Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The View from Ulthwe

Location: Prospero, at the foot of the Great Pyramid.

Date: 895.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)

Eldrad Ulthran and his entourage stepped from the temporary webway portal and onto Prospero. Arriving just as the Mind-Locust swarm took flight. The eldest Farseer smiled as he watched the Parasites take flight. Things were unfolding exactly as he predicted. The Godling had unleashed the Mind-Locusts and would be forced to expend himself destroying the swarm. Leaving him open to a hidden blade. But that method had been tried already. Eldrad had learned of the Laughing Gods attempt and would try something else. The Farseer slipped a simple palm sized box from his robes and held it out before him. He focused his psychic power into the box and into the runes that covered it.

Slowly but surely the box unfolded. Spinning discuses of gold and perfectly polished gems floated up and started to vibrate with unseen force. Soon The box formed a head-sized cube of shifting components. Moving in mathematically perfect order with increasing intensity. Then with a surprisingly subtle click the cubes member shapes stopped mid-air. A pulse of energy, undetectable except to those looking for it, flowed out across the planet, instantly shutting off the nervous systems of the Mind Locusts. Eldrad watched the vermin rain down as the box started to wind down back into its original shape. It had taken him some time to track down this curious trinket but it had been worth it. For all their sins, the Old Ones knew how to create things of incredible power.

Ending the Locust threat would hopefully buy Eldrad some good will with the Godling. Looking down at the shining box in his hand, Eldrad mused to himself how wonderful it would be if only all of the Old One's mistakes came with such an easy solution. Looking up at the Pyramid, he watched the heavily armored human warriors surrounding the Godling descend from its heights. Eldrad had observed some of the battle and found the Arcane Brotherhood slightly more palatable compared to the other human armies he had witnessed. While crude and unfocused, their psychic potential was present. Maybe if this went well he could barter a few basic warpcraft tricks for aid in other endeavours. A telepathic nudge stole Eldrad's attention as one of the Wraithlords accompanying him spoke. "I again question the wisdom of meeting with these Mon-keigh young Eldrad"

Khiraen Goldhelm was ancient, having served as champion of Craftworld Ulthwe for centuries before the Fall. While still clothed in flesh, Khiraen had been one of the finest warriors the Aeldari Empire had created. His soul had completed the circuit of rebirth close to a hundred times, serving as an exemplary soldier and commander in each of those lifetimes, only for his last life to be cut short by barbaric humans centuries after the Fall. The sins of the Croneworlders denied him his right to attempt another reincarnation and he found himself sealed in a weaponized tomb of Wraithbone.

Smiling at his friend and counselor Eldrad responded "We have to try, this galaxy is filled with things far worse than humans. I understand your distaste for them, and I thank you for accompanying me"

The Wraithlord twitched in a gesture a human might interpret as a shrug, and that an Aeldari would see as a sign of tentative and worried acceptance. Eldrad stepped forward, between the ranks of Seers and Wraithbone warriors to greet the Godling. Speaking in perfect Terran Gothic, the first Farseer addressed the Imperial force nearing the pyramid's bottom.

"Lord Primarch Magnus Rubricar, scion of the Anathema and Learned One amongst Men. I come in peace with hopes of cooperation and mutual understanding."

The Godling paused mid stride, as did his entourage, momentarily put off by the xenos' use of Gothic and formal address. Weapons were readied and tension filled the air, accompanying the stink of rotting Mind-Locusts. The brutish guards clad in metal slabs seemed ready to open fire on the Aeldari delegation, and for a few painful moments Eldrad feared the Primarch would give the order. Then a slight gesture from Magnus had the guards relax and step aside, allowing their genetic source to reach the bottom of the pyramid. The Primarch reached the plaza and stepped on a Psychneuein. Its body crunched under the Godlings heavy boot and he stopped his advance. Casually, Magnus swung his hand before him, like he was wafting away a foul smell, and flames erupted from his feet.

