Hier reist ein Psyoniker und der Runenpriester durch den Warp.
Du meinst wohl Ahriman und Wyrdmake in "A Thousond Sons" von Graham McNeill:
Wyrdmake hat in A Thousand sons auch mit Ahriman im Warp während einer seiner Geistreisen geredet und ihm sogar gegen hungrige Dämonen beigestanden.
Die Stelle meinte ich auch, wird in der Antwort an Black Fist zitiert
Hier ein Zitat aus Stormcaller von Chris Wraight (also dem gleichen Autor wie Schlacht um den Reiszahn), wo Njal seinen Gedanken Ausdruck verleiht. Seite 246/247 =>
"Jene, die nicht auf dem Pfad der Runen wandelten, konnten es nicht verstehen. Für Aussenstehende war die Macht, über die er gebot, nichts anderes als die Taschenspielertricks des Warp, über die jeder Betrüger und gefallene Hexer verfügte. Njal hatte diese Argumente tausend Mal gehört und sie in hundert geächteten Manuskripten gelesen: Ihr seid nicht anders. Ihr seid Warpweber genau wie wir. Alle Flüsse kommen aus derselben Quelle, unsere Verdammnis ist dieselbe.
Sie hatten unrecht. Die Einflüsterungen waren falsch. Njal hatte die Weltenseele gespürt, die im Herzen der Dunkelheit tobte. Er hatte das tiefe Knurren in der Unterwelt gehört und hatte die Augenpaare gesehen, die in der jenseitigen Finsternis leuchteten. Er hatte die Macht gespürt, die ihn letzten Endes verschlingen und seine Seele in dem wütenden Sturm vergehen lassen würde, der am Ende der Galaxis losbrechen würde.
Die Macht, die er einsetzte, war von anderer Art, eine von der mystischen Symmetrie der Jagd und der Wildnis geschmiedet und geläutert worden war. Jene, die Fenris nie kennengelernt haben, konnten ihrem Unglauben Ausdruck verleihen, so viel sie wollten. Es änderte nichts."
Dem Zitat stelle ich mal das erste meiner Buch-Zitate entgegen, besonders die farbige Stelle. Man gibt Dingen im Warp Form durch seine Gedanken... tiefes Knurren, leuchtende Augenpaare? Kein Wunder, dass ein Space Wolve, der an die Weltenseele glaubt, diese als Wolf wahrnimmt... Zerzano hat ja etwas Ähnliches angesprochen, daher auch noch mal er im Zitat:
Das, was Njal daher beschreibt, könnte daher vielleicht die Warpmanifestation des psionisch aktiven Fenris sein. Daher äußert es sich auch in dieser, für die Wölfe typische Form. Es ist quasi der Geist ihrer Welt, eines einfachen Vergleichs wegen ähnlich einer Chaosgottheit, der eine Vereinigung der fennrischen Warpenergie darstellt. Daher könnte dieser Weg auch sicherer sein, als der Standardweg, da sie quasi vom Weltengeist beschützt werden.
So, jetzt folgen meine Zitate aus "A Thousand Sons". Tut mir leid, wenn ich keine Seitenzahlen angeben kann, aber ich habe einen Kindle und lese das Ganze digital (und in englischer Sprache, wie ihr merken werdet ^^).
Die beiden Zitate folgen direkt aufeinander, ich habe sie nur getrennt, da man in ihnen unterschiedliche Dinge lesen kann. Im ersten das eben angespochene mit der Form, Gedanken etc., im Zweiten der Beleg für die Begegnung eines Runenpriesters und eines Psionikers im Warp, zu der Black Fist ja eine Quelle gefordert hatte.
Zitat von Graham McNeill - A Thousand Sons - Chapter Six - Part Three: WyrdmakeAlles anzeigenHe felt the first nibblings of other presences in the Great Ocean, formless creatures of insensate appetite, little more than mewling scraps of energy drawn to his mind as students flock to a great master. They thought to feed on him, but Ahriman dismissed them with a flicker of thought.
Such whelp creatures were no threat to an Adept Exemptus of his skill, but older, hungrier things swam the depths, malevolent predators that fed on the hot, life-rich energies of mortal travellers. Ahriman was protected, but he was not invulnerable.
[..."Story"...]His perception of the immediate returned to him, and he sensed the vibrant hunger of nearby void hunters, rapacious conceptual predators that followed the spoor of travellers’ emotions to devour their bodies of light. Dozens of them circled him like sharks with the scent of blood. He had remained longer than was safe, far longer.
The first emerged from the blood red mist, all appetite and instinct. It came at him directly, its glittering teeth forming in the instant it took to think of them.
