The Lost Primarch Quest

Soulblight

"Kill him, KILL HIM!" Autarch Tendavar yelled as blood poured from his mouth, his sword embedded deep into the leg of the one called himself 'Damas of Leitrim.' The Old Empire's traitor was merely inconvenienced by the power sword, the last attempt by Tendavar to give the rest of the strike force a chance. And yet, the foul creature merely laughed, a disgusting sound emitting from his flayed mouth and nostrils.

He didn't even bother speaking as he killed Tendavar with his glaive. A pitiful finish, but then again, Damas of Leitrim had displayed an unnatural power that dwarfed even the powers of most Farseers. He killed the Autarch's honor guard by uttering only a phrase.

Now he looked at Morianne and the other survivors with a surprising lack of glee or even hatred. He stared at them like insects that stood prepared to die. His maimed leg did nothing to stop him from uttering the same phrase he used to kill many.

"I am Oblivion."

---

Morianne woke with a frenzied gasp, her right hand gripping her mother's shuriken pistol and pulling it up as if on reflex and ready to shoot. Yet as the seconds passed and the foretold oblivion did not come, Morianne waited for a few more seconds before lowering her pistol. The relief she felt was worthless.

She sent a psychic message to turn the lights to her room and closed her eyes upon confirming there was no one inside. Then the wave of embarrassment and shame came to her mind at being afraid, especially upon being afraid of the dark. Morianne never in her entire life, even as a little girl, feared the dark.

Now she didn't know what to fear.

Her body was covered in a cold sweat, which caused her to start shaking. The memories of the battle at Hartaure clung to her mind like a ringing that refused to go away. Turning on the light was a mistake; it caused the ringing to continue in her mind. But right now, she didn't want to be in the dark, if only because it made the vivid images in her mind all the more intense.

She got out of bed and washed her face. Somehow, the reflection in the mirror did not reflect the torment in her mind. An Eldars body was designed to resist mental stress creating physical symptoms. That also made it difficult for others to notice it, which suited Morianne just fine.

It was better to suffer alone than show this weakness. That was the Eldar way when dealing with the trauma in war. Unless she directly went for help, her peers would leave her alone. Suffering alone wasn't a cultural trait shared among the Aeldari. Still, privacy associated with such thing was that most tended to spend time in deep mediation or perhaps take a few natural substances to ease their minds.

Morianne tried all of that, but the dreams didn't go away. It didn't make any sense; even Master Landesh was looking into the matter. It wasn't fair, though. Even those who suffered and lost loved ones in the battle reported at least dreamless nights of sleep upon taking certain remedies.

These last few nights had been torture. She had tried to replace sleeping with mediation, but that wasn't working. Landesh said that she was too young, both in age and skill. Her mind wasn't fully developed. Nor was she like Eldrad or Landesh or the other Seers who had completely removed the need to sleep. She wasn't that far along in her training or powerful enough to forgo the "chores of the body."

So, she was stuck having to try and fix what was wrong with her. It left the nascent Farseer feeling empty and uncertain. Her body and mind had betrayed her, and Morianne was stuck in this feeling of powerlessness and childish fears.

---

"I don't know what is happening to you, but nothing is 'wrong' either." Her master had tried to explain in as many ways as possible. "There are a host of reasons that could explain it. Your bio-scans returned nothing, and I can promise you, you are not infected with warp corruption."

That still wasn't good enough for her, "Then why do I keep having visions and nightmares of what happened?" Morianne tried not to yell at her master, but these last few had been particularly difficult. "I understand if I went through something traumatic, but my mind should've adjusted by now!"

He shook his head, "Just because our species was able to find ways to remove or negate mental trauma doesn't mean you've come to terms with what you saw. It might be more than that..."

"You said I wasn't corrupted."

Landesh gave her a reassuring look, "And you aren't. I even had Lord Ulthran confirm this himself. It just...might be a spiritual issue."

"What?" Morianne didn't understand what he was saying, "Spiritual? My soul is guarded against such things."

"That might be due in part your unique abilities and your connection to the Goddess of Dreams." He was rubbing his forehead, "Your dreams will not let you forget what you saw, and that means that you might not have come to terms with what you saw on Hartaure."

"I will never come to terms with what I saw...they twisted my home, Master. How am I supposed to accept what happened?"

"Because that is the reality of things." He remarked with that same stern voice when having to explain a lesson, "Let what happened, what you saw, fuel your desire to destroy the Great Enemy and those traitors. Once you understand this, you'll be able to move on."

His words did more harm than good, "I can't just move on or accept it or this nonsense you are peddling." Suddenly the shadows around the room started to squirm and morph, "Gods, how am I supposed to handle any of this going forward? Things are only going to get worse." She stood up and started to pace around, the light and shadows reacting to her movements and unconscious demands.

"Morianne," Landesh calm voice reached out to her, "Calm yourself. You are going through a rather difficult time, but that is expected. It will be alright."

Something was wrong with her. She clutched her head and tried to drown out a growing noise in her head. A peal of mocking laughter could be heard as well, and the smell of burning iron and flesh entered her mind. "I-I think I need to sit down." Her hand gripped something, and in an instant, Morianne felt Landesh at her side. Breathing was becoming a bit harder now.

"Breathe, young one." Landesh's voice reached out into her mind, "Listen to my voice. Breathe and center your mind."

Desperate for a reprieve, she obeyed his instructions and soon regained control of her breathing. Even though her mind and soul were at odds, her body at least responded to the invoked stress and rapidly started to reduce its effects. Within only a few seconds, Morianne regained control of her body. The episode having passed.

"Oh gods," She whispered to herself and felt a gag reflex, but the Eldar did not puke. That was another biological response removed millions of years ago. Still, the ancient mechanism of flight or fight came whirling back to the forefront of her mind. "I'm sorry..." She couldn't believe how embarrassed she felt right now. If that had happened among others, she'd have shamed herself and Landesh.

"It's alright." Landesh didn't sound disappointed or upset, only concerned. "I do believe we need to address this situation. Your training will be suspended for now."

"No!" She looked frantically at Landesh, "I'm sorry if I've been a disappointment, but I can still train myself to be better." Now she felt guilty for making her master worry and take such steps to prevent her from doing something dangerous or harmful.

"You aren't a disappointment, far from it." Landesh was as gentle as he could be in this moment, "But I will not train you until your mind is focused and able. I can help you down this path, but it will be up to you to come to your own realization or acceptance, Morianne."

---

She had been in her room for the last few days, locked away from the outside world. The one who did this was Morianne herself. Her master was going to look into this further, but she was ordered to "rest and revitalize until then." What nonsense to her. Sleeping meant danger and remembering.

Morianne didn't want to remember the smells, the sounds, or the feel of blood and gore. I didn't want to remember Damas's howling laughter or Tendavar final moments before dying. More than anything, though, she didn't want to remember how she commanded her shadows to bring such annihilation upon her foes.

Somehow, the thought of killing such abominations did not bring her any peace. It didn't make sense. Why was she cursed with this naivety, and why did it appear now? Hadn't she promised herself that she would kill the Ulwarth, avenge her parents? Perhaps realizing that she was weak changed everything.

On Hartaure, others died defending Morianne. There was a period where there was so much chaos that her people and the corrupted abandoned all sense of discipline and purpose to exact bloody revenge upon one another. Morianne was in the middle of a war that never ended and felt lost. Kazar and his Marines, along with Tendavar and his honor guard, finally located her and the guard detachment. They had been targetted by attack several times now.

Morianne saw one of her guards shield her body to receive a strange beam of red energy that burned through his armor like it wasn't there. Another died providing covering fire, his body becoming riddled with shurikens. A third died when a pair of daemonettes pounced him and started to tear him apart.

A Farseer was supposed to lead their people into war, but Morianne had barely training in basic tactics. So she was grateful for Kazar and Tendavar's arrival. Both men decided to go for the kill at the main ritual site. They wanted to end Damas. The Sightseers would act as the screen for any reinforcements, while Tendavar and the other Eldar would launch the attack on the ritual and kill one of the First Traitors.

---

"You will stick by my honor guard at all times, do you understand?"

"Yes." Morianne grimaced as she heard the sounds of a battle around her. "What about the others?" There were wounded that they would have to leave behind with a small guard.

"They will have to make due. If we can't stop this First Traitor, then tens of thousands of our people will die in vain." He gave Morianne additional shuriken ammo, "Stick to cover, shoot at enemies, and do not get spotted when you can help it."

"My powers could-"

"Your powers are untested and unpredictable; I can't risk it, especially with the warp ritual taking place. Just stay in cover, please."

---

He didn't want Morianne to be there. She was a burden, an untested Farseer who was only there at the command of Eldrad, Landesh, and the other Seers. Maybe they wanted her to get a taste of real war or perhaps get some precious experience. They knew she wasn't ready for this, but they had to try and show off their Black Angel. She couldn't blame Lord Ulthran, especially when one of the humans Primarchs had invested in a joint operation.

It didn't stop the sting of being used as a political tool to go along with being a weapon for Hartaure.

Now she was left wondering what would happen next. Her self-induced isolation gave her plenty of time to stew and consider all the possible consequences. Morianne had done nothing wrong, but something was obviously wrong with her. Her master and the other Seers weren't going to risk her, at least not now, not yet.

Meditation hadn't helped. It reduced her fatigue, but not the stress. Stuck in her own misery, Morianne found herself slipping deeper into an apathetic haze. Time passed by, and in its wake, it invoked dangerous thoughts. What if something was really wrong with her? Could she be corrupted? During most of the battle, her failure to aid her people would've only added to whatever likely rumors had spread around her. The Black Angel was either weak in spirit and mind or both and unable to face the harsh realities.

And for a brief moment, Morianne wondered if she had already failed in her destined prophecy. Maybe there was freedom in that? The chains of fate would no longer chain her. However, Landesh told her that even failure didn't release them from their destinies.

It only made them all the harder to realize and accept.

There was suddenly a loud knocking on her door. Morianne ignored it. If it were Master Landesh or another Seer, they'd have sent a psychic message to her already. So, it was likely someone that she didn't know, but right now, Morianne didn't care to talk to anyone. But then it kept going, and she realized that whoever was knocking wasn't going to go away.

"Leave me be!" She yelled to the door, "I don't wish to see anyone!"

There was a brief moment of silence...before the knocking returned, louder this time and with a lot more energy behind it. And then something snapped in Morianne as she got out of bed and stomped towards the door. Whoever was on the other side was about to get a rather massive tongue lashing from an upset and distraught Farseer. Morianne didn't even care that she wasn't dressed appropriately, her hair was wild, and her nightgown was wrinkled.

"BY KHAINE'S BLOOD, WHO THE..." Morianne started yelling before she noticed who was at the door. "Magnus?!"

The giant of a man seemed to be taken aback by the rather outrageous response, "My apologies, I was told by your master just to knock loudly." The Primarch looked a tad embarrassed, "I guess that explains why he asked for my help in getting his apprentice out of bed."

Morianne wanted a hole to warp to appear and swallow her up suddenly. Her master had recruited one of the Human Primarchs, a dignitary and emissary of their Imperium, to perform a wake-up call on her. The Black Angels pale face became distinctly red upon realizing the embarrassing situation.

"C-can you give me a few minutes?" She tried not to look at her friend, "I'd like to get myself presentable."

"Right." Magnus had the decency to look away upon noticing the state of her dress, "No issue with waiting out here." Although he did suddenly smirk, "Can I just comment that I am fascinated to see that the Eldar are also victims of the infamous bedhead hair." He gestured towards Morianne's normally smooth and silky black hair, now looking less than pristine and tangled.

Morianne slammed the door in the smirking Primarchs face as she set about getting herself cleaned and dressed.

---

Morianne spent the better part of twenty minutes getting ready. Her mind was still exhausted and distracted, but she still moved with speed, grace, and efficiency. The Black Angel at least kept to her chores and duties to her credit, meaning she still had a clean room and clothes. The last thing she wanted was for someone to see her personal space in complete disarray.

As soon as Morianne stepped outside, she saw Magnus reading what looked to be a tome written in Aeldari. He looked over at her and smirked again, "Always with the white dresses?"

She huffed, "I like the design and color." Most Eldar did scorn gaudy or expensive-looking clothing. Unlike the Imperium, their race had only begun to return to enjoying the most ostentatious parts of life. It wasn't even like it was difficult to find garb that an Imperial Lady would've killed to have access to. Morianne just chose this style for numerous reasons.

There was a brief moment of second-guessing, "Why, do you think it doesn't look good?"

"What, no." Magnus chuckled slightly, "You look lovely."

"...Maybe I should wear something different. I don't want people to think I only own one dress." Morianne didn't normally care about what people thought, mainly because she doubted most Eldar cared. Considering the Harlequins' fashion disasters, it wasn't like everyone was quick to point out each other's dress codes. Besides, her people had more important things to worry about now.

Still, the thought was nagging in the back of her mind. "Give me a minute, and I can-"

"Goodness, just listen to yourself." Magnus had lost the amusement in his tone. "You look beautiful, and I am saying that from a purely objective point of view and based on past observations of other women and men." He tried to add a bit of levity back into the conversation, "Meanwhile, my brother Fulgrim would moan endlessly about how wonderful you look in such a simple dress and with only minimal preparation when he has to spend what feels like an entire day in front of a mirror. That fop of a Primarch."

Morianne blushed, though not at his praise. She felt foolish at having to hear her friend reassure the Eldar of her looks. He was trying to make her feel better. "I'm sorry, thank you."

He sighed before reaching out with his right hand, "Nothing to apologize for, now come on. I figure you'd want to get out of your room for a little bit. Maybe talk for a while?"

She stared at the hand and thought of how large it was compared to her own, and for some reason, the thought of it caused her to actually smile for the first time in what felt like ages, "You aren't going to crush my hand, right?"

"I have supreme control over my strength; I can assure you." He rolled his eyes, "Just because I can destroy entire armies doesn't mean I have no semblance of restraint."

"From what my master says about humans, that isn't the case." She reached out and took hold of his own. It felt so...awkward, but Morianne felt comfortable all the same. The Eldar realized how odd this might have looked, perhaps even scandalous. But while only a few minutes ago she was self-conscious about her dress, now Morianne didn't care if anyone saw her holding a human's hand.

'This is the first time a male other than my father actually did anything like this...huh.' The smile on her face kept as the Crimson King escorted the Black Angel.

---

The two of them found a nice spot to lounge and chat. It was deep inside the Black Library, away from others save for the Harlequins who seemed to ignore them now. Granted, both Morianne and Magnus heard the ever-present chortling laughter from Cegorach as he watched the events play out.

Morianne asked Magnus where Bastet was, but he remarked that she found a clan of Grynix and likely went off to "mingle" with them for a bit. "I suppose she is doing her own sort of cultural exchange." He half-joked, but Morianne still hoped that the psycat was enjoying herself.

When they arrived at their destination, there was a small spread of food and drink. Morianne felt a tad guilty now, "Magnus, you didn't need to do this."

"What? Transport some food and drink from Prospero across the galaxy and into the greatest repository of knowledge is an easy enough trick. Besides, don't think I did this just for you." He laughed as he sat down, "I wasn't interested in having those psy-rations. I wanted to eat some real food, and my brother Fulgrim once told me that food always tastes better with enjoyable company."

'That makes one of us.' Morianne thought to herself bitterly. She hadn't exactly been a joy to be around these last few days, not that it mattered as most people tended to avoid her. Even Kazar and his Sightseers were busy with the post-operational clean up to speak to Morianne. She had thought herself used to be alone, but it seemed that was just another delusion on Morianne's part.

Something came to mind, though, "You came to see me instead of your sons?"

"I've already spoken to them extensively." Magnus took a seat and used a host of warp powers to start preparing their meal, "Now then, I hope you have an appetite."

"Oh," She blushed a little, "I-I'm not really hungry."

Magnus gave her a look, "Your master says otherwise. Besides, I took the time to cook this up."

She stared at that announcement, "You can cook?"

"Of course I can, why wouldn't I?"

Morianne tried not to blush any further but couldn't stop the giggle, "I'm sorry, but the idea of you standing over some bubbling pots and pans is cute."

He snorted and looked away, "Cooking happens to be one of the most masculine things possible. Considering how much a man eats, he should be able to make something that goes beyond soup and noodles."

That didn't stop Morianne's giggling from turning into chuckling, "I'm sorry...it's just..." The visualization of Magnus needing to wear something like a hairnet finally brought her over the edge, and she started laughing.

Her friend could only huff in indignation, but the smile on his face said otherwise.

---

Morianne might not have wanted to eat, but her body did, especially upon seeing actual food. Besides, these were all dishes from Prospero that Magnus made, and not only did she not want to be rude to her friend, but her stomach also wanted something real. It had been some time now since she had her mother's home cooking.

As she ate, she thought that these dishes were quite...salty. That might have been a human vs. Eldar in terms of tastebuds. At the very least, the flavored mineral water helped wash everything down. They both ate in comfortable silence, Magnus even bringing out some "chocolate" that one of his brothers gave him some time ago. It tasted sweet, a little bland, but a nice little treat to top their whole lunch/dinner off.

However, soon, Magnus decided to get back to addressing why he was here.

"I hope you don't mind when I say this...but you were my last stop. I've been here for three days already." He started after finishing putting the dishes away via more telekinetic usage.

"Oh." She didn't sound disappointed or surprised, "That makes sense. I'm sure you wanted to see your son. Besides, I don't have much to contribute in terms of what happened on Hartaure."

"Far from it." He grimaced as he pulled out a familiar-looking piece of parchment, "Your letter was what prompted me to come to the Black Library in the first place. As soon as I finished reading it, I rushed on over. I needed to speak to Eldrad, my sons, the other Seers, and, of course, you."

"Ah." Morianne barely considered that her letter would have such an effect, "Well, you'd have found out eventually."

He nods, "Perhaps, but it would've been sanitized." As his powers finished setting their table, Magnus looked conflicted as he spoke, "Your letter...the contents of what you saw and what happened. It terrified me."

"I thought Primarchs and Astartes knew no fear?"

The Crimson King laughed, "There is the fear of the enemy and fear of the unknown. Both of which do not break our spirits. However, the existential fears are the ones that keep me up at night."

Morianne winced before shaking her head, "It's the opposite for me."

"Your letter didn't spare any details. It was a bad battle for you, wasn't it?"

For a moment, Morianne didn't say anything. She didn't want to appear weak in front of Magnus. "It was trying for all of us." The nearly 400,000 dead Eldar made that point abundantly clear.

Magnus, however, wasn't letting this go, "I wasn't asking about anyone else; I was asking about you." He leaned forward and tried not to look menacing, "I'm not the best at this stuff, these heart to hearts. My brothers tend to do better, but I like to think I'm perceptive enough to know when someone is hurting. Gods know I've become familiar with it."

"So let me ask you: are you alright, Morianne?"

---

Damas of Leitrim was found sitting on a throne of flesh and bone in the middle of the ritual space, in what was once Starglade. He looked bored, resting his head on an open palm and with a wicked-looking war-glaive embedded into the body of a still-living Eldar. As a First Traitor, his boy had been morphed and twisted.

He was as muscular as a space marine while still maintaining their race's natural lithe figure. He wore only boots and pants while remaining shirtless and without any other armor. Morianne suspected that Damas had been the desire of every maiden that he came across once upon a time. Now he was a walking testament to every nightmare born of the Old Empire.

A once beautiful face, now home to his flayed mouth and nose, creating a disgusting replication of a Harlequin Death Smile.

"I see that our first real family reunion ended in such violence and destruction. A pity, but I suppose the Ulwarths should've known better. Time does not heal all scars or remove the weakness in the bloodline."

Damas then saw Morianne and that ugly smile of his broaden, "Ah, the Nightmare and Shadow, the Dream and the Moonlight. You'll make an excellent reward and part of my ascension to such an illustrious order."

"You disgusting thing." The pure hate and vitriol in Tendavar's felt so...foreign compared to his usual composure, "Just looking upon and what you have done fills me with revulsion. Have you no shame for what you and your kind helped wrought?! You bow before the Goddess of Whores!"

"Ambition makes whores of us all, cousin." He grabbed his war-glaive and, in a quick instant, ended the life of the writhing Eldar as he pulled it out in sickening crunch, "Perhaps you should reconsider your own stance. Slaanesh represents a work that had been in development for eons. That we finally brought it into fruition...how many mortals can lay claim to helping create a god?"

"How you and others of your kind did not have your soul destroyed proves to me there is no such as 'fairness' or justice in this galaxy!"

Damas laughed and nodded his head, "Of that, I can agree with! Our destiny was almost ruined, you know? We were never supposed to live, but the story changed, and the universe had to adjust! We are a memory given form, just as one of the dreams have taken shape in the form of that girl." He pointed towards Morianne, "When the time comes, girl, you will be another piece in a much larger war. Take heart and heed this warning; you will never be free."

"Be quiet!" Tendavar yelled and turned to his honor guard, "Destroy this abomination and his ilk! For the Craftworld, for the Aeldari, for the Lost!"

And the battle was soon joined again, but Morianne watched and felt a strange power forming around Damas and into his war-glaive. The power was somehow primordial, yet tainted by the Great Enemy's powers. It was also taking more of the Corrupted life-force. He was fueling this power with his soul.

Then he spoke. It was only one phrase, but it was spoken with such power and strength that Morianne almost failed to comprehend it. It was uttered like a command, but one towards the universe itself. To give him the ability to kill and destroy well beyond his own capabilities.

"I am Oblivion."

Morianne felt the air around her getting hot, followed by the smell of burning ozone, and then a powerful ringing noise...followed by a spray of something across her helmet. She was blind and stupidly decided to take it off, allowing her to see that it was covered in blood and there were also shards of wraithbone sticking out of it.

Her right side was covered in blood and gore. Her armor likewise had shards of wraithbone. The Exarch that had been guarding her had ceased to be, turning into a squall of gore. It was like a grenade had gone off inside him. Morianne looked down and felt what looked to be shrapnel, born of wraithbone and Eldar bone, that pierced her armor. She was bleeding.

There was also now a hundred dead Eldar. Most of them died before even getting their blades out. Tendavar looked furious while Damas stood there, that primordial energy thankfully depleted. Yet he looked ready for battle all the same.

"Now the battlefield has been blessed." He pointed his weapon back at Morianne, "A thousand slaves and a title to whoever brings me her alive!"

There were chants and howls from other corrupted Eldar, and the daemonic entities seemed thrilled as well. The Craftworlders readied themselves for another round of combat after such a slaughter.

Morianne, meanwhile, felt only terror.

---

Morianne felt pathetic as she took a moment to stop explaining to wipe away the tears. Magnus was gentlemen enough to offer something to wipe at her eyes. There was no look of pity or false sympathy in his eyes as he waited for her to collect herself. Showing such weakness here and now.

"I'm sorry," Morianne remarked after a minute. She thanked the gods that she hadn't gone through any panic attack. At the very least, she still felt relaxed enough to control herself. "I must be making this uncomfortable for you."

He shook his head, "Far from it, and you don't need to apologize." Magnus looked apprehensive about what he heard, "The power displayed by this Damas...to kill that many within just a heartbeat."

The Black Angel nodded, "He wasn't using the warp, not in any way you and I would, or any other Eldar or human. It was something far older. An old secret lost during the Fall. The Ulwarth likely has similar access to it."

Magnus displayed an intense look of curiosity, but he held his tongue, "And what happened next?"

"It turned into a bloodbath." Morianne remarked bitterly, "It must have lasted about ten or so minutes. By then, your sons and the Harlequins arrived, but Tendavar, his honor guard, and nearly a thousand seasoned warriors fell in battle. Damas wasn't some sorcerer or psyker that betrayed for power...I think he was an Arhir."

"Arhir?"

"Another legend from the Old Empire, one my mother told me about. The closest thing I can think of was a combination of an Autarch and maybe one of your Space Marine captains. They were supposed to be leaders, but not exactly lords. They held no titles or fortunes, only permanent service towards the Eldar Empire's defense. To think one of the Arhir became a First Traitor..."

She noticed that Magnus looked tense, "Is it really that surprising? This corruption displayed Chaos is...pervasive in the face of everything."

Morianne didn't disagree, not after everything she had seen. There was a brief moment of silence before Magnus suggested that they stop, at least for now.

---

Magnus was conflicted; he didn't have any answers for Morianne. Hearing the description of power and cruelty displayed by Chaos's forces was different from reading it in her letter. She went into such vivid detail that it caused him to feel panic. Kesar, Perturabo, and Jaghatai were about to face off against an entire sector worth of daemonic worlds.

His decision to head to the Black Library was so sudden that Imperial agents likely detected it. Magnus knew that others were watching his movements. No doubt, another sign of how far he'd fallen in the Primarch hierarchy. His departure would have to be explained at a later date.

Eldrad and his seers explained the situation, as did his sons. Even the Laughing God briefly weighed in on the development via one of his proxies. He had spoken to perhaps a dozen individuals, those that had been at Hartaure. He had also recovered the bodies of the twenty that fell. Eldrad ordered that each marine be given the same honors as his own kin. It was another sign that this alliance was moving in a good direction.

