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This is a short story, not written by me, from A warhammer 40,000 fansite. warhammer 40,000 is a wargame, that uses minatures to represent an army under your controll. this story is about an alien of the Eldar race, a bounty hunter, inside a POW camp of the human forces of 40,00, the space marine.
(A warlock is a low-level pshcic, the path of the warrior is basically a form of combat like karate, and a pathfinder is a Sniper in an Eldar army.)
------------------------------ ----------------------------------------
By: maugin Ra.
From: Eldaronline.com fiction archive
------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Capitan Vesuvius studied the prisoner through the observation window with uneasiness. The prisoner appeared uncannily calm and exuded a cocky confidence. Years of combat experience throughout the galaxy had given Vesuvius a sixth sense when it came to dealing with such a being, and he couldn't help but think it would have been better to kill this alien while he had the chance.
It was a fluke to have captured him at all. Vesuvius had been given a few hours of leisure time, and had been permitted to consume alcohol - a very rare opportunity for a Space Marine. Taking advantage of his free time, Vesuvius had gone to his favorite bar on Espandor for a drink, but he never expected to find the Eldar 'pathfinder' sitting a few seats from him, sipping on a tall, oxygenated water. Vesuvius had never seen this alien before, but he had seen his pictures many times at the offices of Inquisitor Czevak and there was a standing warrant out for his capture throughout the Imperium.
As soon as Vesuvius recognized the alien, he pulled out his bolt pistol, and fired at him, forgetting for a moment the orders not to severely injure the alien. However, the pathfinder had obviously seen him first, for the slug had found its way into the chest of the man sitting beside the alien. Immediately he raced out of the bar, in time to see the alien speeding away on an Eldar jet-bike.
Vesuvius had wasted no time in calling for a backup squadron of three pursuit vehicles. He didn't know the exact details of what had happened on the pursuit, but somehow the cunning pathfinder had outmaneuvered the pilots, causing them to crash into each other. The pathfinder himself was forced to land, as the last pursuit vehicle had managed to fire one heavy bolt-gun shell into the tail of the alien bike before crashing into pedestrian walkway. The alien had continued to flee on foot, taking advantage of the walkways and streets of the city to make some pot shots at the ground team. Miraculously, the squad had managed to hit him with two tranquilizer darts, which took immediate affect, and when Vesuvius reached him, the alien was already unconscious.
This all seemed too easy. They had only lost ten experienced Space Marines this time. It was quite a few men to lose for the capture of one alien, but the last time an attempt was made to capture him the alien had killed thirty men and had still gotten away. Vesuvius knew they would never get a chance like this one again to kill this malevolent criminal. In the previous 78 times in Imperial history the Inquisition had managed to capture this particular pathfinder, he had escaped without a trace within hours, even before they had a chance to question him.
Inquisitor Czevak, Vesuvius' superior, had an obsession with this one, and wanted him captured alive and able to speak, so he could personally interrogate him. The timing of the alien's capture could not have come at a better time for Czevak, as he had been losing his credibility in the Inquisition after a series of failures. To bring such an infamous Eldar criminal to justice would surely re-establish his power. Vesuvius could feel Czevak's excitement as he entered the observation room.
Vesuvius looked away from the prisoner to salute the Inquisitor. "Greetings, sir."
"At ease, Captain," began Czevak "There is no need for formalities here. What is the status of the prisoner? I trust you didn't beat him up too much."
"No sir. The prisoner is surprisingly well, but we have had no contact with him since he regained consciousness about two hours ago." Vesuvius reported, examining the Inquisitor. Czevak was a good foot shorter than Vesuvius, but that wasn't saying much, as Vesuvius, being one of the genetically altered Space Marines, stood a good seven and a half feet tall. Czevak was a strongly built man, but at over fifty years old, was out of his prime, and already balding. He had on the standard cloaks and robes of an Inquisitor, and was adorned with small trinkets, showing his devotion to the Emperor and proving his purity. Vesuvius noted his bolt pistol concealed under his cloak.
"We stripped him and confiscated his weapons - a modified Eldar sniper rifle, an Eldar 'shuriken' pistol, a bayonet, and several small knives." continued Vesuvius, "We have also removed any noticeable armor on the prisoner, including some sort of camouflaged cloak made of an unknown substance."
"Yes, very good. You and your men have done very well this time. I'm impressed, very impressed. You will be rewarded with a high ranking promotion," said Czevak as he moved over to the glass, peering down at the captive "He's silent, calm, and cool when he needs to be and he can find the best position to strike, always at the right angle. He already knows why he's here, and he's already thought of a million ways to escape- the epitome of the perfect assassin."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. The alien did not appear outwardly dangerous at first glance, but looked almost human to an uneducated person. Still, he was physically different from a human. The pathfinder would stand at least a head higher than the average human, and he had long, pointed ears that were almost covered by his long, wispy, platinum hair. He was very thin and fit, and his face, with its aquiline features was actually quite beautiful. He was a stunning looking being by human standards.
"Trust not in his appearance," he heard Czevak say, "For this thing is as utterly alien to good, honest men such as us, as any other of the vile races in the galaxy. He is calm and arrogant, and he appears on a world without any apparent cause but to create mayhem. We have never been able to understand his motives, but now he is in our grasp, and he has no way of escape now."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. He was staring at him, with a sinister, penetrating gaze. There's no way he could see me through the glass, is there? Vesuvius thought. The pathfinder nodded slightly at him, and turned away, chuckling to himself.
"Sir, I believe we should kill this alien now," said Vesuvius firmly.
"And lose the chance at gaining needed information about him and his entire people?" Czevak replied, "What reason could you possibly have for that?"
"I… I am not sure, sir, but there is a thought in the back of my head that there is more to this alien than we know… that we may be overlooking something."
"Do not speak such unfaithful words again, Captain Vesuvius! You are in no position to question the motives of the Inquisition! You have been given the honour to serve the Emperor as a Space Marine, and the further privilege of being assigned to the Deathwatch. You are to follow orders without question. Understood?"
"Yes sir. I apologize for my lack of faith."
"Very good, Vesuvius. Now, shall we proceed with the interrogation?"
The two men left the observation room, and began down the corridors of the prison, to the interrogation chamber on the level below. The prison itself was a dark, foreboding place. Many of the criminals being held would spend a lifetime here before they were ever tried, the original crime happening so many years ago it has been nearly forgotten. It was unavoidable, with such a huge human population in the galaxy; organization of such things had become increasingly difficult.
The interrogation room was very different from the rest of the prison. It was well lit compared to the other cells, and the walls were tiled in monochrome green. Vesuvius could see the slanted mirrors on the ceiling - behind them was the observation room where they had looked down on the pathfinder before. In the middle of the room, two rusted chairs sat at opposite ends of a small, metal table, which had been drilled into the floor. Tilted back in one of the chairs was the pathfinder.
Czevak rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Let us begin then, prisoner 5247. Captain Vesuvius, you may stand at ease."
"Yes sir."
The pathfinder came back to a normal sitting position. He glanced briefly at Vesuvius, but his eyes began to wander. The alien was clearly bored with the whole process; Vesuvius could see he wasn't paying attention as Czevak read out the inquisitional session doctrines.
"Now, alien, if you would please state your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin, if you belong to one." said Czevak after reading the doctrines.
"Cerkish, Inquisitor Czevak. Iem taluclu feon, im solerant mure uol, mon-keigh."
"Do not badger me in your own tongue, alien," Czevak snapped, "We are all aware that you are fully familiar with the Human Gothic language."
"You humans are so ignorant. We have taken the time from our lives to learn your language, yet you cannot find the time to learn even the smallest amount of ours."
"Ah, he can speak! Now then, why don't you tell us your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin?"
"Why bother with the formalities? Czevak, you know who I am and from whence I came."
"It is not your place to be questioning me, you are a captive here."
"I'll say and do as I please."
"You will do as I tell you, alien. Now tell me your origin, or I will have Captain Vesuvius force you to tell us."
