Fan Fiction ❯ The Reya Campaign ❯ The Welcome Feast ( Chapter 5 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: General_Glym 
I didn't think this one would turn out as well as it did sorry about the delay.
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Supernatural / Sci-fi | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.17.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 194 | Status: Completed
I didn't think this one would turn out as well as it did sorry about the delay.
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Action / Supernatural / Sci-fi | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.17.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.2K | Visits: 194 | Status: Completed
The Welcome Feast
Note: sorry about the title being crap I just can’t think of anything better to call it.
Glym sat opposite the Eldar Farseer, the one who had first emerged from the webway, on the bench of the Wave Serpent transport. He had agreed to travel on the serpent as opposed to the Imperial Salamander because he knew that if he had to fight alongside the aliens they would both have to trust one another. Agreeing to share a transport was a small yet crucial detail that could help this process along. The Farseer had removed his helmet to reveal his face. His black hair hung down to about shoulder length his face looked calm, as if he had no idea of the war that plagued the universe, but also had a tone of seriousness to it. He wore armour that marked him out as important even by Farseer standards. However he looked much too young to hold a rank as high as the armour would suggest. Realising what he had just thought to himself the Imperial laughed out loud, as he himself held command of two regiments and wasn’t even thirty standard years old and this Farseer was easily seven hundred years old ((author’s note: I’m assuming here that Eldar live for about 2 millennia or so)). The burst of laughter earned him a quizzical look from the Eldar. Mklure explained the reason behind the burst of laughter and the Farseer nodded in understanding. He then realised he hadn’t introduced himself yet to the human.
“I am High Farseer Faerio Avalon of the Craftworld Deyja. You have my thanks for your assistance, General…” The Farseer spoke with a calm voice slightly louder than a whisper, yet it was clear and commanded authority.
“Mklure, Glym. And don’t mention it.”
Avalon was obviously well trained in Low Gothic because he showed no confusion at the phrase “don’t mention it.” Instead he said. “Tell me, General, with such a high rank, why did you join your men in battle? I thought that all human commanders preferred to keep away from the fighting where possible.”
“Yeah, ye see Av; most generals prefer to avoid fighting because it’s dangerous and that they find themselves in a better command position in a safe room with comfortable armchairs as far away from the fighting as possible. That and that some of them consider the fighting just to be below them. When I joined the Imperial Guard it was fight, fight, fight. I fought up the ranks. Didn’t get promotions for being a nobleman, licking arses or long service records. I got them through sheer luck and on the field decisions.”
Some Eldar troopers that were listening, and understood Low Gothic, were shocked at the Human’s rudeness in addressing the Farseer. Avalon himself however seemed quite pleased to how the man had addressed him.
“Tell me, Glym, how soon will we be able to fight back against the common enemy that have taken the Imperial city? Or to rephrase my question how far into your plans are you and how long should they take to complete?”
Glym laughed again. “Trust me mate you don’t know how human command works. Firstly tonight there’s gonna be big banquet for the commanders, with drink and food ‘til all the food’s done. Then we go to another room and start just drinking and all the while everyone’s talking politely but probably thinking “I can’t stand that smug bastard I’m just laughing so he doesn’t feel as stupid as he is.” Then they wake up at about midday tomorrow take two hours getting dressed in the fanciest uniforms that they have, usually covered in tassels braids every single medal they’ve ever won in their entire lifetime and with more starch than would be possible to move properly in. Then they start addressing the reason they’re here and all that. Then they start planning. A good number of them won’t have a clue either because this is the first time ever Reya has suffered anything even close to an invasion. As always though priority goes to the home team and the PDF commanders can plan the whole thing with very little or even no input from the experienced veterans of war standing within an arms reach of them.”
Looking puzzled the Farseer asked “Why? Why don’t they ask for help the men with more experience?”
“Simple, it’s because homo non-sapiens like them think about one thing. Themselves, constantly, they usually fail to see how insignificant their own ambitions are to the enemy pounding on the walls with cannon-fire.”
Faerio groaned. “No he said I can’t believe what I’m hearing, surely no army can be run like that.”