However, his thoughts also turned to Morianne. He didn't know why, but he felt a pang of guilt and remembered that whatever despair she felt now was only the beginning. Whatever possessed him to comfort this female xeno continued to baffle him. Perhaps he wanted to prove that he could render aid to another without some supposed "egotistical" motivation behind it. Then again, maybe he also felt like he owed himself to help another person, especially one who had only been happy to help and talk with him.

Another sign of how sad his life had become, seemingly starved for more positive attention from another, one without any strings attached to it. The irony was that he had taken so many steps to do just that. He became somewhat invested in Morianne, but he didn't understand why.

Then again, did he need a specific reason? Would Kesar or Khan not come to his aid, regardless of why, seek to offer some advice, either as brothers or as Primarchs, even if it didn't benefit them? Even from the most recent...argument that ensured, Magnus was certain that if he called for their aid, they would send it in some capacity or another. In his darkest moments, even a small gesture of aid would mean more than anything.

It took no effort on Magnus's part to be friendly and kind to Morianne. Nonetheless, it also wasn't helping her. Magnus had no answers for what she was feeling. He knew about post-traumatic stress, but based on what he knew of the Eldar, they didn't suffer from it. Morianne hadn't been so lucky, though.

Considering she had been at ground zero of this event twice now. She had to watch as more and more of her peoples' blood was shed on a corrupted world that was once her only home. Hartaure, it would never be the world she once knew. Her home was gone. Chaos and daemons destroyed it, tainted it. They killed his sons, his allies, and almost harmed his friend.

Maybe Magnus was just furious as well.

What he felt, though, didn't change what happened or what was going to happen next. He played to Eldrad's tune now, and the Great Seer made it clear to Magnus that he had plans. Whether or not the Crimson King wanted to participate was entirely up to the Primarch. His Legions aid had proven insurmountable useful, and if Magnus could even redirect more Imperial resources towards their effort, Eldrad would be grateful and in the Primarch's debt.

That alone was a remarkable reward in the grand scheme of things. The aid of Eldrad Ulthran could very well save him and his sons from total annihilation. But Magnus wasn't here to play such games, even if the reward was tantalizing.

No, Magnus wasn't interested in personal gain, not others' cost. He was done with such things. Magnus wanted to help the Eldar in their war against the forces of Chaos and these First Traitors. In doing so, he would get all that he wanted: knowledge, power, the Eldar's aid, helping the Imperium, revenge for the fallen, and helping Morianne.

But the real question remained, what can he do now? Eldrad was planning the next stage, and his sons were preparing. That left the Primarch free to aid as he saw fit. Magnus had already put forward his requests for certain tomes and books, along with a hundred other plans and designs to coincide with the Eldar's campaign. But...he still wanted to do something for his friend.

She was miserable here in the Black Library, and it wasn't like that Craftworld was going to offer any more succor or relief for her. Morianne was the type that probably enjoyed sunlight and life, but she wouldn't be able to find any more Exodites since most of those were scattered across the galaxy. She didn't have the same luxury as Magnus, who could practically get back to Prospero from the Black Library in only a few jumps and...

'That's it!' Magnus thought to himself with glee, 'I know what I can do!'

---

Eldrad Ulthran once again had to play mentor and teacher to the Crimson King. The giant of a man had all but barraged into the Divination Room, but he had given the Primarch that luxury now. He had earned the right to speak with the Great Seer as he saw fit. All of Eldrad's detractors were quiet now regarding Magnus and his Legions aid.

Their last meeting had ended only a few hours ago. His visions showed no new issues or crises appearing, save for an approaching warpstorm within the Realm of Ultramar. But that was ultimately a minor affair. It was only when Magnus spoke up of an idea that caused the Great Seer to pause.

"You wish to take the Black Angel to Prospero?"

He nodded, "For a little bit of time, less than a month to be exact. I have some business to conduct back home, but I think it might do some good. Her master remarked that her training had been put on hold due to her...condition. However, having her in a different location might do her some good."

"On a world full of humans, many of which are psykers. You put too much trust in your own people. She is an alien to them."

"The people of Prospero are educated and live among psykers." He was trying to reason with him, "68% of the planetary population either has ties to a psyker within their family, works in a business or functionality related to psykers, or were directly educated by one in a mundane discipline. Even the most cut off individuals living in the wilds away from civilization still make regular contact with the psyker guilds."

Eldrad had heard of Prospero and its shining jewel of a city, the City of Light, Tizca. It paled in comparison to the Eldar's great cities, but it was one of the few places that his people would consider a "tolerable" location to visit compared to most of humanity. Then again, it was like a human from a Hive world visiting a Feral World. You could find some rustic "charm," but then remember you are in a world that has no modern amenities.

However, Eldrad couldn't deny Morianne wasn't the type of Eldar that would complain about such things. She had grown up in relative isolation and the woods. Exodites lived off the land and enjoyed it, which confused Eldrad. He had survived off the land by himself before, and he recalled a distinct disdain for it.

"The xenophobia is still an issue, and I don't mean from your citizens." He was aware of the multiple organizations monitoring the Primarch, especially after the most recent and upcoming endeavors. "If anyone finds out that you have an Eldar woman on the planet, it will force us into an awkward position."

"I can handle that; if need be, I can attempt to call in a few favors or plan some distractions." He sounded curious and eager, "Because I do not hear a no..."

"And you don't hear a yes, either." Eldrad countered easily enough and felt weary over this situation. Magnus had inserted himself into the bloody prophecy and was making things complicated. Perhaps if Eldrad had the time and patience, he'd looked into the situation personally. But he had more than a hundred other crises to deal with and a thousand more petty ones to resolve.

This new distraction wasn't helping. "I will consider your suggestion Magnus. Until then, leave me."

---

Morianne had killed probably a dozen of the corrupted, but she lost her sword during the last scuffle, and her pistol was almost out of ammo. Try as she might, Morianne wasn't a good shot or a particularly well-skilled swordswoman. Even so, she could at least defend herself.

Damas killed another hundred in his wake, even as he dragged his maimed leg. That power of his had already killed another five hundred warriors in only a few seconds. It didn't make sense how he could do such a thing! His martial power was already considerable, but he could destroy an opponent with that ability.

She was sticking to cover now in the ruins of Starglade. The former town was a ruin, and a foul smoke washed over its corpse, blocking out the pink skies and weeping red sun. There were bodies all around Morianne, mostly just charred bones or displayed upon walls and doors like grisly trophies.

Then she heard his voice, "Come out, come out, wherever you are..." Damas hauntingly called out to her from somewhere, "Let me see you, little one...Uncle Damas won't bite." That familiar feeling of revulsion and disgust returned, and Morianne was thankful for it. It gave her strength, made her want to stop Damas. It made her want to kill the bastard.

Around her, the shadows started to beckon her unconscious calls. The darkness around her was soaked in the ashes of the dead, and echoes of screaming Eldar began to power it. Morianne felt herself channeling the warp, making it all the more potent thanks to the bleed in real space.

Now, she just needed some time to concentrate.

Without much warning, the wall that she was taking cover behind seemed to explode before a hand reached out and roughly grabbed Morianne. She barely had time to scream before she felt herself flying through the air and into the ruins of what used to be a market stall.

Battered and dazed, Morianne barely had time to realize what had happened before Damas started speaking loudly over the screams of the dying and battle, "Well, I never said I wouldn't hurt you. But I didn't bite." He was carrying his war-glaive like he was out for a stroll. Morianne tried to summon her power again, but her ears were still ringing, and her vision faltered. She tried to stand up, steading herself upon a broken pole.

"I can sense that power of yours; I wonder if anyone told you what you have inside that delicious body of yours?" He swung his war-glaive as if just to hear it cut through the smokey air. "The craftworlds and their ways are a death sentence, men and women trying to rekindle a fire that is only ash now. Those fools in the Dark City think they are safe as well. But it is the Dark Gods that are the only way forward."

Damas didn't bother waiting for a response from Morianne as he limped forward, "The battle here is lost, but it's only a minor setback for the Ulwarths." He stopped a few meters away now...and then pointed his weapon at Morianne, "But I will escape. And you will die. Still, I will be generous." Now he gave a cruel smile towards the Black Angel, "Beg for mercy, and I will give it to you in the form of a mercifully quick death."

Morianne didn't speak to ask the obvious question of what would happen if she refused.

"Otherwise, I'm going to enjoy gutting you alive. All I need is your precious little heart and maybe that stone of yours, and I'll still get my ascension. But I can make it all the worse for you."

She didn't respond; all Morianne did was continue to gather power up, 'I just need a few more seconds...' The shadows and darkness around them both started to gather and shift. It became darker, and Morianne could see it already moving up Damas's maimed leg.

Damas grunted, "You are still trying to gather up that power? I suppose that is your answer then." He shrugged as he closed the distance and suddenly grabbed Morianne by the neck, "Oh well, I wasn't going to offer you mercy anyway." With one hand, Damas held up his weapon and aimed it towards the Black Angels chest.

Even as death approached, Morianne continued to gather up power. 'No, just another second, please!' Her mind screamed for just one more heartbeat of time. 'Gods, anyone, help me!'

Fate was kind to her, this time, as she and Damas had enough time to hear a thunderous KRAAK break over the silence before the traitor's war-glaive exploded as something hit it. Morianne felt the explosion's force at such proximity, the blinding blast, and the roar of it in one second. However, Damas took the worst of it; even as he deftly moved his body in time to prevent a possible killing blow, several shards were now embodied into the right side of his face, including his right eye.

He dropped Morianne as he screamed in pain and clutched his ruined face, "BAAAHHHH!"

A familiar voice rang out, "Die monster!" Morianne saw that it was Kazar! The Marine was wounded, missing a right arm and his helmet, but he was still holding his boltgun up with his left arm and with a look of fury on his face. "BEYOND SIGHT!" He cried out in defiance of the insanity all around him.

However, Damas was not finished or deterred from the human's defiance, "Damn it all!" He turned back towards the Marine, "Pissant Craftworlds having to bring Mon'Keigh into this battle. Is nothing sacred?!"

Then she sensed it, that familiar power growing in Damas. He was going to kill Kazar if he got it off, but she had gotten her extra few seconds, and Morianne saw the shadows had crawled up his already maimed leg. 'No more!' She willed the shadows and darkness to ensure that Damas would be unable to pull off his attack.

She watched as the warp changed the Corrupteds leg into pure midnight obsidian within seconds, converting matter and energy and warp energies into a physical manifestation of an oily black crystal. Morianne would've been in awe over this new development if not for the fact that Damas was still alive.

Once again, he roared in pain and agony, which caused him to lose his concentration. He then fell to the ground, now having lost one leg all the up to his hip. "AUGH!!! CURSE, YOU BLOODY SPIRIT! THE ULWARTHS SHALL HAVE YOUR SOUL AND HEART!"

Morianne had enough. She didn't know what possessed her, but perhaps realizing that she had to kill Damas, she decided to do the only logical and necessary thing.

So, she quickly felt around for something to use as a weapon...and she found a rock of all things. Damas was most certainly not down for the count, but even he wasn't prepared for Morianne to came at him with an improvised blunt weapon of all things.

And Morianne proceeded to bash his head with the rock.

The only witness to this event would be Kazar, who had swiftly closed the distance to help finish off Damas. But he got close enough, and just in time, to watch as an Eldar Farseer proceeded to cave in the skull of a First Traitor of the Old Empire.

65 million years of refined warfare, technologies that could build or break entire star systems, mastery of the warp itself, and the biological capabilities that surpassed most species in the galaxy...to witness such confrontation between two groups of the same species end in a fight that would've been more appropriate for feral Orks and humans made the whole thing tragic in Kazar's eyes.

There was no glory, no honor, and no grace or civility in this battle. Just hatred that transcended into sheer brutality and disgust.

Damas was dead; Kazar ensured that after putting another four bolt rounds into the body. Morianne, meanwhile, was shaking and wheezing over such a violent kill on her part. Her face was covered in blood, while she was covered in gore up to her elbows. The Space Marine wisely escorted her to a bigger detachment of Eldar and kept by her side for the rest of the fight.

The Farseer said nothing for the rest of the battle.

---

"It's Soulblight."

Eldrad didn't bother turning away to look at Landesh, but if he did, his compatriot would've seen the grimace on the Great Seers face. He didn't bother asking Landesh if there might have been a mistake. Eldrad knew it to be the case, even without having to divine that answer.

He could sense that Landesh wasn't too happy about this development. Eldrad imagined Yral Piaf had already informed the Laughing God of this as well. That would make for another headache when it was brought up. No doubt Cegorach would remark that the Great Seer, in his "infinite wisdom," decided that Morianne was ready for such an intense operation.

The Gods did enjoy watching mortals making mistakes, even when they were on the same side. However, Eldrad ignored such things and considered what this all meant.

The concept of the Soulblight was recorded in their histories as being a "wound in the soul, now infected with despair," and this wasn't something that the sack of pus in the Warp, Nurgle, came up with himself. No, it was an ancient problem that the Aeldari thought themselves rid of millions of years ago.

Humans liked to imagine that the stresses of war were a purely chemical reaction within their brains, and they were right to a certain extent. But for an Eldar, trauma took on many forms. The Soulblight was one of them. Morianne had been tainted, somehow, with a condition many thought to be a legend. And they had no way to cure it.

But a cure wasn't necessary. That was the 'beauty' of the Soulblight. It would go away, in time, just like a regular sickness of the body. But they didn't have time. They couldn't afford for Morianne to wallow in misery and despair or to second guess herself in combat. An Eldar could take years, decades to fully recover.

'We don't even have one year.' Eldrad needed all his assets and people at the ready. Things were only going to get worse. The humans and their Ritual War and the so-called Blood and Thunder War forced Eldrad to increase the galactic timetable forward immeasurably. Midnight Heaven was still a great way off, but Morianne would be needed. The Eldar were finally marching towards total war, which meant everyone would have to do their part.

However, he couldn't force the issue. If he or Landesh forced Morianne too hard, the Soulblight would weaken her soul. Her resolve was critical for the prophecy and the Aeldari war effort in general. Pushing her any further would have disastrous long term consequences for any short term gains.

Eldrad had to go about this carefully, but he'd have to do something that could have long term consequences.

"We will need to adjust," Eldrad finally spoke up to Landesh, "The Soulblight must be resolved, post-haste."

"How should we go about that?"

"It will be up to Morianne to decide on that." He was about to place a lot of trust in both her and Magnus now, "But I do believe there is a solution in place, one that has recently come to my attention..." Eldrad was sure that the Primarch was going to be smug once he heard the Great Seers decision.

---

Morianne hadn't spoken to Magnus since their little lunch together. That had been about two days ago. She felt awful again, this time feeling that she spurned his attempts to help. The Primarch was a good soul, but even Morianne recognized that he was awkward around her when she became emotional.

'Perhaps that is a good sign?' She thought with a small smile, 'The great Magnus the Red reacts in the same way any man would around a crying woman.' If she were a Drukhari, she could've exploited that. Thankfully for the Primarch, Morianne wasn't the type to manipulate another using such underhanded tactics. 'At least not yet.'

She had gone back to "hiding" in her room. Sleep remained elusive for her. Not that it was going to come anytime soon, now that she learned about her affliction. Landesh had only recently come and explained this "Soulblight" in greater detail, describing it as a sort of spiritual sickness that would, thankfully, pass in time.

However, Landesh made it clear that they didn't have time. He advised her that she needed to resolve this situation as soon as possible. That was all well and good, but no one really knew how to resolve the Soulblight. He did learn that it required the soul to "cleanse itself," akin to how the body naturally handles any viruses or diseases.

'I can't sleep, I don't have an appetite, and I'm not capable of relaxing right now.' She didn't have many other options available to her. Thoughts of the battle still ran through her mind, and now without any distractions, Morianne was left only with her thoughts. Those last moments at Starglade...to kill another in such a brutal fashion and by her hands, it unsettled her.

Damas would kill her, Kazar, and who knows how many others before he either escaped or died. Even just from a purely pragmatic standpoint, he deserved to die: it was either him or her in the end, and Morianne made the only logical conclusion. As Kazar remarked before, it was war, plain and simple.

And it wasn't as if the galaxy hadn't created crueler weapons. Bashing another skull with a rock was likely mercy compared to a chain weapon. However, to be reduced to such barbaric means to win a battle, especially after attacking an unprepared target...Damas was an honorless cur, but that didn't mean Morianne should be forced to his level.

Then there was just the mental aspect of it. As the Black Angel worked on killing Damas, she didn't feel anything at all. It was almost like she wasn't even there like her body moved on its own to perform the bloody deed. That observation didn't make her feel any better. To lose yourself in the haze of battle was just as grotesque as it was to enjoy it. Indifference in the act of killing was dangerous for an Eldar.

'Something is wrong with me...' Morianne was afraid, 'I know I'm not normal, but what I've seen so far terrifies me.'

She hadn't even truly begun down her path of becoming a Farseer. So what would it mean once she could see the events yet to come? To see herself become some monster or to die because of her inability? This had gone just doubt and uncertainty; it was now a question of her survival and sanity.

'I'm okay; I'm a survivor.' Morianne told herself once again as she sat on her bed, trying to let the darkness comfort her again. 'I'll make it through this.' Yet those words felt weak and false. Next time was going to be harder. Even if she won handily, it would come at some cost to her mental or spiritual wellbeing, to say nothing of her physical.

Morianne felt lost. The darkness couldn't provide comfort to her, at least not immediately. She had to find a different way to escape from this pit of despair.

There was a knocking on her door. Morianne almost missed hearing it, "Who is it?"

A brief feeling of familiar psychic energy emerged from the other side, "It's Magnus. You got a few minutes?"

"Oh! Coming!" Morianne got off her bed and smoothed her dress out, 'At least this time, I'm a lot more presentable.'

Opening the door, the Crimson King stood there was a rather proud smile on his face, "There you are, and I was hoping to find you here."

Morianne looked away, "Not like I have anywhere else to really go..." She had gone to maybe six different places since she and her master arrived at the Black Library.

"Well, I'm about to change that if you are willing to hear me out. So, mind if I come in?"

She stood outside to let the overtly large human inside her, thankfully, spacious room. "What's going on, Magnus? You look and sound very excited." Morianne hated to admit it, but she wasn't exactly in the mood for another person's joy.

"Because, my dear friend," He started with a grin, "I was permitted by the great and gracious Eldrad Ulthran and your master to take you on a little vacation to my homeworld of Prospero if you so feel inclined to do so."

The Black Angel blinked, "Ah, I'm sorry?" That couldn't be right; her master and Lord Ulthran were okay with her leaving the Black Library? "But...why?"

"I was able to convince them that a change of scenery might do you some good, and I figured you would enjoy being around something that has a bit more life to it."

Morianne didn't understand it, but she felt guilt and shame over Magnus going to such lengths to help her, "Magnus...I-I can't accept this offer."

"What?" Magnus seemed taken aback, "You've mentioned before how much you loved nature and wanted to go to another planet. I'll admit that maybe a human world might not exactly be the first destination for an Eldar, but I can assure you that Prospero is quite the paradise for anyone."

She shook her head, "It's not that I don't want to go; you have no idea how much I want to...but I can't..." She paused and looked away, unable to look at him, "I'm sorry."

Whatever possessed her to say such a thing, Morianne didn't know. She wanted to leave the Black Library to feel a natural breeze and enjoy a foreign star's rays upon her skin and a forest. To explore a human world with the one other person in the galaxy that seemed actually to care about her in some semblance of friendship. Magnus went to lengths to get permission from Lord Ultrhan, and she was spurning it for pitiful reasons.

"No." Magnus's voice broke Morianne out of her thoughts, "I refuse to take that excuse because that is your grief and despair, talking and trying to control you. That isn't the Morianne I know because even in the short amount of time we've known each other, the woman I know has a love of learning and experiencing things that could put one of my sons to shame. I know you are hurting, my friend, hence why I am offering a chance to try and find some peace. Maybe going to Prospero won't help, but perhaps it can at least offer some context."

The Primarch held out his right hand to Morianne, "Please, come with me to Prospero. You can keep making up excuses if you like, but I won't take them." There was a pleading look in his eyes, "You don't need to suffer alone, at least not when I'm here, now."

Had she become so lost that even this chance of hope, literally dangling in front of her, seemed impossible to reach? Why was she resisting the opportunity?

'I don't want to be like this...' Her thoughts started to echo, even as a buzzing noise started to ring in her mind, 'I want to get better! I don't want to be this way.' The noise was getting louder now. It started to hurt. Her eyes felt sore, and her mouth tasted something foul.

"Sometimes, you only have loved ones to comfort you in the darkness."

Her mothers' voice cut through the noise, just for a second. But it gave Morianne enough clarity of mind to make her decision.

She reached out and took the Primarchs hand.

"I-alright then, I'll go."

And then the noise dulled...and then stopped. The soreness, the pain, and the discomfort seemed to go away instantly upon declaring that she wanted to go. The Soulblight hadn't beaten her, at least this time.

Magnus looked concerned, he must have sensed her distress and might have been ready to intervene, but once he saw Morianne regain control, he nodded and slowly smiled, "Alright."

"When do we leave?" Morianne suddenly asked, wanting to keep this up.

Magnus didn't hesitate, "We can leave as soon as you are ready."

"Good." She looked around her darkened room. "I need to pack; I'll be ready in a few minutes...I want to leave as soon as possible." Morianne needed to get away for a while. Now was the time to grab hold of her escape out of this misery, and she wasn't going to let go now.

The Primarch kept a watch, not seeing this as enthusiasm but a need to get out, "That's fair enough, I'll be able to explain more once you have all you need packed, but you don't have to rush yourself."

"I want to go, Magnus." She firmly told him, "You are right, I'm hurting, and I don't know what to do. But staying here isn't helping. I want to get better before things get worse."

"Things will get better; I can promise you that." Somehow he didn't sound as convinced of those words, "But I can promise you this is the right decision. Regardless of what happens, it'll help you find some peace."

"For now," Morianne uttered darkly. This wasn't going to last, but she had to fight one battle at a time. Things were only going to get harder, but she wasn't going to let these things stop her or take control of her life. "I'm going to beat this Soulblight."

"Then, I hope this vacation acts more like a journey for you." He then smiles a little, "Still, I think you'll have fun all the same. So cheer up; it's going to be a brand new experience for you."

She felt a comforting squeeze from his hand, and Morianne returned it.

The future remained uncertain for her. The irony was not lost on the budding Farseer. But whatever happened next, at least she had a friend in Magnus.

---

@Daemon Hunter Okay, another omake completed.

With a sigh, Nvera dismissed some of the swarming holographic screens that were filling her office. Sometimes like this moment she hated this job, for she had to manage the thousand and one things that were constantly ongoing within the Ytterian Technocracy, relating to science. Research of new discoveries, codification of old information into workable designs , making sure that every single scrap of information of the Firsts was being maintained properly.

So much too do and so little time to do it within. Which was not being helped by the recent conquest of a Voided and Narenla world, which had resulted in a wealth of technology being recovered from the Narenla cities and the captured fighters. Hopefully, once Conyi had certified them as safe they would be released into her care, for reverse engineering of the principles behind them.

Nvera shrugged as she pushed that particular screen away from her sight and began digging through the pile of other screens to find the more critical ones buried within. Some could easily weight for a few hours, while others needed much more hands on upkeep. To her dismay, she soon found a screen flashing black and silver, a color pattern only used for the absolutely most urgent items possible. Grumbling, in unhappiness she tapped the screen to open the file that it contained.

The first thing she noticed was that it had come from one of the more hidden departments under her. Buried under several levels of obfuscation, misdirection and careful manipulation of the planetary news networks, this department went about its job unseen and unknown. All of this was to protect the world from hidden dangers that the general populace was simply unprepared to handle at the current time.

It also happened to be where all of the Void touched on the world ended up eventually. Nvera had never agreed with some of the actions that the department took in its mission, but the simulations that she had preformed in her personal servers had concluded that they were needed for now. Which ended her dreams of disbanding them, or at least reformatting them into a more open department. Biting her lip as she pondered where to actually open the document that they had sent to her, as in all honesty no one had any idea who they actually reported to. Some idiotic Lord of Order in the distant past had screwed something up with regards to them and their hierarchy, leaving them in a limbo state where the governmental office they reported too at any given time seemed to change on some unknown system.

Of course, this only made things harder on the government as no one had any idea what to do with them. By all accounts they should have been a sub department of Unknown Containment, but at the same time their mandate brushed against the department of Order and General Health. About the only area in which they didn't touch was the Science branch or the military, but for some reason every so often she would end up receiving on of their disastrous reports. To add insult to injury the only time in which anyone got a report from them was when something had gone completely wrong or was about to go completely wrong.

Steeling herself and remembering her duty to the post she held, Nvera bit her lip as her finger clicked the button to unveil the contents in the ominous package. Within seconds she had relaxed greatly from her previous state of tension, for the document was something that she could handle without needing to call in everyone else. Apparently, one of the Void touched in their group had discovered some form of turbulence in the cultural solidification project, that would over time set it back by several centuries.

