After reading all of those personal stories, I believe Arkhona will be ours again! We have such brave kin =)
Heh.. Expect Rokdak ta' be 'ere. 'Dese Eldar biografiees are pretty interestin', Eldar got sum pretty noice Lore behind em', too bad I ain't ever found out 'bout it. Duz our Krooza 'ave a Library I wonda'?
I'm not a writer or anything, but here's my submission. Hope it comes out all right. Enjoy. *It’s time for you to meet my favorite model in my entire Eldar army she may not be the toughest, luckiest, prettiest (yet), or the most used but she’s been with me almost since I started collecting the models so here’s a quick overview. She’s currently being repaired and repainted in my own personal Craft World colours after she fell from a table during a game so no picture sadly… yet. So here’s a quick summary. Nephilith is a Female Warlock of the Craft World Iyanden who has been around for almost two millennia and has walked many paths within this time. Born of an Iyanden mother and Biel-Tan father she learned early one of the few secrets of the Eldar race, an Eldar is an Eldar no matter where they may be from or believe. Nephilith had a large family on Iyanden but after Hive Fleet Kraken attacked, much of her family on Iyanden is gone and have been brought back to fight as Wraith Guard by her own hands. She has fought every major race in the galaxy and has a deep seeded hatred of Tyranids and Chaos and will often leave Iyanden to aid any of her Kin in destroying those who threaten her race or Home. Nephilith views the world thru the eyes of one who once constructed great beauty in Iyanden as a bonesinger, sculptor, jewelry maker, and even weapon smith so views anything other than the universes natural beauty or that created by Eldar hands as disgusting and crude. She has walked the Path of the Banshee and Dark Reaper before her centuries long path as a Warlock... although with each passing year she finds herself in the role of Spiritseer. She like many of her people tend to be melancholic and of a darker mind or humor having lost so much and seen the glory of her home tarnished and broken. Nephilith has fought along side many great heroes the likes of Yriel, Taec Silvereye, Iyanna Arienal, cossed paths with Alaitoc's Illic Nightspear when she traveled as a Ranger, and once fought alongside the great seer Eldrad Ulthran. She even claims to have fought alongside the Phoenix Lord Maugan Ra in her days as a Dark Reaper, theses are just a few things she has done in her long life even if none remember her name or deeds.* ************** The now burning winds of Arkhona, choked with ash, pollution, and toxic exhaust bellowed thru the once busy streets of the ruined city. Little remained of even what an Ork would consider of value but that mattered little in these wastes. The burned out husks of manufactorums and hab-blocks were all that remained of the city even the bodies of the dead had long since abandoned this place, being dissolved by the acidic & toxic rains, a direct result of the plundering of the planets resources and the fumes and fires of war. It was in such a place that a Path was to be chosen for the coming battle... or that's what the Seers Council on Arkhona claimed. Nephilith sat within the shadows of one such ruined habitation block awaiting for the chance to change fate into her peoples favor. Nephilith idly thought to herself as she shifted within the shadows of the ruined hab-block, how the Mon’keigh considered such dreary, stark, and hideous structures livable was something that both disgusted and confounded her. Even just entering into the ruined building had caused her to feel unclean and sullied… but this was the place she was needed and until her task was complete not even She-Who-Thirsts could force her to vacate. The large room had once been a place of feasting for those who once dwelt within and would have offered few places to conceal oneself, but thanks to the devastation of war, rubble and fallen masonry littered the room forming shadows and alcoves from which the skilled could hide. Nephilith waited upon the remnants of the stark metal rafters, there she waited, hidden in the shadows and ashes of death. The rumbling of crude treads announced the arrival of her barbaric foes, in all her life she still could not comprehend how a species such as humanity ever found its way into the stars using such crude, barbaric machines. The deep growls of the crude vehicle sounded almost as if it twas a living thing while the beings disembarked with thunderous steps even before the vehicle halted completely. Nephilith watched using her witch sight to observe the Striking Scorpions she was supporting silently as they prepared their weapons