Chapitre 48: Eldrad Ulthran 'The Farseer of the Furthest Fars'
In the heart of Craftworld Ulthwé, amidst the ever-flowing energies of the infinity circuit, Farseer Eldrad Ulthran stood motionless, his ancient frame barely stirring. His eyes, though closed, saw far beyond the present as psychic currents from the Warp flowed through him. His mind danced upon the threads of fate, a vast, ever-shifting web of potential futures. Today, though, those threads twisted together, coiling around a singular, fiery point of destiny.
The moment was unmistakable. Something pivotal was approaching.
Eldrad's consciousness plunged deeper into the skein of fate, drawn inexorably toward a moment that could reshape the entire galaxy.
A world appeared before him—once green and vibrant, now dark and twisted under the insidious influence of Nurgle, the Plague God. The stench of rot filled the air, and the sound of unrelenting battle echoed through the haze. But in the midst of this decay, one figure stood resolute—Franklin Valorian, a Primarch of the Nascent Imperium.
Valorian's rise had not gone unnoticed by the Aeldari, especially as the Independence Sector, under his influence, had become a rare sanctuary in the galaxy—a place where the Aeldari could approach without being fired upon on sight. In this brutal, war-torn galaxy, that in itself was a marvel. The sector had built an unusual reputation as one of the few places where negotiations with humans were even remotely possible. There, the Aeldari could glimpse a fleeting reflection of what had once been—a time before the fall, when humanity and the Eldar both walked the stars, each empire vast in its own right.
Eldrad's thoughts drifted back to those ancient days, when the Federation of Humanity had dared to challenge them. It had been an audacious move by humans, with their vibrant empire During it's Golden Age. The soulless legions of the Men of Iron had been a formidable, albeit hollow, force, one that had tested the Aeldari's strength. But they had crushed them. Eldrad vividly remembered the relentless, cold determination of the Federation's machines, swarming like an unyielding tide across the stars. Yet, even in their arrogance, the Aeldari had shown restraint, choosing not to push humanity's destruction to its bitter end.
At the time, Eldrad's brethren had seen no reason to fully extinguish the human presence. Why destroy when there were pleasures far more tantalizing to pursue, pleasures that consumed many of his kin? The Aeldari were at the height of their power, and the fall of the Federation was merely a footnote in their eternal arrogance. What harm could these upstarts pose, after all, to a race as mighty and proud as the Aeldari?
Yet, even now, as the galaxy burned with the fires of war and chaos, Eldrad could not help but feel a sense of curiosity—and perhaps, in some distant part of his ancient mind, a faint admiration—for Valorian and the Independence Sector. Here was a human, shaped by the fires of the past but unbowed, leading a sector where old memories of the Federation's ideals still lingered. Humanity, still vibrant and ambitious, had managed to build something that echoed the days before the Age of Strife.
And Valorian himself, Eldrad noted with interest, was not a man easily dismissed. The Primarch's very presence exuded causality, willpower, and strength, a powerful anomaly in the skeins of fate. More importantly, he was not bound by the xenophobic blinders that most humans of the Imperium wore so tightly. Valorian's pragmatic approach allowed for future discussions beyond simple military alliances—a trait that Eldrad respected, even if he found the human's nature brash and unpredictable.
In Franklin Valorian, Eldrad saw a glimpse of what humanity had once been—a race that had once stood tall among the stars, bold enough to challenge the Aeldari but wise enough not to seek total war. The Farseer knew better than to trust fully, for the nature of mankind was fraught with unpredictability and ambition. Yet, this Primarch and his Independence Sector represented a curious anomaly, a shard of the past slipping into the present.
As Eldrad's gaze returned to his future sight, he saw it again—Valorian, a shining light of defiance in the swirling madness. The Primarch stood a lighthouse amidst the storm, his presence radiating a will as unyielding as steel, cutting through the storm of horrors that threatened to consume all. Eldrad watched from his ethereal vantage, his mind threading through the many possible futures, observing the intricate maneuvers of the Primarch.
Valorian commanded his forces with calculated precision, each move executed with a mastery that reminded the Farseer of the greatest tacticians of old. Great pylons, ancient and arcane, rose from the corrupted ground at Valorian's will. These towering constructs hummed with a strange and unsettling energy—one that sent shivers even through the spine of the ancient Farseer, no stranger to the warp's mysteries.
As the power within the pylons crescendoed, Eldrad felt the tremors of reality itself buckle under the strain. The fabric of the universe warped and tore open, as if bowing to Valorian's command, revealing glimpses of possibilities that even Eldrad could barely comprehend.
