"What do you bring me, Yaphyll?"
The youngest of the zulkirs bristled at the insult, but hid it well. One did not reach her rank without learning how to submit to a master, and while the zulkirs of divination and necromancy were theoretically on a level, in practice Szass Tam was very much the master still. Even bloodthirsty Aznar Thrul would admit that, and Yaphyll was his match neither in aggression or magical power. That one of the reasons she grudgingly agreed to spy on him for Tam in itself. The lich knew much, and all that he didn't yet was entrusted to Yaphyll's magics.
"Most revered, in my monitors of the astral plane according to your wishes, I have recognised the formation of several new planar conduits connected to Toril."
Tam said nothing. After all, planar travel was common. New conduits appeared and were destroyed and shifted all the time. Yaphyll coughed and hurried on.
"This would normally be no cause for concern, but upon closer inspection, these conduits stem from a plane unknown to me. If it were not impossible, I would say they pass through the Far Realms. When I drew one off to determine its origin, my laboratory was attacked by strange brass-skinned fiends that proved immune to any planar locks I thought to attempt. I was able to close this particular portal, but whatever the denizens of these realms are, I fear they are hostile."
"You suspect deliberate invasion?" Tam asked, short and to the point.
"I thought so at first, but the new creatures have made no effort to travel here that I can tell. Even the ones that attacked seemed more confused than anything else."
"You read their thoughts?"
"…no, most revered. One of my apprentices made the attempt, though. Now, he is mad. I thought it best not to repeat him. I suspect they were drawn through simply because I had made the portal. If it is an invasion, it is not being run by any creatures that thinks as we do."
Szass Tam seemed to pause for a moment, weighing up various options. The zulkir of divination waited respectfully for a moment, then continued.
"Most revered, I am not of the opinion that this discovery constitutes any threat to our plans. A temporary conjunction, no more. Whether this is some new beast from the Far Realms or evidence of a rival multiversal structure is a matter for scholars, but…"
"But, Yaphyll?"
"But in the last few hours, some new presence has emerged. What it is, I cannot say. After it passed through the conduits it… it was if the astral plane was filled with static, as if some unconscious power was spilling over to overwhelm everything nearby. Then it was gone. If it was a being, it knows how to hide itself."
Tam's eyes glittered black for a moment.
"I want no hidden beings able to work against us, Yaphyll. You will find out what this thing is. Immediately."

A man wakes. He leaps to his feet, glittering sword bare in his hands as he whirls. What have you done, my son? he wonders, for this is not the Vengeful Spirit as he remembers it. There are no bulkheads, no plasteel windows, no loyal Astartes guarding each corridor. It is green. As his mind focuses, he realises he stands on grass. To his left there stands an oak, straining towards a foreign sun. Is this another of Chaos' lies? Could Horus have disrupted the teleportation? No – he cannot be that powerful yet. Can he?

The man stretches forth with his mind, fighting the illusion, but he feels nothing. There is no malevolent presence in the background, nothing lying to his senses. Several more moments pass before he realises it. There is no malevolent presence! The constant weight of Chaos is gone. He cannot think back to a time when he had not been able to feel its slick taint on the fabric of reality, but now, he cannot. It is freedom. Here, the Warp lies calm, and for a moment he wants to cry with joy.

What of the others? What of proud Rogal Dorn or puissant Sanguinius? What of the loyal Astartes that would follow him on this, what was to be their final strike against the Warmaster? He stretches out again and cannot feel their minds, nor any familiar mind. Are they still in the Palace, or did they reach the battle barge? Worry twists and writhes in his gut. Without him, what chance have they against Horus, the brightest star?

With an effort he re-asserts his iron will. He will not be controlled by fear or by ignorance. He sheathes his sword and walks from the field. There are humans nearby. Leaving the copse, he is greeted by an array of neatly-trimmed fields. In the distance he sees a cluster of primitive buildings. A man in the fields raises his head, waving from beneath a broad-brimmed hat. He says something in an unknown tongue.

The first man reaches out and touches the farmer's mind. Carefully, parting memories like silk curtains, he draws upon the farmer's knowledge. This place is called Daggerford, and it is a small village in the Western Heartlands, lying about one hundred and thirty miles from a place called Waterdeep. The farmer believes Waterdeep is the largest city in the world, but it is a small town next to any in the world the stranger calls home.
"Ho, stranger! What brings you to Daggerford?" the farmer asks.
The stranger inclines his head. For now, the man they called 'Emperor' will be something far more humble.
"Well met," he says, knowing this to be a local idiom. "I am Nicos tel Forar, an adventurer. I mean to rest here on my way to Waterdeep."
It is all a lie, but the man who called himself Nicos has made far greater lies in his life and does not think twice of it.
_______________________________________________________________________________

A tenday passes before Nicos reaches Waterdeep. He chooses to move slowly, the better to acquaint himself with this new world. He ransacks – gently – the minds of those he encounters and learns much. Not only humans are to be found here, but many different sentient races. Some remind him of those he has already encountered, such as eldar or orks, but others are unknown to him. It is almost as if this realm parodies his own – occasionally he rages against it, but other times is strangely attracted to it. He hears of lands where men, elda- no, elves, and squat creatures called dwarves live in something approaching harmony, and does not know whether this is a foul practice to stamp out or something fine, to be encouraged.

As he enters the city, appearing only as an innocent traveller, he feels a presence stretching out to him. It is almost comforting, after spending days in psychic silence, without either the oppressive blanket of Chaos or the more welcome connections with his psychic servants, such as his favoured Custodians, the Sigillite Malcador, or Magnus the Red. No – not Magnus. Not any more.

He responds guardedly, allowing the sending to speak to him. It is short, and of a nature alien to his own mental powers. It tastes – describing the impressions of the mind is a task that demands its own, specialised vocabulary, but in their lack stand-ins must be used – different, of a tapestry that underpins existence, of a magic of rules and order instead of the painful swirl of energies that colour his own power.
Haha, stranger, not what he seems, no. Halaster has answers for you, yes he does. He waits in Undermountain for you, man of stars.

Nicos seeks to catch the trace in the, for lack of a better word, air, to follow the message's imprint to its source. This mind is not so easily plundered, however. He steals a vision of great caverns underneath the city, of a realm of tortured experiments and a dungeon made according to the whims of a madman. Then it is gone, and he will not tax his strength breaking in by force. Perhaps he can defeat this Halaster, but Nicos will play along for now.