Ahriman flew out of its path, its crimson form twisting around to follow him as another predator emerged from the mists. His mental analogy of sharks had given them form, and its body was sleek and evolved to be the consummate killer. He forced his mind to empty, discarding all metaphor and vocabulary, for they were the weapons his enemies would use against him.
He flew from them, but they had his scent now. Half a dozen more followed, their forms blurred and protean, borrowed from those whose bodies of light had been given shape by his careless simile. A void hunter surged towards him, massive and powerful, its jaws opened wide to swallow him whole.
Ahriman gathered the energy of the aether to him, feeding on the red mists and unleashing a torrent of will at the hunter. Its body exploded into shards of fire, each one snapped up and devoured by one of the other predators. Twin heqa staffs appeared in Ahriman’s hands, blazing with aetheric fire. Such weapons were necessary and dangerous at the same time. To burn so brightly would attract other beasts, yet without them he would surely perish here, leaving his mortal body a dead, soulless husk on the floor of his pavilion.
They circled him, darting in to bite and snap, each time deterred by a sweep of his fiery staffs. Ahriman rose into the eighth Enumeration. He would need the focus of its aggression to stay alive, but it would only inflame the hunger of the beasts. The creatures came at him in a rush. Ahriman had seen their gathering fury, and lashed out with his blazing weapons.
The closest beast billowed out of existence at his blow, the second with a violent burst of thought that overwhelmed its hunger and dispersed its essence. Another snapped at him. He swayed aside, its immaterial teeth snapping shut an instant from tearing his insubstantial existence apart. He thrust his heqa staff into his head, feeling its primal hunger and rage as its essence was obliterated.
The pack broke off its attack, wary of him, but unable to halt their pursuit. The instincts of the void hunter were murderously sharp, but they demanded satisfaction. They would attack again, soon.
They came at him three more times. Each time they retreated to a pack that grew larger with every passing moment, while he grew weaker and bled irresistible morsels of energy into the void.
He could not long keep up this pace of battle. Combat in the aetheric realms was more draining than battling in the physical. In the material realm, an Astartes could fight for weeks on end without rest, but here such endurance was measured in minutes. A high-ranking warrior of the Thousand Sons could travel the Great Ocean far longer than most, but the strain of this fight was pushing Ahriman to the limits of his endurance.
A great maw raced up at him from below, a thought-shaped need of monstrous proportions. Its teeth closed on his leg, tearing into his light, and his pain bled out like glittering diamonds, brilliant white and impossible to resist. His staff carved into the beast, and it vanished in its moment of triumph.
He could not fight them much longer, and it seemed they knew his resistance was almost at an end. Their eagerness for him had them jostling one another, each beast desperate to make the kill and secure the choicest cuts.
His energy was fading and one of the fiery heqa staffs winked out of existence.
How galling to die after such a tantalising glimpse of the future.
Zitat von Graham McNeill - A Thousand Sons - Chapter Six - Part Three: WyrdmakeAlles anzeigenThen came a howling cry that split the Great Ocean, a furious sound that scattered the hunters as a wild darkness rose out of the swelling tides and currents. Fangs like swords of ice snapped and bit through the void-hunters. This was form and will honed to a knife-edge, a force streamlined for destruction and utterly without mercy. Yellow eyes, a shaggy pelt of black fur and slavering jaws roiled amid the frenzy.
Even before Ahriman’s mind formed the image, he saw the phantasmal outline of the wolf, a beast larger and more powerful than any living animal could ever be. It tore through the void-predators, howling as it destroyed them with brutal swipes of thunderous claws and bites that swallowed each enemy whole.
Within the dark of the wolf’s body, Ahriman caught fleeting glimpses of the furious will that drove it: a distant shadow in dark armour, not black but deep, metallic grey. The wolf howled, and waves of untrammelled fury spread into the Great Ocean with the force of a boulder dropped into a millpond. The predators scattered, cowed by this apex predator.
And, like fading inkspots on a blotter, they melted into the darkness.
The wolf turned towards Ahriman, its form turning in on itself and folding like the pieces of an origami puzzle until all that was left was the shadow at its heart, the subtle body of an Astartes in the hard grey of the Space Wolves.
He drifted towards Ahriman, and it took no special skills to feel the primal, bruising energy that suffused this traveller’s flesh. His sheer vitality was incredible. Ahriman was a controlled reactor, but this warrior was a violent supernova. Both were deadly, both burned as bright, but where Ahriman could pluck a single soul out of a horde of millions, this warrior would destroy a million to kill the one.
The wolf was gone, but Ahriman saw it tightly leashed within the warrior’s heart.
