# An Infinite Circuitry of Fate



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Hello to everybody in the fiction board, I'm pretty new here, but not really to writing 40k stuff. I've been writing this story for a good while, made a lot of changes to it overtime, and I guess I'll start posting here, people may have already seen this on another forum board, but yeah, hoping to get some thoughts on it. It may start off a little slow, so bear with me:biggrin:, hope you guys enjoy.

An Infinite Circuitry of Fate​
Chapter 1: The path to ruin...

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Western Continent- 

Central region: Rinal forests

Category: Wilderness

Time: Eighth year, Day: 2893rd -Cleansing of Tarmathon IV

? A.M. _ 

Raihan fluttered his eyelids open to a baleful, crimson sky, almost oblivious to the giant chunk of broken stone crushing his muscular, yet inhumanly slender frame. A groan slipping from his pale lips, he forced his bloodied face to capture a glimpse of his surroundings. Mangled limbs, hanging by blood soaked strands of flesh and corpses of his kin laid by his side, similarly crushed under the shattered stones of a recently collapsed temple ruins. Around the fallen complex loomed large thin trees of an ancient forest, lush with green leaves and occupied with all sorts of wild life. 

Rapid bursts of shuirken fire flashed above of his head and he smiled, giving thanks that some of his kin may yet live the coming storm and right his failure. His failure… ignoring the excruciating protest of his body, Raihan forced his free arm, still intact, above his eyes. Lightly clutched within his palm, was an orb of sapphire crystal, pulsating with a sickly azure blaze within its core. It irritated his eyes to look upon it and, with a grunt of effort; he tossed it into the rubble. They could not have it, they could not take it, less their souls would parish. 

No, it would stay hidden, powerless, trapped within its sparkling confines until his kin could retrieve it and banish the filth locked within. But such hopes could not be birthed as long as they walked upon this planet’s soil. Stumbling in their ignorance into things beyond their comprehension, they could not even fathom what was at stake. They would undo the work he and his kin have long toiled tirelessly to achieve, at a cost that pained him deeper than the wounds he now bore on his broken body. Even worse, they were not strong enough to deny the madness of chaos, which had led to the situation they were currently in. And for that, they must die; Tarmathon IV must be cleansed of all of their kind. It was regrettable, for they knew not what they would do, what evil they would wrought onto themselves, that they would perish in their folly, but it must be done.

Raihan sighed as his vision began to darken, his breath beginning to shallow. His head began to slump over, but forced his view toward the lithe pair of legs that rushed to meet him. Her form was proud and erect, clad in the armor of the Banshee , painted in the indigo and the blue of craftworld Teyl-Jhen.

The Exarch removed her helmet as she kneeled before the fallen Farseer. Her facial features shadowed in darkness.

“We won’t leave you behind.” Spoke a soft, gentle voice into Raihan’s mind.

The seer smiled gently at her words, but shook his head lightly. “My fate is sealed, it’s too late for me, I’m sorry. Even now my eyes darken.”Raihan felt a deep wave of guilt swell within his heart as he saw tears of sadness fall from her shadowed cheeks. The banshee reached out her hand, placing it gently on his cheek. “ Raihan…”

With a jolt of pain, Raihan placed his free hand on hers, squeezing it softly.” My… our son, Ayriel…”

“I’ll take care of him; he’ll become one of legend.” The Banshee promised, at a loss for words.

Raihan nodded, smiling care freely as his eyes closed one final time, his body going limp in a moment. Supressing the hollow pain of loss, Analia picked off the spirit stone hanging from Raihan’s necklace before rushing into the night to follow her kin. She spared one final glance at the ruins from the refuge of the forest. One final thought from her love creeping into her mind.

_“Be swift my love, be gone.”_

-------
Oh yeah, just going to say this now, there are going to be a lot of characters in this story, I hope I'm pulling it off in a way that won't confuse people. I guess you all will see soon enough .


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## waltzmelancholy_07 (Sep 30, 2008)

Impressive... Normally, I see the Eldar as one proud and ignorant race... But your story changed my mind... I'm intrigued now... Do post the next installment... Rep:victory:...


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Very good, I for one wiill be looking out for this. :victory:


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Thanks for the replies guys, glad you're liking it so far. Anymore C&C appreciatedk:. 

Chapter 2: Time to rise to the occasion

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: South Financial district

Time: Three centuries later…

Day : Four-hundred and fifty-ninth: War for Tarmathon IV

2.00 P.M.-Mid afternoon_

Platoon sergeant Telden Shase merely squinted his irritated eyes against the torrent of wind rushing the chimera’s open turret. The officer continued his vigilant watch as the vehicle floured through abandoned streets untouched by war’s destructive hand, occasionally slowing to make a turn. Hard on its tail rode six others, their turret hatches closed off to the world around them. 

“Sir.” Came a call below the hatch.

Sighing wearily, Shase lowered himself into the belly of the transport, his eyes immediately readjusting to the dim, blood red lighting from the small glow lights in the corners. He strained to see the thirteen guardsmen sitting cramped, shoulder to shoulder on metal benches bolted on either side of the transport. Despite none of them wearing any flak, all were sweating profusely, so intense was the heat today. Instead they sported the standard matt black-blood red camo fatigues of the Fifth Conorag bloodhounds.

Sitting next to the turret ladder was private first class Kaven Seran, hefting a large Vox system on his back. When Shase came down, Saren pointed towards the front.

“Drivers want you sir, must be important, ” Stated the trooper blankly.

Shase rubbed his chin in curiosity, they sure weren’t a stone’s throw from their assigned area. This couldn’t bode well. “We’re about to find out… Mails keep watch!” Shase ordered as he walked by. 

The Corporal merely grunted, forcing himself onto his feet, yawning as he climbed through the hatch. Pulling himself through the open hatch, Mails gripped the heavy bolter turret replacement; the multilaser being previously damaged beyond repair by a fusion blaster. 

Few seconds passed when Shase found himself standing behind two leather chairs before a glass windshield. Occupying the chairs were two guardsmen, the one in the right seat wearing a shade of sunglasses. Before the Sergeant opened his mouth to speak, the co-driver waved him over. Taking another step, he leaned over the left seat, hovering over both of them.

“What’s going on? Everything good?” Shase asked sternly, careful to hide any hint of worry in his voice. 

The co-driver shook his head, stating , “I’m afraid something has , check this out.” The guardsman reached out toward the Vox station, switching the channel with a click. A voice immediately came over the channel. 

_ “Th-…. second arm-…com-…. disengaged…outskirt-…. cur-… held up… courtyar-…. city limit-… surrou... Tau… we’ve go…. immobili-….. B-…… I repeat….. imm….. Banebl…. in the courtyard. Request-….. assistan…..”_

“Emperor mercy…” Shase breathed grimly. ”Just watch, we’re going to have to bail them out.” 

The co-driver switched the Vox to wherever it was set to previously. As if on cue another voice, deep and rough, came online. 

“Fifth mechanized company, Captain Altan Gedum here. I trust you all have received the distress call. We’ve got new orders, Tau forces are spear heading an assault into city limits, right now it seems they’re pretty focused on routing second armor and their Baneblade. Currently those xenos are swarming over that courtyard and the surrounding area. There’s a good chance infiltration teams are waiting in ambushes along major roads so be careful. We have three objectives as of now: Blunt the assault, relieve what’s left of second armor and above all secure that Baneblade and get it back into Imperial lines. I want the whole company on this one, this could be an all nighter, good luck. Gedum out.” 

Shase sighed loudly, pausing a moment before turning back toward the drivers. ”How far are we from that courtyard?” 

The drivers exchanged knowing glances before the co-driver spoke. ”If we’re correct, the Baneblade is in our assigned sector, probably fifteen minutes away.”

“Got it. We’ll keep watch.” Shase stated, turning on his heel to leave. “Oh and keep an ear out for any more distress calls Mark.”

“Yeah I got it.” The co-driver dismissed with a wave of his hand.

At that Shase marched toward the back of the transport, all the squad shifting their view onto the officer. Shase examined them, despite barely being able to see them. “Alright men, there’s not much time for words, but to a Bloodhound a few words are as good as none. We got Tau xeno making their move on Shailon, second armor are taking a beating, worst off the Baneblade is immobilized and the xeno are looking to take it out. We’re going blunt this assault, rescue the armor company, and get that Baneblade out of here, understood?”

“Sir yes Sir!” Roared the squad. The Sergeant nodded proudly, before taking Mails’ seat. 
----------------------
Mark kept his view on the empty street before him, scanning the area for any signs of activity. As of now, they were in Shailon’s financial district. Insurance companies, mail offices, tax agencies, Arbites headquarters. Every building in the district went up dozens even hundreds of floors, row after row of windows and columns, trimmed with all sorts of gothic symbols of the Imperium. 

Sevel however kept his eyes on the cobblestone streets, remaining emotionless as he drove. He kept his hands gripped tightly on the wheel, occasionally darting glances at sidewalks and street signs. “You think we should take Tarland Bridge?” The driver asked suddenly.

Mark gave him a confused look, ”That’s a long ways off, why?”

“Captain said something about infiltration teams, going the main route could be risky.” Responded Sevel, keeping his eyes glued on the streets.

The co-driver considered this for a moment, “…. Yeah, guess you’re right, let’s go.” 

At that, both of them went back to their normal silence. Mark turned his attention toward the side walks. Unsurprisingly, they were eerily clean and…. what was that? Mark squinted his eyes, staring at the sidewalk further up road at... nothing? 

“Could’ve sworn I just saw something.” Mark muttered, keeping his view on the spot until they had driven up on it, nothing. Seconds later, the trooper scoffed. Throwing his hands up in the air.

“I hate this city.” Mark spat as he dismissed his delusion.

“Yeah, sends up chill up my spine when I think about it too much.” Sevel agreed. “The xenos don’t help much either.”

“I here that, but you got to wonder wh-_frak!” _

Instinctively, Sevel swerved the chimera to the side, narrowly missing a shot of plasma out of thin air. The chimeras behind slammed on their brakes in response, barely avoiding a pile up crash in the street.

Caught off guard, Mails almost fell out of the turret to the sudden maneuver, saving his life from a spray of burst cannon fire aimed for his face. Unconsciously, the guard gripped the heavy bolter trigger, blasting a large trail of chunks out of the street. Cursing himself for a fool, the trooper corrected himself as a spine chilling scream was torn out of a fallen XV 25 Stealth Suit; a bloody crater blasted through his chest. Before he could fire straight, the chimera revved its engines and floored itself down the street, the other transports following suit.

“Everyone ok?” Shase shouted as he picked his aching body off the floor, ignoring his profusely bleeding nose. The guardsmen mumbled their affirmations as they recollected themselves. ”Good, everyone grab a turret, now!”

The guards immediately followed orders, not needing to be told twice. Checking twice to be sure everyone was fine, Shase snatched up Mail’s turret before shouting, “Fire at will!”

Sevel turned onto the first street he saw, “That was too close.” He sighed shakily. “Perhaps we should warn the others.”

“Yeah.” Mark answered calmly, reaching out and switching the Vox channel. ”Fourth Platoon, be advised, we have just encountered contacts, light resistance. Most likely to encounter ambushes and heavier resistance along the way, Chimera one out.”

The drivers waited in tense silence, keeping their eyes on the road as they waited for the response. Seconds of static later a voice came online.

“Roger that C1, everyone switching the alert status. Be advised, other platoons are experiencing heavy resistance and are breaking off their routes. Its not looking good.C6 over.”

“I hear that C6, we are also breaking off main route and are on route to Tarland bridge, over.”

“Copy that, let me get that word out, C1, C6 out.”

Mails examined his surroundings as thoroughly as he could in a speeding chimera, the howling wind causing him to squint. He spared a glance behind him to see other troopers manning their turrets as well. Turning back to the road in front of him, a shout rose from the bottom. 

_“Contacts! Right building, multiple floors! Fire at will!” _

Before Mails could react, a hail of plasma fire rained down on the Chimera’s hull, leaving smoking potholes in their wake. By instinct, the corporal veered his eyes on the source of fire. A lawyer firm, four floors, each window housing a pair of fire warriors. All available turrets on the chimeras veered their aim on whatever target that suited them. With a deafening roar, the transports unleashed a wave of fire across all levels, blasting large chunks from the stone walls. Surprised fire warriors hastily fell back from their windows, those not quick enough shattered in the torrent of multi-lazer blasts. 

For long minutes, waves of plasma shots zipped from multiple buildings as they winded through random streets, unsuccessfully attempting to break through the ambush. Turrets quickly divided their fire among the structures, leaving a trail of decimated buildings and mangled corpses, but the fire kept coming. Mails could hear the screams of troopers in the other chimeras and he gave thanks for not being those men. Pushing those thoughts aside, he kept his finger hard on the trigger, spewing potential rounds of death in jagged lines across random floors; suppressing xenos where he could.

The transport suddenly jerked itself to the right, coming onto an empty alleyway to avoid the rest of the ambush. As they reached the end onto another street, the chimera halted in its tracks and threw itself into reverse as the railgun shot zipped by. Mails gasped from super heated air singeing his skin, though not enough to keep from swinging the heavy bolter round toward the broadside battlesuit and the team of fire warriors surrounding it. Catching a clutch of xenos in a small burst of fire, the team quickly scattered in multiple directions just as the lumbering battlesuit let loose a volley of missiles on the concealed vehicle. Half of them broke off in random directions, enveloping the street in a fog of dust and debris. The others proved to be more accurate, slamming into the walls of the alleys covering their prey, one flying right by Mails’ head before exploding into a blinding blue light. The guardsman clasped his hands onto the hatch, gnashing his teeth as he desperately tried to keep his balance in the wake of the machine’s violent shuddering. 

“Emperor damn it!” Cursed the trooper as he was hammered by scorched debris, forcing him to duck into the safety of the quaking mechanical beast. The hull itself was filled with acrid smoke and shouting guardsmen. Medic Timroy was standing over two broken, blackened bodies near a breach in the hull where some of the multilaser turrets had been, their blood boiling from the intense heat. Timroy checked their pulses one final time before ripping their dog tags off while two others took up their fallen comrades and tossed them through the breach to be vaporized in the fire storm outside.

Feeling the blast subsiding, Sevel floored the chimera into the street facing the broadside. Knowing what to due, Mark gripped the triggers and pushed his thumbs down. The whine of plasma was momentarily drowned out as the heavy stubber sponsors pumped a flurry of rounds into the cumbersome battlesuit. Blood and sparks showered pavement as the XV88 erupted into stumbling fire golem. Before the withered husk of the battlesuit had even began to fall, Sevel put the pedal to the metal, battering the remains of the suit into a spiral downfall onto the sidewalk. Unbelieving of their survival, Sevel bursted into light hearted laughter. 

“Nice, my friend, beautiful.” The driver complimented.

Mark grinned fiercely,” Invincible!” He shouted, switching the vox on. “ C1 here, everyone still with us? Over.” 

“C4 here, we’ve lost C6 and C5, I repeat, they’re gone.”

The drivers exchanged unbelieving glances, their cheeriness quickly leeched from their spirits. Their was a moment of silence for minute, until Mark finally broke it. 

“Roger that, C4. You got any casualties, over?”

_“Four dead, other Cs have got a few too, over.”_

“Damn…”Sevel mumbled underneath his breath.

“I hear you C4. Let’s keep towards the objective, out.” Mark switched the channel back to command platoon. “Oh…”The co-driver said blankly as two columns of fire warriors, jogged-marched toward some unknown objective, oblivious to the slowing beast stalking them.

“How you want to do this?” Sevel asked with a raised brow.

Mark scoffed, throwing his hand up dismissively. ”Bahh! We don’t got time for this, let’s go!” He ordered bitterly, blasting the first few with the heavy stubbers as once again the hulk of hollowed metal took flight. Shocked xenos scrambled out the path of the raving vehicle, sporadically firing off their rifles before it sped out of sight. 

“There’s something on up ahead.” Sevel hissed irritably. “Looks a like damned roadblock.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Are you serious?”
-------------
Shase walked over to a battered and bruised Mails. Swollen lumps and bruises covered the upper half of the Corporal’s dust layered body.

“You okay Corporal?” He asked, letting a bit of concern show through his normally stern attitude.

Mails managed a smile, “Sir I’m fine sir.” Muttered the trooper breathlessly, obviously worn from recent chain of events. 

Shase gave him a pat on the back. ”You did good in a critical moment, all of you did.” He stated loud enough to gain his men’s attention. “But the day’s not over, no, not by a long shot. So hang in there and let’s get this done.”	

The guardsmen mumbled their affirmation before turning back to their turrets. With that, the Sergeant marched to the front of the vehicle. “So how far are we?” He asked wearily. Mark tore his eyes from the map he was holding and much to Shase’s discontent, simply shrugged.

“We’re trying to figure out where we are currently, that ambush has gotten us off track.” Mark smiled apologetically, shrugging again before returning to the map.

“Are we serious, here? At this rate that Baneblade is screwed.”

“We’re on Telan Avenue.” Stated Sevel in his usual emotionless attitude he kept when on duty.

“Telan…. Telan…. Telan…. lets see here… Ah, we’re a ways off!” Mark breathed in relief. “ Just need to get on interstate two seventeen.”

“Not close enough, there could be a lot more tau between here and there,” Sevel pointed out as he came up to a four way stop. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Shase smirked. “Do your job and my men will do their’s. We’ll get through this, I know it.” 

Mark gave the officer a grim look before giving him a nod. ”I hear that Shase, don’t worry, we’ll get there.”


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Alright, like I said previously, a little slow in starting, but things will definately start picking up after this chapter, promise:biggrin:. If I'm posting too fast, feel free to let me know and I'll slow it down. A little more Imperial pov here, but we'll see our Eldar real soon :biggrin:.

Chapter 3: Enter the Bloodhounds

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: North-:Sharion Palace
Time: Day : Four-hundred and fifty-ninth: War for Tarmathon IV

3:00 P.M.-Mid-afternoon_

With a sense of urgency, he walked through palace halls of Sharion. Perfectly polished leather boots echoed on bricks of sparkling gold, illuminated so intensely from the reflective light of finely crafted chandeliers hanging from an arched ceiling, that it hurt to look upon them.

Towering statues of long forgotten heroes stood forever vigilant, casting their stone gaze upon the tiny mortals who dared tread their realms. Spanning across the corridor, gleaming marble walls, trimmed with a variety of golden, gothic symbols, occasionally divided by a mammoth column that easily dwarfed the statues in size. Etched across large portions, excerpts of infamous scriptures, quotes, and words of wisdom. Other parts were draped in luxurious furnishings, spectacular paintings of historical victories, large banners heralding Taramthon’s golden age, an age long passed and forgotten. A few of the last legacies of a lost people.

Approaching a dead end, the man spun into a narrow, winding stair case hidden within the confines of the wall. With a look of utter determination, the guardsman proceeded his ascension into claustrophobic set of stairs. A minute of winding and turning, he found himself staring upon a door of shining gold.

Pushing the obstacle open, the clang of his boots was instantly drowned out by a hundred others. Entire platoons of guardsmen were milling aimlessly about the halls. Groups had formed here and there, engaged in light conversation under droning tech-priests, who were pre-occupied in anointing and blessing various turrets shielded behind rows of sandbags scattered around the area. Others strolled through the halls with purpose, forming two columns of steady traffic.

Many unconsciously shifted their gaze upward as the entire rooftop began to quake, shuddering under the recoil of dozens of basilisk mobile artillery batteries occupying the roofs. A battle must have broken out, not good. Unfazed, the man continued his way towards his objective, merging into the stream of human traffic. 

Upon seeing a figure of the up-most authority and the collections of medals resting on his chest plate, guardsmen quickly scattered out of his path, giving him a respected nod of acknowledgement. He returned the nods as he passed, quickly diverging from the crowded hall as he came into yet another dead end.

Remembering the previous layout, the officer spun into a similar staircase. As he continued, the tumultuous noise level of floors below gradually faded out with every step to the point that only the sound of his footfalls disturbed serene silence. Few minutes passed and the man stepped onto a short hall, dead end on the left, a massive, metal double door entrance on his right. Bolted in the corners hung small security cameras, carefully tracking the man’s every step. 

Unfazed, the officer marched toward the doors. Pressing his hands against cold steel, he grunted with the effort of pushing them aside. Forcing out bellowed groan, the worn doorways gave way. He nearly flinched as every man within the command center shifted their view onto him. Despite being large in size, the room was severely cramped. Literally swallowing up the stainless steel floor was an ocean of cables, twisting and arching in some places like tree roots.

Built in across walls upon either side of the room, security monitors of the palace, radars, even satellite screens. Each one was manned by a guardsman or a stationary servitor. Placed in the command room’s centre sat a large, metal table, emitting a blue holographic map above. Around the table were twelve chairs, only two of them occupied by members now standing at attention to this new presence.

“Major.” Lieutenant Curtis acknowledged with a nod. “I apologize sir, we kind of had to start without you."	

Dran made his way over, “It’s alright Curtis, I shouldn’t have been late.” He said as he took his seat. At that, the others took there seats as well, shortly followed by an awkward silence. 

Not having even been seated for five seconds, Dran leaned forward in his seat, lightly rubbing his chin as he examined his new officers. He had received the reports stating the deaths of some of his original council in a thunderhawk crash, but he hadn’t realized it had been most of them. 

Pushing his thoughts aside, Dran examined his rag-tag team. To his left was Lt. Curtis. Though promoted by default, the man knew a thing or two about strategy. Much similar to Dran himself, he possessed a determined and charismatic personality. He was the youngest man in the staff, standing taller than any one else the room, save for Dran. Very muscular too, though dwarfed when compared to the steely muscles of the Iron Man himself. Both of them possessed the features of a Conoragian. Smokey blue hair and emerald green eyes that shone like sparkling jewels. Curtis kept his hair in a bowl cut, while Dran preferred his hair cropped. Other than that, the two were identical, in body and mind. 

Commissar Vrak leaned back in his chair, grinning fiercely as usual. By appearance, people would guess thirty eight, but with the aid of juvenants, Vrak was on the eve of his eightieth birthday. Miraculously, his face was unscarred, save for the layer of pink muscle staining his five o’clock shadow. He had received that to a grazing plasma shot. 

“Alright,” Dran began, nodding in satisfaction of his team. “Let’s get started, someone inform me of the situation.” 

Curtis reached out beneath the table, pressing some unseen button. The holographic projection of Tarmathon IV caught Dran’s eyes. Shailon sat within the northern end of the eastern region, one half of the main continent completely ravaged by war, a blasted wilderness. Completely opposite from its counterpart, the western region had been let unscathed during the running battles across Tarmathon. At this point in the war, there just wasn’t any value in it. But for precaution’s sake, Dran had dropped fourth company deep within western region’s heart to keep extended patrols throughout the area. Abruptly, the map zoomed in around Shailon’s city limits, sliding towards one of the many districts dividing the capital. 

