986.M41: The Emperor's Boot
The first thing Jarod noticed was the distinct air of apprehension from everyone he passed. People tensed up whenever he walked past, turned a corner to avoid him, or just outright turned around and ran off. Had they been Eldar this wouldn't have been strange, but the crew of the Emperor's Boot? He'd spent months with them!
Finally, he ran into Matthias, "Oh thank goodness, Matthias, do you know why everyone's acting so strangely around me?" He asked.
Matthias looked up from his data-slate and sighed, "I assume you haven't heard the news then?" He asked.
"What news?" Jarod asked worriedly.
"I am afraid that Captain Robert has succumbed to his sickness. He has days at most to live if that." He explained somberly, "I will admit I am surprised that you were not aware, you are his Heir after all."
Jarod blinked. His suspicions were right it seemed, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing, "I assume he's in the medical ward?" He asked with a grimace.
Matthias nodded, with Jarod heading off. The way toward the medical ward was eerily quiet until he entered the room. It was still quiet, but the steady beep of medical equipment and the chatter of nurses traveled through the air.
His eyes instantly locked onto the sleeping form of the Rogue Trader, hooked up to a bunch of medical devices that were presumably keeping him alive.
He walked over to the nurse standing by his bed and asked, "How long has he been like this?"
"Almost a week now. The experts said he had years, but going on what our scans have told us, he has days at most. It's a miracle he's lasted this long." She explained.
Jarod nodded. Thinking on what Elirom had been training him to do -- and keeping in mind exactly what he had told him NOT to do, -- he reached out with his mind to look into Roberts. At first, nothing happened. He felt the calm of a sleeping man's mind before he soon found himself drawn into the Rogue Traders mind.
He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was an explosion
"OH S-" His voice was cut off by the sound of an artillery shell going off in front of him. He was surprised when the fire, shrapnel, and dirt simply passed through him.
Jarod blinked, before looking around at the battlefield around him. Remembering that he was using his psychic ability to see into Robert's mind, he figured it was just what he was dreaming about. Not exactly comforting.
Walking around for a bit, he realized what exactly was going on. An Imperial Guard regiment was retreating, under attack by Necrons. He figured it was probably a part of Roberts past, and after spotting said Rogue Trader, his suspicions were confirmed. The man was a lot younger, Jarod noticed and didn't even have grey hair yet.
Robert looked around, ordering his men around and shouting until he and Jarod locked eyes. Robert blinked, and the world around them froze. He quickly aged up, his body and face going back to the older, obviously weaker form he was in the present.
"I suppose I'm in the medical ward then… heh, I guess that means you know my 'secret' as well." He commented, slowly walking towards Jarod.
"It seems so." Jarod shot back. Looking around at the battlefield, he asked: "So when did this happen?"
Robert sighed, "Years ago. I was younger, brash, I didn't really know what I was doing. We didn't know what the Necrons at that point, not that we really needed to. As you can see, we were woefully unprepared. They slaughtered us in droves, killed hundreds of my men, and I doubt they even lost one of their own," He explained, "I haven't fought them since, and I'm glad for that."
Jarod nodded, "Makes sense. The things are deadly, being able to regenerate and all. On another note, why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked.
"I will be frank with you Jarod, I thought I had another decade at least. I had hoped to train you during that time, show you what I could, and point you in the right direction. Then, when I felt the time would be right, I would tell you." He explained, "Though it seems our timetable has been driven forward."
"Why me?"
Robert looked up to Jarod, eyebrow raised in an inquisitive look, "What do you mean?"
"You chose me to be your heir, out of all the people you know, you chose someone who had only known you for a month at best. So, why me?" Jarod asked.
Robert chuckled, but that chuckle soon turned into full-blown laughter, "Because you can think!" He said with a massive grin, "Because you look at the world around you not in the way it is, but as you wish it to be. You deny your enemies any form of logical response, you make use of the unorthodox and the unusual. You and Michael are some of the most unique people I have ever met, and I do not in the slightest regret taking you as part of my crew!"
"I will say that I had a difficult time choosing between yourself and Michael, but seeing as you have more strategic experience, it was clear that you were the… not better choice, but more applicable one." He explained.