"I'm sure the Captain would have great pleasure in that, wouldn't you?" the pathfinder replied to Vesuvius "I know you wanted to kill me, I could see it in your eyes the moment you came in this grim room. So why don't you make it easy for all of us, try and kill me. Sooner you do, the sooner I can leave and carry about my business."
Vesuvius opened his mouth to reply, but Czevak interrupted, "I can assure you, alien, that you will not leave these walls a free being. The research department of this prison can hardly wait to get their hands on you. They have never had the opportunity to dissect a live specimen like you. As long as I find you useful, you will be under my protection. So unless you wish for the latter, I suggest you start talking."
"I am known as Lokithwé Reialdar. The brat of the galaxy, as some call me. I'm a thorn in mankind's side. I'd say I was the scourge of the Imperium, but from what I've heard about your kind, one of your own has that title. But I'd say I'm more of a threat than that man. I can be anywhere I want, and no one is the wiser. He gets within a few light years of domestic space and you rise up a massive army. In my 2000 years of wandering, I've killed more important people than anyone else, or so I'm told."
"I am aware of your reputation throughout the Imperium," Czevak replied, "and I know you were banished from your Craftworld. Don't waste my time with information known to the entire galaxy. I want details about your childhood, your people, your training, your contacts, your associates, and your secrets..."
"I'm not sure of exactly how old I am. In human years, I am over three thousand years old. My story spans centuries. In fact, the first thousand years is lost in my memory. I can't even remember my parents, my family, or if I ever was a child. We Eldar are children for a very short time by our recalling, if we ever are children. All I can remember is exile. Banishment. Being abandoned…."
"As you already know, our race is in constant exile - I live an exile within an exile. We once controlled the universe, but we lost it all in a myriad of our own decadence. Now, we live on gigantic star ships, the Craftworlds."
"Whatever Craftworld I did come from, I am likely no longer welcome there, but I doubt they would even remember me, let alone believe I am still alive. I can remember, I had studied on the Path of the Warrior… but I forget exactly what aspect it really was. Later, I can remember I began to study as a warlock. There was something about controlling psychic energies that intrigued me. So I took it up, and was one of the best novice warlocks. There was another one, other than me, who had potential… his father was a Farseer on my Craftworld, so he felt he had to be the best one out of all of us."
"He was jealous of my talent, I suppose. We are disciplined to not let such emotions consume us, for it can lead to insanity and corruption. He challenged me to a duel of honour. While such events remain customary in our society, never before had one of us taken to it with such rage and fury. I remember that I drew first blood on him… it all should have ended there, but it didn't. We continued to fight, and eventually, I was fed up with the whole concept. I was going to knock him unconscious with a small psychic blast - it was the only thing that would do it in one shot without hurting him."
"I made it too strong, he was dead in seconds, electricity shattered his body. That was it; I could no longer stay on my Craftworld. I left the week after. I don't think anyone was there to see me off."
Czevak was captivated by the tale. "Now tell me, Lokithwé, where did you go from there?"
Lokithwé hesitated for a moment, and then replied, "I left on board my own ship, the Anastari, or the Raven. I visited several other Craftworlds, but none took me in. Instead, I was joined by several other outcasts. Some had chosen to leave on their own accord, others, like me, had been sent into exile."
"Then, for some time, we just drifted, and any time we found a Craftworld in need of assistance, we helped, every battle was a victory, every victory brought more skills and experiences. I re-built my long rifle constantly, trying to find the best way to work it. I learned new techniques, saw and faced death. Lost and have lost. Words cannot explain the pain I've felt over my years. I've seen so much death and defeat."
Lokithwé began to breath harder as he spoke, he began in a rant, "You can't afford to lose; there are no second chances. There is war everywhere in the galaxy. If you don't fight, if you don't win, you will die. Die and be forgotten. Just die. There are no second chances, no options. It is black and white and red all over. You will die if you don't win, you will live if you don't lose. It's as simple as that"
"I saw the look in the eyes of my best friend, as he lay on the ground, on some backwater death world, in a pool of his own blood, dying. I knew, as I looked into his grief-stricken face, that even if I could get to him, there was nothing…nothing I could do to save him."
"That is what my life has been for two thousand years. Two thousand years. You humans will never be able to experience that amount of pain and suffering. Why do we fight? Why do we devote our miserable lives to a constant battle, a battle that never ends? Simply because there is no avoiding it; it is our mission."
Czevak was skeptical of Lokithwé's testimony. "I can't believe what I am hearing. What about the pain of others? Is that not important to you? Do you not realize the amount of strife you have put people through?"
"I realize damn well the pain I have inflicted on others, but I'm just the middle man." Lokithwé snapped, "I get the job done. I am paid to do what I do. I don't do it for enjoyment - but that is an added bonus. I do because I must if I want to live. This world does not offer many choices; you can either be ground into the dirt or emerge a victor. Yet the paradox is, I no longer want to live, but I never want to die."
The inquisitor stood up, collecting himself. He rubbed his eyes, and began to move around Lokithwé, thinking to himself. Vesuvius was dumbstruck at what he had heard. He had never realized before that one of the alien Eldar could be so eloquent, so emotional, and in tune with his feelings. He had been told that the Eldar were unfeeling killers, they were capricious and fickle, and attacked without cause or warning. Yet from what he listened to silently, this one sounded almost human.
Czevak interrupted Vesuvius' thought, "So then, Lokithwé, you say you are the 'middle man'. Then that must mean you are here for a reason, and have been hired out by someone to do something. My question, is who has hired you, and why?"
"I knew you would ask me that, Czevak." Lokithwé smiled, cracking his knuckles. He looked at Vesuvius "You know, Captain, you were right, you should have killed me while you had the chance - but even then, you wouldn't have been able to do it."
Lokithwé's arm shot forward, and he spread out his long, delicate fingers. Before Czevak was able to respond, he heard a small crackle, like lightning, followed by a brilliant flash of light, which left him temporarily blinded. He heard screams coming from all around him, and the sounds of blades against metal. Glass shattered about him. He heard the sound of two bolter shots before a brief whine of pain.
When his sight returned, he retched at the scene laid out before him. The one-way mirrors, which had lined the ceiling, had all been broken, and Czevak could see the blood of the men in the observation room staining the walls. Then, to his horror, he saw Lokithwé, standing against Vesuvius. A pair of sleek, blue blades had appeared from nowhere out of the flesh beneath Lokithwé's arms. One of the blades had run its way straight though Vesuvius' head. The other blade had just finished taking off Vesuvius' right arm. Czevak hadn't realised it until now - they had made a grave error - Lokithwé was a walking lethal weapon.
Lokithwé pulled the blade out from Vesuvius' skull, and the Astarte Marine's lifeless body slumped into the ground. Lokithwé walked toward the inquisitor, and smirked as he licked the blood off the blade.
"You are a monster!" Czevak screamed, but he knew Lokithwé didn't care.
"Now, now, Czevak, you don't need to be screaming you head off, it will do you no good at all. I have the fullest intention now of answering all your questions. You see, inquisitor, there is a man amongst your own who does not think too highly of you. Now, I've known for some time of the many holes and rivalries within the Inquisition - you say you operate as one 'For the Emperor's Soul' but you are divided along very distinct lines. It's sickening to me, but I'm making a profit off it. You see, Czevak, I will receive my highest payload to date for bringing you to death."
Czevak was in shock. "Who is paying you?"
"A man called Richenstien."
"Listen to me, alien," Czevak replied, "I will pay you exactly what he is paying you to kill me if you let me live. Furthermore, I shall pay you double if you kill Richenstien."
"I thought you where the type of man I could make a deal with, Czevak. You'll see the job done, but don't forget about this payment. I will come to collect my money when you least expect me."
Then, without a trace, Lokithwé was gone.
The next day, Czevak heard the news - Inquisitor Richenstien was dead.
(A warlock is a low-level pshcic, the path of the warrior is basically a form of combat like karate, and a pathfinder is a Sniper in an Eldar army.)