“We should go, brother,” said the wolf warrior, with a voice like colliding glaciers. “The longer we tarry, the more our presence will draw fouler beasts.”
“I saw you,” said Ahriman. “[..."Story"...]”
“[..."Story"...]” corrected the warrior. “But, aye, you speak true, brother. My name is Ohthere Wyrdmake, Rune Priest to Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson of the 5th Company of Space Wolves.”
“Ahzek Ahriman, Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons.”
[..."Story"...]
Wyrdmake und Ahriman unterhalten sich zum ersten Mal.
Zitat von Graham McNeill - A Thousand Sons - Chapter Seven - Part Three: The Dam BreaksAlles anzeigenAnother shadow moved behind the wolves, a tall warrior in granite grey armour who walked with a tall staff topped with an eagle of gold and silver. His beard was waxed, and he wore a plain leather skullcap over his shaven scalp. Ahriman recognised him immediately.
“Ohthere Wyrdmake,” he said.
“Aye,” replied the Space Wolf, tilting his head and regarding him carefully. “You are hurt, mistflesh hurt.”
“I was careless,” he said, not knowing the word, but understanding the meaning.
Wyrdmake nodded and said, “That you were. I watched you chase the wyrd, blind to the hunting packs gathering for the murder-make. How came you to miss them?”
“As I said, I was careless,” repeated Ahriman. “How did you find me?”
Wyrdmake laughed, the sound rich with genuine humour.
“That took no great skill,” he said. “I am a son of the Storm and I know the ocean of souls like the seas around Asaheim. When the Wolf’s Eye swells in the sky, the world forge turns and the dowsers seek the silent places, those places that are still amid the turmoil. I looked for stillness, and I found you.”
Much of what Wyrdmake said made no sense to Ahriman, the terms too archaic, the vocabulary expressing parochial understandings beyond one not of Fenris.
Wieder Wyrdmake und Ahriman... Wyrdmake erzählt Ahriman, dass sie beide "Son of the Storm" sind... Wie können sie gleich sein, wenn Space Wolves und andere Psioniker unterschiedlich sind?
Zitat von Graham McNeill - A Thousand Sons - Chapter Seven - Part Three: The Dam Breaks“So, are you going to tell me why you were looking for me?”
“To know you,” said Wyrdmake. “Amlodhi came with a summons for your master, but I came for you. Your name is known to the Rune Priests of the Space Wolves, Ahzek Ahriman. You are star-cunning. Like me, you are a Son of the Storm, and I know of your affinity with the wyrd.”
Noch eine kleine Stelle zum Belegen:
Zitat von Graham McNeill - A Thousand Sons - Chapter Seven - Part Three: The Dam BreaksAhriman began to understand the words of the Rune Priest, hearing in them a debased echo of the teachings of the Corvidae
Hier noch ein mMn sehr interessanter Part: Ahriman und Wyrdmake bringen sich gegenseitig etwas bei... Der Psioniker macht also SW Kram und der SW macht Psioniker Kram... Spricht ziemlich gegen dies "Runenpriester sind anders"
Zitat von Graham McNeill - A Thousand Sons - Chapter Eleven - Part One: ShrikeIn the six-week journey to the Ark Reach Cluster, Ahriman had spent much of his time with Ohthere Wyrdmake, the Rune Priest proving to be an entertaining companion. Though the terms they used for their abilities were very different, they found they had more in common than either of them had imagined.
Wyrdmake taught Ahriman the casting of the runes, and how to use them to answer vexing questions and gain insight into matters of inner turmoil. As a means of reading the future, they were a less precise method than those taught by the Corvidae, for their meanings required much in the way of interpretation. Wyrdmake also taught him the secret of bind-runes, whereby the properties of several different runes could be combined to draw similarly-attuned aetheric energies towards an object or person.
Wyrdmake’s chest and arms were tattooed with numerous bind-runes: runes for strength, runes for health and runes for steadfastness. None, Ahriman noticed, were for power. When he asked Wyrdmake about this, the Rune Priest had given him a strange look and said, “To speak of possessing power is as foolish as saying you own the air in your lungs.”
In return, Ahriman taught the Space Wolf more subtle means of manipulating the energies of the Great Ocean. Wyrdmake was skilled, but his Legion’s teachings were tribal and violent in the drama of their effect. The calling of the tempest, the sundering of the earth and the rising of the seas were the currency of the Rune Priests. Ahriman honed Wyrdmake’s abilities, inducting him into the outer mysteries of the Corvidae and the rites of Prospero.
So, das sollten so einige Belege sein, hf damit