A psychic brushfire shot out from the Primarch and lept between Psychneuein corpses. Tongues of flame gobbled up millions of Xeno corpses and spread across Tizca. Eldrad gripped his staff hard as fire danced around his entourage. Never coming close enough to hurt, but pushing a wave of heat across the Aeldari. It took only moments but the meter deep tide of Psychneuein disappeared from the grand plaza. Leaving a sea of ash and flickering sparks. The fire continued outwards and Eldrad expected it would continue for hundreds of miles, until it reached the very edge of Tizca.

The message was clear, theAeldari were not the only ones capable of psychic miracles. It had not been exactly what Eldrad had hoped for but considering the violent and direct nature of Humans it was to be expected. Stepping through the piles of ash, Magnus approached Eldrad and looked down at the Farseer. At this distance it was impossible for Eldrad to ignore the psychic power radiating off of the Godling in waves. He looked at the Primarch and found himself feeling momentarily dizzy, an alien sensation for an Aeldari. Eldrads senses, both natural and psychic, tried to make sense of the giant figure before him. The Farseer had stood before an Avatar of Khaine once, experienced the overwhelming bloodlust that dripped from it. The Avatar was a piece of a sapient Idea inhabiting a hunk of alien metal. He had expected the Anathema's godling to feel similar. Both being products of the same process. In some ways Magnus did feel similar, the sensation of drowning in psychic pressure. Yet there were fundamental disturbing differences.

Eldrad thought back to Ulthwe, and the Eye of Terror slowly shrinking away in the distance. The flickers of monstrous, incomprehensible presences that peered through the rupture in realspace. Magnus felt like one of those primordial horrors from the Warp had been cut into the shape of a human. Something powerful and otherworldly forced into a mind and body similar to the naked apes of Terra. The Anathema had done something incredible and terrible. Giving spiritual beings flesh and convincing them it was their native existence. Trying to compose himself, Eldrad returned the Godling's gaze and started to speak. Fearing on some level that the Demigod inside that suit of metal and flesh would break free and unleash unimaginable destruction. Before his lips could fully open the Primarch interrupted him.

"Why have you come here, Aeldari? Your kind nearly cost me a brother. Tell me why I should not destroy you?"

The message itself was what Eldrad expected, he did not expect it to be delivered in Tar-Eltharin, the language of the Aeldari. While slightly antiquated in style, Magnus spoke with fluidity a human mouth would find impossible. Eldrad guessed the Primarch had learned it from ancient Aeldari texts, hence the archaic style. Breaking free from his momentary shock Eldrad responded in Gothic. "Please Lord Primarch, I come before you and speak your tongue as a token. Let us speak in Gothic and discuss matters simply."

Magnus glared at the Eldar and repeated his earlier question in Gothic. Magnus did not know if the Alien was attempting to be obtuse and rude intentionally. He suspected this was as close to polite an Eldar could be with humans. Nodding, Eldrad responded to the Primarch in a heavily accented perversion of gothic. "I come here Lord Primarch to start communications between our peoples anew. The actions of the Laughing God and his followers were…. Extreme. Humanity is one of the few races with any potential to resist the Dark Gods, and we Aeldari have millions of your years of wisdom to draw upon. Why must we fight each other when the looming danger of Chaos holds a blade to our necks."

"You speak of diplomacy and alliance Xeno. Why have you brought this before me and not my Father?" spoke Magnus,

Beneath the onyx helm he wore Eldrad tightened his face in something close to an uncomfortable smile. "We both know that answer Lord Primarch. The Harlequins actions have, as your people say, 'burned bridges'. I fear approaching the Anathema directly would not be constructive. Instead I hoped to speak to one of his creations, one well vested in Warpcraft and renowned for their wisdom."

"His sons, we are his sons, not his creations." growled Magnus in a resonating baritone which Eldrad felt in his bones.

The Farseer did not respond to the Demigod's correction. It seems this Godling would need to come to that conclusion by himself. Maybe he could supply a few pieces of the puzzle. This was playing with fire, but he had not explored the Black Libraries depths out of mere curiosity. Eldrad had learned many dark and terrible things about the being humanity called the Emperor. He would have to be careful, but perhaps a seed of doubt might open Magnus up to more fruitful discussions.

