The Man Emperor

The Star-Breakers

Does the ship carry any starfighters?

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

Final version of my thing

Alman Kastrati, the Astromancer

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"Sometimes, the stars gaze back."

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Name: Alman Kastrati

Alias: Astromancer

Nicknames: Alms

Age: 17

Gender: A boi

Personality: Alman has a generally pleasant demeanor, and seems to be "chill" most of the time. He is noted to be highly enamored by ‘cute, fluffy animals’, and possesses a keen sense of intuition of trustworthiness. Alman is pretty protective of those folks he happens to like, though those that he had a bad experience of could expect to be suddenly abandoned in the middle of a fight.

Aside from that, Alman is incredibly petty. Ruin his day, or his property? He’ll do the same, but he’ll try to make it a bit worse for whoever pissed on his parade. He is pretty much the embodiment of karma in this regard; actions will come back around, so better be nice to the guy, or else you’ll find yourself randomly inconvenienced by small, but infuriating things. Rule of thumb with Alman, then, is that he always returns to sender.

Appearance:

My Hider

Alman is 5’3” in height, with markedly Caucasian features, though he gravitates to the somewhat tanner side. His pupils are amber in color, accompanied by black framed glasses. Those glasses are auto-darkening, and react accordingly whenever he summons stars. His clothing choices usually gravitate around cloaks and other comfortable, flowing garments. Apparently, he sees it as ‘liberating’.


As a Cape, he uses a suit that is shielded from the effects of his own stars, such as bright flashes and radiation. The cape on his back has a star pattern on it, which seamlessly blends into the starry sky at night. The vital areas are covered by protective kevlar, while a high grade helmet with a wide visor keeps his head safe. Overall, it is quite comfortable to be in, just as he prefers all clothes to be. It is not the most mobile of outfits, but it serves its purpose.

Biography: Alman wasn’t from Redline originally. Nor was he originally a citizen of the United States, either. His earliest memories, at least as far as he is willing to admit, traces back to their apartment in the city of Pristina, Kosovo, as the firstborn son of Selim and Jelena Kastrati.

Either way, Alman doesn’t remember all too much of his home country, as his family left it when he was five years old due to the highly volatile situation that it was in. They first arrived in New York City, and then moved up further north into Maine, where they finally settled down, somewhat. Now, they faced a whole new world.

As a child, he had the dream of becoming an astronaut, and reaching out towards the stars. Every night, he would look through the telescope, thinking of impossible dreams as typical for someone of such a young age. He knew every famous star and constellation, recognizing them as they shone in the night sky. Alman had quite a few difficulties with the English language, and was as such bullied for it in school, though that was simply the first reason. Other causes arose, namely because of his lack of aptitude for sports, and other generic reasons. He was passive though, and simply took it without telling anyone else, as he knew he couldn't fight back against the likes of them. Not like this. He would just get beaten even more. To make matters worse, his mother had been feeling unwell a lot of the time, but she always said that it was just her getting tired at work, which just made Alman worry to the point of being nearly physically sick. It seemed that the sorry state of everything was going to stay that way for a very long time.

One day, however, everything changed. Alman' mother had fallen ill. All those headaches weren’t just from the stress of work; it was a brain tumour. Alas, they didn't have the money to pay for the medication/medical bills to aid with her situation. She was, in all respects, dying.

In desperation, Alman’ father and uncle went to a dangerous, but deceptively friendly connection. They did not know what price they might pay in the process of getting the funds they required, but surely any sacrifice was worth it, if only her life was saved? By this point, Alman’ mother’s cancer was close to getting to a terminal stage, and there was little time left before it would begin to be difficult to dislodge.

That connection that they went to, it turned out, was a group for organized crime, who had them meet outside at night, where the Milky Way itself was visible in the sky. They were apparently willing to provide the money that the Kastratis needed, if only they would do something in return. That something, however, was heinous in its nature. Murderous, even. The boss wanted someone dead, and the assassination was their price. Alman father and uncle balked at this. They had expected something that would involve them and themselves alone, but it now seemed that this would be a life for a life. Now that they know who was the target, though, they cannot leave. Not until they say yes to the deal.

