Cel-estia's World

One hundred years ago, Princess Celestia was quite a different being. Before Equestria, she was but a fledgling Eldar warrior. Green as she was, she had sampled more professions than any other in her ranks at her age. She had started down the ‘jack-of-all-trades’ path, intent on becoming a true master of all possible disciplines. Ironically, she lacked the discipline to master even a single discipline completely. This was most unbecoming of an Eldar aspirant of any stripe. Her peers came to the difficult decision to exile her from the Rising Suns kin-band. This was not done out of malice, but out of desperation. The Rising Suns in particular were so small in number that they had no choice but to have absolutely flawless members in their society. She was not implicitly dependable as a warrior, so any enemy incursion, no matter how small, would be a costly fight if Cel-estia could not pull her weight when rounds and blades started flying.

In any event, all that was behind her. She kept the name Cel-estia, though lingual drift produced a slightly more fluid pronunciation, and took a form that the native populace of this world not only recognized, but gravitated toward with a welcoming attitude. Today, a new development had come around: she was crowned the Princess of the empire of Equestria. With this title, she had been given not only the highest authority in the land, but the freedom to apply her will wherever she saw fit. It was more than even the Rising suns could offer, even if the workload was almost twice as much, but the foreseeable rewards were well worth the investment.

One such reward was the emotional aura radiating from the ponies of Equestria. Eldar are supremely sensitive to psychic energy emitted by living beings. Like one who hungers, Celestia fed off this energy as well as the food to feed her physical body. The ponies were special in that they gave of a very particular ‘flavor’, for lack of a better word. It was this flavor to which Celestia had grown accustomed and cultivated over the last century. Any impurities to this taste stood out like a sore thumb and Celestia was quick to correct the problem. Usually, a lower-class pony felt occasional negative emotions. These ranged from buyer’s remorse to jealousy to deep sorrow over a loved one passing. Such things were easily remedied by Celestia’s teachings of love and friendship. This day, however, her teachings would be tested unlike ever before.

Celestia so thoroughly enjoyed her daily trots around Canterlot. The ponies who inhabited the town bowed in respect and deep gratitude for bestowing the great gift of civilization on them. In response, she bowed back to show that she stands on equal ground to them and that in fact it is they who should be rewarded for their hard work making Equestria as great as it was. Yes, it was yet another day in the life of the Princess, a sea of glowing faces flush with hope for the future and each a product of her own hard work building an empire from scratch. She hoped to make it last forever, but forever never comes.

Out of the blue, a sudden sensation washed over Celestia. A familiar feeling she had not felt since her time in the Rising Suns. It was a feeling she swore off, but couldn’t quite remember why. This feeling, it was cold, empty and almost diametrically opposed to the entire atmosphere of Canterlot. This was dread of the highest order, or at least as much as any pony was capable of feeling. Wherever the afflicted pony was, Celestia could feel his or her pain as well, but a thousand times stronger. This was the second edge to the sword that was Eldar psychic powers. Any extreme emotions were amplified by virtue of being Eldar. There was simply no way around it and no way to tune it out.

This relatively simple sensation brought old memories back to the surface, ones she thought were buried for good. Durring combat training, Cel-estia showed a tendency to be far more aggressive than her peers, but completely unrestrained in her approach. She relished the feeling of dominance and inflicting pain and destroying the enemy slowly, but thoroughly. Pain and suffering were among the sweetest emotions she knew at the time and could never get enough. It was unsettling to see her enjoying such sadistic behavior and one of the biggest reasons others suspected she was a Dark Eldar spy on their craftworld.

After the haunting memories came and destabilized her train of thought, something else came to her. A vision, clouded at first, but the important details were unfolding before her. She was seeing the world through the eyes of another. A simple farm pony far away from here. She knew it was far because she could see the trademark spires of Canterlot Castle far away. Through this stallion’s eyes, it was not just a castle in the distance. He also saw it as hope for a new life one day. That is why the Eldar lexicon rune for ‘hope’ appeared above the castle.