“It can’t, but it is in a good number of places in the Imperium. Anyway If all you ladies and gentlemen would care to look out the window you’ll see your first sights of Reya Prime. If you have a camera take a picture because in a while it’ll probably be half wrecked.
The first of the transport vehicles passed under the arch-way of the north-gate at just past the seventh hour of the evening.
The banquet was to be held as Glym had predicted and began at the 8th hour of the evening. Each commander was required to be present and dressed properly. After quickly dressing as formally as possible Glym appointed two men to accompany him as was normal. He selected the two officers immediately below him; The Cadian nobleman Colonel, Lord Carron, a tall, thin, dark haired man who was capable of inspiring fear in a man just by looking at him and was steeped in authority. The other was a Catachan, Major Bilk, short, muscled, bald and reeking of charisma, unlike Carron Bilk was not a noble and was in his position because of long service at the front line. Having met with the Eldar, who had been allocated to the old billets of the Adeptus Sororitas partially because they were out of the way and partially because of Canoness Rufia’s complaints, as was planned. The two Eldar with Avalon were the young Dire Avenger, Elanit Dakar, and a large, hulking, silent Eldar who looked like he ate ork every morning and had a glare that could freeze flames.
“General,” the Farseer greeted, “These are two of my officers, Elanit you already know and the other I Torek Han the master of the Dark Reapers of Deyja.”
“This is Major Bilk and Colonel Lord Carron.” The General said indicating both respectively. “Now we have to hurry, we need to get to the top of the main spire.”
The banquet hall was finely decorated, many feet high, with crystal chandeliers, many portraits of men and women, undoubtedly significant to the planets history, and a long table in the centre. A servitor approached the party of six as they entered the hall and bowed to Carron.
“General Mklure, I presume may I show you to your seats?”
“Pleased to meet you.” Glym said offering his hand out. There was a look of puzzlement on the servitors face as he tried to understand what was happening. Bilk and Elanit tried to stifle their laughter, Avalon smiled, Torek Han remained emotionless and Carron was barely containing his rage.
“My apologies, sir. This way please.”
With these words he led them to the seats reserved for them at the table. Seated at the table were many men, mostly in their late fifties, in dark blue uniforms, some however were clad in different dress; the Eldar beside him were not as such in a uniform in the sense that they were all dressed similar, The Farseer wore a ceremonial robe, Elanit wore very thin red armour which could easily have been mistaken for cloth unless examined closely, the reaper Torek wore similar material except in black. Some of the humans gathered around also wore more unusual uniforms; the Canoness and her officers wore the white robes of the Sororitas and three men of sub-average size, a darker skin tone and naturally narrow eyes wore large grey trousers and a darker grey wide sleeved coat with long hair tied behind their heads in a bun.
Some commotion was arising because of the men in the unusual uniforms. Servitors were arguing with them about one particular article of the uniform which they had been told was disallowed. Each of the three men wore a sword at his waist. The argument seemed to be getting pretty heated. Just as it looked as though the situation might get messy a voice boomed out over the crowd of assembled officers:
“Gentlemen,” there was a pause, “and ladies.” There was another pause then with an ill-concealed amount of distaste. “And Eldar. We are all here for the same reason. As such I would like this welcome from Reya to all of you as a token of our gratitude to your assistance.”
The speaker was a man of his mid-late sixties with bone white hair and wire-framed glasses. He wore a dark blue uniform with various insignia and medals on the breast. Elanit muttered something under his breath in his native tongue, something along the lines of; here to fight … bullshit … waste of time. Avalon took his time to look around taking in all of the human uniforms. His Eldar wore no medals as the reward for service to the Craftworld was usually a song or tale commending the brave deeds. All the men in the blue suits, the local commanders he gathered, wore large numbers of medals as did two other uniforms; one in a red tunic with white trousers all who seemed to had moustaches. The other wore purple tunics and trousers with a blue stripe up the middle. Glym and Bilk weren’t as adorned with medals, however Carron wore as many as it seemed he could pin on himself, the female warriors only wore a single badge which the Farseer recognised as purity seals, the men with the swords wore no medals either but the swords they wore were very ornate. The speaker continued.
