Warhammer: Start with a dog

The two thin and frightened mortals were dragged out of their dilapidated off-road vehicle and carried like chickens to the Primarch.

When they were released and dropped, the two guys, who didn't know whether they were lucky or unlucky, fell together into the fine gravel in front of the tall figure, stirring up a burst of dust.

Lamizain lifted up his long hair and looked at them carefully for a while.

The two local residents should be both male in appearance - the reason why is because their heads and faces are wrapped in layers of bandages, making it impossible to tell their appearance.

Ears, mouth, nose, and any exposed skin outside the dusty old clothes were tightly covered by dirty cloth, and their eyes were tightly covered with goggles-Lami Zane suddenly Aware that the planet's ceaseless dust storms carry in the winds as fine a grit as broken glass - enough to lick the surface of the skin and eyes of any unprotected mortal like coarse sandpaper in minutes Flesh.

But he himself had obviously been surrounded by a rag for so long in this sandpaper-like wind and felt nothing.

...Forget it, it must be the original body's great strength, just get used to it, there is no need to delve into it.

"You..." He just started to speak, and one of the two trembling mortals boldly raised his head and glanced at him when he heard the voice, and then froze - in a physical sense, he rolled his eyes.

"..." Lamizane was silent for a second, and Talos, who was still crying just now, seemed to suddenly remember his original duties and stepped forward to check on the unconscious person.

"Fear," the prophet told his master in chanting tones, "fear of your majesty keeps him from looking at you."

"... Just say that he fainted from fright, Talos. - Judging from the results of many sample surveys, it is very likely that he suffered from macrophobia." (*Some kind of impatient exhalation)

When the Midnight Ghost formally spoke to people for the first time in 10,000 years in front of its heirs, and spoke the entire conversation, its pronunciation was so clear and soft, still carrying the uniqueness of the language of the dead world. The accent was controlled by a tone that was calm, steady, logical and completely devoid of cynicism and pain. The deeper things contained in it quickly caused thousands of ripples in the Night Lord's silent communication.

Talos stiffened for a moment, and then quickly raised his head to glance at the original body who was talking to him. The eyepiece lens on the skull mask shone brightly.

Everyone heard the Prophet seem to be breathing hard and gasping for air beneath the grille of his helmet.

"As you wish, Father. Thank you for your teaching."

The voice of the Eighth Legion prophet almost sounded like he was choking with grievance.

Lamizane didn't know how to answer, so he closed his mouth and turned his eyes to the remaining mortal.

This man's dress is slightly different from his companions. It seems that he had already untied the bandage covering his lips in advance to prepare for conversation or drinking water, but the appearance of the Night Lords may have prevented him from re-wrapping it. He had to hold himself, so now his lips and the fragile skin around them had been scratched by the glass gravel and began to bleed.

The thin smell of human blood spreading in the wind made some of the Night Lords want to take action.

They remained silent on their internal comms, listening to Ursus drooling and muttering about his blood god, and betting on smaller and more confidential channels as to who could get this idiot to be killed by the Primarch. The remaining remains serve as new supplies for his claws.

Lamizane noticed that although the other man was too frightened to stand up and his heartbeat was almost exploding, the man's body language showed that he had not completely lost his mind. He also noticed the instruments and instruments carried by the two men. backpack, so he thought more carefully before speaking again.

As he opened his lips, an extremely ominous premonition began to emerge in the mind of a certain Primarch who shared the line of sight - what Konrad Curze could see and hear now was exactly what this body was seeing. He has no eyes to close and no ears to plug when it comes to smelling. All external stimulation comes from some kind of mystical resonance transmission, reaching directly to his extraordinary soul essence, regardless of whether he is ready to accept it or not. (*Could it be...)

"Good evening. We're lost, I think. Can you be of some help?" (*Wha... (suspicious, prolonged pause) What are you talking about?)

Veins bulged out on the opponent's thin neck, and the mortal's eyes widened due to fright, which could be seen through his polished goggles.

A loud gasping sound suddenly passed through the warband's communicator. It was made by an impatient guy, and Talos responded with a threatening gesture.

"Lost, lost?" The poor man repeated in disbelief and stammered, his lips trembling.

"Yes." The Eighth Primarch (body) said with a beggar-like appearance (only rags) and an elegant tone that was completely inconsistent with his clothes, "That's it, our ship has wandered here in the subspace."

The panicked mortals listened with irresistible fascination to the primarch's almost poetic voice. The end of each word would have a deep and graceful upward inflection, "No other inhabited worlds have been found nearby, so we We came down here to see if there is anything we can do to help - so do you know how or where we can contact the administrators of this planet? A weak planet? There are eighty-one descendants of the Eighth Legion around you. That’s enough.)

The word "Trek" clearly touched something, for everyone observed the vast amount of understanding and sympathy that immediately flowed into the body and tone of the mortal's body upon hearing the word.

"It's also a subspace trek... What a pity, sir, our manager...?" The man who was initially led into serious thinking because of his sympathy for the same problem, the poetic and soft tone of the other party, and the too normal content of the conversation gradually changed. Gotta be a little more calm.

"Ah, with all due respect, sir," he swallowed, "as for the manager, the regent is in the temple city. If you can contact me... I can. I just talked to Eruko," the man When he said this, he glanced at his unconscious companion, "We have just repaired the twelfth eastern communication tower... I mean, my name is Reval, and I am a storm diviner. I happen to be in charge of communications. ”

"Oh, an excellent title, and your job sounds important, Reval." (*You are complimenting a weakling...you will be torn apart by my heirs, scum, and criminals in no time.)

"Ah, yes, yes sir." Although this outsider and his group of tall men looked scary and menacing, their noble temperament, elegant words, and friendly attitude made the technician's words gradually fade away. It became smoother - but he did not dare to look closely at the surface of the thick dark armor, but only dared to stare at the slender and pale calves of the person in front of him - a strange thought came to him: He is so thin, his body is longer than the lack of food. The child is still thin.

Reval liked the sound of the other person's voice, kind and patient, as if he really cared about what the person he was talking to had to say. "Actually, in an older way, according to my father, I am a technician. Weather forecasting is only a small part of the work. I am also responsible for maintenance and exploration."

"I see," the tall, thin and pale ghost replied, "then we are so lucky to meet you. Before we start contacting you, would you like to tell me about your temple city and regent?"

"Of course, of course, my sir, after all we haven't seen anyone else here for many years...since the day of the collapse."

"The day of the collapse?"

"Yes, according to records, it was four hundred and seventy years ago when our ancestors landed here..."