The Auctorian Conquest III

Good morning folks.

Over the next 5 days leading up to The Auctorian Conquest campaign weekend, hosted by Leicester Sabres, I will be posting the background text I co-wrote with the GM.

If you want to get involved, head over to the Facebook Event Page here!

But not before you read this, the background for the forces of the Eldar;

"Revered Autarch, the forces of Chaos will breach the psychic barriers set by the Seers imminently. They know we hide here; they come for us."

Imiriah stepped from her command dais, her rightful place as an Autarch of Craftworld Il Kaith. She looked down at the bowed messenger, her gaze merely caressing the civilian yet taking in every detail.  Practically a child at 400 years old, he must have been sent by the Farseers in the Temple of Observance, in training for the day that he might walk the Paths Beyond himself. "Thank you for this information Mei-acara," her smile calming the youth, "I hope it does not come too late."

The messenger stood gracefully and exited the room, leaving Imiriah in the unyielding silence. A figure flowed from the shadows like solid smoke, as silent as the void despite his voluminous robes and free-hanging trinkets. The warlock, Furwuin, stood face to face with the Autarch. Pearlescent beads of psychic energy danced across his faceless helm as he nodded an acknowledgement to her.

"We cannot let the servants of the Dark Pantheon enter the Basilica below. The souls within may be dull compared to Eldar-kin, but the resultant warp discharge..."

"I know, Furwuin," Imiriah raised her hand to forestall further argument. Her irritation at the Seer's continued dissidence hollowed her words, though none outside their race could have detected the change in tone. "I am as hesitant as anyone to defend the mon-keigh, but our options diminish by the moment. All of our lives are at stake." Turning away from her companion, she let a soft sigh escape her thin lips, "I must make contact with them; explain the situation."

Furwuin stumbled back, the shock of Imiriah's words hit him like a hammer blow. "Surely you must be mistaken? Consort with the savages? They will not believe a word we have to say! Even if they did, they would see us burn before they acknowledging they are as doomed as us. They could not understand the peril they are in, and would not care for the threat to us."

"Those are possible outcomes..." muttered the Autarch as she crossed command deck, lightly touching activation runes on her throne as she lowered herself into the seat. The Craftworld uncloaked.

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Auctoria loomed placidly on the horizon, the pale light of the distant sun illuminating the surface to reveal her bleak majesty whilst the dark side glittered with the innumerable lights of civilisation: Home. Admiral Danstag stood in his headquarters on the moon, Auctoria Minor, with the parent planet visible through a massive, reinforced armourglass window.  At this point in a normal day, he would be filling paperwork; requisition orders, training and drilling schedules, the usual tedium. Today, however, was an interesting day. A Strike Cruiser belonging to the Astartes of the Grey Knights had arrived and even now sat invisibly in orbit around the world below. Why they were here, they would not state. That was immaterial though, as they carried the seal of the Inquisition. When they requested a search of the fortress, it was not within his authority to turn the Emperor's most holy warriors away.

The firepower arrayed across the moon's surface was enough to defend the system from all out attack, though lacked the manoeuvrability of a fleet. As Ground Admiral of Battlefleet Auctor, it was his duty to be the last line of defence against any such intrusion that could threaten the Council below.

The Council.

Never had Danstag served such a corrupt, decrepit and incestuous group of bureaucrats in all his lifetime of service. An assembly of governors drawn from every system in the Auctorian Sector, it was supposed to be a democracy, but in the two hundred years he had been stationed with Battlefleet Auctor, he had never heard of anything as democratic as an election. He remembered one line from their speech given on the day of his promotion;

“It is your duty to protect us.”

Not the sector. Nor the system or the planet. Not even the civilians they supposedly served. No, the Council. Such selfishness was only the beginning and Danstag knew in his heart that if the day ever came that he stood between death and the Council, he would not be keen to stand in the way. To Danstag, his duty was not to the Council; it was to the civilians, to the Imperium of Mankind. The Auctorian Sector was supposedly home to trillions of humans, though no accurate census existed. Good, hard working people. For them then? He would give his life for them.

As that philosophical thought settled on his consciousness, all hell broke loose. Sirens erupted and red lights strobed, between them flooding command fortress with a taut sense of urgency. A fleet of non-Imperial ships appeared between Auctoria Major and her defenders, centred around a capital ship that had outgrown such a pithy title by several orders of magnitude. Despite his own senses and all other evidence to the contrary, the Admiral couldn't help but feel that they had not translated out of the ether, but been there all along

An image rose to life on the window, obscuring Danstag's view of his home. In a heartbeat, it resolved into a figure, basically human in appearance, but each subtle difference coalesced to mark this stranger as inhuman as an Ork. The alien consciousness that sat behind the eyes of the individual was as keen as a razor's edge, though far less forgiving. The was no source for the image in the room; no projector or holograph. Danstag's only conclusion was that it was Eldar witchcraft.

"Admiral Danstag, I am Autarch Imiriah of Il Kaith, and I request your assistance."

"Get back Witch! As I speak, the defence batteries of this emplacement will be drawing firing solutions on your fleet. You will be annihilated!"