Turning back to another farmer, this one labeled ‘brother’, the two continued their daily chores. Without warning, ‘brother’ shattered into thousands of tiny shards and dissolved into the ether without a trace of him to be seen. The vision was disjointed at times, but the important details remained. ‘Father’ came into view and suffered a similar fate. There was no discernable reason for the loss of two beloved family members, but it happened regardless. All that was visible now was ‘home’. It was ablaze from a fire started by an unseen force. It took three generations to build ‘home’ and it had been decimated in a matter of seconds. With the cold empty darkness of the void closing in, even ‘hope’ seemed to wither away into nothingness.

Out of the darkness came a gleaming light. ‘Family’ was acting as a beacon amidst the encroaching void. Above the shining city of Canterlot, ‘hope’ was reinvigorated with new meaning and beckoned him to its safety. With all haste, the desperate farmer ran to the only remains of his life thus far. ‘Family’ was far too important to let perish as ‘home’ had.

Snapping back to reality, Celestia realized that she had zoned out for what must have been a few moments.

“Your highness,” a body guard spoke as if he had been trying to get her attention for some time, “can you hear me? Are you feeling well?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied after a moment of still-stunned silence. Several sets of eyes were fixed on her as if she had just done something outlandish. She was standing still in public with a haunted look on her face. This was so out of place for her that it was bound to draw attention even if her mere presence did not.

“Milady,” another guard interjected, “this display is quite troubling. Perhaps you should see the Royal Physician.”

“I said I’m fine,” Celestia replied, this time in a more insistent tone.

“I would rather be wrong,” the first guard said, speaking in a much more firm tone, “than be derelict in my duty as Captain of the Royal Guard.” He wasn’t even able to clear Celestia at the shoulder, but that didn’t matter to this fearless officer. He saw a problem in its infancy and he wouldn’t allow it to fester, especially if his commander-in-chief was at risk. He was not afraid of rank, not even that of the supreme Princess Celestia, so ordering her to seek medical attention was a trivial task for him.

“Perhaps I should,” Celestia relented after a moment of thought, “to be safe.” In response, children moaned with disappointment, but she reassured them that she would be back later.

It had cost her the entire afternoon and a good chunk of the evening, but a clean bill of health made the small sacrifice comforting. She had been on thousands of afternoon strolls through Canterlot in the past and forgotten about many thousands more. Giving up one day for a yearly health screen was of little consequence to Celestia. Sticking to her schedule, it was nearly time to retire for dinner to be served. It would not be ready for another two hours as she planned on entertaining a few high-class guests tonight.

Over the years, Celestia had taken a liking to her alicorn form. It was idolized by the ponies for being a representation of all three major forms of the ponies that currently existed. She had the stature and strength of earth ponies, the magical powers of the unicorns and the ability to fly as the pegasi could. All the positives with apparently none of the downsides made her seem like the earthly manifestation of a goddess. It was this form the ponies knew best, for she did not allow them to see her true form.

On occasion, Celestia would revert back to her Eldar body when she was in private. So powerful was her psychic prowess that she could alter body’s shape and function with a mere thought. It was difficult and dangerous to alter one’s own body, even for an accomplished psyker like Cel-estia. Fortunately, she had drilled herself and mitigated risks through sheer skill alone. If there was one thing she had mastered, it was control over the physical universe.

It felt good to stretch her original body from time to time. The alicorn form was certainly powerful in its own right, but it paled in comparison to what an Eldar could field. In this form, her senses heightened, her muscles flexed in familiar ways and her mind began processing thoughts and feelings at dizzying heights. In fact, her bed chamber she commissioned for construction was built for this very purpose. Unbeknownst to the contractors, however, she also instructed them to build it in such a way that made the room function as a sort of collector and amplifier for psychic and emotional energy, much like a radio antenna. If any pony anywhere within a hundred miles did something to emit such energy, Cel-estia would hear it. Every thought, feeling and minute ripple in the fabric of reality was within her sight. This night, however, she would rue for the experience she would receive.

