One hours forty minutes and fifteen seconds into the battle.
Ancient eyes watched from afar aboard craftworld Ulthwe as the battle raged upon the long peaceful surface of Jah Plion,
"Give us the orders Farseer Ferkonen!" urged a warp-spider exarch his distorted outburst and slightly transparent appearance striking quite an unusual disturbance amongst the more stable members of the ancient craftworld,
"I cannot possibly follow the orders of one so... Half existant?" Dismissed the Farseer though it was true, the years of exploring the warp had paid a heavy toll upon this exarch; His black armour slowly fading with every teleport and even heavier with a long-range matter transferral. The Farseer bowed her head, cradling it in one hand,
"Shortly we shall see reports from our Exile Rangers, soon we shall know of the purpose of this battle and if our hand needs to be dipped into its blood," Sighed the Farseer, the thought of more fighting weighing heavily on her mind - How many more Eldar would fall this time? It seems the same question was being asked amongst her council, disapproving grumblings creeping like a spider across the white walls,
"then so be it!"
One hour, fifty minutes and forty-two seconds into the battle
The ugly voices of Orks groaned with confusion as their numbers were slowly culled by the rifles of the ghostly rangers, "How many more captain?" whispered the voice of the ranger closest to her right, his green hood hiding his black mask from view as his rifle beamed wraithbone through the head of the Big Mek at the center of the poorly assembled squad,
"Until they're dead." She replied, a look of irritance sweeping over her face that was thankfully concealed by the mask,
"As Rangers, no, as exiles we must earn our desired place amongst our society." she spoke softly, as if talking to a pet or distressed child as a shot of her own rifles super-heated wraithbone pierced the heart of an unfortunate greenskin wielding a heavy choppa' and a heavy shoota'; both fell to the ground with a satisfying 'thunk'.
The captain of the small squad lay on the ground, pressing a button on her mask which zoomed her sight towards the battlefield, an orange glow shone gently in the murky smog of the desolate planet acting as an irritating smokescreen,
"Not much further my siblings." She assured her squad, gesturing toward an outcrop around four-hundred yards away.
Two hours, fifteen seconds into the battle.
A soft voice spoke into the Farseer's brain, echoing off of the labyrinth of her mind,
"We've found the reason for the conflict," it reported, an almost untraceable tone of terror woven cleverly amongst her soft, reassuring voice,
"It would appear to be some sort of land-based battle fortress, my mistress." A wave of despair came flooding towards the Farseer as her other council members were keenly listening in on the loyal ranger's words,
"And what of its owners? Which of these dreadful forces must we fight, sister?" Asked the Farseer, already painfully adding up the tolls another battle would take with any one of these brutish massed forces,
"We've nothing to report, Farseer. I would've expected a techpriest or Chaos heretic, perhaps even a servitor or Snotling though no evidence of life or even a struggle can be seen from here." she replied with a clear uncertainty to her voice,
"So, my dear Farseer, what're your orders?"
Two hours, five minutes and zero seconds into the battle
"We must place a webway gate nearby." Ordered the ranger captain, each of her squad quickly retrieving a different piece of wraithbone from their long robes. The eighteen Eldar lay their pieces down on the floor of the outcrop and the captain stepped forward playing the flute of the wraithbone the pieces of warp gate quickly dancing to the music and merging in the air, quickly a webway gate was placed and engaged in stealth.
The captain heard words to return to the craftworld for further instruction, though a different voice also spoke in her ear, a softer, kinder voice than that of the Farseer with far more thanks to its speech than the Farseer would ever show towards the Exiles and their traitorous ways,
"Hello my dear." It whispered gently, caressing her senses and appealing to the Dark Eldar within her,
"Before you go I would like you to think of the gratitude or perhaps even glory you could claim from the capture of that weapon, my dear... Could you do that for me?" It asked, and she did, the captain was being re-claimed by her self-indulgent ways and before long her squad were face-to-face with the vehicular behemoth, adorned with the mutilated corpses of "traitors" and "heretics" blood dripping from almost every metal plate and gun,
"Captain Relath... Is this really an order from The Farseer?" Questioned the same Ranger as before, Relath quickly turned and her wraithbone knife had slit his throat before the other rangers could even contemplate her actions,
"Traitorous words my brother." She replied, removing her mask and running her tongue down the blade.
The other rangers reeled back in horror, before them stood not the level-headed, calm and reassuring Captain Relath; the most loyal of Rangers but a Daemon and traitor to the Eldar, each drew their knives and some even shouldered their rifles but as quickly as her murderous outburst had arrived, she disappeared, leaving only the sound of approaching tortured screams as Chaos legions marched closer.
"Back to the webway!"
Two hours, twenty minutes and twelve seconds into the battle