Elirom woke from his sleep, a shiver going down his spine - something that was nigh impossible for an Eldar, especially one such as him. He had woken from a dream, or rather, a vision. One where the fate of the Eldar -- no, the galaxy, rested upon the shoulders of two young mon'keigh!
This fact did not sit well within Elirom's soul. That two mere children would decide the fate of the galaxy. Nonetheless, he could not ignore his vision, and as such, he would bring it before the council on his craft world of Aurorum-III.
Entering the chamber, he bowed slowly before the elders, "I bring forth a vision, elders, one that concerns the fate of the galaxy." Elirom spoke in his native tongue.
"What do you bring us farseer?" One of the elders asked.
"I saw a vision. One where the warp consumed all, where the eye of terror expanded, and where she-who-thirsts sits atop a throne of soulstones."
The elders started to rise in an uproar, some arguing over where to strike first, and some arguing if they should leave the galaxy entirely.
"SILENCE!" The head elder commanded, both in voice and in mind.
The deafening quiet that fell over the council was all but instant, "What else is in your vision? Farseer?"
"The end of the galaxy, but perhaps, it's saviors." This made the Eldar mutter among themselves, before Elirom continued, "Two young mon'keigh, ones not of this, or any galaxy, torn from their time, from their home, brought here from forces beyond control."
This brought an even greater uproar than the last, as the various elders cried out at the thought of the Elder race in the hands of humans.
"How is this possible?" One asked.
"As I said, they do not belong to this galaxy. What they are capable of I am not sure. But I know that they are powerful, wise, and above all, honorable…"
[-----]
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?!" A young man yelled as he felt himself and his comrade being dragged through a portal.
The man in question was a tall, skinny, long brown haired twenty-year-old. He wore simple blue jeans and sneakers, with a plain black t-shirt with a pocket. On his belt, a pocket knife was clipped, but little else was visible on his person.
His comrade, who was also being pulled through the portal, was a short, skinny, short brown haired man with glasses, being around the same age as his companion. He wore blue jeans, with black and white striped running shoes, and wore a plain red shirt with a red hoodie-sweatshirt over it. He carried a backpack, filled with miscellaneous books and school supplies.
These two, were Michael and Jarod, respectively.
The two men fell through the reddish-brown portal for several minutes, before coming out the other end and flopping onto a hill covered in green grass, with a clear blue sky… and two full moons.
"Normally, I would criticize your language," Jarod said as the two of them got up off the ground, "but as of what just happened, I forgive you."
It was soon after Jarod made his comment, that they turned around to see that they were standing on the undamaged half of the valley they were in. The other half, which they were now facing, was covered in fire, blood, and human corpses.
"What. The. Actual. Crap." both said in unison.
There was very little life in the valley, but they heard the sounds of explosions in the distance, confirming that the battle was still going on, even if it was far from visible.
Michael quickly reached down to grab his knife, for what good it would do.
"What… what happened here?" Michael asked.
"A fight, obviously." Jarod retorted.
"Yeah, no duh, but who was fighting?"
The two of them wandered into the battlefield, leaving footprints in the ash. They came across a corpse rather quickly, it wore some kind of armor, but said armor was covered in burn marks. His eyes wide open, frozen in fear. Michael reached down and closed the soldier's eyes. Reaching elsewhere on the body, he found an emblem on the pauldron.
Shocked at what he was seeing, he turned to his friend, "Hey Jarod, do you recognize this?" Michael asked, lifting the emblem into view.
Eyes jumping out of their sockets, Jarod could not believe what he was seeing, "Ah, Hell. I'm gonna go drink heavily and bang my head against a wall in a very safe corner, where I can hide. See you in five thousand years." Jarod responded, turning around and taking a few steps in a random direction.
The emblem in question was a golden eagle. The Imperial Aquila. The symbol of the Imperium of man.
The corpse's eyes suddenly opened, and the man gasped for air, grabbing the base of his neck, panicked.
"HOLY-!!!" Both Michael and Jarod cried out in surprise, Jarod slipping on a fallen pistol laying in the ash.
The man's gasping slowed, and he felt his torso and arms, "Dude, are you ok!?" Michael asked. The soldier looked. From his own body to the two standing over him.
"Wha… who are you? Where are we?" He asked.
As Jarod got up and dusted himself off, he and Michael exchanged looks, before turning back to the soldier, "I'm Michael, and this is Jarod, as for where we are… we have no idea." Michael answered.
The soldier closed his eyes and put his hand on his face, trying to figure out what was going on.
"You ok dude?" Jarod asked.