for the kill, like predators readying their claws. If not for her witch sight the Scorpions would be invisible, nothing more than shadows within shadows it was this sight that told her of the taint within her approaching foes. Their souls burned brightly as if ablaze with witchfire and violence that they exuded was almost a thing unto itself. It was a simple thing to see the skeins converging upon the Fallen Astartes even to ones who's time upon the Path of the Seer was not as long as hers. It was with a wall shaking bang that the Chaos Marines destroyed the door into the ruined habitation block a satisfied laugh boomed throughout the room as they pushed past the dust and rubble wearing their armor as Black as their souls. The five Chaos Marines stomped into the large hall with an arrogance born only from those who slaughtered foes who had no chance of fighting back. The Chaos marines consisted of two tactical Marines, two of their heavy weapon specialists known as Havoc Marines, and the fifth wore similar armor but his mere presences caused Nephilith to shudder. There was no mistake he would be her target, a sorcerer of the Dark Gods, her strike would have to be perfect for the touch of the warp made these fallen super soldiers of humanity into even more dangerous foes. Even with her powers and skill she would have to wait until the perfect moment or die. The five colossus of Chaos tainted Astartes walked into the ruins and barked at one another in their guttural, crude, and uncultured language even as the Havoc Marines took positions by the crumbling windows. It was quite ironic that the Chaos space marines here were setting up an ambush while her kin waited with her in the shadows to do the same. In such moments of waiting before a battle thoughts of times pasted tormented Nephilith, such dark times of introspection had become more and more frequent after the arrival of Hive Fleet Kraken upon her Craft World. Her once beautiful home was now more akin to a tomb… if a tomb had the dead walking among the living that is. Her people had been forced to use one of the more distasteful practices of her people in order to survive, the rousing of the Eldar dead for war. Using the Tears of Isha, gifts from her peoples' dead Goddess which all of those in the Craft Worlds wear to save their souls for She-Who-Thirsts and placed within the Craft Worlds Infinity Circuit. It was a place where her people could spend their time after death safe from the Dark God her peoples' hedonistic and violent ways birthed into existance. But desperate were these times and especially for Iyanden, so it was with heavy hearts that Seers awakened the souls of the dead and with great sorrow placed them within the wraithbone shells of Wraith Guard or the mighty Wraith Lords. Such was the devastation of her Craft World that they were forced to awaken entire warhosts of such constructs when war called. It spoke volumes that so many of the living of Iyanden had been sent to Arkhona of the importance of what they were doing here. The Chaos Marines stood waiting in their firing positions upon the courtyard visable thru the great rends in the hab-blocks walls. Despite their armored frames and helmeted faces Nephilith noted a change in the tempo of the Chaos Marines before their seething, unbridled, bloodlust could almost be felt but now it was focused like a sword ready to thrust into the heart. The time would be soon thought Nephilith as the bellows and war cries of the foul Orks could be heard beyond the walls of the habitation block. As to why the Farseers wanted the Orks to travel unmolested towards her peoples’ position was beyond her but like most of her people she trusted the Seers judgement. Nephilith moved with feline grace, silently approaching her chosen target as the Scorpions did the same, the Ork horde could be heard entering the courtyard beyond, time was short and soon fates path would be set… Nephilith kept watch on her chosen foe only barely registering the presence of the other Chaos Marines as her silent balanced steps brought her closer to her foe. It was during her time as a Howling Banshee that she had first fought a Chaos Sorcerer and the incident had nearly cost her life and limb but thanks to the aid of a Striking Scorpion that she fought today. She swore to never make the same mistake again and used her own powers to obscure the skeins of fate. The Scorpions were almost in position as were the Orks beyond the walls of the habitation block their bellowing battle lust almost palpable. Nephilith waited poised with her witch blade held steady and level as she had practiced many times before above her chosen foe his every movement watched. It would be over in a flash if