Hello everyone, chapter 12 is finally here. I'd just like to take a moment and thank you all for being so patient. I know my upload schedule is pretty dire but that isn't out of choice or laziness although I do hope to improve it very soon. For those interested, I've started to revamp my earlier chapters which is in no small part to my new editor/proof-reader ThatRabitPotato who really deserves a lot of recognition for his efforts. Hope you've all had a merry Christmas and a happy new year.

Song of the day: Carol of the Bells – Peter Wilhousky

Dark Dealings

Driving herself onwards, Aristriel finally took the last few steps to reach the summit of the smallest mountain in the long chain of snowy covered peaks. It would be an easier slog from now on or so she hoped. Standing at the lowest end of the mountain spine, her gaze followed the winding serpent track as it rose ever higher. A sigh of relief escaped from her respirator into the frigid evening air.

The cold was getting worse the further they climbed and even her wraith bone armour was having trouble maintaining her body temperature. Wrapping her arms about herself as she shivered while her gaze wandered across the landscape. Still, despite everything she had to admit that the view from her position was breath taking.

To the south were the fields, hedgerows and woods that they had passed on their journey along with the sad remains of destroyed mon'keigh settlements. In the far-off distance, to the south west, a river snaked its away across the land, glistening in that last light of the day. Directly ahead of them, further to the north, stood the mighty highlands; towering over the juvenile foothills on which they stood like judgemental guardians.

The Eldar took several moments just to drink in all the details: the shapes of the valleys, shades of the stony knolls and the contrasts of the withered forests against the white blanket to name but a few. A silent serenity took hold, soothing her soul. Regardless of all the setbacks and adversity besetting her mission, views such as this one almost made up for it. A little reminder that the galaxy was brimming with subtle and natural splendor if one was just to stop and take notice.

Time paused and for a short period, the world was quiet and at peace. At least until she heard the breathless singing that wafted up from behind her; quickly shattering the illusion. Her lip almost instinctively upturned in irritation. Evidently the mon'keigh's newly mended body had rekindled the boisterous behaviour so stereotypical of humans. His change in demeanour made Aristriel feel longing for when he had been a silent and wounded wretch.

Now though, he hummed, sang or whistled as he marched impetuously. Apparently not caring one iota for the harsh conditions whether it be the extreme cold or the ravenous hunger they both felt. He waded through the snow without real complaint; marching stoically onwards to their agreed destination. Annoying as it was, begrudgingly, the banshee found herself granting a modicum of respect to the mon'keigh.

The machine-like drills and doctrines that much of the human armies drummed into their troops, while completely alien to Aristriel, certainly helped with moving from one place to another, she admitted internally. Now all he needed to do was shut up and he'd be halfway to a tolerable travelling companion.

It did not take long for him to join her atop the rocky, snow-flecked peak. His reaction to this momentary respite imitated her own as he blew out a great cloud of vapour which was swiftly caught by the biting wind. Childish as always, he let out a low whistle and spoke a few words in his guttural tongue. Not wanting to encourage him, the Eldar ignored the soldier which had the desired effect as he too fell silent; admiring the shear majesty of the scene that surrounded them. It seems even a simpleton like him can appreciate the beauty of it all. She mused.

They had been walking almost all day and had made reasonable progress. The darkness was gathering once again; forcing them to turn their attention to finding a suitable place to spend the night. Mountains, however, are remarkably inhospitable climates who bow to no one. The grim reality was that that they were in for possibly several uncomfortable, and potentially, sleepless nights.

A shout from the mon'keigh drew Aristriel's attention as he pointed further along the mountainous spine to a stone cairn which stood on a shallow rise a short journey further up the slope. Part of her wanted to continue on further to find somewhere to stay but her limbs were beginning to ache. The pain of the day's journey rapidly ate away at her resolve and so she reluctantly acquiesced to the mon'keigh's decision. Tearing herself away from the glorious view of the valley, they both set off again up the incline with the tired banshee taking the lead.

Locke shouldered his pack without protest as he picked his way through the snowy and rock-strewn environment. The path that led to the cairn became increasingly narrow as the slopes of the hill on either side became steeper.