------------------------------ ----------------------------------------
By: maugin Ra.
From: Eldaronline.com fiction archive
------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Capitan Vesuvius studied the prisoner through the observation window with uneasiness. The prisoner appeared uncannily calm and exuded a cocky confidence. Years of combat experience throughout the galaxy had given Vesuvius a sixth sense when it came to dealing with such a being, and he couldn't help but think it would have been better to kill this alien while he had the chance.
It was a fluke to have captured him at all. Vesuvius had been given a few hours of leisure time, and had been permitted to consume alcohol - a very rare opportunity for a Space Marine. Taking advantage of his free time, Vesuvius had gone to his favorite bar on Espandor for a drink, but he never expected to find the Eldar 'pathfinder' sitting a few seats from him, sipping on a tall, oxygenated water. Vesuvius had never seen this alien before, but he had seen his pictures many times at the offices of Inquisitor Czevak and there was a standing warrant out for his capture throughout the Imperium.
As soon as Vesuvius recognized the alien, he pulled out his bolt pistol, and fired at him, forgetting for a moment the orders not to severely injure the alien. However, the pathfinder had obviously seen him first, for the slug had found its way into the chest of the man sitting beside the alien. Immediately he raced out of the bar, in time to see the alien speeding away on an Eldar jet-bike.
Vesuvius had wasted no time in calling for a backup squadron of three pursuit vehicles. He didn't know the exact details of what had happened on the pursuit, but somehow the cunning pathfinder had outmaneuvered the pilots, causing them to crash into each other. The pathfinder himself was forced to land, as the last pursuit vehicle had managed to fire one heavy bolt-gun shell into the tail of the alien bike before crashing into pedestrian walkway. The alien had continued to flee on foot, taking advantage of the walkways and streets of the city to make some pot shots at the ground team. Miraculously, the squad had managed to hit him with two tranquilizer darts, which took immediate affect, and when Vesuvius reached him, the alien was already unconscious.
This all seemed too easy. They had only lost ten experienced Space Marines this time. It was quite a few men to lose for the capture of one alien, but the last time an attempt was made to capture him the alien had killed thirty men and had still gotten away. Vesuvius knew they would never get a chance like this one again to kill this malevolent criminal. In the previous 78 times in Imperial history the Inquisition had managed to capture this particular pathfinder, he had escaped without a trace within hours, even before they had a chance to question him.
Inquisitor Czevak, Vesuvius' superior, had an obsession with this one, and wanted him captured alive and able to speak, so he could personally interrogate him. The timing of the alien's capture could not have come at a better time for Czevak, as he had been losing his credibility in the Inquisition after a series of failures. To bring such an infamous Eldar criminal to justice would surely re-establish his power. Vesuvius could feel Czevak's excitement as he entered the observation room.
Vesuvius looked away from the prisoner to salute the Inquisitor. "Greetings, sir."
"At ease, Captain," began Czevak "There is no need for formalities here. What is the status of the prisoner? I trust you didn't beat him up too much."
"No sir. The prisoner is surprisingly well, but we have had no contact with him since he regained consciousness about two hours ago." Vesuvius reported, examining the Inquisitor. Czevak was a good foot shorter than Vesuvius, but that wasn't saying much, as Vesuvius, being one of the genetically altered Space Marines, stood a good seven and a half feet tall. Czevak was a strongly built man, but at over fifty years old, was out of his prime, and already balding. He had on the standard cloaks and robes of an Inquisitor, and was adorned with small trinkets, showing his devotion to the Emperor and proving his purity. Vesuvius noted his bolt pistol concealed under his cloak.
"We stripped him and confiscated his weapons - a modified Eldar sniper rifle, an Eldar 'shuriken' pistol, a bayonet, and several small knives." continued Vesuvius, "We have also removed any noticeable armor on the prisoner, including some sort of camouflaged cloak made of an unknown substance."
"Yes, very good. You and your men have done very well this time. I'm impressed, very impressed. You will be rewarded with a high ranking promotion," said Czevak as he moved over to the glass, peering down at the captive "He's silent, calm, and cool when he needs to be and he can find the best position to strike, always at the right angle. He already knows why he's here, and he's already thought of a million ways to escape- the epitome of the perfect assassin."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. The alien did not appear outwardly dangerous at first glance, but looked almost human to an uneducated person. Still, he was physically different from a human. The pathfinder would stand at least a head higher than the average human, and he had long, pointed ears that were almost covered by his long, wispy, platinum hair. He was very thin and fit, and his face, with its aquiline features was actually quite beautiful. He was a stunning looking being by human standards.
"Trust not in his appearance," he heard Czevak say, "For this thing is as utterly alien to good, honest men such as us, as any other of the vile races in the galaxy. He is calm and arrogant, and he appears on a world without any apparent cause but to create mayhem. We have never been able to understand his motives, but now he is in our grasp, and he has no way of escape now."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. He was staring at him, with a sinister, penetrating gaze. There's no way he could see me through the glass, is there? Vesuvius thought. The pathfinder nodded slightly at him, and turned away, chuckling to himself.
"Sir, I believe we should kill this alien now," said Vesuvius firmly.
"And lose the chance at gaining needed information about him and his entire people?" Czevak replied, "What reason could you possibly have for that?"
"I… I am not sure, sir, but there is a thought in the back of my head that there is more to this alien than we know… that we may be overlooking something."
"Do not speak such unfaithful words again, Captain Vesuvius! You are in no position to question the motives of the Inquisition! You have been given the honour to serve the Emperor as a Space Marine, and the further privilege of being assigned to the Deathwatch. You are to follow orders without question. Understood?"
"Yes sir. I apologize for my lack of faith."
"Very good, Vesuvius. Now, shall we proceed with the interrogation?"
The two men left the observation room, and began down the corridors of the prison, to the interrogation chamber on the level below. The prison itself was a dark, foreboding place. Many of the criminals being held would spend a lifetime here before they were ever tried, the original crime happening so many years ago it has been nearly forgotten. It was unavoidable, with such a huge human population in the galaxy; organization of such things had become increasingly difficult.
The interrogation room was very different from the rest of the prison. It was well lit compared to the other cells, and the walls were tiled in monochrome green. Vesuvius could see the slanted mirrors on the ceiling - behind them was the observation room where they had looked down on the pathfinder before. In the middle of the room, two rusted chairs sat at opposite ends of a small, metal table, which had been drilled into the floor. Tilted back in one of the chairs was the pathfinder.
Czevak rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Let us begin then, prisoner 5247. Captain Vesuvius, you may stand at ease."
"Yes sir."
The pathfinder came back to a normal sitting position. He glanced briefly at Vesuvius, but his eyes began to wander. The alien was clearly bored with the whole process; Vesuvius could see he wasn't paying attention as Czevak read out the inquisitional session doctrines.
"Now, alien, if you would please state your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin, if you belong to one." said Czevak after reading the doctrines.
"Cerkish, Inquisitor Czevak. Iem taluclu feon, im solerant mure uol, mon-keigh."
"Do not badger me in your own tongue, alien," Czevak snapped, "We are all aware that you are fully familiar with the Human Gothic language."
"You humans are so ignorant. We have taken the time from our lives to learn your language, yet you cannot find the time to learn even the smallest amount of ours."
"Ah, he can speak! Now then, why don't you tell us your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin?"
"Why bother with the formalities? Czevak, you know who I am and from whence I came."
"It is not your place to be questioning me, you are a captive here."
"I'll say and do as I please."
"You will do as I tell you, alien. Now tell me your origin, or I will have Captain Vesuvius force you to tell us."
"I'm sure the Captain would have great pleasure in that, wouldn't you?" the pathfinder replied to Vesuvius "I know you wanted to kill me, I could see it in your eyes the moment you came in this grim room. So why don't you make it easy for all of us, try and kill me. Sooner you do, the sooner I can leave and carry about my business."