she failed but she could not focus upon that now… now was the time for blood. It was not Nephilith who struck first but the Striking Scorpion Exarch who was the first to strike and in the fraction of seconds it took for him the close the gap he’d guaranteed the deaths of the two Havoc’s his scorpion claw bursting from the chest of one, while his biting blade and mandiblasters ended the life other in a display of skill and violence rarely seen. Sadly the other fallen Astartes proved to never underestimate the durability of their kind and though wounded turned to face their previously unseen opponents. Nephilith was only vaguely aware of the happens of her kin but watched the sorcerer as he moved in the sluggish way the primitive races did but something was wrong she could feel it even as she dropped from above to impale her foe. It was during the scant moments of falling as a whispered prophesy from her old teacher echoed thru her mind “… watch your foes always, for it will be your end instead of his tainted life that will be extinguished, young Nephilith…” it was these words that had forced her to hesitate her strike for the merest of moments and it had saved her life. For in that instant she realized he knew she was there he'd known the entire time... The sorcerer had turned and with hand outstretched ready to unleash the powers of the warp upon her, if not for her old teachers past warning she never would have raised her blade as well as her warding runes to her defense in time. Even with this warning her life nearly ended as the Sorcerer directed a torrent of lightning made of raw warp energy into her knocking from the air and crashing into the ground a short distance away. The vile Chaos sorcerer laughed as he released the raw power of the warp towards her straining her defenses while her wraithbone runes, made by the hands of her grandmother, blazed while they attempted to redirected and dissipate the warp energies being unleashed. Nephilith gasped in pain as she strained under his attack, as well as the pain from being sent flying to the hard rockcrete floor. Worse still the pain of his attack was not just from the conjured lightning he focused at her but from the crushing gaze from She-Who-Thirsts from beyond the veil. She could feel the grasp of She-Who-Thirsts tightening upon her soul in anticipation as the Sorcerer continued to laugh and taunt her in his deep guttural tongue cruel pleasure evident in his words. Just as her wards began to fail the sorcerer cried out in pain fueled rage while he reeled away from her saviors follow up swing. The Exarch his blade covered in the tainted blood of the Sorcerers now severed arm dodged and weaved as the Sorcerer swung his blade in fury whilst his life blood gushed from the stump of his missing arm. The other two Scorpions continued their private dances of death with the remaining Chaos marine who raged against his foes while his life blood poured from a dozen horrific wounds. Nephilith marveled at the sorcerers’ fury as he fought the Exarch in a losing battle the Exarch seeming to almost be toying with his crippled foe. She watched as the Sorcerer lashed out with his powers again forcing some distance between himself and the Exarch, Nephilith struggled to stand and bring forth her psychic wards to aid the Exarch. The Sorcerer gathered his powers again while the Exarch retreated to find cover from the vile energies of the warp but instead of a blast of Warp Fire or Kinetic Force a billowing cloud of warp made smoke engulfed the Sorcerer as he vanished from sight. The other Scorpion had finally removed the head of their final foe as the Exarch moved to examine his fallen pupil, while Nephilith gasped as she hurried to see if the warrior could be saved. The Warrior was lucky the wound was deep and vicious but with her ministrations he would live her time as a healer once again saving another life. Even as the sounds of excited Orks who had overheard their battle approached she worked on the move while the Exarch and his other pupil aided their wounded comrade. “We have failed…” hissed the Exarch with barely contained bloodlust as they hurried towards there extraction point. “I would not be so sure Exarch.” Smiled Nephilith as the streets resounded to the primal cheers and roaring bellows of blood thirsty joy from the Orks in the distance. The Exarch released his pupil and hurried to the edge of a fallen statuary of the Mon’keigh’s corpse god to examine the Ork hordes forces. Nephilith joined him after his young pupil’s wound was no longer a threat to his life “… the green tide turns…” hissed the Exarch with dark satisfaction as Nephilith followed his gaze. The corrupted vehicle that delivered the sorcerer and his warriors was roaring away drawing the horde of Orks away from the hidden Eldar gate beyond the city “Yes… it appears they’ve found something more interesting then shadows to chase.” Nephilith smiled as they all began their journey to the extraction point fate having been changed again in her people's favor...