“To sum things up, second armor got decimated this morning; Tau forces are just starting a spearhead into city limits. They’re currently surrounded in some courtyard, we’ve ordered fifth mechanized to bail them out and blunt that assault.”

“What about our Baneblade?” Dran asked, hiding any concern within his voice.

Curtis hesitated a moment before resuming. “It’s currently immobilized in said courtyard; we’ve also ordered the fifth to take care of that.”

“The xenos must be aiming for that…”Dran pondered blankly to himself, unconsciously rubbing his chin. “Dark Eldar?”

“Negative, we haven’t seen anything all day. But night is starting to fall, we’ll most likely see them at some point.”

“Perhaps they have an ace up their sleeve?” Vrak mused out loud.

Curtis smirked at that, “Or maybe a joker, you never know with these xenos."

Dran smiled as he listened to his council, strange group indeed, but they could do this. “Dosen’t matter what hand they play, a hammer always wins, Oo-rah?” Dran stated, his booming voice carrying throughout the room.

“Oo-rah!” Roared the command room.


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Chapter 4: Stumbling round looking for a black cat with a black cape in a dark room that isn’t there…

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: South Industrial district

Time: Day : Four-hundred and fifty-ninth: War for Tarmathon IV

8:00 P.M.-Night_

Shas la Kuo’no Or’es Shi spat blood and dirt as he coughed hoarsely, his singed throat burning as he inhaled small whiffs of acrid smoke and dust lingering from the explosion. Unconsciously, his bleeding hands flung to meet his watery eyes, vainly attempting to swipe the layers of dirt caking them shut. His powder blue armor was breached in a dozen places, torn open from shrapnel debris flung about the room just seconds ago. He was bleeding in some areas, most notably his scalp. A painful ache pulsed through his muscles, but he dismissed them from his mind as he smeared the last vestiges of mud from his hazel brown eyes.

Faint moonlight shone over what was left of the front wall of the empty structure his squad had occupied, which was now nothing more than a heap of rubble he was partially buried in. The plain walls of the small room were severely cracked, damage likely caused when the roof had collapsed upon them. The stairs on the second floor were clearly visible now, jutting from a entrance in the wall overhead to a floor no longer in existence. 

Exhausted and breathless, battered and bruised, Or’es was heaving for breath, slowly gathering himself as he laid stationary. Ignoring his body’s painful protest, Or’es forced his head to turn to the side where Shas Ui Rey’lar had once stood. A stagnated pool slag was all that remained of the once proud Tau, the repulsive odor radiating from it violently churning his stomach. Half submerged in the stinking residue was Or’es’ helmet, split perfectly in two halves from a falling chunk of stone. His head pounded agonizingly from the thought and he tore his view from it. 

A cool breeze rushed against his face and he responded with a long, drawn out sigh. Knowing he couldn’t lay here forever, the Tau, with a grunt of effort, shifted himself over. Urgently, his hands scoured the rubble, over turning rocks and brushing away piles of dust for his weapon. Instead he found one of the crushed limbs of one of his own. Immediately, Or’es linked it to the corpse slumped beside him, Kai’nos. Still clutched tightly in the limbs grip, was a dirt covered pulse carbine, it may not be a rifle, but it would do for now. 

Or’es ripped the weapon free with his right hand, stripping Kai’nos of his ammo belt with his left. He pulled the belt over his head, letting it hang across his chest as he scoured it of it contents. He began whispering as he counted mentally. 

“Eight clips… two photon grenades? Damn it Kai’nos...”

_ “Or’es… Or’es is that you?”_

The fire warrior spun round to meet the helmet concealed gaze of thin figure known as Te’ar. He was more of a technician and an engineer than a warrior, but he was resolute in his duty and Or’es could always depend on him in fields of war. He seemed virtually unscathed by all the events that had recently transpired.

His comrade held his plasma rifle tight as he crawled cautiously toward Or’es. Focusing his eyes, Or’es could barely make out the four shrouded figures following the crawling fire warrior as he came to his side.

_“What happened?”_ Asked one of the figures groggily as he emerged into the moonlight. Ukos, a head shorter than Or’es and some what stocky. He was some what a arrogant soldier with a hot temper, but was usually noted for his laziness.

“The question is how do we escape unnoticed.” Io’ yen whispered in a calm voice. He was a new recruit, not much Or’es knew about him. “Or perhaps they left us for dead.”

Or’es shook his head. “No, we won’t escape, if we do escape, unnoticed. They’re still outside, thery’re just waiting for us to stumble out. Look…”

The group of fire warriors went prone as they slid themselves toward the top of the debris that was once the front wall. In unison the Tau poked their heads out cautiously. A howling breeze swept streets of cobble stone barely illuminated under the moon.

Before the gue’ la structure was a vast parking lot stretching some meters to a similar designed building twice the size of its neighbor. Many of the spaces were still occupied by their primitive vehicles, many of them ridden with singed holes of plasma and other small arms fire. Others were vaporized almost completely, or smashed aside by some unknown force. Littering the lot, Or’es could make out many corpses, belonging to both to Tau and Gue’la that had engaged in a previous fire fight the day before. But none belonged to them, he wouldn’t be surprised if they had ambushed these poor warriors as well.

Or’es turned to the group of fire warriors. “Te’ar, your comm-link still intact?”

Te’ar answered with a swift nod. ‘Yes, I know what to do.” 

At that, the fire warrior turned as he reached for the small device on the bottom corner of his helmet Or’es couldn’t make out in the dark. A little buzz of static hissed from the comm-link for a moment, before her voice came on?”

_“Devilfish pilot, M’yen Koi ‘na here.”_

“Ready for embarkment M’yen, be swift, chances are you’ll be coming in hot.”

“Understood Te’ar, I’m coming in, twenty seconds, be ready, over.”

"Twenty seconds.” Repeated the Tau to his comrades. “Let’s hope we last till then.”

Or’es ignored him, keeping his view on the structure ahead. “She’ll have to slow down considerably to maneuver the lot without accident, let alone stopping to pick us up. When she drives, I want all of you sprinting as hard as your legs will carry you. This maybe our only chance.”

The squad nodded their acknowledgement and prepared themselves for the task at hand.

Fifteen seconds. Ukos occupied himself with scanning the parking lot for fresh contacts. He gave the neighboring structure a momentary glance when his eyes registered something he hadn’t noticed before. “Hey, take a look, I don’t remember seeing that.”

Or’es followed the stocky fire warrior’s gaze toward the ominously glowing aura radiating from behind the gue’la building, narrowing his eyes he could see it flickering on… then off repeatedly. 

Ten seconds. The ever growing, soft hum of what could only be a skimmer vehicle of the Tau buzzed in Or’es ears. His muscles unconsciously tensed as the intensity began to mount, he spared a glance behind him to find his squad mates reacting in the same manner.

Five seconds. The lights were gone now, though Or’es hadn’t notice, raising himself into a cautious crouch as he signaled the squad mates behind him to get ready. “Ethereals protect us.”

“For the Tau’va.” Responded the squad grimly.

The blanket of darkness shrouding the surrounding area slowly brightened with blaring, azure lighting, burning like a newly birthed star to Or’es’ adapting eyes. He flung his arm up to shield the intensifying light as the Devilfish shot by like a comet, a howling breeze pursing behind its creator. The Tau transport vanished as quickly as it came, and just as it vanished, it returned again. The fish slowed as it whirled in a complete circle a few meters to the left from the concealed fire warriors, its engines suddenly dying as the rear ramp fell with a deafening thud that echoed like a burst of thunder through the dead city. 

“Move!” Or’es bellowed as he strained his aching body to leap over the pile of rubble and into the parking lot. 

They were impressive, their weapons… sleek and expertly crafted. No snaps of reloads pierced the silence of the night, the thunderclaps nothing but the slightest hum as the concealed figures darted into the parking lot, squeezing their triggers as they went. His battered and dust coated boots had barely manage to scrap the pavement when a hail of crystallized ammunition was hurled through the midnight air toward him. 

For a moment, all seemed like slow motion… his eyes had progressed half way through the motion of blinking when shards of death hurled past him… and into him. They pierced his armour with soft pings, but fortune have it he didn’t feel any break his flesh. Shouts rang out behind him, one undeniably a blood choked gurgle. 

_ “To arms fire warriors! Open fire!”_

The shout brought Or’es back into real time as his feet clanged against the pavement. Instinctively, he brought his pulse carbine up and took in what was happening. Five of the shadowed figures were rushing into the lot, hopping over wrecked vehicles as they juked left and right.

“Get to the transport!” Shouted the fire warrior as he ducked under another burst of fire. Plasma fire light the air as they shot and sprinted to the left. 

Ukos and two of the other fire warriors stopped short to fire another volley, seconds later Or’es saw two of the mysterious figures pitched off their feet, small craters burning in their chest. Ukos spun into a crouch-run past his comrades who still continued their offensive as he went. 

The remaining three figures spat death and curses in a language beyond Or’es’ knowledge in the directions of their assailants, riddling all save for Ukos with their poisonous weaponry. Ignoring the death spasms of his dieing comrades even as they fell, the warrior darted toward his waiting salvation.

Or’es threw himself through the rear hatch, a deafening thud reporting his entry. The sleek texture of the hull gleamed brightly with reflections of dim, emerald lighting shining from small lights jetting from the corners. Two parallel benches were bolted into each side of the hull, each that would have been occupied with six fire warriors. In the cockpit, M’yen waited impatiently with a sneer on her face. A very talkative woman she could be, but in times like this, her nerves tended to keep her silent. Short, velvet hair lightly brushed her shoulders, nearly growing past her eyelids. Her sparkling blue eyes peered out of her windshield, narrowed tensely as she kept her view locked on to the road in front of her. Her small hands were clasped tightly onto the wheel, so hard it seemed as though it she would snap it in two at any moment.

The fire warrior was shook from his examination as Te’ar leapt over him, lashing out his hands and firmly gripped Or’es’ shoulder pads and with a grunt of effort, hurled him onto his feet. 

“Thanks.” Or’es yelled dismissively as he spun round toward the rampart. As soon as he did, Ukos spurred past him, nearly slamming into Te’ar in his run. Ignoring him, Or’es leaned his head outside. 

The shadowed figures had vanished as quickly as they came, leaving three corpses of Tau fire warriors and two of their own strewn about the lot. Any feeling of relief fleeted from his battered form as the haunting form of a Raider transport emerged from behind the enemy occupied structure, silhouetted by the crimson fire burning from its engines. 

No sooner than it did appear did the Tau’s hidden assailants leap from an over turned car merely feet away from their transport and gracefully jumped aboard; raising their hands to clasp onto the railing over head. 

“M’yen, go!” Or’es shouted, the urgency in his voice obvious. 

“Hang on to something!” Came the response from the cockpit.

Before his mind could even register the warning, the hatch slammed shut with a deafening clang and blue fire flared from the devilfish’s engines as it shot into the night sky. The sheer force nearly knocked Or’es from his feet, his right hand unconsciously gripping the closest seat to keep his balance. Ukos was not so fortunate, standing idly near the top hatch, he failed to grasp the ladder in time and was hurled across the transport; the thunderclap of his armored hide bashed against the cold metal of the rampart exploding like a crack of thunder in his ears. 

Despite the insistent ringing in his ears, the fire warrior failed to restrain the smirk creeping onto his lips at Ukos’ hissed cursing. When turbulence finally subsided after a long minute, Or’es extended his a free hand toward his dizzied comrade and helped onto his feet. 

“Or’es, Ukos, get up here!” M’yen shouted, obviously frustrated from the recent chain of events. 

The pair of shas ‘la immediately jogged up to their destination. Te’ar was already strapped into the copilots chair, he spared a glance over his shoulder as the two leaned over his chair; acknowledging them with a nod.

Or’es returned the nod before averting his gaze through the windshield. They had already cleared the parking lot and surrounding buildings, currently speeding through a expansive, eight lane highway; their vehicle occupying two of them. Flanking them were rows of factories and other mammoth structures, looming so high that the shadows they cast onto the road consumed it wholly. Many smaller roads broke off from the highway into pitch black alley ways or through small neighborhoods.

“We’ve got company.” M’yen stated, taking a hand off the wheel to point out the radar in the center of the control panel. “Raider, just one of them though, and closing in fast. Te’ar, man the burst cannon. One of you guys go up the rear hatch and do something.”

“Like what?” Ukos protested. “Throw curses at them!?”

“Distract them with anything!” M’yen retorted, her annoyance mounting in a deep frown. “Or’es you go! Ukos you help! Be cautious, I may pull some unexpected maneuvers.”

As if on cue, everyone gripped onto something as the fish began to shake violently, its nose dipping slightly from side to side before picking up altitude. 

“Dark lance fire!” M’yen sneered furiously as she struggled to bring the transport back under control. 

“Let me see here… been a while since I’ve used the burst cannon.” Te’ar pondered aloud, seemingly oblivious to the tremor they were experiencing. He toyed with the targetting control panel as he gazed into the weapons camera system. “That’s Eldar for you, the lock on system can barely keep up with them. If OR’ES would be so kind as to skip up the hatch and give us some cover fire, maybe he could slow them long enough for me to get an accurate shot.”

Or’es nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” He said as he ran toward the ladder, Ukos following close behind. Or’es gripped one of the rails before spinning toward Ukos. “Do we have any extra ammo?”

The stocky shas’la shook his head. “Gave most of it to second squad earlier today, we used the rest.”

“Ethereal’s blood.” Or’es cursed under his breath as he clambered up the ladder. His hand gripped the opening lever overhead, sighing as he forced the top hatch open. Pushing himself up, the wind howled in his ears as he forced himself about half way out of the small entrance, having to squint tightly in the face of the torrent of wind billowing against him. In the distance, his eyes could barely make out the blurred dot approaching rapidly behind them, the crimson aura radiating from it telling Or’es all he needed to know. He felt his body tense as he saw they were gaining speed. 

The air surrounding them light up in a mystical blue haze like timed flashes of lightning as shots of plasma thudded in small burst from the burst cannon in the skimmer’s under carriage. 

Or’es watched as the small blur effortlessly out maneuvered the mini volleys of fire as it continued to close the distance rapidly between the skimmers. The shas’la vainly readjusted his feet for a more stable position, he had just pulled his dust caked carbine from the hatch when a ear shattering shriek shot Or’es’ ears with a crippling effect for a split second. 

His hands unconsciously dropped the battered weapon and slapped themselves over his ears. Despite the sonic assault, Or’es manage to keep his balance. When that awful noise finally wined down into nothing, he realized he had clamped his eyes shut. He could barely open them, the wind was that fierce, but when he could finally manage, they instantly shot open at the sight. 

The raider was in plain view, trailing behind by mere feet. He could see them now, warriors clad in thin, wickedly carved armor of steel grey, trimmed with a hazard design of golden yellow and jet black. The helmets they wore were tall and angular, some adorned with spikes, others with plumes of hair protruding from the top. 

Still paralyzed from shock and his now bleeding ear drums, the lance of dark energy shot out over head quickly snapped him back to reality. “M’ye-ahh!”

Or’es shouted a curse as he nearly slipped off the ladder in the devilfish’s abrupt right turn into a narrow alley way, his hands holding onto the hatch for dear life. A shower of sparks erupted from the rear engines as they scraped against stone, leaving a singed trail in their wake. Trash cans and other garbage was thrown into the air as the fish shot by. Their persistent opponent gracefully matched the turn without effort, the craft thin enough to fit with room to spare. 

The shas’la grunted with the effort of slowly regaining his balance.

“Hang on!” Came a shout from the cockpit. This time his sweat slick hands could not anchor him as the transport shot free of the alleyway onto a four lane street. Or’es shouted a denial just before his head collided against the hatch, his last foot sliding off the ladder railing. 

--------------------------


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Ukos froze in the suddenness of it all, merely watching the fire warrior fall through the hatch on the right side of his head and shoulder with loud clang. 

“The hell was that!?” M’yen shouted amid the random groaning of agony, sparing a hasty glance behind her to see a reeling Or’es on the floor, his hand clasped tightly over his head. Ukos busied himself trying to pry the medical locker open.

She diverted her attention back to the road, letting out a long, drawn out sigh. “Idiot.”

“What?” Te’ar said as he continued in his vain effort to land a hit on their foe.

“Or’es fell. Alright I’m going to head back to base, hopefully we can shake them on the way.” At that, M’yen’s hand reached for the comm-link on the control panel, readjusting the frequency to the command channel. 

“T’ien cadre command, this is recon squad five in the market sector. Do you read, over?”

A short period of static came up at first, but in time she could decipher a voice on the opposing end. “Recon squad five… be cautioned, your cadre is being pulled back into the courtyard vicinity. Gue’la are in mass retreat, they won’t be bothering us for a while. But if reports are correct… there is an Eldar spearhead coming through your sector. Link up with your cadre immediately, over.”

“Let’s go, that’s only a few minutes out from here.” Te’ar responded as he leaned over in his seat, almost as if he was trying kiss the camera screen.

“Ukos!” M’yen called, her face remaining glued to the road. ”Get Shi strapped in.”

The devilfish jerked from side to side, like a broken pendulum as it desperately tried to avoid unnervingly accurate dark lance fire. M’yen abruptly spun the devilfish round toward the direction it had came, a coy smile on her lips as the raider shot by. A brief turbulence followed as the transport steadily regained speed. 

“You need another training coarse Te’ar.” M’yen chastised, shooting a glower at the frail fire warrior.

“I could say the same on your driving, shas’la.” He responded dismissively with a mirroring gesture, Ukos’ obnoxious laugh following suit. All of his focus was channeled into his objective. He let out a short sigh as the Eldar pirates eventually returned into his view. “….We have a SMS don’t we?”

M’yen light up at the thought, unbelieving that such a weapon slipped her mind. “Yes! But we need a marker light… Ukos, how’s Or’es?”

“Hmm… unconscious, dislocated arm, and a concussion, but that’s about it. He’s got an Ethereal’s luck I say.”

“Grab the marker light and get a lock on that damned skimmer!” M’yen commanded with the authority of an officer, her voice carrying through the room like goddess provoked.

“Yes ma’am.” Ukos spat sarcastically as he jogged toward the rear hatch back to the medical cabinet. Not five seconds past when he emerged with their salvation. It was an incredibly small, hand held device, but its locking system could rival the finest in the galaxy, the marker light.

Te’ar leaned back a fraction as he heard Ukos scaling the ladder. “Yo-”

 “I know how to use it.” M’yen affirmed. “Just tell me when it says lock on.”

“…A red lock on?”

“Yes Te’ar, a red lock on. Aren’t you supposed to know this, technician?”

“Now its stereotypes like that-oh It- it’s locked on.”

M’yen didn’t even answer as she slammed a button on the control panel. The pilots watched as smart missile darted from its chambers and into the stars above until it was nothing more than a twinkle. If their enemy had noticed, they showed no signs of it as they continued their pursuit.

“What was that!?” Ukos shouted in disbelief as he leapt back down the ladder.

“Target neutralized.” Te’ar confirmed with glee, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms in triumph. “All in a day’s work, right M’yen?”

The pilot merely rolled her eyes, the stress of today flooding from her body all at once. “Could be worse I suppose-”

The fire caste warrior cut her words short as red panels flashed across the windshield, alert sirens whining as the devilfish began to wobble drunkenly as it went. “Damn! The vehicle is overheated, something got damaged!”

“Bring it under control M’yen!” Te’ar shouted over the sirens, unsure of what was happening.

The pilot frantically began mashing buttons. “I can’t! Its not responding, can’t even steer it!”

“Turn it off!” Ukos bellowed, diving for cover just to be prepared.

With a quick turn of a key, all was silent as the emerald lights flashed off, the soft hum of the devilfish gradually whining into nothingness. But the vehicle still flew like a bat out of hell toward a two way stop, suddenly dipping down as it lost power.

Instinctively, Te’ar grabbed M’yen by her shoulder pad and pulled her down with him behind the copilot seat as the windshield shattered with the nose of the transport as it collided into concrete. 

Flying chunks tore through the seats and smashed giant potholes within the hull with every connection. The bellowed groaning of tormented metal subsided for one, fleeting second as the transport flipped off the earth and through the towering, ferrocrete walls of a gue’la factory. The collision threw the fire warriors like rag dolls into the rear rampart. The skimmer continued to roll and flip until it had punched through the opposing wall on the other end of the vast factory before the crumpled husk of metal finally came to a halt onto yet another abandoned street. Then there was… nothing.
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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

_ “Hey, pass me that kit over there.”_

_“You! Help me get this guy up here.”_

“Hmm… this does not bode well for him, probably has a few more minutes till the end.”

_“Hold him down! Stay still shas’la, you’re making wors…”_

The voices were so feint, distant as if talking from some other room. He was careful not to strain his ears though, the pulsating migraine beating in his skull already painful enough. His right arm felt even worse, like it had been snapped from the shoulder and thrusted recklessly back into its socket. The bruises he had obtained earlier were beginning to make their presence known, throbbing painfully all over his body. For some reason, even his stiffened neck coursed with a dull aching he could do without. But all those were minor and would heal in the slow passage of time.

What he was really concerned about was why he could only open his left eye, though all he could manage to see what darkness. Maybe he was blind, he hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to know to be honest, didn’t want to witness what could be a horrid ruin of his face. 

A soft groan whispered from his lips and he was rewarded with surprisingly near voices.

“He stirs!” Came a subtle voice. “Ethereal’s blood its about time.”

“Or’es.” A soft, yet authoritive voice that could only belong to a woman followed up. “Can you hear me?” 

“Yes.” Shi managed to hiss between moans. “Ahh, what happened…”

“First things first.” Spoke the other voice again. “Let me take this off…”

Or’es opened his mouth to speak, but merely gasped at the blaring light nearly blinding his opened eye as the bloodied towel wrapped smugly around his head was pulled off. His eye watered as he clamped it shut from the flaring sun burning over him. 

“Oh, forgot to move the lamp… one second… there, try again.”

Reluctantly, Shi opened his available eye. The room around him was blurred, many undecipherable objects walking and rushing to and fro about it. Now that his ears could breath, they inhaled the fresh scent of moans, distant screaming, shouted orders and the irritatingly loud beeps and clicks of medical equipment. He could smell the bowel-raising scent of charred flesh, could nearly feel the saws in an another as they shredded irreparable limbs and strands of flesh.

He brought his attention to the blobs standing over him, and as his eyes continued to readjust; he recognized them as Te’ar and M’yen. Te’ar sat in a sturdy wooden chair beside the bed their injured comrade was currently occupying, while M’yen sat on the end of it. They both were in their fatigues, a white T-shirt and a pair of baggy paints, most noticeably to his eyes how they showed off M‘yen‘s deep curves. He pushed away the thought as soon as it entered his mind, focusing on getting a grasp of the situation. Both of them looked some what rested, though similarly bruised and cut on their limbs.

