Ku'Motsk I

I

	There were few who considered military service to be a worthwhile pursuit of one’s time. The Imperial Navy was lazy, only stirring over some newly discovered decadence, and they considered most of these to be trifles. The admiral, Ku’Motsk, found himself drumming him fingers along his workstation. He was tired of peace, he wanted action. Ku’Motsk was a notable warrior; he had risen through the ranks for his talents with the blade and his preference toward leading his men personally in spectacular charges. The men thought him brave, but the truth was that Ku’Motsk simply loved the thrill of combat.
	The peace brought about by the utter superiority of the Eldar Empire had dulled him. Ku’Motsk would find himself staring furiously, thinking of the utter waste of his existence on this exploratory assignment. The only excitement he has was recounting the stories of old battles from the vicious pacifications where he earned his rank to his men, but even this was becoming to seem more of a chore. He had achieved so much for one so low born, yet it did not provide him any satisfaction. He had he worked so hard for this fleet, but his achievements did not stimulate him to anything more than a bleary anger. As he sat, some glimmer of his youthful naivety stirred him to call on the favor of old Khaine.

	“Khaine,” said Ku’Motsk in an exaggeratedly drained voice, “Send me something to kill.”

	He chuckled to himself at his behavior. Well at least Cegorach still remembered him, he thought, and he laughed a little harder. He stood up and took a look at himself in the mirror; his handsome features seemed somehow lessened today. He was nearly a shade paler than usual and his narrow eyes were darkened by fatigue, but Ku’Motsk inhaled deeply and put on his best face. He stepped out the door of his private quarters and briskly walked down the hallway toward the bridge. It was time for the fleet to leave Port Niksahr for the webway. The men had enjoyed their leave amongst the pleasure houses of House Niksahr and morale was high around the command ship as everyone finished assembling at their stations.
	The fleet moved forward swiftly in complete unison a few minutes later toward a gaping hole in the black nexus of the webway.  As the first dozen ships entered the portal, the entirety of the universe seemed to retch and a dark chill filled the bridge. Screaming filled every hallway of the command ship, and even the most stoic warriors grasped at their temples in pain. Some had collapsed into tears, others tore at themselves in a futile effort to stop the pain. As he felt the psychic shockwave, the admiral’s nose began to bleed. Ensign Nalar Kis, a resident combat psyker suddenly screamed. She collapsed to the floor and a pink light shot from every orifice.

	“No, stop this torture!” she begged with tears flowing down her face before retching over on her back and shrieking, “Please, no don’t stop!”

	Ku’Motsk beat back his own pain and hurried over to the woman, but as he came close she began tearing off her clothes. The kind presence of ensign Kis was replaced by mewling and moaning in the admiral’s mind. After she had pulled off each article of clothing she began to tear at her skin, stripping away the flesh bit by bit. Underneath there was no ordinary eldar musculature, but smooth scaly purple. Ku’Motsk drew his power saber as the beast now partially wearing ensign Kis began to stand. The creature’s back arched and cracked as twisted around to face the admiral with an unnatural speed. It lunged forth at Ku’Motsk in a blur, his defense barely saving him from the monster’s razor sharp talon.

	The men raised their rifles, but Ku’Motsk bid them hold their fire. He sliced at the creature with nearly as much speed as it had just shown, knocking it to the ground. As he pounced on his fallen foe to land the killing blow, the monster lurched forth and cut the admiral’s right eye from his head. He plunged his blade forth with increased fervor and pierced its stomach. With the monster defeated, Ku’Motsk shrieked in pain. The medical officer rushed over toward Ku’Motsk, as did his 1st officer Argen Vel.

	“Most impressive, admiral,” Vel asked a glint of fear in his eye, “But, what was that thing? I felt it clawing at my very soul.”

	“Some horrific creature of the empyrean no doubt,” he replied, “Go and rally the men, there are at least half a dozen other psykers of Kis’ caliber on board. No doubt we shall see more of her daemonic ilk before the night is done.”