Periodically strong gusts of wind would pluck at his smock and cloak, pushing and pulling at him towards the cliff edge. The guardsman in response, hunched himself lower to the ground. Although even with this cautionary measure, he still found himself having to get on-all-fours at one point when the slope suddenly steepened at the same moment the squalls briefly proved too rough.

There is a common belief back on Narvos that every mountain is home to the fell sprites who act as their masters and protectors. They are thought of as mischievous and temperamental creatures that enjoy playing tricks upon unwitting mountain-goers sometimes culminating in the death of these poor misguided people. According to legends, the annoying fairy-tale creatures are quick to anger and often for no discernible reason which is expressed through storms and strong gales.

Locke had always found these stories amusing but never paid them too much mind. Now though, with what felt like an endless gale trying in vain to fling him over the mountainside, he could almost believe that stories of the fell sprites to be true. Pushing the fear of nature aside, he grinned at the sky; daring the mountain to do its worst as he kept going. The xeno had absconded out of sight as she bounded up the slope seemingly unnoticed by the wind.

Yard by yard, he kept climbing. Not once did he falter on this uneven rough tangle of stone and ice; showing naught but contempt for the elements which howled around him. He was tired and aching but in good spirits, the end of today's trek was just a stone's throw away. Shortly without realising it, he found himself taking up one of the melodies that Brandr loved to sing on a long march.

"Oh I come from Maygard City,

As cheerful as can be,

And I'm bound to The Timberlane,

My true love, for to see."

.

The wind, dutiful as any courier, carried his tuneful voice aloft and across to the valleys and mountains beyond. In almost no time at all, the local vicinity echoed with sound of Locke's singing much to the chagrin of the patiently waiting Eldar.

"Oh Miss Baker, don't you cry for me,

For I come from Maygard City as cheerful as can be."

.

"It snowed all night the day I left,

The weather is so dry,

The sun so hot I froze to death,

Miss Baker don't you cry."

.

"Oh Miss Baker, don't you cry for me,

For I come from Maygard City as cheerful as can be."

.

"I had a dream the other night,

When everything was still,

Thought I saw Miss Baker,

A-coming down the hill."

.

"Oh Miss Baker, don't you cry for me,

For I come from Maygard City as cheerful as can be."

.

"On her plate was a cut of grox,

A tear drop in her eye,

There are holes in all my socks,

Miss Baker don't you cry."

.

"Oh Miss Baker, don't you cry for me,

For I come from Maygard City as cheerful as can be."

.

On conclusion of the last verse, he stepped onto the small summit. The xeno was leaning on the cairn with her left hand while pretending to look fixated on her gloved fingers on her right hand. To Locke's mind, the alien's whole manner seemed to say, "what took you so long?" Locke threw her a ruder gesture and tutted at the scene. "Come on, you cheeky bitch, let's get this set up." Taking of his pack, he immediately began to rummage around for his ground sheet and basha.

As professional as any guardsman, Locke instinctively planned out the layout of their camp. The cairn would act as the anchor point for their makeshift tent. Snapping together his combat shovel he immediately set to clearing the top layer of snow from a small area that the basha would sit upon. The xeno, silent as the grave, moved to help. Taking several large stones strewn across the bumpy plateau, the banshee pinned down the corners of the ground sheet on the newly cleared ground.

Locke, ever mindful of the coming darkness, unravelled the basha and almost lost it in the prevailing wind. Luckily the alien grabbed the corner before it went over the cliffside much to their united relief. "Mam always said I got butter fingers at the best of times." Shrugged the guardsman as he withered the banshee's usual glare.

Within a quarter of an hour, they had both managed to pin the basha to the thin soil, reinforced with some heavy stones for safe measure. Liberating a long branch from a dead tree just up the slope, Locke carried it back to the camp where he used it to push up the centre of the basha. It was no royal pavilion, but it would do.

Once Locke was happy that the branch was well fixed at the centre of their little shelter he took stock of the cramped interior. The xeno sat opposite him with her helmet on her lap. He was surprised to see that she had politely unravelled and laid out his foam mattress and sleeping bag with the thermal blanket neatly folded up in a square at the foot of the bedding.

"We might make a guardsman out of you yet." nodding his thanks to her as he removed his rebreather and helmet; placing them to one side.