And so, the gangsters took hold of Alman’ father and uncle, and began to beat them to submission. The crime lord made him watch, forcibly keeping his eyes open even as he tried to look away. Here, he felt rage, and chaos. Rage at his father for believing that it was a good idea to plead the mafia for aid. Rage at the mafia for what they were now doing, and what they would make them do in exchange for a promise they may never carry out. He managed to close his eyes shut, if only for a moment, and heard only the chaos from his surroundings; the laughing of vicious thugs, the cries of pain, the sounds of blunt implements impacting against flesh. Rage. Disorder. They were all his to bear.

At that moment, an entity that skirted in the dimensions far above the ken of mortal perceptions found a suitable vessel. A shard unraveled, and in a split second, Alman was enlightened. He could now create the shiniest of lights, the fiercest of flames, the purest manifestation of starfire. And so, instead of his family being the victims that night, the gangsters were annihilated. Orbs of starlight burst into existence, setting clothing and flesh alight. The chaotic constellation that ensued wiped out the gangsters, purging them from the face of the earth. The gang were all dead, and the Kastrati clan still lived. The money, which had been in a suitcase as a fleeting proof of the deal they could have made, was now theirs for the taking. His mother will live, but at what cost?

Later in the morning, as the Kastratis recovered and spoke to one another about the events of last night, PRT investigations found traces of ionized gas within the area of concern, as well as charred bodies belonging to some of the most notorious gangsters in the state. Investigations pinpointed just who these gangsters were supposed to meet at the night, which led them to this moment. Self defense was cited as defensible cause for such wanton destruction, and the PRT didn't give chase.

That wasn't the end of it, however. Knowing that the expansive criminal network was never going to just let them go after this, Alman sought them out. One by one, the members of one of the great mafias in Maine were obliterated by undulating starfire. It took about a month of systematic annihilation, but in the end, they were wiped out. He would have thought that it was the end of the matter, with his mother cured and the gangsters purged from the face of the Earth, but he had to answer to someone else.

The PRT caught wind, and showed up in the Kastrati doorstep, having found that he had obliterated around a hundred or so 'people'. It was clear that Alman cannot remain in regular society like this. His parents were somewhat resistant to the idea that their only child is to go away from them, but they relented after about a week as the ultimatum became heavier. In exchange for around the clock protection for them, Alman was to enter the Wards Program.

Powers:
Classification: Blaster 6
Astromancy: Alman produces and channels plasma energy. He is as such able to create and maintain up to four miniature stars at a given time, with three distinct modes that operate in a sliding scale of heat and light. They can move at around 7 to 8 meters per second, with any turns requiring pauses in movement.

Mode 1 (Searing Star): Capable of melting through most metals, as well as turning sand into glass at physical contact. By far the dimmest, but the most potent in terms of destructive potential. These can immolate most materials that they may come across.

Mode 2 (Blinding Star): Little to no destructive capability, but the brightness emanating when it is created acts as a powerful flashbang, temporarily disorienting and blinding those who had not protected their eyes.

Mode 3 (Main Sequence): Seemingly unremarkable, these main sequence stars, as he calls them, are able to sear wood and stone, and can be difficult to look at for prolonged periods. This is the foundation from which the other two derive from in their creation.
Skills: When he was still unpowered, Alman was noted to be a great painter.
Other: No girlfriend since birth, sadly.

The Star-Breakers

Ah yes, the one place that hasn't been corrupted by capitalism: space!

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

You know the greatest power of all?

The power of GUN!

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

Alman Kastrati

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"Stars never align for anyone - except me, of course."