Vesuvius opened his mouth to reply, but Czevak interrupted, "I can assure you, alien, that you will not leave these walls a free being. The research department of this prison can hardly wait to get their hands on you. They have never had the opportunity to dissect a live specimen like you. As long as I find you useful, you will be under my protection. So unless you wish for the latter, I suggest you start talking."
"I am known as Lokithwé Reialdar. The brat of the galaxy, as some call me. I'm a thorn in mankind's side. I'd say I was the scourge of the Imperium, but from what I've heard about your kind, one of your own has that title. But I'd say I'm more of a threat than that man. I can be anywhere I want, and no one is the wiser. He gets within a few light years of domestic space and you rise up a massive army. In my 2000 years of wandering, I've killed more important people than anyone else, or so I'm told."
"I am aware of your reputation throughout the Imperium," Czevak replied, "and I know you were banished from your Craftworld. Don't waste my time with information known to the entire galaxy. I want details about your childhood, your people, your training, your contacts, your associates, and your secrets..."
"I'm not sure of exactly how old I am. In human years, I am over three thousand years old. My story spans centuries. In fact, the first thousand years is lost in my memory. I can't even remember my parents, my family, or if I ever was a child. We Eldar are children for a very short time by our recalling, if we ever are children. All I can remember is exile. Banishment. Being abandoned…."
"As you already know, our race is in constant exile - I live an exile within an exile. We once controlled the universe, but we lost it all in a myriad of our own decadence. Now, we live on gigantic star ships, the Craftworlds."
"Whatever Craftworld I did come from, I am likely no longer welcome there, but I doubt they would even remember me, let alone believe I am still alive. I can remember, I had studied on the Path of the Warrior… but I forget exactly what aspect it really was. Later, I can remember I began to study as a warlock. There was something about controlling psychic energies that intrigued me. So I took it up, and was one of the best novice warlocks. There was another one, other than me, who had potential… his father was a Farseer on my Craftworld, so he felt he had to be the best one out of all of us."
"He was jealous of my talent, I suppose. We are disciplined to not let such emotions consume us, for it can lead to insanity and corruption. He challenged me to a duel of honour. While such events remain customary in our society, never before had one of us taken to it with such rage and fury. I remember that I drew first blood on him… it all should have ended there, but it didn't. We continued to fight, and eventually, I was fed up with the whole concept. I was going to knock him unconscious with a small psychic blast - it was the only thing that would do it in one shot without hurting him."
"I made it too strong, he was dead in seconds, electricity shattered his body. That was it; I could no longer stay on my Craftworld. I left the week after. I don't think anyone was there to see me off."
Czevak was captivated by the tale. "Now tell me, Lokithwé, where did you go from there?"
Lokithwé hesitated for a moment, and then replied, "I left on board my own ship, the Anastari, or the Raven. I visited several other Craftworlds, but none took me in. Instead, I was joined by several other outcasts. Some had chosen to leave on their own accord, others, like me, had been sent into exile."
"Then, for some time, we just drifted, and any time we found a Craftworld in need of assistance, we helped, every battle was a victory, every victory brought more skills and experiences. I re-built my long rifle constantly, trying to find the best way to work it. I learned new techniques, saw and faced death. Lost and have lost. Words cannot explain the pain I've felt over my years. I've seen so much death and defeat."
Lokithwé began to breath harder as he spoke, he began in a rant, "You can't afford to lose; there are no second chances. There is war everywhere in the galaxy. If you don't fight, if you don't win, you will die. Die and be forgotten. Just die. There are no second chances, no options. It is black and white and red all over. You will die if you don't win, you will live if you don't lose. It's as simple as that"
"I saw the look in the eyes of my best friend, as he lay on the ground, on some backwater death world, in a pool of his own blood, dying. I knew, as I looked into his grief-stricken face, that even if I could get to him, there was nothing…nothing I could do to save him."
"That is what my life has been for two thousand years. Two thousand years. You humans will never be able to experience that amount of pain and suffering. Why do we fight? Why do we devote our miserable lives to a constant battle, a battle that never ends? Simply because there is no avoiding it; it is our mission."
Czevak was skeptical of Lokithwé's testimony. "I can't believe what I am hearing. What about the pain of others? Is that not important to you? Do you not realize the amount of strife you have put people through?"
"I realize damn well the pain I have inflicted on others, but I'm just the middle man." Lokithwé snapped, "I get the job done. I am paid to do what I do. I don't do it for enjoyment - but that is an added bonus. I do because I must if I want to live. This world does not offer many choices; you can either be ground into the dirt or emerge a victor. Yet the paradox is, I no longer want to live, but I never want to die."
The inquisitor stood up, collecting himself. He rubbed his eyes, and began to move around Lokithwé, thinking to himself. Vesuvius was dumbstruck at what he had heard. He had never realized before that one of the alien Eldar could be so eloquent, so emotional, and in tune with his feelings. He had been told that the Eldar were unfeeling killers, they were capricious and fickle, and attacked without cause or warning. Yet from what he listened to silently, this one sounded almost human.
Czevak interrupted Vesuvius' thought, "So then, Lokithwé, you say you are the 'middle man'. Then that must mean you are here for a reason, and have been hired out by someone to do something. My question, is who has hired you, and why?"
"I knew you would ask me that, Czevak." Lokithwé smiled, cracking his knuckles. He looked at Vesuvius "You know, Captain, you were right, you should have killed me while you had the chance - but even then, you wouldn't have been able to do it."
Lokithwé's arm shot forward, and he spread out his long, delicate fingers. Before Czevak was able to respond, he heard a small crackle, like lightning, followed by a brilliant flash of light, which left him temporarily blinded. He heard screams coming from all around him, and the sounds of blades against metal. Glass shattered about him. He heard the sound of two bolter shots before a brief whine of pain.
When his sight returned, he retched at the scene laid out before him. The one-way mirrors, which had lined the ceiling, had all been broken, and Czevak could see the blood of the men in the observation room staining the walls. Then, to his horror, he saw Lokithwé, standing against Vesuvius. A pair of sleek, blue blades had appeared from nowhere out of the flesh beneath Lokithwé's arms. One of the blades had run its way straight though Vesuvius' head. The other blade had just finished taking off Vesuvius' right arm. Czevak hadn't realised it until now - they had made a grave error - Lokithwé was a walking lethal weapon.
Lokithwé pulled the blade out from Vesuvius' skull, and the Astarte Marine's lifeless body slumped into the ground. Lokithwé walked toward the inquisitor, and smirked as he licked the blood off the blade.
"You are a monster!" Czevak screamed, but he knew Lokithwé didn't care.
"Now, now, Czevak, you don't need to be screaming you head off, it will do you no good at all. I have the fullest intention now of answering all your questions. You see, inquisitor, there is a man amongst your own who does not think too highly of you. Now, I've known for some time of the many holes and rivalries within the Inquisition - you say you operate as one 'For the Emperor's Soul' but you are divided along very distinct lines. It's sickening to me, but I'm making a profit off it. You see, Czevak, I will receive my highest payload to date for bringing you to death."
Czevak was in shock. "Who is paying you?"
"A man called Richenstien."
"Listen to me, alien," Czevak replied, "I will pay you exactly what he is paying you to kill me if you let me live. Furthermore, I shall pay you double if you kill Richenstien."
"I thought you where the type of man I could make a deal with, Czevak. You'll see the job done, but don't forget about this payment. I will come to collect my money when you least expect me."
Then, without a trace, Lokithwé was gone.
The next day, Czevak heard the news - Inquisitor Richenstien was dead.
This is a short story, not written by me, from A warhammer 40,000 fansite. warhammer 40,000 is a wargame, that uses minatures to represent an army under your controll. this story is about an alien of the Eldar race, a bounty hunter, inside a POW camp of the human forces of 40,00, the space marine.
(A warlock is a low-level pshcic, the path of the warrior is basically a form of combat like karate, and a pathfinder is a Sniper in an Eldar army.)
------------------------------ ----------------------------------------
By: maugin Ra.
