It was so rigorous. Othuen could feel the burning bile sliding up from his gut. His exarch, Nestherael, had been pushing them twice as hard in recent sessions. A hint at the increased difficulty of their oncoming mission.
"The Despoiler" he muttered to himself as his face moved away from the floor, still looking down, watching the drops of sweat fall to their demise.
He hated the Black Legion. He hated all things tainted by the warp...but he would not be like his dark cousins. His hatred was well contained in craftworld discipline, and he came from the best craftworld. He had no immediate disrespect for any of the other craftworlds, but still, Ulthwe was clearly the brightly shining heart of the craftworld Eldar scattered throughout the galaxy, as veiled as the colors may be.
He forced his body to push on. In order to make warp jumps, being in top physical condition was the least one could do to make things easier. The jumps were always strenuous on the mind and body...and most definitely the soul. A blank void behind his eyes grew wide as he remembered the last time he made a warp jump, but the void was quickly filled with words from a stranger.
The newcomer from Biel-tan.
He looked at this Eldar, not saying anything for an oddly long moment before simply replying, "Never".
You can never be prepared for the unexpected