).
Enjoy! I hope... :?
[align=center:fa4453014d]The Fall
Chapter I[/align:fa4453014d]
The newly born dawn spilled over the horizon, defused light chasing the retreating darkness of night. The tall evergreens in the vast forest slowly changed from a combined shadowy blur into towering giants. Coiling mist hunted beneath them, turning a golden yellow in the morning light. The forest created it's own soft music, the gurgling of a nearby stream punctuated by the calls of small foraging animals and bird song.
The lithe figure, wrapped in a chameleon cloak, was oblivious to it all. Rolling over and pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he slept on.
The sun laboriously lifted itself clear of the horizon, lances of light cutting through the evergreens branches, burning the mist away with it's warm presence. As if in response to the beginning of the new day, a gem hung on a branch beside the recumbent figure came to life.
The intricately carved gem pulsed lazily, belying its import.
He lifted his head out of the warm embrace of the cloak. The tanned, angular face of the eldar would have been judged attractive if it weren't for the jagged scar that ran from his left eyebrow down to his jaw line. He ruffled his short, scruffy, black hair and gazed upon the throbbing gem with deep, sad blue eyes. He closed his eyes in the hope it would disappear and leave him be.
It did not, it's dark, indigo surface flaring to mauve, beating like a heart. He reached out a hand, delicate, long fingers extending to just shy of the gems glossy surface.
"Much time has passed…" he whispered in a husky voice, almost assuring himself.
His index finger made contact. Immediately a calming sensation flooded his senses as the farseer entered his mind. Even over the vast distance of space, the farseers presence was strong.
Never before have the Druki needed you so, Shadowchaser. The thoughts spilled into his mind.
That is what I feared, Farseer Solarayne. Sabian thought, knowing full well the powerful psyker could read his mind.
The Lothlorfin will be mustered? It was more of a command than a question.
Yes, Farseer Solarayne, it will be as you bid.
For a moment he thought the connection had gone, but the reassuring presence of the Farseer remained. There was just silence, nothing.
Finally, Farseer Solarayne continued.
You still have not changed, Shadowchaser.
He sat there unmoving, eyes closed tightly, mind a blank.
Shadowchaser? Sabian?
Worry not, Farseer Solarayne, the pathfinders will come to the Druki's aid.
I have missed you, Sabian…
Until we meet on Rathielanfel, father.
Sabian the Shadowchaser pulled his hand away from the spirit-stone, severing the psychic link.
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It was pitch black. There was no light. No up or down. No sounds, no smells, no feeling. He could not feel his body at all, nor move anything for that matter. But he was not in the least bit concerned. He had been in this place before.
You have failed me once again, Danju Zarn.
He ignored the voice that came from no where and everywhere.
Once again your arrogance has brought you undone. Once again I have my chosen champion floating in my domain-
"Spare me your lectures, Sularzus."
Ah, he speaks. And not a hint of gratitude for what I am doing for him.
"Sularzus, dying does not put me in a good mood."
Yes, well, you are becoming quite good at it. I do not see why I should persist with you…
"A pact is a pact, Daemon. You told me if I gave my soul to Slaanesh, I would have immortality. That pact can not be broken."
Such impudence from a human!
Pain, white and hot, seared his senses. He could not feint, he could not strike back, he could not stop it. He was immersed in utter, complete pain. He could barely comprehend the daemons voice through the sea of agony he now wallowed in.
Yes, immortality is yours, Danju Zarn. But how you spend that immortality is my choice entirely. I could leave you like this…
"F-f-for-forgive…m-me." Danju Zarn replied, the agony unbearable.
Just a little token of respect, that is all I ask for.
"As…y-you…w-ish."
The pain ended. But the memory of it was lodged in Danju Zarns mind. No doubt left there by Sularzus, he sneered.
Daemonhood will soon be yours, Danju Zarn. That is, if you don't continue to make mistakes. Begone!
Danju Zarn heard no more, his mind drifting away
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The diminutive gretchin ran his finger over the surface of the worn and tattered star chart. Numerous scribbles and notes had been written against certain planets and systems. Dates and markings signified fleets of spacecraft, colours displaying their allegiance. It was a complicated map, and many would have trouble comprehending it. But in the little gretchins head it made perfect sense.