"I understand this new Human Empire you represent has no love for the other peoples of the galaxy? Even those untouched by Chaos or similar corruption. A pragmatic if grim approach to the state of these stars. I hope to prove that reaction is not always warranted. I understand mankind once worked alongside other species for mutual betterment. How might my Craftworld attempt to foster such a relationship with your kind?"

By the standards of Eldar and especially Farseers, Eldrad was being incredibly direct. He could not allow any misunderstanding or assumptions when dealing with the Primarch. No matter how exceptional the Godling seemed, he was the primitive product of a barbarian species. Being painfully blunt would hopefully hammer home his point to the Mon-Keigh prince.

Slowly Magnus leaned down so that his massive face was perhaps a foot away from Eldrad's helm. "Mankind once sought such coexistence and understanding. We are much wiser now. Xenos have proven themselves far too dangerous to trust in any regard. I will offer you a simple mercy. You and your kind stay away from humanity and I will ask my father to refrain from exterminating you."

The Primarchs eye flicked down to the Farseers chest, towards the swirling jewel fixed there. "Of all the species in this galaxy, I cannot think of one I would trust less than the Eldar. The actions of your people's civilization are not unknown to me, Eldrad. You claim you wish to stand with humanity against Chaos, when you and your ilk are already damned. I do not see fellow strugglers against the Primordial Annihilator when you stand before me. I see vermin that drowned the galaxy in death by gnawing through a dyke. Vermin that have the gall to approach those rebuilding and asking for a place in our world."

Fighting back the urge to step back or summon up psychic defenses the Farseer started to respond. The Primarch had used his name, that was progress? Even these vague threats were better than actual violence. When dealing with Mon-Keigh any success in diplomacy could not be taken for granted.

"You judge me for an act we were not responsible for. My Craftworld saw the corruption of the Old Empire and fled with as many refugees as it could. Many of us, including myself, were born after the Fall. My ancestors' crimes are not mine, but I still work to rectify those mistakes. You and your "father" pass judgment when ignoring humanity's own crimes and hypocrisy. But I did not come here to argue over the past, but to try and chart the future."

Pulling back slightly Magnus asked: "And what crimes and hypocrisy do you speak of Xeno? Nothing could match the creation of a Chaos God. The mistakes of a young species forced to survive in this ugly galaxy do not compare to the Aeldari Empire's crimes. It is not mankind that ruled uncontested for millions of years. With access to near immortality, unimaginable technology and the inheritance of the Old Ones. And yet became reduced to depraved addicts who turned their homeworlds into a mouth into hell."

Eldrad ignored the Primarchs grossly over-simplified account of the Empire of a Million Suns. Magnus had taken the bait, he would gladly inform the Godling of its creators hypocrisy and madness.

"You and your Empire speak with such loathing of those you call Alien, hating and fearing those not of your species. Yet you serve and worship such a being. This Imperium of Man is founded on a million lies, but I know the worst of them all. You think it's a coincidence a Psychic being strong enough to battle the Dark Gods just happened to be born on your homeworld? A coincidence you and your siblings were created using a technique of the Old Ones? Have you never wondered why your so-called Father clads himself in every single trope of regal and divine power? Magnus have you ever wondered who- no, what your creator is?"

It took Eldrad a moment to understand what he was seeing. He went from staring into the eyes of a godling, to peering up at the ashen skies of Prospero. An ugly crack forced him to focus, at least one of his ribs had broken. Telekinetic pressure had flattened him to the Plaza's square, and threatened to burst him like an insect. With momentous effort he looked around and saw his entourage and the Primarchs honor guard aiming weapons at each other. Both sides ready to start yet another pointless war. With a gasp Eldard turned one of his compressed breaths into a cry: "No! Stand down!"

Neither side reacted but the psychic pressure started to fade. With much less grace than normal, the Farseer rose to his feet, wincing as his bones started the slow process of knitting together. "I did not mean to offend you, Primarch Magnus. I had heard you were a seeker of truth and knowledge. My hope was to share some of my understanding with you. I wish to work towards a better fate for both of our species."

