"Ask not the Eldar a question, for they will give you three answers, all of which are true and terrifying to know." - Teachings of the Unholy. Inquisitor Czevak.
<< I see, Til-Rael, my son, the gates of Ivanor, the house of Istanor VII, fall under the silent gaze of its immense giants, while the caravan of hell victorious will march on the avenue of splendors, I see many of our brothers fall, by the jaws of the wolves of Fenris and the wolves of the moon. A neverending night fraught of horrors. I see a feud, more ancient of the same heresy, that will be consumed again. Two names, two leaders. Until the end, someone willing to open the gates of Troy there is always. A human voice, sadly whispered me in a dream: the red king. Another one, this time dark and rotten gurgled: Shu-Turul. Two clans, two tribes and an hate ancient of forty thousand years. Who marched to the conquest of the galaxy for the Emperor of mankind, Babel, will now return to its downfall in search of a treasure to steal. And I see the ancient Emperor's heroes, restless in the realm where no one will never return fight their eternal struggle. But they are only illusions of Shiva, my son, possible futures, connected only by the sneaky and infernal cobwebs of the lord of change Tzeentch, which maybe we can head off or turn to our advantage. A seer of the men here, on Galrisian, was burned alive and buried, it was just a little girl, with a book old as the same TERRA, an artifact that can not stay here anymore. The arch-enemy is on his trail. If it fall into his hands, our destiny will be doomed together with their. If we act, we will face these dark clouds. Countless roads, my son, each of which is full of pain and death for our dying Alaitoc house. We must move, in the midst of this war, like a thief in the night. >> << I am ready, mother. I will lead our warriors where you will say, and we will be the cloak and the sword, silent shadows in the silent night under a deadly sky. Nor orcs, nor men will find us! >> << It's not of them I'll put you on guard, my son, but of a worshiper of the Nemesis of perdition, the supreme Harlot. Abbadon's mentor. A black, nameless sorcerer. Remember, my son. The future is unwritten. >>