He picked up a green crayon and marked a certain system with a big circle, beside which he wrote in perfect Imperial Gothic: 'Delarius System'. He then shuffled through a bundle of papers, listing space ships, troop numbers, vehicles, supplies and other information. His small grin grew into an expansive smile.
This is what he had wanted all his life. He had dreamed of such a time. Total command of an ork Waaagh. The logistics of the whole operation were daunting, but nothing his intelligent little brain could not handle. It had always seemed an impossibility. That was until he had met Grumm. Opportunity hadn't come knocking on his door as such, more like smashing the door aside and barging in.
Grumm, large even by ork standards. Unfortunately, he was slower than most orks in the thought processes department. This was of small consequence though, for Ghetti was the brains of the outfit while Grumm supplied plentiful amounts of brawn. It was an arrangement that seemed to work splendidly, in Ghetti's opinion, their reputation had gone from strength to strength attracting ork warbands like moths to a flame.
He picked up a cigar and went to light it. He hesitated. It was the last one. The last one from Nexus, where Grumm and Ghetti's career had skyrocketed. A symbol of their success as a team. He considered it for a second, wiping a smudge from the golden Imperial eagle seal. Ghetti wasn't an overly nostalgic gretchin, but it seemed important to keep this as a reminder. He nodded to himself and stuffed it back in to his miraculously bottomless bag.
The booming footfalls coming down the corridor alerted Ghetti to the fact he had a visitor, and he didn't have to guess whom.
"Grumm, my dear friend, how fairs the boys morale?"
"A bit rowdy." Grumm growled, rubbing his jaw. Ghetti noticed he had a nasty split lip.
"Who was it this time?"
"Barzgrub da Despoila." Grumm paused thoughtfully, "He 'it me."
Ghetti sighed. It certainly wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Orks became bored very easily, especially on long space voyages like this one. When boredom set in orks fought amongst themselves to relieve it. Unfortunately for Grumm, challenges to his leadership increased as well. Barzgrub was a prominent warboss that had joined Grumm's Waaagh only a month past. He obviously hadn't learnt from other warbosses experience. Then again, Ghetti mused, it's difficult to get information from a corpse.
"Indeed, Barzgrub? I assume you hit him back, he fellow over and didn't get back up?"
"Yer. He was gurglin' an' twitchin'. Hur hur hur."
"Signs of life? Capital!" Ghetti was all for Grumm enforcing his own type of discipline, however it was the fact that not many warbosses survived the 'lessons on discipline' that worried Ghetti. Barzgrub was a good leader by all accounts, and they would need warbosses like him when they reached the Delarius System. He scribbled down a note on a piece of paper.
"I'll send Needle off to find Doc Badspike and he can attend to the poor chap."
"Are wez there yet?" Grumm inquired. Ghetti sighed again and put another mark on a nearby wall. There were numerous marks there, a tally of sorts.
"Do you realise, Grumm, how many times you have asked me that?"
"Err…lots?"
"One thousand, three hundred and four times." Ghetti quoted after a quick calculation from the wall. Grumm creased his brow in incomprehension. Ghetti made an even briefer orky calculation, "Lots and lots."
"Oh." Grumm grinned sheepishly and seemed to wait for something more from Ghetti.
"Yes, Grumm?"
"Are wez there yet?"
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A score of space skiffs weaved through the vast asteroid belt, sails taut with the strong solar winds behind them. The sleek eldar ships made other space going vessels seem depressingly slow and cumbersome, none more so than the skiffs of the Lothlorfin. Each skiff was piloted by between one and a handful of the elite Druki rangers. The pace increased, their destination visible as they exited the asteroid belt.