An awkward silence fell between them amid the howls of the wind outside. The guardsman realised how lucky they had been in terms of timing as he heard the soft drumming of snow hitting the waterproof canvas. He watched the ceiling with worried eyes; making a personal note to check that the weight of the invasive slush wasn't causing it to sag anywhere. Although he remembered from basic training that a snow layer in reasonable amounts was useful as an insulator.

"Well then lass, how about a bite to eat and brew?" Asked the guardsman, rubbing his hands expectantly.

Within another half an hour the night had finally closed in thus forcing Locke to break out his lamp. The soldier opened up his flask and was pleased to find that the water he had boiled in morning had remained hot. Not wasting any time, he poured the hot liquid into his mug and into a small round bowl.

"Hope you don't mind drinking out of this." Said Locke as he handed over the vessel.

The alien took it graciously enough with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. She sniffed at it and raised an eyebrow towards him.

"It's good stuff, pure Narvish tea from Kern's own personal stash." Encouraged Locke although the mention of the big man inadvertently caused a pang of sadness to wash through him. "Non-alcoholic too." He added reassuringly before falling silent; his gaze drifting off into empty space as he thought of those left behind. It was only the faint sound of slurping that brought him back to the present.

The banshee had raised the bowl to her lips; shyly sipping at the tea. Lowering it again, her lips pursed as she judged the taste.

"Hmm my sister never liked plain tea either. Maybe you've got a sweet tooth like her?" He pondered out loud as he dug through his remaining ration reserve. "Ah! Here it is, have a pinch of this." Said Locke as he placed two sweeteners into the bowl.

A look of suspicion crossed her face but cautiously she raised the bowl to her mouth once more. After taking another sip and then another and another before lowering it again. The emotionless mask slipped as the alien purred happily at the beverage and graced him with a small smile for his efforts. Locke felt a warmth blossom inside his chest at her response and sheepishly grinned back. Blasphemous as it was to say, he wished she'd express herself more.

The interesting moment between them, however, was ruined slightly by an audible croaking noise. Locke's hands shot down to his belly; embarrassed by the bodily function which the Eldar pretended to ignore. Except for their brief breakfast in the morning there had been no time to stop and eat.

To put his stomach cramps at ease, Locke took out one of the few nutrient bars left. The only flavour he had left was hardened granola which was, as the name suggested, as hard as a brick. He sighed at this minor disappointment. Tapia always said I should eat the worst stuff first. He remembered.

The Eldar too was scrutinising the nutrient bars with hungry eyes. In response, Locke politely offered one to the xeno who accepted with a nod of thanks. Opening the packet, just as she was about to take a nervous bite out of the hardened biscuit, Locke held up his hand to stop her.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you. You'll crack your tooth if you eat it dry." The soldier warned. "Observe." Dunking the granola confection into his steaming mug of tea.

After a few seconds, the guardsman judged it ready; plucking it out of his drink and taking a bite. There was little flavour, just the faint hint of sugariness which most likely came from the added tea.

Observing his action, the xeno imitated his granola bar preparation procedure. Soon enough she was munching away although Locke could tell by her face that she certainly wasn't a fan of the mass-produced foodstuff.

Before long they had both finished their tea and nutrient bars. Stretching his arms up, Locke felt the strain of his aching limbs and decided to get some rest. "Right then xeno, I'm gonna hit the hay." Yawned the exhausted soldier. The alien didn't respond, outwardly content to sit cross-legged in a meditative posture.

He kicked off his boots, leaving them close to the entrance and taking off his cloak and smock which he neatly folded next to his pack. Locke wasted no time in slipping inside the sleeping bag. Lying on his side, he realised he was facing the xeno who was staring directly at him with an inclined head. A calm emotionless mask was etched onto her visage again: the alien's usual expression.

Finding her gaze to be rather off-putting he tried to break the ice. "If you're cold xeno." Said Locke leaning down to the foot of the sleeping bag. "Here, use this." Offering the thermal blanket to her from his supine position. Her face did not change as she took it although her gorgeous green eyes lingered on his. What I wouldn't give to know what she thinks about. He thought.

"Yep, well, good night xeno." said Locke self-consciously before switching off the lamp and rolling over so that his back was facing the alien. The foam mattress did little to make the mountainside a comfortable place to sleep but Locke had slept in worse hell holes than this and soon found himself drifting off.