The underground bunker room they were in was a little claustrophobic for the fire warrior’s taste, a few meters or so. The large stone bricks that served as the foundation were damp and slick, molded due to the constant presence of water. The floor was an exact replication and Or’es felt like he would catch some chronic disease if he dwelled in this place any longer. 

M’yen gave him a warming smile. “You never cease to amaze ‘la.”

Or’es merely nodded, in too much pain to do anything else. “What happened?”

M’yen’s smile almost immediately flashed into a snarl. “You had slipped off the turret ladder, remember? Why you were out, we destroyed those raider scum, but something shorted out in the 'fish and it just stopped responding. We crashed through a factory not too far from base. Te’ar pulled me to safety just before it happened, of course you know Ukos was already in hiding when it happened. We took some cuts and bruises, Ukos broke his leg when he was hurled back. Te’ar shielded me from most of the debris and his armor absorbed most of it. But you took more than a few light licks and this is what came of it…”

M’yen raised the mirror she was holding and handed it to Te’ar, who in turned leveled it into Ukos’ view.

Not much had changed, rough, loose hair of midnight blue still kept its bowl like style, stopping close around his ears. His hardened, battle scarred face still maintained a rugged appearance. But the line of stitches running down his left eye was a large change he didn’t expect. But still, it could’ve been much worse. “Not too bad, I can live with this.”

Te’ar and M’yen exchanged surprised glances at his positive attitude. “You do know…” M’yen started. “You’ll never see out of it again?”

“I can tell, they wouldn’t have stitched it other wise.” Or’es muttered, almost to himself. “I guess you two were lucky then.”

“We all were.” Te’ar chimed in. “A patrol spotted us later last night and rescued us shortly after.”

“Coming to think of it…”M’yen nearly stuttered, raising her head to meet Te’ar’s gaze. “I guess I… never-” She paused to clear her throat. “Thanked you before for…watching out for me, you’re probably the only reason I still breathe… so… thank you, for protecting me.”

Or’es raised a shocked brow at her, having heard the words of gratitude spoken from her lips the first time in two years. M’yen must caught the look, no sooner did he display it did her cheeks flush like she gulped down a bottle of gue’la uskavar and turned away.

Not waiting for a response, she abruptly leapt to her feet. “I’m going to check on Ukos.” She muttered hurriedly as she opened the small richody doorway and rushed out, Te’ar and Or'es watching her go on her way.

Amused, Or’es turned to Te’ar, giving him an impressed look as the thin fire warrior leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head with a smirk of triumph.

“Well, aren’t you the hero of the day?” Or’es chuckled slightly as he forced himself to sit up, the migraines flowing away with every passing moment, his aching muscles somewhat ignorable.

“Just doing my duty shas’la, nothing more.”

“Riiight.” Responded the fire warrior with a sly smirk. “You do what you have to.” 

“I’ll do that. How are you feeling though?” Te’ar asked, concern mounting on his face.

“Not too bad, my friend, I feel a bit better now.”

Te’ar nodded before bending down beneath the bed to collect something. Moments later, he came back up with a full ammo belt and shining, new pulse carbine. Or’es merely gaped as he tossed them onto his lap, following up with a suit of armor. “Then its time we pull our weight on the front. Dark Eldar have been harassing our post all this morning, we’ve been ordered to fight when you were, if you were ready. So get ready, I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

--------
Any questions, issues, other comments so far? I do have a question concerning chapter 2, but I'm not going to ask it till chapter six is up, cause then you'll know why .


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

_Chapter 5: The path of the dying

:Imperial translation:

Location: Hyej-Nel: Northern hemisphere

Eyl’eine forest: base of Mt. Koh’yiel

Time: Three centuries before war on Tarmathon IV

Day:?-mid-day_

The continuous roaring of the Elyian falls boomed like rolling thunder throughout the forests, pushing the vast Illian river into a steady flow. Wild swaying of lush, overgrown grass and the rustle of leaves merged in unison in that billowing breeze that deafeningly flooded his ears. 

A sing song chorus of chirping rang out here and there among the trees, his keen eyes could even pick out few of the various birds that sung them. Soft trotting of passing herds of various grazers passed through occasionally, some even darting through the pathway within a simple blink. The feeling of zen radiating from Eyl’eine forest was immense and could be felt by all that had sought to venture through this ancient forest. 

Winding through the Eyl’eine’s heart was a trail of windswept cobblestones, the trail ahead blurred by a blanket of ever falling leaves. The path went on for a mile or two, cutting through rivers and hills, eventually merging into the foundation the shrine staircases. They too had been cut from stone, a thousand stairs that winded up Mt. Koh’ yiel to Teyl-Jhen’s shrine of Khaine. 

According to the old traditional tale, Craftworld Teyl-Jhen was the field of the final battle between her people and the dark kin that raged over the exodite world of Hyej-nel. How it occurred, such an event could only be speculated, but during that bitter battle, an apocalyptic explosion split their beloved craftworld into four fragments. Three of said fragments vanished into the endless seas of space, but the fourth was pulled into Hyej-nel’s atmosphere. Inevitably it would land in the wilderness forests of the northern continent in a cataclysmic explosion that tore thousands of miles of ancient forest asunder. 

But surely Khaine had witnessed his people’s affliction and blessed them, for Teyl-Jhen’s evacuated were safe from the horrific effects of its collision on the opposing side of the globe with their exodite cousins. It would be centuries later before her people would return onto it, waiting for nature to reclaim its lost territory at its own pace. When the forest had sprawled a new across the land, the Eldar set out in a mass exodus across the globe to reclaim it. It was in the forests of Eyl’eine that the craftworlders would restart, and reshape the remnants of their home into the largest shrine of Khaine in honor of their fallen people.

The Farseer relaxed as he inhaled the crisp, cool air with every breath; despite his Ghost helm staling his oxygen intake somewhat. As he did so, occasionally he would begin droning ancient chants unfamiliar to the child walking by his side. 

The young child turned toward his father as he continued in his whispered rambling. He was still dressed in his worn robes of indigo, concealed under his chest and other parts of his body under tight mesh armor. Billowing in the strong, gusting wind was cape of dark blue, in its centre a shimmering image of a opened mawed tiger of burning sapphire. The glaring sun illuminated his body in some shinning radiance that gave him somewhat of a holy aura. 

Wearily, Raihan sighed as he contemplated what exactly to say. The flow of time passed before the farseer could blink and already his son had already reached his fiftieth birthday. He was still a child, but the seers had decreed for all that the time was nigh. Aryriel was to begin his journey of knowledge about the path of the warrior. He would be devoting most of his time to learning and with Raihan’s duty of leading his warriors into battle and searching the skeins of future for signs of future danger, the farseer would rarely see his son for an unbearable duration of time. 

“Aryriel…” Breathed the farseer sorrowfully. “Do you know why you are here with me today?” Raihan did not wait for a response, halting in his tracks abruptly and kneeling to the child before him. “I have taught you many things….” The farseer clasped his hands over his helmet, gently sliding it off to see look upon his legacy. Golden hair spilled from its confines across his back, and Aryriel nearly froze as his icy blue eyes pierced his soul. “You know what is demanded of you -what you must do- for your home and your kin. You must become a shining star in the shadows, and burn brightly that those lost can rally to you. I know you Aryriel, I am your father, I know what you can become, though I know not what you will become. Never falter in your tracks my son, always move forward. Your path, like all, is clouded and its end cannot be discerned, unless you choose to follow it to wherever it may lead. Your path will be perilous, it will push you to your limits, stray from the road but a little and you never know where you will end up. I wish I could say more… but we must be on our way… you must be on your way. Before the sun light dwindles upon the horizon, I fear that you may never see me again. You mind your mother and cause her no grief, obey her and respect your Elders and all that the random hand of fate would desire you meet. You know the way to the shrine from here, warlock M’yen Tal will be waiting for you by the steps. I must take my leave now… be swift Aryriel, be gone…”

At that, the farseer waved his son on, not waiting for his son to muster a response as he turned to head back toward the village. “(I pray your path shall not end as mine, my son.)”


-------------------------
_
:Imperial translation:
Location: Previously stated

Exodite Calender/dates 

Time: Nya’lilia(Month)-Yu’raes(7th month in Exodite year)

Disrin’yri(Day)-Nai’ ai’ Isha(Day of Isha-fourth day of Exodite week)

Vru’inui-(Season), Renui Isha- (Isha’s tears-Rain/winter season)

13th Day since beginning of Renui Isha: 2:38 P.M.

Present day_

Three centuries had passed, and yet nothing has seemed to change. The Eylian falls still echoed like thunder in his keen ears, the grass still swayed under the rustle of leaves, the billowing gust forced his eyes into a narrow squint, more wildlife populated the area than ever before. 

Concealed beneath the blanket of shadow the forest spread throughout its reach , Ayriel laid his back against a worn, moss infested trunk of an ancient tree, mere feet from the open river bank… at the very spot he and his father used to visit throughout his childhood. 

Sighing, Aryriel wished he could remember more of this enigmatic figure, but this memory…just this one, it was all his mind could recall. Keeping his distance as if forbidden to step within sanctified grounds, after moments of staring across the mighty river, which had shifted into a mighty current over the years, the youth stirred cautiously from the shadows. Brushing the dense foliage aside as he passed, the boy kept watchful eye on the path before, careful not to step in a snake hole or provoke some camouflaged creature.

The eldar’s mind unconsciously resumed its recent reminiscing about blurred memories in this tranquil place. Compelled for some random reason, Aryriel was drawn ever closer to the river, until suddenly he found himself peering into a familiar reflection in shimmering, crystal clear liquid. 

The emerald green of his scorpion armor had been smothered in dried, cakes of dirt and loose chunks of meshed moss. His gauntlets were similarly dirtied and splintered from tree climbing and leaping demanded from his intensive training. Short, jet black hair draped his knife pointed ears, not falling past his chin. Gleaming, azure eyes peered through his projected image of his tall, slender frame.

“Looks like rain.” The aspect warrior whispered to himself, raising his view to peer into a sea of darkening clouds looming on the horizon. 

The young scorpion continued to gaze into the sky for long seconds, only a flurry of sprinkles splashing his face pulling him back to reality. For a quick second, a native fish of this forest flashed by his saddened eyes, before descending back into its watery realm. And without even a thought, Aryriel leapt after it.

Perfected with years of training, the Eldar leapt high in the air, double flipping before extending his hands into a dive as he descended into Illian’s vast waters.

_“Aryrielllll!”_

The Eldar ignored the feint calling of his name, instead sitting in a meditative position within the depths of the river, allowing Illian to pull him wherever it willed. The Eldar made no move as he thought, relishing the cool water rushing over his sleep worn face. He watched various fish swimming against the current as he went, zipping past him as if he weren’t there. Plant life he had never seen before collected on the submerged half of the river banks, bending with the water, serving as an arrow to give directions for whoever might find themselves in the depths. Below was an endless pit of blackness, though the river’s floor was only feet under its blanket of shadow. 

_"Aryriel!!"_

The scorpion remained in his position for long seconds, and though he knew it would be minutes before he would have to obtain air, he knew he had to come up to see her. Sighing inwardly, Aryriel broke from his position and propelled himself toward the surface. Water erupted in a some what miniature explosion as his head emerged from the roaring waters, soaked strands of his hair clamping tightly to his face. He brushed them away from his eyes and began scanning the area where he had originally came…a group of scaled blood red reptiles had migrated into the area. Lean, two legged creatures with protruding, beak like maws layered with two rows of long, slender teeth. The creatures hissed and glared at Aryriel with predatory glint in their narrow, desiring eyes. They must have been stalking him a for quite a while for him not to notice… he had gotten lucky…

_“Meditating?”_

Caught unawares, Aryriel spun round, stirring the rushing water toward the surprisingly close voice. No sooner than he did, his eyes came upon a smiling Naila, submerged form the neck down by his side. Colorful wings of her swooping hawk armor, resembling a rainbow, protruded from the water and flanked her on either side. 

Short, flowing, golden blonde threw off what little light piercing the clouds with a gleam, dropping down her back and into the river. Her body was very lithe, even by Eldar standards. Her chestnut eyes gave the warrior an odd look, surprised he had been caught off guard.

“What are you hoping to accomplish by drowning yourself in thought milord.”

“Don’t call me that.” Was Aryriel’s only response. “I am no leader, only a warrior, ready to fight and die for one’s command.”

Naila’s cheerful smile drooped into a tight frown. “In time, Aryriel. You are son of the Tiger of Teyl-Jhen, Raihan. I believe you are destined for great things, but to do so you must also believe that yourself.”

Aryriel forced a half hearted smile. “Is that not what all the village thinks? I’m am but one eldar Naila, no farseer, no Autarch to ascend above all others to save my people from some coming storm over the horizon. I am Aryriel, you know me, I do not desire the fame that is rewarded with a war hero.”

Naila cast him a chastising look. “Then may you be known as a coward instead. You may serve honorably as a warrior Aryriel, but your destiny is not yours because you “desire” it, it is there because you must take it up. No one else but you can, your kin need you.”

Aryriel let out a long, depressive sigh as he turned from Naila. “…What awaits me on this journey Naila?”

The swooping hawk’s snarl transformed back into her previous frown. “No one can foresee such things Aryriel, you have to walk your own path to discover its end.”

“Enough of this.” Aryriel ended the conversation with a grim finality. “I will do what is asked of me. That is enough. Come, I know why you have sought me out, the time-”

“Is nigh.” Interrupted The young swooping hawk. “It’ll take us a half an hour to get back, let’s go.”

Aryriel glared at her blankly, some what annoyed at having been interrupted, but let it go as Naila turned to swim back to shore.
--------------------------


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

The tumultuous racket of civilization rattled Aryriel’s ears as he glided by the trees, leaping over rocks and dense clumps of foliage strewn about the place. The scorpion cursed Naila for leaving him behind half an hour ago.

“You’re too slow…” Was what the swooping hawk said, despite him sprinting at his maximum speed, before launching herself into the air on her rainbow wings and taking flight.

His chest was heaving now, gulping for air as he raced toward home. Normally such a run as this would fail to make him break a sweat, but clad in his heavy armored hulk of wraith bone, it had worn down the scorpion far more than he had anticipated. Exarch Fai’ray would be displeased at that, Aryriel would just have to avoid him when he arrived.

As if on cue, the Eldar suddenly broke out of the forest edge and into a small, flatland of grass. Ter’shai field, the field where the armies of Teyl-Jhen mustered before boarding their fleets or embarking to the web way. Mostly it would be the web way, for even after a millennia, the scarce amount of production facilities that had survived the craftworld’s demise were constantly occupied with supplying the army with a slow trickle of vehicles and even fewer wraith constructs. They had little time to invest their efforts into restoring the fleet, though over time it has reached a decent strength and is held in reserve for only the most dire of conflicts. 

A few meters in front of him, the outskirts of the village, named Teyl-Jhen also, was marked by wooden cabins and structures. Smoke billowing from the many markets within the vast labyrinth drifted high over head, the celebrations had begun. 

The term “village” was a large understatement, Teyl-Jhen village was in fact home to hundreds of thousands of Eldar, while others lived only a days travel away on small farming communities. But all of Teyl-Jhen’s citizens would be visiting today, for a strike force of the army was in preparations to deploy while the majority would be placed on stand by. A great festival was to take place to thank the honorable warriors of their kin for doing their duty and to honor Khaine that they may return home in triumph.

Such a celebration would unsurprisingly be banned from stricter craftworlds, but the way of these Exodites had evidently rubbed off onto their cousin’s culture. There would be music, mass dance, the great feast, speeches of leaders, competitions, drinking, maybe even brawls. But before any of that would commence, all would attend the prayer ceremony at the largest shrine of Khaine, the temple of the remains of craftworld Teyl-Jhen. The actual temple was actually some ways away from the village, within the depths of the forest. Only aspect warriors were allowed to enter, not even guardians were permitted to come near. Unless for times such as these, times that never came often.

Aryriel wasn’t alone in the field, across the field, beside first cabin farthest from the neighborhood were the hooded figures of rangers and armored forms of warp spiders in some kind of gathering. The outcasts kept themselves dressed in plain, ragged dirt beige cloaks, a poor camouflage, but it was all they were given to pull over their mesh armour. 

The Warp Spiders were equipped with a more elaborate style of armour, their Exarch was well known for cleanliness and perfection. Which shined from their efficiently polished armor of snow white, their generators, trim lines, and weapons were painted in a bright shade of red. 

Dozens, if not hundreds of them, standing idly, strolling aimlessly in circles, or sitting in small, isolated groups. All of them talked amongst themselves, but not in hushed tones, barks of laughter, roaring cheers, howls of frustration all echoed from the mingling groups. Some of them were singing war songs of old in a pathetic, drunken chorus.

The scorpion broke into a steady stroll, attempting to conceal the fact that he had sprinted all the way here. No one paid him any mind as he eventually merged into the crowd, easily making his way through, abruptly, the Eldar paused as he came upon two familiar figures.

At the far end of the field, just outside the cabin house, a large wooden table of worn wood had been set out without chairs. Sitting idly on it, were numerous bottles of unopened wine, some he had never seen before, others some of the highest class. Under the table were just as many, completely spent of their liquid cargo. The thought of how much liquor had been consumed churned Aryriel’s stomach, forcing him to push the thought away. Looming over the table were six figures in total, three rangers on the left, three warp spiders on the right. Two of the rangers lurked behind the one in the centre, as did the warp spiders on the opposing end. The ranger in the centre of the pack kept his hood back, exposing his shaven head, save for a lock of hair on that hung off the back of his head. His worn and lightly scarred face spoke of his experience and his elder age compared to his other kin, who were usually as young as Aryriel. The ranger gave the spider an arched glance, a wide smirk on his lips.

The warp spider staring him down maintained a bulky frame unusual for Eldar, his muscles tensing in feral anticipation. His steel grey eyes narrowed on his opponent, brushing his short, indigo dyed hair strands out of his eyes.

“Bah!” Quint’os breathed with playful mockery. “You’re not ready warp spider, sit down.”

Hui’kim merely laughed light heartedly. “Only after you waste yourself into a drunken stupor, ole friend. Let’s begin, what say you?”

A shake of the elder ranger’s head was his response, he slipped his hands over his shaven head in the one motion as a youth would use to slick back his hair. “Suit yourself, Hui’kim. Jay’lash!”

The ranger on the left stepped forward, raising his hand in a karate chop motion. “Ready.” The boy said, leaning forward with anticipation. “Go!”

The two immediately snatched a random bottle from under them, keeping their eyes locked onto each other as they poured the open containers into the crystal decanters before snatching it up devouring the contents. Quint’os popped the cap loose first, flicking it off into the dirt before raising a bottle of violet colored liquid to his lips. 

Hushed gasps followed suit as the Elder ranger began gulping hard as the stream of alcohol rushed like burning fire down his throat. Few seconds past when he was forced to rip the cup away from his flushed face, instinctively exchanging the expensive wine for the bucket of water under the table.

He took a swathe of the clear liquid and slammed it onto the table, exposing his ruby red face to all as he rasped a long, drawn out, “Haaaaaahhhhck…..Vireyla….good stuff.” The ranger coughed hoarsely as took a seat in the grass, closing his watering eyes and placing a hand on his throat.

Hui’kim merely laughed, a triumphant smirk stretching across his face as he gulped down his portion of Hyliip, a watery wine with not much flavor. Quint’os raised his hands in defeat as the Eldar placed the guzzled bottle lightly from whence it came. “It seems the luck of the laughing god is with me.”

Quint’os waved a dismissive hand, “Just an off day is all…Aryriel!” Exclaimed the ranger, surprise clear on his face. The rangers and Warp spiders around the table shifted their view onto the scorpion and they nodded an acknowledgment. Aryriel returned the nod as the ranger gestured him over.

“A pleasant surprise.” Quint’os smiled. “Come, take a drink, place a bet, Hui’kim here was just about to lose.”

The warp spider shot the ranger a skeptical look, but turned to his old friend. “What brings you here, Aryriel? It's the eve of the prayer ceremony.”

Aryriel sighed as he picked a wine bottle not too powerful for his taste. “Exarch Yeilin is furious and embarrassed about the poor results the new recruits in the aspect had displayed in their some of their training exercises. “It is the experienced that are at fault here for not helping their new brethren in the ways of war” Is what he said when he forbid the all us from attending the ceremonies. We’re to train until the feast begins. So, why are so many out here?”

Quint’os shook his head with a smirk. “Rangers aren’t allowed to attend this year, neither are the warp spiders. Some brawl broke out in the streets for reasons I do not know. Of coarse its unacceptable so they came up with a unique punishment this year.”

“I heard the shining spears too will not be attending also.” Hui’kim joined in.

“They’re running team simulations with jet bike squadrons.” Responded the ranger. “I almost can’t believe it, its been a century since I stepped onto the field of battle, hope I haven’t lost my touch.”

“You’ll be fine.” Aryriel said as he popped the cap off his bottle of wine, taking a quick swig. “Coherency is what shall decide our fate in the coming battles, as long as we support each other and keep a keen eye, all shall be well.”

“Where is Naila?” Quint’os asked abruptly, scanning the crowd to spot the swooping hawk. “Did she not leave to search for you?”

“She is at the shrine now, or is making her way there, I believe she stopped by the village for something.”

The ranger nodded. “She has been quite happy with her promotion to squad leader, can’t stop talking about it.”

Hui’kim nodded his agreement, but with a look of concern in his eyes. “I pray the way of the warrior shall not consume her and transform her into an Exarch. That goes for you too Aryriel, I could not imagine living my whole life for battle and I fear such a fate.”

“You have fates much worse to worry about, warp spider.” Was Quint’os’ reply, emphasizing “warp“ to make his point. “I would fear becoming lost in the warp much more than becoming a warrior of legend. Come now, Naila has no love for war and neither does Aryriel, we all loathe it as it consumes our race slowly… but steadily.”

Hui’kim nodded with grim finality. “I do what must be done, as do we all.” Stated the aspect warrior as he raised another wine bottle.

The others nodded and with a cheer, drank in a bitter remembrance of the past. 

“Oh-” Quint’os paused in his toast. “You are wanted in the city hall, Aryriel.”

The scorpion shot him a surprised look mixed with a hint of anger. “What!? You could have cautioned me before I took a drink.”

The ranger waved a dismissive hand and smiled brightly, snatching Aryriel‘s bottle from his grasp. “You’ll be fine friend…”

--------------------

EDIT: I guess they're a little unorthodox , but yeah...


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Chapter 6:Fire a laser...

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: Ulikan district

Time: Day : Four-hundred and fifty-ninth: War for Tarmathon IV

12:00 P.M.-Night_ 

Mails sighed calmly as he slumped a fraction in his turret, the cool breeze soothing his ashened and dirt caked skin. The chimera continued its steady drive as it passed through a looming archway, entering a small parking lot to Montalos park in the market district. The lot easily fit the conga line of the four remaining chimeras of fourth platoon. On the left stood a small playground surrounded with the lush trees of the Tiloden gardens walk paths. The grounds consisted of a wooden swing set, jungle jims, and a sand box. The emptiness sent a chill down the guardsman spine, but he ignored it, reverting his gaze to the right. 