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Name: Alman Kastrati

Alias: Solar Lance

Nicknames: Alms, PRAISE THE SUN

Age: 17

Gender: A boi

Personality: Alman has a generally pleasant demeanor, and seems to be "chill" most of the time. He is noted to be highly enamored by ‘cute, fluffy animals’, and possesses a keen sense of intuition of trustworthiness. Alman is pretty protective of those folks he happens to like, though those that he had a bad experience of could expect to be suddenly abandoned in the middle of a fight.

Aside from that, Alman is incredibly petty. Ruin his day, or his property? He’ll do the same, but he’ll try to make it a bit worse for whoever pissed on his parade. He is pretty much the embodiment of karma in this regard; actions will come back around, so better be nice to the guy, or else you’ll find yourself randomly inconvenienced by small, but infuriating things. Rule of thumb with Alman, then, is that he always returns to sender.

Appearance:

My Hider

Alman is 5’3” in height, with markedly Caucasian features, though he gravitates to the somewhat tanner side. His pupils are amber in color, accompanied by black framed glasses. His clothing choices usually gravitate around cloaks and other comfortable, flowing garments. Apparently, he sees it as ‘liberating’. The flat cap seems to be a favorite of his whenever he doesn’t have to use the Cape costume.


As a Cape, he uses a suit that is shielded from the effects of his own stars, such as bright flashes and radiation. The cape on his back has a star pattern on it, which seamlessly blends into the starry sky at night. The vital areas are covered by protective kevlar, while a high grade helmet with a wide visor keeps his head safe. Overall, it is quite comfortable to be in, just as he prefers all clothes to be. It is not the most mobile of outfits, but it serves its purpose.

Biography: Alman wasn’t from Redline originally. Nor was he originally a citizen of the United States, either. His earliest memories, at least as far as he is willing to admit, traces back to their apartment in the city of Pristina, Kosovo, as the firstborn son of Selim and Jelena Kastrati.

Either way, Alman doesn’t remember all too much of his home country, as his family left it when he was five years old due to the highly volatile situation that it was in. They first arrived in New York City, and then moved up further north into Maine, where they finally settled down, somewhat. Now, they faced a whole new world.

As a child, he had the dream of becoming an astronaut, and reaching out towards the stars. Every night, he would look through the telescope, thinking of impossible dreams as typical for someone of such a young age. He knew every famous star and constellation, recognizing them as they shone in the night sky. Alman had quite a few difficulties with the English language, and was as such bullied for it in school, though that was simply the first reason. Other causes arose, namely because of his lack of aptitude for sports, and other generic reasons. He was passive though, and simply took it without telling anyone else, as he knew he couldn't fight back against the likes of them. Not like this. He would just get beaten even more. To make matters worse, his mother had been feeling unwell a lot of the time, but she always said that it was just her getting tired at work, which just made Alman worry to the point of being nearly physically sick. It seemed that the sorry state of everything was going to stay that way for a very long time.

One day, however, everything changed. Alman' mother had fallen ill. All those headaches weren’t just from the stress of work; it was a brain tumour. Alas, they didn't have the money to pay for the medication/medical bills to aid with her situation. She was, in all respects, dying.

In desperation, Alman’ father and uncle went to a dangerous, but deceptively friendly connection. They did not know what price they might pay in the process of getting the funds they required, but surely any sacrifice was worth it, if only her life was saved? By this point, Alman’ mother’s cancer was close to getting to a terminal stage, and there was little time left before it would begin to be difficult to dislodge.

That connection that they went to, it turned out, was a group for organized crime, who had them meet outside at night, where the Milky Way itself was visible in the sky. They were apparently willing to provide the money that the Kastratis needed, if only they would do something in return. That something, however, was heinous in its nature. Murderous, even. The boss wanted someone dead, and the assassination was their price. Alman father and uncle balked at this. They had expected something that would involve them and themselves alone, but it now seemed that this would be a life for a life. Now that they know who was the target, though, they cannot leave. Not until they say yes to the deal.