The subject matter absently reminded him of the comments made by Sergeant Juron regarding the differences between guardsman with real combat experience and those without it. "If a man can't sleep on the floor; he's a civvy. If a man can't sleep in a trench; he's a rookie. If a man can't sleep with the dead all around; he's a regular. If a man can't sleep; he's a veteran."

The sound of a ruffling covers brought him back to the present, but he kept his eyes shut. She's finally turning in. He thought however he was quite surprised when he felt the weight of the thermal blanket overlaid over the top of his sleeping form. Odd. Guess she didn't want it after all.

Locke sleepy as he was, quickly sobered up when the Eldar stealthily glided in beside him inside his bedding. Caught off guard by this sudden closeness between them, he turned over immediately to face her and right the situation.

"Oi what the hell do you think you're doing?" He bristled. "I said you could use my thermal, not cuddle me." Gesturing to the cover now contoured across them both. The Eldar, looking between his face and at the blanket, in response pulled the blanket tighter round them both. Locke lay aghast at what was happening. Had she merely misunderstood what he meant or whether she was feigning ignorance? He couldn't tell.

"No, you dumb al-"Locke fell silent when he noticed the smug outline of her facial expression. Bloody bitch is enjoying this. The soldier realised.

The banshee followed up her amused expression with a subtle eye roll. Locke felt the colour rise in his cheeks, ever more thankful for the darkness to conceal his embarrassment. Nobody would ever describe Locke as a prude, but he certainly felt like one in that moment and she definitely wasn't helping. It was already hard enough to justify this strange partnership and now they had both crossed yet another line.

If he wasn't so weary he would have made more of an effort to extricate himself from her or so he told himself. Too weary to push her away he relented rather swiftly. "Alright, fine. You stay on that side and I'll stay on mine. No touching. Got it?" He requested; brooking no argument although not that he was expecting any; she didn't even understand what he was saying.

The alien, smiling at his discomfort, shook her head in mock disbelief but consented to his demands as she rolled over away from him. Annoyed as he tried to make himself appear, part of him was thankful for the xeno's brazen attitude as the warmth from her body melted away the aches in his limbs. Locke adjusted his position and turned away so that his back was towards her once again and did his best to ignore her sleeping form as he closed his eyes.

He woke with a start and looked about him. The xeno was gone. The tent was bare apart from his boots which still stood patiently next to the tent flap. The temperature had radically changed; the frigid cold was gone. It was neither hot nor cold anymore, just neutral. Sluggishly he freed himself from his sleeping bag and crawled to the entrance of their makeshift tent. "Xeno!" He called, "Xeno, where'd you go." Upon receiving no response, he began pulling on his boots before he stumbled out of the tent flap.

The sudden change in light levels blinded him initially forcing him to shield his eyes. When they finally adjusted, Locke found himself alone floating on a tiny island in a pale blue expanse. The mountain that they had encamped on had also disappeared along with the lowlands and everything else. To his eyes it looked as if a giant had come along in the middle of the night and ripped off part of the mountainside and carried it to a new dimension.

The empty vastness stretched off as far as the eye could see in either direction. Floating islands of giant crystals and rocks, lazily tumbling end over end as they drifted around in random directions. Each of these unusual islands carrying what appeared to be a one to one scale diorama of random places frozen in time.

On the distant islands, Locke could see a segment of a battlefield. A platoon of guardsman stood with their backs to a burning Leman Russ tank as they faced off against an onrushing group of orks. Another of the eerie dioramas showed an Eldar in a lavishly furnished room styling her hair in a crystal mirror.

To Locke, she looked noticeably similar to his travelling companion. The facial structure was almost identical, and her hair was the same shade of molten copper, but the key difference were the eyes. in her mirror's reflection, where he expected to see those over-aweing green emeralds instead they were a mischievous grey.

Around these numberless islands was a haphazard assortment of objects; some human, some alien. The largest of which was a colossal retribution class void ship; gracefully rolling on its primary axis. Locke was just near off to make out the ships name which was emblazoned on its prow. 'H.D.M.S Chieftan'.

While he stared at length at the numerous objects of interest, eventually something began to tug at the guardsman, calling him toward away from the spectacle. Locke unsure how to proceed walked to the edge of his own tiny island glancing down at the endless nothingness that awaited him if he fell.

