Avran whirled his jetbike ferociously through a 90 degree quarter roll as the sleek machine snapped around a corner. The quick combined rush of gravity and momentum nearly overcame him, the flux of energy without pulsing in counter-rhythm to the manic pounding in his chest. Quite often, while relaxing with his comrades, he had passionately championed the tactical merits of this particular manoeuvre -- greater visibility, avoiding enemy overwatch, and so on -- but the true reason he consistently rolled his corners was the sheer, glorious fun of it! What better reason is there?
Of course, battle is a serious affair, particularly battle against one's own kind. The tall warrior crouched low in his seat as he accelerated towards the encampment ahead. Why the Eldar of another Craftworld would raid without provocation was mystery enough, but why with such small forces and on so many worlds at once?
The word was that the invaders had been beaten back without difficulty on all occasions, this engagement being no exception. After performing a lightning strike on a mining installation, the entire raiding party had been dispatched within minutes by a few Guardians and a distortion cannon. And what did they accomplish? They killed a couple of scientists and damaged an energy converter then took off. It was childish vandalism. Like something an Ork would do, except where the greenskins would use a hammer, this enemy had used a needle. The end result was the same, though, a mining unit had been disabled for no good reason. The installation had no military or economic importance; it was just a training workshop for those on the Path of Stone. Usually only the most inexperienced geologists would train there to get the feel for the elements that would be so important in their more esoteric future studies. So why attack it?
The squadron of jetbikes coasted into the Guardian encampment, settling to earth as the riders vaulted from their seats. Avran strode up to the nearest foot soldier and casually looked down at him. "Anyone hurt?", he asked, with no apparent concern. Anyone who didn't ride wasn't really worth talking to, but the tall biker needed some information.
The young Eldar replied eagerly, "Three from my squad. Four from South line. Only one death. They got two scientists, though.
What an incredible dullard! Ground people are as worthless as the dirt they walk on. Every soldier between here and Malann had heard all that on the broadcast.
"You want to know what's really creepy about it?"
Not really.
"One of the scientists. All his waystones were gone."
In an instant, Avran's cool disdain had melted into blind panic. "What do you mean, all his waystones were gone. Were … were … were they crushed? Did he get caught in a blast?"
"No, no. Two shuriken. One for each eye, then they pulled off his stones and hit the trail. Too bad, it was Shaia Glan's first day down here. One day you're the greatest geologist on the path, next…" The Guardian pointed his fingers in imitation of a shuriken pistol aimed at Avran's head.
Avran was on his bike before the boy could make the nonsense sound that usually accompanied that gesture. This is wrong! This is all wrong! Uncle Shaia was supposed to arrive tomorrow, not today. And why wasn't Avran's squadron set on patrol near the mine today, like it had always been before. Why would the raiders steal someone's waystones? Someone's waystones!
He kicked the jetbike into pursuit speed and screamed off in the direction of the raiders' escape route. This was the same thing that had happened to his sister, two years ago. A brilliant scientist is sent to a poorly defended outpost in the middle of nowhere. The normal security is misdirected by some off world command. Then the attack.
There had been no survivors in that attack two years ago. No one even knew who the attackers were. The only thing that was certain was that Avenne's waystones had completely disappeared. All of them.
Tears splashed around Avran's helmet as his machine bucked and wheeled through the remains of the former human colony. Smoke and ashes filled the air as he raced through the still burning fuel dumps, scattered like demonic confetti amidst the ancient debris.
Weren't the Farseers supposed to prevent this kind of occurrence? Why was the mine left undefended? Is that other Craftworld collecting waystones for a reason? Both Avenne and Shaia were very advanced in their path. Is there a connection here? Everything seems so… so… deliberate. Are the Farseers allowing them to take away the stones of our best geologists? No… Why? The Farseers take their orders from the Craftworld itself. The Saim Hann Craftworld is a living being; all the waystones of all our dead become one with it. Losing waystones couldn't be in the Saim Hann's best interests. The stones give it power. Is it possible for a Craftworld to go mad…
Avran whirled his jetbike angrily through a quarter roll as the overtaxed machine snapped around a corner. As his head swung through its arc toward the ground, a crumbled block of grey plasteel appeared through the smoke. The impact shattered his helmet, sending rider and mount careening through the air like some demented bumblebee before falling into a sea of ash and earth.
A gloved hand reached down to the broken form of the wildrider, selecting one spirit stone… then another…
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