Five years.

Five years. It feels like a lifetime. But twenty years ago i was taken by the Black Ships for my Talents. that doesnt seem so long ago. Thirty years back, i can remember with clarity when i first picked up a blade to help repel a boarding by the Enemy. that doesnt seem so long ago, either. Ten years ago i was Marked by a Daemon, my mind forever scarred by its touch, though its ill fated attack granted me immunity to my fears. all these events i remember in detail, as if they happened yesterday. but five years ago, i learned exactly who and what i was. Now I have the Inquisition watching me. I have Daemons and their mortal followers calling for my death. Indeed, even the good Emporer fearing people of the Imperium look upon me with unease. and the dreams. the horrifying dreams. Visions of bloodshed and slaughter. glory and riches. murder and deciet. fame and fortune. these are the things that have plagued me for five long, terrible years. If i wish to survive, i must become powerful enough to face my enemies head on, but until then, i must learn more of what i am and what i am from.

I am Xanatov Haarlock, last heir to a forgotten Warrant. the Ghost of my Father haunts me, for i am the one who got away. the enemies he made hunt me, for i am of his blood. and the Warp hungers for me, for i have something it wants. I am the Forgotten Heir of the Forsaken Blood.