At that very moment, several of the floating islands roughly aligned with one another allowing Locke to follow the trail set for him. The gap between the two islands was certainly crossable albeit with a lot of speed and a bit of faith. Cracking his knuckles together, he sprinted towards the gaping chasm; waiting till the last minute to push himself off.

Locke had timed it well as he landed perfectly in a new diorama. A cobbled street, conquered by market stalls and flanked by old fashioned, two and three storey stone buildings. The bustling crowds rendered immobile mid stride while the boisterous sellers stood frozen; their sales pitches left unfinished.

It was the Maygard high street, Regent's Avenue, in all its chaotic glory. Wandering several paces, Locke came across his father and his younger self at their temporary smithy. Ever the amateur merchant, his father was most likely calling out about the low-price offer for nails and horseshoes while his younger self hammered at glowing metal rods in the background; his face plastered with a mixture of soot and sweat.

Locke felt a heady feeling of nostalgia at the scene, but he could not stay long as the feeling called to him again. He passed through the stall, over a low wall and out into someone's back garden where the world abruptly fell away.

Another expanse and another island awaited. Repeating his actions from before, he took another run up and leapt for the nearest ledge. It was a longer jump this time, but he reckoned he could make it. His hands slid along the ground before catching on the stony rim. A jolt of pain went through his arms while dangled over the baying nothingness. The thought of floating forever in this abyss spurred himself on as he hastily pulled himself over the side.

Sand. Dark sand. The ground was covered in it. A desert. Where it was he could not say. Looking around him he soon found he was just in front of a mighty cavalry charge.

A vast collection of Krieg Death riders mounted on their genetically enhanced steeds were thundering down the slope towards him. Or at least they would have been had they actually been moving. Red and white pennants streaming from their couched lances as they rode to their impending destruction. Flashes of light were stuck in mid-air, obviously the incoming fire from whatever enemy they were attacking.

Several of the riders were in the process of being killed. In one instance, a shot from a large calibre weapon could be seen pulping an unfortunate Kriegsman's head while meaty junks were shredded from his stallion's chest and shoulder. Most eye catching of all though was the powerful laser blast that was paused in its killing arc. Three horsemen had been obliterated; turned to screaming ash and a fourth would soon follow as the skin, flesh and bone was blazingly flayed from horse and rider alike.

He shuddered at the frightful depiction and quickly decided to move onto the next floating rock. On and on, it went. Locke hoping from island to island. Each one a unique scenario playing out in total stillness. A few were of places and people he knew or recognised but most were completely unknown. Finally, though he reached one of the floating islands which lay bare apart from a lonely broken arch.

Wandering slowly into the centre of the island. The urgency feeling subsided and a disembodied voice spoke up.

"My dear Tomas, your life has certainly taken a turn, has it not. Transported to an unknown land with a strange artefact in your pocket and a sworn enemy of mankind at your side. Sounds like the start of an interesting story, wouldn't you agree?

The voice was calm and well enunciated with an undercurrent of minor interest. Locke drew his seax and slowly spun around, eyes darting back and forth as he searched for the stranger.

"Show yourself! Who are you?" He called out to the open air. In answer to his summons a plain-looking young man suddenly came into view, standing near the floating island's edge. His appearance was quite rustic, clad in a simple brown coat, dark blue trousers and black boots.

"A friend of sorts I suppose. My name is Mendacius; I am one of the spirits that inhabits this place."

"Daemon!" Locke spat accusingly as they both began to circle one another in a wide arc.

Mendacius chuckled. "Spirit, daemon, angel; rakshasa. Many different labels and all for the same thing."

"I should kill you where you stand." Ignoring the spirit's diatribe, Locke readied himself for a fight.

"You could certainly try but I doubt you'd win. Please, hear what I have to say and if you still wish to kill me then I won't stop you."

"What do you want with me?" Asked the nervous guardsman.

Mendacius crossed his arms and spoke plainly. "I would like us to help one another for mutual benefit of course."

Disbelief coloured the soldier's words. "In what way would you possibly help me?" They both continued to circle each other but Locke momentarily lost sight of the warp entity as the pillars of the broken arch obstructed his view.

Locke maintained his pace however Mendacius did not reappear on the other side of the arch. Locke's eyes went wide in panic as he frantically searched for the spirit.