And so, the gangsters took hold of Alman’ father and uncle, and began to beat them to submission. The crime lord made him watch, forcibly keeping his eyes open even as he tried to look away. Here, he felt rage, and chaos. Rage at his father for believing that it was a good idea to plead the mafia for aid. Rage at the mafia for what they were now doing, and what they would make them do in exchange for a promise they may never carry out. He managed to close his eyes shut, if only for a moment, and heard only the chaos from his surroundings; the laughing of vicious thugs, the cries of pain, the sounds of blunt implements impacting against flesh. Rage. Disorder. They were all his to bear.

At that moment, an entity that skirted in the dimensions far above the ken of mortal perceptions found a suitable vessel. A shard unraveled, and in a split second, Alman was enlightened. He could now create the shiniest of lights, the fiercest of flames, the purest manifestation of starfire. And so, instead of his family being the victims that night, the gangsters were annihilated. Orbs of starlight burst into existence, before searing hot beams of annihilation set clothing and flesh alight. The chaotic constellation that ensued wiped out the gangsters, purging them from the face of the earth. The gang were all dead, and the Kastrati clan still lived. The money, which had been in a suitcase as a fleeting proof of the deal they could have made, was now theirs for the taking. His mother will live, but at what cost?

Later in the morning, as the Kastratis recovered and spoke to one another about the events of last night, the PRT showed up at their door. PRT investigations found traces of ionized gas within the area of concern, as well as charred bodies belonging to some of the most notorious gangsters in the state. Investigations pinpointed just who these gangsters were supposed to meet at the night, which led them to this moment. It was clear, however, that Alman cannot remain in regular society like this. His parents were somewhat resistant to the idea that their only child is to go away from them, but they relented after about a week as the ultimatum became heavier. In exchange for around the clock protection for them, Alman was to enter the Wards Program.

Powers:

Cosmogenesis (Blaster 6): Alman produces and channels plasma energy. He is as such able to create and maintain up to four miniature stars at a given time, which can then either operate as a source of light… Or a beam tower.

Solar Lance: Each star that Alman creates can fire one beam of light energy at a time, which is capable of melting metal upon contact. It has a range of around 100 meters before it dissipates.

The stars can combine their beams into one, extending the range to 400 meters in exchange for consuming a high amount of energy.

Skills: When he was still unpowered, Alman was noted to be a great painter.
Other: No girlfriend since birth, sadly.

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

Silas Celeton
The Rogue Trader

Brandishing lasguns, stubbers, and assorted blades of all kinds, the mad followers of Chaos thundered against the Voidsmen. They held back the Cultists, but the attackers were tenacious and disciplined if anything. Still, many cultists died as they charged, dying before they could even approach the line.

Some of the Cultists didn't join the charge, though, instead remaining at range to fire their stubbers and lasguns at the Voidsmen. They were rebuffed by returning volleys of lasfire from the naval infantry, whose cohesion increased as Stukov began issuing his orders. These cultists didn't try to charge the Voidsmen, though, instead firing their weapons whenever the opportunity presented itself.

This was to be expected. After all, out of all the followers of the Chaos Gods, those who serve Tzeentch were the most orderly as Chaos could ever be. It wouldn't be too apparent at first, but some of the cultists would appear to be, in fact, Prosperine Spireguard. They were those mortal soldiers that hail from the Planet of Sorcerers, well trained and disciplined troops that serve directly under the Thousand Sons Traitor Legion. It's a relief that none of their Astartes masters were present, or else this situation might have been a desperate one.

Silas soon arrived in the battle, wielding the Eldar powerblade on one hand and an Ion pistol on another, dispatching one heretic at a time with the pistol. While the naval infantry managed to keep most of the Cultists pinned down, the beastmen, the Tzaangor, were not easily cowed. They emerged from the rear of the cultist's ranks, either pushing aside or simply trampling on the human Chaos worshippers when they were too slow to get out of the way.