The man opened his eyes again, before glancing up at the two, "I believe so. Though, I don't know how well I could stand." He answered.
Michael offered a hand, which the soldier gladly accepted. Heaving him up, the soldier stumbled, with Michael grabbing onto him, helping him balance.
"Th-thank you." The soldier said, "As you have told me your names, I believe I should tell you mine. I am Richard, of Talos-III." He explained.
"Well Richard of Talos-III, thanks for introducing yourself." Jarod thanked him, "Now, how much do you remember? 'Cause right now, we're standing in a corpse field."
Richard's eyes widened before he looked around at the scenery around him. Scorched husks of vehicles, blacked human bodies, and collapsed structures, "Oh Emperor…"
"I… I remember we were stationed here… to defend… I don't remember, we were supposed to defend, but what we were defending and were defending it from I cannot remember." He explained.
"Well, I'm pretty sure whatever you were defending, probably isn't worth defending at this point." Jarod stated.
Richard nodded dumbly, before continuing, "We had set up defenses around whatever it was when we were attacked by daemons and cultists. I don't remember how long it was, but It seemed I… passed out." He finished.
"I don't know if passed out would accurately describe it, my friend, your eyes were wide open, and you weren't breathing." Michael explained.
Richards eyes widened, as he thought about it, but said little.
"In any case, there's still fighting going on." Jarod explained, "So more than likely, your regiments probably still around."
Richard nodded, "I believe I may be able to stand now." He quickly stood up, after leaning on Michael for support, "In any case. We should get to my regiment. I don't know why you civilians are here, but I appreciate the help."
Michael and Jarod glanced at each other, "Civilians… right." Jarod answered.
Richard began to feel around on his person, before asking, "Would either of you know where my lasgun went?" He asked sheepishly.
Michael rolled his eyes, "We might as well loot the corpses, they're not going anywhere." He suggested.
"Agreed." Jarod stated.
Richard raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he thought of his saviors suggestion, but in the end, he agreed. The three of them scoured the battlefield, with Michael and Jarod finding and equipping some fairly undamaged flak armor.
"Isn't this stuff useless?" Michael inquired.
"Yeah, but it'll take one, maybe two las-rounds before you get killed." Jarod responded.
They also picked up several lasguns, as well as several filled batteries. They also found a couple of las-pistols, which they gladly equipped along with the rest of their gear. Jarod still wore his backpack, and when asked about it by Richard, he simply said it had "essential materials" in it.
"As much as I loathe to admit it, we look awesome in this gear," Michael commented.
This brought a laugh from the other two, temporarily distracting them from the death and destruction around them. Soon after they finished equipping, (read: looting dead bodies) they headed toward the sounds of explosions and las-fire.
It took them several minutes for them to even see what they would be fighting, but when they did see it, it made their stomachs churn. Among the massive hoard of cultists, was a giant mass of tentacles and teeth. A daemon.
"Well, crud." was the collective response of the three humans. Jarod, in a move of self-preservation, tried to run in the opposite direction. Richard tried to charge towards the daemon, ready to scream 'THE EMPEROR PROTECTS' before getting eaten by the daemon. Michael grabs both of them by the collars, keeping them from doing either. Both turned around to look at him, Jarod looked at him with a face that read 'WTF' and Richard looked like he was ready to blow his head off. And considering he had aimed his lasgun at him, he probably wasn't far from doing so.
"Look, I know what both of you are going to do. Jarod, we're in the Imperium. Now is not the time to use common sense," Michael explained, "And Richard, don't go getting yourself killed. I need your blood to stay in your body."
Jarod grumbled, "it isn't common sense… it's instinct." Quickly muttering 'traitor' under his breath.
Richard growled, but was otherwise compliant, "Then what would you suggest we do?" He asked.
Michael smiled.
[-----]
This was quite possibly, the worst idea, of all time… was what Richard was thinking. Jarod was fairly complacent, as the plan was rather tame coming from someone in Michael's family, and even more so considering they were in the 41st millennium.
The plan was thus: part one; get into friendly lines, part two; rig up some kind of explosive, part three; toss said explosive, hope it blows up the daemon. Fairly simple plan, with a hopefully simple outcome.
Part one was what they were currently doing, and was quite possibly the most difficult part. Crouching next to a nearly destroyed wall, they moved as fast as possible. A stray las bolt would hit near them now and again, but at least they weren't under tank fire.
"Do either of you have any idea if this plan will even work?!" Richard whisper-yelled as he stepped over a heretics corpse.
"Nope. But if it doesn't, we're screwed." Jarod answered.