Slowly both Aeldari and Astartes lowered their weapons. Magnus cut through the settling tension, his normally cultured speech clipped by rage. "Explain yourself Xeno. I may be willing to excuse your insanity as the result of an Alien mind."

"I am not mad and I speak only what I know to be true. I do not know the reason why but your Emperor has deceived you. He is only marginally more human than I am."

Eldrad expected another psychic blow, his own defenses readied, it never came. He took that as a sign to continue. "You spoke of the Old Ones, I assume one, as learned as yourself, knows their tale? Of how they fought the Yngir and were destroyed in the War in Heaven?"

Magnus responded with a curt nod and Eldrad spoke more: "Not all of them died fighting the Star Gods and the Silver Legions. Some lived to watch their mistakes gestate in the Warp. One in particular is mentioned in our Sagas as recently as 50,000 years ago. A powerful but damaged Old One that called itself the Craftsmen. His song is one Cegorach rarely lets his followers sing. It has no dance to accompany it, only the rhythmic dirge of striking metal. It took great effort to piece together bits of his history from that song and other sources. Stories telling how he created the greatest wonders of the Old One's civilization, and helped unleash the monsters that threaten to destroy us. The song ends with an exhausted and broken primordial leaving his forge to die. Furious with his failed creations, and racked by guilt. Proclaiming to his scion Vaul that he would embrace death in sight of his greatest triumph."

Finally the Primarch spoke: "What does this Xeno myth have to do with your claims? Do you think my father is an ancient Xeno god-thing in disguise?"

Eldrad paused and said softly: "Yes, I do. The stories of the Craftsmen say the only thing greater than his skill was his fortitude. He is the type of being that would rather suffer a hundred million years of torment than give in. It seems laughable such an ancient struggler would accept death so easily. Like many of my peoples myths, the truth is there, just hidden behind poetry. The Craftsmen did not die, he transformed. So let me ask you again Primarch Magnus, do you know what your father is?"

The Farseer braced, expecting the Godling in front of him to strike with overwhelming power. Eldrad's visions had prepared him for this moment, if he could survive the blow then he could push Magnus in the direction he needed to go. A feat easier said than done, even for a powerful psyker like him. Then time seemed to twist, as the dreadful silence of the Square was broken by a rumbling noise. Laughter, the Primarch was laughing at him.

A gauntlet the size of Eldrads torso gripped him suddenly. Not hard enough to be painful but ensuring he did not move. "Yes Farseer Eldrad, I know what my Father is. More than you could possibly know. You come here trying to play games. Sowing doubt and confusion. Hoping to gain a pawn in your war against Chaos. Seeing some future where my Legion fights your battles and helps preserve the salvageable scraps of Aeldari civilization. You are a master in reading the future and plotting a course, I will give you that. But I had a better teacher than you could ever hope."

Fear filled Eldrad's innards as he felt something push against his desired future. Another being had interfered, observed his planned timeline and reacted accordingly. An impossibility, all Seers and Soothsayers learned to detect others' interference. Especially that of a being like a Primarch. He had chosen Magnus to be his key into the future because of this. A nexus of destiny that warped the future around him is not the sort of being that can easily change the course of history without being noticed. He would know if the Primarch had interfered with the strands of fate. Then the pieces fell into place. Eldrad glanced over at one of the two Astartes flanking Magnus. Something was wrong about the warrior. Fate seemed to shy away from him. Strands of destiny became unwoven by his presence. This human was hated by destiny and hated it in turn.

The Primarch noticed his focus and said "How do you hide something in plain sight Xeno? You make sure focus is drawn elsewhere. My son Ahriman has a talent for finding the holes in fate. The future you seek is now beyond your grasp, but not mine. Eldrad of Craftworld Ulthwe, you offer manipulation disguised as diplomacy. Many of my brothers would kill you for this, and for a myriad other reasons including your mere existence. However I am not them and my eyes are clear. I have been chosen to ensure humanity's ascension. I see a place for you on that path, one my father does not. It is not my place to question his wisdom, but it is mine to help him. There is a path where the repentant children of Eldanesh might walk beside the children of Terra."

