Vitcos was starting to wonder if they ever spoke at all, or were mere constructs to feign observance. An idle thought that maybe Lazar had taken over the whole ship, replacing fickle allies with Servitors, Vitcos wouldn't put it past the Magos.

"There you are, late as always!" Lazar cried as they entered.

"Magos, we were busy dealing with an incident," Vendrick stated.

"I care nothing for your petty squabbling, you are brutes, made for war only. Of course you butt heads like it is mating season."

"You made us to be this way," Belphian muttered.

"Be silent Censor 2.3, lest I take you apart like a defective Servitor!"

Vendrick bristled at that, "Magos, discipline is within my remit, not yours."

"Oh do be silent!" Lazar snapped, "I have no time for this, Calan Gaeav has been found!"

Shocked gasps rang around the Censors, each of them seemingly stunned. Vitcos frowned at the announcement, confused by what could have provoked such a reaction. He eyeballed Vendrick and saw a strange blend of shock, denial and eagerness on his face. Like a Doan setting out on his Proving, seeking the greatest prey of the jungle to display as a token of merit for the assembled Firsts. He'd never seen such emotion on that craggy face before. The Stone Eye did blink.

"Surely not," Vendrick stated.

"It has been confirmed by our Oracle himself!" Lazar prompted.

"Ehvael's predictions are useful, but Calan Gaeav has been lost for six centuries."

"Six hundred and sixty-six years, to be exact," Lazar corrected.

"Then there is a chance at retrieval?"

"More than a chance, the prospects are favourable, we can complete the greatest mission of the Censors!"

"The Final Phase," Vendrick breathed, "I never thought it would become reality."

Vitcos chimed in then, "Where does Calran Gerav lie and whyfore should we care?"

"You don't know of Calan Gaeav?" Lazar blinked.

"Spake of it you have not," Vitcos rejoined.

"They don't need to know," Vendrick retorted.

"Deny truth and be my enemy," Vitcos snapped.

"This is the highest of high-priority missions and you are not ready!"

"The wrights of the underverse fear our passing, you do not know what horrors we have faced!"

"This is a Censor-only matter, and you have barely begun your Augmentation!"

The argument was cut short as Lazar slammed his staff down on the hard floor. Instantly a Hololithic projection sprang up, lurid and purple and pulsing obscenely. Swirls of colour battled for dominance as if madness could be made into a single image. It was split by a single ray of clarity, branching out from a hard iron pellet, a Fortress of sanity in a sea of unreason. All flinched, despite their Hypno-conditioning, for every Space Marine knew it well. The Occularis Terribus: the Eye of Terror.

Tachna snarled, "A pox upon your soul for revealing such calamity!"

Vitcos agreed, "The abode of Devil-sons and Ruin unbound!"

But Lazar chuckled, "How limited your understanding is!"

"Understand we do tis a realm of madness and despair, where skies weep blood and ancient stars burn cold. Discord, terror, the nightmares of a galaxy made real."

Lazar nodded eagerly, "Yes, yes, all that and more. You know what your varied Chapters want you to know, but there is so much more history to it. The Eye of Terror was not always as it is. Once it was the heart of an ancient and powerful Xenos empire: the Aeldari. A race who dominated the galaxy since before mankind stood upright, their glory unmatched, as was their fall. Their people were consumed by a disaster we cannot imagine, the last remnants scattered as Craftworld Eldar, Dhukari and Exodite. The heart of their empire left to rot as a cosmic afterbirth!"

Tachna growled, "Xenos history bears no weight with me."

"But this should," Lazar uttered as the Hololith zoomed in on the perimeter, "Calan Gaeav, the remotest outpost of their dominion. A launching point for expeditions into the galaxy beyond. It was the furthest harbour they owned, and the last to be consumed by disaster. It lingers, even now, on the edge between oblivion and salvation. Bathed in the warp for centuries at a time, but the Eye is fickle, it waxes and wanes. Every six hundred and sixty-six years Calan Gaeav emerges into realspace and become accessible."

Vendrick took up the tale, "Six centuries ago Damiel, the original Censor, was sent on a mission to Calan Gaeav. The objective is classified, so don't ask, but he went in alone to face whatever lingering horrors dwell there and snatch what we needed. The last Astropathic transmission from his ship was a mission accomplished signal, but before he could exfiltrate the Eye surged and the planet was cut off. We assumed he was killed..."