Pain, suffering, anguish, fear of the unknown, and a vision. The world was crumbling around her, seemingly without cause. Hiding under a kitchen table did not stop the invaders from demolishing the house walls with their bare hands. Once enough of the wall had given way, feelings of terror gave way to despair and animalistic panic. Panic soon yielded to the utter loss of action altogether. Finally, the attacker came into view. Against the setting sun, all she could see was a massive bulky silhouette looming over her. Its blood red eyes stared her down and felt no pity or remorse for her impending doom. The heavy metallic clanking and utterances in an alien language only added to the confusion. Her cries for mercy went unheard as the behemoth approached. Her last vision was the utter darkness beneath its mighty tread. All feelings ceased to be as she was uprooted from the living world.

The sensations were so intense, so vivid Cel-estia could swear she was just there. Back in Canterlot, she found herself cowering in a corner of the bed chamber. She was tucked into a tight ball save for her arm, upraised as if to stop an adversary’s approach. Her face was streaming with tears and sweat. What had terrorized her so severely to force her to retreat like this? There was not a soul in the room aside from Cel-estia herself. Nonetheless, her heart was pounding and her vision blurred. So panicked was she that her erratic breathing only made her trembling hands all the more unsteady.

Such extreme emotion was dangerous for Cel-estia. Not only for her own sake, but also for the empire which Celestia had built. The Eldar princess had such an integral connection to the immaterial world that any emotion she felt would manifest there. Such extreme emotional outbursts were liable to open doorways for unimaginable horrors to invade. Fortunately, Cel-estia had a few tricks to calm herself from such turbulent swings. Slowing her heart rate, controlling her breathing, and clearing her mind of all distractions allowed her to neutralize her weaponized thoughts. Unfortunately, she could not completely tune out all distractions presented to her.

Out a nearby window, a column of smoke that was not there previously signaled danger. To her dismay, it was not just one column. Canterlot now had such superior fire controls in place that entire city blocks would not be burning as they were. Out of the background of screams of terror, came bursts of small explosions. Where others were running for their lives, Cel-estia ran for the balcony for a better view of the commotion. Below, it was startling to see the city burning before her eyes. As she scanned the scene for the cause, she analyzed every detail, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She couldn’t see anything right away, but some gut instinct was telling her that this was an attack. In order to protect what was hers, the only recourse was to counter. To attack in equal and opposite force would protect her precious empire from further destruction.

Though only her alicorn form had wings, Cel-estia could still fly with nothing but the power of her mind. She soared over the retreating ponies below, focused on the most likely location of the invaders: an apartment complex currently being ripped to shreds from afar. As she approached the source of the mayhem, her opponents came into view. Their shape was familiar to her. These were the elite shock troops of the Mon-Keigh empire. ‘Adeptus-Astartes’ in their own tongue. They valued these warriors so highly that they were clad in nigh-impenetrable armor from head to toe. Compared to their natural forms, these troops were easily a dozen times stronger, faster, and smarter. Even so, these categorically superior beings had one weakness: numbers. There were so few of them across the galaxy that they simply could not afford to spread themselves too thin lest they lose what precious fighting force keeps their enemies at bay. It was a mistake they would soon regret making. Cel-estia could sense five individuals with her witch sight moving as a unit through the streets. If she struck just the right way and quickly enough, she could eliminate the entire squad before their comrades caught wind that something was wrong.

As she descended directly on top of the formation, she started processing the image presented before her. She did not recognize the color scheme each one bore. A solid black suit of armor with a sigil emblazoned on each left shoulder guard. A white handprint, or at least something resembling their five-digit hand, but it appeared more skeletal in nature. Whatever this organization was, these five would be the first of it to fall on Equestrian soil. Her selected method of attack was to land behind the group from above and land crippling blows on each one from her pair of shuriken pistols. She could still remember her training against Mon-Keigh, but never had she actually faced one before. Today would be her first actual encounter with the finest soldiers this dying empire could field.