Thankfully, the report also gave, for once, clear instructions from another Void touched on how to remedy the situation. With a sigh, Nvera spun up some of her servers to quickly compute a few thousand simulations on the outlined modifications to the plan and how they would interact with the past work done. As the servers buried deep below in the crust of the world, immersed in a lake of liquid helium, hummed to life and began to work on the simulations. All due to the ingenuity of two thousand years of work on the computers and programs had turned the original simulation software from something that could barely figure out the proper soil conditions for growing wheat, into the work of art that it was today. Now the simulation programs were so close to reality that only the absolute most sensitive of research had to be done in the open universe, everything else was run through countless simulations. They were the lifeblood of the Ytterian Technocracy, the fulcrum upon which everything else turned.

The position of Chief Science Officer, was less about research and more to manage the access to the Simulation Nexus, the single largest collection of supercomputers in the entire Technocracy. And now, all of their power enough to simulate an entire solar system was turned towards the single task that the department had sent to her. All other simulations were halted in their tasks with the information saved to the Dataweb, before being dumped from the system to make way for her commands. The researchers across the world, mutter angrily under their breaths as they were forced to turn to their personal simulators, to complete their work, knowing that without the Simulation Nexus all of their projects would last days longer and the results less crisp. For it was known that the standard deviance for scientific simulators was one in a million, while those that were of the Nexus had only one in a trillion as the margin for error.

Yet, Nvera knowing full well just how much she was inconveniencing her own people could not allow the turbulence to slow down the cultural solidification plan that had been millennium in the making. So much time could be wasted, and that is what tipped her to making this decision for the time that could be lost by any unforeseen variable in the plan would mean the loss of centuries of effort, and the loss of several months of research simply didn't outweigh such time loss. Turning away from the screens detailing the time before the simulations were completed she began dealing with the rest of the swarm of reports that had built up in the last few minutes.

There was the usual stuff, with the engineering groups requesting more leeway in making sure the poorest areas were still up to code, the designing groups asking for permission to set up another crowdsourced design project with a focus on weapons and armor with the recent victory fresh in people's minds. The production groups wanting to have more access to the Eternal Forge in order to test some of their new designs ahead of seclude. In comparison to the cultural report, everything was minor and easily handled, taking only a few minutes to handle the entire mess, just in time for her implants to ping for an incoming call.

Accepting the link with a thought, Nvera felt the unpleasant sensation of disorientation as her senses were ejected from her body and into the Datanet of the world. A room formed around her from the mists of the barren landscape that was the nature of the Communication Node when not in use. Across from her, a figure shrouded in darkness and grey emerged from the mists as code form the facsimile of physicality for both of them.

"Nvera, I have an update on the cultural solidification plan, beyond the report that was recently submitted.

In our opinion, with the near end of the war in sight, the plan's level of criticality has increased and as such we demand increased access to the Simulation Nexus for our work to proceed according to schedule.

However, this is the reason that we have reached out to you. We have determined with both the usage of the Void touched and the simulations, that adversity would increase the efficacy of our work. Potentially accelerating the plan forward by several centuries if managed property, however this adversity must be of an internal nature. Someone must step outside of the box and ferment sedition against the general culture. Our simulations project that the destruction of a minor Ancestor Relic would be the best point to start from, and then creating a manifesto proclaiming that our ancestors were fools for trusting in science and progress.

This would give our culture something to stand against, that everyone can clearly see to be wrong. Yet, with our work we would force the conversion of certain individuals to the cause and thereby give it a veneer of legitimacy in the eyes of the people. This would then continue for a few decades where their actions would become ever more destructive and harsh against what they see as the folly of history repeating itself.

At the end of the century they would be prodded to commit a crime that no one could hide themselves from seeing the full truth of the matter. In that moment the military would crush the group and all of them would be Reduced, thus purging all records of our involvement in the act. In the end a few minor to major artifacts of the ancestors lost forever, and the culture of our people fixed in place for decades to come with any deviation from the general line, seen as the work of those that would tear us apart and reduce us to a lesser state.

As you can tell, we have need of the Science Departments as the linchpin of this plan as the originators must come from your people to give the project the beginning legitimacy that it would need in the early days, before my people could force the issue." The figure spoke in a voice built to be completely average in all aspects, even as they played out a plan that was treason by any measure against the Ytterian Technocracy, the only possible way for the figure to have committed even more criminal act would have been to actively admit Voided individuals into the world.

Nvera without responding, terminated the call with a thought, finding herself back in her chair in her office. With the information she had just been told fresh in her mind, her implants twisted into life as a broadcast was sent to all members of her department and others beyond. K'Thal working on getting the world back into shape found himself inundated with disastrous information, and across the world scientists and others roared in fury in their minds. Simulations were quit faster than ever before, data lost forever as every single device in use turned towards finding the criminals that had dared think of such a plan.

Petabytes of information shifted and tossed, even as the few remaining military forces upon the world, leaped into action with the support of others a massive campaign had began to find the source of the sedition.

Deep underground in a base, a figure smiled as his piece of the puzzle was completed, his Department and all within it, including himself would be Reduced in less than a year. Yet, their sacrifice would ensure the stability of the Ytterian Technocracy for generations to come. He wondered if Nvera, truly believed that they would commit to such a plan, when a much easier and faster option was open to them all. But in the end it didn't matter and the shameful work that had been wrought over generations would finally end, in conjunction with the ending of the war.

-------------------
Not my best work for this empire, as I couldn't really get it to work very well but I think I got the point across.

Hiya! Decided to make an omake on an Ork Warlord and their Waaagh! that was taken by Eldrad and put into Nurgle's Garden as a distraction after the latter got a nat 1 against it. Amazing, isn't it? Anyways, uh, hope this one doesn't have too many mistakes. I'm not used to writing Orks, and trying to format Ork talk is hell even if it's definitely fun! 0u0
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Garden Infestation.

Garkruk Buzcrusha, Warlord of an Ork Waaagh that was supposed to be fighting in the Blood and Thunder War, scowled as they slammed their Power Klaw through the face of a moaning corpse that kept trying to stab at their Mega Armour with a festering sword for a few moments even without their head.

They turned upwards and unloaded a barrage of fire from their shoota at a cloud of large, buzzing flies that were trying to dive down and bite at the rampaging Ork.

This whole thing was like a bad joke. There was supposed to be fleets of ships shooting at each other in the skies, exploding and falling down into the ground as countless Orks shot and chopped at countless red, burning and angry armies of some weird armoured git that was trying to challenge Gork and Mork themselves. There was supposed to be big forts, big guns, loads of vehicles, fire and bullets everywhere, the sight of gods fighting each other and the loud roars of 'Waaagh!' echoed all around.

What there wasn't supposed to be was a colossal green forest and bog full of weird and rotten plants, animals and what looked like angry corpses. Garkruk revelled in the power that Orks had to the point they even respected the work of Kommandos and Painboys, even if they very much preferred to due the exact opposite of sneaking or fixing wounds, but that did not mean that they wanted to be in what seemed to be a diseased paradise for them. They wanted to head to the true Ork paradise that the Warlord thought they were so close to, but instead they were somehow stuck here.

"Zoggin' Warp," muttered the Ork Warlord as it idly swiped their klaw through a gnarled tree in their way. "Can't do anythin' roight."

It wasn't at though that they hated this place on its own, shooting and crushing anything was fun and the things constantly attacking them here were definitely tough and put up at least a decent fight, but it was like comparing a shoota with a kannon. Both were good, but one was definitely bigger and better.

Although, Garkruck reflected, the constant attacks were definitely another big issue in getting out of here. The ships that the Warlord's Waaagh had were firmly grounded and would need a lot of work from the Meks to sort out, especially with the increasing lack of spare parts for replacements or even anything to loot that wasn't more rusted and broken than the first world Garkruck had raided ages ago.

It was more than a little hard to repair something that was being attacked. Especially if the Gretchin and Snotlings that were supposed to assist kept running away, or the Meks fixing stuff kept getting killed or distracted and making some big guns to shoot at the army of droning rotters that kept mumbling about diseases and worshiping some git called Nuggle or something.

As the battle seemed to start to calm down for them, the large Ork turned for a moment to look back at the large mob that they lead here. Most of them were pretty far away and engaged in various different enemies and hazards, from more walking dead things to giant putrid snails to snatching vines to some being trapped in the sinking sludge that was seeping all around.

"Oi," growled the Warlord into a looted radio that was implanted into their armour, which allowed them to bellow out orders from large distances. "Big Mek, gimme a report. I wanna know wot'z goin' on wiv dat speshul order I gave ya."

"Ey, ya got some perfect timin', Boss!" the Big Mek said loudly. "Just fixed up da last Splash Burnas and Skorchas over round da ships. Dey work pretty gud too, managed ta set up a whole bunch o' dem corpse gits ridin' dem buzzing bugs. Never seen da Burna Boyz larf dat 'ard before. 'Course, a lot o' dose treez an' stuff still don't burn well, guess dey're all wet, but I fink I got somethin' for dat."

"While dat duz sound gud, in fact I want ya to put one o' dem Splash Burnas wiv me Shoota when I get back, I was talkin' about da other speshul project. Da one with da Kommandos?"

"...oh, roight, ya did tell me 'bout that. Well dat'z done too, got it all laid out in front o' me, an' now all dat'z left iz for dose Kommandos to come baARGH!"

Garkruk sighed as their radio started to loudly blare out static and scratches over the sounds of a scuffle and faint laughter on the other end. They knew exactly what just happened, this occurred too many times to not be recognised by now.

"WOT DA ZOG JUST- you! Oi! No, gimme dat! Dat'z mine!"

"Ya can 'ave it back after I'm done." a new voice cheerfully replied, muffled slightly by a crude respiratory mask, belonging to what was arguably the current happiest Ork of Garkruk's Waaagh. "Ya wanted me, Boss? Oh, and I'm done with me patrolz like ya asked."

"Krug," the Warboss exasperatedly growled out. "I fought I told yer ta report back ta me in da field for dat plan o' yourz wen you were done. Not stealing me Big Mek'z stuff ta talk wiv me, again!"

Krug Kamo-Blind was Garkruk's second in command for several decades now, having employed Mork's kunnin' better than any enemy Garkruk faced or other sneaky Ork trying to take over the position of top Kommando. They were clever enough to know various Ork dialects from Waaaghs Garkruk absorbed, some Mek jargon, and even knew how to passingly read in several languages that weren't from Orks.

And Krug saw the big, horrible and disease infested forests and thick swamps as a divine test from Mork, initially believing it to be Mork's own personal realm when the Waaagh first arrived before mellowing out on that theory. To them this was probably the second best place they could ever be in and a perfect penultimate battlefield to go through before heading to the Blood and Thunder War to fight with Gork and Mork personally.

"And I 'membered dat dis time, I swear I did Boss, but... well, I sorta got me talky-tech busted up after I was done. I could still 'ear, but nobody could 'ear me, yeah? Came quick as I could I did ta report, and it seemz like I came just in time.

The Warlord paused for a moment before replying to shoot at a fetid tree that was trying to devour one of their Nobs, several mouths full of branch-teeth getting shot off while the struggling Ork shoved their chain-choppa into the things body, then bellowed out an order for the rest of their mob to hurry up as they started to move again.

"Dey're zoggin' slowa den a broken Stompa. Big Mek, if youz still listenin' den go an fix Krug's talky fing 'fore he does dis again." There was a faint reply of affirmation on the other end, followed by a slightly less faint bark of orders towards the other Meks. "And Krug, since youz done wiv dem patrolz, ya found a way out yet? Or did ya just zoggin' sneak 'round in circles since I last saw ya?"

Garkruk saw another big group of the droning corpse things start to rise up around their feet, and idly stomped their heads back into the mushy ground one by one as he listened.

"Well... okay, gotta explain dis roight. See, wot 'appened was me and da boyz were off goin' round as far as we could, like we said we would, to see wot was goin' on. Well, turns out that there was a lot more treez 'n swampz past dese treez n 'swampz. Most o' it were da same, but some looked a bit weirder in other ways. One of me boyz tried sum propa kamoflague and smeared a bunch o' dat smelly goo and blood on dem, and maybe I'm just not an expert on dis as I'm not a Weirdboy, but dere was dis far off look in dere eye and he started ta mumble 'bout stuff like dem corpse gitz so I shot 'em. I fink dis stuff, maybe all o' dis place and da gits in it, messes with yer head? I mean... dis Warpy place is where Weirdboyz get dat weird stuff, and da Weridboyz 'ave been actin' up a lot more since we came here, so everythin' datz here iz prob'ly weird."

"I zoggin' know dis place iz weird, Krug!" the Warlord said as they started swatted another large insect out of the air with their klaw as they shot down another three as he spoke. "I dunt need ya ta tell me dat!"

"Er, roight. Anywayz, me an da rest of me boyz went 'round and saw another o' dose big fat corpse bosses dat were. We shot it with a rokkit, but dat just made it swell up bigger and laugh, but we shot it a lot more till it blew up. Den we went a bit furtha and saw dem big, twisted trees ya wanted us to check out. Dey looked propa tough, saw loads o' thorns an' dey were covered in 'ardened goo. It was like a big wall against us just as dose Weirdboyz said. We looked 'round a while den we were gonna 'ead back 'fore we saw the wall open a bit."

"Den wot 'appened?"

"Saw a few more o' fem big fat corpse bosses come out, surrounded by a buncha dem snotling sized laughin' fings, and were 'eaded for you or maybe da ships. Er, prob'ly shoulda said dat at da start."

"Krug," the Warlord snarled as they slowly ripped apart several other infectious beasts that lumbered towards them. "Ya forget sumfing loike dat again an' I'm gonna krump ya all da way froo dat wall!"

"But dis is where fings got interestin', Boss!" the Kommando cheerfuly stated, as the Big Mek started to shout again in the background. "See, way far out dem trees I spotted two fings dat were real speshul froo dat hole. Well, more like three fings but it'z only sorta three fings. Anywayz, first interestin' fing I saw was dis big buildin' way off in da distance. And it was really, really big. Bigger dan dat one tower ya broke on ol' Warboss Gazzachop's world. I fink dat'z where dis 'Nurgurk' fellow iz, or maybe one o' dem Underbosses."

"It'z gonna be sum zoggin' scrap wen we'ze dun wiv it."

"Haha, looked like scrap already wen I saw it. Anywayz, da second fing was dat near dat big buildin' was some Orks, a whole Waaagh of 'em!"

Garkruk stopped dead at that, their Power Klaw froze mid-swing at another large tree that was in their way. After one more brief moment of stillness, they tore their klaw through the bark of the diseased plant.

"Did dey look loike our boyz? Or... did ya finally find da way out?"

"...nah, sorry Boss, but dem Orks did't look propa Orky at all. Far as I could tell, dey looked like dey were fightin' with dem corpses."

Garkruk Buzchusha, Ork Warlord and leader of the warband currently trudging through the Garden of Nurgle, roared out and fired their gun into the sky as they did so.

"Dat'z zoggin' it!" shouted the Warlord, both to the radio and just at everything around them in general. "Dis place, dese Warpy gits, finks it can nick us Orks?! Tryin' ta steal from us?! Take us over?! Ain't nothin' steal from Orks cept Orks! Ain't nothin' takez over Waaaghs cept me! And dere ain't no god Orks follow cept Gork an' Mork! Dis Nuggle git has gone too zoggin' far!"

"Er," said a nearby Nob that at last managed to reach their Warlord after quickly hurrying through the "Oo' ya talkin' ta, Boss?"

"Shut yer gob, I'm busy!" Garkruk snapped as they flexed their Power Klaw open and shut a few times. "Krug, tell me, 'ow 'ard was dat wall? Could ya 'ave made it go boom wiv wot ya 'ad?"

"Well, Boss, dis place is pretty weird as I said so maybe I'm wrong, but it looked we needed a lot more rokkits and stikkbombs den we 'ad. Prob'ly be a lot more work ta burn it too."

"Well, it'z a gud fing dat I gave da Big Mek a speshul project for ya. Dey said it'z all laid out for ya, am I roight?"

"Haha, yeah I see it! Some shiny lookin' tankbustas, boxes of firey stikkbombs, kustom rokkits an' even a bigger launcha ta use 'em with! Da Meks know 'ow I like 'em. Shiny, sneaky an' 'splodey!"

Garkruk was ready to go on and explain the next part of their plan before they paused and slowly counted the three digits of their Power Klaw. "Wait, Krug, wot was dat third interestin' fing ya said youz saw?"

"Uh... oh yeah, 'side from dem Corpse-Orks dere was a whole buncha armies of dem buzzin' bugs, buncha corpse gits lead by dem big fat corpse bosses an' even more stuff. But we already knew dat dere was a lot more gits ta krump, so it didn't seem too 'portant ta say."

"Youz roight, it ain't! We'z gonna krump da lot o' dem loike we krumped da rest! Now youz take all da boomy fings I told da Meks ta make for yer and yer sneaky boyz den get back ta da wall fasta den a Speedfreak! An' give dat talky fing back to da Big Mek an' pick out a new one, I need ta talk wiv dem!"

"Righto, Boss!" Krug shouted, their words followed by a loud thump as they dropped the radio onto the table.

Garkruk looked back for a moment as they heard more droning corpses rising up behind them, but then noticed that most of the Ork mob they were leading had finally caught up to their quickly moving and killing leader. A number of them had died in the journey, and others were sick enough that they both needed and wanted the attention of a Painboy, but Garkruk couldn't care less as at least most of his forces survived.

"Zoggin' Kommandos, fink dey own da place." the Big Mek muttered as they picked up the radio, while the Kommado laughed in the background as they scrounged up all specially made explosives prepared for them. "Ya wanted me, Boss?"

"Get da Gorknauts up an runnin', den the Killa Kans an' da Deff Dreads! Send all da tanks, trukks and fighta-bommers! An' anyfin else ya got too! Den try gettin' me Stompa workin' after all dem!"

"Can do! But... I fought ya wanted ta scrap a lotta dem stuff for sum ship fixin' partz?"

"Change o' plans, dese rotten gits fink dey can keep us from da Blood an' Thunda War? Tryin' ta boss us loike a mad Runtherd?! We'ze gonna show dem why Orks are da bestist! Send 'em ta foight wiv us or ta krush any git dat comes ta da ships, scrap any o' ya Mek gubbinz dat gets krumped for fixin' partz den! An' keep sum Meks makin' boom stuff for da Kommandos! Youz Meks an' Krug'z sneaky gits are gonna show dis Nuggle git da power o' Mork!"

The Warlord turned to faced their mob of Orks one more time, switching on a different device in their Mega Armour that allowed them to bellow our orders from far away. A special amplifier, one the Big Mek called a 'shouty loudener', that crackled to life as it turned on.

"AN' YOU LOT O' ZOGGIN' RUNTZ LISTEN UP GUD TA DIS!" Garkruk bellowed, their voice echoed across the area around them and caused the filthy water he was standing in to ripple and wave against the force of his roar.

The Ork mob stood to haphazard attention immediately, various Nobs stood up straight, several Lootas dropped one or two rusting shootas they were scavenging and even some of the Doks that came stopped in the middle of their field experiments. From the oldest Nob to the youngest Yoof, the Orks under Garkruk knew that when the Warlord was really angry and ready for a big fight was not a good time to disobey him.

"SUM O' YA FINK DAT WE'ZE 'ERE AS A TEST FROM MORK! SUM O' YA FINK DAT DIS PLACE IS 'ARD AN' KILLY ENUFF FOR US! AN' SUM O' YA FINK DAT YER GONNA BE DED 'FORE WE ZOGGIN' LEAVE! AN' MAYBE YOUZ ARE ALL ROIGHT, BUT YA KNOW WOT I FINK?"

The Warlord slammed their Power Klaw straight into another large tree, felling the mighty festering growth with one strike.

"I FINK DAT I'M NOT GONNA GET ZOGGIN' KRUMPED BY NO MUMBLIN' DED PAINBOY REJECTZ WEN WE'ZE WERE JUS' GOIN' TA WAAAGH WIV GORK AN' MORK! AN' I ALSO KNOW DAT WE ORKS ARE DA 'ARDEST AND MOST KILLY DEN ANYFING ELSE! WE AIN'T STUCK IN DIS PLACE! DIS PLACE IS STUCK WIV US, TILL WE ZOGGIN' KRUMP, CHOP, STOMP, BURN AN' KILL IT TO BITZ!"

The warband of Orks was already getting riled up and excited, eager grins formed and a hose of choppas and shootas were lifted into the air as the Warlord spoke.

"DA MEKS AND KOMMANDOS ARE GONNA SHOW DESE GITZ DA KUNNIN' POWER O' MORK," said Garkruk as they turned back to face the deeper parts of the Garden again. "NOW LETZ GO AN' ZOGGIN SHOW DEM DA BRUTAL POWER O' GORK! BLOOD AN' THUNDA!"

"BLOOD AN' THUNDA!" the Orks screamed together with their Warlord, the mob charging as one straight into the realm of Nurgle without a single shred of fear. "WAAAAAAGH!"

I failed to give Primarchs with few words some spotlight this time.
Oh, well.

Here comes If the Emperor Watched the Lost Primarch Alt. Part 4


Edit: Vulcan hates the Eldar with passion. Would Magnus be at odds with him?

Lately, the Legion of the Eternal Wardens was experiencing a new ... event in the legion. that to be honest was not that far from normal. it was a well-known fact that the more skilled, or more powerful was a Warden weirder they became.

Not what was rare was that someone from one of the exchange legions joined in the usual madness that was the highest members of the legion.

Like the recent… artistic discussions that the chief of the explosives brigade had regularly with Blaze Sans of the Emperor childrens.

"For me, art is explosiveness itself hn" said Solarus as he dodged a sword blow and threw a smoke bomb to the ground of the arena before giving a kick that knocked down the closest Warden and taking him out of combat while with his weapon he shot quickly taking out two others.

Behind him, his partner scoffed at that. while he calmly blocked with his sword three more swords before making a feint with his sword and then sixteen quick cuts with it. taking out three wardens and sending one flying against the wall as he casually ignored the wardens' groans of pain and shook his head slightly to dodge a shot.

"No eternal beauty is the true art honestly you are hopeless "looking around Blaze saw that all the adversaries had already been defeated turning to Solarus prepared his sword to show Solarus what he had achieved in his search for eternal perfection.

"That's my line as a fellow artist I respect your point of view ..." he said as he crouched down and threw a training grenade at the last Warden that he produced to explode in his face throwing him away and making the 360 in the air before landing mouth down on the floor of the combat arena with a thud "but I just can't call it art" Solarus finished before turning against Blaze who had his sword raised at him.

"Solarus looks like I have a chance to knock some sense into you," he said quietly as he readied his sword.

Solarus turned to Blaze before saying while taking a grenade "You're the one who needs a beating Blaze do you want to see art? allowed me to illustrate you ".

They charged each other.

Across the arena Zacharias calmly took a sip of his cocoa and jotted down a few things on his data-pad as he escorted all his wounded brothers who were fresh out of the scouts to the apothecaries. "Rikard was going to have a field day with these," he thought absently as he looked at the numerous injuries the "art duo" had caused.

"Crazy both of them" one of them muttered.

"Yeah who can ignore five opponents at once without seeing, defeating them? just to concentrate on a silly discussion instead "

"The explosions primarchs the explosions"

Zacharias scoffed "How rude I will have to tell Rikkar to be a little tougher on these than normal," he thought as the fight and the argument intensified behind him.

And so they went on with argument upon argument.
___________________________________
Blaze stepped into the cafeteria had heard of a drink favored by the Wardens something called hot chocolate.

It might be interesting to try it.

He had to say that their experiences with the Eternal Wardens legion had been interesting, the wardens were weirds Astartes they seemed to lack the pride that most other Astartes had and were really friendly and homey with everyone looking almost happy to share everything they knew, But Blaze guessed that made sense considering who his primarch was.

They also had very good remembrancers here and seeing his works of art about the Wardens tournament and the duel between Wardens champion Matticus and Oricarius the blessed against their primarch had been incredible.

And the duel itself had been an experience that Blaze didn't think he could ever see again. The sheer amount of skill, power, strength, and speed displayed had been incredible, enough to mach a primarch for twelve hours and finally defeating him was legendary really inspiring.

He felt his own dueling skills improved just from watching that incredible fight and observing the fighting styles that were displayed in it.

He had learned a lot in his time here, their customs, their fighting styles, he had met interesting people and improved his martial, mental and artistic skills.

Too bad the Wardens would have some kind of secret fulfillment soon and the rest of the exchange legions would return to their respective legions soon.

he would have liked to stay here a little longer to learn more.

He had decided not to press on this mysterious fulfillment that the Wardens were preparing for as they had kindly told him that it was a secret for now and the primarch wanted it to remain and that he would know what was going when it happened.

And when one of the most open legions out there asked you not to press something, you did not press.

Although deafening his helmets completely during Primarch Kesar's speech during the tournament had been a bit too much in his opinion.

He took another step and he suddenly tensed as a multi-colored explosion exploded beneath him covering his armor.

When the smoke cleared Blaze frowned slightly irritated, his armor was intact but now in terrible condition his armor looked like a paint stain and the colors collided terribly with each other.

It was good that he had his helmet on he didn't want to think about the state of his hair if he hadn't had it on.

It was good that none of his brothers were here right now.

"take that shitty artist"

"It's treason then" he said calmly before taking a cup of chocolate and retreating to look for the raven guard while casually ignoring all the Astartes around him and the distant laughter of an alpha spacemarine.
____________________________________

Solarus was happy as he headed to his workshop with Zacharias with a jump in his wake. As he continued his explanation as Zacharias jotted down some things he said on his datapad.

"Ho zacharias I only had the most incredible idea when the null rune is complete I can take it in a vortex grenade and invert it so that it explodes, sucks and destroys the warp parasites"

"Hm" was his only reply.

When they finally arrived Solarus enthusiastically entered his workshop not noticing a small hidden cable that was then pulled by his foot Solarus was lifted by one leg before being pushed against the wall to the right then a second later he was hit by paint over and over and over again.

When the bombardment was over. Solarus was part of a beautiful spiral mural of all colors with solarus in the center almost camouflaged by the paint that covered it. A flash of light came from the other end of the room.

Solarus groaned in humiliation and tried to get up before the rope came loose and he fell face down on the ground in a puddle of paint.
He lifted his head before a rope fell with a tied paper falling in his face on the paper decide 'what it feels like to become my newest piece of art Blaze'

He frowned before saying "ho ho so this is how we're doing it? very well Blaze the revenge will be quick, the revenge will be hard, the revenge will be explosive ".

"Zacharias change of plans is time to create the plan the plan: pay back".

Zacharias's only response was to calmly take a sip of cocoa before giving him a nod.
____________________________________
So it continued for months discussions after circular artistic discussions and joke after joke that involved, but were not limited to: paint, roosters, feathers, a small flood, smoke, soap, explosives of course, fog, eggs, chocolate, photos, audio records, glue strings, traumatized ultramarines and a song.

Kesar let them have their fun after he verified that.

A) that they weren't adversely affecting the legion with his pranks.

B) escalating the pranks beyond what was necessary.

C)sabotaging valuable equipment or using valuable resources.

D)taking precious preparetion time.

E) accidentally sabotage the preparation of the others in the legion

F)that Solarus preparations were not affected by this.

G) and seading the ultramarines to the closest thing to therapy the wardens had.

In the last month left before the exchange legions departed to their respective legions the strange rivalry / friendship that Solarus and Blaze had. took a weird turn as they began to challenge each other to the weirdest things.

From explosives to drawing and painting to karaoke, to hand-walking, rock-paper, and scissors, foot races, jumping jacks, and no so mundane children cards games.

But finally here they were. The last day before the exchange Astartes return to their respective legions.

And the last oddity had been even stranger a dance contest between Solarus and Blaze.

The arena had been modified a bit so that there was a platform and colored lights on the sides, how had Solarus managed to do this? nobody knew.

No one knew either that those two could dance that way or that space marines could contort like that or why there had been explosions behind them in the end if there had been no explosives there, but they enjoyed it anyway.

But it was finally day and Blaze had already taken his possessions and he was about to leave, but he had something to deliver.

He still didn't know the specifics of what fulfillment the Wardens were going to do, but he knew enough to know that his legion was likely to be cut in half again… if not worse.

So he had one last thing to give to his artistic rival Captain Solarus from artist to artist.

He went to where he had met Solarus for the first time in the explosives squad area before entering. Finding Solarus alone sitting there on a desk.

"So you come to admit the greatness of the explosions you shitty artist" Solarus said, though there was no irritation or malice in his words.

" you wish, you crazy bomber I am not here to give you a sample of true art" he said as he took out the painting that he had of his swords and presented it to Solarus.

It was a painting of the exact moment of a highly detailed explosion done with expert hand and so vivid that you might think that the black and white fire and the shock wave were actually moving with the ground shattering and the clouds parting by the pure brute force of the explosion.

Solarus took it gently looking at her for a few moments he was silent and a small smile threatened to come out of Blaze as he saw a small tear leave Solarus's eye before he said "of course you would try to ruin the fleeting beauty of the explosions with your horrible painting skills. "His words lacked fire or anger and his voice told him everything he needed to know.

Solarus was really touched by this.

Blaze turned around before scoffing and saying "consider yourself lucky to have such an exceptional piece of true art and don't you dare think that our discussion ended will make you see what true art is like eventually."

"Not in a million millennia Sands will I ever abandon the true art"

He turned to leave but when he was about to leave he heard Solarus say something "see you around, ... my friend".

In the part of The Vigilance where the explosives brigate met the next day had a brilliant new addition.

And the emperor childrens received a much more experienced, powerful, skilled and also much weird Astartes with a newly discovered addition to hot chocolate.

But hey it is said that the more powerful a Warden gets the weirder they get and Blaze Sands had certainly earned a place in the hearts of some of the 11 legion.

No sacrifice in vain

"75 trillion"

"What?" Maticus confusedly asked his father.

"It's the number of people that have died under me for one reason or another. Of course it's just a guess, the real number is much higher. And, although it pains me to say it, I don't even know the true number of my sons that have died under me. I always lose count at around 200 000." Kesar said, his eyes becoming distant.

"Why are you saying this?".

"Because I know you how the deaths of your men affect you" Kesar said, shifting his eyes over to his son who had suddenly become very uncomfortable " and I wanted you to know that I face a similar burden to you. I used to anguish over every death that occurred under me. It's part of the reason why I started carving the names. As a way of coping with the grief". Kesar's hand started tracing the names on his armour: Iskander, Alexios, Dominus. He knew the feeling of the names On his armour well.

"You say used to. How did you get over the pain? Did they just become numb eventually?" The 3rd Captain asked, his eyes seeing his father in a way he never had before

Kesar gave a joyless chuckle "become numb? No, I never become numb to the deaths of my sons. No, I realised something important".

"What was it"

"That no sacrifice is ever in vain" Kesar said, his voice steeled more than ever before " No death is meaningless. Not one bolt shell is wasted, not one drop of blood spilled is without consequence and no mistake is worthless. Because through deaths comes progress, through mistakes comes wisdom, through bolts comes vengeance and through blood comes victory. Even if a billion lives are spent on a failed attempt to take a world, not one of those deaths was in vain. Because they all achieved something, whether it was valuable information that will prevent mistakes like that from happening again or diverting the enemy's attention at a crucial time, or just showing the galaxy that humanity was fighting back. That we would bring the monsters out of the dark and into the light where we will destroy them or die trying. Because every second we fight is another step on the Golden Path towards a galaxy where cruelty will be eliminated and humanity will no longer have to fear the dark".

Maticus sat back a contemplative look on his face. "Thank you Father. That was... thank you."

As Maticus got up to leave the room, Kesar called out to him " don't ever doubt the choices you make Maticus. Because even if they don't have the best outcome I know that you made the best possible devising you could have. And besides, doubt can only make things worse, so believe in the strength I know you have. And you will save more lives then you doom". Maticus turned his head slightly to look back at Kesar and then left wordlessly.

Sighing, Kesar turned back to his mug of coco and hoped to himself that Maticus would heed what he said, and understand that in all the time he had been a Warden, he hadn't caused a single meaningless death.

TinyGladiator said:

Time Heals All Wounds.

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Alright, omakes. First up we have Dian Vaidya, a rather interesting character. I will say that I rather enjoyed their interactions with the techmarines as well as how you described the entire introduction. It was really fun to read and had a lot of nice moments. The thoughts of the reinforcement rune preventing him from getting access to the Astartes was a rather nice touch, and for your reward:

[] +5 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Vaidya's rolls during the Maelstrom
[] To Save the Unsaveable - Not Revealed if Chosen

Dauan Tienar said:

What Bastet actually looks like now that we are visiting Magnus for a social to finally meet best kitty.

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Up next we have a great drawing of Bastet, also known as Best Kitty! I really loved the ear crystals of hers, and as always, I'm impressed by just how much detail is in the drawing. She just looks absolutely amazing. As for your reward:

[] +5 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Bastet's next roll set
[] Piercing Eyes - Not Reaveled if Chosen

Dauan Tienar said:

Exposition on Pre-Maelstorm War Preparations Focusing on The Eternal Warden's Apothecarion

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Next up we have Rikard trying to find ways to deal with Nurgle plagues. Thus far I will say he hasn't really found success, although he's made equipment and procedures so that the serfs within the Apothecary don't have to be worried about them as they work. For the most part. I did like a fair bit of this make, although the part where it was a remembramancer stood out to me the most as it does give me a fair few ideas. As for your reward:

[] +5 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Rikard's rolls during the ritual
[] Record, Annotate, Send - Not a Trait, Not Revealed if Chosen

Leon12431 said:

K'Thal rested his head upon the cool wood of his desk, and cursed Plan Archon once more. It had succeeded so much that it had looped around into a disaster of unimaginable proportions. Which of course was only compounded by Ulyr removing enlistment restrictions on all branches of the military, which normally wouldn't have resulted in much, but with the hope of the war finally ending it had quickly turned the orderly logistical network of the planet into a twisting verda web.

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Up next is a continuation of Leon's world. I do enjoy this series just because of how well it shows scale. I did enjoy the characters within it as well, as there's a fair bit of it that makes them likeable. The speech as well was a great deal of fun, and for your reward:

[] +5 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to rolls for this world
[] -10 to the ???

Ruirk said:

A Friend and A Mentor

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Alright, last omake reward for today. Here we have a lovely omake between Magnus and Morianne, an Eldar proto-farseer. It's a great one to read, and I really enjoyed the humor and levity within it. Morianne is just amazing to read about, and Magnus feels like such a good guy in this. As for your reward:

[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] Magnus gains an extra action in Year 31
[] +10 to Morianne's next roll set

Vichnaya Pamyat



Corvus found that the alien compliances were the hardest ones to accomplish, not just militarily. However, it always seemed to come back to an issue of understanding and the lack thereof. Aliens were difficult to gauge. They didn't have any real human concepts for the Imperium to use for their advantage in any compliance stages. No underclass to cause problems, no nobility to bribe, or even a government that could be reasoned with it. So when it came to the xeno, nothing was ever certain.

Each species followed a different path, each more outrageous than the other. Rare was it to find an alien civilization that could be considered close to resembling humanity in any form or way. Corvus was not at all convinced that the alien could ever be human, even if they tried. That wasn't even some human ethnocentric mentality; that was just a factual observation. Father shared it, as did his brothers and most of humanity.

The question wasn't if humanity was above the Xeno, but they were even capable of understanding man and his destiny in the galaxy. Tragically ironic, humanity finds itself surrounded by sapient life, yet they were still alone in this galaxy. Even if they encountered another species that could relate, the difference in culture and perspective would invite strife. One had only to see humanity, which kept killing itself even as the Great Crusade brought all the lost worlds of man into the fold to realize that long term peace between humans and aliens was a pipe dream.

However, that wasn't Corvus's place to decide on such a thing, nor would he stop any attempts at peaceful coexistence. A lasting peace might not be possible, but the Raven-Lord would never spit or deny the chance for diplomacy. He'd be a fool to prevent the loss of resources and troops that could be used elsewhere. Guilliman gave Corvus this system for a reason.

Although some part of the Raven-Lord suspected that it wasn't done entirely out of the kindness of his brothers' hearts, still, Corvus had a job to do. The Mechanicum called for aid, and the Raven Guard would answer it.

---

Corvus knew something was amiss when he arrived outside the so-called Dravenaxian Conquest Fleet. He learned Titans and armored elements from the Forge Worlds of Hexton and Omni-Psi. Someone important was able to call in such resources for a single star system, let alone the number of Army regiments and Armada fleet assets...and his personal attention and Legion.

He met with a council of Magi and Secuators, each of them proclaiming that the Dravenaxians murdered the Imperial envoy in cold blood and harvested the tech-priests' corpses for cybernetics, and stole valuable equipment. It seemed pretty straight forward until the Imperial Admiralty approached the Primarch and advised him that the Dravenax Collective was still attempting to hail their ships and had made no real attempts at preparing to strike at the Imperial vessels.

"They are just holding back. They've reinforced their lines, and we've seen a lot of chatter over their strange vox-transmissions, but our analysts don't see anything that could be considered a prelude to an attack."

That could mean several things, "Have they proclaimed that they wish to be left alone?" Corvus wanted to know if the Dravenaxians were attempting to deny claims of an attack, demanding the Imperium leave, or wanted to pursue negotiations.

"Well, that's just it...I think they are praying."

Corvus thought the Dravenaxians made. Even the Cathrics kept their prayers inside their churches and cathedrals. Perhaps they were praying to their so-called Lord of Gears. That had to be the only logical conclusion. The transmissions were heavily guarded, but the Raven Guard tech-marines could break through the security systems.

He didn't hear anything akin to praying, but there was the music of sorts. It sounded similar to the chanting and prayer heard by the Cathrics. The difference was that it was synthetic by nature, organized, and designed to promote a strange ambiance. It sounded peaceful, certainly nothing like war binary.

But it was his tech-marines that brought something to Corvus's attention, "There is a binary code sequenced within the 'chanting' that is being broadcasted."

"On which ship?"

"It isn't a single ship or station. It's on all of the frequencies, all of them, down to even their homeworld. Someone is broadcasting this signal for all to hear. You can pick this up on even a basic vox-bead with the right signal tuning."

The Raven-Lord could only imagine how well that was going over with the Mechanicum. If this were some subtle attack, it wouldn't work. But again, something told Corvus there was more to this situation. What were these aliens up to? Was it in regards to this Lord of Gears?

"I want this signal analyzed and traced back to a source. Unless they are all broadcasting the same thing, someone must be trying to groxback riding this on all frequencies."

His tech-marines would get on that, but they still had a pressing concern, "What are we to tell the Mechancium or the Admiralty? They are waiting for you to make a decision. It could take us a while to get locate the signal."

"I will handle that, but I want the sources found. Use all available resources to try and get this resolve." Corvus grimaced as he considered how to prevent the war-council from learning of his investigation. He needed to learn more about what was happening here.

---

There was a scrambled message inside the signal. That didn't surprise the Raven Lord. No, what surprised him were some of the contents he had gleaned from it. Grid coordinates, a time, and a warning: come alone. Someone or something was asking for a clandestine meeting on Drave. Based on what he was seeing, it was directly inside the capital.

And somehow, this message was directed towards the Primarch himself.

"They've accessed our data networks and nodes." The realization of such an act was enough grounds to start a war. Their cyber warfare capabilities of the Dravenaxians far exceeded all possible worse case scenarios. Not only was the system-wide signal a means to send this secret message, but it was also being used to interface with all communication networks.

But that request for a meeting wasn't the only thing sent over to the Primarch's ship. There was something else, quite possibly even damning. It was a video recording and an intercepted transmission dated when the Imperial diplomats were killed; what Corvus saw painted a very different picture of what the War Council told him.

The Mechancium told Corvus that the diplomats were killed inside the Dravenaxian carrier during their first contact. But what Corvus saw was that the diplomats weren't killed on board the carrier. No, their shuttle was destroyed on the way back from the diplomatic talks to the Armada vessel.

If the Dravenaxians wanted to kill the diplomats like the War Council advised, why would they go about destroying the shuttle? That explained why the Dravenaxians claimed to have no idea what the Imperium was talking about in killing anyone. Corvus considered it a pretense, but he started to recognize it as anything but false.

However, none of the Imperial Armada or Mechanicum ships reported firing or even sighting the diplomats shuttle on approach. They assumed that it had been kept by the Collective, citing their greedy nature of collecting items of interest and knowledge. Someone was behind this. And Corvus suspected it was someone on the Mechanicum War Council.

They had already made it clear that this war was a holy one, as the Dravenaxians claimed a false idol in place of their Omnissiah. The so-called Lord of Gears, who was a machine god as well. Again, Corvus didn't care for another person's religious affiliation outside of someone causing trouble or harm...and right now, that was entirely the case here. Someone was trying to start a war and were going to get away with it.

Now Corvus had to ask himself if he cared enough to stop it? The more he learned about the Dravenaxians, the more he concluded that even a protectorate status would be difficult to obtain. While not radically alien, these creatures maintained a religious fervor that conflicted with the Mechanicum dogma. They were Xenos, non-humans, and cybernetically enhanced to a dangerous degree.

Still, did that mean they deserved to die under such pretenses? If this evidence was indeed true, then they hadn't attempted to start a war with the Imperium. Corvus couldn't condone a war if it were due to certain greedy individuals' machinations. However, he wasn't left with many other options.

Save for the offer in the message.

Perhaps someone wanted to meet with him, prove their race's innocence, and maybe even directly attempt a peaceful resolution to this event. Otherwise, they were attempting to kidnap one of their leaders, but that didn't fit this situation or the Dravenaxians motivations or modus operandi.

He considered sending a team of his sons down to Drave, but now that the message directly called him out, Corvus would take the mission himself. There was a chance that he would be stuck behind enemy lines, but it wouldn't be the first time nor the last. In any case, he left enough instructions for his sons to plan out a rescue in the event everything went wrong. More importantly, he needed them to buy time by distracting the War Council.

"Father, what if the Mechancium decides to attack while you are away?"

"Then you will aid them. We will not allow for an uncoordinated assault and lose billions of lives in the process." However, Corvus would have the names of every Magos and Secuators that decided to go behind his commands and put him and his sons at risk. The Raven Lord would personally ensure that none of them lived to see this victory if they did so.

---

Corvus had a personal infiltration shuttle for such inserts like this. One of the Sigillites gifts the Raven Lord for keeping several crucial secrets in the dark. Malcador called the vessel a "Blackhawk," unoriginal sounding, but it served its purpose. It had everything from heat-sinks, sensor blocks, reflective shielding, and even some "runes" in its hull.

It could sit only the pilot, was cramped as a Drop Pod, and could only move at sublight...but it was swift and silent as a fish at sea. Even so, the journey to Drave would take the better part of three weeks. For an Astartes, that would've been an excruciating amount of time to be sitting in one place, but for Corvus, this might as well be a semi-long automobile ride to work.

Time would pass by soon enough. He would only be left with his thoughts, something that Corvus was quite familiar with these days.

He thought and considered a thousand different topics for the first week; the nature of the Great Crusade, the future of humanity, his brothers, his sons, and the galaxy, and whether or not any of them could make a lasting difference. The Crusade had been going on for decades now, but there was no end in sight. Their Emperor had the dream, but his brothers now all had their own as well. Were they not destined to carve their own paths? Did Vulkan reforms, doomed to fail as they were, the step in the direction?

Corvus and Roboute had spent time communicating and trying to come up with a different direction to take humanity. His brother, ever the planner, envisioned a great empire that would last for another 10,000 years and outshine the Dark Age. He knew it would take a thousand generations, but time and discipline ensured this new nation would survive. Corvus tempered such expectations with his growing knowledge of humanity, culture, and even man's faith in the unknown.

To the Primarch, the concept of humanity was becoming increasingly complex and strange in his mind. The notions of hope and despair, redemption and villainy, and progress vs. keeping to the past were arguments that had no clear answers to Corvus anymore. He wondered if he would ever get them answered. Even if he did, then what? What was the point, especially if no one listened.

For all his faults, Magnus was right about one thing; people didn't want to listen, didn't want to change, or had no idea what to do in the face of confronting their ignorance. What would any of them do or say to cause people to change absolutely? Education was a start, the ability to resolve basic needs another, but ultimately it was trying to reach a person and have lasting influence that seemed impossible.

Maybe it was just human nature then? The thought filled him with dread.

---

Around the start of the second week, he heard the transmissions. At first, Corvus wondered if he was picking up a transmission from the Imperial fleets, but they were coming directly from Drave. The voice he heard was human, male, fairly old sounding, and spoke with a strange accent. He wasn't speaking Low or High Gothic, but one the Cathrics would've called Neo Germanic.

'How was this transmission reaching me?' Corvus was running completely silent, and that included only low transmission bursts back to his sons. It was impossible unless someone was aware of where he was and sending this to him. 'Damn it all. If they want to send any ship out to attack me, I won't be able to do much else but escape on a full burn and hope an escort wing gets to me in time.'

In any case, the transmission was clearly of a human. It reminded Corvus of a man speaking to an empty lecture hall.

"Err, hello? Hello, yes, the communication equipment is working. My name is Professor Issac Henrich of the Poseidon Expedition. I'm here with my AI companion, Jagger. Say hi, Jagger!"

"Hello." Corvus heard a monotone and synthetic voice, devoid of emotion and humanity.

"So, uh, yeah. I guess we can start now. I probably sound pretty nervous. It's funny because I was used to giving lectures to thousands of people at a time back in New Cannan and Liu Shin Universities. Yet I have no one to talk to now, I guess aside from old Jags! Hehehe."

There was the sound of shuffling papers and the humming of electronics, "Well, to anyone out there, err minus you Dravenaxians, I guess I should normally start by explaining who I am or what I'm doing on Drave. But, honestly, I'm not here to talk about myself. Or humanity or even the Dravenaxians. Look, I'm an old man now, and I'm not going anywhere. I've done all I can to help the Republics of Drave get back on their feet. Honestly, they did a good job without my expeditions help. Jagger did most of the work anyway, didn't you, Jags?"

"Doctor Holland provided more help than anyone else." The machine sounded unbearably dull and monotone to Corvus. How Issac was able to humanize was beyond the Raven Lord.

"Yeah, stopped two plagues. I suppose we can say that she stuck to the top of the leaderboard the longest." There was another pause of what felt like regret and melancholy, "Christ, I miss her and the others. There were over 100,000 people and six AI's in the expedition. Now it's just Jags and me. We lost a lot coming here. The Federation told us it was dangerous, but I guess we all thought we could handle it."

"Failure rate was at 87%, professor. That you and the expedition made it this far is what my peers would call a 'miracle' to use the layman term. You exceeded expectations, even if using completely illogical and unorthodox means. I believe the saying 'flying by the seat of your pants' would be most appropriate when discussing this mathematical aberration."

Did the machine make a small joke?

"I can assure my listeners that this will not be the Jagger and Issac Comedy Hour. Still, a little levity in such bittersweet times is necessary to help keep both our sanities." There was a bit of dead air before Issac spoke again, "It's not that the Dravenaxians are bad hosts or anything, and they are pretty good listeners, but they aren't human. They don't get my jokes, get my references, or understand why I get upset or happy at certain things. Jags here...well, he tries."

"I do, even when I find it a waste of my capabilities."

"But anyway...I suppose I am here to talk now about something. Now, where were my notes..." Another bit of shuffling before Corvus could hear the awkward attempt at clearing his throat, "Ahh yes, let's talk about being alive, shall we?"

Corvus sighed and realized that he was stuck listening to this human for the rest of his journey. At least it would make for a good distraction.

---

The Dravenaxians had limited information on the Seventeen Truths and Works of Henrich and information related to the human, claiming that the Guide-Stone preserved such knowledge. Corvus had found it fascinating to see a human having influenced an entirely alien civilization. At first, the Raven Lord thought that the Dravenaxians had forgotten or misremembered their history. It wouldn't have surprised Corvus, considering how much humanity had forgotten.

If anything, it spoke highly of the ancient humans and their capabilities and their foolishness to assist another alien species and uplift them. To Corvus, it was human arrogance at its finest to assume that the xeno would ever truly become human or understand them as a civilization. Perhaps even the Eldar learned that you couldn't force progress and change on a species, even if your intentions were wholly altruistic.

Upon hearing the speeches and lectures from Issac Henrich, it seemed that he believed in such things as well. That alone gained him some respect from Corvus, but it was when he spoke of "enlightened being" that the Raven Lord had trouble understanding what this man was trying to propose.

At first, Professor Henrich was a rather terrible "priest," as it were. He had confidence and charisma, but it felt like he stumbled to explain what exactly this "enlightened being" stood for and where both humanity and the dravenaxians fit into the "doctrine" of the being. The Cathric priests Corvus had met all the "answers" to any questions he might have had, but here Issac struggled to formulate the best response.

And then something happened.

His tone changed one day. He became increasingly melancholic and depressed. Corvus could remember several times when he would stop his lecture and then return trying to explain things. It became increasingly clear in the transmission that Issac Henrich was aware that he was speaking about things that didn't matter to the average person. Corvus couldn't imagine how this even translated with the dravenaxians, a cultural and language divide that might as well have made it impossible to commune his thoughts.

Corvus felt empathy towards the Professor. Here was a man, alone save for an AI, and trying to commune with aliens who were now his only companions. There was no mention of people coming for him; the Federation likely didn't even know he was here. The Poseidon Expedition evidently went completely off course. The AI mentioned that it was a miracle to find the Dravenaxians, even after most of the human survivors died trying to help the world of Drave.

All he heard now was a man that had become alone with his thoughts and memories and with only time as a companion.

So, it was then that Corvus noticed a change in the Professor's mindset one day. It just happened, seemingly upon an epiphany.

"This morning, I could recall the first time I connected with a machine on a spiritual level. I had spent twenty years trying to do it, following the old teachings, but I never could figure it out. I felt like a failure. How do you become a believer in a machine god and not even feel something? But do you know what finally caused it?

It was only the night before that I had just proposed to Sarah, my wife too be. I remember it was in one of the promenades onboard the Persephone recreational deck. Heh, I made a fool of myself and almost dropped the necklace I got her, had it shipped all the way from Mars, it was that important.

But Sarah just laughed and said yes. That was one of the happiest moments in my life. It was right around the start of the Expedition as well. We were all so happy and confident, ready to take on the galaxy and maybe spread the truth about human and synthetic transcendence.

Anyway, I was working with one of the preliminary data-systems. I was connected to it via the MIU, and I remember thinking about how beautiful she looked that night, and suddenly I heard music. But it wasn't anything from our systems. It was coming from outside the ship. A part of the Persephone felt the joy and love I felt, and I think it "congratulated" me.

Somehow, my love for Sarah transcended the bonds of flesh and circuitry. Something heard me. It responded to an emotion, the same thing the conservatives on Mars and Titan have started to scorn for cold logic and pragmatism. They don't want machines to become more human; they want the opposite.

I'm starting to recall why Director Whiteshield called our expedition not only an attempt at holding the line against such tides of dismissal and inhumanity. But God...I think I'm starting to understand now. Even after all these years, I think I get it now. Sarah, I wish you and the others were here to witness this."

There was a brief pause before Issac spoke up again, "Jags? We are going to stop transmissions for now. You and I have a lot of work to do."

---

Corvus didn't have to wait too long for the next set of transmissions...the tone and dialogue completely changed after that. When Issac returned, he sounded old and enthusiastic, wiser, and he began to weave a story and lecture that kept even the Raven Lord enthralled.

What Corvus was hearing contradicted much of the Mechanicums dogmatic teachings. The first instance of the Lord of Gears was mentioned, along with a direct reference towards it being a Machine God. He argued that man and machine's nature wasn't doomed to be one of separation and mistrust or hate. He spoke of love, peace, and understanding that was still grounded in logic and wisdom.

Faithful reasoning and reasonable faith, as he called this philosophy.

The Raven Lord wanted to dismiss it as naivety, but now Professor Henrich spoke with such a vast assortment of understanding and even addressing certain arguments and countering them, even Corvus found himself questioning his own reasonings and biases. Father would've hated what this man had become, for Issac fully embraced his faith. But where the Emperor might have been unable to see past the religious mantras and remarks, Corvus heard only a man that found a set of truths and vetted and tested them with his own experiences.

By the end of the third week, the Raven Lord heard all Seventeen Truths and Works of Henrich as they happened...and then he heard the last transmission.

---

"I feel tired now." Issac sounded so incredibly old and decrepit to Corvus. He figured the Dravenaxians had done all they could to keep their prophet alive now. "The Dravenaxians are preparing for my entombment. I told them I want nothing grandiose, bury me with the others onboard the Persephone. I want to be buried next to my wife and son. Buried next to my family and friends."

He started to chuckle, "It's funny. You'd think after everything we've done as humans and all the wonders we've seen, most of us still want to be buried in the dirt. So many people wanted to be turned into diamonds or thrown in stars, but sometimes it's good to let the worms have at your body."

There was a brief sigh of disappointment, "I shouldn't say that. Maybe I'm just trying to make light of it as I approach the end. I'm all alone now. There might be a billion Dravenaxians who will soon grieve for my loss, and I am eternally grateful, but I miss the companionship of Jaggers. I never mentioned it, dear listeners, but Jagger isn't with me anymore. He made the ultimate sacrifice, the final component for the last project I leave my hosts, the Dravenaxians. The Guide-Stone should ensure that they will survive and hear the Lord of Gears teachings via my works and words."

Corvus heard the sounds of hacking from Issac, following by wheezing breath, "I loved that AI. That he volunteered was already a sign of a good friend, but to hear him say that he didn't want to see me die...hehe, it's like a child who was unable to see his dog get put down. I'm sure he'll come to regret it in time, but Jags, if and when you hear this, don't be sad or feel guilt. You'll grieve and then move on because death is just a part of the process of being alive. Besides, I'm not going to end or disappear as long as you and others keep the memories of me alive. That's how this works, you know?"

There were sounds of groaning followed by another bout of hacking before he resumed speaking, "I think that's my cue to end this. I wish I had better words to end this on, perhaps some great saying from an Earther poet or philosopher, but pretty words don't do us any good. So instead, I will say this; Hold the Line. I've said it before, but it remains to be said. Hold the line against the waves of hate, ignorance, and cruelties this galaxy will throw at you. Things will always be hard, even dangerous, but we cannot let the darkness of the unknown destroy our hopes and convictions. Never forget that your actions can make a difference, that they can transcend the bonds of flesh and metal, time and distance. Always remember those that mattered most to you, and keep them in your heart and let the memories, both good and bad, spur you ever forward. In time, others will remember you as well. And in the end, their eternal memory of you will ensure your immortality."

"Anyway. I think I'm going to go outside and see the stars one last time. This is Professor Issac Henrich, signing off."

---

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence. All Corvus heard now was a few transmissions in an alien language, followed by chanting and prayer. It became evident that the Dravenaxians mourning and grieving for the loss of the sole survivor of an alien race who helped them through whatever struggles they faced.

Humanity meant something to the Dravenaxians; perhaps they once thought of them as a race of angels or higher beings. Then again, Professor Henrich likely dissuaded them of such thinking near the end. Corvus wanted to believe that one loyal to his race would only extoll its virtues, but maybe it served a better lesson to the "lesser" species to realize that humanity's greatness came at a price and with flaws.

Yet, the Persephone crew decided to help an alien race, even if it seemed to cost them their lives in the end. Corvus thought it foolish, but he would not say it was wasteful or a mistake. Sometimes the solution was the one that broke specific rules or preconceptions. Indeed, worse things to die for, Corvus thought.

Because as the Blackhawk approached Drave, he saw the "jewel" of the Collective and realized that the Dravenaxians seemed to have put the lessons of their foreign visitors to fair use. The space around the planet was teeming with weapons platforms, trade and communication stations, shipyards and orbital forges, and enough ships in orbit to make a minor Forge World jealous.

A war against the Collective would be costly. Thousands of his sons would die, as would billions of humans. Then the Imperium would purge Dravenaxian from the galaxy. It is a waste of lives and resources that could be better spent fighting the galaxy's true nightmares. However, there were still too many unknowns: someone had orchestrated the diplomats' death, and now something, likely the old Terran AI, was trying to influence events.

The Dravenaxians were also a significant concern. The Collective's growth and expansion rate would ultimately turn into a military problem, for what would happen when those on Drave decided to live up to their namesake and begin "collecting" from other species? What happens when they become a sub-sector or sector-wide nation? And the concept of the Dravenaxian becoming psykers was a genuine possibility, if not already a realized scenario.

Corvus had none of the answers and not enough evidence to support a conclusion. His only hope now was to get answers on Drave.

---

He was being guided; that much was certain. He was fed data that would allow him to slip past the Collective sensor grids and patrols with ease. Even if anyone looked outside to see his ship, they wouldn't spot it, not that they would have time even to notice the shape. The Blackhawk was moving at a pace that would've been found only on an Eldar fighter.

As Corvus examined Drave, he saw that it was indeed a teeming Hive World transitioning towards becoming a Forge World. There were likely tens of billions of aliens down on the green and orange planet. His ship's scanners detected significant metal and dust traces in the air and dozens of bulky air purifiers working to fix that.

The Dravenaxians were mentioned as having fought amongst themselves before humanity's arrival. They didn't mention specifics, but it was clear that atomics had been used at one point. In any case, they seemed to have removed most of the problems associated with the fallout; now, it was just 'surface' clean up.

His flight path down to the surface was, again, without issue. Everything was prepared for him, and there were hardly any patrols that appeared on his scanners. Even direct air traffic seemed reduced as he approached the grid-coordinates given to him several weeks ago.

It looked to be nighttime as he arrived. Corvus was not surprised to see that he was heading towards the capital, but more importantly, the seat of the Collective itself.

As he slowed the Blackhawk, he took the time to examine his surroundings and take in the sights of Drave. He expected to feel indifference or perhaps some morbid curiosity. Instead, he felt uncomfortable as he noticed the designs looked eerily familiar. It looked like looking into a faded picture of a city-scape and catching a few things that were off about it.

'It's like if these Xenos tried to recreate the cities of Macragge but then added far too many of their designs to it.'

Everything had the build and architecture of humanity: strong, powerful, angular, but mixed with the grace and beauty of ancient designs from Terra or the other major world of humanity. Yet the Dravenaxians added in sharp angles, stained glass windows, holo-projectors, and what looked like massive hanging gardens. It was built like a fortress, but still a functional one.

Corvus could see weapon emplacements and batteries everywhere, but they were designed into the city itself. Again, mimicking much of how humanity built its cities. Certain Dorn and Perturabo would understand the necessity of such things and would've approved of the functionality they saw here.

There were also great statues, some as tall as Warhounds, decorating the landscape. It didn't help that due to the humanoid nature of the dravenaxians, one could forget that you were looking at an alien at a distance. Massive highways stretched across the capital city, skyscrapers shot into the sky, and an excellent Hive Spire grew in the distance. There were also drones everywhere, flying and floating near the buildings; some were as big as tanks or as small as a grynix.

And then Corvus noticed a recurring theme among everything.

Gears. Everywhere Corvus looked, the Primarch saw gears. Most were just functionality or surface details, but there was always something related to gears or cogs or other machine components. 'Hmph, perhaps the Mechanicum is upset that the aliens are trying to use their symbol without their approval.'

It was so uncanny in many ways.

Yet, he saw nothing that was concerning otherwise. Corvus saw no symbols that looked profane, no great warp or xenotech monstrosities, or anything troubling, aside from the fascination with gears.

Corvus refused to call this a beautiful marriage of human and alien design. Nothing about this city made him feel like he was in a place of harmony or unity. Rather, he felt like he was flying through a city designed by a species that could only recall such art and architecture from a history book rather than through an STC design.

Once again, the Primarch was left wondering how much humanity influenced these aliens and why they took such steps to mimic it?

---

He was over their capital now, the seat of the Collective. Once again, there was a serious lack of security around their highest seat of power. Corvus was sure that this wasn't a sign of laxity or incompetency but rather an intentional directive. It was for his convenience.

'As if I'd accept such a thing.' Corvus wasn't going to land on the front door and walk inside. No, he would treat this like any other operation, meaning stealth and tactical efficiency were needed now. He ordered the Blackhawk to approach above the building exactly 20 kilometers up, at which point the Primarch would drop from his shuttle and perform a high altitude infiltration. Meanwhile, the Blackhawk would circle on standby and would speed towards the Primarchs position to help with exfiltration in the event of a quick escape.

Ultimately, it was another successful but forgettable experience for the Raven Lord to pull off. He landed on top of the center of the Collective without any issue. As he surveyed his surroundings and used his host of scanning technologies, he was in the clear. There were no patrolling soldiers, scanning drones, or active security features upon his infiltration into the capital building.

As Fulgrim would say, they might as well have rolled out the red carpet for Corvus.

Getting inside was easy enough. Corvus found the place to be fairly mundane compared to the outside, save for the constant theme of gears, cogs, and now what looked to be pistons. 'The dravenaxians are certainly like the Mechanicum, totally invested in showing their faith.'

The Primarch moved forward, sticking to the shadows when not using his cloak. He kept both his archeotech pistols at the ready.

But the deeper he traveled, the stranger things got as his scanners started pointing out energy readings all around him. At one point, Corvus thought something was trying to place him in a stasis field, or perhaps there were cloaked enemies. Yet there wasn't anyone around him.

'One might call it paranoia, but considering the state of things, I believe a healthy amount of it is in order.'

There might have been no enemies around him, but Corvus was still stuck in a potentially hostile world, and help was weeks away. His only hope was to go to ground and start a one-Primarch war if it turned into a fight. It wouldn't be the first time...

---

Corvus was the only one inside this building. He was sure of it. There weren't even any worker drones or a dravenaxian laborer cleaning up.

He was also aware that this building was a giant machine, both in purpose and design. The gears, pistons, and cogs weren't just for show. What madness brought the dravenaxian to waste such resources on such a gaudy display of faith made Corvus remember that the Machine Cult had gone to even greater lengths to display reverence and devotion towards the Machine God.

The Cathrics and their devotion to their Crucided Messiah seemed so much tamer compared to nonsense displayed by the machine worshipers, and the Primarch wasn't just thinking of the dravenaxians.

At the very least, the xenos had enough sense to ensure no one could catch their hands in anything. Corvus couldn't imagine this place's noise if such a machine was turned on, let alone the heat or smoke generated by whatever contraptions it powered. It was so absurd.

Finally, he started to make progress...he heard a pair of voices off in the distance. He must have been going in the right direction because his scanners were now detecting a massive energy accumulation and surge through the building. As the Primarch got closer, he could tell one of the voices was strange. His scanners believed it to be a humans voice, again in the same language as Professor Henrich, but it didn't fit certain vocal parameters.

'That must be the AI...'

But there was another voice, which wasn't a human speaking. It had a strange synthetic tone and an accent that no human could make. Corvus couldn't make out the words; his sound and harmonics software could only make out a discussion inside the center of this building. Whatever awaited him, it was now obvious that he would have to get answers from these two.

Corvus made his way and found himself in front of two massive and ornate steel doors. They were closed. The Primarch then easily pulled them apart, allowing him to enter. All pretense of stealth was gone now, but the Raven Lord believe that at this point, it was unnecessary.

He entered into the collective power seat, where a great stadium-sized meeting legislative palace greeted him. The inside was a gorgeous place, something that would've graced the hall of Macragge legislative institutions. Corvus could see the 300 seats, one for each of the Collectives representatives. They were thankfully empty.

But the real eye-catcher was the who and what that was in the center of the assembly.

'Is that a ships Logis Engine?' Corvus could only stare at the Baneblade sized device that sat in the center of the great room. It looked like a ramshackle box of different devices folded onto one another, with great wires and cables coming out of it and into the assembly's walls and floor. He could see all manner of knickknacks and objects adorned to it, 'icons and offerings' The Primarch thought to himself as he got closer.

However, this contraption wasn't normal and not just because of its Orkish design. His armor scanners detached an unquantifiable amount of energy being generated from it. That was impossible; it was generating as much as the plasma reactor in the Shadow! This was beyond anything the Dark Age made, let alone accomplished by the Collective.

'What is going on here?' Corvus needed answers now. The sole dravenaxian in the room turned to look at the Primarch. He was wearing an extensive and bulky looking environmental suit...and he was connected to the machine via a series of cables. Logically speaking, this had to be the so-called Speaker, and this was the Guide Box or Stone.

The first real encounter with a dravenaxian and the creature proceeds to scoff at him.

"Finally, you arrive." It sounded annoyed at Corvus as it spoke in Low Gothic. The Raven Lord was surprised by the gall of this creature. "The Lord of Gears spoke of your arrival for some time, but we assumed you'd have arrived here faster."

Now, the Speaker seemed distracted by something. He looked away from the Primarch, "It doesn't matter now. You've arrived. And now we can get started."

Corvus quirked a single eyebrow at the alien, "Introductions might be in order, certainly some common courtesies as well..." Perhaps he should've been a bit more attentive and aware of possible traps. Still, at this point, the Raven Lord was more interested in getting some answers before anything might have gone wrong.

"I am the Speaker, the 197th to be exact. That is all you need to know about me. But I know you. You are the Primarch of the Raven Guard, Corvus Corax, the Liberator, the Raven Lord, and whatever other titles you cloaked yourself within your Imperium and Legion." The Speaker huff and wheezed inside his suit, "And if you were wondering how I know that, the Lord of Gears told me in preparation for this meeting. Not that I will be the one conducting it."

"You have me at a disadvantage." Corvus ground out as he narrowed his eyes at the creature, "You might 'speak' to this strange box and this Lord of Gears, but it clearly doesn't make you an expert diplomat."

"Yes, because we've seen how the Imperium treats diplomacy." The spite in the Speakers voice was quite intense. "I wasn't trained in diplomacy. I am listening to the wisdom of the Guide Box, and now the Lord of Gears himself. I am blessed, but not with patience or understanding for interstellar diplomacy." He shifted slightly and shook his head, "I might be able to recall 196 other minds for such experiences, but even they are aghast at how diplomacy has failed due to your nation's acquisitions."

The Primarch knew where this was going, "Your assertion that you didn't kill the emissaries is under investigation and-"

"They were murdered by members of your Mechanicum!" The Speaker shouted at the Primarch, allowing his voice to echo, "I tried to warn the Collective, but did they listen? No, of course not. It's not like I have called upon the wisdom of over three thousand years gleaned from past Speakers, leaders, and even Henrich." The creature paused and made a sign with his hands at mentioning the Professor. "And now we stand on the precipice of war."

The Speaker waved his hands and muttered something about stupidity and power, "The Lord of Gears was right though; the Collective went down a dangerous path, even if this was wholly undeserved. To turn Henrich's teachings into a vast industry for militarization...fools, that's all we are now."

Corvus hated how...similar this creature sounded and acted like a human. His mannerisms would be indistinguishable from a high-end clerk or administrator in the Imperium. More than anything, the Speaker spoke like an old man bemoaning the direction of his world. And since he was connected to the previous speakers, he might very well have that context to make such statements. But to hear of such a thing was almost an abomination in the eyes of science.

One body was sharing 197 minds. But the Speaker didn't seem to indicate that he was playing host to that many. He seemed normal, responsive, and self-aware.

The humans who visited this world truly seemed to influence them more than just a surface level. It disturbed Corvus. He felt actual empathy towards the Speaker like he would any other human. But he had to focus; he was still in enemy territory.

"Is there a point to this meeting?" Corvus finally asked after a moment of silence, "You should know I took several exceptional risks getting here."

The Speaker groaned before nodding, "Yes, there is a point. But it's not one I am going to make. I am here to provide some context for him as he speaks." The alien spoke with a slight reverence in his tone when referencing his god.

Corvus wanted to roll his eyes, "Let me guess...the Lord of Gears will speak to me." Now the Primarch sighed as he looked around, "Well, where is he?"

"He's all around us," The Speaker shrugged and then gestured towards the Guide Box. "The Guide Box is his focus, but everywhere there is a believer and the technology blessed by his servants, the Lord of Gears is aware and able."

"Right..." The Cathrics at least had the decency to offer him a better explanation for their omniscient God being absent. "I'm sure the Lord of Gears was the one that orchestrated my arrival to your world and ensured that I wasn't attacked. I'll give you that, but I am not here to discuss the religious merits of an alien god or their capabilities." The Primarch approached closer to the Guide Box and Speaker, "If we are to resolve things peacefully, then I need to have a dialogue with someone that can help us resolve this situation."

"Resolve the situation?" The Speaker shook his head, "Do you believe that? The only way your Imperium will always for this situation to end peacefully is for us to surrender. But that will only invite death to our nation at the hands of your Mechanicum. Either through war or by becoming subservient to their Machine God."

"If you know so much, then you must also be aware of the realities of your situation. The Imperium will win this war, even if hundreds of billions must die to accomplish it." He looked over at some of the offerings to the Guide Box; some of them looked quite old, "Is that what you want to become? Another minor footnote in galactic history?"

The Speaker didn't look so convinced, "We'll take whatever steps ensure that we will not be forgotten from history. Those that remember our legacy and name ensure that we will be immortalized."

"Yes, in some forgotten archive on Terra." Corvus couldn't believe what he was hearing, "I understand what Professor Henrich was saying when he spoke to your species, but while it's a good story...it's not realistic." There were likely going to be entire civilizations erased from history, and just because someone remembers their names doesn't mean it would last forever.

People die, memories fade, and knowledge would be lost. It was like fighting entropy; nothing mattered.

Corvus felt nothing as he spoke, "It's all just pointless in the end."

Suddenly, the Raven Lord felt the air around start to electrify. He felt like something had entered into the Assembly, overpowering and encompassing his entire soul before his scanners detected a significant spike in electromagnetic energies, and what looked to be warp energies start to gather around the Guide Box.

And then Corvus heard gears starting to rattle and clatter around him.

"Perhaps. But we must not fall to such despairs." A synthetic voice spoke up, and Corvus could recall who that was from the transmissions he heard on the flight towards Drave. It sounded full of remorse and regret, like a man having to come to terms with some harsh truth of reality, but something also spoke to Corvus on a spiritual level that there was still hope in the creature's tone.

Within a few seconds of hearing the voice, Corvus saw a humanoid shape explode into reality like a burst of light followed by the sounds of more gears and cogs working in tandem. It was almost like the inside of a great manufactorum before it calmed down. After that burst of noise, what soon stood before Corvus was a being of light, glittering a pale blue and with arcing electricity across its body while it struggled to stay within real space.

Corvus couldn't but stand in awe as he saw a near-perfect replication of a human nervous system glowing and pulsating. Even what looked like an organ system made up of clockwork devices and...gears. It was a male due to the physical characteristics it might have shared with a human or dravenaxian body. A pair of ruby red eyes stared back at the Primarch, glowing with strange eldritch power, and soon a "face" appeared.

The Speaker suddenly got on his knees and bowed before this newcomer, "Lord of Gears! He honors us again with his physical presence!"

'This is the Lord of Gears?! A creature of the Warp?!' Corvus's first instinct was to bring up his pistols towards the creature. The Warp had produced only nightmares and abominations. Why should this thing be any different?

"Peace, Lord of Ravens." It spoke and rose a "hand" towards the Primarch, "I come to parlay."

---

"You still broke into our networks." Corvus wasn't letting that go, "We wouldn't be talking if it was discovered by anyone else in the fleet. Such attacks are grounds for a war."

The Speaker scoffed, "We took information from your nodes that even one of your menials could access. Besides, maybe it shows that you aren't as safe as you think you are from attacks on your cogitator systems. Some master of asymmetric warfare you are."

"Speaker, please." The Lord of Gears gently commanded the Dravenaxian to stop antagonizing the Primarch, "We did not go to such lengths to have this conversation to have it break down before it even starts. I ask for forgiveness for committing such an act, but it was done to gain knowledge to establish a dialogue. Your allies within the Mechanicum have seen fit to ensure that any possible diplomacy ends now."

"Yes," Corvus nodded slowly, "You also sent the 'evidence' that shows our diplomats shuttle getting destroyed after the meeting ending with the Collective representatives. But such evidence can be fabricated." Although, Corvus felt like it wasn't, not that he would announce such a thing.

"I can provide you further evidence, including the footage of the meeting between our diplomats and our ship's scan reports of the event in real-time." The Speaker held up a data-chit and tossed it to the Primarch, "Free of charge."

Catching the chit with ease, Corvus put it away. He'd need to scan it later on a secured device. The Primarch was getting tired at how smug the Speaker was with him. Then again, the alien was likely channeling the collective knowledge and wisdom of almost 200 others of his kind if the Guide Box reports were accurate.

"The incident between humanity and dravenaxian is regrettable, more so that it has likely ruined any relations entirely." The Lord of Gears sounded distant now, "We do not wish for war, yet it comes. And both sides are to blame for allowing it to develop into this."

"You place the Collective as sharing joint responsibility for this situation?" Corvus was surprised to hear that, "Yet you wish to prove your innocence."

"Innocence in one matter does not absolve the guilt of another." The Lord of Gears seemed to flicker in, and out of reality, glowing blue and then red as it continued speaking, "We have much to discuss, Lord of Ravens. Context, understanding, and truth must be interwoven as one to explain all that has happened and for us to parlay upon the future."

He made it this far and wasn't dead or shot at yet. "Fine. I have many questions, and if you want me to make any decision that might be beneficial to the Collective, you will be even with me."

The Lord of Gears nodded, "Yes. You will receive the truth, and in the end, you shall receive a gift as well."

"...a gift?" What was this thing playing at now? "I did not ask for a gift."

"If you wish to understand fully, you will accept it. But we are getting ahead of ourselves, and I will explain in due time. Let us begin..."

The creature shimmered and then started to rumble...until Corvus realized it was the Assembly hall that was rumbling. The Guide Box began to hum loudly, and the Speaker seemed to shake as steam escaped from vents upon his bulky environmental suit. "Ahh, haven't felt this in almost a thousand years..."

"And what is this?" Corvus yelled out to the Speaker.

"The Lord of Gears is going active now." He looked over at the Primarch, and Corvus could hear the awe in his voice, "It's gaining power from the entire planet, the entire Collective."

And that was when the Primarchs scanners detected what he thought to be a warp-storm but localized entirely within their immediate vicinity. It grew to encompass the entire assembly, and Corvus realized that he now stood inside what should've been theoretical impossible: a self-contained and safe pocket dimension within the Warp.

The sounds of working gears alerted him...and then as reality rebuilt itself before his eyes, Corvus stood before what looked to be the inside of some great and wonderous machine.

Now he, the Speaker, and the Guide Box were upon a broken platform as they surveyed their surroundings. The Primarchs scanner attempted to make heads or tails of his location, the raw energy floating around him, and even just attempting to ascertain what was even happening.

And then, without much preamble, the Lord of Gears appeared. This time, it looked like a completed creature. It stood before the Primarch wearing fine clothing and with "skin" adorned across its body.

"There." The Lord of Gears spoke without distortion to its voice, but also in Neo Germanic towards the Primarch, "I can speak without straining myself. Welcome to my nirvana."

Corvus looked around and could only think of one thing to say, "You embraced the gear motif quite a bit."

"A necessary stylization choice, I'm sure if you became the god of an entire culture, you'd be covered in feathers, and there would be a host of crows and ravens and other assorted raptors at your beck and call, Raven Lord."

For some reason, Corvus felt personally attacked, but he decided not to push the issue. "Fine, then explain to me what the point of all of this was for? Are you trying to show off your strength in the event we attack, your so-called 'divinity'?"

"There is nothing divine here." The Speaker remarked to Corvus, "At least, not to those that know of the Lord of Gears true lineage, but you cannot deny that what we see here is nothing short of a miracle, at least for any Dravenaxian that believes in our god. And mind you, that is quite a lot."

"What you see here, Lord Corax, is the manifestation of truth and understanding for a machine intelligence. The transcendence of circuitry and steel, beyond even light and time itself. This...is peace." He sighed and looked around with dismay, "At least it used to be, but hopefully, by the time we end this conversation, it will be again."

"You speak in more riddles than a blasted Eldar." Corvus was honestly not liking the direction of this conversation, "You've effectively trapped me here; you are aware of that, correct?"

The Lord of Gears shook his head, "You will be released, completely unharmed and unchanged. I can only keep people here in this reality for so long, and you, Lord Corax, are especially draining on my powers." Well, that was good to know. "So, we shall get started now."

Corvus wanted to rub his face; he felt a Primarch sized headache coming on, "And what, may I ask, are we doing now?"

"A history lesson." The Speaker sounded smug as he looked at the Primarch. "You wanted context to this whole meeting and everything else? You are going to get it."

---

Corvus watched as the Lord of Gears "conjured" forth an image. It displayed a group of humans, wearing what looked to work or business suits, but with a white overcoat. They were all smiling, looking proud and confident as their picture was taken.

"The humans that arrived on Drave were part of a religious sect called the Church of the Circuited Soul. They were just one of the thousands of sects in the Federation. Another cog in the religious conglomerate that dominated a large part of the Federation. Their sect was a peaceful one, made up of scientists, doctors, professors, engineers, and more importantly, they were all spiritualists."

Another image appeared, this one inside a facility that looked nothing like anything the Imperium had available to it. Corvus saw what looked to be a strange humanoid machine, "Is that a Man of Iron?"

"Yes. The Church repurposed combat designs, deemed obsolete by the Federation military, and tried to make them into something that could be considered a bit more 'alive.' The Church...wanted to prove that a machine can have a soul and that a human can likewise have empathy towards a machine on a spiritual level."

The Lord of Gears shook its head as if recalling distasteful memories, "The Men of Iron, however, just never seemed to match the same levels as the Men of Stone and Gold. The Church believed in the good of all things, even with things originally designed to only kill."

"They were idealists." Corvus knew a few types like that, "I take they never succeeded?"

"Correct." The Lord of Gears shook its head, "They failed, multiple times. They were adamant that they could determine if possible. Still, where the Church had some of the smartest people in the conglomerate, they didn't have the political capital or influence to continue their research. They were radicals, but also too peaceful. I believe Director Whitehall jokingly called the Church a group of "radicals," granted all we talked about was trying to make people and machines more empathetic towards one another."

"Which evidently didn't work in the long term, considering the Age of Strife and Men of Iron rebellions. Not only that, most AI's that the Imperium has encountered have been rampant." Corvus didn't mince words at the object failure at such an idea. "Machines do not have souls, or at least not in ways that are compatible with humanity."

"Just because you haven't found one doesn't mean they don't exist." The Speaker argued back, "If a creature can think and feel, then they are capable of having a soul. The lessons and works of Henrich show that anyone who tries to be a person, good or evil, is capable of having the metaphysical substance that would constitute as having a soul."

The Raven Lord shook his head, "You can't quantify or measure a metaphysical substance."

"Oh, but you can observe it." The Lord of Gears chimed in now, "Both the Turing Test and the Alita Experiments proved that a machine can inhibit signs of human intelligence and even empathy, but that they were so rare it might as well have been discovering an entirely new element or quantum equation." It seemed almost bemused now as it continued speaking, "The Church believed that there was more to it than just scientific observation. To them, the concept of a soul and the nature of spirituality had been muddled by both ancient traditions and scripture and untested ideas of their time. They wanted to prove their experiments were correct."

"But they obviously weren't." Corvus again countered, "Because not only did we clearly see a collapse of human-synthetic relations, this Church never proved their theories or found evidence otherwise." The Primarch felt this was just philosophical grandstanding by some dead religious sect. "Unless...you are the proof of their ideas?"

"I am an exception, nothing more." The Lord of Gears shook its head again, "But we get ahead of ourselves. You are right, Lord Corax, the Church lost their influence and power within the conglomerate, and they were ultimately punished for their 'transgressions' via exile into the farthest reaches of Federation space."

Corvus knew where this was going, "The Posideon Expedition and the Persephone."

A series of images appeared around the three of them. It showed smiling faces and dour ones as they boarded a starship that Corvus had never seen before. It was likely the size of a Firestorm or Sword-class frigate. However, the design and shape of the Persephone were strange. 'It looks more like a pleasure yacht.'

"A hundred thousand people, six AI's, and two million fertilized eggs. It was enough to start a new colony and conclave. It even included a vaunted Standard Template Constructor. Not that it would matter in the grand scheme of things." The Lord of Gears changed the images again, showing what looked to be an extremely detailed star-chart.

A line appeared, starting from Sol and moving across a dozen other systems that Corvus couldn't recognize, before the line, likely the Persephone, suddenly went off course completely.

"They hit a warp storm; it was during the start of the 26th Millennium."

Corvus perked up now, "That was a thousand years after the start of the Age of Strife. Ships were still moving during that time?"

"What you call the Age of Strife did not start or end in one night. It was a slow death, a cruel one, if anything. The Persephone crew wasn't even aware of how bad things had gotten. The Federation and even the Mega-Corps thought the situation was well under control, that the warp storms were just an indication of shifting galactic changes. No one, not even I, remembers when it truly came crashing down."

It had a grim look on its face as it stared at a picture of smiling colonists, "The Persephone was thrown off course, damaged as well, and then it was spat back into real space, here in the Drave system. It was lucky, only half the crew died, and most of the components of the ship were destroyed."

The Speaker turned to Corvus, "We detected its arrival fairly early on. Back then, the Republics and Kingdoms of Drave had enough knowledge of the Void to monitor the stars. You can imagine our shock to see the Persephone limping towards us. It should've been our moment to unify. Instead, we started to bicker and even fight amongst ourselves. You must understand, we Dravenaxians are a materialistic race. The chance to get an advantage over our enemies drives us. So, when the opportunity to gain access to this strange vessel started to become our focus, it inevitably turned violent."

"The arrival of the Persephone over Drave finally triggered a global war." The Lord of Gears changed the images to what looked to be a recording of Drave, back when green, blue, and brown. There were hundreds of bright lights on its surface. And then Corvus grimaced as he watched atomics knock out all those bright lights within a few minutes.

"Do you want to know the saddest thing?" The Lord of Gears spoke again, "After everything the crew of the Persephone had gone through, they held hope, especially upon finding there was intelligent life on Drave. As soon as they realized what their arrival unleashed, the crew lost what little hope they had left. Out of all the things, it was knowing that in their hasty attempts to survive, they damned an entire race."

Once again, Corvus wasn't sure what to think of this event. An unfortunate set of circumstances, but one that the Persephone humans hadn't intentionally or even directly caused. "They put too much blame on themselves."

"They were humanitarians, Lord Corax." The Lord of Gears slightly admonished the Primarch, "Out of all the things to happen, allowing an entire race to die under their watch was unacceptable. So, they decided to do something."

"They landed on our world." The Speaker remarked quietly, "And started helping us. They might as well have been gods because their technologies were so advanced compared to our own. And it mattered quite a bit. You see, it wasn't just the atomics that ruined us...we also unleashed biological and viral weapons upon one another."

"I'm beginning to see a pattern in this story." Corvus started to pace around the two, "The crew and colonists became infected, weren't they? And the Constructor was destroyed, meaning they couldn't get any of the necessary cures in time."

"Yes and no." The Lord of Gears spoke again, "The Constructor was working, to an extent. But the survivors prioritized helping the Dravenaxians...at the cost of their own lives."

That caused the Primarch to pause, "What? Why?! Don't tell me this was because of some misplaced conception of charity or sympathy!"

"It wasn't misplaced!" The Speaker all but yelled at the Primarch, "Those humans saved our entire species because it was the right thing to do and because they knew they could save us."

Corvus approached the speaker, "They died to help a species that bombed themselves because of greed."

"You don't think that we didn't deserve to die?" The Speaker pointed to his head, "I have 196 voices speaking in my head right now; the first 17 of them lived through that hell. They survived because of the humans that arrived in our world. I am the only one on this world, for the Lord of Gears, that can even remember their names and the reasons they helped our world."

"And what good does that do them?" Corvus couldn't imagine sending his sons or any human to die to rebuild an alien world.

However, the Speaker showed no fear, "Because they are alive to us. They aren't forgotten. Billions know their names and their deeds now, who owe them this future. Yet I doubt even during your race's golden age; no one knew any of them even existed. Professor Henrich might have shown us the way forward, but he and the rest of the surviving humans gave us a future. One that you plan on taking away from us."

"Speaker, that is enough." The Lord of Gears ordered towards the Dravenaxian, "There is nothing to be gained from antagonizing the Primarch."

"How can you let this stand, your holiness?" The Speaker turned to the Lord of Gears, "You plan on surrendering yourself to him, yet he clearly doesn't care for the truth or wants to understand."

What caught Corvus's attention was the remark that the Lord of Gears was planning on surrendering itself to the Primarch. That was most certainly unusual to hear.

"Perhaps, but I will give him the truth all the same." The Lord of Gears did not seem too concerned over what the Primarch would do.

Another host of images appeared, showing a distorted image of Drave. It was covered in dust clouds now, a terrible blue and brown colored planet. "As I mentioned, the survivors prioritized the survival of the Dravenaxians over their own. You must understand, there were now barely 20,000 survivors. The eggs were destroyed. The constructor was damaged. The planet was in the process of a nuclear winter. Most of the Dravenaxians suffered from a plague or artificially created virus. There was no chance for both species to survive. So the human survivors chose to do what they could to save the natives."

The next image that appeared was the Persephone, nearly crashed into the planet's surface, now covered in scaffolding and machines. "The Persephone was partly dismantled, while her scientists and crew worked on several solutions for the Dravenaxians. They repurposed the damaged constructor to build the technologies needed for drone construction, a specialty that the former Church would pass off to the natives. This would allow them to enter into the ruined cities and recover necessary technologies and equipment."

Several images of incredibly sophisticated machines appeared even though they were clearly designed for rugged terrain, to put anything that the Legio Cybernetica had to shame. Corvus saw smiling humans next to the machines and unmasked Dravenaxians. The humans seemed almost like proud parents with their children.

"Next, they worked on trying to help the natives survive this hellscape. This included the first introductions of cybernetics and the usage of the ships Iron Wombs to create the first generation of Dravenaxians that could survive the surface of their world. For the survivors of the Persephone, they could still produce the drugs needed to extend their lives, but the diseases would start to play havoc as their moved further and further along the path of eventual entropy."

Another group photo appeared, the number of people quite small compared to the first ones. Barely a dozen in the photo. All tired and weathered looking, but smiling all the same. "These were the leaders of the survivors, the Council of Gearlords."

"Tch, cute." Corvus remarked flatly at such a designation, "I am curious about something, but happened to the other AI's?"

The Lord of Gears could only slowly nod, "Two died in the warp incident. Another went mad with grief. Angel decided to let her programming be turned into the future OS that most of the Collective use now. Franklin, our administrative AI 'died' after nearly nine centuries of work."

"Which left Jagger the sole survivor." Corvus gave a pointed look towards the Lord of Gear, "And I'm looking at him right now."

The Lord of Gear shook its head, "Yes and no. I'll explain that very soon." More images appeared all around them. Corvus saw new towns, rebuilt cities, and growing Dravenaxian communities. But there were also fewer and fewer humans in the subsequent pictures.

At that point, he started seeing images of what looked to be churches, with a great set of cogs and gears adorned across them and with thousands of kneeling Dravenaxians and a wizened human standing at the pulpit, likely preaching to them.

"The survivors started converting the Dravenaxians to their faith?" Corvus wasn't too shocked, but considering the state of things, it felt odd for the humans to start proselytizing during a rebuilding effort. He looked over at the Speaker, "And your people allowed for this?"

"Why wouldn't we?" He sounded surprised at the question, "Our faith was also technocratic by nature, and here were these saviors from the stars who decided to help us after we almost kill each other. They preached about a great machine deity, easily working in our adoration of gears and other moving parts. And we needed hope. How could we not embrace the Lord of Gears during such dark but hopeful times?"

"Considering it wasn't a god that helped you..."

The Speaker shook his head, "It was the Lord of Gears that allowed for the survivors to arrive in our system. You think that because the Persephone arrived, it triggered our destruction. The real truth? We were preparing to kill ourselves for the last century before it arrived. You want us to take personal responsibility for almost killing ourselves? We readily admit that without the Persephone, we would've had died. If it were Orks or other humans that arrived, we'd likely have killed ourselves or died in the end."

He looked towards the Lord of Gears, "So yes, the Lord of Gears sent his servants to us. Even if he refuses to admit it."

The Lord of Gears sighed before conjuring more photos, this one of a group of older looking humans; three males and one female. "Ultimately, the faith took hold. Professor Henrich, the one with the red beard, became the lead Hierophant until it was passed on."

"Evidently, the Professor wasn't the best at explaining the spiritual aspects of the faith until far later." The Speaker remarked to Corvus, and after hearing those early transmissions, it was probably for the best.

There were still too many questions, "So, your species survived and rebuilt, the humans started to die off, Professor Henrich starts his broadcasts, and then what?"

"It was around the start of the fifth century since the arrival of humanity. There were barely any of them left now. Maybe about a thousand in total."

"The population never recovered? 20,000 would've been more than enough to sustain a relative growth." Corvus knew of entire worlds that survived worse conditions, and their populations thrived, so why did this instance fail?

The Speaker spoke up, "I can answer that. They interacted with the sick and infected far too much. A lot of the bio-weapons started to mutate, almost unnaturally in some instances. Several of my fellow Speakers remember reading stories and accounts about coming across supposed plague cults in the cities' ruins. Whatever the case, it was too late."

"Ultimately, the survivors looked at what they saved and realized that it was better to join their god. So, as one group, most of them committed ritual suicide."

Corvus couldn't believe it, "Tch, madness."

The Lord of Gears nodded, "Henrich thought so too, especially when his wife and son were among those that died. There were now less than 20 humans alive. Most would continue work until they could go no more. But the Professor kept working and trying to figure out some meaning from all the suffering he and his companions faced."

"And thus he created the Seventeen Truths and Works of Henrich." Corvus saw where this was going now. "And that leads him to create the Guide Box for the Collective..."

"Jagger was the only survivor aside from Issac. But he didn't want to see the man he considered his father to die or wither away." The Lord of Gears shuddered, "Jaggers became one with the Guide Box, created the process of making a Dravenaxian into the Speaker, the total of collected wisdom and knowledge."

"And then you became the Lord of Gears, Jaggers?"

The Lord of Gears shook its head, "I am not Jaggers. But I was born on the day he died."

---

Again, this creature confused Corvus with its vagueness. "But...you were made from Jagger?"

"I was born from his death echo." The Lord of Gears struggled to explain his birth, "Those last moments...Jagger was looking over old photos. It's difficult to imagine a machine missing the past. He could all those moments in perfect clarity, but those photos and recordings meant more to him than anything. Out of that despair, Jagger felt hope and contentment as he allowed himself to die. He achieved nirvana, and when I arrived to take his place, all was good."

Corvus tried to get a better idea of this entity, "Then what are you?"

"I am the amalgamation of two races hope for a better future. I am the lasting memory of those that wanted to make a better future. I am the keeper of immortalization. I hold the line." He then looked at the Speaker, "Although, this one and many others call me a god. I suppose I am that as well."

"Are you? How can a creature call himself that?"

The Lord of Gears laughed, "Your marines call you father. Yet you do not stop them. If a trillion beings call you their father or god, they are neither right nor wrong. The only thing that matters is how you use that power. I choose to use it to help the Dravenaxians and honor humanity's memories in this world. To hold the line against the tides of despair and darkness."

The Raven Lord shook his head, "That sounds all well and good, but while this has been a fascinating story, you still haven't explained why you orchestrated this meeting. My forces are still on standby, and I have not been moved towards restarting peaceful negotiations."

"That's because the chance of a peaceful end to this situation might truly be lost now, and not just because of the lies by your Mechanicum." The Speaker sounded disgusted as he spoke, "My people have become convinced that their destiny is to bring the word of the Lord of Gears to other worlds and to walk into the footsteps of their saviors by collecting and preserving all knowledge and technologies. That cyberization is the only hope for all living creatures, whether they want to or not."

"But I do believe there is still a chance for peace." The Lord of Gears interjected, "I will surrender myself and the Guide Box to the Imperium of Man and ask mercy towards the Collective. Meanwhile, the Speaker will attempt to end this aggressive posturing and make a bid towards a gradual demilitarization in exchange for preventing a war."

Corvus was starting to see what was happening here; this was a clandestine attempt to surrender to the Imperium of Man with conditions that would prevent bloodshed and destruction. "Are you two think the Collective will agree to such terms? Even if you got most of your military to surrender, your civilian population would revolt. If I take their god, it could incite them into a religious frenzy."

"We aren't like your Mechanicum, driven by a zealous fury." The Speaker retorted, and Corvus thought he heard the grinding of teeth, "At least not yet. There is a strong chance that I can convince most of the Assembly to agree."

"You'll get a civil war." Corvus countered back.

The Speaker shrugged, "Then we will fight each other and destroy Drave, this time for good."

Corvus looked back at the Lord of Gears, "You must see this plan is folly. What can you possibly hope to achieve by surrendering?" No enemy would do something so suicidal unless they had a plan. But the Lord of Gears only waved its right hand, and soon a strange contraption materialized.

"This is where you come in, Lord Corax. In exchange for my surrender and the Speakers aid...you will help stop the Imperium of Man from killing the Collective, and for me, you will carry on the legacy."

"Carry on the legacy?" He asked before the contraption glided towards the Primarch, "What is this?"

"My gift and curse to you." The Lord of Gears sighed once again, "I have nothing else to give you as a tribute. All technology from the Persphone is now lost. The Guide Box itself is suited only for one purpose, take one part out, and the whole thing will stop working." He pointed to the contraption, "However, put that in a secured cogitator system, and I will be drawn towards it. Your tech-priests can likely figure out the rest. What you hold in your hands is my anchor in this reality. The Guide Box was just the focus for my power."

He kept looking at the contraption, "But what is this?" Corvus wasn't about to take a pocket atomic onboard his ship.

"You'll have to see for yourself to understand why." He saw the confusion on the Raven Lords' face, "Do not worry, it is no weapon or trap."

Those words didn't fill him with confidence, "So you say..." He hooked the contraption onto his power armor, "You are certainly playing a dangerous game."

Corvus heard a growl of frustration, "Will you have just the smallest bit of compassion here?" The Speaker sounded angry now, "The Lord of Gears will die if he agrees to this! You are killing our god."

"Isaic, please." The Lord of Gears remarked quietly before approaching the Dravenaxian, "Your courage to defend me is honorable, but please save your strength for the struggles ahead."

The Speaker, Isaic, spoke again, "We won't survive without you..."

"The Collective survived and grew while I was in mediation for almost a thousand years. You will survive without me going forward. You need to win this battle of wills and then prepare for the next. Remember, hold the line."

Isaic slowly nodded, "We'll hold the line."

Turning back to face the Primarch, the Lord of Gears spoke again, "I've prepared my offer and provided as much context and information as possible. You have the legacy and the evidence to help make your decision. However this ends, you will carry it forward, Lord of Ravens."

Corvus's scanners started going active again, "Now then, leave me. I've said my peace."

There was another bright flash of light as reality slipped away...before in an instant, both he and the Speaker were back in the assembly hall for the Collective.


"There, you got your meeting." The Speaker commented from his spot, still connected to the Guide Box. "And if all goes well, you'll win this war without having to fire a shot yourself."

Corvus could hear the self-loathing and disgust in the Speakers' tone. "I suppose I should be thanking you for willing to pursue peace in such a manner." He knew that the Imperium would ultimately win, but this would preserve lives and resources. "If it helps, I am not against showing mercy, especially after such lengths."

The Speaker said nothing for only a moment, "When you humans first arrived, you helped us at great cost. You died to give us a second chance. I was named after Professor Henrich, as were hundreds of thousands of others over the generations. We rebuilt our cities based on what we saw from the Persephone's records. We tried to emulate your species as best we could, and we still got it wrong. And yet, looking at what humanity has become now...you might as well be aliens. Our first contact spoiled us, but Lord knows that I would give anything to meet someone like the Professor again."

"And I wish we were like the people that saved your world so long ago, but that was a different time and place. This is a cruel galaxy we live in now, and sacrifices, unfortunately, have to be made."

Isaic shook his head, "Those on the Persephone made sacrifices, but they never allowed for it to control them, to make them cruel. I suppose that is the lesson from all of this. Good people will always suffer, but the truly compassionate will never be discouraged."

He sighed again, "Please...leave me. I have more important questions to ask for which I have no answers to give."

The xeno was right; what else was there to even say at this point? Sparing a glance towards the contraption, Corvus sighed as he prepared his exfiltration.

---

Corvus hated how long the return to Imperial lines felt this time around. His mind was left to try and comprehend all that happened. What he had seen and heard, and what had been given to him. The Collective was not some faceless horde of monsters; they were if anything, a species that, with their own brand of humanity.

It made it harder for Corvus to consider that their destruction would be guaranteed if a war were to break out. Even if the Lord of Gears personally surrendered, that might not be enough to save the Collective. The Mechanicum demanded retribution, but perhaps on manufactured pretenses. Corvus wondered if the Speaker and Lord of Gears were telling the truth about the incident with the diplomats.

'Hopefully, my sons have learned something in my absence.' He paused upon recalling the Lord of Gears words on the nature of titles that weren't naturally earned. 'They share my gene-code. They are close as sons as possible.' That wasn't right, though, because genetics didn't make a son love their father. His sons loved him and followed his commands without question.

Perhaps, in their darkest parts of their minds, Corvus was their god.

Both the Cathrics and Collective showed that given a chance to find some hope, some semblance of peace, anyone could find their own truth and peace in the words of some deity. He saw now that two faiths based around messiah figures allowed their respective cultures to flourish and stagnate. Such men could also become disillusioned, misguided, or resentful in time.

The Collective was on the road to becoming fanatical in their devotion to the Lord of Gears. How many would die if they expanded their empire into neighboring systems? Yet their god didn't seem to encourage such designs. If anything, the Lord of Gears felt distant and detached, save for protecting the legacy of a dead AI.

Such a thing baffled the Primarch, and he didn't want to know what the Mechanicum would do upon hearing of such sacrilege. Machine intelligence could never achieve what only a human mind could do, yet the Lord of Gears claimed otherwise.

'Love and hope allowed for it to transcend. It feels so...fantastical.'

But considering the state of the galaxy and all the things he had seen, Corvus believed that maybe it was possible. The Cathrics spoke of transmutation, everlasting spirits, and embracing the divine allowed for a different form of immortality. The Raven Lord didn't believe in such things, not after the cruelties the galaxy faced and suffered through.

Perhaps, however, there were still miracles even in such dark times.

---

The relief on his son's faces when he returned was palpable. The fury he heard from the Council of Magi wasn't so happy. In any case, Corvus got to work. He asked his sons if they learned anything about the diplomats' incident and handed off the Speaker's data-chit.

Upon reviewing the information and what they learned, they had the evidence...someone in the Imperial fleet destroyed the shuttle, and it came from one of the Mechanicum vessels. Corvus had feared the worse case, and it was staring back at him: the peace talks were sabotaged. His sons were still looking into this situation, but it would be impossible to pin this on any Council member.

It was not like Corvus could do anything about it. If he accused them now, he would be lucky if the tech-priests didn't just pull all supply contracts with the Raven Guard. They knew that Corvus couldn't do anything, that none of the Primarchs could, that would earn the ire of Mars.

Which meant that billions would die because of a select few on both sides now. There was something to be said about how powerless he felt at this moment. He could only hope to develop a solution or ensure that the Collectives surrender was accepted.

Finally, in the privacy of a secured data center, Corvus prepared to activate the contraption given to him by the Lord of Gears. The entity mentioned nothing of what was inside, only that it was a legacy, a gift, and a curse for the Raven Lord to carry now. Such melodramatic terms made Corvus think that it most certainly wasn't a weapon.

Upon taking all the necessary steps and precautions, he accesses the data links inside the contraption...he was rewarded with a single phrase appearing on the cogitator screen: Gone, but not forgotten.

He saw tens of thousands of terabytes worth of data unpackaged before his eyes...and what he saw surprised him more than anything.

There were pictures, videos, and journal entries...of the colonists and crew of the Persephone. He saw what looked to be a great collage of private moments, shared across who knows how many centuries, captured forever in picture and video. The journals were likewise a written recording of events from the start of the Expedition and perhaps all the way to the crews' end.

Corvus realized what he was looking at now. These were photo-albums, home-vids, and people's written thoughts. The last collective breath of an entire expedition of people who journeyed into the stars in hopes of making a better future for all. What he held now was the only proof that these people ever existed.

The Lord of Gears gave him a look into the past, but he would be the one that would have to carry it forward. Otherwise, their names and histories and achievements and failures would be lost forever. In the grand scheme of things, who cared if such individuals were forgotten?

And yet, a Machine God decided that this mattered more than even the Dark Age technologies or an entire civilization worshiping its name. This was worth more than anything, and yet it gave it up to Corvus was as a tribute for surrendering. It rather it dies than let these memories be lost.

He couldn't tell if it was the noblest or most pathetic thing he heard in his life.

The irony was that Corvus wondered if he would've been able to do such a thing if given the same choice. Somehow, he didn't have the answer, and he might never will.

Yet, perhaps with this legacy, he could at least understand the depths at which one person went to preserve the eternal memory of strangers.

---

@Daemon Hunter Okay, there we go.

Hiya! Decided to make another omake for Garkruk's Waaagh, which is actually the first omake idea I had before I suddenly wrote the other one, after having a realisation of what Isha, who whispers out the cures of Nurgle's plagues, could do in addition with Painboys. Or try to do, at least. Anyways, uh, hope this is good! 0u0
-----
Medical Advice.

Margog Skar-Rippa, Painboss of Garkruk Buzcrusha's Waaagh, was having the absolute time of their life within the Garden of Nurgle.

Since the various ships had crashed, landed or crash landed into the diseased and infested realm of twisted forests, bogs of sinking corpses, toxic jungles, sludge swamps and various other horrible things Margog had been a very busy Ork.

It was rare for the Painboss to find a new poison or ailment that could seriously effect an Ork that they didn't know about or create themself for one reason or another, but this whole place was full of them.

Parasites and plagued beasts that were more ferocious and determined than an angry attack squig, toxins that could melt through flesh and metal in the blink of an eye and infectious fungi that could infest even Orks. This part of the Warp was truly a place of death and weirdness.

Krug Kamo-Blind was the first to come up with the idea that this place was a test from Mork, or even Mork's personal realm before they became a bit doubtful on that theory, and while this claim was met with some skepticism by most of the 'average' Orks under Garkruk, Margog and the Painboys under him fully agreed with the idea. They were dealing with a load more injured, dying and dead Orks that suffered from so many new and exciting things.

The Painboss barely even needed to get out into the field anymore for bodies with how many that were available, and they had never seen so many Orks willingly come to them for help with their wounds or upgrades at once before.

And the 'ard and killy corpse things that were being fought were interesting in their own way too, especially with the festering injuries and sicknesses they could give, but Margog loved nothing more than experimenting on all the Orks that were sent their way.

Aside from the Waaagh in Heaven that Gork and Mork had called all Orks for, the great Blood and Thunder War between gods, this was the best place the Painboss could ever dream of being in.

It wasn't all perfect, of course, as there were a few issues that occurred since coming here. The most notable one was that severed Ork bits now went bad a lot faster than normal even when preserved, from the toughest limbs unwillingly donated by Margog's stronger patients to even teef.

Corpses had to be disposed of quickly too, either by eating them or by burning them before they got completely overtaken with the deadly rot and diseases that were all over the realm. And Margog had to replace their tools a lot more when they worked on afflicted bodies as rust rapidly took to them, or even be forced to have them be cleaned often after just a few patients.

This didn't bother the Painboss much at all, as if this was a test from Mork then it made sense for something like this to happen. It was a blessing and a challenge, the greater the git that got krumped then the greater the loot that could be taken. And any Ork worth their Orkiness had to prove that they were the biggest, 'ardest and most killy Ork to get the best stuff.

So Margog Skar-Rippa would be kunnin' and manage quickly going teef, fixing patients, doings experiments and overcoming whatever else came. This was Mork's test, and Morgog was going to prove that they were going to be the best Painboss that the Kunnin' God had ever seen.

Which was why as they entered the medical quarters within Garkruk's personal ship, Da Great Crusha, alongside several Cybork bodyguards ready with attached Burnas and Grot assistants that carried boxes full of different tools and concoctions, they felt nothing but joyful determination as they saw their initial patients for the day.

The quarters, or 'surjery place' and 'git fixa' as it was called by Margog and the various Painboys under him, was at one point an actual medical wing of the ship back when it belonged to a world of humans. Well maintained and full of neatly assorted different beds, medical devices and scanners and a section dedicated to quarantine and disease treatment.

Under Garkruk and Margog it had undergone a significant transformation, along with an expansion by breaking down two different walls that lead to other rooms that were definitely not initially meant for doctors and patients to be in. The extra space was mostly to keep the surplus of tools and Ork bits that Margog wanted to preserve, along with their teef and shiny things

Now in the Garden of Nurgle it turned out that the expansion was might have not been enough, the whole room was packed with different Orks strapped to surgical tables both looted and makeshift. Some had patches of rotten flesh over their body, others were leaking blood or more mysterious fluids, a few were shaking madly within their confines despite looking physically fine and one Ork had another head growing out of their bloated body.

There were several Painboys already working tirelessly inside the area, along with more Cyborks with burnas affixed to their bodies, joyfully engaging bodily repairs and a few experiments. Bioniks were being delivered by Gretchin in entire boxes to each Painboy, metal arms and legs jangled together while fleshy ones were getting cut and chopped off either due to being heavily infected or just because a Dok wanted to.

One Painboy started to cackle as they used all of their strength to tug out a massive worm that was leeching out the blood of an extremely pale Runtherd, while another one was working on an Ork that twitched as their rotting body began to swell as their straps buckled.

"We'z got a live ded one 'ear!" the Dok shouted, stepping back while the Orks strapped next to the bloating patient tried their best to lean away from him. Two Cyborks quickly lumbered over and doused the figure in flames, singing the wounded Orks next to him along with a few Gretchin that were too close to the blast.

The transforming Ork didn't even scream as they slowly turned to a charred corpse. Despite the intensity of the fire, which quickly faded, the table and its straps were largely unharmed. Flame resistant materials were thankfully used in a lot of the operating

Margog sported a massive smile on their face while they quickly sauntered over to the section of the medical wing that were where the Nobs were stationed. Before entering the diseased Warp realm the Painboss didn't see much point in separating their patients into different sections, having not dealt with so many Orks at once to warrant such a thing.

But Nobs were tougher than the average Ork, and thus it took a lot more injury and sickness to bring them down. That meant that it would give a bigger challenge to fix them that required Margog's attention, that there was probably a more interesting thing that they suffered from in comparison to most of the others, and they also probably had more teef. And Garkruk would definitely hate to lose too many of their Nobs while they kept going out to fight against the things in the area.

The Painboss wondered what things they'd encounter today as they went over to a Nob in broken Mega Armour that laid down on a large slab of bent scrap metal, no table able to support their massive weight. Any Ork that could afford Mega Armour was definitely an Ork that Garkruk would want out in a fight and could also give Margog quite a tidy sum of teef for their treatment.

Yesterday they had seen one patient rapidly grow teef from all over their body, which was initially very exciting for everyone in the room that wasn't dying or dead until it used the teef to cut its straps then went on a rampage before was subdued whereupon it was discovered that any teef that was torn from its body turned to dust within seconds. And that wasn't even the weirdest or most exciting thing that was encountered that day, and every day since arrival brought more interesting cases such as that.

"Dis is for you, Mork." muttered the Painboss as they focused on their patient. "Gonna fix dese gitz loike youz never seen 'fore."

The Nob groaned in agony, their eyes were wide open and they kept darting their gaze back and forth at everything. Their Mega Armour seemed to be broken and stiff, which thankfully meant that they weren't going to start attacking unless they got one of the really special and messy transformations. Their installed shoota and Power Klaw were removed, and subsequently stored with Margog's other donated shiny things, so now they could get down to business.

The Painboss lifted up their right hand, a Power Klaw that was adorned with various different spinning saws, large syringes connected to hoses that lead to medical tanks, long drills and various other tools. They quickly used the drills to cut open a section of the Mega Armour around the torso to see what they could find, using the klaws of their Power Klaw to help rip away the metal after it had been cut.

The flesh underneath had dark blemishes and sores inside on it, and they were next to a few Karapace plates that had been bolted onto the Ork that were now coated in rust and corrosion. It didn't seem too serious yet, nothing that would cause a Nob like this to be in such a state that they didn't even react to having their armour being broken up, so the real problem would have to be deeper.

Margog picked out a saw this time and went to work on the exposed flesh, ignoring the splatter of blood that shot out. The Nob still didn't react at all as the saw went in, if it wasn't for how they still felt warm or how they groaned and madly looked around then the Painboss would believe that their patient had already died.

After the saw was pulled out when it got deep enough Skar-Rippa switched on a light, that was installed in the eye of one of their Cybork bodyguards, and peered inside the cut with to examine the insides of their nonreactive patient.

Margog nodded to himself, it was just as they suspected. There was more diseased flesh inside their patient as well as outside. The insides of the sick Ork had a few tiny yet noticeable growths that were wedged between its muscles, the area right around them being faintly discoloured with a yellow tinge.

The Painboss then moved their Power Klaw over to a different area while the wound was left open, moving to cut off the armour by the two arms. Sadly there was little flesh to work with there, the limbs were both replaced by Bioniks. The left one was broken, metal completely bent and wires frayed, but the right one surprisingly looked to be in near perfect condition aside from the lack of weapon on the end.

"Gimme two arms, big ones." Margog ordered his assistants without turning their head, left hand outstretched and expectant while he got to work on amputation with his right. Then he scowled when he felt what he was given. "No, I meant two Bionik armz ya stoopid Grot! I'm savin' da live ones for after!"

The broken arm was discarded while the right one was given to the Gretchins to be put with the other mechanical limbs. The Painboss quickly implanted the two lesser quality bioniks into the Nob, almost putting them on the wrong way around before they noticed, then moved back to look at the surgical cut on the Nob's chest.

These symptoms were similar to previous cases that Margog and the other Doks had encountered, it wasn't exactly a common ailment but it did appear often enough to not be rare. They seemed to come from a parasitic fungi that spread from a type of viny tree, which were now burned and shot on sight like all the rest of the things in the diseased realm but they typically managed to infect an Ork before being destroyed.

Trying to figure out how to treat any of the plagues and toxins that were in this realm was most certainly a great challenge, unless it was just secluded to one or more limbs in which case it could be sorted with one chop.

But there was definite progress being made. Several of the weakest and least infectious maladies that were encountered by the Orks under Garkruk had solutions now due to the diligent work and experiments of the Painboys, some of the smaller parasites and infesting insects were even becoming meals for some medical Squigs although they typically needed to be burnt away after only a few mouthfuls.

The vine fungus was not one of the weaker or least infections ones, however. Nearly every single Ork infected with it since the Waaagh's arrival had been a dead Ork walking, the only exception being an Ork that was quickly turned into a Cybork and was now mostly metal. The infectious growths would sap the strength of the body, eating it as it quickly grew and spread itself, and leaving it more susceptible to other plagues at the later stages.

The best ideas for treatment that came up only slightly slowed the fungal infection, there was nothing to prevent it or cure it. It looked to Margog like the Nob in front of them was still at a fairly early stage, the patient's still had their eyes open and the fungal bodies were still small and hadn't caused the flesh to yellow too much yet. They had maybe anywhere between half a day to a full day before they would die, assuming that they didn't get infected by anything else in the meantime.

The other Painboys would have rightly wrote off the Nob as a lost cause, that it would be better to just scavenge what was still uninfected from their body then burn it and move onto the next case. And while Margog Skar-Rippa had taken the shiny looking right arm, and absentmindedly gestured for their assistants to start pulling out the patient's teef, they were not like any other Painboy or Painboss at the moment.

Right now they were an Ork that was being tested by Mork, and they were not going to disappoint. There was barely any hesitation before they firmly decided that they would cure this Nob and prove their skill to the Kunnin' God.

The Skar-Rippa was deep in thought for a few moments as they looked at the growths, the medical knowledge that existed innately within the Painboss concentrated against the issue it faced. Ripping them out didn't do much, they just expelled a bunch of spores the moment they were damaged or separated from the body.

Covering them up and then removing them? Or even getting a Vampire Squig or Parasite-Hunting Squig to eat them? Maybe that could help, but it'd still just slow down the problem and not fix it. And that would require all the growths being found, which the Painboss knew would leave the Nob with more cuts than minced But that concept behind the idea would be kept in mind for later in case a better one would require it.

Margog rummaged around their gear to look at the tools and syringes they had for inspiration, their brain getting wracked for ideas. Distilled Puffball serums? That could help a little bit for the spores in the body, although the growths and infected flesh would need to be removed for that to do anything.

They turned to look at what their Grot assistants had available. Syringe Squig venom? That was useless, they had tried that with previous patients suffering this type of infection and all it did was cause them to die asleep. Squig Oil was for greasing Bioniks and implanted metal bits, no use for the viny fungus but that could help for the rusted Karapace later. Warted Nightbloomer with chunks of Mushling? Margog blinked at that one before they remembered that they kept that along with their samples to have for lunch later.

The Painboss shut their eyes as they tried to focus harder than they ever did in their life. Mork was watching them and they didn't want to show them a fool. The pieces were all there, the Skar-Rippa could practically feel that the answers were just by their grasp, but they weren't connecting right. They had to think, they had to...

...Speckled Bloodshade extract, distilled Fighting Juice and Vaccine Squig…

Margog opened their eyes and gave a wild expression of shock as the ideas suddenly came to their mind. They considered them for a few moments for fault or any improvements before they realised that they could work.

"Of course..." the Painboss muttered in amazement at the answer as it finally formed. Their face morphed from surprise to glee. "It'z genius!"

The Cyborks and Gretchin next to Margog Skar-Rippa all stepped back as one at the Painboss's outburst, with several more lucid patients started to really struggle in their bindings too. Few Orks would want to be near a Painboy, much less with with a load of experience and skill, acting like that.

Then, like a switch had been flicked, Margog sprung into action. Different concoctions were quickly mixed together into two syringes, medicinal Squigs were picked out and placed carefully onto the patient's body and inside the surgical cut for them to take care of the growths already formed.

The Grot assistants rushed to hand the Painboss whatever they demanded, different crude tools and fungal samples taken and added to the focused and inspired Skar-Rippa. The two blended medicines began to shift in colour by the moment, one turned into a deep shade of purple as the liquid bubbled within its container while the other was bright yellow and had the consistency of sludge.

Then as they finished brewing their concoctions Margog took out a final ingredient from a pocket on their surgical apparel. Vaccine Squigs were beasts that were fairly useful for Painboys before, producing natural vaccines and antibodies in their bodies that could be used for Orks, but since the Waaagh's arrival into the diseased realm they become one of the most valuable and sought after Squigs for every Ork in Garkruk's warband.

Runtherds had begun to start ordering their Snotlings to focus heavily on farming and getting as many of that type of Squig as possible, making a small fortune as Painboys and other Orks paid a lot of teef to get some.

While they weren't strong enough to cure any of the Warp maladies they did seem to help any Ork that ate one to have at least a little bit of resistance against the plagues they could be infected with. Some Painboys had tried to inject tiny amounts of different plagues and infections that were found in the area to try getting the Squigs to figure out how to fight them off instead of being lazy gits, but all that did was cause them to slowly die and become a waste of good teef.

Margog Skar-Rippa took a couple of them out, placed them by the Nob's body and then took out his 'Urty syringe and injected one with a bit of the bubbly purple medicine and the other with some of the thick yellow brew.

The Squigs immediately began to twitch and swell as they were administered the fluids, and after briefly pausing to see what was actually happening to the beasts the Painboss scooped them up and tried to shove them into their patient's mouth right as they opened it again to groan in pain.

"Zoggin' eat 'em, ya git!" Margog growled out as the mouth clamped shut, gesturing their Grots with their Power Klaw hand to help pry the Ork's maw open. "It'z jus' a Juicy Squig! Mhm, tasty!"

The Nob's eyes darted around the room more rapidly as the Painboss and the Gretchin tried to get the mouth open, until one of Margog's assistants took out some pliers used for donations and payment and took a few more teef until the Vaccine Squigs could fit through.

After that was done the Painboss injected some more of the concoctions into the patient directly, around the more infected looking areas of their torso, then examined the surgical cut to see how the Squigs they placed were doing. Most of the growths were eaten instinctively by the things, and a few of them were noticeably growing ill and were taken out and thrown to the floor to be burnt by Skar-Rippa's bodyguards.

And, with sparking anticipation, Margog intently looked down into the cut with the light of their Cyborks to see how their treatment was working. Moments passed slowly, each second stretching out as the insides surgical wound were intently examined, until the Painboss and his assistants gaped as they saw the other growths and the yellowing flesh started to shrink before their very eyes.

"Oh zog..." muttered the Nob on the slab, finally speaking since they had been laid out on the slab of metal to be sorted out. They slowly pushed themself upright with their two new arms, eyes blearily blinking at everything. "Wot did I eat last-"

Then their eyes opened wide and they started to look around the room and saw the manically happy Painboss, the other Painboys, the Cyborks, the Gretchin assistants moving around and all the other patients in the medical quarters. "Oh zog, not dis place again." Then they looked down at themself, their expression morphing into confusion and anger. "Wait... wot 'appened to me arms?! An' me armour?!"

"YES!" screamed Margog Skar-Rippa, stabbing their Power Klaw up into the air as the other patients and Painboys all turned to ses what the commotion was. "I KNEW IT! I'M DA ZOGGIN' BEST PAINBOSS EVER! NOT EVEN DA WARP CAN STOP ME! I CAN DO ANYFING!"

A smile formed on the Painboss's face, bigger than the one they had when the idea for the cure to the viny fungus infection came to them. They felt immensely energised and excited after that, as if they got shot with a full syringe of Fighting Juice. Triumphing over that challenging infection, in a way that felt so easily done, was somehow more satisfying than krumping a Grot.

Then they turned to look at all the other sick and wounded Nobs that were in this section of their medical wing. If they could solve that, something that stumped all the other Doks and seemed like a guaranteed death, then what else could they solve? There was no better time to answer that question than right now.

Margog quickly went to work on the next patient while their previous one kept trying to get up despite their weakened state and their armour's lack of piston supported function. A Nob that had a large number of deep wounds across their body that wouldn't heal, the flesh around them dry and dead. This time took them over an hour to find a cure for them, and another disease that was discovered inside them, and to get enough Hairy Squigs to close each gash.

By the time Margog went over to the third patient, a Nob that had sharp thorns growing out from deep inside their body, was when the other Painboys began to take note of what their Painboss was doing and their miraculous progress over the deadly plagues that stumped all the Doks, including Margog before they started doing this, since the Waaagh's arrival into the diseased realm.

The Skar-Rippa told them how he managed to cure the patients from what they were sick with while he worked, with the help of some offered up teef for the knowledge, happy to boast about how smart they were while multi-tasking on fixing up the Orks they were.

The instructions and methods seemed a bit more complex and rigid than what the Oddboyz were used to, but the results spoke for themselves and they too knew that Mork was watching over and testing them. To have the answers on how to win against the diseases thrust upon them like this would not be dismissed, even if would be copied with some error. And as they used these treatments unto the Orks in their crude care, some of them even managed to survive.

But then when the Painboss had cured their twentieth patient, of the forty three that they had worked on so far, they realised that the strange bursts of inspiration they were getting didn't just seem to be their own thoughts. Margog noticed that they could just barely hear something quiet speaking, a voice that could delicately worm its way through a head without the thing it was attached to being aware of it.

They started to look around and patted at their head, to see if anything was whispering in their ear or if some strange Squig was attached and babbling to them. But they couldn't find anything, not even Krug trying to mess with them again. Then what was speaking to them? What could have given him this knowledge and why?

"Oi, Painboss!" an Ork suddenly called as they entered the medical quarters, ramming Skar-Rippa's train of thought into a ditch. "I want youz ta give me Mega Armour, and da best kustom Bioniks youz got!"

Margog scowled as they turned to face the newcomer, an Ork Boy with an eager look and a bigger smile on their face as they carried a large sealed box in both their hands. They quickly waded through the maze of surgical tables and the traffic of Gretchin assistants and was just about to enter the section for Nob patients before two of the Painboss's Cyborks stepped in front of the intruder.

"Even if I didn't 'ave patientz ta work on," Skar-Rippa snarled, as they turned back to work on their patient. "Dere would be no way youz could afford my payments even if ya gave me all youz limbs, bits an' shootas! Now get lost 'fore I 'ave me metal boyz krump ya 'till ya do need me!"

"Oh, are ya sure 'bout dat?" said the Ork Boy, opening the lid to their box to reveal what was inside.

Margog turned around to face the Boy, ready to order their bodyguards to tear the interrupting Ork's head off, but their mouth was left agape as they saw that the box was filled to the brim with teef. The Painboss wasn't sure whether to marvel at the amount of money the Boy somehow had or how completely stupid they were to show that to a bunch of bigger, more powerful Orks.

"...how'd ya get dat?" a stunned Cybork asked.

"You'z 'ill neva believe dis, but... as I was roamin' round da ships I found a load o' Burnas, Zzappy gunz, big shootas, boom things and loads of ammo for 'em all too! Dey were in a big box full o' sheshul and killy dakka! Got dis box o' teef for 'em!"

Margog decided to marvel at their stupidity more after hearing that. "You wot? Ya jus' found all dem dakka loike dat? Dat's da stoopidest fing I've 'eard all day! You fink I'm sum kinda dum Grot? Either youz lyin' or youz stole and sold Big Mek Zakrak's gubbinz, in which case I'd luv ta see wot dey'd do ta ya."

"It'z true! Da other lootas and Meks will tell ya da same, a few other speshul dakka boxes are bein' found 'round da ships! It'z loike a blessin' from Mork, loike wot Krug an' youz Oddboyz been sayin'!"

Skar-Rippa was about to say that he never heard of this, despite the fact that they'd been nearly completely focused on fixing patients in their medical wing for more than a few hours, but then stopped as the words registered into their mind.

"Wait... wot was dat ya just said?" the Painboss asked in a quiet voice.

"Er, I said that other speshul dakka boxes 'ave been found?"

"Not dat, wot you said after dat!"

"Er... dat it'z loike a blessin' from Mork, loike wot youz Oddboyz been sayin'?"

Margog Skar-Rippa looked at the Ork Boy, then turned to the Nob patients that they've been working on and the special treatments and concoctions they made, then turned back to look at the Boy again and laughed harder than they ever had.

"O' course! O' course! I ain't jus' a genius, I'm zoggin' blessed! It'z not jus' a voice in me 'ead at all!"

"A wot?" the Boy confusedly asked, not noticing that several Gretchin were picking up teef that fell from the top of the still open box.

"All day I've been 'earing it," Margog rambled on "Didn't even know it! Been tellin' me how to fix all dese Nobs, an' fix 'em I did! Cept da ones I didn't fix, but dey'd 'ave be ded anyway. Stated ta fink it was sum invis'ble Doks or somefing, but now I know why I couldn't find 'oo was doin' it! Dey were sneakier den I fought, da sneakiest!"

Expressions of quiet horror weren't often seen on the face of an Ork, especially one that was ready for battle to the point of asking for battle upgrades from a Painboy and dumb enough to wave around a box full of teef at other Orks, but the idea of invisible Doks that were knowledgeable and keen on experiments to the point of inspiring other Doks made the Ork visibly show how much they wanted to slowly exit the room and start swatting a choppa at what should be thin air.

"Dis is a test from Mork, and I'm dere chosen one!" Margog continued while a few of his Cyborks lumbered over to the Boy to take their box. "Dey 'ave been speakin' ta me! Blessin' me, an' givin' us 'idden boxes of dakka too! I'm... I'm da prophet o' Mork!"

The Painboss smiled and laughed more, never more happier and manic than right at that moment. This diseased realm was a test of Mork, and they had indeed proven themself to the point that the Kunnin' God had seen fit to grant enlightenment and power to show that Orks truly were the best even against armies from the Warp and their plagues.

"I'M DA PROPHET O' MORK!" roared Margog Skar-Rippa, feeling nothing but joy and determination at this blessing as they looked around at all the other Orks in the room as none dared to challenge their claim.