Disclaimer: I am not entering this contest. I just wanted to add some good fiction to the mix. Grime. Filth, the kind that slops and squelches as it assaults the nostrils and permeates too deeply into the skin. Slime that doesn't wash off, coats the mind, never to really leave. It spoils with the brine of guilt, runs red with the dark deeds of the past. Necessary, but no more light on the conscious than the steady drip of vengeance from blood soaked hands. Wḁdyrm's iron grip thrust the shock of bleached hair into the muck, splattering herself with flecks of putrid earth. She held the squirming head there until she felt the fight climax into a desperate clawing of air. She wrenched the gasping head back and cast the figure backwards. Wḁdyrm's foot effortlessly pinned her prisoner to the liquefied earth, bearing down upon the wild eyes of the Mon-Kiegh. "Speak of your mission, Sister Arasic, or taste excrement again." Wḁdyrm said in a reserved rage that broiled just beneath her jerkin. "Do not taint my mind with your magicks, witch!" Arasic seethed, writhing in tattered rags beneath Wḁdyrm, "I will see you burn at a stake for what you have done here." "But you've only just arrived " Wḁdyrm asked calmly, pressing past the woman's fury and into her mind. She found an iron wall of will greeting her she withdrew knowing it was of no use, "Why then have you come here Sister?" Her response was a projectile of phlegm that never made it past Arasic's teeth. Held suspended by the Autuarch's nimble mind, Wḁdyrm slowly pressed it back down into the chasm from whence it came. Arasic's eyes grew wide as the ball of spit nestled itself into the sister's windpipe. She squirmed, panic in her eyes spreading with the bloodshot veins. The frantic pulse in her neck swelled beneath the bloom of red, and then finally purple. Arasic heaved, bile frothing at her mouth as Wḁdyrm forced her entire body to submit to her will. With a flick of her wrist, Wḁdyrm raised Arasic out of the muck, letting the convulsing woman hang suspended before her. "Are you ready to speak?" Arasic's eyes narrowed angrily. "Very well." Wḁdyrm replied with a lazy wave, flipping Arasic upside down. Vomit poured out of her nose, tears streaming from her rolling eyes. Sensing Arasic's unconsciousness, Wḁdyrm released her, letting her fall face first into the soiled earth. "You have been stronger than most thusfar. But I have done this and much worse, ceaselessly, for days on end until I have broken the wills of even dread Legionaires," Wḁdyrm explained, "We can do this until your brains are the consistency of what you lie in and I extract the information from your traumatized mind, leaving you as a newborn to the battle frenzied wolves of this world." Arasic was silent, curled into ball, clutching a sigil upon her breast as her body rocked. "Or you can speak, and tell me the whereabouts of Illaxis, so that I may end him." Arasic stopped and looked up at Wḁdyrm. "If you cannot speak, then see," Wḁdyurm proclaimed as she thrust her sight upon the brittle mind of Arasic. ++++++++++ Wḁdyrm, Tyrant of the Damned gazed lazily upon the crown of the Kharon system lying prostrate before her. She sat despondent upon a skeletal throne, one hand upon an eldritch sword propped on bare legs. “Humans,” Wḁdyrm scoffed rising between their rabble. Shackled by blazing chains around raw necks, their knees had worn through ragged tunics as they crawled before her; like animals, like Mon-Kiegh. Across the chamber blood dashed the decking in visions of bovine slaughter. There was an awareness of sorts among the dark ground, rebuking the pollution as though the earth itself shunned their offensive presence. Wḁdyrm strode effortlessly with a grim satisfaction over them, refusing to suffer their curses, instead allowing her choker-chains to stifle their cries. “Wḁdyrm, Tyrant of the Damned,” the voice cooed in a sensuous purr, “You’ve only just arrived. What title, what thirst for dominion, it bloats the Eldar pride and fattens you for Slaanesh.” Wḁdyrm felt weight shift in her warded sight, chaotic repercussions against tumbling walls as the vision of her triumph faded to the harsh wasteland of Arkhona. There, caught in the war of their minds stood Ilaxi, his outstretched hands bleeding a warpfire cocoon against the gorgon gaze of her psychic eyes. A dark hood veiled the crimson optics blistering from the abyss. Beneath