	Ku’Motsk’s fears were assured, and the night was a long and bloody one. Ku’Motsk sat with a sterile patch over his face at the captain’s chair, ignoring the medical officer’s insistence that he be taken in for a replacement at once. While coordinating assaults against various sectors of the ship, he attempted to make contract with the others in his fleet and ascertain his location. They were in realspace, that much was certain, but where? The daemonic incursion was put down, and the admiral was taken into surgery. Their darkest night was over.

	As Ku’Motsk tested his new bionic eye in the medical bay, Argen Vel walked in, “We’ve managed to make contact with 6 other ships, but it seems the others are lost, sir.”

	“Those would be three of our supply vessels, the settler ship, and two battleships,” Vel stated.

	“I’m feeling well Argen, thank you,” Ku’Motsk replied, giving his subordinate a mocking look, “And where are we?”

	“It’s impossible to ascertain, sir, there’s a massive warp storm that’s been making that difficult,” Argen said, “It’s truly enormous, I’ve never seen anything like it, sir.”

	The navigators on the command ship did not take long to discover the horrifying truth, that the great warp storm they were looking at was their home. The Eldar Empire was snuffed out of existence in an instant. In the weeks that followed the grim realization, many of the members of Ku’Motsk’s fleet would go mad and assault others in a desperate suicidal frenzy of grief. The admiral and his men reinstated order brutally and efficiently. Those who did not stand in line were cut down, and the ships moved coldly toward the nearest system. It took months to reach a habitable planet; the fleet had lost 2,000 personnel in the difficult trip, and they were desperate for some sign of life.
	Ku’Mostk instead found a human world, advanced by their standards. He bid them to help his people, but he was refused as a horrific alien. If that was what they thought, that was what Ku’Motsk would give them. Though the fleet was small and weak by Eldar standards, it had more than enough power to destroy a civilization that had only recently sent probes into its own atmosphere. After a week of bombardments, Ku’Motsk led a contingency of his men into the largest city on the planet. The population was decimated by his blasts; their first contact with other life had been a terrifying one. Ku’Motsk was surprised when they surrendered the entire planet to him.
	Ku’Motsk was invigorated by this experience more than any in his life; his skin almost seemed to glow, he laughed easier, and felt wonderful. He and his men took what they needed and the fleet moved forward. Ku’Motsk wanted to try this again, if there was one world so easily taken there must be others. Years passed and Ku’Motsk built up power in this removed corner of human space with his fleet. Many objected to his practices, which grew more vicious as time went on, but he provided for his people well and his battlefield skill discouraged much dissent. The ship of settlers accompanying them spit off after a time to seed a new planet with life, as their lifestyle was simply incompatible with Ku’Motsk’s increasingly aggressive command.
	Over time, the fleet began to change. Non-combatants were increasingly made to move over to the supply ships as the main battleships were used more frequently in Ku’Motsk’s terror campaigns on the worlds he encountered. The admiral would make use of dramatic gestures on more less civilized worlds, having his two battleships descend into the atmosphere above major population centers before teleporting down personally with a contingency of his best lieutenants. Sometimes, these primitive peoples would accept the Eldar as gods and offer them all they could. When the response was less favorable, the admiral would personally slaughter any leader who opposed him. With such a steep technological benefit in the invaders’ favor, simple shows of force were usually more than enough to cow the population into submission. Ku’Motsk was secretly grateful; he could hardly spare the ammunition.
	Often, Ku’Motsk would avoid such direct action against more civilized targets. They would parley with those with whom fighting would lead to excessive loss, trading ill-gotten goods of little use to the Eldar in exchange for more useful items. It disgusted some of his number, their pride blinding them to the dire predicament the fleet was in. Ku’Motsk feared that he and his people were alone in the universe, and he knew that he might have to stoop low in order to survive. He was no highborn; he had come from a lowborn house only known for military service. He had fought through a pit of vipers to get to where he was, pride would have seen his career destroyed with those who insulted his heritage and his intelligence. Pride would see them all dead now, just like their haughty empire before them. For all he knew, they were all that was left.