She prepared her mind and body for the coming fight, channeling raw energy through her entire body with the power of her mind. Muscle fibers bulked out and nerves increased transmission speeds. Her blood was flooded with adrenalin as her heartrate skyrocketed. Her mind’s throttle was wide open, allowing for all parts of her brain to be used at once. From Cel-estia’s perspective, time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace. Her reaction speed would put her enemies’ to shame as she planned the first two kills before they even knew what was happening. She had landed without a sound and already had her pistols drawn, trained on weak points on the backs of the two outermost soldiers. These would be the first two to fall. At least, they would be if they accepted their fate so easily. In near perfect unison, all five spun around and drew weapons of their own, all trained squarely on Cel-estia.

In an instant, she adjusted her aim to the relatively vulnerable eye pieces of the helmets. Their brain was secured behind their eyes, so damage to that area was basically a guaranteed kill. She got one shot out of each pistol before she had to leap aside to dodge the incoming bolter rounds. As the ballistic projectiles pummeled the ground behind her, the first two metal ebony giants were struck in the eye by razor sharp projectiles and ceased to be threats in this battle. Though two were already felled, the rest were already aware of her and actively engaged. Cel-estia had sidestepped the initial volley, but it would seem these warriors were smarter than they looked. They fired at places where she was not currently, but where they thought she would be.

It would take more effort than she planned on expending, but if she would come out alive, it was worth the expense. She took aim at the next outer two and fired at the eyes, joints, anything that could bring these formidable fighters to their knees. Moving at incredible speeds made this a difficult task, but not one which was outside her reach. As the remaining members repositioned themselves to maximize their fields of fire, Cel-estia incapacitated one, killed another, and left the squad leader open for the kill. He was fumbling with his weapon, trying to reload a full magazine of ammunition. The armored Mon-Keigh was quick for its size and it was this unexpected speed which worried Cel-estia. No matter how quick she was, she could not dodge bolter rounds forever. Eventually, she would be worn down enough to allow one of them to land a killing blow. She needed to act now while it was distracted with its equipment. Since the beast’s front was currently the best target, this was the best opportunity to strike.

As her shuriken pistols emptied, she drew her witchblade from its sheath. Its energy pierced the air very air itself and drowned out the low-pitched roaring of bolters and barking orders. The blade resonated with the most pure power Cel-estia could channel. It was now an extension of her body and it was just as determined to slay these demons as she. Just as the tip zeroed in on its victim, said victim had a change of strategy. It abandoned the firearm in favor of a secondary weapon. As it discarded the rifle, it reached down and drew a long combat knife from its hip. The speed at which it worked was incredible, almost on par with her own. As each warrior brought their blades to bear, only one would emerge from the battle victorious.

Cel-estia aimed for the Mon-Keigh sergeant’s lower mid-section. The sergeant stabbed at Cel-estia’s head. It took Cel-estia’s quickest reaction time to just barely evade the razor sharp knife. Because of this, she was able to slice through the flexsteel midsection of the enemy body armor. Just as the Mon-Keigh realized he had been critically wounded, Cel-estia had already planted her heel and stopped back-to-back with her opponent. From here, she had a plethora of weak points to strike. The joints behind the knee, the gap under the shoulder guard, the lower back, even the self-contained power pack mounted on its back was one large week spot when it was exposed. The blood gushing from its wounds hadn’t even hit the ground yet and she was only halfway through her graceful slaughter. She weighed her options and decided that ending the battle quickly was the best course of action.