The rear of a mammoth, five floor building of dusty velvet bricks flanked the entire right side of the lot, a set of cracked, stone stairs connected the rickety, double door entrance of rotted wood to asphalt. Many of the jade tinted windows were still open, some of them cracked and stained with emperor knew what. Spanning across a large portion between the third and fifth floor was a giant crater where most likely a stray artillery shell had landed. By the complex network of gaping, jagged cracks running across the structures foundation, Mails knew it was in its last hours before giving way. Thrust into a small crack at the staircase’s base, was a nicely designed wooden sign with a sloppily painted warning in black stating, "Uilikan elementary school property, truss-passers will be shot on sight."

Mails chuckled quietly to himself just as the chimera suddenly halted in it's tracks. It was then he noticed the group of five chimera transports mere feet away, arrayed in a parallel line from left to right, blockading the opposite entrance. All of their hatch turrets were manned with alert soldiers, their weapons fixed in different directions. The transports sported a different color scheme of solid black, almost invisible at this time of night, only silhouetted by the head lights jutting from the hulls of fourth platoon's chimeras, exposing a giant, blood red "4" below their windshields. Wait, four? The hell was a platoon from fourth company doing here? They're supposed to be on the other side of the continent.

Standing idly in front of their transports were four soldiers, Mails could easily see their features with the aid of head lights. 

The soldier standing farthest on the left was a massive man, standing at least a foot over his comrades. His hulking, muscular frame could easily match a space marine scout. The corporal gave a low whistle as he eyed the man's custom built shot gun, just half the size of a heavy bolter. The unusual, dome shaped helmet he had on nearly covered his eye brows, casting the upper half of his face in shadow. He was middle aged most likely, kept a nicely trimmed five o' clock shadow. Unlike the others, he was dressed in the same fatigues of the Conorag bloodhounds. 

Beside the their larger comrade stood two average looking guardsmen, one standing a full head over the other. The taller one too sported that strange, dome helmet, though Mails could make out strands of dirty blond hair edging out from under it. He carried a simple las gun, lazily held in one hand as he marveled at the trees. An off worlder would likely give him an odd gaze, but Mails was unsurprised. One saw few, if no trees at all on Conorag, such plant life had been sacrificed years ago in the name of expanding, bustling hive cities.

Standing vigilantly in the centre, the other was an average looking guardsman. He came up a head short next to the gazing soldier behind him. He wore no helmet to conceal his smokey brown hair. Slung around his shoulders and hanging in front of his ribcage was an efficiently cleaned las-gun. Jade green eyes unconsciously squinted into the beaming light from the transports, but he kept his stance proud and erect.

Next to him stood a gorgeous woman with long, flowing black hair that threw off the glaring lights with a shine. Her bangs were tucked within her black beret, though a few lengthy strands fell from her shoulders over some of the medals attached to her chest plate. Dangling loosely down her neck was an unusually thick medallion of bright crimson. She kept her hands softly cuffed behind her back, her expression blank as she waited patiently for someone to meet. 

A ringing clang echoing from the chimera's rear signaled the opening of its rampart. Sergeant Shase sighed wearily as he emerged from the from the belly of the beast, pausing to swipe the sweat off of his brow before walking into the cool night. The rumbling of loud, fume-spewing engines deafened his ears, stalking his every step as he turned toward the side of his transport. He gave Mails a quick thumbs up as he past by whispering, "You did well today soldier." 

Mails nodded his thanks before re-shifting his gaze back onto the strange group of soldiers standing before them. Shase cleared his throat before stepping in front of the chimera's headlight. He had to squint his eyes to make out the four figures across the lot, and with a cautious glance back toward school, Shase nervously closed the gap between them, expertly concealing any hint of worry as he strode confidently across the lot until he was mere feet away from fourth platoon's command squad. 

The woman on the far left took notice and, with a hard elbow to the trooper beside her, she whispered harshly to the group and in turn they hurriedly snapped to attention. The officer stepped forward with a casual smile, extending her hand in formal greeting. The authority boasted in her voice took Shase back a moment. 

_"Sergeant Shase I presume, Lt. Helen of 4th Company, its been one hell of a day."_

She spared a quick glance behind her. "This is my command squad." Helen gestured toward the three strolling up to them.

"Yeah, those xenos are pushing hard." Shase stated confidently, taking Helen's hand firmly but gently. "But I don't think they'll want to play hardball when we arrive, they'll probably quit the field soon enough..."

Lance Corporal Nathan Mckell slackened his stance a bit, turning away from the ensuing conversation to find Private first class Tanon Harcon still staring at the trees.

"Well damn, they're not that nice Harcon." He whispered with a slight smirk. "Why don't you go pluck some seeds and take 'em with you when we get back home. Plant 'em in some garden, even if they'd die in their first year though."

"Well there's a sight for ya', no mistake in that." Harcon breathed, obviously still in awe at such a rare sight. "You see those furry things dashing through the branches!?"

"You mean squirrels?" Seargent Dawm rasped in a whisper as he walked over, overshadowing both of them with his bulk. "I've heard they're a result of chaos taint that came up a few centuries ago."

"What!?" Harcon whispered in astonished disbelief, his expression matching his tone. "Where'd you here that?" 

Dawm shrugged with a smuggish grin, "Can't remember, but I know I got it from someone."

"You see," Mckell chuckled under his breath, "This is why Hive cities are the way to go. You can easily tell the difference from a good old imperial city and a chaos tainted one. Living out in the wild, you never know till you're knee deep in it all, then you're done for sure."

"Nah," Harcon breathed as shook his head. "Chaos can spring up anywhere, in fact a Hive city is more easy prey I think, a lot more easy to blend in if you ask me."

"Not if the Guard is doing its job." Mckell protested, "Out here regiments got to comb through miles of wilderness and all that, not somethin' I enjoy doing."

"Well I'd take my chances if I could come out here and start over." Harcon said as he again eyed the trees looming over the entrance of the Tiloden parkway. "I don't know, you kind of feel like there's... some sort of... serenity, you know what I'm sayin‘?"

Mckell and Dawm exchanged surprised glances before turning back to the private. "Heh," muttered the corporal, "Move to a planet where the entire population tends to vanish into thin air, sorry but I’ll pass."

"But he does have a point..." Dawm sighed as he spared a glance back toward the two conversation officers. "They need to hurry it up, I don't like lingering in unsecured zones."

The other two nodded their agreement. "Yeah." Mckell said as he ran a hand through his hair slightly moving with the breeze. "What you think about this mission anyways, sarge?" 

Dawm shook his head along with a dismissive gesture before starting a slow pace around the group. "Awww, I don't know. Its going to be one hell a fight for that blade though, good thing we won‘t be getting involved. To be honest I think it would've been best if we hadn't volunteered to haul that ancient crap."

"I wonder what that was anyway." Pondered Harcon thoughtfully. "Look like so-"

Harcon cut his words short as the trio instinctively ducked as the streak of bright, burning plasma sliced through the air overhead like a bolt of lightning; illuminating the area in a mystical blue as it struck the second chimera of fifth companies cleanly through the engines. Frozen by the abrupt assault, all the guardsmen merely watched the mechanical beast ignite into a screeching ball of raging flame.

As if on cue, a hail of plasma rained from the opened windows of the elementary school from all floors; the ominous glowing dots emitting an eerie light of blood giving the xenos away. 

"Get into cover!" Dawm bellowed urgently as he spun back toward fourth platoon’s chimeras, his booming voice carrying through the area like an enraged deity yelling his fury from above.

Snapping out of the shocked reverie, the guardsmen manning the transports mobilized as one, swinging their hatch turrets towards the already battered school and with a deafening roar drowning out all other sound, opened fire in brief, accurate burst. Within seconds, large chunks of concrete and brick were blasted free from their confinement, showering the pavement below with choking clouds of dust and falling debris. Some of the xenos backed hurriedly from their positions as armor piercing shells tore into the infrastructure around them, popping back into view when their assailants re-shifted their aim.

Mckell slapped Harcon lightly on his shoulder before turning to follow his superior, a flurry of fire burning smoldering pot marks sporadically around their feet. Harcon covered his comrade with a few random quick shots as he fell back, casting a glance behind him to see the officer Helena take swift flight toward them, the officer she had been conversing with receiving the gruesome present of a headshot planted accurately through the side of his skull. Harcon pushed the man from his mind as he squeezed in between two of the chimera transports in his platoon, crouching under the gun turret contemplating their next step was Dawm and Mckell.

"What now!?" Mckell shouted, covering his ears under the deafening roar of the multi-lasers. 

"We can't just leave…" started Dawm calmly. "The xenos would pursue anyway-"

Dawm cut off his sentence as Harcon was harshly stiff armed into the cool metal plating of the command chimera, the glowering scowl of Helena stinging his eyes slightly. "Why the hell are you talking!? Get the men out and clear out the Emperor thrice damned school! I want everybody participating, there's no doubt in mind that we're outnumbered sorely... and get up Harcon!"

As Harcon erected himself, Helena unholstered her prized plasma pistol, a devilish smile crossing her lips as she admired it for a fleeting moment before whirling it like a hammer against the hollow hide of her chimera with three ear splitting strikes. No sooner than the third knock ring out did every ramp in her platoon fall with thundering thuds, her squads urgently pouring from their rears into the parking lot. 

"You know what to do men! Defensive positions, my squad on me!" Helena barked with an aura of absolute authority, radiating with a small glimmer of inspiration. Not that anyone noticed as the guardsman piled between their vehicles and in front of them. No one in their right mind stood to their full height, either crouched or flat on their bellies as they began to return fire.

Pushing the others from her mind, Helena spun around to her squad huddled into the narrow passage way given to them, thirteen of her finest. "(All we need is a banner, then this unit would be perfect...) Alright, standard clean up, you know the drill, this squad will be the first up in that raid... I'll stay to maintain a tactful advantage of the situation."

A soul shattering glare of fury pierced her men, irritated as they huffed and sighed with a roll of the eyes. "MOVE!!!"

"Form up on me!" Dawm cried as he waved his senior to move, who graciously stepped aside as his burly form jogged past, slowing cautiously as he neared the edge of the chimera. Throwing his back against the transport, the Sergeant edged his head out tensely. Fifth companies’ platoon had also disembarked, absorbing the majority of burning rain as if a living sponge. Another one of their chimeras had been blown inside out, the gut wrenching odor of charred flesh carrying over the lot.

Before them, the rest of the platoon began advancing at a snails pace like a living wall as they unloaded clip after clip through the windows. Hastily, Dawm threw his view over his shoulder. "On five, we're going to sprint around the platoon and hit the back door." Receiving nods of affirmation from his squad mates, the officer paused to open up his comm-link. "Reklov, Trof, and Dasi, I want suppression on those windows! When you're done, link up at the back entrance. Everyone else find another way in."

Not waiting for a response, Dawm threw his right hand over head, lifting up one finger...then two... three... four...


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## Chocobuncle (Feb 5, 2009)

Uhh I think this might take a couple days to read


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Lol yeah, guess I'm a little over zealous in posting. I can put it on halt for a few days though and let people catch up, hope that'll help:biggrin:.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

I enjoyed it Have some rep


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Thanks, Dark Angel, I think I'll begin resuming this tommorrow and at a slower pace:biggrin:, so stayed tuned.


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

"Go, go, go!" He bellowed, dashing into the open in a crouch-run. His men followed suit, hard on his heels as the conga line swerved into the cheap playground to avoid colliding into the rest of his squads. Effortlessly seeing through the screen, the rate of fire from the entrenched xeno seemed to triple in a crippling wave of fire in all directions. Before Mckell could even so much as blink, dozens of guardsmen were pitched off their feet in the fire storm, peaking with another rail shot. The streak of blazing blue tore through a few in Lyon's squad like... nothing, leaving scorched limbs in its wake as it strove toward its intended target.


Helena, by the Emporer's grace, narrowly managed to clear her blockading transports before the railshot plunged deep within her command vehicle in the line’s centre. The sheer force of the shockwave knocked her off her feet, throwing her violently face first into the pavement, the sharp crack of her nose heard over the raging explosion. Not a second passed when the machine ignited into a chain reaction, igniting two of its brethren in a mammoth collage of fire and metal, just enough to tilt ashened hulls of the last two chimeras on opposite sides off the left side of their tracks.

Stunned and dazed, the Lieutenant merely threw her arms over her head as she heard the mechanical beast eventually fall on their backs with torturing groans of twisting metal. Despite merely being a pair of transports, the impact shook like an earthquake from the eruptive force.

Even more screams of pain and wails of bitter fury were added too the carnage as a storm of shrapnel from the chain explosion scythed, flayed, and slashed open the dozen unfortunate guardsmen in the rear of the platoon, bigger chunks brutally smashing some aside in a shower of blood.

"Don't stop!" Dawm yelled encouragingly as his team neared the back door. 

"Did you feel that?" Meykey, the squads vox operator shouted over the ensuing carnage behind Harcon.

"Feel what?" The private asked curiously, darting glances from side to side as he did.

"Feels like a small tremor that keeps coming back-there it was again!" 

The squad came to a halt as they reached their desired doorway, then there it was again. Stronger than the last, no one could dismiss it this time. 

"They followed them, should've known as much." Mckell muttered under his breath.

As Mckell finished his sentence, the battlesuits unleashed a fullisade of missiles. First squad ducked as the explosives soared overhead, dropping into the mass of soldiers behind them. The corporal stared in horror as dozens vanished in an azure flame , tossing the fortunate survivors into scarred pavement. The brightness intensified and Mckell forced himself to look away.

"Into the building, now!" Dawm ordered as sprinted up the concrete staircase, leaping over the small heaps of rubble blocking the way. With a solid kick, the officer smashed the already rickety double door from its hinges, a wall of pitch black clouding his vision, denying him a look through the other side. "Mercy, they switched the power off... ok whoever has them, flashlights."

Mckell, Meykey, and Dover switched on their handheld flashlights that had been taped sloppily around the side of their las-guns. Few of the others had visor helmets equipped with night vision, switching it on as Dawm nodded, saying, "Let's go. Mckell and Meykey, you're on point."

The vox operator hurriedly maneuvered round Harcon, similarly hopping the rubble strewn about the staircase to Mckell's side who was already waiting by the doorway. The two guardsmen exchanged nods a moment before leveling their rifles through the entrance, taking a single step through.

Within was a broad hallway of sleek, smokey grey tile. Instead of the dusty red bricks used to construct the school's exterior, the inner wall were erected with plain blocks of concrete that hadn't even been painted. It emitted more of a clean mining facility look than anything else. The hall spanned out of reach of both of the solders’ flashlights, which barely pierced the enwrapping darkness at all. Mckell's could only light two floor tiles with his, while Meykey scanned a what portion of the walls he could. To vox operator's surprise, there were no doors, not even archways.

Meykey snapped from his reverie as Dawm chastised both of them with a intimidating, "Move it!"

"I get the left, you take the right." Mckell whispered hastily before breaking into a steady, yet cautious walk, keeping his flashlight in front of him. 

"Got it." Meykey responded before following. Behind him, he could here Dawm ordering the rest to follow suit and soon the entire squad had formed two lines on either side of the hall, the left with seven and the right six. Both groups kept within a reaching arms distance from one another as they walked with weapons raised, deeper into the one way heart of this dying structure. Soon the battle raging outside became merely distant echoes, the screams and shouts muffled into haunting moans and gasps. The light from beyond this tunnel also eventually died and the little lights they had could pierce no more than five feet in front of them... yet nothing changed. No doorways, no rooms, not even a damned trophy rack as they pressed on. Soon, not even air or the soft whistle of rail shots could pierce the hanging silence.

"I'm starting to think we took a wrong way, Sarge." Mckell breathed in a loud whisper.

"Let's hope not." Dawm grimaced. "Cause then we're really screwed."

"Hey check that out." Meykey said, washing a large stone column, protruding at least five feet from the inner wall. It was nicely designed, a giant slab of rock that had been smoothed into a giant rectangle, trimmed with all sorts of gothic Mckell couldn't understand. Parallel to it was another on the opposite side. As they passed it by, they soon came across another set. 

In silence they continued to move onward, passing row after row of these columns. Seven minutes into it, Mckell began to ponder on how large the school house was. The battle maybe over before they even clear the first floor, hell it may already be over.

"Allo..." Meykey whispered as overhead, the squad was approaching a looming archway a few feet thick that ran from one side of the hall to the other. Protruding slightly from the arch were boldly carved letters stating "ULIKAN." Passing through it, the hall had enlarged itself even further. The vox man noticed the lack of complete darkness thanks to gleaming moonlight flooding through an aquilla shaped window near the ceiling, giving them a sorely needed out look on their surroundings.

A few feet under the aquilla stood a mammoth trophy case. Five rows of prized possessions enshrined within a thin sheet of glass. Blockading its foundation was a fork-like stair case of sleek marble, extending at least two meters from the first floor before dividing into two, opposite hallways that jutted from the walls, both lined with a metallic railing. These must lead to the other floors, Mckell thought, as he could see one or two more in the far distance. On their floor however, was actually two other doorways, a mammoth double door to the right and a small one to the left, both were crafted from glistening wood of dark mahogany. Despite the welcome lighting, it was still impairably dark to see much very clearly, everything much shrouded in darkness.

Dawm nodded his satisfaction. "Okay... I guess we'll go through that double door first... then the small one, see where that'll lead to. Then we'll.... uh... come back then go up the stairs... clean that up and then to the next and repeat. That understood?"

The troopers grumbled their affirmation and the sergeant turned just before Leyod gasped. 

"You see that?" Asked a trooper, pointing his las-gun on the hall above to the left. "Thought I just saw somethin' scurry away.” 

Harcon crouched as he followed his squad members sight. "If they "scurried" we would've heard it, you can hear a chunk wool drop in here..."

If the private had noticed the odd glares he received from the latter part of his statement, he didn't show as he stood back up. Dawm shook his head before turning towards that double door. "Come on, let's ge-." The officer was cut off by a ear piercing shriek that carried across the entire chamber.

_ "KYYEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"_


----------



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Startled by the alien outburst, the squad unconsciously spun toward its source. Standing upon the trophy case was a tall slender figure dressed in only a loincloth, its head resembling that of a bird. Raised over its head was a primitive rifle with a sharp butt on its rear. 

"Kroot!" Mckell spat just as two of slender figures busted from the double doors with blinding speed. Their advantage of surprise was negated as they halted in their tracks under the blinding beams of thrice blessed lights the humans carried, screaming in their alien language as they were summarily dispatched in a volley of gun fire.

"On the second floor!" Meykey yelled as at least a dozen of the shadowed figures darted toward the stair railing. The unnerving silence simply vanished, the darkness lit up with flashes of las-shots and muzzle reports, a firefight beginning to ensue between the two squads. 

The warrior on the trophy case suddenly mobilized into action, leaping off its perch inhumanly high into the air. Dawm caught him the corner of his eye, veering his custom shotgun round and firing in one fluid motion. The horrendously inaccurate kroot fire lulled for a moment as they witnessed one of their kin explode into pieces, its blood and gore raining on the tile below. As if issued a challenge, the warriors roared as they leaped over the rail head meters into the air, swinging their rifles round as they began their descent. 

"Spread out!" Dawm bellowed as the first of the xenos landed all over the room, the quick flashes and thunderclaps of gunfire echoing through the halls.

One of the aliens screeched as it fell before the officer, striking with a lightning uppercut with the butt of its rifle. Dawm narrowly parried the blow by bringing his hulking weapon down, the sheer force of the block reversing the rifle into the floor. He followed with a quick thrust of his right fist toward the beak, but the nimble alien spun clear of such a sluggish attack, swinging its rifle round as his fist flew by. Dawm swayed his head to the right as the kroot's weapon clanged sharply against the opposite side of his helmet, robbing the blow of much of its force. The kroot stumbled back drunkenly a step as it attempted regain balance. The sergeant hastily stepped forward and with grunt of effort, drew a shriek of agony as he shattered the alien's right knee with the butt of his weapon. Finishing it with a point blank shot to the chest, a wave of blood and gore all over Meykey's legs and the kroot he wrestled with.

Meykey grunted as he tried in vain to break the ensuing deadlock with his assailant. The paint on his las-gun began to peel from the friction between the two's weapons. Just as the vox man asserted all of his strength into a push, the xeno abruptly pulled back, letting him fall over as it leapt overhead. Knowing he couldn't erect himself in time, he ripped the straps of his vox off and rolled over, the butt of a kroot rifle cracking the cumbersome machine a split second later. In vain, the warrior screeched as it attempted to free its weapon, oblivious to Meykey until the upstart tackled him onto the tile. The guardsman sat over it as he began to beat its head with his left fist, rewarded with a agonizing screech as creature’s head cracked against the tile flooring. 

He slipped a gasp through his lips, more in surprise to the skinny creatures unusual strength as it wailed its fist onto his helmet; leaving small dents in some places. The trooper slipped his knife from its sheath into his right hand just as the kroot slugged him dead in his mouth. Meykey gnashed his now loosened teeth as he felt blood run freely, but that didn't stop him from severing the xenos' head with a clean chop.

Mckell, Harcon, and Docon fought back to back against the tide of xeno before them. The corporal landed a shot between the eyes just as Docon was pitched off his feet from a lucky pot shot. Trooper landed with a hard thud, blood spewing from his chest. Before he could even scream, his attacker leapt forward and caved his skull in with a quick sling of his gun butt. The warrior roared in its alien tongue in triumph before swooping down and ripping and chunk of flesh from the corpses neck. In a vile act of hatred the kroot spat the wad of gore at Harcon, landing right at his feet. The private responded by sliding his bayonet free of his las-gun and throwing it into the thing’s neck, ignoring it as it fell haplessly. 

Mckell snapped back to attention, another xenos screaming in his ear. Instinctively, the corporal ducked while veered away from the alien charge. Throwing a broad swing of his right fist, the bird leaned back, dodging the blow as it slung its rifle in a similar movement from the opposing side. Catching the trooper off guard, the corporal could only gasp in searing pain as the bladed butt impaled his upper thigh, blood spurting from the wound on impact. Desperately, the guardsman seized the rifle in his left arm before the creature could rend his leg in two. The kroot in turn struck out with its free fist, but Mckell predicted such an attempt and swung up his las-gun, embedding his bayonet through its wrist. He was rewarded with an alien cry and Mckell easily slipped the rifle out after kneeing the beast between the legs; thrusting the bayonet into the creature's throat before pulling the trigger.

“Just a few more boys!" Dawm roared as he shredded two more of his foes with an accurate shot. That feeling of triumph quickly evaporated as the revving of what could be eviscerators echoed through the hollowed halls. Till now, he had never laid its eyes upon such a weapon before. As the twelve guardsmen finished off the last of the ambush, all of them reverted their attention to the source of the noise. 