"I thank both of you for your confidence in my abilities." Michael snarked back.
Before they reached the edge of the building, a hand reached up from the ground and grabbed Michael's ankle, causing the three of them to fire their weapons upon the one that the hand was attached to. Once they were finished, they saw the… admittedly very burnt, corpse.
"We really need to be more careful…" Jarod remarked in an exhausted tone.
The three companions reached the edge of the building quite quickly after that endeavor and saw that the friendly lines were not far only a few hundred feet. There was one tiny problem though.
"There's absolutely no cover!" Jarod stated, "It's a no man's land! The second we go out there, we get shot by our guys, or we get shot by the guys shooting at them."
The no man's land in question was flooded with las-fire and corpses, with heretics firing on the guardsmen. There were a number of explosions going off, some landing uncomfortably close to their position.
"We're going to die out here…" Richard said pessimistically.
"No, no we're not." Michael assured him, scanning the field, "Look, we've got a straight shot, if we book it and run, screaming 'for the emperor' or whatever, we can probably keep from getting shot by our own guys."
When Jarod and Richard looked themselves, they saw that he was right. There was virtually nothing between them, and the friendly lines. However, there were plenty of heretics firing upon and charging friendly lines, which might complicate things.
"Fine, we'll commit suicide." Jarod snarked.
On the count of three, they breached their cover, all screaming 'FOR THE EMPEROR' as they crossed the distance. One hundred meters, a cultist jumped up in their path, before getting shot by someone from friendly lines.
Fifty meters, a pair of cultists reached and grabbed Jarod's feet, tripping him. They were soon shot by Michael and Richard, steaming holes being left in their heads.
Twenty meters, a tank shell went off next to them, showering them with dirt and blood.
Ten meters, the friendlies open relentless fire behind them, where several cultists were chasing them.
Five meters, a las-round nocked Michaels helmet off of his head, which he promptly ignored, choosing to keep running.
One meter, each of them dives into the trenches, narrowly avoiding the shrapnel from a grenade explosion.
"HECK YEAH!" Jarod screamed as he pressed his back against the trench wall, "We made it!"
"PRIVATE!" A voice yelled. Turning to look at the voice, the three saw a commissar, wearing a cap and holding a sword in his hand stomping towards them.
"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING BEHIND ENEMY LINES!?!?!" The man yelled as he stood over Richards form, which seemed much smaller in comparison.
"Sir! I was incapacitated, these civilians brought me back, Sir!" Richard responded timidly.
The commissar turned his attention to Jarod, who was leaning against the wall of the trench, "And what the flying frakk are CIVILIANS doing in a WAR ZONE!?" He yelled.
Jarod responded quickly, not wanting to anger an already irritated commissar "I have no idea, one minute, I was walk-"
The commissar pointed his bolt-pistol at Jarod's head, interrupting him, "I DON'T GIVE TWO FRAKK'S ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING BEFORE! I WANT-" the commissar quickly went silent, when someone hit him in the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. When he fell to the ground, everyone in the area saw Michael standing over his crumpled and snoring form, holding his lasgun by the barrel, after slamming the butt of it into the commissar's head.
Looking around, Michael shrugged, "What? he was going to shoot my friend." He said, explaining his fairly simple logic.
Richard just stared dumbly at his companions, being so nonchalant about having just knocked a commissar unconscious!
"What in the name of the Emperor! Do you realize what you just did?!" Richard chastised Michael.
Michael once again, shrugged, "I hit a commissar in the back of the head with my lasgun, keeping him from shooting my friend."
Richard stood there, jaw looking like it was about to fall off.
"Hey Michael, have you looked at the battery packs for these things?" Jarod asked, ignoring Richard.
"No, why?"
"Look at this," Jarod said as he pointed to the side of a new battery pack, which had two switches on it. Both switches were set to the middle, where it was marked with a + and - symbols. Either side of the switch where pairs of the symbols. Jarod flipped one switch to the ++ side, and the other to the -- side. Once he did that, the power pack started to hum slightly.
Putting the pack into his lasgun, he poked up over the edge of the trench and took aim at a cultist who was charging their lines. Pulling the trigger, the following beam of white light slammed into the cultist, punching a hole completely through his body, which dropped to the ground immediately after.
"Holy crap! Why isn't everyone using these packs!?" Jarod exclaimed as he ducked back into cover.
The daemon from further down the line interrupted any further thought, as it tore through a tank, the resounding explosion killing many of the guardsmen fighting it.
"Great." Michael muttered as he looked at the fleshy mass, "Richard, grenade, Jarod, get me some power cells, and someone find me some duct tape!" He ordered.