With one final decisive slash, Cel-estia cleaved through the creature’s armor. Her aim was to slice off its head, but with the bulky power plant in the way and the thick ceramite armor plating around the shoulders, she had to put the entire force of her upper body into the swing on top of pushing as much energy through her sword as she could muster. Despite her best effort, she merely severed its brain from its spinal column. It was not a perfect kill, but it would pass for mercenary work. Sensing no more threats in the immediate area, she allowed the energy coursing through her body to radiate back into the immaterium. Coming down from the adrenalin rush of combat, time seemed to resume normal flow again. All that was left was to dispose of the one remaining member of the pack. The wounded warrior was kneeling in the dirt clutching his eye with his left hand, but blood continued to pour from it regardless.

“Any last words, you monster?” Cel-estia taunted as she held her sword to the Mon-Keigh’s neck. It was only humming with energy rather than screaming as it was earlier, but it could still do considerable damage to power armor, especially its weak points. A supreme feeling of superiority washed over Cel-estia as she dominated her foe. She was so sure of the outcome of this fight that she opted to taunt her fifth victim rather than kill him. Her opponent’s armor was little more than a form-fitting coffin at this point in the fight. If he tried to reach for a weapon, she would simply slice his neck, but not completely. She wanted to let him know who was in control before he perished at her hands.

The emotionless face turned toward what would be his assailant to at least see what struck him and his brothers down. What he saw did not inspire fear as he was conditioned to feel no such thing. Rather, he saw hope that this encounter could still be won. Her face was perfectly unmarred save for a scratch on her left cheek. Was she unaware that a drop of blood was slowly running down her face? The sergeant had managed to inflict at least a small hit, thus denying her a flawless victory. In his mind, if the enemy could bleed, it could die and while he himself was not dead, he could still kill.

“Caro autem infirma,” the Mon-Keigh growled through his helmet’s vocal grill. These words were utterly alien to Cel-estia, but she paid them no mind as she prepared to strike him down. One quick jab to the neck should silence this one for good. What she did not foresee was the Astartes’ next move.

Cel-estia lost her grip on her witchblade as her entire upper body lurched forward. Her reaction times were no longer lightning-quick. It was too late before she realized the Mon-Keigh had grabbed her wrist with a robotic left hand and sent a curled fist straight for her face. While she could not free her arm from the giant’s iron grasp, she could tilt her head in a bid to avoid the worst of the blow.

Despite the fact that it was a glancing blow, Cel-estia still received a pretty severe concussion from the force of the impact. She was unfocussed and hadn’t even realized she was now flat on her back with her weapon far out of reach. What brought her back was a sudden and intense crushing force over her entire left arm. She cut through the haze and the pain to see the Mon-Keigh had turned the tables. He was now looming over her, his one good eye burning blood red with hatred at her mere existence. He was also standing on her arm, pinning her to the ground. He had also intentionally put most of his weight on the pinning foot, effectively preventing her escape.

No matter her efforts, her opponent’s cold boot would not budge one iota. It was now Cel-estia who turned to face her soon-to-be killer for the last time. He was clearly intent on killing her as he had already drawn a pistol and aimed it at his prey’s unarmored head. Cel-estia had never been on the receiving end of this scenario, but she knew that it was invariably fatal for those who shared her position.

At this point, she was no longer capable of thinking of a counterattack. The cold feeling of despair had seized that part of her brain from functioning. The pistol’s barrel was short, but its interior allowed no light past the muzzle The effect was like staring down a deceptively small bottomless pit. The depths of which held only death and sought to consume everything about its victims. The distant screams of the ponies of Canterlot faded into silence. The only words she could hear were her dominant’s taunt as he prepared to end her life.

“Morere, xenos!”

Before she could be delivered, her would-be killer met his own demise. An intensely focused beam of light appeared seemingly from nowhere and struck the armored goliath in the head. The light lasted for only an instant, but that was all it took to neutralize the threat. The edges where the light touched were glowing crimson and yellow from the intense heat. The flesh underneath was charred black and what was once a heart gave one last futile pulse before it ceased. Any matter where the light was most strongly focused simply vanished into thin air. All that was left was a battered shell of an Astartes trooper with its head drilled clean off. Without a system to support it any longer, the slain Mon-Keigh conceded to gravity and fell to the ground. With an unceremonious crash to the cold earth, its headless remains laid sprawled out amidst the surrounding wreckage.