Upon the trophy case were three kroot warriors, dressed in some ceremonial capes instead of the primitive loin clothes of the others. The one in the center carried an eviscerator as tall as himself, while the other two sported the usual. He had never seen the larger, hulking, two handed equivalent of the chainsword. So large, one would have to utilize two hands to wield it. It buzzed and roared like a chainsaw; forcing its menacing, razor sharp teeth into motion with bone crushing force. With a great roar, las-fire erupted around the three warriors as they leapt from the case and into the mass of humans, eager for glory and triumph. 

One of the alpha kroot landed in behind Meykey, beheading Huze in a swift swipe before firing a round into the vox mans foot. A mind scarring scream soon muffled with gargled blood rang out as the shaper tore Mikelu in two before turning on Dawm who merely blew the leader's head clean off before giving Huze's killer a shot to the back. The other squad members obliterated the last one in a hail of las-fire.

Silence once again descended to take its previous home, save for the hard breathing of the now sweating guardsmen. Dawm paused a minute before speaking. "Okay.... sound off."

"Mckell here."

"Harcon alive, sir."

"Meykey here."

"Jones still here."

"Leyod reporting."

Dawm suppressed the hurt in his heart to see so many of his men lying in the floor, but at least they went with honor and courage; that's all he could ask for. The sergeant opened his mouth to speak when the sound of nearing gunfire erupted around them. Before he could react his comm-link snapped on. A wave of relief washed over him as he recognized the voice as Helena's.

"Dawm? You still here?" She asked in a surprisingly concerned tone.

"Yeah, you okay ma'am?"

"I'm fine, listen. We've taken care of things out here. The rest of our platoon is clearing the second and third floor from the side entrance, Fifth mechanized are taking the fourth and fifth. The xenos are abandoning post and into the front yard, get out there and harass them a bit, hopefully we can route these wretches."

"Yes ma'am, I'm on it, over and out." Dawm said as he gestured for his squad to follow him. "We‘ll take this small doorway over here.” He said, nodding toward the door mere feet from the squad. “Alright, fall in! Be ready for anything, I’m going to bash that door open and we’re going to run and if we just happen to fall under gunfire, run and fire! Don’t stop moving, I don’t need to remind you the price if you do.”

The men nodded their affirmation as they lined up behind Dawm while he reloaded his shotgun. Leyod was second in line, Harcon behind him then Meykey, Jones, and Mckell. Pushing the pain of their wounds aside, the men limped-ran as Dawm bursts into a sprint, splitting the door from its hinges with a sharp kick. 

The hall was the same as the others, but as Dawm turned a sharp right corner, he saw doors of crystal clear glass with moonlight shining through them. Outside them was a the end of vast porch with hulking columns holding its roof overhead. Beyond that laid a vast yard of lush grass that expanded for meters, cut off from the rest of the city by a giant fence of stone decorated with gargoyles and the like. Splitting the yard in half was a cobblestone walkway connecting the stairs of the porch to the Arched gateway that had obviously been collapsed with explosives. Just beneath the rubble ruin of the gate, the sergeant could make out a few dozen fire warriors entrenching themselves in a dugout water drain.

The midnight breezed rushed Dawm's sweat slick skin as -not even looking for the door-- the Sergeant shattered the window before him with a pull of a trigger; cries of alien alert following suit. Immediately, plasma rained around them as they sprinted out single file of their makeshift door way, each one taking cover behind the many columns stretching across the porch.

"What the hell!?" Mckell bellowed furiously. "You just ran us into a slaughter house!"

"Get over it!" Dawm roared with a cocky grin. "We're bloodhounds! We can't be beaten!"

The squad roared their agreement as they basically blind fired into yard. 

"Leyod! Flashbang!"

Leyod halted his fire as he dug into his grenade pouch, eventually pulling what he needed. Not even leaning out, the trooper pitched the grenade into the air. First squad covered their eyes a second before the "bang" rang out, bringing a temporary lull in the storm of fire. 

"Grenades! Now! " Dawm yelled as he pulled a pin off the frag in his hand before pitching without a look to guide it. The others followed suit and soon after, thunder cracks boomed as if a storm was raging as smoke, flash, frag, and incendiary grenades vanished in a wave of shrapnel. Few of the Tau actually died from it, but Dawm knew it did its job as remnant squads from their platoon were able to sprint into the yard from the right side of the school, fifth mechanized from the left. The guardsmen took up positions beside the porch and the air was filled with hundreds of las-shots and plasma fire as the two sides traded fire back and forth. 

Out in the open, the guardsmen were easy targets and dropped like flies under such accurate fire, but the xenos fire line thinned out quickly under the hail of fire and soon only a few dozen remained on both sides.

Yelling something in their alien language, the crouched fire warriors began to shuffle out towards the gate, returning fire as they did so. Many of them had made it just as one of fifth mechanized chimera's floored over the rubble before them, the multilaser gun picking off five of them before getting riddled with return fire. Before the corpses hit the ground, its rampart dropped and a squad soon emerged, and Dawm could make out Lt. Helena at the fore. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, Imperial forces closed in as the firefight became a shooting range for whoever was left. And soon, that unnerving silence had befallen the end of the firefight, all in all, about five minutes.

After ordering the remnants of the two platoons to spread out and form a perimeter, Lt. Helena jogged to her squad still on the porch. Her expression would have been a grim one if her bandaged, bloodied, and broken nose wasn’t agonizing her so insistently. She concealed it well though, keeping a hardened expression as she steadily scaled the staircase; The rest of first squad light jogging to meet her half way.

"How many we got left ma'am?" Dawm asked grimly as he looked out over the yard.

Helena placed three of her slender fingers on her temple, messaging it gently. "We've got about thirteen left. Fifth company has got about seven, a hell of a beating..."

"You can say that again." Dawm chuckled warily. "The hell happened to your nose?"

Helena tried to look down on it, it had been corrected by the last medic in the platoon, covered in still bleeding bandages. Suddenly she shot Dawm a "I'll stab you in your sleep" look and he threw up his hands submissively. Helena kept the glower up for a second before finally easing a fraction. "Grab some ammo and whatever supplies you deem necessary, we need to be out of the city by dawn. Fifth mechanized will radio for pick up.”


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

The question I had about Chapter Six, does anyone think it kind of makes Chapter 2 pointless? Since everyone from that segment kind of died/disappeared to be replaced by main characters in the Imp. POV... I don't know, wouldn't mind hearing others thoughts on it.


Chapter seven: A look toward the furture…

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Previously stated

Exodite Calender/dates 

Time: Nya’lilia(Month)-Yu’raes(7th month in Exodite year)

Disrin’yri(Day)-Nai’ ai’ Isha(Day of Isha-fourth day of Exodite week)

Vru’inui-(Season), Renui Isha- (Isha’s tears-Rain/winter season)

13th Day since beginning of Renui Isha: 4:54 P.M._

The village’s centre was bustling with life, everywhere Ayriel had cast his glance during his passing earlier that morning. The streets of cobble stone filled to the brim with lavishly dressed civilians walking wherever they deemed necessary, even nobles found themselves ensnared in the ensuing rush hour. Towering wooden structures dedicated to vital occupations that keep the civilization running loomed along these streets, most serving the headquarters of various political nobles and seers of the council. Inns and hotels, postal services, ancient libraries, prestigious universities, the center of culture and history for the citizens of Teyl-Jhen dwelled in this very place. The towering monument overlooking the entirety of the village to complement that fact would be the recently constructed, Crystal dome of the council. 

It glittered and shined as if pulsing with psychic energies in the day, glistened with a holy aura by night. Not on this day though, the darkening rain clouds had seen to that.

A mammoth structure over a mile across, built at the city's heart. Despite free access to all who desire to visit, such a place of reverence was isolated from the rest of civilization by the Tyliean gardens spanning in a circular radius similar to the Crystal dome itself. Native foliage and trees intertwined with their ancient, exotic counterparts that dated back before the fall, creating a magical, scenic garden that stretched for at least a mile. Cutting through the gardens were many narrow, winding dirt roads toward the dome. Even if an Eldar were to take the most direct route, it would likely take him two hours to simply trek through it.

When one had passed through the gardens, their next destination would be the Nyo’bal moat. A stagnant lake of glistening, blue water inhabited by various creatures of the sea he couldn’t even begin to name. The moat too served to isolate the Crystal dome further, severing the reach of the gardens from its sacred grounds for yet another mile. To overcome this obstacle, one must take one of the six bridges, three on either side of the city, and cross over. They were carved from what wraith bone the citizens of Teyl-Jhen could salvage, carved masterfully to resemble waves of the ocean. These bridges proved more narrow than the dirt roads, no more than two could walk side by side at any given moment until they had achieved their journey.

When finishing their traveling through Nyo’bal, you would arrive onto Myosha island, the sacred grounds of the council. More exotic forest populated the surrounding area around the coast and near inland. These grounds were not guarded by warriors among the war host, not even Exarchs of legend were chosen to watch over Myosha, but the those who could no longer be counted amongst the living.

Around the island, lone pairs of wratihguard patrolled the area vigilantly, ever looking for a non existent threat. Occasionally, you could see a few gesturing with there wraith bone limbs in absolute silence, their telepathy the only communication left to converse amongst themselves. The cobblestone walkways inland were lightly guarded, for all converged upon the massive, arched gates leading serving as the entrances into the depths of the council chambers. Each gateway were blockaded by two wraith guard that kept charge of who would enter or otherwise. In some cases when heated disputes were ensuing on issues critical to the craft world, such as war, civilians were denied entrance so the council could debate rather than wasting a day appeasing to citizens. Not that many came anyway, actually he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anyone but a seer or politician save for him.

Aryriel sighed as he stood before the main entrance of the sleek structure, the massive, double door gateway towering at least fifty meters overhead. Standing blankly on the cobblestone pathway before him were two of its elegant crafted, wraith guard sentinels. Strange to him, their construct bodies concealed in ceremonial robes usually associated with the seers of the council, but then again they were in a way somewhat intertwined with one another.

The machines continued to measure up the scorpion for long seconds, occasionally turning and gesturing to each other. He tried vainly to make out the meaning of the mental conversation that was ensuing through the movement of their hands, which they continued to swing at him with their right; throwing their left into seemingly random signs. In unison, the pair of wraith constructs abruptly turned to the aged Eldar standing by Aryriel’s side.

The Eldar dressed himself in robes of the warlock of the blackest night, mystical blue runes sown in a trim. Long, slender fingers wrapped themselves gently around his matt black staff, which was really nothing more than a simple, worn pole. His head was completely shaved, save for a thick, towering Mohawk of bright, silver hair. A warming, gentle smile stretched across his lips, his steel grey eyes shining into life with attention as he met the blank stares of their long dead ancestors. His face was slightly worn, yet still firm with youth. By human standards, he appeared middle aged, but was actually six centuries old.

Warlock M’yen Tal was originally born in the depths of Teyl-Jhen’s sister craftworld, Ulthwe. He arrived some centuries ago with command of a strike force to aid Teyl-Jhen in the Eth-pyion wars. As fortune would have it, he chose to stay behind and settle down when he met his wife in the village. M’yen Tal is currently one of the most powerful warlocks in the council; though far from holding a senior position among them. 

The wraith guard continued to glare at him while continuing their gesturing to Aryriel. M’yen Tal remained silent, but the scorpion narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he sworn he caught a ghost of a widening smile flash across the warlock’s already cheerful face. Suddenly he nodded toward Aryriel, then reverted his attention back to the ghost warriors. Aryriel continued glance between the three when M’yen Tal erupted into light hearted laughter, raising an arched brow at the machines as he did. The seer sighed deeply before turning to the aspect warrior.

“They will not permit you to enter Aryriel, it seems only members of the council are allowed today. But I would wish to speak to you for a moment before you take your leave."

“May ask for what reason seer?” Aryriel muttered, mustering as much respect as possible to hide his annoyance. The warlock seemed to detect this and huffed another sigh.

“I apologize if you believe I am wasting your time, young one. But I was expecting you to join today, so that -when the session was over- you would walk with me through the gardens, that we may discuss things that were, things that are, and things that shall be so. You are irritated, the feeling radiates off you like a fragrance emits from a flower. Patience child, if you wish to have my daughter’s hand in marriage, you must prove to me that you are responsible enough to handle such an event.”

The scorpion lit up at the mention of Naila, though any sign of his thoughts were banished in a look of surprise. “Does tha-”

“Yes.” M’yen Tal interrupted. “I am not so ignorant about my daughter that I can not see that she has fallen in love with a fine Eldar warrior. But you are still young and prone to acts of recklessness, yet so is Naila.”

The warlock levied his hands in an ascend-descend motion. “Balance. Balance is the key in a relationship Aryriel, remember that. Its like stepping stones, yourself as a foundation, your partner the next to move forward. You simply cannot have one without the other. But, what if you couple two of similar traits? That… is a question that holds many answers. Succeed or fail, all depends on who. I look into your eyes Aryriel, and when I do, I see eyes burning with passion, adventure, excitement, courage edging the fine line of bravery and recklessness, I see in you the eyes of my daughter.”

M’yen Tal’s face tightened gravely, beginning to pace slowly back and forth as he thought out his next words. “It has been a century since Teyl-Jhen has gone to war and it is most likely that peace shall soon dissolve. The time is nigh for both of you to face the trials of the warrior, you have only had a taste of what is to come. Both of you are fearless, but that is not always a welcome trait. I have attempted to talk with Naila on this and though she listens…” 

The seer tapped his right ear to emphasize his point. “She does not listen. Well, if she must play the ship to sail freely across the seas, no matter the weather, then I would have you be the anchor. You must remold yourself Aryriel, exercise caution where you would normally leap forward. If you do this, and if the two of you survive your battles, then you will have my blessing.” 

Aryriel stood somewhat dumbfounded, merely blinking as he tried to take in the warlock’s words. M’yen Tal laughed heartily and slapped the scorpion’s shoulder. “Try not to think on it too hard now! Listen, I must take my leave and enter the council chambers. Hmmm…. perhaps we should meet another day, your Exarch Yeilin has been gathering many of the scorpions today, I assume you have meeting of some sort?”

“Yes.” Aryriel uttered wearily under his breath. “Its later tonight.”

-----------------------


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

-----------------------

Resting deep within the heart of Taiylid forest, concealed completely from view high in the forested mountains; a vast complex of elegant, wraith bone structures of steel grey trimmed with polished gold glistened in the face of a gleaming moon in a cloudless sky. The structures towered meters above giant slabs of stone tiles that served as their foundation. Thick walls split and boxed the fortress into eight estates that varied slightly from one another. Each of these areas bore the mark and heraldry of the aspect that claimed them.

The shrine of Khaine, for Teyl-Jhen’s people at least, served more than the purpose of worship. The term “shrine” was quite misleading, each complex of an aspect actually more of a small, decorative and traditional town centered round the actual temple structure. Each one of these regions contained its own universities, shrines, ancient libraries, training grounds, barracks, Exarch palaces, museums, even markets and the like. 

On many craftworlds, it is normal for Khaine’s warriors to walk among their citizens and blend with them as normal. The same could not be spoken of Teyl-Jhen, once you were a warrior of an aspect, you are to live out the duration within the fortress complex till your retirement. Though more experienced members were allowed to visit freely as long as they chose to heed the curfew. The shrine sustained and sprawled with thousands of Eldar warriors, who over time, formed their own way of life in the isolated keep.

The small, indoor half-coliseum that was the Ky’lein auditorium was nearly pitch black, the only light flickering from the candles lining the small rounded stage raising slightly from the bottom of the pit. The room was plain, the bleachers nothing but smoothly cut stone flanked by jade green columns to begin or end either section of the room. The auditorium was filled to the brim, teeming with hundreds, maybe thousands of scorpion warriors that filled the seats available. Others were forced to gather round the three double door entrances on the top level. 

New trainees grouped themselves on the right side of the room, the more experienced members massing upon the opposing side. Exarchs and senior members dispersed themselves among both, blending in effortlessly as they conversed among the softly buzzing crowds. On any other craftworld, these warriors would be held in awe with their mere presence, sporting ancient, master crafted and slightly over decorated armour millennia older than themselves. But they were seen and interacted with the masses so frequently they eventually became no different than addressing one of honored rank.

Exarch Yelien exhaled calmly through his helmet, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride swell in his heart as he peered from the stage into the mass of his warriors gather in the room. Despite the embarrassing performances of his newer recruits, he was proud of all of them.

Behind him, a dozen Scorpions stood at attention, flanked on either side by an Exarch. Currently, Yeilen was in the process of calling those who had been chosen to serve in Farseer’s Kania’s honor guard force, specifically requesting twenty of Yelien’s finest pupils. The Exarch had laughed when he had received the letter that informed him that his warriors had been requested over the banshees, Reiko and her followers were likely furious at the moment. 

He pushed thoughts of her aside as he again went over his list, waiting for the cheers to die down before speaking. When it did, he cleared his throat before opening his mouth to speak, but halted the first of his words as his eyes picked out a familiar figure making his way through the crowd round the central entrance toward the front. The assembly was deafly silent now, waiting for their leader to announce the next member of the body guard. 

“Why are you late!?” Yelien yelled, his voice carrying through the halls with a deafening echo. No sooner did his words leave his mouth when every Eldar in the theatre veered their heads to follow the Yelien‘s gaze to the center entrance. “I fail to grasp even a clue on how you could walk in here at this point in the meeting, which I said was urgent and announced yesterday, and yet here you are…very late! So pray tell me, why?”

Suppressed chuckles filled the air and Aryriel felt the air caught in his throat as he pondered an answer. “Uhhh….” he breathed tiredly.

“Uhhh, is not much an answer young one.” Yelien responded irritably. “If you wish to serve in my shrine, you will answer me when I ask you a question.”

The soft snickers were cut short as Aryriel cleared his throat. “Sir, I was…-”

“Never mind, if you can’t produce a proper excuse Aryriel, I would suggest not ascending above your current rank, for you will find that one shall need a fountain of them.” 

A wave of gentle laughter swept the stage for a moment and Aryriel gratefully took a seat on the stairs. He’d been running and walking all day now that he thought about it. And the two banshees at the shrine gates decided to give him a hard time in letting him pass. What are they so upset about anyway? He sighed wearily, he was exhausted, his legs were aching with overuse, the thought of “remolding himself” into some anchor kept popping into his mind like some blatant intruder, and he was still a bit impaired from that wine he had drunk earlier with Hui’kim and Quint’os. 

“I just need a moment a sleep.” He muttered to himself as he slumped his head into the palm of his hand. Resting his elbow on his thigh.

“Now, back to the chosen.” Yelien stated as yet again he eyed the sheet in his hand. “Squad Inian, J’yos Temini?”


A wave of clapping and tumultuous roars of approval erupted from the crowd as a figure stood in the belly of the masses, people readjusting themselves to make way for him. 

_ “Squad Oik’ yel, Uithoes lisoh!”_

Aryriel wondered what Naila was doing at the moment, perhaps he should go visit her. No, the swooping hawk’s district was practically intertwined with the banshees, due to them being next to each other and all female. Though males could enlist themselves in the ranks of the hawks, the thought failed to appeal to the male warriors of Teyl-Jhen that would rather wield chainswords, shurikens, fire pikes, or jump through the warp. And with nearly hostile hatred erupting from the all female aspect that were the banshees toward all who sported the jade green armour for the past few days was not something he needed. His eyes displayed a fleeting moment of guilt as a split second thought of Reiko flashed across his mind.

Yelien sighed as he eyed the worn sheet of paper clutched lightly in his hand. “Squad Yelien… Aryriel Tarithinon!”

Aryriel face shot up in surprise at having his named called, another wave of equally shocked cheers following suit. Dazed, the young scorpion leapt to his feet and began walking toward stage. Cries of congratulations, nods of acknowledgement, and various praise stalked his every step as he went. 

Yelien gazed at him as he finally made his way onto the stage, Aryriel made to step past him and take his place in the line of selected warriors. The Exarch extended his right arm, signaling him to halt, the racket the warriors were producing plummeting into once again dead silence as they saw this for the first time tonight.

Aryriel twitched involuntarily, desperately trying to conceal any look of nervousness and anxiety from the thought of being embarrassed again. Cautiously, he spun on his heel to meet his master in the eye, meeting the blank stare of Yelien’s visor. His muscles tensed as the Exarch peered into what seemed was the Eldar’s soul, remaining completely stationary, frozen as he waited long seconds for some form of chastisement. 

“….Aryriel Tarithanon… squad leader, second in command!” A smile stretched across Yelien’s lips as he watched his pupil almost gawk at the call, oblivious to the joyous shouting that were cried from his kin. He leaned in closer to younger one and whispered loudly. 

“When this is over, I need you to deliver a letter for me to Reiko of the banshees. Khaine knows she doesn’t want to see me at moment! This is your first mission as honor guard squad leader, don’t fail or I’ll strip you of your position as quickly as I gave it to you. Oh, and if you ever happen to be late again on nights such as this, I’ll kill you.”

At that, Yelien left the dumbfounded Eldar and gestured for him to fall in line before reverting his attention back towards the crowd. “The time is nigh, my warriors, I have taught you all I can. Now comes the time of your own, personal gauntlet that you must face and conquer. Our next assembly shall be for war and victory!”

The auditorium shook as if a tremor had struck as the warriors of Teyl-Jhen shouted an ancient battle cry…

----------------------------


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

The blinding light cast from an ethereal moon showered the shrine of Khaine in a holy radiance, the intensive gleam reflecting off sleek, elegant structures stinging his eyes if he glanced upon them for too long. The hallow tap of his boots clanging softly off smooth stone barely audible over the shouts of Exarchs and the ringing clangs of steel on steel. At the moment, Aryriel found himself scaling a large set of shrine staircases by the howling banshee‘s training grounds, flanked on either side by looming walls of beige colored stone. Once more, he found himself traversing such obstacles for half an hour, but his objective was close. Just up ahead, the Mammoth, square gate way of sparkling violet and indigo crystal, trimmed with a polished gold. Giving much needed shade to the guards overlooking the stairway at the top of the defensive post, a pentagon shaped roof stretched over the walls thick width. The entrance of Hyok’al palace, the Banshee headquarters in the shrine grounds.

Huffing a sigh, the scorpion swiped a palm over his sweat streaked face, mentally cursing the moon for veering its ghostly gaze upon him. He hadn’t realized how profusely he was sweating until he had stopped his sprint up the stairs when he nearly slipped and fell backwards. His legs protested his every step, feeling as if they were to buckle beneath him at any given moment. The imposing weight of his armor was far more a burden in this climb than he had originally anticipated and he wished the day would just abruptly come to an end.

“I didn’t realize this would be such a trek.” Hui’kim said in a suppressed yawn. Aryriel had found him waiting outside the auditorium after Yelien had completed his announcements of the day. He no longer had the armor of the warp spider equipped, but dressed himself instead in a pair of his farming clothes, which consisted of a loose, white shirt and some baggy pants. With his muscular frame, larger than even Aryriel himself, he could nearly effortlessly pass as a mon-keigh from a distance. He had yet to break a sweat, strolling comfortably alongside Aryriel as they continued on their way.

