NationStates Jolt Archive

((It should go without saying that this is Ultra Uber Secret, and open only to myself and C'tan. Tag if you like, but don't use this knowledge ICly until it becomes apparent.))

A single shooting star breaks the quiet of the dimness, briefly turning night to day. A boom trembles earth and buildings in the wake of the burning object. Then the fire dies, and the boom fades, as the object slows to a more reasonable speed.

The shuttle descends, riding silent gravitic thrusters down through the cloud cover, to the firmament of Earth. Under the cover of night, it's just a black blotch, an emptiness in the starfield.

It is sublimely graceful as it touches down; first one leg lands, then a second, and the third, like an insect lighting upon a twig. It hisses and ticks with the heat of its passage through the upper atmosphere.

Slowly, figures emerge from the shuttle. A host of incubi, and the Incubus-Archon himself, move through the darkness towards their destination: a heavy door in the side of a mountain. The home of an Yngir.

"Deceiver... Mephet'ran... I'm here. We have much to discuss."

Taggy for reasons I need not explain.

The arrival was noted, catalogued, and checked. Deep in the mountain, preparations were made. Thirteen organic creatures were aboard, eldar of the 'dark' faction. They all left the shuttle they had landed on. Arcane machineries were engaged in the mountain. The vehicle faded from view, and re-appeared in one of the many cavernous spaces in the mountain.

The door was little more than a carving really. One could open it, and see simple rock on the far side. The carvings of the door seemed to move, eerily watching the interlopers. The image of a human skull stared at the leader of the eldar, "Enter," it commanded, and the door seemed to dissolve, becoming a solid block of obsidian, along which a green seemed to flow like a liquid, splashing and rippling with a life of its own.

The dark warriors slip into the green portal without hesitation or fear. If Mephet'ran intended to betray them, they were already dead anyway. Within, they wait patiently for sign or guide. They do not speak, even in nervous chatter, so well are they trained and disciplined in the ancient Eldar arts of war.

The portal closed behind the eldar.

The room beyond was light, marble pillars and ivory panelling covering the wall. It must have been at least fifty meters in height, artificial windows showing a beautiful holographic sky outside. The room was lined with life-sized statues of humanoid figures, the statues seemingly carved from some strange ceramic material. There were several arched doorways containing carved doors, etched in gold, leading off from the entrance hall.

The gentle tap of metal on stone could be heard from beyond one, which seemed to break into a dozen pieces and slide into the walls. Beyond it stood a tall figure, almost eight feet in height made of gleaming black metal, shrouded in a gleaming gold cloak, beneath which the distinctive shape of a sword was visible, about its shoulders was an ivory breastplate, upon which was the golden icon of the yngir. On its head was a golden crown, and numerous golden leads and connections studded the back of its skull-like head. It stepped forward, its tread silent, the only sound of its motion the butt of the staff it carried hitting the floor.

The door closed behind it, and the machine-creature, a Necron lord of the highest rank, looked over the dark eldar, slowly and deliberately. Its mouth clicked open and it spoke in a voice that was perfect and emotionless, "I am the Lord-Lieutenant of this place, you are Archon Rath. What do you wish to discuss with my master?"

Rath stands like a black blot in the glowing light of the chamber, his sweeping and bladed armor decorated with many silvered and corrupted eldar runes, speaking of the glory of destruction, the sweet taste of pain upon a soul. Similarly, his Punisher, N'wah Man, is a masterfully crafted version of the Punishes wielded by the lesser incubi. It seems almost alive, and moans from time to time in either agony or ecstacy, or perhaps both.

He takes a step towards the Necron lord, to salute with the soul-weapon. "I have come to speak with the Jackal God," he says in his own tongue, his words unfiltered by the artifices used to interact with the lesser races. "The Messenger is in posession of one of his kin, a stargod whose interests also interest me. I have come to bargain for the fate of the Nightbringer, that we may all find profit in the lesser stargod's disposition."