“I as most of you already know am High Lord Marshall Izener. I also would like us to co-operate in this campaign and remove any feelings of hostility. “He shot a sidelong glance at the Eldar. It seemed he would not remove all hostility towards the alien allies. His gaze then flicked over to the swordsmen. “Now general Komotoko if you and your men would kindly hand over your swords, there is no need for them here.”
“No.” Answered one of the three men with a sword, presumably Komotoko. “No, I will not hand over my sword. In fact sooner would I leave this room without my head than without my sword.”
“I could arrange that if your wishes are so.” Muttered the Dark Reaper. Fortunately only Glym and the other two Eldar heard this or serious complications could have arisen in diplomatic negotiations.
“And my title is Daimyo,” Komotoko continued, “not general. I would prefer greatly if I was addressed by that title.”
“That,” Bilk whispered to Elanit, “will be the only thing worth remembering about tonight. So just try to run on automatic if you can.”
Colonel Carron was at home at these gatherings and as such began conversing with a Praetorian officer to his left. Meanwhile Glym decided to see what was available to eat and pulled a bowl of what turned out to be a blue soup with some stained paler blue stuff that might just have been meat.
“Av. Av.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a Farseer so you should be wise right?”
“Right. What do you want me to tell you?”
“What the fuck is this stuff?”
***********
He lay there. He was dead. No he couldn’t be if he just thought that. He should be dead he had been blasted straight through a damn wall. Must have been a dream. Yes he dreamt his city his beloved Hive City had been invaded. Heheheh gotta stop watchin’ those slates before goin’ to sleep. There was a draught; he reached to pull the sheets over himself. His hand touched onto the handle grip of a bolt-pistol. He opened one eye, then the other he was staring at the open sky with ruined buildings surrounding him. He looked around and saw a figure in red fatigues and black armour with his back to him. The figure turned around to face him, its face was covered by a black mask similar to those put on ancient corpses for burial. It was for a split second before the bolt-round blew the mask and head behind it into millions of fragments. Looking around he saw his laspistol nearby and swept it up. Voices appeared to be approaching, about ten, from buildings nearby. Knowing he wouldn’t be a match for so many at once Arytt fled into the shadows of the nearest ruined hab-building.
Note: sorry about the title being crap I just can’t think of anything better to call it.
Glym sat opposite the Eldar Farseer, the one who had first emerged from the webway, on the bench of the Wave Serpent transport. He had agreed to travel on the serpent as opposed to the Imperial Salamander because he knew that if he had to fight alongside the aliens they would both have to trust one another. Agreeing to share a transport was a small yet crucial detail that could help this process along. The Farseer had removed his helmet to reveal his face. His black hair hung down to about shoulder length his face looked calm, as if he had no idea of the war that plagued the universe, but also had a tone of seriousness to it. He wore armour that marked him out as important even by Farseer standards. However he looked much too young to hold a rank as high as the armour would suggest. Realising what he had just thought to himself the Imperial laughed out loud, as he himself held command of two regiments and wasn’t even thirty standard years old and this Farseer was easily seven hundred years old ((author’s note: I’m assuming here that Eldar live for about 2 millennia or so)). The burst of laughter earned him a quizzical look from the Eldar. Mklure explained the reason behind the burst of laughter and the Farseer nodded in understanding. He then realised he hadn’t introduced himself yet to the human.
“I am High Farseer Faerio Avalon of the Craftworld Deyja. You have my thanks for your assistance, General…” The Farseer spoke with a calm voice slightly louder than a whisper, yet it was clear and commanded authority.
“Mklure, Glym. And don’t mention it.”
Avalon was obviously well trained in Low Gothic because he showed no confusion at the phrase “don’t mention it.” Instead he said. “Tell me, General, with such a high rank, why did you join your men in battle? I thought that all human commanders preferred to keep away from the fighting where possible.”