"I can teach you to control the Omnicron and utilise its power." Said the spirit. His voice emanating from behind him. The guardsman whirled around to face his adversary.

"The omni-what?" Stuttered Locke holding his seax in a medium guard position.

"The Omnicron, it is the name of the artefact that you carry. It is also where you and I are having this conversation." Explained the spirit strolling along the edge of the floating crystal away from the bewildered soldier.

Something peculiar that Locke had noticed was that the appearance of Mendacius was in a constant state of change albeit very subtle. The guardsman would blink for a split second and a button on the spirit's coat would move or outright disappear or be replaced by a zip. A pocket would disappear or move. The style and colour of the spirit's clothing would alter over the course of a sentence.

His hair, endlessly growing and retracting as it was, had started off a light brown and had gradually changed in shade; moving to golden blonde to fiery red to the darkest brunette and back again. Not even his face was safe from this unusual flux.

The spirit's cheek bones sluggishly rose and fell like the tide while his nose and mouth changed shape at will. Only his eyes, black as the darkest night, stayed constant. Judgemental black orbs that drank in his very essence. Locke could barely meet the warp entity's gaze.

"What would I want with it, so far it's been nothing but trouble."

The spirit chuckled again, "I don't think you truly understand the power of the object that's in your midst. That artefact was fashioned from the Immaterium by an ancient race, their name forever lost to time. With tools such as the one you have in your possession they forged, stars, planets and life itself. Humanity, along with all the other races were their creations and are intrinsically linked to their technology. If you were to learn how to use it, you could harness the energy of a god. Imagine the things you could do?"

Locke was shocked, he could scarcely believe what he was being told. "What exactly do you get out of the arrangement?" Commented the guardsman suspiciously.

"If you live up to your full potential and end this destructive conflict then my brethren and I will finally be able to return to the sea of souls."

"The sea of souls?" Asked the guardsman unsure of the term. Mendacius by this point was stood at the edge of the island, staring out at his vast domain. Locke kept his vision firmly locked on the spirit's form however within the blink of an eye, the warp entity vanished.

"I believe your kind call it the Immaterium." He called, sitting atop the arch itself, his legs dangling gaily.

Maintain visual contact, Locke swivelled round keeping his weapon facing towards the daemon. "Right. Why can't you go there now?"

"You are showing your ignorance, Tomas." Hand waved the spirit. "The Immaterium is not a safe place, especially for those of us who remain unaligned to any of the great powers. The Omnicron is our refuge but also our prison. We all long to return to the Empyrean but that is an impossibility whilst endless war continuously fuels the machinations of those dark entities." Explained Mendacius.

Locke nodded in understanding, but his mind soon turned to a more cogent matter. "Is that shadowy bastard one of your number?"

The spirit shook his head in amusement. "Ah he still hasn't given you his name, he always was a fickle sort. Please do not judge him too harshly. He has been here longer than most."

"That thing has been terrorising my dreams for days now." Replied Locke, derision dripping from every word.

"Ever more reason to help us. The sooner you take up your true mantle, the sooner you will be rid of him."

"That's called blackmail from where I'm from." Pointing an accusatory finger in the spirits direction.

"A small price to pay for a better tomorrow, wouldn't you agree?" Responded Mendacius, his face calm and open.

"I guess. Not very honourable though." Replied Locke.

"Oh please. 'Honour' is a foolish rulebook for mortals which allows its adherents to feel smug for acting in a counterproductive manner. My compatriots and I are above such woeful concepts."

"I disagree." Stated the guardsman flatly.

"I could name a million topics where we would disagree but that is beside the point. Do we have deal?"

"I don't know, this is all too good to be true. Can't say I'm naturally trusting to things like you." Said Locke icily. Another blink of his eye and the spirit had moved so that he was standing beneath the archway.

"I do not blame you for your distrust but even if only a small amount of what I propose is possible is that not still worth it. You've seen the suffering that so many endure all across the cosmos, the never-ending destruction and abject misery."

"I have." He admitted. Flashes of death, destruction and misery emblazoned across his mind's eye.

"You could change that you know. You may not think yourself capable but under our tutelage, you would have the knowledge to do so much and more. Unite the civilised races under one banner, push back the encroaching darkness and create an everlasting galactic society." Stated the warp entity.