Lazar cut in, "But if the planet is restored then his efforts were not in vain! You can finish what Censor 1.1 started, complete the mission and fulfil your potential at last!"

Vitcos was intrigued, for it was a most lamentable tale. One lone hunter, stalking the blasted wastes of a Daemon-world. Trusting on his guile and wits to confound whatever wild phantasmagoria lingered in the ruins of a dead empire. Strength would be meaningless on such a hunt, only skill and daring would count. Even so, doomed would be any soul thought braved that nightmare labyrinth but Vitcos had always spat in the face of fate. To complete such a hunt-quest would see his name ring loud in the Stair Abyssal for all eternity.

Vitcos lifted his voice, "The Sons of Sedaxus shall undertake this hunt!"

"We shall?!" Ilquitio blinked.

"You shall?!" Vendrick started, "Over my rotting corpse!"

"Who better to stalk the halls of the dead than those born to pass unseen?" Vitcos rejoined.

"I see you easily enough, and I say you are not going anywhere!"

"Then who shall you send?"

"I shall go alone," Vendrick stated firmly.

It was then that Lazar boomed, "You alone, I think not! This mission has already taken by my best and brightest subject, you are not his equal. No, this mission will require the application of every asset we have, without reservation. You are all going, whatever state of augmentation you are in. Sufficient upgrades you have to withstand the temporal lensing, so you are all hereby deployed. The Censor project is under my authority, and that is an order!"

Vitcos enjoyed seeing the consternation flash in Vendrick's eyes, the wish to protest battering to get past his teeth. But swiftly his iron discipline asserted itself and his face became still. Mull-ic indeed, unwavering and bound by iron fetter. He would not defy Lazar, at least when dealing in matters within the Magos' remit.

Lazar waited a moment then declared, "Censor 1.1 gave only the scarcest details of the terrain before his window of evacuation closed. I have analysed the few known details exhaustively and judged he wasted too much time scouting the land, searching for signs of his target. Therefore to optimise your search I shall provide a guide, one who can steer you past obstructions with ease. Behold!"

Everyone turned as a trundling Servitor rolled into view, pulling a large black bier on wheels. Steam cascaded from the sides, and a hum of motive force burred in the ear. Vitcos leaned over to peer within as it rolled past and saw a Stasis-field, within which resided a strange creature. At a glance one could mistake it for a man, but only for an instant. Too tall, too thin, with almond eyes and a cruel glint to those over-large orbs. Pointed ears and long black hair, and sharp silver runes on a dassmar-silk robe of midnight. An Eldar.

Gasps arose but before anyone could speak Lazar stamped his stave once and the stasis-field vanished. Instantly the Eldar was in motion, trying to leap clear of the bier. He was brought short by iron manacles at his wrists and ankles. Vitcos noted the inhuman way the Xenos' spine bent, far beyond human tolerances and the tightness of the muscle. Even from a prone position he could have leapt higher than a man with a running start, were he not bound.

A sharp imperious voice uttered, "Release me Mon-Keigh!"

Tachna barked over the demand, "This Xenos filth must die!"

But Lazar stated, "You will need him!"

Vendrick spat back, "Only two types trust Eldar: fools and dead fools!"

"It is necessary," Lazar stated firmly, "You cannot succeed without one who understands the terrain."

The Eldar snapped, "I will give you nothing, you brutish malformed cretins! You should never have crawled out of the mud of your homeworld!"

"You will be their guide or suffer the consequences!" Lazar snapped irately.

"You think I fear pain; I feast on pain! It is my bread and wine!"

"Obey or die!"

"I will not suffer one more moment in your idiot chains! Release me!"

"You will comply!" Lazar barked, "You will lead them to Calan Gaeav!"

A moment of stunned silence, then the Eldar's eyes darted to the Hololith and back. In an instant his entire demeanour changed, becoming slouched and easy. Despite being chained he seemed as content as a feline on a fence, utterly at home wherever he happened to lay. Vitcos felt like predatory eyes were on his back, as if being stalked through a dense jungle. No respite was this, only the moment before the pounce.

The Eldar grinned slyly, "Calan Gaeav you say... that is a different matter entirely! You wish to tread the soil of a Crone World, and who better to be your pathfinder than a Ranger?! Of course I will show you the glories of a race beyond your feeble imaginings, for the small price of my freedom naturally. Come friends, let us discuss this in better surroundings. You may call me Arthra J'rect, and it is my honour to be your guide."