Drowning, The Lost Lash Out

'He-Who-Weeps; see reason,' implored the titan pilot. 'This course of action will see the whole craftworld lost in three generations – and for what?'

The taller eldar spun on his heel, his body-language bristling. 'Drowning, the lost lash out,' said He-Who-Weeps, quoting the mythic cycles of Ulthanesh. 'Will you deny me that, Moontongue? The craftworld is doomed regardless – de Heirerra foresaw that, and you are a fool to believe otherwise!'

Moontongue stood placidly, his almond eyes drinking in the charged atmosphere in the Dome of Those-Who-Wear-Red. Stood in silence, the two eldar swayed gently, as though caught in a gentle breeze. Flickers of movement, eye-direction, and near-imperceptible body movements belied the fierce argument that raged between the two Eldar, part-physically, part-psychically.

Exasperated, He-Who-Weeps spoke once more, his voice low, his eyes downcast. 'My heart – and the course of my kin – is decided.' His every motion would speak to a human of defeat; resignation, but to Moontongue, only death was visible. 'Our people are lost. Without de Heirerra, we have no more Withinlookmen or Farseers. The path of the Seer has closed to us.'

Sensing Moontongue's objection, he continued. 'Yes, the Warseers survive; as do the Conjurors and Abiders. They will lead our last days, but they cannot foresee events to pass, and without that, we are lost. Already the Avatar of Khaine grows cold – you know as well as I that our numbers are barely sufficient to rouse him as is. De Heirerra foretold that fifteen generations would run before our skein was slipped. I merely ask that the Warseers and I be allowed to lead our people in mourning.'

Ten minutes or more passed in silence before Moontongue replied. 'Then my heart, too, is set. He-Who-Weeps shall be known to me as Bringer-of-Ruin. The Snow-Eagle Kin will stand by you. In sacrificing Vaul Cerridwen now, we save twelve generations of unborn. I ask only that our final course be not towards the Great Devourer, but She-Who-Thirsts herself'.

He-Who-Weeps gazed at Moontongue, then opened his mouth. 'Such decisions are not yours – and requests of the dead are an abomination. In choosing this fate, I am no longer among the living. Regard me not as Bringer-of-Ruin. I am Monster-Whose-Name-Is-Crow.'