Foresight: the Tale of Orikan the Diviner

The stars shone, harsh and bright, above Orikan’s vision.

It had been simple, really. The Orks had come by surprise, the Waaagh! attacking Gidrim space out of nowhere. The delinquent Traveller and the hated Illuminor had been the first to stumble across it the assault, and tried to stave it off. They failed utterly. Planets burned, and within mere months the deranged Nemesor and his fawning servant were no more. With a dozen worlds under their control, the Waaagh! had gained even more momentum, and drove deeper into Sautekh territory like a poison spreading into the heart of its host.

Within the year, Mandragora had fallen, and the stubbornly proud Stormlord had died with a last curse for the greenskins hanging on his lips.

Orikan still remembered the sound of the Meganobz pounding on his chamber’s reinforced door. He still remembered the creaking, groaning noise it made as it started to give way.

He remembered nothing after that, however. Nothing had happened after that. And truthfully, nothing before that had happened.

Orikan remembered, back when the Waaagh! had arrived. He also remembered before it arrived.

And he remembered the ex post facto precautions he had taken.

Brushing off the black dust of the void as he emerged in the past, Orikan had locked the doors of his chamber, with the usual setup. He had knocked on the door to test it.

“Apologies, He-Who-Hates-The-Color-Green, but I’m in the middle of something right now. Kindly go away,” came the recording. Orikan had giggled a bit then, and giggled a bit now at the memory. Any other astromancer would be dismantled for such insolence, but Orikan knew how to keep himself too crucial to be lost.

The voyage had been long.

Orikan had set out alone to the farthest reaches of Gidrim space, and then beyond, tracing back along the Orks’ invasion path. His ship was too small to be noticed by the greenskins.

And as the disgusting Ork junkpile came into view, hurtling through space, Orikan flew up closer.

He fired. No missiles emerged from his craft. No rockets, not even Gauss fire. Just a small, simple metal object, that latched onto the hull noiselessly in the vacuum of space.

The shuttle turned around and headed back to the seat of Sautekh space, with the beacon securely affixed. A gentle nudge was all that was required here, a tiny push to ensure that the doddering Nemesor had time to react.

Orikan returned to his chambers, and then to his present. Well, a present. It was so difficult to keep track.

With the beacon in place, the incoming WAAAGH! had shown up on the Nemesor’s sensors like a supernova. The Nemesor had brought all his might to bear at once, greeting the Orks on the planet’s surface. The Traveller had arrived late to the party, to help clean up.

And now, the exalted Stormlord was talking to a senile old man to learn the tactics for dealing with a completely non-tactical foe.

Orikan chuckled to himself as he gazed out the viewport.

The stars shone, harsh and bright, above Orikan’s vision.


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