A gaping rift to the Immaterium emerged. Through it poured the stuff of nightmares: daemons of Nurgle, their forms corrupting the very earth as they spilled onto the battlefield. It was the gateway to Nurgle's Garden, however, that seized Eldrad's attention—a festering tear in the material universe, oozing corruption, despair and stagnation.
Eldrad's gaze fell once again on the Primarch. Franklin Valorian now stood alone, his forces shattered and scattered. The relentless daemonic tide converged upon him, their malevolent whispers clawing at his mind. As the Farseer watched in horrified silence, Valorian's noble form began to twist, his flesh warping under the weight of corruption. The ideals of freedom and liberty that once defined him crumbled into a dark parody. The beacon of liberty became a symbol of tyranny.
In this fall, Eldrad saw the rise of a new Champion of Chaos—a being of immense power and terrifying knowledge. The balance of power across the galaxy tipped in that instant, plunging humanity and the Aeldari into an abyss of ruin. Worlds burned, civilizations fell, and the Imperium crumbled under the weight of betrayal. Franklin Valorian, now a champion of the dark gods, became a force that no one could have predicted.
The vision swelled, branching into countless futures, each more dire than the last. The Aeldari, too, were not spared. Their fate was intertwined with humanity's, and the fall of the Primarch would usher in a darkness from which even they might not recover.
Eldrad's mind snapped back to the present, his ancient form trembling under the weight of the vision. He stood once more in the heart of Ulthwé, the vision's afterimage still burning in his mind. He closed his eyes again, sifting through the possibilities, analyzing every nuance, searching for answers.
"The threads are tangled," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we cannot stand idle. The consequences of inaction are too grave to contemplate."
Yet even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at his certainty. Fate was ever-shifting, the skein of possibilities too complex for even one as ancient as Eldrad to fully grasp. How certain could he be of what he had seen? The 11th Primarch, Franklin Valorian, was an enigma. His future was obscured in ways even Eldrad could not penetrate. What lay beneath the surface of that mortal soul? What powers swirled around him, beyond even the reach of the Aeldari's most powerful seers?
Eldrad reached out once more, probing the threads of fate tied to Valorian. Fleeting images flashed before his mind's eye—a sword of immense power, its edge flickering with the essence of a shattered god; the faces of warriors, steadfast in their loyalty to their Primarch; a psyker, wielding vast power, standing as a bulwark against the Warp's dark tides.
These glimpses hinted at a different future—a Franklin Valorian stronger than the one Eldrad had foreseen in the vision. Surrounded by loyal allies and wielding powers beyond what Eldrad had anticipated, this version of the Primarch stood against Chaos, not as its puppet, but as its conqueror.
Doubt flickered in the Farseer's mind. Every Vision may or may not come to pass, The path he saw was but one of many, The future changes he knows this, it depends on the choices that lay ahead. The weight of millennia pressed down on Eldrad. How many times had he acted on his visions, only for fate to unfold in unexpected ways? The burden of foresight was one of doubt, for even the greatest seer could never fully grasp the infinite possibilities of the future.
But the stakes were too high to ignore. Even if the vision was only one of many possible outcomes, the risk of Franklin Valorian's fall was too great. The Primarch held the key to the fate of the galaxy, and if Eldrad did not act, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Eldrad stood at a crossroads. To act on the vision might save countless lives—or it could lead to unforeseen consequences, spiraling out of control. Yet the Farseer had guided his people for millennia, and his sense of duty remained unwavering. He could not allow fear or doubt to paralyze him. He must move forward.
"We move," he declared, his voice firm, resonating with the authority of one who had weathered the storms of countless crises. "But we proceed with caution. The future is not set, and we must be prepared for all possibilities."
Across Craftworld Ulthwé, plans were set in motion. Strike forces were assembled, and the Aeldari Fleets were assembled. The Aeldari prepared to intervene in a battle that could shape the destiny of the galaxy. Yet, as the Craftworld hummed with the energy of preparation, Eldrad stood alone, his mind still grappling with the uncertainty that lingered in the wake of his vision.
The image of Franklin Valorian, corrupted and fallen, haunted him. But like a shadow in the light, another image persisted—one of the Primarch standing tall, unyielding against the tides of Chaos, his ideals of liberty and freedom intact, a shield against the darkness.
Which future would come to pass? The answer remained hidden in the tangled threads of fate, awaiting the moment when possibility crystallized into reality.
In the grim darkness of the far future, even the greatest seers must sometimes step forward with faith as their only guide. And as Craftworld Ulthwé moved to confront the destiny of the 11th Primarch, the true nature of Franklin Valorian—and the consequences of the Aeldari's intervention—remained shrouded in the mists of an uncertain future.
