Inquisitor Actaeon strode forward to address the assembly. It was not as large as it had been ten years ago, at the last Convocation of Sages. Many faces were noticeably absent, though he could account for all of them. There were also new faces; heirs no doubt of some of the absent masters. Some, like himself, were noticeably unprepared for their new responsibilities.
Actaeon's own Mentor, Pater Frewen, the former High Theosophist of the New Pantheon, had finally succumbed to the ravages of time barely seven Imperial months after the last gathering, leaving the Chair to the senior surviving member. Grand Register Philos would fit the position, but would most likely defer to Arch Oracle Galix, who is said to have an agreement with the old man.
Of course, neither man was truly the longest standing member; that honour belonged to Farseer Chellilyth, the Eldar. Indeed, he looked to be no older than he was ten years before. Pater Frewen had said that the Farseer had not aged in the full three-score years he had known him. The earliest records state that the Eldar mystic had requested membership only two weeks after the Order was founded… over three hundred years ago. However, the original precepts of the Exalted Scholastic Order of the New Pantheon precluded non-humans from holding administrative positions.
As heir to the previous High Theosophist, it was the Inquisitor's duty to ensure that the resulting transition took place smoothly, and without ruffling any feathers. An intimidating job, to say the least. Although he had been an Imperial Inquisitor for a full thirty-five years, with the power to veto the decrees of planetary heads, here he was just old Frewen's apprentice, a mere boy. There were many other Inquisitors in the assembly, and all, like himself, were guilty of heresy against the Emperor, merely for allowing such an event to take place. Actaeon doubted none of them; all knew, as he did, that the Emperor was simply one of many gods, each with merits, but none worthy of worship.
The scholars mumbled their impatience. Very well, thought the former apprentice, let us hope the politics can be sorted out quickly, that the Convocation may begin in earnest.
He cleared his throat…
High Theosophist Galix called the Order to silence for review. It gave him great pleasure to do so. With his new position secure, he had been able to collect the evidence he had required for the furthering of his own theory on the forces at work in the universe, while cutting short the discussion of any superfluous findings. The New Pantheon would be recreated in the image of his own theory, and he would send forth the Order's best scholars and researchers to gather still more evidence in its support.
"It has been well noted, my colleagues, that the results of much of our research converge to lend yet more credence to our 'shard' theory of distributed godhead. The physical realm in which we reside supports only fragments of divinity, whose whole persons can be found only in that nebulous region, we know as the 'warp'."
"The truth of the theory is borne out most pointedly in the case of those scattered pieces of the Eldar deity, Kaela Mensha Khaine, also known as 'the bloody handed god'. According to Eldar history, this deity fought a titanic battle with the prominent Chaos god, Slaanesh, in which he has broken into shards, which immediately manifested in the material universe to be carried throughout the galaxy by the Eldar Craftworlds. Farseer Chellilyth can attest to the verity of this information."
The mystic nodded in agreement.
"In a similar manner, the Chaos gods Slaanesh, Nurgle, Khorne, and Tzeentch voluntarily send shards of their own essence to our realm, in the form of Daemons, to do their will. Inquisitors Barthos, Klein, and Actaeon agree to this?"
The three men murmured their assent. Inquisitor Actaeon felt uncomfortable with his answer. It had been his Mentor's theory that the smaller Daemons were the combined dreams, emotions, and desires of living beings given form, and that the gods of Chaos were formed from the combination of these smaller Daemons, and not the reverse, as Galix would have him believe. Pater Frewen's own research into the Orkish deities Mork and Gork as manifestations of the collective Ork paradigm were given short shrift in the preceding discussion.
"Further, it can be shown that each Daemon exhibits personality traits that demonstrate unique facets of its parent god's more expansive archetype. Thus, while one Bloodthirster may bellow for all who dare to come and be slain, yet another will search the battlefield itself for the mightiest hero and fly to meet him. The same holds true of the various Craftworld Avatars."
Actaeon noted that the High Theosophist was no longer seeking affirmation for his points. Did the Avatars truly have different personalities? He would have to seek out Chellilyth after the meeting.
"Another interesting example is the limited, yet distinct, individuality of each of the so-called 'hive minds' of the Tyranid fleets…"
According to Galix, the material universe was made up only of shards broken from beings and objects in the greater universe, i.e. the warp. His theory even went so far as to suggest that all the complete things in the warp were but shards of a great, single object/diety in a yet greater universe, and that all gods and other entities were but variations on this being's all encompassing archetype.
What angered Actaeon most was the way the physical universe was made subordinate, and, indeed, powerless in the face of the warp. The Emperor himself was made out to be nothing more than an oversized lump of the same clay from which all men were made, a physical shard of the warp entity classed as the archetypal Man. Never mind that no such being had ever been recorded as having a presence in the warp. It was all hypothesis! Well, the new dispensations would send a thousand expeditions in search of it. What incredible frivolity.