Rathielanfel, "The Wayward Souls Rest", Craftworld of the Druki. The errant Lothlorfins true home. A home which many had not seen for decades. Its massive bulk dwarfed the approaching skiffs, its size far greater than any Imperial space ship or ork hulk. Sadly though, Rathielanfels size belied its population. Once, in millennia past, it had held millions of eldar. Every passage, thoroughfare, market, and home was filled with content and happy eldar people. Now, after numerous ill-fated tragedies, the Druki craftworld had become a near necropolis. A grim shadow of its former self. The eldar that inhabited it had also changed. No longer was laughter heard in the endless passages of Rathielanfel, only the sad, brooding voices of a people destined for extinction.
That was the reason for so many Druki young becoming rangers, and after many years, pathfinders; The Lothlorfin. The oppressive sadness that seemed to permeate to the very wraithbone core of Rathielanfel was often too much for the rebellious Druki youth. They would leave to wander the stars.
And now they returned, skiffs alighting on an expansive landing hangar, to join their kin in a time of greatest need. War was once again destined for the Druki.
Sabian sailed his skiff around the imposing girth of Rathielanfel. He spotted a particular crystal dome he remembered very well. It had contained a forest environment he had spent many days in before he last departed. He had been hoping to visit it once again. His heart sank, however, realising it was empty and lifeless, hundreds of acres barren.
"How far must we fall?" he whispered to himself.
He swung back towards the landing hangar, noting that all the skiffs had landed except his. He knew some of the older Druki would see this as grandstanding, the 'Shadowchaser' wanting a crowd. It couldn't have been further from the truth. He did not want to return, but tradition dictated his actions. He was simply forestalling the inevitable.
A space had been left for him to land by his fellow Lothlorfin, and as he approached he could see his fellow pathfinders making their way to his landing position. Hundreds of eldar faces watched from further down the hangar, some with awe, others with disgust.
His skiff came to rest on the polished white surface of the hangar floor with barely a jolt. Sabian quickly unfastened his flight straps and exited the craft through the front view hatch that had hissed open.
The cadre of pathfinders awaited him on deck. Within the pathfinders ranks there were no leaders, no ranks. However, Sabian was the unspoken leader of the leaderless Lothlorfin. He recognised many faces, noticed some new faces and was saddened by not seeing others. The years of journeying in space took their toll, he could not expect all his fellow wanderers to survive.
"My lost children of the Druki return." The reassuring and calmly powerful voice of Farseer Solarayne washed over the Lothlorfin ranks. They turned as one and bowed deeply.
Sabian could sense the background psychic mood of the Druki, it insinuated its way into the mind, clawing at raw emotions. He could see it in the farseers burning eyes. He pushed back the waves of hate, anger, and blood lust. The emotions that only one course of action could sate; War.
With a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach and bile rising in his throat, Sabian dragged out the words of tradition in his husky voice. The words his father was longing to hear.
"Farseer Solarayne, the Lothlorfin have come to the Druki's aid. We have come for War."
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Danju Zarn woke with a start, the sound of beating drums and screaming voices assailing his ears. He opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. A sea of cultists swarmed around the altar he was currently sitting on. They chanted and danced, without one iota of rhythm amongst them. The term 'tone deaf' would have been lost on them as well. However, their enthusiasm was honest and flattering. That, Danju Zarn mused, and the fact they had no clothes on.
He winced as he went to move his head. The pain Sularzus had put him through lingered still, he dreaded the thought that it may never fully go away. He was already in a foul mood and the headache was not improving things in the least.
"My Lord Danju Zarn! You return to us, our prayers have been answered by great Slaanesh!"
Danju Zarn levelled a killing stare on the speaker. He was a strapping young man, tattoos adorning half his body and a ceremonial dagger held loosely in one hand. Obviously sacrifices were on this evenings menu.
"Lord Danju Zarn! What do you wish of us?!" He implored excitedly, believing he had brought a chaos lord back to life all on his own.
"To begin with, you can cease the shouting." Danju Zarn ordered while checking over his chaos armour and weapons. All seemed to be in working order. "Splendid."
"Thank you, Lord Danju Zarn! What gifts will you bestow on your most faithful demagogue?!"
"If you continue with the shouting, you twit, I will give you a quick, sharp gift. Understood?"
The demagogue opened his mouth wide and then calmed down a little before answering.
"Yes, My Lord."
"Good. Now, enlighten me as to who retrieved my corpse from the battlefield on Nexus?"