The blasphemous chanting of massed Tzaangors rose to a crescendo as they charged forward, wielding jagged blades hued from metal and bone. Iridescent eyes glow with inhuman savagery, and the cruelly twisted horns that sprout from each Tzaangor's skull clattered together as they vie to be first into the fray.

Though some Tzaangors were cut down by lasfire, they were powerful and durable creatures. No less than twelve of them had broken into the first line of defending infantry, and promptly engaged them in close quarters. Behind them, a Chaos Sorcerer, a human acolyte, began chanting vile spells to throw at the Imperial remnants. It seemed only a fellow psyker could take him down in the middle of the battle…

A screeching Tzaangor brought its hateful blade down upon Silas, only to find a shimmering forcefield blocking the blow. Seeing its confusion, if only for a moment, the Rogue Trader cut off its blade arm with his own power blade, before shooting its brains out with the Ion Pistol.

"Foul creature, spawn of Chaos," the man hissed as he flicked the blood off from the sword. The forcefield was still working optimally, thank the Emperor-

Another Tzaangor slammed Silas, this time knocking him back. He landed just a few feet away from Grummore, dizzied. There, right before them, the Tzaangor began striding forward in a slow, deliberate manner as it ignored the wound on its side. It wielded a blade, like its compatriots, its bolt pistol apparently lost when the Harlequins attacked their fleet.

Outside, the Chaos vessels, damaged as they were, were still somehow functioning. The Eldar escort ship evaded the first chaos frigate as it slammed against the wall of the Webway tunnel after getting its engines completely destroyed by a volley of laser fire, exploding in a corona of purple flame. The other chaos vessel lumbered closer and closer, aiming to ram the Gladius frigate that belonged to one of the other Rogue Traders.

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War [Moved to New Thread]

Carroman Montenegro

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Carroman looked over the fallen soldier and whispered a prayer for the dead as medics carted away the body. He didn't know his name, but it made him sorrowful nonetheless that he had passed despite the efforts Carroman had expended. The light from his Noble Arm, the Dragon Staff, faded away as he found that the healing was insufficient. He had arrived too late to save him, as the man had already completely bled out. There was nothing he could do, not when an A rank was causing chaos on the beach and others were doing the same elsewhere.

It was the same story, over and over again. He had lost count of how many final rites he had to perform, how many men had their minds simply shattered by the horrific realities that these supernatural weapons, the Noble Arms, had brought into the theatre of war. Some whispered to themselves manically, reacting to every little movement from others as if they were an enemy seeking to slay them. Some had to be consoled as they found out that their comrades had been torn to shreds, or buried under debris.

Carroman banished the heavy thoughts for now, as he strode up the stairs of the auditorium overlooking the battle. He had switched over with another chaplain for the moment, as the burden of the things he had been seeing was beginning to weigh down on him. Maybe he was just tired, perhaps his ears will never get used to those sounds. But for now, he needed a moment of composure.

It didn't take him long before had noticed that one of the members of the Arms Masters present had taken residence in one of the vantage points. As he approached, it became clear that it was Hannie, the Australian girl who had that frosty knife as a Noble Arm.

"Ay, Hannie? Sleeping off, are we?"

As expected, she was indeed fast asleep. Carroman began to shake her gently, wondering for a moment if she was still in this world.

"Hannie? Hannie? Haaaaaaaaaaaaannie! You can't be dozing off in the middle of the apocalyse!"

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

Silas Celeton
The Rogue Trader

"Sir, Gerard Stukov reporting. Seems like I've made it early as usual." Gerard would give a crisp, brief salute to the Rogue Trader before taking a seat, patiently waiting for the others who would be attending to arrive.

Silas nodded to the veteran Guardsman, a small smile finding its way onto his face. "That's good, Stukov, very good," the Rogue Trader answered, stabbing a piece of well grilled meat with his fork before eating it. "I’ve had the best meal prepared for us, to prepare us for the hard journey ahead."

