Sword & Spoken Word

Private Journal of Harlan Autumnhall #12

Dear Anastasia,

Today, I spoke with an Orkish seer… Dakkakles, the Green Sage.

I had never thought of the creatures as anything but brutal and dangerous, or failing that, laughable… a sort of comic relief in a grim and dark universe, albeit a joke with a nasty finish.

But in this grotesque beast, I saw something sad, almost pitiable… a fogged mind, struggling to break free of its Orkish nature, like a gifted void pilot born in an age of stone axes, always yearning for the unreachable stars.

I cannot help but think that the Orks are not so much a brutal and unrefined race as a fallen one, a weapon that has lost its hilt, pointlessly warring forever because the creator or subspecies that gave it thought or purpose is now forever lost.

Orks will tell you that “Orks is made for fighting and winning”. What if that were not a metaphor? What if Orks were indeed made for fighting, by some other vanished master? A biological weapon crafted by some greater species., or a specialized caste of a now-vanished race?

If so, Dakkakles is certainly a throwback to some shred of wisdom or foresight. He is certainly a powerful psyker with the gift of foretelling… he knows things he could not otherwise know.

His clan-kin came to the ancient Eldar site to slay him and his followers, but he did not flee. Perhaps his gift extended to knowing I and my crew would be there to intervene. Perhaps he has merely seen his own death, and it is on another day.

I must gather whatever I can of his mutterings, try to make sense of them. Lyra distrusts the precognitive arts, but I could hardly share her skepticism, now, could I? After all the… well, you know.

I shall have to see if I can get him and his “weird boys” to a safe place.



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