Ku'Motsk III

III

	The command ship’s webway nexus reacted, the portal opened, and Ku’Motsk breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had long since given up the hope of this moment ever occurring; deep within him he feared the Eldar’s total obliteration, his people consumed by the monsters beyond the veil. As the fleet drifted into the gaping hole in reality, Ku’Motsk thought of that fateful day ten years ago. So much had changed in such a short amount of time, he wondered what else had changed.
	The portal was so narrow the ships were forced to go in single-file, and it was a day before the Eldar saw anything other than the inky nothing within. The ship’s nexus reacted and in an instant, they were transported to gates of Uris. The realm was large and fashioned in the shape of a large island with an impossibly large spire atop it. The jagged tower was black, in sharp contrast to the white of the sand below it. Thousands of greyscale trees surrounded the island, a twisted mockery of the vibrant hues of plants found on the old worlds.
	The fleet was greeted by three guards on jetbikes, covered from head to toe in ornate black armor, and an amplified voice welcoming the tired ships to the realm. Upon docking, Ku’Motsk ordered everyone to remain aboard and formed a landing party. The lord was wary of what he might come across in this realm, thinking back to the horrors he and his crew saw and felt the horrible, unnatural night that started their journey. Three of Ku’Motsk’s greatest warriors would accompany him, along with Kairies, and the rest of the fleet would be ready to escape at a moment’s notice.
	The five men left the ship and were greeted by the faces of a dozen men, in the same garb as those who had met them on entering Uris, standing in front of them with rifles relaxed. At once and in perfect unison, the men split into two groups flanking a figure in exquisite dress. The male was tall and extremely slender, with short, snow-white hair and a sharp upturned nose. His long black coat only served to exemplify his figure, giving him a fiendish, elongated impression.

	“I am Ae’Rhys Nakhar,” said the male, “Duke of Uris, Lord of the Black spire. If my understanding is to be correct, and it usually is, you were an admiral of the old imperial fleet. Yes?”

	“That is correct, my lord” said Ku’Motsk, and the duke narrowed his eyes, “I am Ku’Motsk, of Avengar, and I was an admiral.”

	“I see,” said Ae’Rhys, looking down, “And how have you been spending your time since the fall? By the look of your ships, it must have been a rough road. I wasn’t aware there was anyone left beyond the webway, that anything else could have survived the great tragedy.”

	“My lord, what exactly happened? My fleet was thrust through the empyrean and assailed with nightmarish daemons. They clawed their way through my most potent psykers. The mental assault shook every being aboard to the core; madness infected many after we had pulled through to realspace and many tore themselves apart,” Ku’Motsk explained, hoping to gain some answers.

	“We saw the great wound that was once our empire,” said Ku’Motsk, and silence fell.

	“The great lords of the labyrinth live, my lost child,” said the Duke exuberantly, standing erect in a dramatic fashion, “And the new heart of the empire, Commoragh! We thrive, my boy! You and all of your men are a gift to this realm, true sons of the empire returning home. Surely, you must be something special to have made it all this time. I extend to you the full hospitality of my house. Come, come and let us spoil you after your sojourn.”

	Ku’Motsk and his men were ushered forth into the massive entrance hall of the spire. This Nakhar seemed a fairly typical noble, with his grand gestures and penchant for drama, but Ku’Motsk was grateful all the same. He breathed easily for what felt like the first time in a decade knowing that the Eldar lived, that his empire survived. The landing party was brought into an enormous dining hall and seated at an ornate ivory table in the center of the room, Ku’Motsk at one end and Nakhar at the other. The duke called over one of his guard and muttered a few quick words. The man left the room and a few moments later a veritable army of servants marched into the room carrying all manner of food. The servants were skeletal and dressed in simple white robes which hung loosely around their gaunt frames. They were mostly humans or other simplistic inferior species Ku’Motsk had learned of at the academy, but one appeared to be Eldar.

	As the grand dinner reached its end and the servants returned, Ku’Motsk stopped the Eldar and inquired, “Tell me, how came you to this position?”

	The boy’s head lowered at this question, but he said nothing.

	“He is incapable of speech, admiral. He is only half-born.”

	“Half-born? What do you mean by this, my lord?”

	“He was grown in a tube, rather than properly born. I purchased from one of the undercity covens, with nineteen more just like him. They are inferior specimens, the better crafted usually become warriors, but they make excellent slaves.”

Ku’Motsk was shocked; the idea of one of his own kind being created in this manner was disturbing enough, but to enslave them seemed almost sacrilegious. Looking to his left, he saw Kieres’ face darkening with rage. The duke had noticed as well, and began to chuckle at his distress. Kieres’ stood up suddenly, fists clenched in fury. As he did, twelve rifles rose with him.

“Please, excuse my lieutenant, sire,” said Ku’Motsk, breaking the silence, “Such rich and exquisite food must disagree with him.”

“Yes, my lord,” muttered Kieres, sitting down, “Truly, it is too much for my common palate. Please, excuse me”

“Ah, yes,” Nakhar said with a laugh, and his men lowered their weapons, “You must be used to quite different tastes, out there in the void. Please admiral, you simply must tell me of your exploits. I am certain there must be a harrowing tale amongst them, and I long to be entertained.”

Ku’Motsk pondered the question for a moment before replying, “It was the dead of night on Gharlon. The Mon’Keigh had exceeded our expectations, their weapons were more advanced than we had expected and their people hardened from a recent war. They met us on the flatland outside of their largest population center, 50,000 armored humans with their crudely efficient attack craft. We had 10,000 on the planet.”

