Chapter 83: Chapter Twenty-Seven: The View from Ulthwe (Part I)
Location: Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé, Scrying Chamber of Eldrad Ulthran
Date: 862.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)
The young Seer sat in the center of a reflecting pool, hovering slightly above the ritual waters in a meditative trance. With practiced ease, the Seer pushed his mind and awareness into the Warp, anchoring himself to his Spirit Stone as he dove in. He was taking a great risk, walking the old paths of soothsaying and peering into the Warp to catch a glimpse of the future like this. But he was desperate. This action was not done lightly but as a final gamble. Every previous method of foresight had proved hopelessly jumbled, as if someone had tossed a mountain into the waters of destiny, stirring it up and obscuring all but the greatest seers. Fate would settle eventually, but that would take time and could possibly form into a disastrous configuration in the meantime.
So it fell to Eldrad Ulthran, the prodigal seer of Craftworld Ulthwe, to take whatever risks necessary to find the future his people needed. Eldrad was of the new generation, born after the Fall and into a galaxy of strife. He was born into an era where the fate of his species and the galaxy with it hung by a thread. Only a few centuries of age, Eldrad had become something of a symbol among his people. He had broken from the old ways and helped shape the new. It was he who spearheaded the reformation of Morai-Heg's temple into the Path of the Seer. He earned the respect of Asurmen and laughed in the face of his broken elders. Now in his own secluded scrying chamber, the increasingly desperate Seer used every method he could, including the impossibly dangerous act he now attempted. After days of meditation and cleansing, he had purified himself to spiritual translucence. His emotions and ego were wrapped up and hidden in order to mask his presence in the Warp. If Eldrad lost focus or let his emotions rise he would be bleeding meat surrounded by hungry predators.
Eldrad took this monumental risk almost regularly now. Every few day-cycles he plunged into the Warp and pulled up priceless scraps of foresight. Slowly but surely he was crafting an accurate picture of what he needed. The few rune-castings he had managed to do without interference pointed him to a key. This new shifting uncertainty of destiny was not truly random. Patterns within patterns traced through the changing futures. Axes of possibility wheeling around key events and people. If Eldrad could locate one of these keys he could use it as a prognostic cipher. Gaining a valuable landmark to center his foresight and let him see past the current turbulence.
It had taken cycles of work but the first of what would eventually be known as the Farseers had found his key, and it was almost in reach. The efforts had almost killed him or worse on fifteen different occasions and earned him a venomous castigation from an ancient former Priest of Morai-Heg. The key he selected to pursue was powerful, it attracted the intense focus of all players in the Great Game. Destiny warped around its actions with causal ease. Eldrad could have of course picked a lesser key for his effort, something safer and easier to locate. But doing so would limit the scope of his foresight and despite his wisdom, intelligence and genius, Eldrad fell into the oldest sin his people suffered. His pride pushed him to do what others thought impossible.
In this most recent dive, the Farseer gathered the last and most important shard of destiny needed to comprehend his chosen key, its name. It had been difficult in the extreme, simply because this name refused to follow the rules of its kind. It was set and static like a Daemons. Everything about a Neverborn is changeable, everything except its true name. It is the truth of the Daemon, its identity and origin together. Knowledge of which could grant power over the Daemon, something the Neverborn fear above all except true death. In that way, the name Eldrad pursued seemed like a Neverborn's, except it was not tucked away and hidden like a shameful secret. This name was spoken across a billion lips in a billion timelines, carved into the immaterium through repetition and intensity. In this way, the name was like that of a legend or minor deity. Rare things in this era, quickly swallowed up by the Thirsting Gods or the Anathema. Then even more curiously, the name belonged to a single shifting soul. Like a mortal's name. However, it did not change with its owner like a true mortal's name would. The name belonged to a Daemon, a Legend, and a Mortal while being none of those things. Its defiance of timeless truths would normally fascinate and amuse Eldrad. Instead, the importance and anomalous nature of the name brought the Farseer a mixture of annoyance, fear, and trepidation.
With his prize in hand, Eldrad finally returned to his body. Eyes that had not seen use for day-cycles sprung open and the Eldar slowly unfolded his body from its meditation pose. Floating just over the shimmering water below him Eldrad opened his mouth to speak the name he had toiled to claim. It came to him easily, the guttural tongue of the name's origin language flowing from his lips as the plucked knowledge did its work.
