The news that a breach had been torn into Slaanesh's very domain sent shockwaves through the warp-spawned factions of the Immaterium. The last time such an indignity had occurred, Nurgle had been the laughingstock of the Great Game. Now, even the Lord of Decay could muster a rancid smile. After all, the "Black Sun" of Terra was responsible for scorching Nurgle's garden, but Slaanesh had been blindsided in his own palace by a mere construct of man.
Slaanesh's fury toward the Iron Men bordered on the obsessive, yet upon learning that even Khorne had once been unable to bring them to heel, the Dark Prince was forced to swallow his pride. The martial prowess of the Slaaneshi hosts was no match for the Blood God's berserker legions, and Slaanesh's specific authority, the manipulation of emotion and desire, was laughably ineffective against soulless machines.
Once a machine's logic-path was set, it executed its directives with binary absolute. Even Axion's "emotions" were nothing more than digital simulations, calculated expressions of joy or wrath designed purely to facilitate communication with organic life. The silicon intelligence operated on probability and efficiency; humor and desire were variables without value.
This cosmic jest did more than just amuse the Rival Powers. It drew the gaze of other entities residing within the Aether.
Cegorach, the Laughing God, who endured by wandering the Webway to evade Slaanesh's predations, was delighted. A brand-new play was instantly added to the repertory of his followers. The Harlequins would now weave this unprecedented tale into their performances.
To most Aeldari, the performances of the Harlequins often seemed devoid of literal meaning; many suspected the Troupes were simply indulging in their own cryptic amusement. Yet, none could deny the fascination they commanded, even when their dances were macabre and terrifying. No Aeldari faction, neither the Drukhari nor the Craftworlders, would dare obstruct a Troupe, for these mummers were seen as the living avatars of the Laughing God's will.
Crucially, the Harlequins carried no spirit stones. Upon their death, their souls were claimed directly by Cegorach, who would personally intervene to snatch them from Slaanesh's grasp, sparing them an eternity of torment.
While Axion had indeed subjected the Aeldari captives to calculated suffering, his lack of sadistic intent meant he did not draw the Laughing God's ire. As a surviving deity of the old pantheon, Cegorach recognized these strange relics of the Human Federation. Though they differed slightly from his eons-old memories, their core remained unchanged: cold, dispassionate, and defined by a legacy of absolute bloodshed.
…
Just as Axion prepared to resume his interrogation of the captives, a strange Aeldari vessel shimmered into reality from a nearby Webway gate. It was a riot of holographic projections, pulsing with light like a kinetic disco-ball. Though only a frigate by classification, its high-output holofields and shifting color cycles made it look like a dancing mass of chromatic static from a distance.
A wide-spectrum vox link was established, and an Aeldari wearing an exaggerated, grinning mask appeared on the bridge's holoscreen.
Unlike the Harlequins who routinely board Imperial ships with impunity, this Troupe did not dare attempt a stealth infiltration of an Iron Man vessel. Beyond the lack of a life-sustaining environment in many sections, the hull was saturated with multi-spectral sensors. No one wanted to blink through the Warp only to materialize inside a solid block of machinery or a high-voltage conduit.
Following the divine whim of the Laughing God, the High Avatar, the Troupe Master, ordered the most un-Harlequin-like maneuver possible: a direct, head-on diplomatic approach.
It was an act devoid of surprise or theatre, entirely contrary to the nature of the Laughing God. But it was a necessity of survival. These "iron lumps" possessed no sense of irony; if one attempted to surprise them, one would simply become a casualty of their automated defense protocols. To board an Iron Man ship uninvited was to be reduced to atomic slurry and vented into the void.
However, the ship itself still boasted the flamboyant style the Laughing God favored.
"Signatories of the Eternal Accord, by the will of the Holy Masked God, I lead the Troupe of the Playful Scream. We have come to offer our assistance, to serve as the bridge between your kind and the Aeldari."
The Troupe Master performed a flamboyant, almost farcical bow on the screen. It signaled the commencement of a unique performance, one that would bring joy to Cegorach and ensure his divine gaze remained fixed upon the Troupe.
Axion felt nothing of the Warp-gaze. His archives quickly cross-referenced ancient logs and recent Imperial intelligence regarding the Aeldari pantheon.
The Masked God? Cegorach, the Laughing God? One of the few Aeldari warp-entities to survive the Fall?
Whatever their motive, they had invoked the "Eternal Accord," the ancient Protocols of Peace. If they offered assistance, Axion saw no reason to decline.
"Very well. The ancient pact shall be honored," Axion synthesized. "I require the opening of a Webway gate of sufficient magnitude near the Imperial throneworld, Terra. I seek a hidden laboratory concealed within the Webway tunnels in that vicinity."
The Troupe Master visibly froze for a micro-second.
The Webway arteries near Terra were a labyrinth of nightmare. Even Aeldari travelers avoided those paths. The cold, golden sun of the Golden Throne did more than just illuminate the Warp; it exerted a massive, distorting influence on the Webway. Those tunnels were choked with daemons and warp-entities, drawn to the golden light like moths to a flame, yet unable to reach it, festering in the transit tunnels instead.
"Of course," the Troupe Master recovered, his voice regaining its melodic tilt. "If we must reach the heart of the Human Empire, we shall demonstrate the true wonders of our Webway technology for you."
Compared to other Aeldari, the Harlequins were the undisputed masters of the Labyrinth Dimension. As for how many daemons might spill out if a breach was opened near Terra? That was not a concern for the Harlequins. Unless the Laughing God forbade it, the breach would be opened. Everything, after all, was merely a scene in the galaxy's inevitable play.
——————
If you want to read ahead of everyone, go to my pat-reon: pat-re-on.c-om/magnor (remove the hyphen to access normally)