the black and gold sigil of Abaddon, Wḁdyrm could only sense the Astarte’s thirst for her soul. “We only dream of power Illaxi,” Wḁdyrm replied flatly, the invisible crucible within Illaxi’s mind constricting as her sight penetrated deeply into his veiled mind. There, visions of war eternal swam. She could see the atrocities of the Mon-Kiegh exhumed and unfold before her. His eyes had witnessed the rise of the crown of Kharon; Zazhja, a boyking standing above his people, his passionate sermons and frenzied dogma stirring the hearts of the Mon-Kiegh to take up arms against the invaders of Arkhona. It had been Illaxi’s doing that they had never arrived to see the light of this world’s three suns. He stood as a titan among planar gods, his back to those he had once called brother. Wḁdyrm knew the blood on his hands had not all been from the Mon-Kiegh, and witness the cruelty he had brought to her kin. “But now, you will only find yourself burdened by the price you paid for that power.” Wḁdyrm hissed, an unnatural surge rolled from her feet, cracking the parched ground and shackling Illaxi in burning chains borne from nightmares. They writhed in spider’s limbs, coiling around baroque armor as old and worn as the earth swallowing him. “I will not be defeated so easily, Wḁdyrm.” Illaxi snarled as he buckled below the weight of the living chains, his shield of warpfire held steady before her flaying stare, “Slaanesh Herself will not allow you the crown of Kharon.” Wḁdyrm felt a disturbance of the earth around her, the ash of the wounded world trembled before the approaching shadow. Her heart sank as she felt the great psychic being draw near, carrying the cursed blessings of the Ancient Doom in its wake. “Even if I must give myself to a greater authority,” Illaxi rasped, bowing to the psychic chains, “I will shall never kneel.” “You lay yourself freely before enslavement you wretched fool.” Wḁdyrm replied bitterly as the shadow found Illaxi entombed beneath the gestalt of his sins. His body seized, the bones beneath his armor cracked to a quaking earth. Yet she heard only laughter among Illaxi’s gurgling screams. “You are not as noble, young Eldar, as you believe.” Twin voices from Illaxi called, “You too have stained your soul by ambition.” Wḁdyrm’s mind was woefully unprepared for the mental hand that clasped fearsomely to her, prying open her disciplined mind with ravaging force. Visions of guilt rose from the depths, an all too familiar echo calling from where she had suppressed it far below. +++++++++ “Then be on guard.” Lykanossaid, the implacable skull of a Reaper’s mask leered back like the specter of death itself. “We would not guard this Mon-Kiegh if we did not expect a fight.” Gleandra replied, the banshee’s braid of her amber hair falling to her waist. Wḁdyrm looked tenderly to Gleandra, shamelessly reveling in her perfection before turning back to their prisoner. A youth, his boyish features not yet matured, he wore his Imperium’s sigil’s of authority beneath the stern gaze of Wḁdyrm’s fearsome host. His captivity was joined by his entire royal court, spared from oblivion from the treachery of Illaxi. “Lady Wḁdyrm!” Her scout called from ahead, “A horde of Orks moves to our position! We will be overrun in moments!” “We need only the child.” Wḁdyrm replied hastily, her silent orders already conveyed by the harmonious language of her mind and body. Lykanos moved towards the others. They crawled away like vermin, his methodic footfalls an unmistakable drum; a death rattle to the spark of hope in their wide eyes. Lykanos, the face of Ynnead approached, the might of the Khaine forged within. Eyes as red as blood, intent as black as the plated armor he bore, he raised his weapon towards the fetid hearts of men. They raised their hands in protest, begging for his mercy, but alien eyes were upon them; colder than the void, callous as a harlequin’s smile. “Why… are you doing this witch?” Zazjha blurted as the first deathscreams sang, the light of Lykanos’s reaver washing out the man’s horror as it flickered in a strobe, “Am I to be spared? An objective held by the desperate?” The Mon-Kiegh had surprised Wḁdyrm. He was keen. She stopped and pondered the boy among the crescendo of slaughter. Her error of hesitation sparked her pang of guilt as the memory took its inevitable turn. There came a discordant wail from Gleandra’s helm, the shock of carrot hair, the slashing blade all but a blur before the green tide roaring over the ridgeline towards them. The wail screamed into a spine shifting psychic hammer smashing over the dazed Orks. The nearest fell flat upon his back, a hole drilled through his face and out the back of his head. Already twirling to