"Magnus Rubricar," he said, and the world broke in an explosion of visions.
*Two armies clashing in the shadow of burning Pyramids. Each headed by abominations crafted from occult mysteries*
* A Throne of Gold at the heart of everything. A Crimson King seated upon it, blind to all but what his third eye sees*
*Screaming children of a lost Craftworld. Dying as the void pulled a final breath from their lungs.*
* The Library burned as it was brought in chains to the Throne of Gold. The ultimate performer unmasked and enslaved*
* Twenty Godlings kneeling before an Imposter Deity. Hubris to conquer the galaxy, the power to burn it to ash.*
Eldrad did not know how long the visions lasted. They pounded into his mind like surf against the shore. Eventually, the Farseer pulled himself back to some semblance of normal and took great shuddering breaths. His efforts had been worth the danger. Eldrad had learned more than he hoped, and yet countless new questions arose. It would take him time to make a plan of action but he could do it. He would meet this Primarch and use him to help the Aeldari.
Looking out from his scrying chamber, through ornate wraithbone windows. Eldrad gazed up into the void and the abomination that filled Ulthwe's sky. The Eye of Terror, the ultimate monument to his people's sins. Craftworld Ulthwe slowly moved away from the gaping rip in reality with each passing cycle, fleeing the yawning abyss at steady sub-light speeds. Once it had been Ulthwe's destiny to be trapped at the edge of the Eye, stuck in its eldritch orbit and assailed by the Great Enemy till Rhana Dandra. That fate had been changed through the most unlikely intervention. The Human God-Caller had pushed back the darkness slightly. His Soul-Pyre lit the Warp and weakened Chaos' grip on the Galaxy. The psychic fire, that horrid anathema to the creatures from beyond the boundaries of reality, scorched the wound that had once been the Crone Worlds ever so slightly which let Ulthwe escape and chart a new course in the galaxy.
Eldrad did not believe it was a coincidence that his long-sought key was one of the Anathema's summoned godlings. It seemed every strand of fate led back to that great tyrant and its host species. Godcalling and the nature of this so-called Emperor of Mankind were not things Eldrad knew much about. As a Farseer, his duties pertained to the future, not the past. Cryptic hints hidden in the oldest myths and the terror of his seniors told of exactly how dangerous this Mon-Keigh Godcaller was. The Emperor had done the unthinkable, with the kind of brutish carelessness you would expect of its servant species. It had summoned up twenty malformed godlings at once, shoved them into malfunctioning flesh, and unleashed them upon the galaxy. A barbaric parody of the ancient powers of Eldanesh. Eldrad and his few equals among the Seer path expected this botched experiment in ancient power to end in predictable tragedy. Eldanesh and Ulthanesh had been heroes of the Aeldari, champions of the species who were molded by the Gods themselves. Yet they let the Bloody Handed One tear them apart and strike down Eldanesh. What hope did this Emperor have in controlling his creations?
This inevitable lack of control might serve Eldrad. He might just be able to communicate with this Magnus creature. If he could offer it an alternative to its creator's cruel vision, it might be won over. Having influence over such a powerful being that seemed inexorably linked to the changing future would be a great boon. Of the many skills required to manipulate the future, chief among them is the ability to see connections and understand their nature. It was a skill Eldrad had few rivals in. The connections between Ulthwe, himself, the Human Godcaller, and Magnus Rubricar started to paint a picture for the first Farseer. The cause of the metaphorical boulder tossed into the tides of fate had been a mystery. Something which came from no apparent source and disrupted the schemes of every future weaver. Now Eldrad had an idea of its origin, if not its nature. Somehow the human Godcaller had altered the future in some crucial unexplainable way, creating an entirely new unfolding chain of causality that his fifteenth creation Magnus Rubricar was closely linked to.
Magnus may be the key Eldrad had been looking for but finding him now presented new challenges. The Farseer needed to find the lock for his key and learn how to use it correctly. If successful he would gain insight into this new future, a valuable pawn or possible ally. To do this he needed information. The kind of which entire worlds had been burned to get. Farseer Eldrad, prodigal prophet of Ulthwe prepared to journey to the Black Library. There he might learn the secrets of the Godcallers and how to save his species.
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