Muzzle
flare after images danced on Farseer Liridainn’s vision like burst
capillaries that splay color across frozen cheeks. In the serene
moments between the bouts of cacophonous gunfire the ruins outside of
Sladenkamp seemed to breath, inhaling uneasily before once again
being rocked by the repetitious thunder strikes of heavy bolter fire
from an entrenched Imperial Guard squad.
Liridainn
crouched against a wall, his Witchblade humming gently in his hand.
His black robes helped him stay hidden in the deep shadows stretching
from the fragments of shattered buildings as he crept along. The
humans were not what he was actually hunting. They were the bait.
Its presence screamed to his mind like a psychic beacon. Esurient
thoughts rippled from it like a stone thrown into a pool, but its
natural camouflage was so complete that his vision was useless until
it made its move. The beast would show itself as it lunged for the
kill. It savored the endorphins produced through fear as a delicacy.
The Farseer flicked his head to the side and gave a quick nod to the
handful of Black Guardians he had brought with him as an escort, and
at his signal they knew to keep their heads down. They were as
invisible in the darkness as he, and equally patient. Once more
Liridainn's thoughts slipped to the Spiritseer Gaeolina.
He thought about how skilled she was coalescing shadows and darkness
like a protective wall, though in all honesty her abilities were not
the only reason he wished she was at his side. The Eldar
relationship to the Path was often complex and every journey unique,
but nothing had prepared him for the tumultuous connection that was
love, and how it was contorted and strained by the needs of the
Craftworld and the demands of the Path.
He
pushed away those thoughts and quickly skimmed the skein for
immediate threats. He held in place watching the guardsmen fire
blindly. The temporary alliance between Ulthwé and the Imperial
Guard was tenuous, but necessary. There were powerful psychic dampers
that protected the large Imperial Apothecarum that loomed across the
street carried the psychic signature of an Eldar mind protecting the
location from the probing Rune Council of Ulthwé. Liridainn had to
know what the humans and his kin endeavored to discover in secret.
Liridainn’s
prey took the bait. Colors swirled and glinted odd reflections as the
Lictor pounced upon the embedded Guardsmen. Its speed was impressive,
and in barely a breath half of the humans had been disemboweled or
gored to death. With barely a twitch Liridainn signaled his men.
They broke cover and fired, their Shuriken Catapults spraying
hundreds of the lethal discs into the area; flesh and bone tore apart
covering the rubble with a layer of sinew and gore. The presence of
a lictor wasn't a complete surprise. There was a tendril of a hive
fleet blocked by a nearby series of warp storms, but an occasional
spore pod would find its way to the surface of a nearby planet. Yet
this planet already presented a threat to the Craftworld and another
danger was a dark omen. Perhaps, if he could find the answers he
could see how these events might affect the future. If Ulthwé
believed that war would be unavoidable he might be able to lobby
Iyanden for aid.
The
path was now clear and they hurried into the front of the
Apothecarum. In the distance he could here the near constant bellows
of the Imperial cannons thrumming in the air as they attempted to
push back a growing rebellion.
Liridainn
and his Black Guardians entered the front of the building and hurried
along its halls. Occasionally there was a flat ceiling light that
would buzz whenever it blinked on in the ceiling, casting a greenish
sallow glow along the otherwise dark corridors. Liridainn tested the
psychic dampening and used his powers to provide fortune and guide
fate on his Guardians. The psychic blocking the building had
undergone only seemed to protect against powers of communication and
probing, another curious clue. They descended through the confines of
the complex attempting to create as little disturbance as possible.
As
they moved further down they began to find scattered limbs and
bloodstains, that became more frequent the further they went.
Finally they reached a large room, big enough to house fifty Falcon
Grav Tanks. The Walls were decorated with dissected parts from
various Tyranids, with scanners and screens dotting the landscape. In
the back of the large room was a giant Hive Tyrant, or as some humans
referred to it a “Swarm Lord,” sitting dormant, the scales and
flesh normally crowning its head were removed and instead a pile of
electrodes and cables poured out of its brain, connected to one
massive terminal. Bodies in long white coats lay scattered about its
feet, and a Farseer carrying the marks of the Ealfynn Craftworld
rested impaled upon one of its four huge Bone Sabres.
Liridainn
could feel the curiosity of his squad pressing upon him like a great
weight. “The dampening wasn't to keep us out, it was to keep the
thoughts of this beast in,” he said hurriedly. “They were trying
to unlock the secret of the Hive Synapse,” he said. The Swarm
Lord's eyes opened. It stood, slowly, letting out a terrifying roar
when it became fully erect. In one swing two Guardians had been
broken, their entrails decorating the floor of the laboratory.
Liridainn
was taken aback, and stumbled over a severed limb, falling onto his
posterior, narrowly missing two swords swinging in from the other
direction that swiped over his head. A hail of Shuriken fire poured
at the Tyrant and seemed to bounce off uselessly. It hissed, its
teeth bared in a constant sneer of hatred.
The
Lord lashed out again and three more guardians fell. Time was running
out and Liridainn did the last thing he could think of. He Reached
out in a mental attack, an arc of purple light momentarily dancing
connected their wills in battle, and as they pushed back and forth
against one another until finally it squealed as he turned off the
beast's mind in a most painful fashion. It slumped to the ground
supported only by the cables, which had restricted it from leaving
the room.
The
Farseer stood and dusted off his robe. He only had a handful of Eldar
left after the attack. “Collect the Soul Stones of the fallen. We
will return to the Rune Council and tell them of the indiscretion of
the Ealfynn. I feel the full effects of this tampering will remain
unseen for some time to come, but we have more pressing matters at
hand. The skein is clear. We will lose this war.”
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