"You have been to Siva 4." The oddly gentle voice of the alien made the Inquisitor unsure whether the words formed a question or an accusation, but it was certainly meant to be more than a statement.
"I have," he replied to the Farseer. It was difficult to repress the shudder that always attempted to dislodge his concentration when he thought on that place. Chellilyth seemed to notice.
"Ah," the Eldar continued, "then the Gate exists. Come with me to my ship. We must make haste to reach it."
Actaeon wanted to protest that he would never return to the horror of that corrupted and cursed system, but found himself following silently in the Farseers wake. He suddenly developed a vague and uneasy sense that things had always been this way. That perhaps Chellilyth had joined the Order merely for the convenient use of the minds and bodies of overly curious men. In any case, such suppositions did not change his predicament, or offer any egress from it. He would continue to follow the Eldar into the hell he knew awaited.
Once aboard the Farseer's tiny craft, the Inquisitor could do little but wonder at what he saw. The entire interior was lavishly decorated with smoothly polished gems of extreme quality. He recognized their shape as that of the spirit stones the Eldar apparently used to keep their souls safe from Slaanesh, but had never imagined that one small ship would be so encrusted with them.
"Marvel not, human. These house the only remains of my Craftworld, save myself." Chellilyth's soft voice was sufficient to move the Actaeon from his reverie. "You would, perhaps, like to hear the story behind our journey. Its reason and purpose."
Any response seemed superfluous. The Farseer gazed briefly into his eyes, then carried on.
"The previous leader of your group was closer to the mark, and those who followed him, such as yourself, have proved more useful to me than his rivals. You and your fellows have sought knowledge at the risk of your own souls and those of others. For you, the victory and loss are both at hand. You shall hear things that have never passed through living human ear, nor shall they save this moment. For neither we nor our souls shall return from the place we go to."
The fear and anticipation aroused in Actaeon now every passion that his Inquisitorial office had required him to forsake. His ears ached like a lover for the long sought knowledge that would soon be his. But his soul! That shrank in terror and darted through him like a caged lunatic.
The Eldar had paused, he supposed, to give him a chance to regain his composure. The delicate lips now continued.
"When the waystones are gathered in the correct arrangement, they give birth to a consciousness, in the same way that Frewen believed the living to do. While the living do play some role, the dead, being relieved of material distractions, are of much greater influence. Our souls are much more powerful than yours, and hence a smaller number are required. However, in numbers, your kind seems to excel in a similar manner to the Orks."
To have one's soul compared to an Ork's was not flattering, but Eldar were not known for their flattery of men. Actaeon disregarded the insult and listened intently.
"Each Craftworld is a power unto itself, foreseeing future possibilities and remembering all that takes place. But it is also a person, with needs and desires that it wishes to fulfill. My Craftworld desired to die."
Everything had made sense up to this point. Now Actaeon felt lost. A god, or demigod, that wished it's own death? That didn't look out for the good of the people to whom it owed its existence? This was not the way he had imagined divinity.
"It is not so difficult to understand, really. Your Emperor is fed on the souls of dying multitudes, and yet his direction never brings humanity closer to its former days of glory. For that is not his agenda. And so it was with us. Our destiny was not revealed to us, but slowly, over time, our Craftworld directed us into destruction.
"By tradition, we have it that our gods, all save two, were utterly annihilated by Slaanesh. You know of Kaela Mensha Khaine. The Laughing God is the other. Though important, neither of these gods care deeply for their people; the one being enamored of destruction, and the other of deceit. The mother and father gods, such as they were, have all gone.
"Still, some legends persisted that the First God, Asuryan the Phoenix King, would arise as he did in the beginning to create all the gods anew. Our Craftworld took comfort in this legend for thousands of your years, but time has only seen the decline of our people and the loss of most of the ancient Craftworlds. It began to feel cold and alone, without purpose or drive.
"It believed that place you call Siva 4 to contain a Gate to the place where our home world once was. It wants us to go there, to be swallowed up by whatever Dark God holds sway. To become one with it and join it in whatever struggle it exists for. I cannot disregard its wishes, however much I may fear their consequence.
The Inquisitor's throat and lips were dry. He had no words. Here was that helplessness in the face of greater powers which had always frightened him. Which he had always sought to overcome. Which he had always hoped his knowledge would allow him to overcome. Knowledge was no saviour.
"Prepare yourself, human."
As the Farseer began execution of final launch procedures, the hull of the craft suddenly rippled with coruscating energy. An opening instantly took shape, and through it, five Eldar warriors pounced like deadly tigresses upon Chellilyth and his hostage. Once their power swords had make quick work of the occupants, the Aspect Warriors began to remove the spirit stones from their casements in the ship's walls. The Banshee leader pulled loose the stones from the Farseers armour.
"This one will be very useful to Lywwen," she mused.
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