"I suppose that makes sense. Thanks, by the way." Jarod noted.
Robert grinned, "Your welcome. I only regret that I will not live to see you truly live up to your potential."
Jarod smiled sadly, "Well, at least you gave me the chance. That's more than I could say for the majority of the Imperium."
[-----]
986.M41: Orbit of Cellos VI
"General!" The trooper saluted General Gaz, standing at attention.
"Trooper, report. What does the surface look like?"
"Three tomb entrances, sir. The locals report noises and glowing lights coming from them, though none of the Xenos have attempted an attack."
The General nodded and dismissed the trooper, turning his attention to his dataslate. He frowned as he remembered the briefing the main commanders had been given before. Twelve full regiments had been sent to the planet of Cellos VI to deal with reports of Necron activity. At first, he had simply groaned at the prospect of fighting the accursed Xenos, but any complaints he had were silenced before he had spoken them when the Inquisitor arrived.
Inquisitor Karev of the Ordo Xenos, the one responsible for bringing more attention to the Necrons on the planet.
The Inquisitor had said that they had been given reliable information about their enemies, including numbers, their strength of arms, and terrain, but Gaz didn't put much trust in the man's word. He knew that there were Necrons on the planet, but he did his best to prepare for the worst.
The plan was relatively simple: Three regiments would assault each tomb entrance, with the remaining three acting as reserve and reinforcements. They expected resistance, and with the Inquisitor's information, they trusted that they would be able to deal with it.
Once an entrance was taken, they would move in and destroy the internal structure, collapsing the tomb in on itself. The campaign was expected to take a total of three months at the longest, and only a month if everything went well. Personally, Gaz expected it to take four or five, if they were lucky.
They had arrived in-system a week prior, and each regiment had sent out their own scouts, with each reporting back the same information. Three entrances with a bunch of activity, none of which was visible.
Their troops would land on the surface tomorrow, and the campaign would begin the day after that. If all went well, they would be home before the end of the year.
[-----]
"Everyone hold!" Someone yelled as an explosion rocked the earth beneath them. The guardsmen crawled forwards, trying their best to avoid the bombardment the Necrons had been sending their way.
Green beams of energy lanced overhead, vaporizing anyone that made themselves visible. They were lucky that the Xenos had taken up a primarily defensive position, only attacking when provoked or when a clear weakness was shown. Still, the grueling assault moved forward, inch by bloody inch.
Their initial assault on the tombs was unusually successful, with the teams sent in meeting little or no resistance. Everything went sideways when one idiot decided to press a button, waking every single Necron on the planet. It turned out that there were actually a lot more Necrons on the planet than the Inquisitor thought, including another two entrances to tombs.
The only reason they knew about the other two entrances was due to the fact that the reserved forces had apparently been sitting on one that had been covered up by a mudslide. When the Necrons woke up, they destroyed nearly half of the reserve forces and put the rest of them on the back foot.
Needless to say, nothing was going to plan.
"General! The left flank is requesting to move forward!" The vox caster reported.
Gaz cursed under his breath, "Tell them to hold their position. They won't stand a chance without reinforcements!" He ordered.
The Guard was hard-pressed to move forward, the Inquisitor still insisting that they could somehow salvage the mission. Gaz knew as well as everyone else that was a load of grox sh-
An explosion sent the men a few meters away flying into the air, none of them in one piece. Several guardsmen sent a few lasbolts in the direction of the offending artillery, only to be cut down by the Necron weaponry.
"Keep your heads down! You're no good to the Emperor dead!" Gaz shouted, trying to keep as many of his men alive as possible.
If he were to guess, his regiment wouldn't survive this campaign. Too many men were dying already, and the casualties weren't slowing down.
Gaz turned to the vox caster, "Get the Inquisitor on the vox! Tell him we're falling back!" He ordered.
The vox caster nodded, bringing the vox to his ear. In the meantime, Gaz started shouting to fall back. No retreat, such a thing was unacceptable, but they would fall back to a more defensive position. Maybe they could set up some artillery, deal with the Necron defenses that way.
The men started crawling backward, with the artillery slowing down and fewer men losing any limbs. Gaz dropped down into a trench, leaning against the wooden wall. He sighed, taking out a lho stick and lighting it, just to calm his nerves. Letting out a breath of smoke, he watched as more of his men dropped into the trench, dodging enemy fire as much as they could.
One man tried to jump into the trench, but one of the Necrons atomized his head, the rest of the body falling into the trench. A couple of men came over and looted the power packs from the corpse, before chucking the body up and over the edge of the trench. Wasn't like the poor guy would be using them anymore.
Gaz moved over to the vox caster, who was still chattering on the vox, "Gotten hold of the Inquisitor yet?" He asked.
The trooper held up a hand, silently telling the General to wait a moment. He said a few more words to the person on the other end of the vox, before turning to the General.
"The Inquisitor wants us to keep moving forward, he says if we keep doing so we'll be done by the end of the month." The man said, "Permission to speak freely sir?"
Gaz nodded, "Go ahead trooper."
"That Inquisitors full of grox manure."
Gaz chuckled, "That he is. Just don't say it straight to his face." he frowned, "Tell the rest of the regiment to hold where they are, we'll figure out what to do tomorrow."
[-----]
The Farseer watched the battle emotionlessly. She was glad that her people did not have to deal with the Necrons directly, though she did wish that the Inquisitor was a bit less brutish. Getting him to deal with their ancient enemy was not difficult, but getting him to do it intelligently was another matter.
She would move forward with the rest of her plan soon, but first, she had to contact one of her kin, one from her craftworld. There were only so many Farseers per craftworld, and it was rare that they cooperate on something as minor as getting the Mon'keigh to deal with the Necrons, but she felt as though her mentor would be able to give her some advice on interpreting her visions more accurately.
She had seen the Mon'keigh fighting the Necrons, and she had seen her people getting heavily involved, but she still was not sure why the Mon'keigh had been as prevalent in the visions as they had been.
Regardless, she opened up communication between herself and Elirom. Perhaps he would know, he was older than her after all.
Fortunately, it seemed that he was unoccupied.
"Ah! Tasiel, it is good to speak with you again." Elirom noted.
"Likewise, Elirom. Though I regret to say that I do not call to simply talk."
Elirom sighed, "Such is the way of things I suppose. Where are you? What have you found?"
"I am on the Mon'keigh planet Cellos VI, where an Inquisitor has decided to take care of the Necrons in our stead," she explained.
"And how did he come to that conclusion? Prodding from an unseen shadow perhaps? Or was it a more direct approach?"
"The man was more than easy to manipulate. His kind always are." She trailed off.
"And yet you are contacting me of all people. What has gone wrong?"
Tasiel sighed, "My visions were incorrect, the Necrons had a far stronger presence than I had foreseen, and because of that, the Mon'keigh will not be able to prevent our ancient enemy from making there move on us. It is strange though, as my vision predicted there would be at least one more ship… and several thousand more soldiers."
Elirom went quiet for a few moments before speaking, "... Would more Humans mean more chance of success or failure?"
"Success of course! They are the ones to drive the Necrons back. Without them, we would have to deal with them ourselves." She said indignantly.
"Tasiel… no, nevermind. I believe I know what your vision meant, so please stay where you are. Make sure that the Humans do not break themselves against the Necrons, I will be coming to the planet myself."
Tasiel blinked in surprise, "What? Why would you come here? What purpose would it serve?" She asked.
Elirom smiled, "I do believe I know the ship you saw in your vision."
[-----]
Michael sighed as he sat down next to the very clearly drunk Jarod. The interdimensional traveler poured another shot of liquor, before downing it in one go.
"You really shouldn't be drinking this much," Michael commented.
"An' the bast'rd went 'n died on me. Made me cap'n of tha' ship, too." Jarod slurred, "What'm I 'uspossed ta' do now?"
"I don't know. I mean, yeah, you've got what amounts to unlimited power outside the Imperium, good relations to the Eldar, and who knows what kinds of psychic ability. Realistically, I'm not the best person to ask."
Jarod sighed, downing another shot. The two sat in silence, before Jarod's communicator pinged, receiving a message. Looking at it, he was getting a call from Elirom.
"Wha'do you want?" Jarod asked, answering the call.
"Jarod, I wanted to ask if you could do me a favor," Elirom asked.
Jarod took a moment to think before answering, "What kin'a favor?"
"I…" Elirom paused, "are you drunk?"
"Wha'do you think?"
Eilrom sighed, "Is Michael nearby?" He asked.
Jarod handed the device to Michael, "Elirom I presume?"
"Indeed. I assume Jarod's state of intoxication is due to the passing of his predecessor?"
"Yeah. The guy left him everything. The ship, the weapons, the army, even his personal power sword. Jarod's probably one of the richest people in the Imperium now." He explained.
Elirom hummed, "I see. Well, this may make my request slightly easier. I have received a request for aid from one of the other Farseers, and my former student. Imperial forces are engaged with the Necrons, and it is likely that they will lose without your aid." He explained.
Michael sighed, relaying the message to Jarod, "TL;DR, Necrons are attacking some Imperials, they need help."
Jarod sighed, downing one last shot, "Lesh goo." He said. He got up, took one step forward, and fell flat on his face.
Michael sighed, "It's going to be a long trip."
[-----]
Kiara sighed as she looked out the window in her room. The Exarch had told her that the Mon'keigh could not be trusted, that his people were evil. Yet the one she talked to did not sound evil, in fact, he sounded rather nice. He openly admitted that many of his cousins were evil and that he did his best to stop them. She wondered why he did that.
The Exarch had said that all of them were evil and self-destructive, but if that were the case, then why did the Mon'keigh want to stop people being evil? Why wasn't he evil? She mulled over the questions, unable to find an answer.
Getting up from her bed, she wandered over to the balcony to look up at the stars. She always did that when she couldn't find an answer to a question, be it one that her teachers gave her or that she asked herself. Looking up, she saw all the light's that made up the universe. Intellectually she was well aware that most of them were galaxies rather than individual stars, but she didn't really care.
It was beautiful, and no matter what happened, those stars would always be there, never changing. The denizens of the warp could run around, tearing apart worlds, devouring souls, or corrupting minds all they liked, but they would never be able to truly snuff out the stars. The ravenous Orks could fight and kill all they wanted, but even they could not destroy the stars in their entirety. Even Humanity and its failing Imperium would never be able to end the stars.
She smiled at the thought. She wondered what it would be like, to travel amongst the stars. Yes, she lived on a planet-sized ship, yes she saw different parts of the galaxy every day, but she never saw what it was like to really to live amongst the stars.
She wondered what it was like for the Mon'keigh. She never struggled for anything, she was waited upon hand and foot, given whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. She realized that was probably due to the fact that her people struggled to have children, but she still wondered what it was like for those who didn't have her luxuries.
She saw the Mon'keigh soldiers when they first came aboard the craftworld to help defend them from the servants of She-who-thirsts, and she saw the sorry state they were in. They were tired, old, and battle-hardened. They fought for their Imperium, for their own desperate survival. They did not fight for pride or aesthetic, but because they had no other choice. If they did not fight, then they would die.
Her people, the Aeldari, could simply hide within the webway, or retreat to one of the maiden worlds like their Exodite cousins. They could wait out the misery of the galaxy, to some extent. The Mon'keigh? They had no such luxury.
So she looked up to the stars and wondered why her people considered themselves better than the humans. The humans fought tooth and nail to get what they wanted, to survive, whilst her people spent their time coming up with plots to further their own gain, while still falling into the misery that was the 41st millennium.
[-----]
"All systems ready captain!" The crewman called out, "Navigator is ready, the Astronomican still shines, and we are ready to go."
"Inform the crew and let's get going." Jarod ordered, sitting in the captain's throne.
The bridge of the Emperor's Boot was a fairly simple thing as ships went, very little decoration and only the necessary components for the crew to run the ship. Navigation and sensory equipment and such.
The warp drive came online, the Gellar field following close behind. A great portal opened, the ship entering into the warp. On the outside, it looked as if the ship had entered the maw of a great beast. On the inside of the ship, the only people who noticed they had left realspace were the psykers.