From: Eldaronline.com fiction archive
------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Capitan Vesuvius studied the prisoner through the observation window with uneasiness. The prisoner appeared uncannily calm and exuded a cocky confidence. Years of combat experience throughout the galaxy had given Vesuvius a sixth sense when it came to dealing with such a being, and he couldn't help but think it would have been better to kill this alien while he had the chance.
It was a fluke to have captured him at all. Vesuvius had been given a few hours of leisure time, and had been permitted to consume alcohol - a very rare opportunity for a Space Marine. Taking advantage of his free time, Vesuvius had gone to his favorite bar on Espandor for a drink, but he never expected to find the Eldar 'pathfinder' sitting a few seats from him, sipping on a tall, oxygenated water. Vesuvius had never seen this alien before, but he had seen his pictures many times at the offices of Inquisitor Czevak and there was a standing warrant out for his capture throughout the Imperium.
As soon as Vesuvius recognized the alien, he pulled out his bolt pistol, and fired at him, forgetting for a moment the orders not to severely injure the alien. However, the pathfinder had obviously seen him first, for the slug had found its way into the chest of the man sitting beside the alien. Immediately he raced out of the bar, in time to see the alien speeding away on an Eldar jet-bike.
Vesuvius had wasted no time in calling for a backup squadron of three pursuit vehicles. He didn't know the exact details of what had happened on the pursuit, but somehow the cunning pathfinder had outmaneuvered the pilots, causing them to crash into each other. The pathfinder himself was forced to land, as the last pursuit vehicle had managed to fire one heavy bolt-gun shell into the tail of the alien bike before crashing into pedestrian walkway. The alien had continued to flee on foot, taking advantage of the walkways and streets of the city to make some pot shots at the ground team. Miraculously, the squad had managed to hit him with two tranquilizer darts, which took immediate affect, and when Vesuvius reached him, the alien was already unconscious.
This all seemed too easy. They had only lost ten experienced Space Marines this time. It was quite a few men to lose for the capture of one alien, but the last time an attempt was made to capture him the alien had killed thirty men and had still gotten away. Vesuvius knew they would never get a chance like this one again to kill this malevolent criminal. In the previous 78 times in Imperial history the Inquisition had managed to capture this particular pathfinder, he had escaped without a trace within hours, even before they had a chance to question him.
Inquisitor Czevak, Vesuvius' superior, had an obsession with this one, and wanted him captured alive and able to speak, so he could personally interrogate him. The timing of the alien's capture could not have come at a better time for Czevak, as he had been losing his credibility in the Inquisition after a series of failures. To bring such an infamous Eldar criminal to justice would surely re-establish his power. Vesuvius could feel Czevak's excitement as he entered the observation room.
Vesuvius looked away from the prisoner to salute the Inquisitor. "Greetings, sir."
"At ease, Captain," began Czevak "There is no need for formalities here. What is the status of the prisoner? I trust you didn't beat him up too much."
"No sir. The prisoner is surprisingly well, but we have had no contact with him since he regained consciousness about two hours ago." Vesuvius reported, examining the Inquisitor. Czevak was a good foot shorter than Vesuvius, but that wasn't saying much, as Vesuvius, being one of the genetically altered Space Marines, stood a good seven and a half feet tall. Czevak was a strongly built man, but at over fifty years old, was out of his prime, and already balding. He had on the standard cloaks and robes of an Inquisitor, and was adorned with small trinkets, showing his devotion to the Emperor and proving his purity. Vesuvius noted his bolt pistol concealed under his cloak.
"We stripped him and confiscated his weapons - a modified Eldar sniper rifle, an Eldar 'shuriken' pistol, a bayonet, and several small knives." continued Vesuvius, "We have also removed any noticeable armor on the prisoner, including some sort of camouflaged cloak made of an unknown substance."
"Yes, very good. You and your men have done very well this time. I'm impressed, very impressed. You will be rewarded with a high ranking promotion," said Czevak as he moved over to the glass, peering down at the captive "He's silent, calm, and cool when he needs to be and he can find the best position to strike, always at the right angle. He already knows why he's here, and he's already thought of a million ways to escape- the epitome of the perfect assassin."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. The alien did not appear outwardly dangerous at first glance, but looked almost human to an uneducated person. Still, he was physically different from a human. The pathfinder would stand at least a head higher than the average human, and he had long, pointed ears that were almost covered by his long, wispy, platinum hair. He was very thin and fit, and his face, with its aquiline features was actually quite beautiful. He was a stunning looking being by human standards.
"Trust not in his appearance," he heard Czevak say, "For this thing is as utterly alien to good, honest men such as us, as any other of the vile races in the galaxy. He is calm and arrogant, and he appears on a world without any apparent cause but to create mayhem. We have never been able to understand his motives, but now he is in our grasp, and he has no way of escape now."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. He was staring at him, with a sinister, penetrating gaze. There's no way he could see me through the glass, is there? Vesuvius thought. The pathfinder nodded slightly at him, and turned away, chuckling to himself.
"Sir, I believe we should kill this alien now," said Vesuvius firmly.
"And lose the chance at gaining needed information about him and his entire people?" Czevak replied, "What reason could you possibly have for that?"
"I… I am not sure, sir, but there is a thought in the back of my head that there is more to this alien than we know… that we may be overlooking something."
"Do not speak such unfaithful words again, Captain Vesuvius! You are in no position to question the motives of the Inquisition! You have been given the honour to serve the Emperor as a Space Marine, and the further privilege of being assigned to the Deathwatch. You are to follow orders without question. Understood?"
"Yes sir. I apologize for my lack of faith."
"Very good, Vesuvius. Now, shall we proceed with the interrogation?"
The two men left the observation room, and began down the corridors of the prison, to the interrogation chamber on the level below. The prison itself was a dark, foreboding place. Many of the criminals being held would spend a lifetime here before they were ever tried, the original crime happening so many years ago it has been nearly forgotten. It was unavoidable, with such a huge human population in the galaxy; organization of such things had become increasingly difficult.
The interrogation room was very different from the rest of the prison. It was well lit compared to the other cells, and the walls were tiled in monochrome green. Vesuvius could see the slanted mirrors on the ceiling - behind them was the observation room where they had looked down on the pathfinder before. In the middle of the room, two rusted chairs sat at opposite ends of a small, metal table, which had been drilled into the floor. Tilted back in one of the chairs was the pathfinder.
Czevak rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Let us begin then, prisoner 5247. Captain Vesuvius, you may stand at ease."
"Yes sir."
The pathfinder came back to a normal sitting position. He glanced briefly at Vesuvius, but his eyes began to wander. The alien was clearly bored with the whole process; Vesuvius could see he wasn't paying attention as Czevak read out the inquisitional session doctrines.
"Now, alien, if you would please state your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin, if you belong to one." said Czevak after reading the doctrines.
"Cerkish, Inquisitor Czevak. Iem taluclu feon, im solerant mure uol, mon-keigh."
"Do not badger me in your own tongue, alien," Czevak snapped, "We are all aware that you are fully familiar with the Human Gothic language."
"You humans are so ignorant. We have taken the time from our lives to learn your language, yet you cannot find the time to learn even the smallest amount of ours."
"Ah, he can speak! Now then, why don't you tell us your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin?"
"Why bother with the formalities? Czevak, you know who I am and from whence I came."
"It is not your place to be questioning me, you are a captive here."
"I'll say and do as I please."
"You will do as I tell you, alien. Now tell me your origin, or I will have Captain Vesuvius force you to tell us."
"I'm sure the Captain would have great pleasure in that, wouldn't you?" the pathfinder replied to Vesuvius "I know you wanted to kill me, I could see it in your eyes the moment you came in this grim room. So why don't you make it easy for all of us, try and kill me. Sooner you do, the sooner I can leave and carry about my business."
Vesuvius opened his mouth to reply, but Czevak interrupted, "I can assure you, alien, that you will not leave these walls a free being. The research department of this prison can hardly wait to get their hands on you. They have never had the opportunity to dissect a live specimen like you. As long as I find you useful, you will be under my protection. So unless you wish for the latter, I suggest you start talking."