"I am fully aware of the vast arsenal at your disposal, Admiral. We have been here long enough to fully catalogue your entire armada." Her voice, Danstag assumed it was a female, had a sing-song quality, like that of the Sirens of ancient Terran myth. "I also know that none will fire without your express orders. You are a good man Danstag. You will hear what I have to say first."

Despite himself, he paused, taken aback by the situation. He had only dealt with Eldar once before; for all their apparent fragility, they were ferocious warriors and master schemers. "Your kind are nothing but pirates. What could you possibly have to say that would stop me destroying you?"

The Autarch remained passive. So defensive, these mon-keigh. She opened her stance and her hands, supposedly a gesture of deference that put them at ease, though it did little to quell this one's demeanour.

"I bring grim tidings. Tidings of a war that will cast this space in to darkness and bare the throats of my kinsmen to a fate you cannot imagine. The forces of Chaos are mounting an invasion that will destroy us both, unless we work together. Your precious Council know of this, yet they do nothing. They are arrogant in their disregard of the reality that is in front of them. Chaos is coming."

"I am nothing more than a hammer, wielded by the Emperor," claimed Danstag, gaining more confidence, despite the eerie realness of the faux-being in front of him; far crisper than any Imperial holo-projection he had ever witnessed. "I am no diplomat, only a weapon. The Inquisition would have been a more appropriate conversationalist, don’t you think?" Imiriah smiled meekly. A straight to the point human; unfortunately all too common.

"You are more a fool than I believed. Do you think we have not already tried that? We have exhausted all other options and you may well be our last resort. Over centuries, we have lead the followers of bedlam on a dance of which they grow tired. A dance designed to avoid this confrontation and the possible fates that may come from it. Now they are coming for us all."

"You mean you lead them here? Ensuring our mutual destruction?" Danstag was beside himself. Despite the Eldar's proposition of alliance, it seemed that she had merely baited a trap. Whether it was for the Imperials or the supposed invasion, the Admiral could not decide. The lingering silence was deep, pregnant with distrust. Despite the thousands of miles separating them, Danstag and Imiriah might as well been face to face. He flirted with the idea of unleashing his guns, slaying the xenos before she could do the same to him. His hand was only stayed by one notion; that she might be telling the truth.

"The threat still stands," replied the alien commander, neither denying his accusation or confirming his suspicions.

"I cannot believe a word you say."

The Autarch could sense a lost cause when she saw one. The image turned as if to talk to someone out of the purview of whatever pict-capturer she used. As she was about to speak, she turned her head back to Danstag, locking her very unhuman eyes to his. "Furwuin, notify the Bridge. Prepare to open fire on the mon-keigh."

Danstag drew the dataslate from the pocket of his uniform. Littered with multiple flashing enquiries from his underlings; they were ready to fire as well. "So be it, foul xenos."

Even as the image faded, his hands danced across the ancient machine, confirming firing solutions and giving his sub-commanders full authority to unleash their waiting weapons. The calm surface of Auctoria Minor erupted, filling  the heavens with light as the defensive batteries of orbital stations opened fire on the Craftworld that threatened the sector capital. The lances of both sides crossed the unimaginable distance in a fraction of a second, flashing in vivid, oily bursts against energy shields in an attempt to over load them. Missiles, torpedoes and other sub-light munitions described graceless arcs, adjusting attitudes to avoid defensive fire or detonating prematurely. During the brief minutes of the fire fight, the Eldar ships suffered little damage while the fortress took a pounding.

Despite the explosions tearing through his fortress, Danstag could hear a rhythmic thump, accompanied by a metallic clang, getting louder with each passing heartbeat. To his ears it almost sounds like a man running, though no mortal being could possibly be large enough to be so loud, nor fast enough to achieve that tempo. Before he could complete the thought, the door to Danstag's office shattered inwards, followed immediately by a war-god in black battle plate.

"This is Epistolary Amadeus of the Death Watch. All units. Ceasefire." The voice alone, far deeper and more resonant than any mortal's, offered no argument. The order was followed unquestioningly; lance batteries fell silent, missile silos quelled and those in flight were remotely detonated. To Danstag's surprise, the Eldar weapons also extinguished.

The Admiral turned back to the giant observing him. What he had initially taken as plain grey power armour was in actuality chased with sapphire lightning. Every plate sparkled with silver detail, intricate beyond belief. He towered over the Danstag like a parent over their child, making the previously spacious room seem suddenly crowded and insufficient. Despite his awe at seeing an Astartes in the flesh, he did his best to construct a furious scowl.

"What is this?" Danstag manage to inject what he felt was enough venom in to his tone, without wishing to offend the superhuman who was easily within striking distance. The Librarian reluctantly nodded at the window, where Imiriah’s falsehood had reappeared.

"Though conceding to the xenos is abhorrent to me, she is correct about the invasion. Neither of us can repel this foe alone. The traitors are probing the edges of the sector as we speak, and in significant numbers." The Astartes' face hardened, which was no mean feat for one who looked as if carved from granite all ready. "Though I am loathe to admit it, we will require their assistance if we are not to be overwhelmed.  I despise these foul xenos. My hatred burns brighter and more deeply than your mortal soul can fathom. Their time will come, I promise you, but that time is not now. The Forces of Chaos are moving."