_“Halt!” _

The shout rang out over the training aspects and the scorpion snapped back to reality, finding himself staring through the massive tunnel into Hyok’al palace merely few feet away. What laid on the opposite was beyond his sight, merely a speck of light shining through to him. 

_“What is your business here scorpion?”_

The distant demand brought Aryriel’s attention toward the top of the wall where three of its female guardians glowered at him as if he were a tolerated pest. The three of them were helmet less, their long flowing hair a shadowed black in the night. He couldn’t discern their features from such a range, faceless shadows in the dark. 

Mustering his confidence, Aryriel opened his mouth to speak, but only heard a shocked gasp slip through his lips as the aspect in the center of the three catapulted herself off the roof, becoming a mere speck barely silhouetted by star light. The others kept silent as they watched her descend past them, spinning in up into a curled ball as she went.

The scorpion merely gawked, the warp spider by his side giving an impressed look as she broke from her curled state at the last minute, making no more than a soft tap as she landed gracefully on her feet with her head bowed. Before he could react, the banshee raised her view to look upon the interloper that had crossed her path, her emerald eyes peering into his blazing azure eyes. 

Quickly recovering his composure, Aryriel straightened himself and countered with a confident look as she began to measure him up. Short, slightly curled hazel hair fell past her pointed ears. She was beautiful, lithe, long slender legs and an attractive face. He caught a light blush wash across her face as she shifted her examination to Hui‘kim. She cocked her head to the left, running a hand of slender fingers through her hair. Her voice seemed to degenerate into a hesitant calm compared to what seemed like an provoked goddess shouting from the heavens just moments ago. 

“Your business?" She whispered softly yet firmly, keeping her eyes off of him, beginning to twirl a lock of her hair between her fingers.

“Hui’kim of the warp spiders, I’m here accompanying my friend on an errand.” The warp spider smiled gently.

“Oh, of course.” Spoke the scorpion hurriedly, mentally chastising himself for being rude. “Aryriel Tarithanon, I’m here to deliver a message to the Banshee Exarch Reiko.”

“Aryriel?” The aspect warrior veered her eyes toward him, full of shock as she leaned in closer. “So you are the son of the tiger…” The female warrior’s blush seemed to magnify itself as she realized a mistake had been made on her part. 

“M-my lord!” She stammered as she hastily stepped aside with a deep bow. “Of course, I must inform my lady you have come-”

“Whoa,” Aryriel interrupted, shaking his head as he did so. “I was hoping that you would just take the letter…” 

“Oh no, Reiko has specifically ordered to let you pass, besides if I dared deny you entry Exarch Analia would have my head.”

“My mothe… Analia is here? She was supposed to attend the council meetings today.”

“Yes, my lord-”

“If you would stop addressing me by that title, please… uhh.”

“Tyan’ony!” Rushed the banshee in a whisper, obviously still overcome with awe. “That is my name. But yes, Exarch Lyenith did attend the session for a short time, but when she arrived back early, she seemed very upset.”

Aryriel took a moment to ponder that, but dismissed it as soon as he began to. One thing at a time. “Well, I’m somewhat short on time, Tyan’ony. If you cou-”

The banshee cut him off with a curt bow, “I will inform Reiko of your arrival, but in the duration of that time you may consider…” Again, Tyan’ony leaned forward, coming mere inches to his face before taking a light sniff. “Taking a bath? If you wish so, I could reserve one for you. Though your friend would have to stay here though.”

“I am fine with that.”

A wide grin stretched across his face at the thought. “Why not? I won‘t be long friend.”

-------------------
Reiko looked herself up in the stainless, glass mirror before her. Her light weight armor was crafted expertly, fitting her light frame like a second skin, the moonlight spilling through the open door to her balcony shining off its beige colored surface. She tightened her deep violet sash round her waist, throwing her long, silky straight, jet black hair off her chest and behind her shoulders in the same moment. 

Her feet made no noise on the soft, indigo hued carpet as she turned from her reflection and walked toward a wooden desk of dark mahogany in the center of the room. Two cushion chairs sat across from each other, and she took a seat in the one nearest to the porch jetting from the room’s rear. 

The room was lavishly decorated, marks of the banshees trimmed the sky blue walls, paintings of the past leaders of the Exarch hung in the middle of them. Trophy racks were erected on either side, displaying sets of ancient paintings twice as old as she was, exotic weaponry and helmets, the most notable to her eye was the crumbling statue of the Phoenix Lord Jain Zar. 

She sighed anxiously, unconsciously tapping her foot as she enveloped herself in thought. A spark of anguish kindled in the depths of her soul, but, admittedly, some form of forgotten joy swelled there as well. This was unexpected, she didn’t think Yelien would fail to arrive personally at her door and break into some triumphant ritual dance. Perhaps she would have more of a chance if she was Exarch, that knew much of the ways of war that she probably hadn’t thought of yet. 

Each aspect in the shrine of Khaine is governed by a small council of Exarchs, a leader at the fore of the group. When the commander of that aspect would die to whatever reason, last wills were commonly written to transfer their responsibilities into the hands of the another. Reiko’s mother last possessed ownership the shrine, recently dieing in an training accident due to a malfunctioned wave serpent. Believing her daughter would be much older when she would pass on to the infinity circuit, she left her only sibling the rights to lead. It was fairly simple with the aid of more experienced “advisors” in earlier years, but on the eve of war, it was becoming a tiresome hassle that was beginning to take its toll on her fragile body. 

A sudden knock on the door gained her attention, creaking open before she could respond. Reiko allowed her annoyance to contort itself into a sneer on her lips at the bowed figure stepping in. She suppressed the urge to shout her swelling rage into a threatening serpent’s hiss.

“Spend a century perfecting your graceful leaps yet you fail appallingly of showing formal manners, knocking is a basic technique which children can master effortlessly. If you continue to persist in your embarrassing demeanor, you will force me punish you, Tyan’ony.”

Even from where she sat impatiently, her keen eyes could make out a blush brighter than make up Mon-Keigh women would apply welled up on the young banshee’s face as she submitted to her master’s retort. Reiko merely rolled her eyes, she could never decipher Tyan’ony for the life of her. If she wasn’t bi-polar, Reiko wouldn’t know who would fit the description. One minute, she appeared a commanding, lethal and proud female warrior that demanded respect and possessed a confidence that bordered on irritating arrogance. The next she was this clumsy, shy and submissive servant that blushed like it was a hobby of hers.

Huffing a loud sigh, Reiko leaned back in her seat as Tyan’ony gestured toward the door and she felt the air caught in her throat, freezing momentarily as she whispered. 

“He is here, my lady.” Their was that authoritative voice again. Already fed up with her, Reiko hastily spat an order. 

“Leave us!” She commanded with a cutting gesture, her face lightening into a blank expression as Tyan’ony spun to leave. A rush of nervousness finally decided to wash over her, but she suppressed it vigorously, her eyes widening ever so slightly as a familiar figure walked in.

A surprising muscular figure for an Eldar, yet maintained a slender frame. His boots echoed off the carpet with solid thuds, the clang of his sheath and holster rattling with every step. His emerald green armour threw off the imposing moonlight with a feint glimmer. Strands of rough, loose, jet black hair hung freely from his forehead, almost falling past his dark blue eyes. 

An awkward silence passed between the two as they glared at each other, unmoving as they door creaked shut. Reiko twiddled her thumbs anxiously, gently nudging at her bottom lip as she measured the young scorpion up. 

She exhaled entrapped air she didn’t realize she was holding in breathless sigh, the male aspect warrior picking up his name on the end of it.

“Aryriel?” She replied breathlessly. “Some time has passed since we last met, has it not?”

“Hello Reiko.” Aryriel stated with a voice devoid of emotion, unsure of what else to say at the moment.

“Come, take a seat.” Reiko half heartedly smiled, gesturing toward the chair sitting on the opposing end of the table. 

Aryriel hesitated a moment before he complied, cautiously moving the seat back to sit in. When he did, that uncomfortable silence flooded the room once more. Ten seconds past when he finally spoke, stretching his left hand out as if too touch Reiko’s cheek, but halted his advance half way before opening his palm to reveal a ragged, wet stained letter. He watched her face curl up in disgust and chuckled a little louder than he had wanted. 

“Sorry, dropped it in a puddle on the way here.”

A knowing smile slipped on her lips, but she chose to remain silent, seemingly content to continue to gaze into his eyes. Suddenly she pressed her hands against the desk as she stood to lean over, Aryriel involuntarily froze as Reiko closed the gap between him, so close that their cheeks brushed softly against each other as she put her lips to his ear. Blowing softly as she spoke in a hushed tone. 

“Whisper in my ear, Aryriel.”

“Wh-what!?”

Reiko giggled in a child like manner, running an armored hand threw his hair as she kissed his cheek.

Aryriel veered his head to be sure the door was sealed shut, when all seemed clear, he hurriedly pulled himself free from the banshee’s caressing grasp and erected himself. 

“No, there is no “us” anymore Reiko!”

The female aspect pulled back calmly to her seat, her smile reverting into a mocking snarl as she retook her seat. “Really? You wisp me off my feet into my bed, then you leave at dawn never to see me again for half a year, you call that ending a relationship? I cannot guess at the reason my feelings have never wavered for you over the months, Aryriel.”

Aryriel gawked at her in disbelief, “ There was no relationship, it was once or twice, but nothing more. You knew it was temporary.”

“Am I to read your mind seer!? I thought we kindled a spark in the furnace along the way. You didn‘t seem dissatisfied with the way things were going.”

“I wasn’t, but I knew it had to end as well. If we were caught we’d be thrown on burning pyres! We both had to go our separate paths, you knew what to exp-”

A thunder clap rang out like a falling dish shattering against cold tile. Aryriel could feel the soreness spiking painfully in his cheek where Reiko slapped him. 

“You’re a bastard! I didn’t expect you to just cast yourself from me without a word!” Reiko half squeaked-shouted, desperately trying to hold tears threatening to pool over her eyes.

Aryriel said nothing, a sting of guilt plaguing his heart more deeply than the physical swelling of his cheek. “….I made a mistake…. I won’t deny that, but I had not the heart to tell you face to face. I‘m sorry, that‘s really all I can say, It was a momentary lapse in my judgment, that and what relationship we did have.”

“Hmph, you always were a coward when facing women.” Reiko muttered, regaining some of her composure. “But what’s done is done I suppose. It is likely best we put this behind us anyway, since we’ll be cooperating on the field of battle soon.” 

She sighed as she tried to contemplate her next choice of words. “Listen… I still don’t forgive you, but… I…we can try to start o-”

“No.” Interrupted the scorpion abruptly. “This is over, it has to be. This is the last time I intend to visit you again, I’m just tying loose ends, nothing more. I’m sorry it ended this way, but it’s the way we both must take…I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