Surely enough, the rest of his inner circle of advisors and important officers entered. The Chief Navigator came in with a covered third eye, as to gaze upon it is to invite absolute insanity. The Mechanicus Magos in charge of the engines appeared only as a hologram, as he would not care to go up to the bridge to partake in the act of consumption. Others of particular note were the primaris Psyker, Paolo, and the Hernkyn Pioneer, Grummore.

Silas eyed the psyker as he entered, remembering having hired him for his prodigious talents, as well as those Harakoni Warhawks that came along with him. Paolo having a personal guard all the time took some time for Silas to get used to, too. When he was informed that those guards were a failsafe in case demons overwhelm the psyker, it was... quite depressing to think about.

As for the Hernkyn Pioneer, Silas thought of him well, at least. The Kyn were a secretive bunch, but that was offset by their general industriousness. He used to have a Kyn brokhyr for the engines too, but he and the Magos argued far too often and he left on his own accord some time ago.

Anyway...

"Let us have a great banquet, shall we?" Silas raised a toast, bearing the wine upon a sculpted, golden chalice taken from an Ecclesiarchy office in a Shrine World that had been scoured by the New Devourer. It bore images of old Imperial saints, their visages glorious and beautiful. "Our journey ahead will be difficult. We may face foes beyond the deepest nightmares, but we have done so before upon many worlds that were. And so, may we find great treasure and glory in our path! We shall return to Macragge, bearing the artifact, and be exalted by the Lord Primarchs."

Eldar escort ship, the Seventh Sun
Sometime later

The Eldar escort ship and the human ships it led turned around a corner of the Webway, evading a branch that would have led straight into a dead end. However, their scanners came to life, and this time with definite results.

One of the Eldar bridge crew, adherents of the Path of the Mariner, had found an anomaly in the Webway tunnel. “Captain! We are detecting wreckage. Mon’keigh vessels, bearing symbols of the Changer of Ways.”

“Human,” the captain, a former corsair from Craftworld Iyanden, corrected, “Do not allow them to hear you call them that. As for these wrecks… they must have been destroyed by the Harlequins. That fool Ahzek Ahriman is still looking for the Black Library.”

“Energy spike detected from the wreckage! They’re powering up!

Too late did the warning come as a pair of Chaos warships emerged from the shattered wreckage. They were badly damaged, but they still had great compliments of Chaos cultists and Tzaangor beastmen that were sent forth in a great swarm of assault boats. To make matters worse, they still had some weapons online, and punctured the void shields of the Iaculum Tyrannis in some places, though these were quickly regenerated.

Of course, this had rudely interrupted the banquet of Silas Celeton and his inner circle, who were just about to finish their third course when the auspex scanners detected the incoming assault boats. Some of them, despite the Seventh Sun and Iaculum Tyrannis’s efforts, had successfully landed on the latter thanks to the attacks of the Chaos vessels.

Conveniently, or inconveniently, depending on one’s perspective, two of the assault boats had latched themselves just outside the Observation Gallery. That happened to just be a hundred or so meters from where the Rogue Trader’s inner circle had been dining, and so were the closest to stop the crazed Cultists and beastmen. Some of the Voidsmen had already gone there to defend it, but they were outnumbered...

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

Chapter I

Transit

For the last five thousand years, the Primarchs had striven to expand the greatest bastion that humanity had remaining. Bereft of the Throneworld, of the light of the Astronomicon, of their father’s guidance, there was only so much they could do.

Roboute felt it, and so did the rest of his brothers. He felt it from across the galaxy, when the Emperor died and Holy Terra collapsed into a sphere of unnatural light and chaos. While he was no psyker like his traitorous brother Magnus, or the late Sanguinius, he was still a Primarch, and was forged with warpcraft and genomancy. He saw how the Emperor rose up within the Warp as he was freed at last from his corpse, becoming something else entirely.

But what was he now?