[-----]
What was his name… Jacob maybe? Not like it mattered, as a follower of Grandfather Nurgle, names were unimportant. He threw another rock, hoping to hit one the cursed imperials. The rock landed with a resounding 'thunk' as the guardsmen he hit cursed loudly.
Jacob laughed, knowing that he'd hit his target. But, before he could do much more, one of the other servants charged, before getting a fist-sized hole torn into his chest by a beam of fiery white light. The servant fell to the ground, never to move again.
What weapons were the imperial scum using now!? Surely a las-gun couldn't be that powerful.
But soon, more and more of the shots taken at his fellow servants were of this new white light. Had the found a way to upgrade their weapons? Mid-battle no less?
Ignoring the deaths of the other servants, he snuck his way down the line, trying to get closer to Nurgle's daemon, as, at that point, he would have a better chance of survival. Even considering that the daemon tended to eat servants from time to time, in order for it to gain mass.
His crouched walk was slow but constant. Staying behind cover, and ignoring the screams of agony of his fellow servants, he finally reached his objective: the lesser daemon. Despite their prayers, Nurgle had only provided a lesser daemon for them to sic onto the imperials.
Nevertheless, Jacob watched in awe as the mass of flesh, teeth, and bone tore through the imperial lines. It made him giddy with excitement. What he failed to notice, however, was one of the imperial guardsmen, a man wearing no helmet, climbed over the edge of the trench, dangerously close to the daemon. The man held a strange device in his hand, which looked lick a mass of duct tape wrapped around a stick and a grenade. Pulling the pin from the grenade, he threw it as hard as he dared before diving back into the trench.
The lesser daemon saw this strange lump flying at it, and opened its mouth and ate it. The imperial lines went near silent, as they saw the creature consume the device.
What followed, was a massive display of fire, gore, and blood as the grenade went off inside the daemon, tearing it apart from the inside out. Jacob and his fellow servants were stunned but had very little time to ponder the fact that they had just lost their biggest advantage against the Imperials, as the guardsmen cheered, climbing up and over the trench wall and letting loose their weapons, killing cultists en-mass.
Jacobs smile fled from his face long before this, however, as a stray las-bolt had just so happened to destroy his jaw.
Oh, what a terrible day for the followers of Nurgle.
[-----]
Tzeentch was… ecstatic! It had worked! His plan, having been set in motion for millennia, had finally bore fruit! Having set detail after detail into place, and having worked so greatly, he had finally accomplished his ultimate goal…
… the PERFECT Ham sandwich!
He was dead serious too. Before him laid, on a plate of pure wraithbone, two perfect slices of white bread, baked in a gas giants core. One slice of 5mm thick ham, down to the molecular level, warmed and toasted to perfection. One square slice of cheese, aged since the time before the humans corpse god. Lettuce harvested at the perfect nano-second, the perfect tint of green. Mayonnaise, made from the most precious vegetable oil in the galaxy.
Picking the sandwich up in his hands, he bit into it, tasting the pure perfection. Oh, and then there were the two humans he'd dragged from the past.
The two humans interested him, and while he ate his meal, he wondered what kind of adventures the two might embark on. He had finished soon after, the delicious meal now gone from existence.
Turning away from the wraithbone plate, he gazed into a crystal ball and viewed what the two were doing. Perhaps they had gotten killed by some commissar, or had- wait did they actually kill one of Nurgle's abominations?!
Tzeentch did a double take on what he was seeing. These two humans, from almost forty thousand years in the past, had somehow killed one of Nurgle's creations. Oh, he was interested now.
What would these two have in store for the Imperium of man?
[-----]
*click click click*
"Hey, what year is it?" Michael asked Richard. Michael was currently typing away at a dataslate while sitting on his bunk wearing a white t-shirt and cargo pants.
Richard raised an eyebrow, "Do they not use the same dating system on this planet as the rest of the Imperium?" He asked, looking up from his book.
Michael laughed embarrassingly while scratching the back of his head, "They did, but the civilians also used their own system, soooo…."
"Huh… well, it's currently the year 985.M41, April 1st to be exact." Richard explained.
Michael looked up from the slate, and gave Jarod, who was sitting across the room, a very… fearful? Look.
Jarod proceeded to sigh and reach under his bunk, and pulled out a bottle of Rozvod, and began chugging it.
Richard looked at the two of them quizzically. Sure their situation wasn't the best, but he personally wouldn't blame them for being fearful if their situation. The life expectancy of a guardsman wasn't exactly very long.