Reiko could not find words to speak as Aryriel spun on his heel to leave, casting one final glance at her, before jerking the door open and shutting it on his way out for the last time.
~~~~~~~~

“What happened to your face!?” Hui’kim and Tyan’oly gasped in unison, their eyes ensared by the swelling bump beginning to rise across the right side of Aryriel’s face as he emerged from the tunnel entrance of the front gates of Hyok’al palace.

Aryriel stood dumbfounded for a moment, completely forgetting it was there in the first place. “Uhhh, nothing really-”

“He walked into a door I bet.” Hui’kim chuckled heartily and Tyan’oly playfully slapped him on the shoulder. Obviously some were enjoying each other’s time. 

“Well I’m heading to my barracks, I’m exhausted.”

Hui’kim shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right, come, we have a long way to travel before we reach your shrine. I’ll see you tomorrow Tyan’ony.”

“Yes, of course.” Said the banshee, waving as she turned to renter Hyok’al.
------------------------------------


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

Absoulutly loving this mate keep it up:victory: and have some Rep

Edit: Cant Rep you at the moment but will give you some when I can


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Thanks again, Dark Angel, expect some more real soon, still got a few chapters to go before we get caught up:grin:!


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Chapter eight: Courage and honor….

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: City Outskirts

Time: Day : Four-hundred and sixty: War for Tarmathon IV

9:00 A.M.-Day_

All around him, expansive wheat fields occasionally flanked or lined with a set hedgerows stretched endlessly along either side the narrow, backwoods road. A blaring sun cast its intensive glower in a crystal blue sky, casting the fields and the occasional hut-house he came across in a supernatural, golden radiance. It would have been beautiful, ensnaring, but he paid no heed to the scenic view as he sprinted as fast as his legs could take him down the road.

His chest was heaving, his burning lungs gasping for air and he wished he had a break to spare, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t stop. Despite him wearing military fatigues instead of the standard flak, he was sweating, profusely, so much he could barely keep a tight grip on his las-gun. Beads of sweat constantly stung at his emerald green eyes and he hurriedly raised a hand to swipe it away. The heat was stifling, suffocating like a thermal blanket over his entire body, the fact that the wind was practically non-existent today didn’t help any either.

It was somewhat eerie when he stopped to listen, no sing song chirp of whatever birds thrived around here, no grazing animals that had migrated into the abandoned area some time before, hell the wheat wasn’t even swaying; not even the distant reports of gunfire off in the city limits just a mile or two behind could reach him. No, all he could hear was his ragged breathing, the solid clang of his boots echoing off blistering concrete, the drips of his sweat breaking off his clothes, the occasional clang of the gear hanging freely from his ammo belt. 

Honestly, Mckell had no idea what had happened, but it happened. The drivers were dead as soon as the Chimera lurched to a complete halt just on the city limit border. The rampart fell and all twenty guardsmen that had cramped themselves within the belly of the mechanical beast disgorged immediately, spilling into the wilderness of neglected farmland with instinctive urgency. 

Some stayed to fight, very few though, what happened to them he never looked to find out. They were all together then, just running down the road he was on now. When gunfire broke out, Lieutenant Helen shouted, “split up!” but before she could get specific, everyone just dispersed in random directions, disappearing in the fields and farm houses…that was last time he saw any of them, at least an hour ago. Screams of pain, horror, they surrounded him as he continued to sprinted. Though it was probably an unwise decision for him to make at the time, Mkell felt compelled to just stay on the road. And ironically, it had proven to be the wisest, for he hadn’t encountered one alien soul on his journey. 

A sting of shame pierced his heart as he thought of his squad mates, he should have stayed, he should have fought, he should have died. But yet here he was, running… it seemed as though he had been doing it all day, but he wouldn’t stop, not in this forsaken place.

_“Mckell!”_

The random call, as distant as it was, startled him completely and he simply froze in his tracks. Blinking away another drop of sweat, he hurriedly spun round to see… nothing? Just small hedgerows and wheat fields…. and the road back, the steep slope he had sprinted down, the outskirts of Shailon resembling more of an illusion from here than an actual city. But that was all he saw and for one fleeting moment, the thought that maybe it was the Emperor’s call of chastisement, a call of repentance, a call to serve. Maybe he should go back… fight, attempt to find a squad member, something… other than run, other than to turn his back on his comrades,… other than to turn his back on the Emperor.

But as fortune would have it, a repeated call cutting through the silence told him that it was a normal calling. He strained his eyes for a sign of someone, and eventually, that’s what he found. 

Some distance away, so far he couldn’t make out who, but someone stumbled through the hedgerows on his left and into the road, crouched and sprinting towards him. Mckell waved but the guardsman paid the gesture no heed as he kept running and soon a second figure emerged from where the first had just been.

It was… it was… Harcon? Yes, he was sure of it now… and… Meykey, who seemed to be lagging behind with that cumbersome vox strapped to his back. A flood of relief washed over him as the two hurriedly closed the gap between him. He could hear their gasping breaths in the air and shuffling of their boots as they pulled up, they were exhausted.

“Emperor’s mercy, you run fast Mckell!” Meykey exclaimed between breaths with a smirk, almost charging into Harcon as the private first class pulled up short. “Thought you were Eldar the way you were running, nearly couldn’t catch up!”

“Or maybe that’s because I took the straight path instead of running in circles all over the place.” Mckell retorted with a grim expression, though inwardly feeling some of his courage return with just the mere presence of comrades familiar. “Where are the others?”

Both of the guardsmen shrugged, Harcon veering his view on the farmland before him. “I know some died… I think Leon actually got caught… unless he pulled that frag I heard earlier. Other than that, no.”

“Just the three of us it seems…” Meykey muttered under his breath with another shrug. 

Mckell nodded in agreement, he was most likely right, and even if he wasn’t, they couldn’t turn back now. “Meykey…drop that vox, toss it somewhere, it’ll just hinder us.”

The voxman nodded knowingly before dropping down on one knee, stifling a near scream as he involuntarily recoiled from the blistering concrete as it singed his skin. Gritting his teeth in pain, the guardsman just began unbuckling unseen straps enwrapping his chest from where he stood. At that, the corporal turned to Harcon, though he spoke to both of them. Reserving a moment to contemplate his words, he swiped a layer of sweat forming on his forehead before breathing. “Well… what now?”

As what was becoming usual for Harcon, he kept his gaze on the swaying, golden fields of wheat, somewhat in awe, yet remained impassive. He raised a hand over his sensitive eyes to shield them from a merciless sun, long seconds passing before giving a calmed response. “You’re the leader now man, you gotta’ make your own path. So, “what” now, corporal?”

You have to make your own path… Mckell never really thought of it before, he never thought he’d be in a position of command that sergeant’s possess. That troubled him, more than he would’ve like to admit. Soldier’s die, all the time, everywhere, even where it shouldn’t be possible. But the thought of someone fighting and dieing under his rules, his command, his orders… it was a burden he didn’t need to bear. 

_“To lead shall mean death for some, to not, death for all."_

Mckell spared a glance around his surroundings as the unfamiliar voice randomly whispered in his ears. It went as soon as it came and he eyed Meykey, who was still struggling to free himself from the stubborn grip of his vox. Then Harcon, who was still glaring at the fields. “Uh… was that… one of you?”

“Huh?” Meykey huffed, keeping his eyes on the vox, finally tearing the last strap free, allowing the vox fall with a deafening clang.

“What the hell Meykey!” Mckell shouted in a whisper. “Someone could have heard us!”

Sarcastically, Meykey mouthed an apology before bending down and swooping the clunky communication device into through the hedgerows. “Well since we’re just standing in the middle of the only road out here… kind of thought it wouldn’t matter, but my mistake. Now what were you saying earlier?”

“Never mind.” Mckell dismissed the conversation with a wave of his hand. The corporal opened his mouth to say something else, but Harcon’s sudden tensing gained his attention. “What?”

“Eldar…” Harcon practically murmured it under his breath, as if one notch louder would scream their position to the glossed, burgundy painted raider transport with a gold trim that was hovering through the wheat fields to their right. It was some ways away, far enough where he couldn’t decipher the half a dozen warriors on either side from one another, yet close enough that one could hear that nagging hum of the engines; probably on the other side of the expansive field. 

Surprisingly, the transport wasn’t blitzing by with a ear shattering shriek, but instead was riding slow and steady… and decreasing in speed. When the Raider actually came to halt before dropping out of sight told Mckell they had been spotted. 

If they were going to make it out of here before their determined pursuers caught up, they would have to leave now. Harcon caught his remaining comrades attention with a sharp, yet quiet, whistle. His voice was hushed, but he remained stationary. “Alright, we need to get out of here, without a transport, it’ll take us days to get back to western continent. Let’s go.”

_“So you’re just going to keep running away?”_

Mckell just froze at that whisper, it was starting unnerve him…“Wh-what?”

Harcon and Meykey turned toward him, giving him a “I didn’t hear you” look. But he said nothing for at least five seconds, before finally turning to Harcon. “You said…that I would just keep running away….” His words sounded unsure, and he was to be honest.

The odd looks that the privates were exchanging each other only magnified that uncertainty. In unison, both of them veered their gaze back onto Mckell, saying. “Just keep running away?”

A light hearted chuckle emerged from Meykey. “Someone has been chewing a little too many Iho sti-”

“No.” The abrupt bluntness of the statement took the voxman back as it did for Mckell himself and the corporal paused momentarily before muttering something.

“…… I’m not running…. we are not running…. not anymore,… we have to take out those dark Eldar across the field over there before we make our way back to base.” Mckell punched his palm to emphasize his point, his look of uncertainty contorting into a face of sheer determination. He knew it too, that made him smile… “Turn our backs and they’ll be on us before we know it. So what do ya’ say first squad, Oo-rah?”

Mekey and Harcon spared a knowing glance at each other, the private simply nodded and Meykey merely shrugged before both of them purposefully shouted with a resounding echo, “Oo-rah!” 

_“A seemingly random plan, human…”_ The voice, unmistakably female came from a shadow in the hedgerows, no more than a meter behind them. Mcgrady couldn’t help sighing in relief as he hefted his clunky weapon ,realizing everyone had heard that time, spinning toward the source with an instinctive urgency, las-guns drawn. It was a soft spoken voice, somewhat timid and hesitant attempting vainly to come off stern and confident. _“That I’d consider…suicidal? Is that the word? Hmm…I guess I should practice my gothic more often, but its never really interested me, too bland. Either way, onto the point…the random hand of fate has delivered me here, to you, but I pray the purpose of our meeting is not so coincidental…”_

There was a breeze… cool and refreshing and Mckell relished the messaging sensation as the stream of wind rushed swiftly to drown his face. He squinted his eyes and inwardly, he sighed calmly, but despite that, he made sure to keep his stunned expression as impassive as possible when a shadowed figure gracefully leapt from the midst of the hedgerows on his left into the center of the road. He would’ve been surprised, impressed maybe, at the fact that her boots made nothing but the slightest tap when she landed with graceful precision before the trio of guardsmen.

She possessed a tall, yet very slender and fragile frame, too thin to be human. Her poise was elegant, graceful. Hints of partly exposed, simple robes concealed beneath a slightly over sized cloak that billowed in the howling breeze. Her face was pale white, nearly shaven save for a lock of gleaming, ruby red hair that protruded from the right side of her head, spilling messily over her chest. With a quick swipe, the lock was flung over her shoulder and she raised her left hand in a vain attempt to shield her gaze from the ensuing gust around them. Her narrow, violet eyes squinted involuntarily in the face of nature’s assault, Mcgrady couldn’t help noticing the puzzling feeling of reluctance and shyness they radiated, yet somehow optimistic and joyous. 

She slung her rifle over her shoulder as she met the guardsmen’s gaze. Already knowing full well the human’s response before his mouth even opened to speak, a feint smile playing on her lips. Yet she was hesitant to ponder her choice of words, allowing the Mon-Keigh officer before her to breath the softest whisper that her keen, unusually pointed ears could hardly hear for one fleeting moment before vanishing through the wind.

“What?”

The simple question tore Urleatha from her from contemplation and she immediately snapped back to reality. Curiously, she examined the trio one by one as she paced cautiously, her wary gaze eventually falling upon Mckell‘s weapon and her left hand unconsciously snaked its way over her shoulder to fiddle with the ragged sash supporting her long rifle.

“… Would you point your weapon toward an ally, Mon-… human?” She breathed warily, correcting her last word rather hastily as she continued measuring them up . “But I guess that should fail to surprise me…”

The corporal threw up what seemed an undecipherable gesture to her eyes at his soldiers flanking him on either side, and they reluctantly consented, retracting the intensive glower of their muzzle barrels . “Ease off, men, she’s a craftworlder… What‘s your business here, Elda-”

Mckell was silenced with a raise of her slender hand, her knowing smile fading into a scowl as she sniffed the wind. “We have more troubling issues assailing us at the moment, the dark kin are aware of our presence here. Be swift human, and follow… I shall take you to my superior.”


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## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: City outskirts- wealthy suburbia

Time: Day:Four-hundred and sixty: War for Tarmathon IV

11:-00 A.M.-Day_

Helena snapped out of her reverie, she needed to go ahead and access the vox, get her message out. 

The two lane street was -similar to the rest of the city- abandoned by a long forgotten inhabitants, leaving a pristine settlement any Imperial would be proud to call home. The blocks of white concrete that made up the sidewalks were spotless, sporting residential signs pointing in the direction of some structure of local importance. Various forms of cars in mint condition remained stationary on the roadside, parked in front of whoever’s residents. Lining either side of the road, towering buildings varying from two to five stories stretched as far as her eye could see. They were wealthy condominiums, each set divided by a small front yard protected with varying forms of fences. 

Despite the fact that it was early morning, the outskirts continued to emit a foreboding presence that made her unconsciously tensed. Her muscles were stiff, her chest tight and she found herself exerting quite some effort to feel as though she was actually breathing; which was making her bandaged nose ache like hell. Her blood-red, matt black, camo-style military fatigues were smeared with thin layers of dried, caked dirt and debris. Her limbs, along with her fatigues were nicked with random, shallow cuts she no longer even felt. Her face was slick with sweat as she continued to recover from the recent turn of events within the suffocating hull of the chimera transport remaining haplessly stationary in the center of the road. 

The dim light spilling from small bulbs jetting from the top corners of the roof were still functioning, bathing the hull in a ocean of blood red. The rampart was still open, letting natural daylight flow freely through the hull and shattered windshields of the cockpit only added to the effect. But she had made certain to keep the turret hatch shut…didn’t want a sniper picking her off. 

She did not stir from the center of the bench bolted in to the left side of the hull, her plasma pistol lying in her lap. She could only keep watch, despite there not being the slightest visible evidence of another presence. But they were lurking somewhere -the condos most likely- considering that many of the numerous windows the structures displayed were open. 

There was a breeze… sweeping through the hull and Lieutenant Helen sighed in relief as it rushed to drown her face in a stream of cool air. She wasn't so over cautious not to relish this form of rarity, a wry smile playing on her pursed lips at the slightest touch of it. Though it did little to dissolve the despair she was feeling at the moment.

What little remnants of her platoon were left had scattered to Emperor knew where. She had scoured the some of the countryside and when she had failed to locate anybody, she eventually made her way back to the outskirts of Shailon and found there last chimera. She had returned because she knew their was a vox in the cockpit. So she entered the dead vehicle, taking a seat to rest before moving on, despite it not being such a wise idea at the time. Dark Eldar were still probably swarming through the area. That fact alone didn't make since, considering this was an Imperial supply line just yesterday. But they would most likely vanish back into their own territory before long, it wasn't the first time such an event had come to pass. 

With a grunt of effort, the Lieutenant whispered a curse under her breath as she forced herself up into the walkway, holstering her plasma pistol as she huffed a long, depressing sigh, she was exhausted. Knowing she needed to act now, she walked hurriedly toward the cockpit, being careful not to make to much noise to expose her position. 

She soon reached her objective, the blinding light from outside forcing her squint. Her nose, broken yet sensitive, caught a foul stench that violently churned her stomach and Helen held her breath as she leaned over the two seats before her. 

The shattered corpses of the drivers were already beginning to rot in the blistering heat, slumped in their leather seats; though she spared them a second glance to ascertain that it indeed was leather, uncertain due to the large amounts of coagulated blood caked into it. She forced herself to ignore it and leaned out more, hand outstretched, and began tampering with the vox channel dial to a known pair of coordinates. 

A moment of static, just what she was looking for. 

“First platoon…” Her voice came off naturally stern and commanding. “This is your Lieutenant… Helen, if anyone is hearing this… I’ve fallen back to the Chimera in the outskirts. Link-up with me, I will wait here until sunset… that's about six hours from now, then I must leave. You have till then to find me, over.”

With that said and done, she snapped the vox off and returned to her original place on the bench. If Meykey was still alive or anyone still alive near him, they should receive it…..

Helen was in the process of taking her seat when she halted herself halfway, swearing she had just seen a shadow flash by the rampart. A hushed curse was spat and drew her plasma pistol. 

“Going to be one hell of a six hours…”


----------



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Sorry for the delay, reason it's taking longer than usual is because some of the upcoming chapters are under construction for th moment.

Chapter 9: Preparation….

_:Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: South Tourist district- Airport(Tau HQ in Shailon)

Time: Day : Four-hundred and sixty: War for Tarmathon IV

6:00 A.M.-Day_

_"Shas'El... the Shas'la you've requested is being sent to visit you."_ The static-racked voice speaking into his ear piece blinked off abruptly, denying him any chance to even muster a response.

His outfit was preferably plain and simple, and this day would be no different. Just some fatigues, a white undershirt and some baggy pants, exposing his unusually muscular frame for one of his own; his sweat slick, smoky blue skin.

Shas’El Mun’dal, the young commander of the Dy’nar Cadre, merely huffed a tiresome sigh, slumped lazy into his seat while he thought. The Cadre commander kept an impassive expression lowered upon the empty chair sitting on the opposite side of his desk. As if on cue, a resounding knock on his door snapped him to the matter at hand.

The sunlight spilled freely through the thin sheet of crystal clear glass that made up the rear wall of his office, casting the shadows into exile in the far corners, replaced with an intensive shine that forced him to narrow his eyes into an interrogative squint. He found himself constantly raising a free hand to vainly shield his vision from nature’s relentless assault, having to exert some effort to outmaneuver the blaring glares that stained the expansive, paper map that took up the area of his broad, wooden desk erected toward the room‘s rear. 

Mun’dal sighed faintly, raising a hand to swipe the sweat accumulating on his brow, returning his attention back to the map that laid before him. 

“Come in.” His voice was firm and authoritative, smooth and calm, loud enough to resound throughout the room.

The Shas’El kept his scrutinizing view on the map, snatching a random marker from a cluster of many stuffed into a small, white cup by his side. He had barely pulled the cap free when a tumultuous squeak whined from the door reported the entrance of his visitor. He did not even deign to look up at the fire warrior pushing the door aside with a stiff arm as he stepped in. 

The hard thud of his dirt smeared boots was instantly lost when they met the soft texture of smoky grey rug, though the incessant clamoring of his battered armor, the occasional clang of his weaponry rang out in the hanging silence with every cautious step. He was an unusually muscular for a Tau, even by the demanding standards of the Fire Caste. He had the look of a veteran about him, a rugged face nicked with a random series of minor scars, save for the obvious line of stitches running over his left eye.

A shocked gasp slipped from Or’es’ lips as he entered the office, slightly taken back by the blinding glare of sunlight streaming through the sheet of glass on the other end of the room. He didn’t even bother bowing as he approached, crossing the gap between the two with just a couple of steps till he found himself looming over the free leather chair opposite to his commanding officer. 

Mun‘dal hastily circled something in the center on his map, which was -now that Or‘es was close enough for a glimpse- a complex layout of Shailon. Finely detailed, labeling and dividing districts, then proceeded break every one of them down into every street and the varying structures that lined them, neighborhoods and market centers. Even the cadres were marked for their designated territories and patrol routes, red and green zones. 

“Ah.” Mun’dal nodded knowingly to himself, for some reason still preoccupied with his previous work. “You must be Shas’la Kuo’no Or’es Shi…I’ve been expecting you for some time now, Or’es. Come now, take a seat.” 

The Shas’El dismissively gestured with his right hand toward the chair on the opposing side of the desk, circling something else on his map with his left. 

The fire warrior immediately obliged in silence, readjusting the chair back slightly before taking his seat. Or’es attempted vainly to un-tense himself with a deep inhale of filtered air, but found the method futile as Mun’dal abruptly raised his gaze to lock with his and he felt the breath entrapped in his throat at the abruptness of the movement. 

“Do you know why you’re here, Or’es?” Mun’dal spoke firmly, cuffing his hands together.

Or‘es controlled himself from uttering something spiteful, Mun‘dal was not to blame for the recent chain of events…

“You called me here, sir, that’s all the reason I need.” The fire warrior wished he could say more, but in all honesty, he didn’t know, not to say that what was to come was too elusive to remain unforeseen by his eyes… He could form an unerringly accurate prediction of the purpose of his meeting, but he rather not assume too much.

Again, Mun’dal nodded knowingly, more to himself than the Tau before him, choosing to remain silent as he contemplated his next choice of words. 

“T’ien recon cadre… took heavy casualties in the wake of a Dark Eldar assault in the market district. You all fought admirably, but the damage done to your cadre is a major setback. The lost of the Shas’Els and ‘Vres, nearly thirty fire warriors, roughly three fourths of your vehicles are missing or are in due process to be rendered down to scrap-…I could go on, but I’m sure this information is not new to you. Let me make this clear for you Or’es…the remnants of your squad and a few pathfinders is all that is left to T’ien, with the fleets resupplying at Kuo‘no, replacing those losses will take quite some time-” 


“So you requested our cadre to merge with yours.” Or’es stated abruptly, raising an armored hand to lips as he cleared his throat before resuming. “Excuse my interruption, Shas’El, but I fail to see why this decision applies so specially to me, I am merely a Shas‘la, ready and willing.”

Mun’dal responded with a half hearted smirk, devoid of emotion, ignoring the minor insult as he opened his mouth to continue. “Ah, but Or’es, it has much to specifically do with you, Shas’Ui.” Once more, the superior officer paused to let that final word sink in. 

Shas’Ui… Shas’Ui…-

_“SHAS’UI!”_


----------



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

ANNOUNCEMENT: I know it hasn't been a long while since I've started posting this story, but really I've been working on it for over a year. Sorry for any inconvience for those who are following this, but I've finally decided to discontinue this recently. 

This work is really my first shot at writing a full story, so it's marked with a lot of my sucesses/mistakes, and I think it's time that I started putting what I've learned into something new.

That said, there are likely three ways this is going to go.
1.Start a new project to replace AICoF
2.Overhaul,recreate AICoF from scratch
3.If I'm not doing either one or two then I'm not sure what's going on 

I want to thank everyone whose read, commented, and critiqued this, sorry if you wanted to see how it ended :-\. Not sure when I'll get another story started, could be soon as next week, or some other point in time.

Hope this whole thing dosen't sound stupid ,lol.

EDIT: Oh yeah, if anybody wants me to post the rest though, just ask, or you can find it on 40k online.


----------



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

NOTE: You can ignore the last post, will try to be continuing this.:grin: I know anyone who was reading it then is not now, but just for those that currently interested in reading this, you can disregard the last post.
********************

Shas’Ui… Shas’Ui…-

_“SHAS’UI!”_

The random call tore Or’es from his reminiscing and his eye shot open to the dimly light, sleek hull of the devilfish as it shot down some random street to keep up with the rest of the cadre. 

Muffled whistles, followed closely by the unmistakable explosions of Gue’la artillery shells roared like distant thunder within the confines of the speeding skimmer, drowning out the soft hum of its engines. Reports of crude, heavy weaponry that could only be associated with Gue’la told him were traversing a hard spot. Occasionally, a quiet hiss would ring out where a clumsy las-bolt had struck the hull of the soaring transport. 

The Shas’Ui pushed the tumultuous racket from his thoughts, ignoring the minor tremor that quaked the vehicle momentarily, focusing on finding the source of his calling. 

M’yen sat in the cock-pit, a fierce snarl contorting on her lips as she continued in her violent jerking of the flight controls so hard, it looked as if she would rend it apart with her efforts. 

Te’ar was by her side, fumbling as usual with the burst cannon’s firing controls, he could hear the soft thudding of its expenditure of ammunition underneath canopy… hopefully it was hitting something. 

They were barely silhouetted under the emerald green lighting from the bulbs protruding from the roof. The benches jetting from either side of the hull were occupied with the cramped, armoured forms of five fire warriors sitting shoulder to shoulder on either side, with Or‘es nearest the rampart on the right. Many of them hadn’t even donned their helmets yet, occupying their time checking ammo or conversating lightly with one another, nearly oblivious to the ensuing battle raging round them.

The most notable among them sat across from him, lost in a meditative state of concentration. An’do, a decently sized fire warrior, though he paled somewhat in height and bulk compared to Or’es. He, like the rest of his squad save for the Shas’Ui and Te’ar himself, were fresh recruits straight out of training. A lock of silky, jet black hair hung freely in the form of a pony tail from the rear of his shaven forehead. Narrowly squinted, yet deep, navy blue eyes peered from a rugged face. Or’es couldn’t help notice that depressed, solemn expression they always radiated, that always seemed to reflect his mood, his isolated personality.

He never seemed one for conversation, often preferring to spend his time in meditation, reading, or practicing his martial art techniques. His voice was deep, soothed, and calming, soft spoken and gentle. Peaceful, polite, generous, thoughtful, lethal, cautious, swift, resourceful… notable traits worthy of a leader and Or’es knew that if he survived under his command, he could pass the squad on to him if worse came to worse, or if he was promoted… or if Te’ar would fall on the battlefield. All of which were unlikely, but even so, it would always benefit to take precautions. 

His powder blue armor was painstakingly polished to an intensive sheen, casting the emerald light off with a blaring gleam and, more than once Or’es found himself being forced to squint or lower his gaze whenever he found his view indirectly catching it in the corner of his eye. 

Even over the den of battle, the Shas’Ui could hear the occasional clang of his overly decorated, curved sheath dangling from his waist that, he knew, concealed the slender form of his shimmering, silver katana. An’do was a master swordsman in addition to his martial arts skills, on a level that Or’es knew was folly to even attempt to match.

The other notable that reasserted his presence into his thoughts, and though it pained Or’es greatly to admit, was Mir’is…

The Shas’Ui didn’t have to strain his battle worn ears hard to hear the boasting voice of the energetic fire warrior, spouting words of inspiration to his comrades and spiteful insults to those who opposed the Tau‘Va. Though, by his tone, Or’es failed to decipher whether it was all sarcasm or not. 

His armor was completely identical to that of his squad. Nothing stood out about his frame, average among those of the fire caste. His hair style too was merely a lock of jet black hair. It was his eyes that set him apart… wide, hazel brown eyes that burned with such intensity, they looked as if they would liquefy or begin emitting a plume of smoke at any given moment. They always gave him an expression of eager hunger, searching for something that could possibly be unobtainable from his sweat slick grasp.

Mir’is was a cocky, arrogant Tau, and though admiringly courageous, there was no getting around the fact that he was fool hardy in his recklessness. He was young, more occupied with gaining the glory of battle than preserving his own life and those of his comrades. He had a knack for disobeying orders he saw no gain in to amplify his own deeds and that of his own squad, he had seen it all in the reports from the training camps. Always willing to take the fight to enemy, to hold the last line, to take up the push onward into the unknown. For him, there was no enemy he couldn’t conquer through wits or with the sizzling end of his pulse rifle. 

But despite such irritating traits, he was inspiring when he wanted to be, ever encouraging and aiding his brethren to move forward, to complete whatever task was at hand. Unshakable confidence, an indomitable will, an infectious compassion for his mission and the mission of his people, truly the mark of a leader. He was young, Or’es concluded, and hoped that with time, he could cool the raging inferno blazing unchecked in the depths of soul, and teach this one some patience, despite knowing full well it would be a long road. 

Or’es merely huffed a weary sigh not loud enough for anyone else to hear, reclining back into his seat till the back of his armour firmly rested itself upon the slick surface of the hull. It wasn't the most comforting surface, but it beat a night’s rest in the wilderness… or piled mounds of debris. Unfortunately, he'd only been able to catch little more than a hour of sleep on the way in, but his muscles felt well rested despite it. And on the eve of combat, he’d be tested to his limits this day, but Ethereal’s blessing, he was ready…


----------



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

_ :Imperial translation:

Location: Tarmathon IV- Eastern continent-

Northern region: Nowan grasslands

Shailon City: Category-Capital

Sector: City outskirts- abandoned farmhouse

Time: Day : Four-hundred and sixty: War for Tarmathon IV

11:38 A.M.-Day_

The entire premises of the two story house was isolated from the wheat fields with a towering wall hedgerows, twice the height of an average human. Only separated in the center as an entrance into the front yard, which consisted of lush, overgrown grass that raised up to the waist. Winding through the heart of the yard, a slightly winding path of cobblestones paved the way to the stairs of the wooden porch. Eight windows in the front of the house, four evenly spaced on each floor, all of them opened. 

That’s about what he remembered on his way in, the click of the shutting door behind him reporting that Meykey was inside, trailing Harcon as they examined their whereabouts. 

It had to have stretched on for quite a few meters. The narrow hallway, similar to the rest of the abandoned farmhouse, had obviously seen better days. The wooden interior was worn and lackluster greyish brown, molded and deteriorated, loosing what glimmering polish it had previously possessed in its duration of years of neglect. Various framed pictures and doorless entrances leading into other halls or rooms appeared randomly down its length, dimly light with only a spare candle light occasionally placed along the wall. 

The flooring was equally richody and weathered, every cautious step stalked with an irritating chorus of resounding squeaks, snapping cracks, and weakly creaks. Everything looked as if it possessed the potential to buckle under at any moment, a moment Mcgrady prayed would never come to pass during their stay. 

The entire place seemed to… radiate this foreboding feeling that continued to nag at him as soon as he emerged from the front door. The numerous amount of Eldar rangers that were occupied with lounging about in random places throughout it didn’t help any either. The cloaked figures seemed to be everywhere and yet, nowhere… They would occasionally pass through the halls like shifting shadows, their cloaks somehow enabling them to phase in and out of his vision as they did so. He could hear muffled whispers of hushed conversation from other rooms, no word of their alien tongue spoken above the slightest whisper and the eeriness shot a chill up his spine. The haunting atmosphere would’ve had him somewhat paranoid, but honestly, he was too occupied in relishing the cool, refreshing, filtered air pouring from the house’s apparently still running air conditioner. 

The fact that he couldn’t make one out the cloaked xenos till he was right on them unnerved him a bit more than slightly. Hell, he nearly stepped on one sleeping in a corner making his way in. But he was the Squad leader now, he had to lead by example… and meet whoever the strange Craftworlder that was leading at the fore of the group desired he meet.

Urleatha brushed her lock of ruby red hair off her chest and behind her shoulders as she spared a glance at the humans behind her. She could sense the mon-keighs' puzzlement, it emitted from them like their hanging body odor. 

The ranger risked another whiff and her right eye twitched ever so slightly, barely stifling a repulsive groan from slipping free from her lips. But not so slightly that Mckell failed to catch it.

“What’s wrong with you?” The Corporal questioned abruptly, his tone surprisingly concerned. “Looks like you’re going to puke or something, heat getting to ya‘?”

Urleatha’s eyes widened in surprise, taken back that he was even concerned, though more because he noticed her involuntary twitch at things she tended to find… unpleasant. “Umm…” Mentally, she cursed her bad habit and sighed. “It’s nothing human.” She spoke in a hushed tone, indirectly hinting Mckell to check his volume. “Come, he is waiting and we are lagging.” 

At that, the ranger turned back to the corridor before her and pressed onward, the humans carefully following suit. Her feet stirred no sound at all against the rotted wood in her hurried walk, Mckell couldn’t fathom how, considering the floor creaked and snapped irritably loud under the boots of the trio of guardsmen. 

The trio eyed some of the doorless entrances, despite knowing they wouldn’t see anything in them. Nothing impressive, some living rooms filled with the humble furniture one would expect to find, many of them were covered in cobwebs and he wondered how long had this place been abandoned. 

It took them nearly five minutes to cross the length of the hall from one end to the next, Urleatha abruptly halting in her tracks telling him as much. Casually, he leaned slightly over her shoulder to find another door blockading them from wherever they were going.

She didn’t utter a word as she twisted the knob, pushing the door aside with a tumultuous squeak to reveal a winding staircase, faintly light with a small bulbs that jetted from the rooftops.

“Careful, humans.” The Eldar spoke suddenly, nearly making him jump at the abruptive break in the silence. “You might break these aged stairs under your weight.” 

Before the Corporal could utter a retort, she began her climb. 

“Reminds me of some of the horror holo-vids that come on late at night.” Meykey chimed in randomly from the rear. “It’s all quiet.”

Harcon surprisingly grinned at that, merely shaking his head. “And its got Eldar, what more do you need?”

Mckell scaled the first few stairs before him, his broad shoulders barely fitting within the narrow corridor. He threw a chastising glance over his shoulder at the both of them, who of course, were too preoccupied in conversation to notice. 

He started with an exaggerated clearing of his throat. “You two coming? You can go chat with the rangers if not.” He said lamely.

The two immediately reverted their attention to the task at hand, nodding their apologies before resuming their trailing of their new Sergeant. 

At that, the trio embarked on their journey up the stairs, which had to be as long as the hall they had previously tread through. It jerked here and there for some odd reason, like a twisting labyrinth… with just one path to follow. A minute had passed, then two…three. Mckell swore under his breath, only Eldar would use a place like this… save for whoever built this unnecessary breach of construction basics in the first place. 

He was about let some profanity slip when he abruptly spun into another hall on his right; an exact replica of the first.

They soon came to another staircase, though this one -much to his satisfaction- was straight forward and a hell of a lot shorter to the point the he could see the next entrance. Few seconds passed when he found himself staring through it…



The Attic was decently spaced, resembling more of an oversized, horizontal rectangle more than anything. There were no lights up here though, save for the natural light provided by the sun that spilled freely through the four squared, unusually large, glassless windows cleanly carved evenly across the length of the rear wall, flanked by another two on the either sides. The same light easily silhouetted the two armless, dust layered, what used to be a snow white couches sitting across from each other under its gaze, that and the open door it was parallel too on the opposite side of the room. Mckell couldn’t help but noticed a pair of shadowed slender figures in every corner, eight in all, each one with a hand on the sash of their slung long rifle. His muscles involuntarily tensed.

By the door, Urleatha’s eye twitched once more in annoyance as the Mon-keigh shuffled into the room. Once again Mckell caught it out of the corner of his eye and gave her an arched look as he passed by. Harcon and Meykey merely walked past, oblivious to the stare down and began an inspection of their new surroundings.

She remained silent, instead gesturing to the couch nearest the door, attempting to ignore him completely.

“Is there something wrong here?” The Mon-Keigh officer dared to ask, fed up with seeing her doing it on what seemed to be on a regular basis since they had met.

A burst of light hearted laughter prevented her from answering, drawing the groups attention to the slender figure sitting comfortably on the repulsive couch nearest the window.

He was dressed in a cloak similar to Urleatha’s, but his sported some form of markings trimming that Mckell knew better than to attempt to discern. His hood was kept back, exposing his nearly shaven head, save for a lock hair that hung from the back. His face held a slightly older appearance than many of the others he had seen here, slightly scarred and carried the look a vet. A small holster hung freely from the belt at his waist along with a strange assortment of items. Clutched in the palm of his hands was a bottle of what he could only assume was liquor of some sort, opened and half empty.

_“Do not mind Urleatha.”_ The Eldar spoke dismissively. _“She is prone to random fidgets and gestures, in the family line I would guess.”_

Mckell didn’t have to turn to see the female ranger’s face flush a deep ruby red with embarrassment as a light, hushed chorus of laughter was muffled from the other rangers in the room. He could feel the intense glowering shot from the depths of her violet eyes like a heat wave radiating against the chilling air that drifted in the midst of the room. 

He merely ignored it, more interested in his guests at the moment. “Come, take a seat.” He gestured to the same couch that Urleatha had pointed out earlier and the squad, weary from trekking through fields and country roads for hours, gratefully obliged. “Time is of essence, so let us not bother with formalities. Do you know why I have taken the burden of bringing you here, human?”

Mckell merely shrugged as he took his seat on the far left side, Harcon in the center, Meykey on the right. “Well, information I guess…uhh-” 

“Quint’os human, that is my name.” At that, the Eldar pulled free a thick cigar out a couple stuffed into a small pouch on his belt. “Cigar?”

Quint’os merely shrugged at Mckell’s grim shake of the head, but accepted his silent denial and gently placed his bottle of liquor on the floor to pull out a pocket lighter. 

“Correct.” He resumed bluntly, pausing only briefly to light the oversized cigarette and put it too his lips. “Information is the key here. As you know, the existing alliance between our two nations, Teyl-Jhen and Conorag has existed for many centuries, always arriving to each other’s aid when it is needed. Tarmathon IV could not be a finer example. Tell me, what is the situation with your… uh, how do you say it, regiment?”

Mckell merely nodded. “I can’t tell you much, I only came to Shailon with my squad to deliver someth-”

“I will be blunt…” Quint’os interrupted hurriedly, his light hearted smile turning into a more serious expression that could only come along with something that the Corporal didn’t want to hear. “And to the point, as of now, know that you have no choice in this matter, but to accompany us where we need to go. You have a much better grasp of this city than I would. We leave for the outskirts of Shailon at sunset.”

Mckell opened his mouth to protest, but was halted with a raise of the Eldar’s free hand. “I’m not attempting to be oppressive human, but really, think on the matter. I can’t trust your word anymore than you can’t trust mine, so accompany me back to Shailon. If your information proves correct, then I shall set you free, I’ll even arrange a transport for you on your journey back to western continent. I know that you had lost your form of transportation, so I am informed… it would not be pleasant to walk so many miles, especially in this heat, no?”

Quint’os huffed a weary sigh, relishing the rare luxury comfort of furniture all he could, breathing an evaporating shroud of smoke from his lips. He merely gazed at Mckell for a response. Honestly, how could he argue, if he said no, they would most likely be shot. If he said yes, it maybe a minor setback, but they got a transport at the end of it. 


The corporal was on the verge of responding before once more, he was cut off, but it was no voice… it was a distant, sharp whine. 

Raising a brow, Quint’os himself had noticed long before the Mon-Keigh, and had already shifted his attention out of one of the windows behind him for anything out of the ordinary. And that’s exactly what he found…

“It seems the Dark Kin are still engaged in their hunt, I assume the prey would be friend‘s of yours, human?” The Eldar questioned rather calmly. “Come, take a look.” Despite only gesturing for Mckell, everyone in the Attic rushed toward the windows to catch a glance of whatever event was transpiring. 

Mckell leaned over Quint’os’ couch to get a good view, since everyone else was hogging the others. They were in the highest floor of the building, effortlessly elevating his view over the hedgerows to reveal the abandoned wheat fields that stretched as far as his eyes could see. Nothing out of the ordinary about them though, everything seemed completely calm as when they arrived, which means everything was dead still, nothing making the slightest sound unless you made it yourself. But then where was the noise coming…

The guardsman’s question was already answered as he raised his gaze toward into the horizon of a cloudless sky, involuntarily squinting under the intensive glare of the sun. His eyes could barely make them out… roughly half a dozen grey specks that stained the sky. “Can’t make it out.” He said finally, shrugging again before stepping back from the window. 

Quint’os halted him with a wave of his arm. “Look closer…” He breathed quietly, as if mystified by whatever they were watching.

Not seeing the point, Mckell merely sighed as he reluctantly retook his place. They were still dots, but Mckell could hear the familiar, distant screams and now that he strained his eyes… they were getting closer, rapidly. No more than five seconds passed when the specks enlarged into bloated spots, then transformed into what seemed to be a sleek, flying ships …then it hit him.

“Raiders!” Mckell spat in disbelief, his eyes widening as the distinctive, deafening scream of the airborne transport’s engines -though still distant- pierced the suffocating silence as they continued to close the gap between them. 

“The hell they managed to track us?” Harcon spoke suddenly, his tone racked in puzzlement.

“As I feared…” Quint’os sighed heavily. “Urleatha, gather the Rangers and fall into positions.”

The female ranger simply nodded, despite nobody paying attention before spinning on her heel to accomplish the task at hand. 

Quint’os turned to Mckell. “I pray you are ready for a fight, if the time comes for one.”

“Always are.” The Mon-Keigh assured, his hands unconsciously moving onto his las-gun thrown over his shoulder for emphasis. 

“Where are they going?” Meykey asked abruptly, seeing the alien vehicles gradually closing the gap between them and the farmhouse. 

Quint’os spared the transports another glance. “Apparently not too far.”