Little did Eldrad realize, fate had painted him an obvious picture—one that seemed so clear, so predictable. But in the labyrinth of possibilities, a twist awaited. One that not even the Farthest of Farseers had foreseen.
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The bustling square of Castle Thorndike was alive with the sounds of clanking armor and the fluttering of resplendent banners. The Barons and Knights of Austeria Extremis, each adorned in their gleaming heraldry, filled the space, awaiting the words of their High-King. From the grand balcony above, Robert Thorndike—his weathered face carved with the lines of battle and command—stood tall, surveying his gathered vassals. The weight of their duty hung in the air like an unspoken oath.
"My noble knights," he began, his voice booming across the assembly, "for too long have we fought to protect our lands from the foul forces of the Ruinous Powers. But now, a new age dawns for Austeria Extremis!"
The crowd stirred, whispers passing through the ranks of proud warriors, their anticipation barely contained. Thorndike raised his hand, silencing them with a single, commanding gesture.
"The Emperor's own son, the Primarch Franklin Valorian, has come to our aid. With the might of the Liberty Eagles at our side, we shall drive the taint of Nurgle from our world!"
A cheer erupted from the knights, their armored feet stomping the ground in unison, sending a thunderous echo through the square. Towering above them all, Franklin Valorian his perpetual smirk on his face as usual. He had seen warriors from every corner of the galaxy, but these knights, with their resolve and discipline, were as proud and formidable as his own Astartes...well in the aspect of personality they are.
As the noise of the crowd faded, the knights began to disperse, readying themselves for the upcoming battle. In the distance, the massive frames of Knight Walkers stirred to life, their mighty forms preparing for war. Franklin descended from the balcony to meet High-King Thorndike on the castle grounds.
Thorndike extended a hand, his grip firm and confident as Franklin took it. "Your Astartes have already shown us the might of the Imperium," the High-King said, his tone filled with respect. "We are honored to fight alongside the Liberty Eagles."
"The honor is ours, High-King," Franklin replied, his deep voice resonating with conviction. "Your knights have proven their mettle time and again. Together, we will scour this world of Nurgle's filth."
Thorndike nodded, his weathered face set in grim determination. "My knights are ready for whatever lies ahead. What would you have us do, Primarch?"
Franklin gestured toward the sprawling plains below the castle, now transformed into a bastion of defense. "The Techno-Seers of my Legion have configured the Liberty Spires to focus on the tear in the Materium's veil. Four key points must be secured to contain the Warp incursion. I need your knights to take position at these locations, ready to support my Astartes as we confront the forces of Nurgle."
Thorndike's brow furrowed as he considered the Primarch's strategy, his sharp mind already working through the logistics of the battle ahead. "It will be done, Primarch. My knights will hold their positions and provide whatever aid your Astartes require."
Franklin's expression was one of approval as he clasped the High-King's shoulder. "This day, Austeria Extremis shall be cleansed of the Ruinous Powers' taint. The Liberty Eagles and the Knights of Austeria Extremis shall stand together in glorious battle."
The preparations for war continued as the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the fortified plains. The landscape was now a maze of trenches and bastions, evidence of the Liberty Eagle's mastery over modern warfare. Massive Knight Walkers lumbered into position, their colossal frames ready for the coming storm.
Standing side by side on a ridge overlooking the plains, Franklin and Thorndike watched the final stages of the defensive preparations. The scene was calm, but both leaders knew the tranquility was deceptive—the true storm was yet to come.
"Your people have done well to fortify these positions," Franklin remarked, his sharp gaze surveying the landscape.
"We've faced the horrors of Nurgle's plague for too long, Primarch," Thorndike replied, pride in his voice. "We have learned to endure. Now, we will fight back."
Franklin's face grew solemn, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation. "The battle ahead will be fierce. Nurgle's forces will come at us with overwhelming numbers and the power of corruption. They will seek to rot our resolve from within."
Thorndike turned to meet Franklin's gaze, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Then we will meet them with unbreakable steel and iron will. The Knights of Austeria Extremis have defended our world for centuries. We will not falter now, no matter the cost."
Franklin clasped the High-King's forearm, a gesture of mutual respect and understanding. "Your courage is an inspiration, High-King. My Astartes will be proud to fight alongside such noble warriors."
Thorndike allowed himself a rare smile, his eyes gleaming with fierce pride. "And we, Primarch, will be honored to stand beside the sons of the Emperor. Together, we shall cleanse this world."
The two leaders turned back to face the plains, the looming battle on the horizon drawing nearer with every moment. The calm before the storm hung thick in the air, filled with the quiet anticipation of the coming struggle.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone