To serve without question. To be loyal, honest, and true. To stand by your master’s side. Always, no matter how perilous his quest. Or how dangerous and long his wanderings. That, is the greatest thing a familiar can aspire to.

Inquisitor Montrath sat at his desk, writing. His pen scratched along the page, the sound was comforting to him. Montrath finished the page, only a few more pages left to go. His life’s experience was poured into this tome, all his years of fighting the Dark Powers. They needed to be chronicled.

The Inquisitor dunked his pen in its ink-pot, but when the pen re-emerged there was no ink on it. Frowning, the Inquisitor handed the empty pot to his diminutive familiar, a hooded individual who stood faithfully by Montrath’s chair.

“Kox? Would you re-fill the ink-pot for me?”

The robed familiar simply nodded, his head bobbing. His timid, reedy, voice quietly issued forth from the cavern of his hood. “Yes, Master Montrath.” He scurried away, clutching the ink-pot.

For most people, Kox’s voice was very difficult to hear. Only those with a strong psychic capability could hear him at all. For Montrath, however, it was different. Years of working together had forged an emphatic bond between the two, to the point where they could almost read each other’s thoughts. Whenever Kox spoke, Montrath understood his exact words, even over very long distances. They went way back together, back to Montrath’s first mission.

There I was, on Ithabar. A novice Inquisitor, with no experience at all. A young psyker, powerful, but emotionally unstable. I might have cracked at any moment. The place was terrible. People living in poverty, the few humans forced to make alliances with the planet’s indigenous inhabitants in order to survive. Funny creatures, the Ithabarians. Hated direct light. They were willing to live under the domination of the Imperium, as long as we left them alone. I was a by-the-book kind of man then. I would have called Exterminatus on that world. In hindsight, I can almost laugh at myself, really. The true danger was right in front of my eyes. Or, beneath my feet, to tell the truth… I remember when I first met Kox. He saved my life then. It certainly wasn't the first time. I was more willing to negotiate after that. Lost in thought, Montrath didn’t notice the strange cold feeling that began to creep up his spine. Then, something snapped into place inside his head. He detected a powerful psychic presence nearby. Leaping from his chair, he reached for his power-sword. It was propped against the wall, only a few feet away. He reached it and drew it from its sheath, activating it as the wall in front of him was blown inwards.

Montrath was knocked back, his head slamming the opposite wall. Shaking off the pain, Montrath stood up. Peering through the smoke and the dust from the explosion, he glimpsed three phantom shapes. He saw that one was pointing something.

Montrath ducked just in time as the Eldar warrior fired his Shuriken Catapult. Four round razor-edged projectiles embedded themselves in the wall above him, and Montrath rolled out of the way as another four came whizzing out of the smoke.

The Inquisitor grabbed at the refractor shield emitter that sat on his desk. He clipped it onto his vest and activated it. A moment later, the three Eldar leapt through the hole in the wall, firing their pistols at him. The flying projectiles impacted with the refractor shield and Montrath saw them slow, then finally stop and fall to the ground as their energy was absorbed by the shield.

Montrath got a clear view of his assailants for the first time. They wore strange, leering masks and colorful body-suits. They were Harlequins. Here for his book, no-doubt. So they wanted to add his tome to their famed Black Library, eh? Well, he certainly wouldn't let them! Anger welled up inside the aged Inquisitor as the stark truth hit him. They were going to steal the book, even if they had to kill him first. The book he had worked on for years. He would smite them down, he would protect his life’s work.

Montrath focused his psychic energy, breaking into the vast reserve of power that was the Warp. A bolt of blue lightning surged from his fingertip, frying one of the Harlequins. The burnt husk of the former Eldar warrior fell to the ground, smoke rising from the corpse. Montrath felt a twinge of guilt, but quickly quashed it.

One of the two remaining Harlequins leapt at Montrath, his Wraithbone sword aimed at the Inquisitor’s neck. Montrath parried, matching the Harlequin blow for blow. The xeno was a fine swordsman, graceful and fast, but no-one, human or Xeno, had ever beaten Inquisitor-Lord Castor Montrath in a sword-fight. With a flick of his wrist, Montrath sliced the Harlequin’s sword hand off. The Eldar warrior howled with pain, but Montrath showed no mercy. He swiped his sword across the Xeno’s chest, leaving a massive gash, and then went for the coup de’ grace. The Eldar’s masked head flew into the air, and the head-less corpse fell lifelessly to earth. The corpse-less head followed a moment later.

The third Harlequin raced for Montrath, and the Inquisitor knew that the strange implement on its wrist must be the fabled Harlequin’s Kiss. There was a disorienting burst of light and color as the Eldar moved, her holo-suit was online. Montrath had seen holo-suits in action before, and he knew they would make the Harlequin’s movements untracable. Praying that the Xeno was only charging straight forward, and mustering all his once-prodigious strength, Montrath raised his powersword above his head. In one swinging motion, he brought it down on the charging Harlequin, slicing the Eldar fighter in two.

As the bloody halves fell, Montrath let out a sigh of exhaustion. He was getting too old for this. Kneeling, Montrath tried to catch his breath. His refractor shield crackled as it blocked a burst of shuriken. Turning around, Montrath saw two Death Jesters and a Grand Harlequin standing in the entrance to another room. Their masks leered at him mockingly, and Montrath knew that he might be unable to defeat these foes. More shuriken from the Death Jesters’ weapons impacted with his shield, further diminishing the charge remaining in its power-cell. Montrath cursed himself for forgetting to replace the nearly depleted energy-pack.

The Inquisitor rose and focused his psychic power. A gout of purple Warp-fire roared from his outstretched hand, and one of the Death Jesters staggered backwards. Montrath walked slowly forwards, bearing down on the warriors. The Grand Harlequin stood behind the pair of Jesters, simply watching as the Inquisitor destroyed them, as though he was waiting for something… The first Jester burnt away as the purple fire consumed him. He left with a scream, a piercing, horrible scream that died away into a thin gurgle.

The second Jester swung his Shrieker cannon at Montrath, but the Inquisitor side-stepped, avoiding the nasty scythe-like prong on the end of the weapon as it cut through the air. The Warp-fire died out as Montrath closed with the Death Jester. One swing, to the abdomen, the sword a blue blur that sliced through the black armor plating with a crackle. Another hit to the chest, the armor cracked and the flesh made a squelching noise. The last, to the head, breaking through the face mask and cutting into the Eldar’s face. Three quick sword cuts and the Jester lay dead at the Inquisitor’s feet.

Now the Grand Harlequin confronted Montrath. Clever, waiting to attack until the two Jesters had tired the aging human. Drawing a long blade, the Harlequin carefully stepped in a circle around the Inquisitor. Montrath circled as well, judging his opponent. Years of fighting and the experience of a life-time of war told Montrath when to strike. Bringing his blade down in a wide shoulder-to-hip cut, Montrath put all his weight behind the swing, expecting the Harlequin to parry, believing that his ancient power-sword would be able to slice through the Wraithbone of his enemy’s sword. Instead, the Eldar warrior stepped back, and aimed his outstretched finger at Montrath.

A bolt of psychic lightning ripped from the Grand Harlequin’s hand, and time seemed to slow. Montrath saw everything, every tiny thing. He saw the bolt travel slowly through the air, twisting, sparking. He expected, knew, that he was going to die. But at the very last millisecond, another bolt of lightning intercepted the Harlequin’s, creating a spectacular shower of blue sparks. Kox. Montrath smiled. His familiar had saved him once again. Surprised, the Harlequin stepped back. Then another bolt of lighting struck the Eldar warrior, and he fell to the ground, his armor sizzling. Kox leapt past Montrath and fired another bolt of lightning. Then, the familiar’s hands erupted into flames, as fire sprayed towards the downed Harlequin.

A scream filled the air as the Eldar warrior was consumed, and Montrath felt another pang of guilt. Again, he squashed the emotion. This was what happened in an Inquisitor’s line of work. I must be going soft. Montrath thought. Kox turned and walked to his master’s side.

“Well done, my little friend.” Montrath spoke up. “I do believe I owe you one.”

“Three, my lord.”

“Ah yes. Well. Did you get the ink?”

“Of course, my lord. Have I ever failed you?”

“No. Not once.”

Montrath took the offered ink-pot from Kox, and the familiar withdrew his dark-skinned hand into his cloak once more.

“So, my lord, shall we clean the place up?”

“Yes. Best get started on that…”