WARHAMMER 40,000: A Thousand Tiny Suns (40k/Exalted Crossover!)

You looked down at the withered bodies. Your brow furrowed behind your mask, and a bead of sweat dripped down one sleek, muscled arm. You didn't know why you did what you did. But you felt your lips moving before you said anything: "...put them in stasis. We'll figure them out later."

The space marines exchanged glances, but the tech-marine was the one who got to work. He started to walk forward.

And then the entire ship lurched. Hard. Kit moved with fluid grace, catching you and Amberly in his huge arms, holding you both to his sides as one of the battle brothers was flung off his feet, sent careening into the wall. Cries of pain and agony shouted from throughout the corridor beyond the chamber - and you realized with a lurch that if this room had been as full as it had been...

"Report!" Captain Brutus shouted into his vox.

"Captain," a gruff, male voice rumbled. "There has been an unusual warp eddy that has ripped our ship off course. We have translated to realspace to assess. There is..." He paused. "By Ultimar, you need to see this, Captain."

Brutus turned and nodded to you. No, not to you.

He nodded to Kit.

"Hey!" Amberly exclaimed as Kit snatched her and you up under his arms and then you and Brutus sprinted down the corridor, the two matching paces. The space marine moved with remarkable, almost impossible grace - his armor flowing like water around his bulky form as he launched himself forward with bounding leaps. Kit, for his part...was taking it easy.

He wasn't even breathing hard.

The bridge of the battle-barge Hammer of Jove was large and sparsely populated. A single massive hololithic table that now flickered where someone's elbow had cracked into it sat in the center, while several large chairs were built in the small niches set in the wall for terminals and servitorized bodies, wire cables running from their bald, withered heads and into the walls. The terminals themselves have lecturns and smoking candles, and the space marines who were strapped into their places wore their battle armor, despite this not really being a combat zone. That turned out to have been quite a good idea: There were scuffmarks and dents, but no dead space marines. That could not be said for some of the chapter serfs who had been taking up positions on the bridges. Three pitifully still bodies, their forms draped in blankets with the blue and gold heraldics of the Ultramarines had been set aside, and a battle brother even now knelt over them, whispering a soft prayer as a serf with her arm in a sling lit candles and set them beside the slain.

The man in charge of the bridge was a tall, brash looking space marine with dusk brown skin, a bald pate, and a quite impressive bristling goatee. He nodded to Brutus, while Brutus turned to face you and Amberly. Amberly, her commissarial ego and bigheaded nature quite affronted by being carried through a multikilometer sprint under someone's arm like a portable krak missile launcher, was brushing her greatcoat into some proper shape. You, not concerned with any such absurdities, instead made sure your mask covered your face as was proper, and then stepped forward.

"What's the-?" you started, then realized you had spoken over Brutus, who had just said. "This is-"

"Bridge Master Francisco," he said, nodding curtly. "You are the Krieger."

"And more," Brutus said, his voice soft. "But first, what is it you wished us to see?"

Francisco turned. "Battle Brother Church, bring up the forward vista-plate view of the anomaly."

"Yes, Bridge Master." Church's fingers worked controls enlarged to fit a god's hands.
The gleaming glass and adamant plates that looked out on the cold vastness of space grew a shimmering hololithic projection, which then expanded, then expanded again - turning what you had thought was a nebular cloud of gasses into a swirling miasma. Smaller, and closer, than you had expected. The frothing, spurting, hissing material was coalescing into solid chunks of matter the further it streamed from the rent in space it came from. Your mind, bright and full of lore you never remembered learning, spat the idea into your mouth before you could help yourself.

"It's a warp rent!" you exclaimed, walking forward to the vista plates, pointing with your fingers. "The warpstuff is emerging - and it's essentially being turned by our reality into whatever degenerate matter that can be comprehended - earth, dirt, water, air, simple hydrocarbons. This means it's...either natural, or a not particularly guided manifestation. There must not be many demons involved, but...oh my, what is that!? Enhance the screen at 45 by 55!"

Captain Brutus nodded to Bridge Master Francisco. Bridge Master Francisco nodded to Battle Brother Church. Battle Brother Church finally pushed the four buttons to magnify the view even farther. Within the center of that swirling mass of warpstuff were two objects. The scale was nigh impossible to tell - one was an elegant dagger of gleaming white material, studded with glowing domes of orange and gold. It had two vast jets of flames spurting from the sides - blue white plasma exhaust, dragging it away from the warpstuff. But transfixed upon the dagger's long body was a sphere of glittering metal and hissing, gouting vents of steam and smoke. It was like a knife had stabbed into the heart of some titanic voidstation.

"An...Eldar Craftworld..." you whispered. "But what is that?"

"Eldar Craftworlds do not use the warp. They use the webway, what on Terra is it doing here?" Captain Brutus asked.

"Captain!" Church's voice broke in. "We are recieving a broadband vox transmission."

"From the craftworld?" Captain Brutus asked.

"No...I don't recognize the language," Church said, frowning.

"Play it on the laudhailers," Bridge Master Francisco said, curtly.

The voice started to play.

"What language is that..." Kit whispered.

"It sounds human," Amberly said. "A human voice, at least."

"It's coming from the sphere, definitely," Captain Brutus said.

You frowned, cocking your head, brow furrowing.

"Me am Make Defense Home Place Rho-22 A, Clasat end of land spot, need most soonest now time help from all Eight Place spearmen in wide road...much much ouch...badness wide road coming fast...again say, Me am Make Defense Home Place Rho-22 A, can anyone make listen of me!?"

You blinked.

"Well, that's got to be the worst Old Realm I've ever heard," you said, frowning.

The entire bridge turned to look at you.

---
What do you do?

[ ] Contact craftworld
[ ] Respond for more information
[ ] Approach and render aid to the mysterious orb
[ ] Approach and render aid to the Craftworld
[ ] Wait and see!


Health: Fine
Anima: Dim
Willpower: 5/5
Personal Motes: 13/13 | Peripheral Motes: 28/28 (Committed Motes: 5)
Limit: 1/10 (Trigger: Being stymied by indulges around her)
XP: 0 | Solar XP: 0
Major Projects: 0/5
SXP: 11 | GXP: 18 | WXP: 11