Jarod shuddered as he felt his mind dive into the warp, putting up his mental defenses just in case. Alaric did much the same. Elirom, along with his entourage, prayed that Isha would keep their souls from she-who-thirsts.
"We have successfully entered the warp, ETA to Cellos VI is sixteen days." The crewman announced.
Jarod got up from the throne and headed into Robert- his, personal quarters. The quarters felt more like an apartment rather than a normal crewman's room. There was a kitchen, bedroom, living room, and even a study.
Walking into the study, Jarod looked around at all the objects that his predecessor had collected over the decades. An Ork skull sat on a shelf, books lined the back wall, and a sword -- likely of the power variety -- sat in the corner.
He sat down at the desk, running his hands along the solid wood furniture. There was no telling how much history the room had, or how many items of heretical origin were in it.
Jarod's thoughts were interrupted when a powerful knock sounded on his door.
"Come in…?"
The door opened at Alaric stepped into the room, his helmet at his side. It seemed Robert had the foresight to make the entire apartment big enough to house a space marine, as even in armor, Alaric was able to stand comfortably.
"Lord Jarod." He said, his voice booming with an unusual sense of authority.
Jarod sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Please don't call me that. It's bad enough that I have a hangover, I don't need to be treated like nobility right now."
Alaric chuckled, "It seems as though you are… adjusting, to your new position."
Jarod grunted, leaning back in the chair. He pulled out his flask, drinking from it. The golden liquid that normally filled the container had been replaced by lukewarm water, causing Jarod's headache to subside slightly.
"Being honest? I thought I would have been killed by Orks or Tyranids by now. The fact that I'm possession of this much power is a little disturbing," He explained, "and I'll eat my boots if Tzeentch doesn't have something to do with this."
"The changer of ways does seem to have his hand in a number of the Imperium's government's. It would not be a stretch to say that he has orchestrated your rise to power from the day Robert became a Rogue Trader." Alaric pointed out.
Jarod laughed, "I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. If an inquisitor heard us they'd probably order the entire ship blown to bits. A rogue trader talking to a space marine about Tzeentchian plots. It really must be the end times…"
Alaric cracked a smile, "Well, at least we can say we do not serve the ruinous powers. Though I would not doubt that Chaos is actively working to corrupt us."
"Yeah, good luck with that. Nurgle's a freaking garbage bag, Khorne's a disabled sociopath, Tzeentch is an Indecisive mollusk, and Slaanesh really needs to go to rehab." He said mirthlessly.
Alaric frowned, "I have heard you describe the dark gods as such before, is there a particular reason you do so?" he asked.
Jarod smiled, then chuckled, then outright laughed, "Oh if only you knew… I'll be honest, I know a lot more than any meager civilian should ever know about the 41st Millennium. Whether it be chaos, the Inquisition, the Eldar, or who knows what else. You didn't think it was weird when I knew what you were talking about when you were teaching me how to use my powers and how to avoid Chaos?" he asked.
"I did find it strange, though I assumed you had simply dealt with the forces of chaos before, as you seemed no stranger to it when two Khornate space marines boarded your ship." Alaric noted.
Jarod gave the space marine a nod, "True. Before you attacked the crew -- no hard feelings by the way -- we had dealt with a Nurglite invasion on another planet, which was where Robert picked up me, Michael, and a lot of other guardsmen. And during your attack, I was actually facing off against Tzeentch himself in a children's card game." He explained.
"You conversed with Tzeentch himself?"
"Either him or a proxy. Could have been Magnus the red for all I know, or maybe Kairos, but given that he acted just like he did the last time I saw him… well, he isn't even consistently inconsistent."
"You say you have had contact with him before?"
Jarod sighed, taking another drink of water from his flask, "Would you believe me if I said I was from the 3rd Millenium?"
Alaric huffed, "I would think that the alcohol in your system might not be gone yet."
"Yeah well, I figured as much. Long story short, I'm either crazy, the best liar in the galaxy, or I'm telling the truth. Take your pick."
Alaric hummed, mulling over the information the Rogue Trader had given him. It would be incredibly improbable for such a thing to happen, if not completely impossible. Still, considering the attention Jarod had gained from Tzeentch, the likelihood of his claim seemed less improbable.