Cel-estia had lost quite a bit of blood from her mangled arm, so staying conscious was becoming more and more difficult. The pain in her arm was numbing as the world faded to black. In her mind, she failed in her endeavor to create her own empire. So much time, effort and resources wasted on something so easily destroyed. The will to persevere was just one more thing that was rapidly bleeding from her body. As the last ray of light faded from her vision, the cold but comforting embrace of death surrounded her and she accepted the fact that she had finally passed from this world. Fate, however, had other plans.

As quickly as it had surrounded her, the darkness evaporated and the material world came back into focus. Cel-estia was not claustrophobic, but the low ceiling told her that she would be crouching if she tried to stand. As her senses returned, the details of the environment came into view. She could sense one individual near her. She sat up straight to observe her environment directly. There were only a few bullet holes and two broken windows, but other than that, this luxury apartment was in remarkable shape. The full moon illuminated the room and allowed her to see the lavish apartment once enjoyed by the former inhabitants. Likely the late inhabitants at this point.

Looking around, she couldn’t see the source of the life aura she sensed earlier. There was unmistakably another being in the room, another Eldar unless she was imagining it. It was now that Cel-estia thought to examine herself and heal her injuries. The familiar sting of her crushed arm surged through her body once more. She worried that her gasp of pain had alerted the unseen other or worse, the Astartes invaders. To her pleasant surprise, her arm was already splinted and bandaged, though it was an amateurish job.

Bodily injuries were easily repairable, given that the damage was not grave. No one knew Cel-estia’s body better than she herself. In fact, she only needed physical feedback to gauge her progress. It was painful, but with only her thoughts, she willed her arm back into good health. Had she not spent time studying biology, medicine, and her own physiology on the path of the Witch Doctor, none of this would be possible. As she removed the wrappings from her arm, Cel-estia detected a change of spiritual presence.

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you princess?” This voice was so familiar, yet a century of separation had obscured her memories of any other Eldar souls. They were faded, but merely exploring that old archive of memories seemed to give them new life. It felt good to reminisce about her past, good memories as well as bad. In the span of a moment, a lifetime of experiences, lessons and memories filled every capable section of her mind.

“I hope that you’ve at least been productive all this time,” he said as he tinkered with a small mechanical device. The long slender shaft was studded with hand-carved crystals and he scrutinized each one for even the smallest defect. He was clearly engrossed with his task, but Cel-estia was at awe with the mere presence of this individual, as if it she could not believe her eyes.

“Luresh?” Cel-estia asked. At first, she doubted that this was her older brother. The thick beard was not one of his defining characteristics. Also, last she knew, heavy weapons were not Luresh’s specialty. He always had trouble handling standard shuriken catapults, let alone the bright lance cannon at his feet. He did indeed bear the familiar sigil of the Rising Suns on his right shoulder, but his face appeared to have matured since last they met.

Though she did a good job fixing her own arm, a sharp pain still shot through Cel-estia’s arm. It was not a crippling pain, but it was enough to stop her from getting up. Luresh quickly reassembled his long cannon before coming to Cel-estia’s aid. He too was trained as a witch doctor, but he was fully qualified as a master. With a wave of his hand across her arm, Luresh corrected the almost perfect limb reconstruction.

“Any reason you chose Equus?” Luresh asked as he put the finishing touches on Cel-estia’s arm. She didn’t quite understand the question. Who or what was ‘Equus’?

“I tried twenty different maiden worlds, but you chose the most secluded one of all,” he explained while he went to retrieve his weapon. “Everyone thought you left to join another kin-band or become an exarch. I never pegged you as a world builder, though.” At this point, Cel-estia had fully recovered from her injuries. Still fresh in her mind was the task of repelling the invading Mon-Keigh army.