He sipped the dark liquid in front of him, “Our available bombers struck first, softening the flanks, while Kieries and my most skilled close skirmishers struck the center of their forces as the dust cleared. They recovered well from the bombardment, but the lieutenant is startlingly efficient and my forces flowed through their lines easily. As we moved to surround their force, I made my play.”

“The full force of my fleet descended from low orbit, assailing them as they turned to face our ground forces, it was exceptionally effective.” Ku’Motsk finished his glass, licking his teeth, “In their wake, my ship touched down. They couldn’t decide which way to turn; they were cut down quite easily in the confusion. Then I saw Kieres and my men, it was finished. Taking the city proved a simple task by comparison, by dawn I had their leader impaled atop of the capital building.”

Nakhar closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “Ah that must have been satisfying. There is nothing quite like visiting pain on a defiant adversary.”

“Truly. Were you a military man, lord?”

“No, no,” said the duke, eyes still closed, “One of the limits of my station.”

“You must excuse me, admiral. I fear that I must retire for the evening. I trust you and your forces will receive my hospitality.”

Ku’Motsk understood the meaning, “You do me a great honor, my lord, but I fear that asking you to accommodate so many is too much”

“I assure you, admiral, we have ample resources. Ten times your number would cause no distress, though I do appreciate your consideration.”

	As Ku’Motsk settled into his quarters, he thought of the decadence of the spire in which he sat. Though relieved to find home, his mind drifted to the half-born. In his time in the imperial navy, the admiral had spent many of his days in the various ports of the webway. Ku’Motsk had heard the whispers of what went on in the many hideaways they provided, and he was certainly not naïve. He had known the joys of the pleasure houses as well as any of his men; he had imbibed the intoxicants, and even attended the underground death matches from time to time when the men had promised a good show. The empire had made slaves of the lesser races throughout its history, as was their right, but an Eldar? It seemed such a terrible waste to one who drifted alone so long.
	In the weeks to come, the long stranded Eldar got to know their new society. Despite Nakhar’s assertions, the nobles who lorded over the various realms of the webway were hardly the united society of the old Eldar Empire. The houses vied for control over territory, alliances were made and broken regularly, and even outright warfare was not unheard of.  They learned of the extreme danger of warp-based power in the webway, and the unilateral ban on its use. Any standard of decency or restraint that existed before the fall was clearly long gone. Murderous gangs assaulted those who walked alone in the lower districts, dragging them off to places unseen. The mysterious covens of the undercity were, as the duke said, held in high esteem. It seemed as though they developed some new drug or procedure every week. These ‘haemonculi’, as they called themselves, claimed that soon even death would bow before them.
	Nakhar seemed to have taken a shine to Ku’Motsk and offered the former admiral a position within the ducal fleet. Ku’Motsk would command a ship and allowed to select 500 of his own men to serve under him. The rest of his people would be permitted to join if found suitable, and in short order nearly all of them would be judged worthy of admittance to the force. This had the effect of more than doubling the size of the fleet of Uris, and Nakhar was careful to encourage friendship between his original men and the new recruits. The master of the fleet, admiral Otelhar, did not share the duke’s spirit.
	Otelhar was young and untested; the fleet of Uris had little experience beyond the power struggles of the new world, and Ku’Motsk’s status as a tested commander threatened the young admiral. The sudden growth of Umis’ fleet shocked its neighbors, and in their violent reaction Otelhar saw an opportunity. Though inexperienced, Otelhar was crafty and sent Ku’Motsk against the most powerful of their enemies. Time and time again, Ku’Motsk would prove himself to be more than capable of the task. The resultant acclaim only served to embitter Otelhar. Ku’Motsk cared not; he was at war where he belonged. The fleet’s victories increased the span of Uris’ influence, and Ku’Motsk’s taste for vicious boarding actions gained him notoriety.
Within two decades, house Nakhar had established itself as a minor power. With their power assured, the port grew ever more connected with the dark city. Many of Ku’Motsk’s men had taken to this and frequently spent their time visiting its many delights through increasing numbers of portals connecting the two realms. Every so often, the former admiral would hear of the death or disappearance of one of the members of his original fleet. This was unfortunate, but such was life in the dark city. Others among the long-stranded eldar found the adjustment more difficult, no one more so than Kieres.
	Ku’Motsk was no stranger to Commoragh, but he could never understand the appeal of some of the trends his kin enjoyed. For instance, on his 6th year home, the covens began talking of a grand revelation for all to see. Though he had always found their ways disturbing, even Ku’Motsk was curious. When the day finally came, an eldar came forward and some among the crowd shuddered. The skin of his face was pulled back sharply and his complete hairlessness showed off an unnaturally pointed head.

	“Do not be alarmed,” the man said and laughed, “This is but flesh. Flesh is moldable, it is expendable. What matters is the mind inside! And the mind within this flesh is simply genius.”

	The curtain behind him opened, and the crowd shrieked. The reason was apparent; the creature next to the haemonculus was an abomination. The monster was nearly twice the size of an ordinary eldar, with at least three times the muscle bulging under mottled grey skin. Its flesh was patchwork and suture lines covered its body. It moved erratically and made a hideous sound, much like the sound of boots hitting wet mud. Its face was the most revolting part, tiny black eyes and a massive, lipless mouth turned up in a disgusting mockery of a smile. Grey flesh seemed to run all the way down the opening.

	“Kindred please, this creature was never alive,” the haemonculus said, and the crowd settled slightly, “We have made this creature, and we have given it life.”

	The crowd was immediately silenced, and he calmly continued, “And we can give all of you the same thing. For a price, of course.”