Farseer
Liridainn stared longingly at the vast expanse that was the infinity
circuit of Ulthwé. It was teeming with tiny crystalline spiders,
ever vigilant, protecting the psychic core from alien emanations. He
exhaled a stagnant breath and returned to his duty.
He
pulled a large stone from underneath his robe watching its inner
light flicker and dance as if alive. After running his hand along its
smooth surface he held out the flawless stone and pressed it against
one of the long branches of Wraithbone reaching out to the top of the
Dome of Seers.
As
the he began his dirge a low vibration could be felt through the
intertwined construct. His mind drifted to thoughts of Gaeolina, the
Spiritseer that had recovered the stone. She had led a small host of
wraith constructs to return the spirits of the lost to the
Craftworld. She was young, with vibrant blue eyes that made people
underestimate her. His mind returned to the task at hand. The
mourning song reached its apex and the crystalline bone spread over
the stone leaving only a small portion exposed, housing it forever
within.
The
song ended and a swarm of tiny gem-like spiders phased onto the stone
spraying their dense webbing across its surface. When they finished
their webbing made a thin skein that only left minor visible traces
like glowing threads when light shifted around it.
Another
Eldar spirit had been entered into the infinity matrix denying She
Who Thirsts one precious soul. His younger brother, Farseer
Veilynndorr, who had once wept in his sanctum at the shallow talent
of his precognition, had died on the outskirts of the human hive city
Sladenkamp.
Liridainn
removed the protective filter that was his Ghosthelm and surrendered
to the undulating sea of psyches so that he could once again hear his
brother's voice.
-----
Veil
removed the remaining shards of his Ghosthelm and let them drop like
discarded rubbish from his long, elegant fingers. The wind howled as
it swept over the mech dunes, bringing with it the slick scent of
industrial lubricants.
Unlike
the other members of the Rune Council Veil had no gift for
prediction; however he was powerfully in tune with the present,
seeing in perfect clarity events at which his fellow seers could only
guess.
That
was how he knew the truth that had been hidden from the Eldar of
Craftworld Ealfynn. He knew the dark deception of the armored
Mon-Keigh psyker and his secret affiliation. He was assigned to
outskirts of Sladenkamp under the order of the Imperial Inquisition,
but intended to fulfill his own sinister ends. The wicked mage had
found out the Seers of Ealfynn and the primitive Mon-Keigh sanctioned
seers (always under the careful watch of a commissar) were working
together to find secret knowledge. This so-called Librarian had
intended to twist this situation to serve the Lord of Change. The
Ealfynn themselves were, in part, to blame, as they had worked with
the Imperium to block this venture from the seers of Ulthwé.
Veil
managed to get a warning to the rest of the Rune Council of Ulthwé
about the presence of the traitor before the heavily armored division
of Space Marines arrived. Yet, Veil was blind to the future and
worried that inaction now would cause a greater threat to the
Craftworld in the future. He decided to send back the strike force
of rangers and guardians to stay behind and deal with the foul blot
of mental power, forever banishing the heinous psyker to the Warp.
He kept only a single Guardian squad and one Warlock disciple as a
retinue.
He
untied the knot holding his hair, letting it flow freely. The Force
Rod the Librarian wielded had shattered his Ghosthelm and effectively
severed his connection to the Warp as without the protection of his
helm he would quickly suffer the predations of She Who Thirsts.
Daemons would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame. For the first
time in a millennium he was purely dependent upon his physical
senses. It was at this point, alone, his retinue slain and his
defenses shattered, when he was at his most vulnerable, that his
enemy struck.
Veil
spun and lashed out with his Witchblade tearing through the thick
armor of his enemy. The Librarian reeled back, allowing a better
view of the gash as it healed itself, proof he conspired with the
dark gods. They fought fiercely, their weapons clashed repeatedly,
flowing over the sound of the Mon-Keigh’s insidious laughter.
In
the rubble of the war torn city Veil stepped wrong and sloppily fell
forward, leaving himself vulnerable to attack. A surge of light leapt
from the fingers of the Marine and struck at Veil rendering him
blind. In a moment of panic he tumbled backward before another bolt,
one of the blessings of Tzeentch, pierced the protective wards of his
Rune armor and lifted him off the ground. His body thrashed, wracked
with unspeakable pain, but in his head he heard the voice of his
destroyer.
“You
are too late, witch. This world had been claimed by the Lord of
Change long ago. Already I have spread the mark of my lord through
this blasted city. They will no longer worship that Corpse God; they
will only worship me! The name Guiomme will be sung in the Annuls of
Terra when Abaddon breaks that wretched throne and the minions of my
Lord ravage the forbidden tomes of arcana and I stand at the helm of
his victory.”
The
lightning increased in intensity and his thoughts scattered like
flower petals drifting on the wind. He could no longer remember what
it was that had brought him to the planet, or the discovery he had
made. All that was left were the emotions of his evaporated
memories. Veil chose to let go of the last strands of spirit holding
him to this body in order to make one final blow against his enemy.
He opened a rift between the very fabric of the warp and reality like
a churning maelstrom of doom with thick purple tentacles of
non-reality that lashed out and wrapped around Guiomme, dragging his
entire being physically into the Warp.
The
traitor Librarian used his considerable will to fight his way back to
reality. “This is not the end of me! I will return to do my
master’s bidding! I will return and conquer the whole of this
world! I have not yet begun to-” the snap of the rift implosion
cut off the last of his words, but it was clear he had failed in his
attempt to once and for all destroy the Librarian Guiomme by
banishing him to the miseries of the warp. He had secured his kin
some time to amass a force to fight the burgeoning infection of chaos
and took some solace at that as his spirit slipped gently into the
warm embrace of his Spirit Stone.
-----
Liridainn
jumped into awareness. He pulled a brace of runes from the pouch at
his side and cast them into the air. As they danced and twirled
around him he focused upon the skein of fate trode the myriad paths
of the future. He watched without emotion as the companies of
Imperial Guard fell to slaughter under the banner of Guiomme. Once
sladenkamp fell the entire planet marched for the Lord of Change.
Over and over he watched the cogs of the future slowly turn, and each
variation saw the triumph of Guiomme and the nearby cluster of warp
storms evolving to a second Eye of Terror that would lead to the
destruction of Ealfynn and Iyanden Craftworlds, and ultimately would
see Guiomme lead an assault on Ulthwé
itself.
There had to be a path to victory, a way to save his people. He
could find no answer, until the moment he found nothing. Nothing was
the only way he could describe the sensation of this path. It
was as if something actively blocked his ability to look forward.
The mystery had suddenly ignited a spark of hope. He would go to
Sladenkamp and find out what Veilynndorr
had known. Without warning his feeling of hope shifted to hate.
His
rage had surpassed logic. He felt the pure unadulterated pool of
anger that slept within the heart of every Eldar burst like a dam.
He could sense the groan of excitement and trepidation that emanated from the Infinity Circuit as it stood captive in his agitated presence. Little by little he could sense the pulsing heartbeat that raced throughout its branches like capillaries. It was getting progressively stronger, until he finally recognized it as the life pulse of the Avatar of Khaine.
He
would no longer walk the skein or consult the Rune Council on the
next course of action. His heart cried out for vengeance while
mourning for his loss. He would don his Witchblade, seek aid within
the Shrines of the Aspects, and marshal the guardians under his
command.
The
Avatar had awoken, the ceremonies of blood were being performed, and
Craftworld Ulthwé was going to war.
No comments:
Post a Comment