He looked back at Mendacius, "why me?"

"You were in the right place at the right time. Fate has given you this opportunity. Will you accept it?"

The doctrines of the Imperial Creed told him this was wrong. Speaking with this thing was paramount to damnation. He should refuse, that is what the sceptical part of him was screaming to do. Refuse this obvious ploy, turn away and leave this being to his foul schemes while the zealous aspect of him wanted him to draw his weapon in the name of the Emperor and plunge it into the daemon's heart.

Locke did neither of these things. The temptation to learn the Omnicron's mysteries and use it for good of all was too strong. Mendacius had been right. Locke had seen truly awful things in his time with the Imperial Guard. Now though, he had the opportunity to put right so many things that were wrong.

The question that hung in the air was whether this warp entity was being truthful. Reverend Robynson used to say that lies and deceit were the currency of the daemons. If that being the case, Locke would have to find out how destitute this Mendacius genuinely was.

"I'll need to be convinced."

"Then we shall do just that." Smiled the spirit, his eyes aglow.

The forest shuddered at the ferocity of the invaders; the native wildlife fleeing from the baying onslaught that had come to their once peaceful home. The rampaging greenskins and their foul pets trampled the undergrowth under boot and claws while rickety war trucks belched out corrosive fumes coating the canopy in a dense black crust of combusted promethium.

Any sapling, bush or plant unfortunate enough to stand in the path of these unyielding war machines was mercilessly crushed beneath screeching tires and the triumphant woops of their masters.

If viewed from above the formation of the orks resembled a spearhead thrust directly towards the forest's heart. At the tip of the spearhead were the hunting squigs along with their gretchin corallers while the wings of the spear were the dismounted ork warriors and the war trucks.

The greenskins followed close behind the roving wall of wild and slobbering squigs as they eagerly searched for the fugitives. Drazgad mounted in the front most vehicle watched as the woodland went by in a blur.

Originally chasing the human who had disturbed one of their flare traps had just been a bit of sport to liven up a dull posting in the south of the continent. Things became far more serious and far more interesting when they discovered one of their scout detachments wiped out to the last ork.

An aftermath assessment of the tiny skirmish told Drazgad two things: the first, based upon the number of tracks, that there could scarcely be no more than two or three humans and second that this handful of humans could fight and fight well in spite of being outnumbered.

Drazgad and his orks hadn't had a proper scrap for nearly two weeks which to an ork's sensibilities is an unfathomable amount of time without a bit of jolly warfare. Now, as if a gift from Gork and Mork themselves, a worthy opponent had landed in their midst.

It was an irresistible challenge for the greenskins, one they couldn't ignore. Besides even if by some miracle they were able to overcome their primal instincts, to refuse such an opportunity would be an insult to the gods themselves. The closest thing that an ork could come to blasphemy.

The war truck suddenly grinded to a halt, nearly throwing Drazgad over the crudely painted railing.

"YOU ZOGGIN' GIT. DO DAT AGIN AN' I'LL KRUMP YA". He smacked the driver hard in the side of the head before dismounting the vehicle.

The squigs had stopped their reckless push through the undergrowth and were instead sniffing at the air as well as the surrounding area. It would appear that they had momentarily lost the sent, much to the irritation of the greenskin warriors.

To tide themselves over in the ensuing boredom, some of the ork boys began setting the trees alight with promethium that they had carefully liberated from the stores. Drazgad didn't bother reprimanding them. He found the sight of burning trees almost tranquil in a strange sort of way.

Two squigs in the pack had found something more interesting to do than look for humans, as they greedily fought over the carcass of an armoured marsupial that had failed to escape in time. Seeing this waywardness, a brave or rather foolish, gretchin attempted to get the squabbling creatures to focus back on the task at hand by prodding the nearest one with his spear.

The squig, furious at having been interrupted from its bout with its rival, promptly released the corpse and leapt upon the small greenskin. The gretchin screamed as his pathetic spear was knocked aside and his entire upper body devoured by the beast's strong jaws. A sickening crunch echoed round the clearing as the grot suddenly went still. The gretchin's bisected lower half fell to the floor, strewing his guts onto the forest floor where they steamed in the winter sun.