"I am known as Lokithwé Reialdar. The brat of the galaxy, as some call me. I'm a thorn in mankind's side. I'd say I was the scourge of the Imperium, but from what I've heard about your kind, one of your own has that title. But I'd say I'm more of a threat than that man. I can be anywhere I want, and no one is the wiser. He gets within a few light years of domestic space and you rise up a massive army. In my 2000 years of wandering, I've killed more important people than anyone else, or so I'm told."
"I am aware of your reputation throughout the Imperium," Czevak replied, "and I know you were banished from your Craftworld. Don't waste my time with information known to the entire galaxy. I want details about your childhood, your people, your training, your contacts, your associates, and your secrets..."
"I'm not sure of exactly how old I am. In human years, I am over three thousand years old. My story spans centuries. In fact, the first thousand years is lost in my memory. I can't even remember my parents, my family, or if I ever was a child. We Eldar are children for a very short time by our recalling, if we ever are children. All I can remember is exile. Banishment. Being abandoned…."
"As you already know, our race is in constant exile - I live an exile within an exile. We once controlled the universe, but we lost it all in a myriad of our own decadence. Now, we live on gigantic star ships, the Craftworlds."
"Whatever Craftworld I did come from, I am likely no longer welcome there, but I doubt they would even remember me, let alone believe I am still alive. I can remember, I had studied on the Path of the Warrior… but I forget exactly what aspect it really was. Later, I can remember I began to study as a warlock. There was something about controlling psychic energies that intrigued me. So I took it up, and was one of the best novice warlocks. There was another one, other than me, who had potential… his father was a Farseer on my Craftworld, so he felt he had to be the best one out of all of us."
"He was jealous of my talent, I suppose. We are disciplined to not let such emotions consume us, for it can lead to insanity and corruption. He challenged me to a duel of honour. While such events remain customary in our society, never before had one of us taken to it with such rage and fury. I remember that I drew first blood on him… it all should have ended there, but it didn't. We continued to fight, and eventually, I was fed up with the whole concept. I was going to knock him unconscious with a small psychic blast - it was the only thing that would do it in one shot without hurting him."
"I made it too strong, he was dead in seconds, electricity shattered his body. That was it; I could no longer stay on my Craftworld. I left the week after. I don't think anyone was there to see me off."
Czevak was captivated by the tale. "Now tell me, Lokithwé, where did you go from there?"
Lokithwé hesitated for a moment, and then replied, "I left on board my own ship, the Anastari, or the Raven. I visited several other Craftworlds, but none took me in. Instead, I was joined by several other outcasts. Some had chosen to leave on their own accord, others, like me, had been sent into exile."
"Then, for some time, we just drifted, and any time we found a Craftworld in need of assistance, we helped, every battle was a victory, every victory brought more skills and experiences. I re-built my long rifle constantly, trying to find the best way to work it. I learned new techniques, saw and faced death. Lost and have lost. Words cannot explain the pain I've felt over my years. I've seen so much death and defeat."
Lokithwé began to breath harder as he spoke, he began in a rant, "You can't afford to lose; there are no second chances. There is war everywhere in the galaxy. If you don't fight, if you don't win, you will die. Die and be forgotten. Just die. There are no second chances, no options. It is black and white and red all over. You will die if you don't win, you will live if you don't lose. It's as simple as that"
"I saw the look in the eyes of my best friend, as he lay on the ground, on some backwater death world, in a pool of his own blood, dying. I knew, as I looked into his grief-stricken face, that even if I could get to him, there was nothing…nothing I could do to save him."
"That is what my life has been for two thousand years. Two thousand years. You humans will never be able to experience that amount of pain and suffering. Why do we fight? Why do we devote our miserable lives to a constant battle, a battle that never ends? Simply because there is no avoiding it; it is our mission."
Czevak was skeptical of Lokithwé's testimony. "I can't believe what I am hearing. What about the pain of others? Is that not important to you? Do you not realize the amount of strife you have put people through?"
"I realize damn well the pain I have inflicted on others, but I'm just the middle man." Lokithwé snapped, "I get the job done. I am paid to do what I do. I don't do it for enjoyment - but that is an added bonus. I do because I must if I want to live. This world does not offer many choices; you can either be ground into the dirt or emerge a victor. Yet the paradox is, I no longer want to live, but I never want to die."
The inquisitor stood up, collecting himself. He rubbed his eyes, and began to move around Lokithwé, thinking to himself. Vesuvius was dumbstruck at what he had heard. He had never realized before that one of the alien Eldar could be so eloquent, so emotional, and in tune with his feelings. He had been told that the Eldar were unfeeling killers, they were capricious and fickle, and attacked without cause or warning. Yet from what he listened to silently, this one sounded almost human.
Czevak interrupted Vesuvius' thought, "So then, Lokithwé, you say you are the 'middle man'. Then that must mean you are here for a reason, and have been hired out by someone to do something. My question, is who has hired you, and why?"
"I knew you would ask me that, Czevak." Lokithwé smiled, cracking his knuckles. He looked at Vesuvius "You know, Captain, you were right, you should have killed me while you had the chance - but even then, you wouldn't have been able to do it."
Lokithwé's arm shot forward, and he spread out his long, delicate fingers. Before Czevak was able to respond, he heard a small crackle, like lightning, followed by a brilliant flash of light, which left him temporarily blinded. He heard screams coming from all around him, and the sounds of blades against metal. Glass shattered about him. He heard the sound of two bolter shots before a brief whine of pain.
When his sight returned, he retched at the scene laid out before him. The one-way mirrors, which had lined the ceiling, had all been broken, and Czevak could see the blood of the men in the observation room staining the walls. Then, to his horror, he saw Lokithwé, standing against Vesuvius. A pair of sleek, blue blades had appeared from nowhere out of the flesh beneath Lokithwé's arms. One of the blades had run its way straight though Vesuvius' head. The other blade had just finished taking off Vesuvius' right arm. Czevak hadn't realised it until now - they had made a grave error - Lokithwé was a walking lethal weapon.
Lokithwé pulled the blade out from Vesuvius' skull, and the Astarte Marine's lifeless body slumped into the ground. Lokithwé walked toward the inquisitor, and smirked as he licked the blood off the blade.
"You are a monster!" Czevak screamed, but he knew Lokithwé didn't care.
"Now, now, Czevak, you don't need to be screaming you head off, it will do you no good at all. I have the fullest intention now of answering all your questions. You see, inquisitor, there is a man amongst your own who does not think too highly of you. Now, I've known for some time of the many holes and rivalries within the Inquisition - you say you operate as one 'For the Emperor's Soul' but you are divided along very distinct lines. It's sickening to me, but I'm making a profit off it. You see, Czevak, I will receive my highest payload to date for bringing you to death."
Czevak was in shock. "Who is paying you?"
"A man called Richenstien."
"Listen to me, alien," Czevak replied, "I will pay you exactly what he is paying you to kill me if you let me live. Furthermore, I shall pay you double if you kill Richenstien."
"I thought you where the type of man I could make a deal with, Czevak. You'll see the job done, but don't forget about this payment. I will come to collect my money when you least expect me."
Then, without a trace, Lokithwé was gone.
The next day, Czevak heard the news - Inquisitor Richenstien was dead.
(A warlock is a low-level pshcic, the path of the warrior is basically a form of combat like karate, and a pathfinder is a Sniper in an Eldar army.)
------------------------------ ----------------------------------------
By: maugin Ra.
From: Eldaronline.com fiction archive
------------------------------- ------------------------------------------
Capitan Vesuvius studied the prisoner through the observation window with uneasiness. The prisoner appeared uncannily calm and exuded a cocky confidence. Years of combat experience throughout the galaxy had given Vesuvius a sixth sense when it came to dealing with such a being, and he couldn't help but think it would have been better to kill this alien while he had the chance.
