Ku'Motsk V

V

	The Sword of Khaine was a massive ship, dwarfing the other six members of the fleet flanking it. It seemed impossible for the vessel to even fit inside the narrow tunnel through reality it now approached but, in an instant, the gaping maw of the portal widened to compensate it. It had been nearly five years since the last time it had passed through this portal, and the ship had seen much since its christening. As the fleet approached Uris, its master let out a sigh. The sand of the faux-islands, their foliage, and even the great spire overlooking it all; they were all some shade of blue. After they were docked and disembarked, the men of the fleet of Uris were greeted by azure armored warriors.

	“What has she done to you,” Lord Ku’Motsk said with a chuckle, “You couldn’t strike fear into the heart of an infant painted like that.”

	The sky-colored warriors of the Uris Guard looked at their feet, “No matter, it’s time for the exchange anyway.”

	“It’s going to be their problem,” said the lord as he gestured back to the obsidian armored men leaving the ships behind him.

	The Lord of Uris made it a point to shift his forces twice a decade since his ascension. He worried that too much time within the labyrinthine dimension of the webway would dull his men as it had so many others, and it seemed wrong to him that certain only certain warriors be given the privilege of conquest. Not to mention that tending to the duchess’ needs was a punishment Ku’Motsk could empathize with, he would be taking his turn soon.
 	The six captains of the other ships in the fleet marched over to join their leader, removing the ivory helmets which signified their command. Kieres glared angrily at the light-colored soldiery, while Silys Vath began to laugh. Sysyik Alovar and Ralis Sinderion exchanged looks while Lhemehn’ti, the only female, smiled absurdly. Coming up behind them was the unaware Ju’Rhin, the youngest of their number.
These six made up the Lord’s high command; they were the captains of his ships, administrators of his planets, and each had known the honor of accompanying him in battle more than once. These positions were open to any who could defeat the current captain in a ceremonial competition that included strenuous tests of the mind and body. Kieres was the only one who was appointed his position, but he remained undefeated over the last century. The eldar called heartless was Ku’Motsk’s most feared and loyal retainer, a century at war had hardened him immensely. His right leg and hand were now replaced with cruelly bladed cybernetic replacements.
	Vath, Alovar, and Sinderion had won their positions early in Ku’Motsk’s reign, they had held out against challengers for decades and were well-known figures in the regime, but the other two had only recently won their command. Lhemen’ti was a former wych, she challenged Captain Z’nt eight years ago and bested her predecessor in a duel that lasted six days. The fight ended in his death; lethal assaults were discouraged in sanctioned duels, but given the style of the wych cults it was practically unavoidable. Ju’Rhin had won his command over the fleet’s last excursion into realspace and he was not favored to last long. The young warrior won soundly against Captain Ah’Lik Nerantu in the mental portions, but barely beat out his predecessor in their duel; the captain’s cybernetic arm malfunctioned at a crucial moment in their fight, providing an opening that led to his defeat.
	Looking over as his men joined him; Ku’Motsk felt pride in his accomplishments and in his forces. His house had the strongest realspace presence of any webway-bound eldar, over a dozen planets paid them tithe and tribute, and the house’s status in Commoragh was unquestioned by all but the most haughty of the noble houses. Though Ku’Motsk was low-born and known for his vocal criticism of many of the trends of the dark city, the power he held discouraged much opposition and his affable and grounded presence attracted many who had grown tired of the typical nobles and their empty drama.
	The first day back was fairly typical, the lord and his lady argued over the new coloration of the realm. Her appeasement was won when he revealed the intoxicating Ur-Grass the fleet had discovered during its last conquest, and she agreed to return to the monochromatic theme of before. Ku’Motsk spent the next week selecting who would remain with the fleet as the lower ranks were exchanged and catching up on the latest news in the dark city with the oncoming men.
	He heard of the new fashion, replacing the left eye with a gemstone. He chuckled at the news, thinking of the eye torn from his head so many years ago. The haemonculi were up to their usual disgusting work, apparently they were selling living weapons now. One of wych cults had been mentioned often, their use of the Donorian Clawed Fiend in the arena was all the rage. Ku’Motsk noted the name and made plans to attend before he left.
His curiosity was piqued by a tale of a cult called the Black Heart. Its leader was an eldar slave who had risen solely through merit to be a power in his own right. He made no attempts to tie his rule into the legitimacy provided by the system of nobility, yet stood strong. Ku’Motsk was fascinated by the tale of someone low-born rising so high, someone such as himself. Surely, he must meet this Asdrbael Vect before returning to the void.
	The biggest news was also the most troubling. There were scattered reports from the other space faring houses of large movements of space fleets all throughout the galaxy. These ships had even destroyed eldar cruisers. The heraldry of these was unknown but one thing was certain, these were humans. Unbeknownst to Ku’Motsk, the great crusade was well underway, and with it the greatest challenge he would ever face.