Editing An Eldar Raid

{{Story}}
We were raiding two worlds held by Mon’Keigh forces, you know, the usual. Raping their churches, burning their women. I’m still unsure of what resources our Farseer thought important enough to dedicate the forces of the Craftworld to these planets, but you don’t question a Farseer. We’d spent a couple months toying with the local Imperial Guard regiments, poking and prodding at their defences, a feint here, a diversionary attack there. 
However, as a Fire Dragon, being tasked with the destruction of most of the Mon’Keigh structures, I’d noticed strange symbols. Over my centuries, I’d become familiar with the usual Mon’Keigh Aquilas and skulls, but in the majority of these buildings were also banners. Dark green with a picture of a standard supported by a sword. Most of my brothers thought nothing of it, but I was worried that we were attacking one of the recruiting worlds of the Mon’Keigh Marines. I spoke to a Warlock of this, but he told me my fears were unfounded. Surely if this was a base for a Space Marine chapter, they would be here to defend it. I agreed, assuming that these structures must have belonged to some long-dead and gone Mon’Keigh force, or even just a new temple they’d devoted to their Emperor.
Weeks passed, and as we prepared for our final push on the remaining Mon’Keigh Guard forces, the fleet came. How our Farseer hadn’t seen this coming, I had no idea. Perhaps he’d been so focused on whatever power these worlds could hold; he had been too narrow-minded to see beyond what the rest of us mere immortals could see. By the time we’d heard reports of the arrival of these reinforcements, it was already too late. Their pods were raining down from the skies, careening towards the tree-line of the Khaine-forsaken jungle world I was stationed on.

Two of the pods landed a kilometre from my unit’s position, not 50 metres away from each other. I’d recognized one of them, black as night, bearing the cross of a Mon’Keigh force we’d fought once before. The other, bore a combination of the blacks of the other drop pod as well as the dark green of the banners I’d burnt, bearing the same symbol I’d seen earlier in the churches. This WAS a Mon’Keigh recruiting world, and if so they’d fight with even more self-righteous fury then they have been known for.
And yet, as the black-clad Mon’Keigh forces careened across the field, shouting their benedictions to their Emperor, the green ones, though not lagging behind, strode more calmly. The Warlock decided to lead us further in the jungle, hoping to catch them by surprise. He told the Storm Guardians to hide in the trees, as we Fire Dragons were to remain on the ground as bait. He knew we were entirely too fragile to withstand the force of the Marines, but I knew it was our only hope for any chance of survival. As predicted with from our previous encounters with them, the Black Templars rushed straight towards us, in our brightly coloured orange armour. This was when our Warlock decided to spring the trap. The Storm Guardians leapt from the trees, stabbing through the black power armour, and somehow they managed to kill the majority of the marines without suffering too many casualties.
Then something caught my eye in the underbrush. Mon’Keigh forces aren’t exactly known for their subtlety, but somehow, the green-armoured marines managed to hide in the bushes, using the sounds of battle to set up their positions, long enough to strike back. I watched in abject terror as they cut down my brothers, avenging the deaths of their Templar comrades. The Warlock managed to strike down one that leapt at him, then another, until he took a Mon’Keigh chainsword to the back. Desperate, and alone, I ignited the underbrush. I knew it wouldn’t do any damage, but I’d hoped it’d distract them long enough to get away. One of them simply walked through the fire, scanning for my outline, now that I was in my element.

As he foolishly stumbled around as Mon’Keigh are so prone to do, I let myself smile. Unfortunately it seems their leader had the tenacity that their faith fuelled them with, and turned to my direction. Before I could turn and run, I’d felt the sharpest pain in my centuries-long existence in my leg. I looked down to find it gone, blown away by the Mon’Keigh’s pistol. He slowly walked over to me, flourishing his power sword as he went. He stood over me and in a monotone voice said “Heresy begets retribution. Retribution must be paid in blood.” The sword ran through my chest.

[[Category:Stories/Warhammer 40,000]]
[[Category:Stories]]