It was a fluke to have captured him at all. Vesuvius had been given a few hours of leisure time, and had been permitted to consume alcohol - a very rare opportunity for a Space Marine. Taking advantage of his free time, Vesuvius had gone to his favorite bar on Espandor for a drink, but he never expected to find the Eldar 'pathfinder' sitting a few seats from him, sipping on a tall, oxygenated water. Vesuvius had never seen this alien before, but he had seen his pictures many times at the offices of Inquisitor Czevak and there was a standing warrant out for his capture throughout the Imperium.
As soon as Vesuvius recognized the alien, he pulled out his bolt pistol, and fired at him, forgetting for a moment the orders not to severely injure the alien. However, the pathfinder had obviously seen him first, for the slug had found its way into the chest of the man sitting beside the alien. Immediately he raced out of the bar, in time to see the alien speeding away on an Eldar jet-bike.
Vesuvius had wasted no time in calling for a backup squadron of three pursuit vehicles. He didn't know the exact details of what had happened on the pursuit, but somehow the cunning pathfinder had outmaneuvered the pilots, causing them to crash into each other. The pathfinder himself was forced to land, as the last pursuit vehicle had managed to fire one heavy bolt-gun shell into the tail of the alien bike before crashing into pedestrian walkway. The alien had continued to flee on foot, taking advantage of the walkways and streets of the city to make some pot shots at the ground team. Miraculously, the squad had managed to hit him with two tranquilizer darts, which took immediate affect, and when Vesuvius reached him, the alien was already unconscious.
This all seemed too easy. They had only lost ten experienced Space Marines this time. It was quite a few men to lose for the capture of one alien, but the last time an attempt was made to capture him the alien had killed thirty men and had still gotten away. Vesuvius knew they would never get a chance like this one again to kill this malevolent criminal. In the previous 78 times in Imperial history the Inquisition had managed to capture this particular pathfinder, he had escaped without a trace within hours, even before they had a chance to question him.
Inquisitor Czevak, Vesuvius' superior, had an obsession with this one, and wanted him captured alive and able to speak, so he could personally interrogate him. The timing of the alien's capture could not have come at a better time for Czevak, as he had been losing his credibility in the Inquisition after a series of failures. To bring such an infamous Eldar criminal to justice would surely re-establish his power. Vesuvius could feel Czevak's excitement as he entered the observation room.
Vesuvius looked away from the prisoner to salute the Inquisitor. "Greetings, sir."
"At ease, Captain," began Czevak "There is no need for formalities here. What is the status of the prisoner? I trust you didn't beat him up too much."
"No sir. The prisoner is surprisingly well, but we have had no contact with him since he regained consciousness about two hours ago." Vesuvius reported, examining the Inquisitor. Czevak was a good foot shorter than Vesuvius, but that wasn't saying much, as Vesuvius, being one of the genetically altered Space Marines, stood a good seven and a half feet tall. Czevak was a strongly built man, but at over fifty years old, was out of his prime, and already balding. He had on the standard cloaks and robes of an Inquisitor, and was adorned with small trinkets, showing his devotion to the Emperor and proving his purity. Vesuvius noted his bolt pistol concealed under his cloak.
"We stripped him and confiscated his weapons - a modified Eldar sniper rifle, an Eldar 'shuriken' pistol, a bayonet, and several small knives." continued Vesuvius, "We have also removed any noticeable armor on the prisoner, including some sort of camouflaged cloak made of an unknown substance."
"Yes, very good. You and your men have done very well this time. I'm impressed, very impressed. You will be rewarded with a high ranking promotion," said Czevak as he moved over to the glass, peering down at the captive "He's silent, calm, and cool when he needs to be and he can find the best position to strike, always at the right angle. He already knows why he's here, and he's already thought of a million ways to escape- the epitome of the perfect assassin."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. The alien did not appear outwardly dangerous at first glance, but looked almost human to an uneducated person. Still, he was physically different from a human. The pathfinder would stand at least a head higher than the average human, and he had long, pointed ears that were almost covered by his long, wispy, platinum hair. He was very thin and fit, and his face, with its aquiline features was actually quite beautiful. He was a stunning looking being by human standards.
"Trust not in his appearance," he heard Czevak say, "For this thing is as utterly alien to good, honest men such as us, as any other of the vile races in the galaxy. He is calm and arrogant, and he appears on a world without any apparent cause but to create mayhem. We have never been able to understand his motives, but now he is in our grasp, and he has no way of escape now."
Vesuvius looked down at the pathfinder. He was staring at him, with a sinister, penetrating gaze. There's no way he could see me through the glass, is there? Vesuvius thought. The pathfinder nodded slightly at him, and turned away, chuckling to himself.
"Sir, I believe we should kill this alien now," said Vesuvius firmly.
"And lose the chance at gaining needed information about him and his entire people?" Czevak replied, "What reason could you possibly have for that?"
"I… I am not sure, sir, but there is a thought in the back of my head that there is more to this alien than we know… that we may be overlooking something."
"Do not speak such unfaithful words again, Captain Vesuvius! You are in no position to question the motives of the Inquisition! You have been given the honour to serve the Emperor as a Space Marine, and the further privilege of being assigned to the Deathwatch. You are to follow orders without question. Understood?"
"Yes sir. I apologize for my lack of faith."
"Very good, Vesuvius. Now, shall we proceed with the interrogation?"
The two men left the observation room, and began down the corridors of the prison, to the interrogation chamber on the level below. The prison itself was a dark, foreboding place. Many of the criminals being held would spend a lifetime here before they were ever tried, the original crime happening so many years ago it has been nearly forgotten. It was unavoidable, with such a huge human population in the galaxy; organization of such things had become increasingly difficult.
The interrogation room was very different from the rest of the prison. It was well lit compared to the other cells, and the walls were tiled in monochrome green. Vesuvius could see the slanted mirrors on the ceiling - behind them was the observation room where they had looked down on the pathfinder before. In the middle of the room, two rusted chairs sat at opposite ends of a small, metal table, which had been drilled into the floor. Tilted back in one of the chairs was the pathfinder.
Czevak rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Let us begin then, prisoner 5247. Captain Vesuvius, you may stand at ease."
"Yes sir."
The pathfinder came back to a normal sitting position. He glanced briefly at Vesuvius, but his eyes began to wander. The alien was clearly bored with the whole process; Vesuvius could see he wasn't paying attention as Czevak read out the inquisitional session doctrines.
"Now, alien, if you would please state your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin, if you belong to one." said Czevak after reading the doctrines.
"Cerkish, Inquisitor Czevak. Iem taluclu feon, im solerant mure uol, mon-keigh."
"Do not badger me in your own tongue, alien," Czevak snapped, "We are all aware that you are fully familiar with the Human Gothic language."
"You humans are so ignorant. We have taken the time from our lives to learn your language, yet you cannot find the time to learn even the smallest amount of ours."
"Ah, he can speak! Now then, why don't you tell us your name, rank, age, and Craftworld of origin?"
"Why bother with the formalities? Czevak, you know who I am and from whence I came."
"It is not your place to be questioning me, you are a captive here."
"I'll say and do as I please."
"You will do as I tell you, alien. Now tell me your origin, or I will have Captain Vesuvius force you to tell us."
"I'm sure the Captain would have great pleasure in that, wouldn't you?" the pathfinder replied to Vesuvius "I know you wanted to kill me, I could see it in your eyes the moment you came in this grim room. So why don't you make it easy for all of us, try and kill me. Sooner you do, the sooner I can leave and carry about my business."
Vesuvius opened his mouth to reply, but Czevak interrupted, "I can assure you, alien, that you will not leave these walls a free being. The research department of this prison can hardly wait to get their hands on you. They have never had the opportunity to dissect a live specimen like you. As long as I find you useful, you will be under my protection. So unless you wish for the latter, I suggest you start talking."
"I am known as Lokithwé Reialdar. The brat of the galaxy, as some call me. I'm a thorn in mankind's side. I'd say I was the scourge of the Imperium, but from what I've heard about your kind, one of your own has that title. But I'd say I'm more of a threat than that man. I can be anywhere I want, and no one is the wiser. He gets within a few light years of domestic space and you rise up a massive army. In my 2000 years of wandering, I've killed more important people than anyone else, or so I'm told."