“Yeah, ye see Av; most generals prefer to avoid fighting because it’s dangerous and that they find themselves in a better command position in a safe room with comfortable armchairs as far away from the fighting as possible. That and that some of them consider the fighting just to be below them. When I joined the Imperial Guard it was fight, fight, fight. I fought up the ranks. Didn’t get promotions for being a nobleman, licking arses or long service records. I got them through sheer luck and on the field decisions.”
Some Eldar troopers that were listening, and understood Low Gothic, were shocked at the Human’s rudeness in addressing the Farseer. Avalon himself however seemed quite pleased to how the man had addressed him.
“Tell me, Glym, how soon will we be able to fight back against the common enemy that have taken the Imperial city? Or to rephrase my question how far into your plans are you and how long should they take to complete?”
Glym laughed again. “Trust me mate you don’t know how human command works. Firstly tonight there’s gonna be big banquet for the commanders, with drink and food ‘til all the food’s done. Then we go to another room and start just drinking and all the while everyone’s talking politely but probably thinking “I can’t stand that smug bastard I’m just laughing so he doesn’t feel as stupid as he is.” Then they wake up at about midday tomorrow take two hours getting dressed in the fanciest uniforms that they have, usually covered in tassels braids every single medal they’ve ever won in their entire lifetime and with more starch than would be possible to move properly in. Then they start addressing the reason they’re here and all that. Then they start planning. A good number of them won’t have a clue either because this is the first time ever Reya has suffered anything even close to an invasion. As always though priority goes to the home team and the PDF commanders can plan the whole thing with very little or even no input from the experienced veterans of war standing within an arms reach of them.”
Looking puzzled the Farseer asked “Why? Why don’t they ask for help the men with more experience?”
“Simple, it’s because homo non-sapiens like them think about one thing. Themselves, constantly, they usually fail to see how insignificant their own ambitions are to the enemy pounding on the walls with cannon-fire.”
Faerio groaned. “No he said I can’t believe what I’m hearing, surely no army can be run like that.”
“It can’t, but it is in a good number of places in the Imperium. Anyway If all you ladies and gentlemen would care to look out the window you’ll see your first sights of Reya Prime. If you have a camera take a picture because in a while it’ll probably be half wrecked.
The first of the transport vehicles passed under the arch-way of the north-gate at just past the seventh hour of the evening.
The banquet was to be held as Glym had predicted and began at the 8th hour of the evening. Each commander was required to be present and dressed properly. After quickly dressing as formally as possible Glym appointed two men to accompany him as was normal. He selected the two officers immediately below him; The Cadian nobleman Colonel, Lord Carron, a tall, thin, dark haired man who was capable of inspiring fear in a man just by looking at him and was steeped in authority. The other was a Catachan, Major Bilk, short, muscled, bald and reeking of charisma, unlike Carron Bilk was not a noble and was in his position because of long service at the front line. Having met with the Eldar, who had been allocated to the old billets of the Adeptus Sororitas partially because they were out of the way and partially because of Canoness Rufia’s complaints, as was planned. The two Eldar with Avalon were the young Dire Avenger, Elanit Dakar, and a large, hulking, silent Eldar who looked like he ate ork every morning and had a glare that could freeze flames.
“General,” the Farseer greeted, “These are two of my officers, Elanit you already know and the other I Torek Han the master of the Dark Reapers of Deyja.”
“This is Major Bilk and Colonel Lord Carron.” The General said indicating both respectively. “Now we have to hurry, we need to get to the top of the main spire.”
The banquet hall was finely decorated, many feet high, with crystal chandeliers, many portraits of men and women, undoubtedly significant to the planets history, and a long table in the centre. A servitor approached the party of six as they entered the hall and bowed to Carron.
“General Mklure, I presume may I show you to your seats?”
“Pleased to meet you.” Glym said offering his hand out. There was a look of puzzlement on the servitors face as he tried to understand what was happening. Bilk and Elanit tried to stifle their laughter, Avalon smiled, Torek Han remained emotionless and Carron was barely containing his rage.
“My apologies, sir. This way please.”