dodge the counterattack of a monstrous Nob Choppa, Gleandra’s sword effortlessly pried his head from his shoulders, allowing her pin wheeling feet to travel unhindered in the arc of his falling torso. A blurred flash of steel halted Gleandra’s dance, her knee springing off of her padded armor in a crack of bone. She screamed in agony, stabbing her attacker in the neck. A torrent of blood sprayed down her arms as she sank, crippled. A choppa flashed, biting through her crooked leg in an awful snap. Shearing the limb into a knot that made Wḁdyrm’s stomach churn, she dared not watch as she heard Gleandra’s last mournful howl silenced by a final merciless blow. “You feel nothing but guilt for the lack of guidance you failed to provide your....” Illaci’s voices trailed before lavishing on his final word, “lover.” Wḁdyrm felt the acidic hate burn from within, stemming from her very soul. “I have not come to play games Illaxi!” Wḁdyrm seethed as space and time bowed around her in spattered halos of black and indigo warpfire, “You sent the foul greenskins, and I will have my vengeance, even if I bring this world with my Damnation!” Wḁdyrm called upon the strength of the Eldar, drawing the bottomless psychic well held deep within. The earth shook and the heavens boiled in her fury. Fire burned within her coursing blood. The sky circled above her, electrified in forked lightning, pedals of otherworldly fire danced in an orbit around her as her feet levitated above the ground. A thrashing bolt struck the mass of chains that was Illaxi, vaporizing them in a monstrous plume of fire and rock, soon another and then another ravaged the earth until the horizon was lost to the hurricane. The plains gave way to her rage, giant fissures and tormented chasms opened before the eye of her ion storm, falling away into the molten depths of the earth. She drew herself in, sensing the shadow below her, the mesmerizing pedals encircling her hands as she concentrated her might upon a single point, directly at Illaxi’s psychic eye. But the eye was not where she had remembered. With a jolt of terror, she felt Illaxi behind her, the breath of his axe kissing the nave of her neck. He struck, a titan’s wrath against a planar god, knocking her from the heavens and into the tortured earth, exiling the storm of the Eldar with her. A silhouette before three burning orbs, Illaxi’s shattered wings unfurled. His shadow claiming all that the light seared his triumphant laughter a bark through a tangle of razerwire teeth. “And they call you a Tyrant?!” Illaxi mocked, his black eyes as warm as a shark’s, “You are not even fit to rule over a child king!” Wḁdyrm lay in her crater, gasping for air, the psychic shield that had saved her from being split in two was all but gone. She coughed a gout of blood, dousing her Ulthwé robes in a speckle of crimson. Feebly, she raised her hand, summoning her courage for Illaxi’s descent. She sobbed as she felt the guilt of Gilandra‘s death rise, the bitter frustration of Illaxi’s triumph soaring above. Illaxi dove, the world of Arkhona shrank until only he and Wḁdyrm remained, the space between them charged with a baleful gaze that was not their own. Wḁdyrm could feel Her insatiable thirst, a governing pull upon Wḁdyrm’s very soul. The hunger for souls was palpable, the intent was clear; Gilandra, her own, us all. Illaxi’s shadow smothered her, his axe a frightful motion at his side brought to bear in a perfect killing stroke. Wḁdyrm’s hand stood tall, the only defense between him, her, and the eager eyes beyond. She stole herself for the enveloping darkness and caught the blade of his axe in her palm. The world wrenched, the calls of the Eldritch dead sang in her ears. Death’s song was close, damnation’s siren closer. She felt the very gaze of the Ancient Doom smothering her will, joined by the hunger of a million maleficent eyes, tendrils of madness clutching the folds of her mind. They were a blur of color and motion as Wḁdyrm traveled through time and space landing hard in a chaotic tumble through brambles and branches of an alien grove. She could feel the ever present eyes of the Ancient Doom, even as the tunnel faded and the world around her became clear beneath the glow of a pale moon. She shuddered, feeling Illaxi prowling somewhere in the thicket ahead. “No amount of Eldar tricks can spare you now Wḁdyrm. My axe has tasted your flesh and will not stop its hunt until it has claimed you,” Illaxi called from the bramble, “Tremble little one. Night is here, and my brothers shall soon arrive.” There came a roar in the distance, the sound of great trees swaying and crashing to the forest floor. “Can you hear them?” Illaxi hissed, his voice just behind Wḁdyrm’s