"Relax, stick with your squad and commander and you'll be fine." Richard assured them.
Michael and Jarod both dropped their distractions and glared and him, "Would that be how you ended up in the middle of the battlefield, half dead?" Michael asked.
Richard sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, even if they followed orders and didn't do anything wrong, they may very well find themselves on the wrong end of a las-gun.
"Personal experiences notwithstanding, just don't be stupid and follow the imperial codex and you will have the best chance of surviving." He explained before laying back on his bunk.
He heard a chuckle, and then two sets of full-blown laughter. Getting back up, he spotted both the new recruits laughing their rear ends off!
"What in the Emperor's name is so funny?!" Richard asked, quite bemused.
"The… the imperial codex… says to stab… to stab an Ork twelve times in the throat to make sure its dead…" Michael said between bouts of laughter, "Sorry, but I'm not getting close enough to stab an Ork I'm not 100% sure is dead, thank you very much."
Jarod held one finger towards the ceiling, "I concur, I would much rather keep my blood on the inside of my body."
Richard took in their bouts and insults to the imperial codex quite calmly… on the outside at least. On the inside, his brain was going haywire, trying to figure out why the two of them would openly insult the imperial codex, and if they did indeed know if such an order was in it.
He spent the rest of the day looking through the codex, and found that the more he read, the less sense it made. He even found the entry the two were referencing. He was bewildered at the overwhelming stupidity of the book, and wondered why he had thought it would help him during training… perhaps it was him having never been in a combat situation, and now that he had, he could see the folly if such a book.
He had woken up that morning believing that his life could only be as useful as the materials he was given. He went to bed that night being uncertain of his beliefs. Emperor help him.
[-----]
With the days passing by, Michael and Jarod adjusted fairly well to guardsmen life. The Chaos cultists had been beaten back, and with the lesser daemon of Nurgle being banished back to the warp, the moral of the cultists had been at an all-time low.
For the Imperial Guardsmen, the reverse was true. The weapons of the soldiers had been upgraded to the extreme thanks to the two civilians who had been recruited into their ranks. The one known as Jarod had managed to give the lasgun power cells an upgrade, making each shot worth a hundred of the previous versions.
Not only that, but Michael had managed to show them improvised weaponry, making grenades, traps, and even makeshift guns out of every-day supplies.
Soon, the days turned into weeks. With the guard regiment finally being able to wipe out the Nurgle cultists.
"About time we get shipped out! How long have we been on this planet now?" Michael asked.
Richard huffed, "It's been three weeks since you joined up, but it's been about two months since we were stationed here." He explained.
Michael hummed, wondering where they would go next.
Before they could get their orders, however, the group spotted a large transport flying down to the landing pad that had been set up. Curious, the three headed to see what exactly was going on.
When they reached the landing pad, they saw an older man walking out of the transport, followed by a handful of older guardsmen. The old man was soon confronted by a commissar that had not been knocked unconscious by Michael.
"I see you have yet to leave, that's good." The older man remarked to the commissar.
"With all due respect my lord, what is a rogue trader doing this far within the Imperium's borders?" The commissar asked, ignoring the comment.
The old man raised an eyebrow, "Well, to be specific I was going to head to one of the recruitment planets to reinforce my regiments, but with you here…" the old man grinned, "I do believe I will take two thousand five hundred and three of your finest men. All volunteers of course."
The commissar growled at the demand, "Absolutely not, We are short on men as is, and-
"We volunteer!" Two voices interrupted the commissar. The commissar turned to look at the two voices, finding the two civilians dragging along one of his men.
The older smiled with glee, "See? I have three volunteers already! Just two thousand five hundred to go." He said with a laugh.
The commissar grumbled, "Fine, I will get you your men." he said before walking off.
The old man continued to smile, before turning to his three volunteers and gesturing for them to come over, "Please! Come introduce yourselves! We'll be spending a great deal of time together after all." He said.
Jarod and Michael smiled, while Richard seemed complacent, "I'm Michael, and this is my partner Jarod, we'd be honored to be part of your crew!" Michael introduced.
The man turned to Richard, the young man looking up slightly, "I'm just here by proxy, they saved my life, and I'm kind of stuck with them as is. Might as well make sure they don't kill themselves." Richard explained.
"Well, I am glad to have you. As the first of the volunteers, you three shall be part of the first regiment, aboard my personal vessel, the Emperors Boot." He said with a smile.
Jarod held a bit of laughter in at hearing the ships name, but otherwise, the two interdimensional travelers beamed with pride. Well, not so much pride as gratefulness that their life expectancies basically doubled.