"I am aware of your reputation throughout the Imperium," Czevak replied, "and I know you were banished from your Craftworld. Don't waste my time with information known to the entire galaxy. I want details about your childhood, your people, your training, your contacts, your associates, and your secrets..."
"I'm not sure of exactly how old I am. In human years, I am over three thousand years old. My story spans centuries. In fact, the first thousand years is lost in my memory. I can't even remember my parents, my family, or if I ever was a child. We Eldar are children for a very short time by our recalling, if we ever are children. All I can remember is exile. Banishment. Being abandoned…."
"As you already know, our race is in constant exile - I live an exile within an exile. We once controlled the universe, but we lost it all in a myriad of our own decadence. Now, we live on gigantic star ships, the Craftworlds."
"Whatever Craftworld I did come from, I am likely no longer welcome there, but I doubt they would even remember me, let alone believe I am still alive. I can remember, I had studied on the Path of the Warrior… but I forget exactly what aspect it really was. Later, I can remember I began to study as a warlock. There was something about controlling psychic energies that intrigued me. So I took it up, and was one of the best novice warlocks. There was another one, other than me, who had potential… his father was a Farseer on my Craftworld, so he felt he had to be the best one out of all of us."
"He was jealous of my talent, I suppose. We are disciplined to not let such emotions consume us, for it can lead to insanity and corruption. He challenged me to a duel of honour. While such events remain customary in our society, never before had one of us taken to it with such rage and fury. I remember that I drew first blood on him… it all should have ended there, but it didn't. We continued to fight, and eventually, I was fed up with the whole concept. I was going to knock him unconscious with a small psychic blast - it was the only thing that would do it in one shot without hurting him."
"I made it too strong, he was dead in seconds, electricity shattered his body. That was it; I could no longer stay on my Craftworld. I left the week after. I don't think anyone was there to see me off."
Czevak was captivated by the tale. "Now tell me, Lokithwé, where did you go from there?"
Lokithwé hesitated for a moment, and then replied, "I left on board my own ship, the Anastari, or the Raven. I visited several other Craftworlds, but none took me in. Instead, I was joined by several other outcasts. Some had chosen to leave on their own accord, others, like me, had been sent into exile."
"Then, for some time, we just drifted, and any time we found a Craftworld in need of assistance, we helped, every battle was a victory, every victory brought more skills and experiences. I re-built my long rifle constantly, trying to find the best way to work it. I learned new techniques, saw and faced death. Lost and have lost. Words cannot explain the pain I've felt over my years. I've seen so much death and defeat."
Lokithwé began to breath harder as he spoke, he began in a rant, "You can't afford to lose; there are no second chances. There is war everywhere in the galaxy. If you don't fight, if you don't win, you will die. Die and be forgotten. Just die. There are no second chances, no options. It is black and white and red all over. You will die if you don't win, you will live if you don't lose. It's as simple as that"
"I saw the look in the eyes of my best friend, as he lay on the ground, on some backwater death world, in a pool of his own blood, dying. I knew, as I looked into his grief-stricken face, that even if I could get to him, there was nothing…nothing I could do to save him."
"That is what my life has been for two thousand years. Two thousand years. You humans will never be able to experience that amount of pain and suffering. Why do we fight? Why do we devote our miserable lives to a constant battle, a battle that never ends? Simply because there is no avoiding it; it is our mission."
Czevak was skeptical of Lokithwé's testimony. "I can't believe what I am hearing. What about the pain of others? Is that not important to you? Do you not realize the amount of strife you have put people through?"
"I realize damn well the pain I have inflicted on others, but I'm just the middle man." Lokithwé snapped, "I get the job done. I am paid to do what I do. I don't do it for enjoyment - but that is an added bonus. I do because I must if I want to live. This world does not offer many choices; you can either be ground into the dirt or emerge a victor. Yet the paradox is, I no longer want to live, but I never want to die."
The inquisitor stood up, collecting himself. He rubbed his eyes, and began to move around Lokithwé, thinking to himself. Vesuvius was dumbstruck at what he had heard. He had never realized before that one of the alien Eldar could be so eloquent, so emotional, and in tune with his feelings. He had been told that the Eldar were unfeeling killers, they were capricious and fickle, and attacked without cause or warning. Yet from what he listened to silently, this one sounded almost human.
Czevak interrupted Vesuvius' thought, "So then, Lokithwé, you say you are the 'middle man'. Then that must mean you are here for a reason, and have been hired out by someone to do something. My question, is who has hired you, and why?"
"I knew you would ask me that, Czevak." Lokithwé smiled, cracking his knuckles. He looked at Vesuvius "You know, Captain, you were right, you should have killed me while you had the chance - but even then, you wouldn't have been able to do it."
Lokithwé's arm shot forward, and he spread out his long, delicate fingers. Before Czevak was able to respond, he heard a small crackle, like lightning, followed by a brilliant flash of light, which left him temporarily blinded. He heard screams coming from all around him, and the sounds of blades against metal. Glass shattered about him. He heard the sound of two bolter shots before a brief whine of pain.
When his sight returned, he retched at the scene laid out before him. The one-way mirrors, which had lined the ceiling, had all been broken, and Czevak could see the blood of the men in the observation room staining the walls. Then, to his horror, he saw Lokithwé, standing against Vesuvius. A pair of sleek, blue blades had appeared from nowhere out of the flesh beneath Lokithwé's arms. One of the blades had run its way straight though Vesuvius' head. The other blade had just finished taking off Vesuvius' right arm. Czevak hadn't realised it until now - they had made a grave error - Lokithwé was a walking lethal weapon.
Lokithwé pulled the blade out from Vesuvius' skull, and the Astarte Marine's lifeless body slumped into the ground. Lokithwé walked toward the inquisitor, and smirked as he licked the blood off the blade.
"You are a monster!" Czevak screamed, but he knew Lokithwé didn't care.
"Now, now, Czevak, you don't need to be screaming you head off, it will do you no good at all. I have the fullest intention now of answering all your questions. You see, inquisitor, there is a man amongst your own who does not think too highly of you. Now, I've known for some time of the many holes and rivalries within the Inquisition - you say you operate as one 'For the Emperor's Soul' but you are divided along very distinct lines. It's sickening to me, but I'm making a profit off it. You see, Czevak, I will receive my highest payload to date for bringing you to death."
Czevak was in shock. "Who is paying you?"
"A man called Richenstien."
"Listen to me, alien," Czevak replied, "I will pay you exactly what he is paying you to kill me if you let me live. Furthermore, I shall pay you double if you kill Richenstien."
"I thought you where the type of man I could make a deal with, Czevak. You'll see the job done, but don't forget about this payment. I will come to collect my money when you least expect me."
Then, without a trace, Lokithwé was gone.
The next day, Czevak heard the news - Inquisitor Richenstien was dead.
Very good. It's well written.
Although, I feel a link would have been more appropriate.
Someone might say something about word count.
But you see, you knew that already, didn't you.
Although, I feel a link would have been more appropriate.
Someone might say something about word count.
But you see, you knew that already, didn't you.
Azul wrote:
> Very good. It's well written.
>
> Although, I feel a link would have been more appropriate.
> Someone might say something about word count.
>
> But you see, you knew that already, didn't you.
http://www.eldaronline.com/fluff/fluffandfiction.shtml?
PHPSESSID=19d04388cfeeeebc8cdd0b7b23b7fb96
it counter balances the fact that I lost my original profile due to incompetence.
> Very good. It's well written.
>
> Although, I feel a link would have been more appropriate.
> Someone might say something about word count.
>
> But you see, you knew that already, didn't you.
http://www.eldaronline.com/fluff/fluffandfiction.shtml?
PHPSESSID=19d04388cfeeeebc8cdd0b7b23b7fb96
it counter balances the fact that I lost my original profile due to incompetence.