THE PLAGUE

Five Plague Marines burst from the fine misty storm that had been created when the wind started blowing across the fine desert sands of the beach. The Plague Marine marched toward the small Guardian patrol, their muzzle flashes marked the death of those unfortunate enough to be targeted by those to whom Nurgle called servants. The small skirmish continued, the Guardians firing and moving in careful formation, staying their distance from the Plague Marines as ordered by Tyross himself. Guardian Lax dropped behind the others as they continued their slow retreat back to Eldar lines as he lost his footing and arose fast enough to catch the fist of a Plague Marine in mid swing. Turning aside his clumbsy mon-keigh blow with a twist of his arm, Lax leapt back out of reach of his foe. A faint tingle whispered at the back of Guardian Lax's throat, a faint messenger of woe that went unheard.

Then, dropping to his knees, Lax grasping and his throat, those around knew exactly what had taken place.

The burning sensation gripped Lax's throat as he strugged to re-adjust his rebreather to filter the toxic fumes that surround those before him. Lax's eyes fixated upon Guardian L'Ytheals helm as he struggled to adjust the fine dial on the Lax's helm. As the burning sensation swept down his throat, Lax could almost feel the blisters forming deep inside his breathing tract. Fear begun to break out upon his face beneath the helm, as the realisation that he was beyond the safe point of exposure and that the skilled Eldar medics would only have minutes to save him from certain death or worse. Giving a gesture to L'Ytheal, and both L'Ytheal knew what must be done, but before the young Guardian could end it, Lax strange up, catapult in hand and begun firing rounds off into the approaching enemies. As soon as the last Plague Marine had fallen, Lax scanned around briefly to find L'Ytheal. L'Ytheal was already prepared with another new clip already loaded into his catapult. As he braced himself, Lax gave a faint nod and it was over...

"So is there anything to be done to prevent this?" demanded Andahil, his voice raising in pitch and tone as he spoke. "Certainly, but there are only one certain path to prevent this, the first, leave this world and let it fall to it's own path. But we shall have to counter this closer the time as the castings become clearer." Andahil could almost see the Farseer's eyes lower as his voice slipped away.