"I DID TELL DAT 'UN. NEV'R GET BETWE'N A SQUIG 'AN HIS MEAT." Commented Raskram, the tribe's runtherd ork, to a gaggle of gretchin onlookers.

He had momentarily stopped goading the snuffling beasts and their gretchin handlers to watch the grisly display. Not wanting to instil disobedience into the heard, he nonchalantly wandered over to the victorious squig, who was happily feasting on the dumb grot's remains, and electrocuted the little monster with his grot-prod staff.

The squig squawked in pain and immediately moved away to re-join its brethren in their collective mission to find the humans.

"DAT'LL TEACH YA, YA GIT." Called the greenskin after the fleeing beast.

The loud crunch of footsteps on the frozen earth alerted the runtherd ork to the approach of his clan chief. Raskram like a nucleus of an atom stood at the centre the wandering squigs. The squigs growled at the ork nob but were quickly silenced when Drazgad sent one of them airborne with a strong punt from his armoured boot. After that a pathway quickly formed for the greenskin chief as he pressed his way toward the beast master.

"DEY FOUN' ANYFINK YET?" Demanded the ork leader in a base growl; walking up to the beast master.

The hunched greenskin, leaning on his staff turned to face the Nob.

"GIVE 'EM TOIME." Replied the beast master, unafraid by his chief's simmering anger.

Just as Drazgad was preparing to punch the unhelpful runtherd ork's throat, one of squigs let out a high-pitched squeal. The herd immediately paused whatever it was that they were doing and went to the call of their excited comrade. Drazgad and Raskram watched as one of the horrifying little beasts came scampering out of an overgrown fungal bulb tree carrying a bloody bandage in its toothy maw.

"WE GOT DA SCENT." Stated the beast master; watching as the herd of squigs took turns sniffing at the crimson fabric.

Almost in unison the herd of vicious beasts set off through the woods once more heading in the direction of the northerly mountains.

"FOLLOW DA SQUIGS BOYZ!" Called Drazgad to the cheering ork boys who surged to their war trucks.

"OI CHIEF, ISN'T WE S'POSED TO GUARD DA SOVERN PASS?" asked one of the lowly gretchin. "DA BOSS-"

"DA BOSS AIN'T GONNA MIND, CUZ HE AIN'T GONNA KNOW." Interrupted Drazgad before casually breaking the dumb grots neck.

Review Responses:

Burue106 – Thank you very much, I apologise for the long wait for this chapter.

American Social Democrat – Haha interesting that you say that, I've had other people tell me they hear Locke having either a Scottish, Irish or Welsh accent. Personally, I hear him having a Sheffield accent but it's up to everyone's interpretation. Glad you're enjoying the humour.

Shadowfire12 – Thank you. Hmmm I'll definitely give that song a listen. You'll have to wait and see.

Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R – Happy you enjoyed it. Haha I don't mind, I write because it's fun not for money. Also, good spot, thank you for that.

Guest – Happy days.

Surviving 7 – Cheers mate, I'll try to do my best.

Aaron Black – *Gasp* A heretic! *Grabs spray bottle*

Guest – Bad Juju indeed.

JimJimmy – Thank you, I really enjoyed writing those parts too, obviously that must have come through.

Oc – The course I'm doing is quite intensive which doesn't leave much room for anything besides work. I am graduating in May (hopefully with a First Class) so that should free up a lot of my time. In the meantime, I will try my best to write whenever I can.

Opaque-Cavalier – It is going to be quite the challenge, hopefully I'll be up to the task. I get that a lot so I'm leaning towards using the good ending.

York52 – Thank you

HUNG DEAD SCREAMING – Glad you like it. Well you never know; we may see them again at some point in the story.

Crota187 – Thank you! Hopefully you like where I take the story.

Imperial Wrath – Who can truly say?

Uir – You summoned me?

Viktormilo2015 – Thank you very much, happy you like it.

Unsettling-A.I.R – With the amount of time it takes me to update, I imagine this story will be going on for quite a while. I agree, I really enjoyed writing that part.

Nanogrunt – Cheers! Initially I thought about making Aristriel bilingual, but I think it makes things far more interesting if neither of the two characters know what the other is saying… at least for now.

ThatRabidPotato – Discussed in private messages/email. Currently updating prior chapters using your criticisms.

Pankaka – I do as the Emperor commands. Thank you very much.