ear. Wḁdyrm stood stock still, calmly listening to the forest, blending with its shade. “You are burdened by the price of your power.” Wḁdyrm reminded in a hush. “You think I am weakened by your intrusion?” Illaxi questioned indignantly, “Your war within my mind?” “I think you wasting your last breath.” Wḁdyrm taunted scornfully, “I have what I need.” “You arrogant harlot!” Illaxi raged, charging through the treeline, axe raised high. He strained suddenly, fleshy barbs protruding from his breastplate. “Litchors.” Wḁdyrm whispered, slowly backing under the fronds of a tall fern, “are easier to herd than to fight.” “This is not over!” Illaxi roared in his struggle, the fleshooks setting deeper, “my brothers approach. We will find you Wḁdyrm, I will cast you into the eye of Terror, right into the maw of Slaanesh myself! I will find you!” “Are you certain?” Wḁdyrm replied, feigning her curiosity, " The one you have betrayed seem to have found you.” Wḁdyrm looked to the sky, watching it bleed burning tears of vengeance. Tears of spiteful Angels soared towards distant battlefields, signaling a new dawn; a dawn red and black with death. “I will find you!” Illaxi thundered as he was dragged backwards into the forest, the screeching roar of the creatures beyond toppling trees to the skittering floor, “I will butcher you all like dogs!” Illaxi’s curses were lost in the cacophony of the wood, and Wḁdyrm knew their claws would not stop him. Her hand rose in a silent greeting, and was met lovingly by the smooth bell of a wraithblade’s helm standing beside her. “Gleandra.” Wḁdyrm sighed warmly to the stiff ghost warrior standing attentively at her side. “She meets you well.” Kalya replied from beneath her Iyanden Spiritseer helm, a host of Wraithgaurd stepping gracefully from the fronds. In toe was Lykanos, retained by a full company of Dark Reapers. “Orks upon our flank!” a cry among the battle line sang out, followed by another, “Chaos Marines on the heels of the Tyranids!” “Astartes to our rear!” Came the cry from an Avenger standing over the boy-king, “They seek to reclaim Zazjha!” “You’re surrounded, Witch.” The boy-king Zazjha said, “release me to the Astartes and I will bargain for your safety.” Wḁdyrm bristled and glowered at the insolent Mon-Keigh, her hand dripping the vengeful blood of Khaine as her eyes set the child’s mind ablaze in her fury. He balked as though she had lashed him. From above came an excruciating psychic scream, an atrocity tearing across the planes of spacetime in a psionic boom carving through the psyche as easily as adamantium. Wḁdyrm’s mind sang with roaring Hemlock Wraithfighters tearing back the void. The psychic screams of the Eldritch dead bit into Zazjha, each shriek rattling his seizing body. Wḁdyrm heard his inaudible prayers through chattering teeth; prayers to his God among pleas of death. A plea left unanswered as the vision faded and Arasic recoiled. They were upon the muddy earth once more. There was a long silence as Wḁdyrm let the chaotic visions sink into the half naked Battle Sister. "You see child?" Wḁdyrm said to Arasic, "You've but just arrived here. We have fought for these lands longer than all. Now tell me where he is." Arasic chuckled. "He will find you." She replied, "And if Zazjha is dead, the Imperium will do nothing to slow his path." Wḁdyrm raged as she plunged her psychic might into the agonized woman, extracting her memories until her gelatinous brains oozing down her cheeks were the consistency of the mud she lay dying. Wḁdyrm stood quietly over the smoldering female Mon-Keigh. There would be more, no doubt, but time was stretching thin. In the distance there bleat the drums of war, the rumble of artillery and the shout of Ork. The armies of four races would soon converge, but her mind sang of the truth. There was but one threat in these lands. "They leave us no choice." Kalya's presence in the night was as ghostly as it was silent. "I will not invoke him unless we have no other option, Kalya." "We have none," Kayla rasped, " But the Mon-Kiegh knows, and can fight better than most of us, you know this." "He knows too much. A human embedded within our Infinity Circuit is an affront to our people," and before she could stop herself, Wḁdyrm added sternly, "it mocks your abilities as a seer." "But alas, he has found a way," Kalya replied ignoring the quip, "He is ancient, beyond the years of you or I. I sense that he may very well know how to defeat Illaxi." "Then invoke him, and bind him to our warriors so that he may taste battle anew." Wḁdyrm commanded with frustration, "Such desperation that we call upon parasites." "As you wish my Lady. Demetri Dominov shall breathe the fires of battle once more."