"It was us, My Lord, your faithful followers!" The demagogue waved his arms expansively to display the whole congregation.
"Unfortunately for you, my poor chap, I am very good at recognising when some one is lying to me." Danju Zarn brandished a humming lightning claw, "It would be in your best interest to speak truthfully from now on."
"Forgive me, My Lord." He collapsed to the floor and grovelled at Danju Zarns armoured feet, tears flowing freely as he sobbed. "A large ork warlord and his gretchin slave delivered you to us. The little one said to pass on a message, My Lord."
"And that would be?" He hissed through clenched teeth, his temper barely under control.
"The little one said 'The favour can be repaid in Delarius'. Forgive me, My Lord! I was-"
The demagogues head became a ragged mess of blood, brains and bone.
"What? You didn't like my gift?" Danju Zarn grinned. The pain in his head seemed to be receding.
As if on cue, a flock of raptors roared down on to the altar, landing a respectful distance away from their reanimated leader. One stepped forward, lightning claws similar to Danju Zarns hung listlessly by his sides, his helmeted head in the warped shape of a bat.
"Lord Danju Zarn, your warband and fleet awaits your presence." His voice was harsh and reptilian.
"Indeed, Gharzar." Danju Zarn gazed wistfully over the naked masses, some doing things to each other he hadn't thought physically possible. "We should depart…"
"We are pledged to you, Lord Danju Zarn." The large raptor champion stood aside, his troops following suit. "We can wait as long as you wish."
Danju Zarn smiled appreciatively and slapped Gharzar on an armoured shoulder.
"May your reign as raptor champion be long and prosperous, Gharzar."
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The ramshackle command deck was packed full of ork warbosses and their underlings. Low growls between the large ork leaders were punctuated with squeaks and whines from their gretchin slaves. The fetid air was tense, the contained violence and rage of the combined mass was palpable. The inflated egos of so many orks in such a compressed place was a potential bloodbath.
Ghetti knew this, and had made sure this situation came about. They needed solidarity, unification behind one leader before the Waaagh descended on the Delarius system. If they could not control the entire fleet and it's warriors, the waaagh would degenerate into a scattered mass of skirmishes.
The warbosses waited with rapidly diminishing patience. Grots under the warbosses feet were either trodden on or viciously kicked aside. Soon they wouldn't be able to contain themselves and start brawling.
"It's up to you now, Grumm." Ghetti whispered, peeping round the doorframe that led into the command deck. The time was just right for an entrance, "Just remember what I told you to do."
"Ok." Grumm rumbled back calmly, oblivious to the danger that the room he was entering contained.
The mass of orks went silent as Grumm entered the command deck, hands by his sides, not a weapon in sight. Ghetti had decided Grumm wouldn't need them. It would make the warbosses second guess themselves before considering to attack the massive warlord. It displayed supreme confidence in his own strength and this would worry them.
A one-eyed ork stepped forward, Targruz the Terrible. He was broader than Grumm but only came up to the warlords chest. He tried to stare Grumm down with one wicked red eye and failed miserably.
"Da boyz are getting' stroppy and so are we!" Targruz growled, spittle dripping from his jaw. "Wez 'ad enough of waitin'! Wez want a good scrap-"
The sheer brute force of Grumm's punch sent Targruz back into the packed ranks of warbosses, knocking two over in his flight.
Grumm wasn't big on words and he'd forgotten what to say so he growled menacingly. It seemed to have the right effect. No ork in the whole group could look Grumm in the eye.
"We'll be scrappin' soon." Grumm paused to sift through his patchy memory, "Da Del-Delra…Del…Da Delruz system. Wez stomp da pointy eared gits."
There was a moments silence, the orks not sure if Grumm had finished or if he was thinking some more. When the silence had gone on for sometime the warbosses began to cheer, cautiously at first and then the whole command deck was filled with whoops and howls. There was nothing like imminent violence to bring orks together.
Ghetti moved away from the doorframe and sat down, a grin splitting his face. Everything had gone as planned. Waaagh Grumm Ug Skulldreg had begun.
:-P