~~~~~~~


----------



## Myen'Tal (Sep 4, 2009)

Chapter 10: Legends of old…

_ :Imperial translation:

Location: Noligoth fortress-underground labyrinth

Time: Three centuries before events of war on Tamathon IV
_
The narrow corridor was nearly pitch black, gradually descending into the pit of this subterranean realm. A hall of cool, wet slick , putrid green stone; worn and rugged from untold centuries of weathering. The passage reeked with a rank odor he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were no torches to speak of in this foreboding abyss, denying his vision any glimpse of what awaited him at the end of the path.

Even so, the Eldar sprinted forward, as fast as his slender legs could carry him. He needed not the flickering light of fire, for he had already foreseen the gauntlet that laid ahead of him, studied its layout, scanned it thoroughly for shadows lurking within the shadows; from the intimidating form of its open maw to the depths of its stomach, till its end. He had seen all of the events that were to transpire within the twisting depths of these halls, all before he had even graced this cursed place with a single step of his presence. 

Despite hours of running, he had failed to break a sweat in his journey onward. His boots stirred only the slightest tap against rugged stone, completely inaudible under the loud, helmet-distorted exhales of his controlled breathing. 

His fluttering robes of indigo, partially concealed under his chest and other parts of his slender frame under tight mesh armor. Billowing in the wind he generated behind him, was his cape of ocean blue, in its centre, the shimmering image of an opened maw tiger of burning sapphire glimmered with a mystical aura. The elegant form of his singing spear felt as if weighed nearly nothing in the left palm of his hand. A masterfully crafted spear carved to resemble the scaled hide, serpent like form of a sea dragon; jetting from its maw was the actual blade itself, illuminated with a blue aura. Clutched in his left was the humble side arm that was his shuriken pistol. 

Farseer Raihan darted through the impending darkness, displaying no fear, no caution as he strode through the underground maze of the great enemies’ vile temple. There was no danger here, not at these levels. The only thing he feared were the strands of time that denied him their insights into the future. His dreams had only already spoken to him of this labyrinth, but it was what laid beyond here that proved worrisome for him.. No matter, a tiger tracks his prey on instincts, and that seemed to be the only option left to him at the moment. 

Raihan merely sighed his anxiety. It was almost unfathomable, this dreaded war, that had cost his craftworld so many lives, was finally entering its final stage of its life, the ending. This was it, a sole chance, whether for better or worse, victory or defeat, the random hand of fate would decide all this day. 

It was an ending long overdue, now the time is nigh. 

_“Let this dark era of our time fade into history! Where our children’s children shall speak of our triumphant victory over the vilest of foes. Let our blades strike deep and strike with precision! For Teyl-Jhen!” _ 

The seemingly random outburst echoed out behind the farseer and he spared a glance over his shoulder to find the source. There he was, running at the fore of the single file line of twenty running Storm guardians. Similar to the others, his body was clad in the skin tight, lightweight form of jet black mesh armor, broken up with streaks of blue lightning across his chest plate. Strapped to his back was the billowing a flag of indigo, with a glowing image of a Sea Dragon towering over the a stalking Tiger; the flag of Teyl-Jhen. His chainsword was sheathed, opting to utilize his prized flamer instead.

Ilio, the “Herald of the tiger”, a youthful warrior, round two and half centuries in age. A warrior of exceptional skill that had earned his infamous nickname constantly fighting by the tiger’s side; forging a trail of burned carcasses for his honorable lord to walk through. Despite his age, Raihan had found him a great asset in the battles to come and always kept him as a close advisor. 

_“Well said, Ilio, but I think it would benefit the majority if you left the inspirational speech to your elders.”_

Despite the distortion caused by his helmet, the responding voice had failed to diminish in its condescending, holier-than thou tone. A voice that could only be claimed to one of great age and wisdom, one far beyond Raihan’s age. 

Warlock Frewy,_The rushing storm_, was forced into a jogging pace to restrain himself from darting pass Raihan and leaving the squad behind completely. It may have been decades since he had entered his ninth century of his life, but he felt as if time had reversed just for this moment. He was practically gliding through with a grace even the banshees would be hard pressed to match. Clutched in the palms of his hands was the illuminated, expertly crafted witchblade; shining with golden yellow energies that pulsed forebodingly in the darkness. He was dressed in flowing, blood red robes associated with his path of the seer. 

Ilio opened his mouth to utter a sarcastic retort, but his ears only registered the deep inhale of breath in anticipation of what he was hearing. It all seemed distant within the thick confines of these corroded, stone walls. But the music was unmistakable, so distinct, that there wasn’t a warrior among the group who didn’t tense at the brutality of it. A music of whirling blades, roared battle cries, and thunderous cracks of various weaponry. The song of war…and his warriors were already dancing in sync with its luring beat. A dance of death.

The discovery of the racket blaring through the halls shook the corridor like a slow, lingering tremor and he felt the ground vibrate violently beneath his feet. 

“It has begun.” Raihan stated simply, naturally tightening the grip on his Singing spear. “Now is the time, a fast strike, in and out. Does the lion linger to allow the Hyenas to steal its prey?”

As if he had ordered a command instead of mumbling a random analogy, the storm guardians silently unsheathed their chainswords in unison; instinctively activating the runes of their blades in one fluid motion. Any remnants of haunting silence was instantly shattered in the roar of twenty revving chainswords.

“Let the pyres of the corpses of our enemies guide our way!” Frewy chimed in. “Shine with the light of Asuryan in the darkest depths!”

There it was, though only a tiny twinkle from this distance and rapidly expanding as they continued to close the gap seperating them from it. Raihan had witnessed this before. This was the location, the entrance into the foul ritual chamber of the great enemy…This was where his dreams had never ceased to come to a jarring halt. 

“I will not flinch from my destiny.” The farseer mumbled solemnly beneath his breath. He had made his decision long ago and he would see it through to very end, till all was said and done, till everything had come to pass. “Byzanith, what are you plotting?”

“Pick up the pace! Swords high, raise your pistols! Guardians of Teyl-Jhen, be swift and strike!” Ilios bellowed over the buzzing chorus of revving chainswords, signaling the charge into the unknown with a gesture of his flamer. The clamor of raging battle was deafening now, ringing in his ears like some cataclysmic explosion that would not stop. Though his ears had grown used to such things over the span of time. 

The objective was close, the trap was set. Before the sun would fall, the tiger would have his feast…
*************

_:Imperial translation: 

Location: Underground Fortress Noligoth- ?

Time: ?_

His world was a screen of pitch black, his eyes clamped shut against the bone chilling, cool breeze lightly massaging his face. The fact that he could even feel such a refreshing product of nature told him he no longer had his helmet equipped, a mixed sign indeed. He allowed a light, weary groan to slip from his lips as he barely stirred from his current position.

_“Arise…”_ A distant whisper, barely registered on the floating wind and his ears naturally perked to it, straining themselves to filter its contents into the farseer’s already perplexed mind. 

Raihan’s mind was disoriented, leaving him dazed and sprawled onto some slick, skin numbing surface. What event had transpired? He could not even stir a memory to tell the tale. He only remembered… Illio… yes, they were sprinting into battle… and… some rift… portal reeking of the warp. 

The farseer merely sighed to himself, vainly attempting to come to grips with the whereabouts of his current location. 

_“Awaken…”_

It was strange… the sensation coursing through his veins, shivering through his body; as if every cell had been stimulated with an overdose of adrenaline. His heart beats drummed in his ears like resounding thunder. His chest was heaving, his sore and overworked lungs gasping great swathes of air. Even beneath his armor, he could feel the slick layer of leaking sweat coating his skin. But other that, he felt uninjured… his body did not ache or pain him in anyway. 

_“Damnation! Wake up!”_ The abrupt shout hit his ears point blank, the bellow echoing round his environment as if a provoked god had roared his fury down upon him. 

It was like a key crafted just for his seal, unlocking him from his half slumber and his eyes instantly shot open to unveil his surroundings.

The lighting seemed incredibly dim, yet it was more than enough for his readjusting eyes to instinctively clamp shut against it. No artificial light exiled the darkness into the far corners of the corridor. Instead, softly blazing torches adorning the center of all the slim columns lining either flank lit the broad hall, wide enough for at least two dozen other figures to randomly appear and lay shoulder to shoulder by his side. They were looming, overshadowing in their presence, jetting from a sleek floor of smooth, pale blue granite stretching from one wall to the other. 

The puzzled expression he was displaying contorted into a knowing grimace as he eyed the many golden icons of the eight pointed star and billowing, mystical blue banners, and indecipherable scriptures adorning both the ornately carved walls and columns. 

The arched gateway behind him was obviously closed, sealed, and locked through primitive mechanisms beyond his knowledge. Compared to the overly lavish style of the chamber, it was spectacularly unimpressive. It was laid before him that struck with in awe.

The structure was absurdly gigantic in its size, having to be at least ten times his height, stretching from one end of the rear wall to the other. Its foundation began with a set of ten mammoth steps of large, smoothly carved blocks of glittering blue, eventually guiding the climber to sit upon the massive throne of similar material. Even for Mon-keigh, it was masterfully carved and trimmed to resemble some sort of blaze.

Everything seemed to be so… pristine. Untouched by the ever ravaging hand of war; maybe that was its own prophecy in and of itself. 

The ground beneath his body suddenly began to quake in the wake of a distant, deafly silent explosion. The battle was still ensuing…

Once more, yet cautiously, the Eldar fluttered his eyes open weakly, thoroughly scanning his luxurious prison with an eye of purpose. Though still puzzled and dazed by the sudden twist of events, Raihan eventually came to the conclusion that lying in the hall wouldn’t solve his predicament. 

He pressed his armored gauntlets against sleek granite and with a muttered grunt of effort, he drunkenly clambered to his feet. His Singing spear was missing, so was his shuriken pistol. His armor seemed untouched though, even his cape had been left in place. 

This… throne room seemed to be empty, involuntarily explaining the suffocating aura of silence plaguing it. Everything seemed to echo within its hallow walls, his stabilized breathing, the resounding thuds of his boots; the clangs of his armor. Though it was all drowned out in what seemed to his ears like distant thunder over the horizon, loud enough to hear, but really nothing more than an echoing rumble that couldn’t cease. 

Where was he? Where were his warriors? Why couldn’t he remember? 

“Welcome!” The sudden shout nearly caused Raihan to jump, but two centuries of battlefield experience instantly over road any instinct or command and he found himself crouching into a combat stance despite his lack of weaponry. The Farseer’s soul piercing blue eyes narrowed on the ominous figure leaned back in his glittering throne; head slumped carelessly into the palm of his left hand.

“Hmph, I thought you would never awaken, you‘ve been lost in slumber for at least half a dozen hours now.” His voice degenerated back into its standard calm, haunting the grand hall of the throne chamber as he proceeded in a low, fearless tone. “I thought I would be forced to crush the heart of my foes without the eyes of my rival to bear witness.”

His robes were a pale black; giving his lean, muscular figure a presence similar to a shifting shadow in the night. Swaying gently from his neck, a glittering, blue chain of the eight pointed star hung freely, nearly out shining the finely polished surface of the throne he resided in. The pale white, youthful skin on his face was criss-crossed with a series of ragged scars that resembled thin bolts of lightning streaking across open sky. His blood red colored hair covered a minority of it, a rough, unkempt bowl that ended with pointed bangs that resembled flat spikes. It nearly draped his emerald green eyes, that burned with undying passion and shimmered with life. 

“Byzanith.” Raihan spat in disgust as he glowered with as much intensity he could muster. 

The cult lord merely smirked smugly in response, utilizing his arm rest as an aid to lift to him to his feet. He took a split second to blink… it was all Byzanith needed to vanish from his previous position. In normal circumstances, the Farseer would already be probing the shadows for a lurker to strike… but now … now. What was the point? It was over. Instead, the Farseer calmly refrained from indignity, gracefully falling to his knees with his head slightly bowed.

“If you wish to claim victory, sever my head and be done with it, but do not waste my time with your obnoxious gloats.”

Raihan remained stationary, silent as he listened to the soft, stalking footsteps approaching him from behind. 

Byzanith grinned knowingly to himself, chuckling lightly as he strode past the farseer as if he wasn’t there. He took only a few steps before coming to an abrupt halt. “Ah, only if victory were mine to claim, old rival, Raihan.”

The notorious sorcerer’s smirk widened into a warming grin as spared a glance over his shoulder to see the Xeno sneer in disgust at the use of his name. He merely shrugged. “I admit, I must give your warriors credit. You found yourselves within these underground walls, scattered my warriors into the abysmal depths and though they combat your armies valiantly, I have peered into their souls and know what shall come to pass.” 

Byzanith outstretched his arms, obviously indicating the entirety of the throne chamber in a sweeping gesture. “You know we have only an hour left to us before your kin storm this very hall? Yes, I have seen this come to pass- thanks be to the changer of ways-…and I have seen you. Eight years, hmmm… it seems as if we have combated each other for an eternity.”

“But now it all ends here, this ending shall come to pass.” Raihan answered, his eyes burning with renewed hope that his kin were on the verge of success.

“It appears so, which is why I endured such pains to teleport you here.” Byzanith snickered lightly at the Eldar and in turn received an arched look. “How anti-climatic to sit upon my throne and wait patiently for the end?”

Byzanith’s expression faded a fraction as Raihan’s relaxed into a serious, knowing stare; involuntarily telling the Cult leader that he understood the meaning behind his words. 

“The war is over.” Byzanith declared with unarguable finality. “But we still we have one last battle to decide. Only a decisive victor can truly end this war.”

Raihan silently nodded his agreement as he rose to his feet; his exhaustion somehow flooding all at once from his body in a recycling of adrenaline. Everything was becoming clearer, the air smelled fresher, his muscles tensing; he was ready. For he had prepared for this moment before ever setting foot in this blasphemous fortress. If this was his fate… it would serve no use to run.

Utter determination becoming his mind set, Raihan snaked his way beneath the cape concealing his back in a stealthy motion that Byzanith didn’t seem to notice. It only took a second for his thoroughly searching fingers to meet the hilt of his most prized power sword strapped onto his back. He gripped tightly as he locked his gaze with the Sorcerer. “Byzanith!” The Eldar’s roar was surprisingly loud, a lot more than what he had intended, but he paid it no heed as he unsheathed his power sword in a fluid, split second motion; pointing it accusingly at the mon-keigh before him. “You dare challenge me?” He gasped warily. “I shall not fail.”

Byzanith’s over confident grin failed to diminish. “You are not prepared.” He stated simply, folding his arms triumphantly as he continued to stare the xeno down. 

Raihan’s left eye twitched slightly at the remark. Normally, such an arrogant statement from a lowly mon-keigh would fail to faze him. But he knew Byzanith was far from ordinary, even for a gifted sorcerer of Tzeentch. He knew the Cultist was far more ancient than what he was leading on to believe, that he was at least twice his age. 

“I’ve seen you’ve kept a weapon, very resourceful of you, allow me to draw mine.” Byzanith stated confidently, though his smirk suddenly disappeared as he outstretched his arms to either side. 

Raihan didn’t budge, preparing for any pre-emptive strike that his adversary may have planned before time. 

But nothing of the sort transpired and with a resounding clap, Byzanith merely slapped his hands together. Nothing happened, but Raihan was far too overestimating to capitalize upon it. Fortunately, he wouldn’t regret it, not at all. Despite only being visible to his keen eyes for a split second, his eyes still bared witness to its existence. It was the tiniest, thinnest streak of mystical blue electricity that flashed before burning out into nothingness. 

Then again, he clapped once more. They lasted longer this time and were quite a bit more frequent, flickering in some sort of criss-cross around his hands.

That sly smile stretched on the sorcerer’s lips again as he reverted his attention back to Raihan, who shifted his gaze to glare back. He chuckled under his breath for a second before whispering, “Third time’s a charm,” as he clapped again.

The Farseer gasped, shutting his eyes as he flung an arm to shield his eyes from the intense burst of light blaring from Byzanith’s hands. 

The Cult lord waited patiently till Riahan could fully gaze upon them and he grimaced when finally did. 

Enwrapped round each of his hands was a dense current of blue electrical energy; snapping and flickering in random places for split seconds. It was so intense, so dense, it was if his limbs were some makeshift generators to create vast amounts of power to feed some unknown source. It whipped round his limbs like a miniature tornado, creating a surprisingly powerful breeze that forced his gaze into an inquisitive squint. It was obvious that he intended to use them as some mystical form of gauntlet as he practiced with two swift jabs through the air.

Byzanith didn’t seem to mind, his eyes still in deadlock with his old foe. “Careful, Raihan, once the duel has begun, my foes never live to blink twice.”

“Of you!” Raihan shouted over the whining noise Byzanith’s makeshift weapons produced, as if it were a battle cry. “Enough! Be gone!” The Eldar Roared as he flipped his sword, leaping forth as he did so to engage in one last battle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~


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