Elfarion looked around calmly, his mind's eye seeing his surroundings well before his physical one. The cockpit of the viper jet bike was serenely quiet as the elegant vehicle glided silently inches above the craggy landscape. Multiple panels of warning sigils flashed intermittently on the control panel, confirming what he already knew courtesy of his considerable mind power. A touch of sadness wafted through the cabin as his thoughts waded back to the events of the past hours, strengthening the knowledge that he could never return home. Danger in the form of his fellow elder lurked close behind, men whom he had fought alongside for many hundred years. Yet fate was such that they would hunt him today. His was mission that must be accomplished at all costs. He couldn't reveal it to anyone, least of all his own kinfolk, and for that he was damned. Elfarion had been the fifth generation descendant El'Daroon, a farseer of immense wisdom and power. El'Daroon had lived in the days prior to the great fall and had foreseen the coming calamity. His warnings ignored and his teachings scoffed at by the elder at the height of their blasphemous ecstasy, he had gathered his most loyal followers and embarked on their fleet to exile. Avoiding human fleets and aliens they finally settled in the ultima segmentum, forming hidden settlements in the Malaarch system. This exodite conclave had survived and flourished with little contact from the outside except for the occasional harlequin visitors. It was within this background that Elfarion found his way in to this world. At four hundred years of age, he was perhaps one of the younger warlocks within his society, but the strength of his mind, his keen intellect and his ample combat experience had elevated him to the level of farseer. His was the unique ability to define the strands of fate with such distinction that it was rumoured that the famous Ulthwe seer, Eldra Ulthran himself had had a keen eye on his accomplishments. However, the ways of the cosmos is such, that great power such as his is usually accompanied by the need for great thought and much sacrifice. It was little solace that the great Eldrad himself might be the cause of his demise. Elfarion smiled as he acknowledged the inner voice of his mind. He had indeed sacrificed much for his people. Now he must sacrifice even more! His life would be of little consequence in the stakes that were being played, but his name, his wisdom, his achievements may all die with him in to anonymity at the least. At worst his name would be caste as a pariah amongst his people and his soul lost forever. Yet he knew that his mission was for the survival of all sentient species, their freedom and their one chance prevent the great enemy's designs yet again. Elfarion's mind replayed the events of the past week for the hundredth time. His keen intellect refused to acknowledge defeat and was trying to define if any other course of action had been available to him. He remembered the arrival of the monkeigh spacecraft a week ago. The boisterous leader of the group was revealed to be a powerful psyker belonging to the shadowy organisation of the inquisition. That the inquisitor in question was a potent psychic and a powerful enemy was evident by his ability to conceal his arrival in orbit, made easier by the strong psychic shielding of his strike craft. Elfarion's own considerably psychic ability was no laughing matter, and within minutes of the intruding force making planetfall he was not only aware of their arrival but also of their location, strengths, weaknesses and motives. He had evaded capture in the past and this monkeigh, powerful as he may be, was to be no different. Rapidly mobilising the full force of his exodite settlement he met the inquisitorial force after leading them in to a trap. He waged the battle more in the psychic realms than the physical though his accompanying warriors visited death and destruction amongst the inquisitorial troops in the physical realm. The inquisitor however had an ace up his sleeve. He had brought with him a daemon host which he had shielded carefully and remained dormant. That force was now unleashed in its full fury aimed at Elfarion. A lesser farseer or any mere warlock would have succumbed to the terrifying assault of the daemon bound within the host, but Elfarion was no mere farseer. He was the vanquisher of the hordes of Slaanesh. His power was greater, his constitution even stronger. His indomitable will bound his physical presence to his own bewildering array of psychic powers. As the dumb-founded inquisitor watched in awe, Elfarion met the daemon host in single combat, brushing aside its attempts to harm him and subduing it within minutes. Powerless to face such a foe, the inquisitor turned to flee and died in agony as his mortal brain was desiccated by a casual flick of Elfarion's mind. The still form of the daemon host caught his attention, the power of the bound daemon within still palpably present. Elfarion considered the host carefully and reeled in disgust as he realised that the lithe body of the host was soon revealed to be that of a warlock. That the monkeigh would defile such a venerated being was accepted, but to use such a host to bind the daemonic was beyond comprehension. His rage was unfathomable as his full psychic might flared up to destroy the host utterly. Ignoring the platitudes of the bound daemonic spirit he unleashed the full might of his mind at the host and for a mere second made contact with the spirit within. In an instant of both sudden exhilaration and terror, with clarity beyond description and knowledge beyond belief, his mind made contact with that of the daemon. Knowledge of millennia wafted through his mind in that instant. The energies released by the contact would have incinerated the brains of a lesser being, but Elfarion was no such weakling. Yet, only the complete and utter destruction of the material body of the host broke the psychic link and saved the farseer from near certain death. In that instant he realised that he had learned of great knowledge and with it much power, and that he was indeed doomed in more ways than one. Of all that he had been made aware of a few events repeatedly recycled in his mind. "Sons of Jonson", "Betrayal and Heresy", "Death of Angels", "Fallen Dragon", "Oracle's path", "Second Eye". These images flitted within his powerful mind with increasing frequency. His study of the strands of fate compelled him to reach but one decision. He must warn, advice, direct or even command the "monkeigh", particularly those who call themselves the unforgiven, for much depended upon their hands. His time was limited as the cataclysmic meeting of his mind with the daemon would have been felt by the most powerful farseers of the elder race as well as the more predatory powers of the warp. The one thing he could be certain was that there would be more than one strike force racing to capture him and that he must flee. He could only hope that the monkeigh had responded to his urgent call truce. |
CHAPTER III: EXILE OF AN EXODITE Chronicled By ( Shadow Guard ) |
GATHERING OF ANGELS |
This section provides the narrative history of the events that took place during the Gathering of Angels campaign conducted by the Inner Circle, during Abaddon's Thirteenth Black Crusade. This is in no way the official GW version nor is it in anyway an attempt to infringe on their IP. There are many versions of imperial history buried within the sands of time and this is but just one of them. Read on if you dare! |