“It’s good to see you after all this time,” Cel-estia began, “but my world is under attack. Follow me, we can catch them off guard.” So sure was Cel-estia that she could lead her shy brother into battle with nothing but her words. She didn’t even turn to verify that he was following.

“Where are you going?” Luresh asked just as Cel-estia reached the foyer entrance.

With a sharp turn on her heels, Cel-estia whirled around to deliver her response. “I’m going to destroy the enemies of Equestria and I need you to support me.” In the past, the phrase ‘I need you to…’ had such sway over Luresh that he would follow whoever merely uttered these words. A century of maturation had effectively corrected his once weak will.

“First of all,” Luresh began, “where exactly do you plan on going? You know nothing of the enemy here. Where are they located? How many are they? What are their capabilities? What is their next move?” Cel-estia tried to interrupt, but would not get a word in edgewise. “Second,” Luresh continued, asserting himself as the dominant speaker, “you won’t be much good in a fight without these.” He reached into a small sac at his side and revealed two shuriken pistols. Though she tried, Cel-estia simply could not shrug off the embarrassment of being caught unarmed. What made it worse was seeing her prized witchblade strapped to Luresh’s waist and not hers.

“If you want to save your little world here, follow my lead. I know where the enemy camps and when they plan on moving. I did a little divination into the future while you were out.” Just how long had I been out, Cel-estia wondered to herself. It was long enough for him to find shelter, perform first aid, divine the future and still have enough time to maintain his bright lance. If he already had a feel for the situation at hand, perhaps he could be of great use to Cel-estia.

“I must say,” said Luresh as he returned the blade to its rightful owner, “you weren’t nearly this disorganized when we trained together.” Cel-estia pretended the comment didn’t get to her.

“How do we start?” Cel-estia asked, sharply changing the subject. In her mind, the only thing to do right now was to save Equestria. With Luresh on her side, she may be able to do just that.

“The elite forces are few in number and act as the spearhead, but they have their own weaknesses,” Luresh explained. “The main body of the invading force is the biggest problem to overcome. They are thousands strong and we won’t be able to hold them off if they mobilize.” In addition to verbally, Luresh also spoke psychically, sharing visions of what he had seen in his short time in contact with the Mon-Keigh forces. Small groups of near-invincible super soldiers reinforced by a horde of lesser-equipped ground troops. Together, the two groups made a formidable force, one that, if truly unified, left no openings to exploit. Fortunately for the Eldar, no army in the known galaxy was truly infallible.

The more mundane ground troops clad in beige and olive green appeared to make use of camp sites and large bulky equipment. Rooted and encumbered was not the best way to fight a war, but it was their way. Almost the polar opposite were the imposing Astartes warriors with their categorical superiority in every way except their numbers. The common grunts outnumbered the Astartes a thousand to one easily. If the smaller, weaker and underequipped support corps were eliminated, the native wildlife could conceivably be used against the elites despite their impressive armaments.

“If you want to make a difference, the two of us can do just that. There are several camps in the forests to the west of here. We can use hit-and-run tactics for the smaller camps, then start chipping away at patrols and larger settlements.” Such knowledge from such short contact with the enemy, thought Cel-estia. Still, she was skeptical. She lived on this planet for over one hundred years and it was she who engineered many of the plants that now comprise the region known as Everfree Forest. She knew the lay of the land, but did Luresh? Could this plan of his work? As painful as it would be to admit it, Cel-estia had no option but to accept his assistance.

Without a word, but a look that spoke volumes, Luresh could tell that Cel-estia was thirsty for battle. Whatever she had here, it must be so precious to her that she would charge in headlong despite being a hundred years out of practice. Regardless, Luresh was also here for a purpose. He would not leave until that purpose was fulfilled. Once more prepared for combat, the pair of Eldar warriors set out to face one of the greatest threat this maiden world had ever faced.