"You know my intent and my goal, and yet you agree to work with me." Eldrad said, sucking in a breath. "Mere moments ago you attacked me and my species. Why make this choice?"

Magnus pondered for a moment "The choice is not yet made. I consider it because to do so is my nature. To answer your question Eldrad, I entertain your request out of curiosity."

Being in this being's presence was maddening. Eldrad felt like he spoke to both a Barbarian Warlord and a Warp Spirit of unimaginable power, which in truth was exactly what Magnus was. Eldrad then spoke to the enigmatic godling. "What must I do to ensure you accept my offer of alliance?"

"Simple," responded the Primarch "Look into my Eye and survive."

Before Eldrad could ask what the Primarch meant, existence started to strain. As Magnus Rubricar opened his third eye and let the Farseer gaze into his very being. Eldrad had looked into the Warp, he had even swum its mad depths, skirting the attention of unfathomable beings. Now he started into such a being's soul. Magnus Rubricar was a newborn god, but a god nonetheless. Looking into the Eye of Magnus, Eldrad saw the future fractal out before him in an infinite recursion of choice and possibility. A mandala of futures, each a self contained possibility in the Warp. Rising up from the depths of possibility, each awaiting the events that would bring it to the surface and make it real. In the center of this orrery of futures sat a Scarlet King upon a Golden Throne. Weaving space/time and fate into a tapestry beyond comprehension. An engine of destiny atop an engine of souls. This Scarlet King was key not only to Eldrad's farsight, but the fate of the galaxy. This was the truth of Magnus, as he was now, as he would be, and as he could be.

The soul of the Primarch turned its behemoth focus to Eldrad and the Farseer felt the crushing presence bear down on him. Looking into the metaphorical face of an infant god, he experienced a revelation. No, he had a revelation thrust into his mind by Magnus. He saw how the universe dies, every way it ended and what nightmares awaited. A trillion trillion futures that all led to the same handful of endings. Chaos devouring everything and itself. The Star Gods snuffing out all life and awaiting heat-death. Nameless hungry things consuming everything only to starve in the depleted void. And…. another path. One paved with suffering and blood, but ended somewhere beautiful. A shining path that humanity had been groomed to walk alone, creating a future where at least the human species might survive and become something greater. Yet even while walking this path, pushing against the tides of destiny, towards a singular island of safety and sanity. Others might follow in humanity's wake, hiding in the shadow of giants and achieving salvation with them. But these followers could easily lead humanity astray or slow them down. It was easier and safer for humanity to alone take the Shining Path.

Eldrad was reminded of a universal parable. A story virtually every civilization develops, of the scorpion and the frog. He could then understand, the Emperor saw everything not human as a potential scorpion. The Old One, if he truly was the Craftsman, would not risk his chosen species on that possibility. The Aeldari could not walk the path set forth, they had tried and failed. No other species was as close to success as humanity. Eldrad felt that fact said more about the state of the galaxy than the human species. So if the Aeldari people were to survive, they would need to join the Craftsmen's Ark and convince him they were not a scorpion. Something far easier said than done.

Pulling himself from the visions Eldrad found his way back to reality. Finding himself on his knees, staring up at the Primarch, whose third eye was starting to close. Vibrant crimson blood dripped from the Farseers eyes, nose and ears. Gasping in a deep bloody breath Eldrad pulled his helmet off and looked around with his own eyes, blinking away red shadows dancing at the edges of his vision. Khiraen Goldhelm lay splintered, his wraithbone body torn in half and a dead XV Legion Terminator slumped over him. The Astartes Magnus called Ahriman held Khiraen's soul stone in hand, flicking the iridescent gem between armored fingers. Imperial warriors and Eldrad's entourage stood in various states of struggle. A brief skirmish had erupted in the few seconds Eldrad had been distracted. Khiraen had probably reacted badly to the perceived attack and struck first. On seeing his recovery thankfully both sides halted combat and looked to him or Magnus for orders.