The Primarch, clad in blue armor adorned with golden symbols of the old Imperium, turned as the Rogue Traders departed from the meeting room. He had called upon them to investigate the oddity that the Mechanicus found on the planet Xandrocus Prime. Many wished for the honor to be sanctioned by a Primarch, one of the late Emperor’s sons, though few of the daring explorers were still enthusiastic when he made it clear that they were going towards totally uncharted territory filled with unknown threats.

The Mechanicus Explorators were driven off by foes whose nature they had yet to know; though Guiliman wished they could send an expedition fleet instead, the Rogue Traders would have to do for now. Ultrmar needed all of its fleets and armies defending against the encroaching Necrons, Tau, the raiding parties of the Chaos Empires, the empowered Q’orl Swarmhood, and so on. Even now his brother, the Lion, is fighting the skittering Q’orl. Vulkan, in the meantime, was busy forging weapons…

“What if this artifact proves to be far more important?”

The disembodied voice spoke from behind Guiliman, a tone that had long departed from the realm of the living. A Wraithseer.

“What do your prophecies say about it, Ulthran?” Guiliman answered, tightly grasping the railing. “Actually, do you even have a prophecy for this artifact?”

The Wraith construct strode forward, emerging from the shadows. Eldrad Ulthran, the greatest of Eldar seers, refused to stop fighting for the survival of his race even as his skeleton turned into crystal and his heart ceased to beat. Craftworld Iyanden crafted for him the finest and mightiest of shells, and the half-born Ynnead’s blessing granted him the same vitality of a living Eldar.

“None, regretfully,” Eldrad shook his head. It was adorned with runes and symbols, some of which Guiliman recognized somewhat, as he had a crude grasp of the Eldar lexicon. “Our divinations have been… muddled, as of late. However, your Rogue Traders, as you call them, will be guided through the Webway, as was promised. After all, perhaps this is a strand of fate that will have to unravel when they find it, whatever it is.”

Five thousand years ago, this would have been unthinkable. Human vessels, guided by xenos through the Webway? Any radical from the past would have raged at the thought, but now, it was but a routine. Neither the Asuryani nor the humans could afford to go against each other, not when the New Devourer still stirs along with a thousand other threats.

After all, their fates were intertwined, as Eldrad said so long ago. If one falls, so would the other. And so, they make deals and pacts… for now.

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The Present

The Iaculum Tyrannis. This is the name of the gloriously sculpted vessel of the Rogue Trader Silas Celeton, one of the few that had taken up the mission to take the artifact from Xandrocus Major. Formerly an aging Dauntless Class Light Cruiser, it has been retrofitted according to the wishes of its Rogue Trader.

Ion weapons and railguns, bought from the Farsight Enclaves, lined its primary gun deck. Furthermore, it held an array of lances and torpedoes, purchased from the Ymyr Conglomerate. All of its systems had been painstakingly updated for the ravages of the 51st millennium by the techpriests as well. They didn’t seem to have much problem with the xenos derived weaponry, not when their greatest member, Fabricator General Belisarius Cawl, tinkered with alien technology so much.

In front of the Iaculum Tyrannis and the rest of the Rogue Traders was an Eldar escort, the Seventh Sun. It led the way through the Webway, guiding the human vessels lest they get lost in the mind shattering tunnels. Their destination was the star fortress Immaculate Gem, which lay in the system where the Webway gate led. After that, they will have to travel the long way, through the Warp...

In theory, they could shoot now and destroy the xenos ship. However, that would mean that the Eldar would no longer guide the humans of Ultramar through the Webway, cutting them off from their furthest outpost in the Eastern Fringes, which kept watch for threats coming from Huron Blackheart’s Chaos Empire. The frontier planets in the Primarchs’ realm were barely reachable by Warp travel as it were, and if they lost this vital connection…

Silas Celeton sat in the officer’s suite, located within the bridge of the Iaculum Tyrannis. There, he waited as the servants prepared the lavish courses for today for him and his inner circle. It’s only a matter of time before they come in here…

Warhammer 50k: The Second Age of Strife

@Eisenhorn

@Krash

Both of y'all are accepted. :D