With these words he led them to the seats reserved for them at the table. Seated at the table were many men, mostly in their late fifties, in dark blue uniforms, some however were clad in different dress; the Eldar beside him were not as such in a uniform in the sense that they were all dressed similar, The Farseer wore a ceremonial robe, Elanit wore very thin red armour which could easily have been mistaken for cloth unless examined closely, the reaper Torek wore similar material except in black. Some of the humans gathered around also wore more unusual uniforms; the Canoness and her officers wore the white robes of the Sororitas and three men of sub-average size, a darker skin tone and naturally narrow eyes wore large grey trousers and a darker grey wide sleeved coat with long hair tied behind their heads in a bun.
Some commotion was arising because of the men in the unusual uniforms. Servitors were arguing with them about one particular article of the uniform which they had been told was disallowed. Each of the three men wore a sword at his waist. The argument seemed to be getting pretty heated. Just as it looked as though the situation might get messy a voice boomed out over the crowd of assembled officers:
“Gentlemen,” there was a pause, “and ladies.” There was another pause then with an ill-concealed amount of distaste. “And Eldar. We are all here for the same reason. As such I would like this welcome from Reya to all of you as a token of our gratitude to your assistance.”
The speaker was a man of his mid-late sixties with bone white hair and wire-framed glasses. He wore a dark blue uniform with various insignia and medals on the breast. Elanit muttered something under his breath in his native tongue, something along the lines of; here to fight … bullshit … waste of time. Avalon took his time to look around taking in all of the human uniforms. His Eldar wore no medals as the reward for service to the Craftworld was usually a song or tale commending the brave deeds. All the men in the blue suits, the local commanders he gathered, wore large numbers of medals as did two other uniforms; one in a red tunic with white trousers all who seemed to had moustaches. The other wore purple tunics and trousers with a blue stripe up the middle. Glym and Bilk weren’t as adorned with medals, however Carron wore as many as it seemed he could pin on himself, the female warriors only wore a single badge which the Farseer recognised as purity seals, the men with the swords wore no medals either but the swords they wore were very ornate. The speaker continued.
“I as most of you already know am High Lord Marshall Izener. I also would like us to co-operate in this campaign and remove any feelings of hostility. “He shot a sidelong glance at the Eldar. It seemed he would not remove all hostility towards the alien allies. His gaze then flicked over to the swordsmen. “Now general Komotoko if you and your men would kindly hand over your swords, there is no need for them here.”
“No.” Answered one of the three men with a sword, presumably Komotoko. “No, I will not hand over my sword. In fact sooner would I leave this room without my head than without my sword.”
“I could arrange that if your wishes are so.” Muttered the Dark Reaper. Fortunately only Glym and the other two Eldar heard this or serious complications could have arisen in diplomatic negotiations.
“And my title is Daimyo,” Komotoko continued, “not general. I would prefer greatly if I was addressed by that title.”
“That,” Bilk whispered to Elanit, “will be the only thing worth remembering about tonight. So just try to run on automatic if you can.”
Colonel Carron was at home at these gatherings and as such began conversing with a Praetorian officer to his left. Meanwhile Glym decided to see what was available to eat and pulled a bowl of what turned out to be a blue soup with some stained paler blue stuff that might just have been meat.
“Av. Av.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a Farseer so you should be wise right?”
“Right. What do you want me to tell you?”
“What the fuck is this stuff?”
***********
He lay there. He was dead. No he couldn’t be if he just thought that. He should be dead he had been blasted straight through a damn wall. Must have been a dream. Yes he dreamt his city his beloved Hive City had been invaded. Heheheh gotta stop watchin’ those slates before goin’ to sleep. There was a draught; he reached to pull the sheets over himself. His hand touched onto the handle grip of a bolt-pistol. He opened one eye, then the other he was staring at the open sky with ruined buildings surrounding him. He looked around and saw a figure in red fatigues and black armour with his back to him. The figure turned around to face him, its face was covered by a black mask similar to those put on ancient corpses for burial. It was for a split second before the bolt-round blew the mask and head behind it into millions of fragments. Looking around he saw his laspistol nearby and swept it up. Voices appeared to be approaching, about ten, from buildings nearby. Knowing he wouldn’t be a match for so many at once Arytt fled into the shadows of the nearest ruined hab-building.