The Primarch nodded at his sons and they stepped back. Ahriman with disdainful ease tossed the Soul Stone to Eldrad. The Farseer caught his friends afterlife and looked to Magnus. Both Demigod and Farseer had gotten a sense for each other, far more than either bargained for. With dreadful certainty Eldrad knew the fate of his people was interwoven with humanity. And if the look Magnus held was any indication the Primarch found the Farseer acceptable. Pulling himself to his feet again. Eldrad winced, he had been jostled about much in this excursion but hopefully, it would be worth it.

Magnus reached forward to help Eldrad to his feet, a crude but effective sign. The Primarch spoke and did what his kind is meant to do, he changed history: "Come now, Farseer Eldrad Ulthran. We have an alliance to discuss and wars to wage."

Gritting himself to not let anything show, Eldrad privately prayed, though he did not know to whom. No gods worth his pleas were listening, but he did so anyway. Pleading with the universe that what he was about to do would be worth it.

Location: The Xho-Vi Nebula, aboard the Seer's Tears, Personal Cruiser of Farseer Eldrad.

Date: 912.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)

Was it worth it? That question had haunted Eldrad for the last few decades. Many would consider what he did as betraying his species to the Mon-Keigh vermin. There was some truth to that. The Khaine-touched children of Biel-tan would have his head, furious in helping another species claim a galaxy they thought was theirs. The Dark Kin, in their twin cities of sin, would feed him to Daemons or worse for daring to negotiate with lesser species. Ironically, the Harlequin and their god had been most receptive to his actions, more so than even the Council of Seers. It seemed the Clown God was preparing another trick, or at least watching the show his erstwhile sibling put on. So the question remained, was it worth it?

It was when he brought the Spirit Stones of 2,491 Eldar home from Imperial custody. Entire families thought lost could now sleep safely in the Infinity Circuit. It was worth it when the XI Legion helped repulse an attack on Craftworld Kher-Ys. Arriving on the trail of the Keeper of Secrets Heartslayer and banishing the horror before it could do untold damage. He remembered how Aeldari warriors and Mon-Keigh supersoldiers had coordinated to take down a threat deemed unspeakable since the earliest days of the Fall. Horrors of the Warp born of the old empire's debauchery and cruelty were excised from reality by trained Imperial forces acting upon information the Eldar gave them. Eldrad remembered the dozens of Maiden Worlds spared Imperial wrath by his words and warning. Of the horrors kept locked away by his actions and the lives saved. Those things made it worth it, almost.

Eldrad looked out across the Xho-Vi Nebula and watched it burn. A great leviathan of wraithbone had tried to hide in its clouds. It had been pointless, the fleets that now blasted away at the crippeled ship had been guided to their prey. Guided by him, in hopes of sparing others this fate. He did not need to be here, Eldrad could have sent another in his place or simply provided the information his allies requested. But he would not give himself such a luxury. By his actions did Craftworld Zandros burn. Their betrayal of the abhuman core-dwellers was repaid by a fleet of Dragonforged and Squat Adamantclad ships. The horrors the Squats had endured after Craftworld Zandros weakened their defences against the Ork menace of Grunhag the Flaya were repaid in blood and destruction. Eldrad knew the Craftworld was doomed, its own paranoia and perfidious nature would have spelled its end eventually. He also knew as part of the treaty the Spirit Stones and Infinity Circuit would be recovered by Eldrad and his kin. It changed things little. He had willingly sold out members of his own species to curry the favor of Mon-Keigh warmongers.

Sometimes he wondered if Magnus had tampered with his mind, shoved a delusion into him and puppeteered his betrayal. Of course he had checked with every possible method. Even going as far to consult the Pain-Smiths of Commorragh in such matters. His mind had not been tampered with, and every forecast into the future validated his actions. He could see the future better than all of his fellow Farseers, and their best prognostications matched his. This was the correct path, the only path. Staring off into the void, watching an irreplaceable relic of his people die, pangs of misery filled Eldrad. He had allowed himself to create and become lost on the Path of the Seer to get a better view of the future. Now as he watched the past burn before him, he wondered if it was worth it.

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