Continuing their search for the creature of his waking nightmares, Haab and his crew attempt a return to the Black Reef, only to be waylaid by a warp storm of terrible power.

Gathering supplies on an abandoned world, they are set upon by sorcerers in blue power armour, conjuring abominations from the Empyrean.

Unprepared for the arcane onslaught, Haab and his men retreat . . .


Yl’Arad grinned malevolently as he surveyed his catch of the day. Before him the raiders and venoms of his chosen fleet, the largest slaving fleet of the Bloodied Fang, sailed gracefully into the webway, returning once more to their berths inside the realm of Neth. The shattered Compact of the Dawnbringers proved an ample hunting ground for fresh prey, one that Yl’Arad was all too happy to enjoy.

The Compact had become his playground as of late. The broken worlds of the Pegasus Gulf had already been easy grounds for slaving, and this had only been aided by the cumbersome distraction of the Crusade.

A smirk spread evilly on Yl’Arads face grew even wider as he thought about the crusade. He’d just ordered Tezaras the Solarite into the teeth of the human Kriegsman. He doubted the scourge would survive, but he’d be astounded if he did. No matter, with a flick of his wrist, Yl’Arad flashed past the gate, and away to his unassailable fortress within the webway.


Aware now of the lurking Drukhari plaguing the Andorheim compact, the Rogue Trader hides his forces in the outskirts of an undefended city. Veteran mercenaries of a hundred battles, the diverse squads bunker down in their Chimeras, preparing their weapons and waiting for orders.

In orbit, the sensitive instruments of the Rogue Trader’s fleet detect the telltale signs of Dark Eldar craft. The Lord Merchant orders his attack.

Not all humans are easy prey. . .


Captain Samwell Fread surveyed what remained of his forces. He’d been lucky lately, otherwise he’d be looking at scraps. Before him trundled a small convoy, barely a hundred men strong, and very few vehicles. Fread had been fortunate enough to “borrow” a few of the local PDFs armoured transports. But still it was not enough. If the Fread Men were to finally take the fight to Argus, Fread needed more resources. A few boxes of Hot-Shots and some Chimera APCs weren’t going to cut it. He needed soldiers, and desperately. The thought just crossed his mind when his vox-bead blared in his ear.

“Captain, I’ve got something here. Might wanna take a look.” The line spoke. Fread checked his HUD to see it was Echo Team calling in. Strange, considering Echo Team had been off comms for days now.

“Where the hell have you been? I sent you out scouting, and you vanished.”

“Forced to go underground Captain. Local militia swarmed us spouting loyalty to the Emperor. Put down a few but there were just too many. Just hurry Captain, this is big. We’re setting up a beacon then heading under again, report in soon Captain.” The line went dead.

Just a short moment later, Captain Freads HUD lit up with the locator beacon placed by his men. The Captain sighed heavily and activated his own vox-bead.

“Charlie, Foxtrot; on me.” The captain growled into his mic, answered with blinks of acknowledgement. The two teams pulled up quickly, both five-man squads mounted in Chimeras. Fread stepped in swiftly, sending the coordinates to the driver.

“This better be worth my time.” He grumbled, as the APC rumbled away from the column, into the wilds of the warring world.

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