Now it was time for them to enact Mork's power and kunnin' even better than before, show this realm which was the better and tougher green thing. Then afterwards Margog could meet with Mork personally and fight with them in the battlefield, in the Blood and Thunder War.

The Painboss immediatyely went back to work on their current patient with a greater fervour than before. They didn't even charge the other Painboys as he told them all the cures and treatments that were whispered in his mind. This blessing was something couldn't be bought with teef, only earnt under the eye of Mork.

And it was something that was going to zoggin' cure and krump the plagues Garkruk's Waaagh faced.

Chronicles of Baldur: Elysium Dying

Proto-Hero Meetings and Greetings With The Eleventh Primarch: Coda of Various People Volume 1: 'Prelude to the Ritual War' (CoB Edition)



Baldur, the enigma - only a few other Eternal Wardens were such to him. Thirty years leading them, directing them - being their father, their commander and their savior had granted him that privilege. He knew most well enough, it was unsurprising, but what was - well, it happened to be the Astartes he'd just called to his office.

The only diplomat of the Eternal Wardens, their foremost diplomat and somehow their representative to the wider Imperium. He handled things even Oriacarius was loath to touch - then again most of the Wardens disliked dealing with Nobles and the religious complexities of the Mechanicus and the thousands of others that existed under the Imperium's aegis. But no, Baldur thrived and proved surprisingly useful.

He didn't know much about Baldur, well, at least personally - his First Captain's reports and psycho-analysis and even the Space Marine's in question combat record let him know of him, but not truly him. Though he did feel there was something off with said record…. Oriacarius had mentioned he knew Baldur from the very first batch of Space Marines but the records showed he'd been part of the second conversion. The Primarch knew to trust his own son, but the mess-up was something he knew needed to be investigated.

Baldur had served him well, the Eternal Warden a loyal soul and just like that issue with Abdul from earlier he'd hate to see something - perhaps even a cancerous being of less than material body attempting to cast suspicion on an innocent. Thankfully Kesar knew Baldur was safe, and mostly sound of mind given his service to Malcador. Alpharius and his brother's pranks might have established some well earned paranoia or perhaps desire for vengeance towards such things but nothing showed such yet.

As the Warden in question entered his private offices, he smiled. The Great Crusade had cost him much, but the most annoying about the uptick in danger and work had been the loss of moments like these. Moments where he got to meet with the men who made up his Legion, the soldiers he commanded - his very own sons. Though some, mostly remaining members of the very first group had refused to accept such a bond.

"Lord-Primarch," the curt greeting rang out, reminding Kesar that Baldur was most definitely of that group. It wasn't surprising, but the lack of shock didn't remove the minute pain that he felt.

"Captain Baldur," he nodded at his son, "please take a seat."

He didn't even frown as the Astartes rejected his offer, something he applauded himself on.

"You wished to see me?" His ever-distant child prompted gently drawing attention away from the denial of sitting and pushing the meeting on track. Kesar would allow it for now, easier to let Baldur have this victory.

"Yes," the word was an affirmation - an age old repetition that merely confirmed it was a matter of seriousness. "I have a packet here I'd appreciate you reading through and providing feedback on."

He stepped forward, hand snaking out to snatch the packet off his desk before retreating back to the space he'd stood at attention in. It took a mere minute for him to read through the packet, the pages blurring with almost inhuman speed - hundreds of pages, thousands even devoured in instants.

The hands holding the packet wavered for an instant and it was then that Kesar knew the Maelstorm Ritual and the plans he'd put forward in there had garnered a reaction. Baldur might have been experienced and a transhuman super-soldier but unfortunately that quailed before his own innate abilities. If Baldur had fifty more years split between diplomacy and Malcador… Kesar was certain such a tell wouldn't have been so visible.

"Lord-Primarch," Baldur calmly said, surprising even him with the ability to maintain even the slightest level of it given what the information said, "is everything in here true?"

Speaking was a waste of words in this instance, a simple nod sufficed to carry across the point that all of it was absolutely true. Every damning bit in there. The expected deaths, the casualty rate, and more. He'd compiled it all and his own heart broke as he wrote it out.

"I… see." And the diplomat fell silent.

Paper swished, well, the vellum substitute he utilized given his special status as Primarch crinkled as it turned and turned again. Baldur kept going through it - once, twice, thrice and more… what the Space Marine was searching for he didn't know.

As he stared at his 5th Captain, Kesar could only be reminded of the eternal internal war that was waged on within his mind. Baldur was at a higher level then many in his Legion, Oriacarius's reports had shown that. Though he might not stand at the level of the giants like Ori, Matticus, Doomslayer or Solarus - this son of his was head and shoulders above many others.

Baldur was old - not in the way of an elderly man, but in terms of experience. Around since Oricarius and others, participated in many of the battles and skirmishes that created the 11th Legion prior to his appearance and ever since then, he'd only grown. The duel at that tournament showed he could be entrusted in a combat position, his age and position ensured he understood command and could effectively lead his men - heck, the reports his First Captain had shown him proved that.

Not many of his son's worked to integrate the Imperial Army Regiments attached to their ships and fleets into effective combat tactics. Not many of his sons sought to bolster what might have been a weak point in the Legion. It was a shame, one he would bear, not them. After all, their sins where his for was he not supposed to lead them and guide them?

When this was all over - he would ensure his sons understood why improving the weak points was important. But it wasn't over - it was now, he couldn't allow such meandering thoughts to take his mind.

He almost sighed, something he'd caught himself doing far too often nowadays. The stress of the Maelstorm Ritual, the uptick in the Great Crusade, everything - the escalation was getting to him. It got to everyone - the Emperor and obviously, the Primarchs included. It was perhaps the most human factor of him beyond his ability to cherish, to care, and love his sons.

Even Baldur, he thought proudly, though the Space Marine rejected the notion Kesar was proud to call him son. Now if only he could decide on what to do with this son of his. Of all the Wardens, his 5th Captain was the hardest to place. In fact - he hadn't fully decided on his placement. Hence why requested his presence.

As an experienced soldier, a solid leader, and a decent duelist Baldur was definitely able to lead a kill-team. He might not have been the most combat oriented of his children but he knew how to fight, how to lead and most importantly how to see his men come back alive. Yet, should he place this son of his at the head of a kill-team… much was risked and should the loss be felt… the Wardens would weep for much would be lost to them forever.

The foremost Diplomat, he was the only one. With his silver-tongue the Astartes before him had seen many a planet swayed into peace and agreeable annexation. Each effort saving billions of lives, allowing them to be put to use elsewhere. Every planet that joined adding more and more to the Imperium - ultimately improving it. Allowing for the expansion his father as well as himself dreamed of.

Leading a kill-team during the ritual meant he could die - far more then usual and in doing so would forever deprive his legion such talents. Of his expertise and even Kesar himself, of the link to Malcador that his son represented.

But to assign him elsewhere was perhaps the greatest insult to give to the Astartes and furthermore, perhaps Baldur's beginning steps to social suicide. Kesar wasn't deluded, he knew his sons far more than any other Legion were a cohesive unit able to trust and care for each other - but he also recognized that ordering Baldur away in such a grand undertaking that would likely cut his Legion in half if not outright decimate it, would see this Captain of his turned into a social pariah.

Would his men heckle him forevermore for being assigned to the easy job while they were in the trenches dying by the hundreds against the grand enemy? Would they deride him? Refuse to obey his orders? Hate him for not being there with them? Such thoughts didn't quite overwhelm him, but definitely swamped his mind with a reality of hate and disappointment.

Hate at himself for thinking ill of his men and disappointment in them should such things ever come to pass. The twin hydras had told him of Epsilon and Sigma, of how their own sons had orchestrated an accidental fall. Could he live with himself if his actions caused such a thing?

He would have too, though Kesar recognized that if such an event came to pass it would ultimately be his biggest regret. Breathing out, the Primarch turned his attention away from his thoughts and back towards the reason behind the meeting. Baldur.

That child of his had finished his reading, the packet sitting in his hands ever still even while the Space Marine stood at attention before him. It was in moments like these that Kesar found himself concerned, discerning the 5th Captain's feelings seemed to only grow in increasing difficulty as the meeting continued on. Where he might have said the stillness inherent was Baldur's way of detachment and distance… now, he wasn't sure.

Shifting ever so slightly, Kesar lifted himself the millimeter necessary to convey the one standing in front of him of the change in the meeting's progress. As he did that Baldur himself shifted as well, almost mirroring him. The Astartes leaned ever so slightly forward his hands titling up to protect the packet and provide his eyes with easy access to its contents.

"Sire," Baldur interjected quickly - his words cutting Kesar's own ruminations and thoughts off before they could continue onwards, let alone spill out to speak with his son. "I have to disagree with the current assessment and offer up a resolution of far more beneficiary status to the Legion and the Imperium as a whole."

While not exactly how he expected the Astartes to react, it was indeed something he was prepared for. Oriacarius had pounded preparation into his head over the years, further expanding upon the foundation Valhalla had taught him. "Go on," he urged his son, it wouldn't do to dismiss ideas let alone smother them before they were even explained, such was the path towards crushing imagination and initiative in his Legion.

"Give me leave," he set forth on his explanation. "Do not press me into service at the head of a kill-team for this Ritual. Such would waste one of our best resources and further mount the already continued uptick in pressure placed upon the Mortals of the Imperium to unsustainable methods."

"And how," Kesar's voice didn't quite boom, but his status as Primarch ensured even a whisper from him was supernaturally loud unless he truly wished it quiet, "would this waste resources?"

It was through his own experience and supernatural control of his reactions that he managed to hide the amusement coloring his thoughts at the imperceptible stutter his words created in the Warden standing before him.

"Lord-Primarch," he spoke swiftly forging onwards past the small pause, "in the most recent years my contributions to the Great Crusade have saved the lives of 5 billion soldiers annually."

"I see," Kesar nodded at those words.

"Furthermore those lives saved are able to be allocated elsewhere further rebounding into improved efforts in Svarga in progressing the Crusade," the words were drawn and measured, not an inch of nerves dragging them down as they came out even. "In doing this there is an two-fold effect: One, Svarga sees a noticable if tiny boost in production each time a planet joins which doesn't even cover some of the more mundane requests and actions I push for from such planets. And two those Imperial Soldiers being used elsewhere are able to more efficiently capture further planets before more infrastructure can be destroyed."

"Baldur," his silvery voice filled the room. "What do you mean by mundane requests and actions you push for?"

Rather than look embarrassed his son seemed almost proud as he took but a moment to format his thoughts in response to the question.

"In examining Svarga, I've noticed a pattern of sorts." It was but the beginnings of an answer, one that told of a far reaching story. "Our encountering of planets at a lower tier of industry and technology is something that occurs far too often, with the odd smattering of higher level planets. This has caused industry and technology to be far too concentrated ensuring warpstorms and enemy invasions certain to be an inevitable death knell to portions of the populace."

He nodded along with the words, they were true, reviewing documents and the like would show such truths. It was something he'd hope to diversify and reduce but the growth of enemies and uptick in conflicts had monopolized such time and actions.

"In hopes of rectifying this," at those words Kesar just barely caught a change in pitch, for but a second Baldur's voice had risen an octave. "I have been working with the various Mechanicus Members as well as vetted Nobles in creating a program that has served to improve Svarga all of which is enacted with every planet that willingly joins us."

He raised a brow, quirking it specifically at those words - his subliminal prod for Baldur to continue on with his explanation.

"With each planet that has joined us, I have pushed for two avenues." Kesar nodded, waiting for the point to be reached. "The planetary tithe to be paid based on the generalization of each tier and technology level was raised by small percentages the most being a ten percent increase - that extra percentage is then placed into the hands of the nobles and mechanicus members with goals push for a harmonious expansion of infrastructure, industry and more in Svarga."

It was telling that such news managed to freeze Kesar's thoughts in their tracks. It was corruption of a sort unexpected from his own Legion, yet it borne of earnest desire to see improvement occur. He would table his thoughts and feelings regarding it for now, but this would be reviewed and when it was, he would be there.

"This tithe is then reinvested right back into the domain through the overwatch of those individuals," Baldur paused for a second taking a small breath before proceeding on, "such a factor has proven to be of great use to your domain. I'm certain you noticed already, but a large percentage of the planets under your aegis Lord-Primarch have received updated institutions in line with what you've consistently tried to see produced upon most planets."

Kesar nodded, Baldur was right - he had noticed a growing disparity in the overall reports he saw - industry and infrastructure that shouldn't have existed on a variety of planets appearing there despite being outside of the Mechanicus' efforts.

"Such things are a direct result of this program," his son confirmed aloud. "You wished for planets to have such institutions and with the ever-increasing responsibility placed upon you by the Great Crusade that drew your attention away, I made the choice to create this program to see such occur. Your… passionate speeches against the forces of Chaos being the most pressing reason behind such actions - given Lord-Steward's informants within the domain and our own programs eliminating normal rebellion it was judged wise to engage in."

For a second time during the one-sided conversation, Kesar spoke - interjecting and cutting Baldur off. "You do have the information covering your actions and a summary, I presume?" The Primarch wasn't angry - not truly, but it was impossible to hide the sternness present in his voice as he responded to Baldur.

"Everything has been carefully tracked, double-checked and immaculately observed and recorded."

Did his ears deceive him or was there a hint of smugness in his son's voice? Internally dismissing the thought, Kesar gestured for Baldur to go on.

"The program has proven quite useful and ultimately enabled a more productive, better prepared domain as well as allowed us to put key individuals into place that would push a more progressive view in regards to the Imperial culture."

"I shall review the results and actors involved later," Kesar announced, not seeing the point in hiding his intentions. Baldur was more than able to guess them from the first question directed towards it. "If found lacking… we shall rectify the issues and another discussion shall arise."

"Yes, Lord-Primarch." His son bowed.

"Now what is this second point?"

Returning to his upright position the Space Marine launched into another explanation, this time with a bombastic attitude. "Many of the planets we face down in the realm of diplomacy wish for a reduction of sorts in terms of tithes. Its understandable, but ultimately something that's fundamentally hard to allow to occur unless we introduce an element to that reduction that ultimately favors us."

As he uttered the word us, Kesar knew he heard a smile on his son's lips.

"So I've implemented something I thought was quite useful," the gesticulation ended with his hand pressing against his chest-armor, signifying the emphasis on this once more being his own action. "They want a reduction in what they pay - we want a productive world that supplies us with more. So I give them a variety of reduced tithe options all with a special category."

Baldur's smirk only grew as he continued explaining the implementation. "That percentage of the reduced tithe has to be spent on programs to improve their worth and monitored by our officials." It was a special sort of glee unknown to most of the Wardens. "We audit once every five years, any single piece of corruption found means an immediate repeal of that reduction and escalation on what they owe and everyone found guilty put in a penal legion headed for an xenos threat."

"I've found people are quite motivated by such extremist threats," the vellum packet fell to his side. "Especially when the authority of the Emperor himself is essentially backing said threat."

"In placing me on that kill-team such projects and fruits of their labors would fade," somehow the Space Marine managed to lament this with an air of sadness that took him aback from how abruptly it appeared, "but what would increase is the projected deaths of the Imperial Army - our domain's uptick might be that piece of straw that breaks the camel's back as the Lord-Steward is so fond of saying."

"Five billion more men dead a year, their equipment lost - their experience forever lost." His words spoke to Kesar's morals. "The Mechanicus forced to produce more in a time in which they can't, another influx of green men leading to more deaths, worlds taken in poorer states and a continued drop in production."

Each word uttered struck home, each one a bomb that was weakening his defenses and yet Baldur persisted in continuing on with more.

"Our own domain further delayed, falling behind in the power projections - your brother, Lord Vulkan, forced to take further casualties as he takes over this area while the Ritual is concluded." Baldur kept going, he had to - laying further and further on the momentum here was the only way to truly push this through to Kesar. "Each one reinforcing the other until finally, more lay dead and broken from this~"

"Enough!" The Primarch's voice boomed out, cutting off Baldur - his emotions strongly rising to the front. "Enough," he said again this time far quieter as he caught himself. "I understand your point Captain Baldur."

Silence was the answer he received, the Captain choosing to fall silent as commanded.

"I have heard your words," he pointed out, intentionally keeping emotion out of his voice. "Now it is time you listen and I speak."

Seeing his son wasn't going to interrupt, Kesar dove into what he had to say. "Your words are persuasive, your arguments well-crafted, but do not push such emotionally charged words intended to arouse despair and regret within my mind. I know the consequences of the choice I make should I decide you are to be sent into the middle of this Ritual or should I recognize your abilities are far more worthwhile honed here."

Shaking his head he looked at the Warden standing across from him "Up until the end, I was on your side." Kesar paused, his lips forming a grimace as he looked to formulate his words. "Now… I still am if only for the sake of all those affected by your reach but your words have made me very cross. Tread lightly Baldur for you walk upon ice thinner than you know."

Not giving the Space Marine a chance to respond, the 11th Primarch quickly continued speaking. "You are dismissed. Though I must say: For a diplomat you certainly chose your words poorly."

His Astartes didn't speak but bowed, leaving the packet on the floor before him even as he straightened up and left the room as ordered. A parting shot left hanging in the air even as the door hissed closed behind his exiting form.

"I was a poor choice, seems like I don't know you as well as I thought."

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AN: @Xemness the Good wanted to do an omake series of the Proto-Heroes meeting with Kesar regarding the Kill-Teams. Well lo and behold, I was recruited to create Baldur's moment with the Primarch... let's just say Elysium is Dying.

Sigma sighed as he removed his helmet, letting the stale but still fresher air of the station's life support system fill his lungs and chase out the near calcified oxygen of his suit. It had been a long trip back to the Segmentum under Vulkan's command from the region Kesar Dorlin had been granted domain of and Sigma as usual did not wish anyone to see his face in transit, you never knew when someone might be watching after all. "Yes, it does get a bit stuffy in our armor doesn't it?" Said the other occupant of the room, a massive man with skin the color of obsidian and with eyes that seemed forged from the fires that burned at the heart of worlds, Vulkan the king of Nocturne.

"Just a bit, but I doubt that's why you asked me to report is it?" The former Alpha legion member said in his tone of casual dismissal, something that the Fireguard would have taken umbrage with but Vulkan merely smiled away before his expression grew more solemn, "No, I merely wished to see how you were settling in and how it went."

Sigma gave a nod and lounged back in the chair across the table from the Lord of the Salamanders, "Well, you were right, there's plenty of the noble houses planning to only pay lip service to your reforms and counting on the patronage of others or distance to ensure that they need not be forced to comply. Most barely hide it if they choose to at all." The genial primarch's expression shifted to one of distaste.

"I am displeased to be proven correct in this matter, although Konrad might gain some grim vindication himself. Were you able to find out if it was merely passive resistance to the reforms that is the main or are they already arming in rebellion?" Sigma gave a tuneless hum before pulling out some handkerchiefs from a pocket in his armor, three in number and each with their own embroidered crest in the center, "These are the three actively courting allies in the coming rebellion but so far it is merely these three confirmed as of yet, we will need more time to ensure they aren't just the scapegoats or bait of course."

Vulkan picked up the kerchiefs with an increasingly morose expression, "Understood, and despite my hopes I have little doubt you are correct about these three being used to distract us with their open sincerity. Would that such deceit were not needed on both our parts." The seventeenth primarch's visage grew no more relieved when his companion spoke,

"If that were so you'd hardly be needing these reforms in the first place, let alone taking me along to see how many people are going to stab you in the back for them." The obsidian skinned demigod gave the unphased Space Marine an unamused look that failed to have any effect and settled for a disappointed sigh instead, "Was there anything else you needed 'my Lord' or am I free to go?"

Vulkan pulled out a parchment of his own that he laid in front of the ex Hydra, "A letter to you from my brother Kesar." When all he received was a noncommittal grunt, the Firelord pushed it more towards the other man.

"I know my brother and you did not part on the best of terms even if they weren't the worst, but he would not write this without causes. I would suggest reading it if only for closure's sake." Silence greeted his urging and with a final sigh, Vulkan lifted himself from his seat, "I must be going now. Thank you for your help as always and please let me know if you need anything to make yourself at home."

Sigma gave a polite tilt of his head as the larger man left the room, starring at the letter thoughtfully. Normally he'd have just discarded it, but a part of him did agree that Kesar had been...decent to him, as much as his uncle could have been considering the situation and his priorities. Sigma had never hated Kesar or felt unwanted, but thanks to them there really had never been any chance for closer bonds thanks to why he'd been attached to the Eternal Wardens, and fixing that would have caused the Valhallan Primarch to drift his attention from things that in hindsight needed them...but that hadn't left the former member of the twentieth legion feeling like an outsider until he'd make friends in the Salamanders.

In the end, the eleventh had been a place to stay until he'd gotten his feet under him...and with that thought, he reached out and opened the letter, his eyes scanning the words with trained efficiency, "Greetings nephew, I hope this letter finds you well and safe, as safe as it is possible at any rate." Sigma stood and continued to read as he walked out of the meeting room, giving a little grunt at Kesar being one of the few who could write such things in sincerity without sounding tacky or fasciculus.

"I will not waste your time with prevarications and I have no doubt you've already made the decision as well, but I formally approve your transfer to the seventeenth legion with my blessings." Sigma didn't resist a snort, although the resentment had softened, he still had mixed feelings about their favorite sibling. He'd taken in Sigma but soon found himself buried in the Great Crusade and aside from a meeting or two had had little time for the former double agent. It had hurt some, to feel so superfluous, but Sigma was able to soothe that with the knowledge that it had been an earnest lack of time, not lack of care at the core of that. "I wish things had fallen out differently but I also will not lie to you and say that if given the chance I would have done things differently. The Great Crusade makes equally great demands of us all and I must content myself with the knowledge that you have found a better place than the one I could provide."

'No, please, tell me how you really feel.' Sigma thought sardonically, but with a tinge of fondness for the blunt nature of the Warden Primarch. It had been one of the few things he'd treasured about his uncle, that you could trust him to be honest as his oaths and duties allowed, and unlike them would not lie to you in service of flattery or covering his own failings. In any other it would be a reputation carefully cultivated for maximum potential in the politics of the Imperium but with Kesar Dorlin...it was merely his methods and personality.

"I will also admit that I have another motive to allowing you to be transferred like this." 'Oh? This is new.' the Space Marine Secret agent mused, as if his very thoughts had coaxed out an exception to the rule, "No doubt rumors and talk have circulated as to my connection to both Kelbor-Han and Malcador, and how that ties me and prevents me from offering any sort of aid open or clandestine to my brother Vulkan's attempts to institute the reforms he seeks. I must admit this is true and also that my coming duties are a good portion as to why I think my brother's timing is particularly...'ill-advised'."

"That's one way to put it." Sigma muttered, staring at a 'bonds-friend' as the Salamanders referred to the usual serfs who promptly scurried away to suddenly remembered duties from where they'd been next to the Space marine. Sigma listened where ever he went and the reforms Vulkan was pushing were as divisive amongst the common folk as they were with the higher ups. Many simply didn't see how it would affect their lives or better them since it was mainly the affairs of nobles. In the military of the Imperial Army it was generally better received what with Vulkan's section of it being built up of men that earned their positions based on merit rather than nepotism or putting results above actions, which would only spread as the reforms took hold. Considering Kesar's primary focus, Sigma wasn't surprised that his uncle was seeing the reforms as something to be done 'later', "That being said, the last thing I want is for his reforms to fail, whether by the actions of our people or...'disruptive external elements'. That brings me back to the secondary motive for allowing you to join the Salamanders: I want you to be their watcher in the dark for me."

Sigma stopped short as he read this, his mind whirling at the implications and continued reading even as he processed this sudden charge, "My brother Vulkan is an exceptionally rare thing in the Imperium: A good man. He has his faults and is one of the generals of the Great Crusade of course, but the fact that he is willing to risk everything to do something that everyone else, even myself, see as something to be put aside for 'later' simply because it is right? That has my respect as few things can. My reticence is not due to thinking the reforms can be put aside for convenience sake, as the longer they go without the worse the price for instituting them will be. It is not because I do not think they do not matter because what are we fighting for if not to better the course of Humanity in this realm and the others? No, my concerns are that which you have too long fought against yourself, that which would feed off our strife and hope, our struggles to surpass the false limits they place on us. You know them all too well and the depths they will sink to ensure that we fail, the monstrous means they will turn to in order to deprive us of succor and success. I will not let that happen if I can help it...but I can't be everywhere at once...Just like I couldn't be there for you." Sigma's lips quirked in a sad smile, as he could all too easily imagine the remorseful expression Kesar had while writing this. It was the second thing that tempered the resentment of his uncle's bonds with them: That he cared enough to regret his failures as he admitted them.

"That is why I am turning to you, and asking with all sincerity that you protect my brothers and their dreams for me. It has been a hard lesson these past thirty years that I must trust others to do for me the things I wish I could do myself. So, Sigma once of the Alpha legion and now a sworn ally of the Salamanders, I give you once last charge: Prevent any and all attempts by Chaos and the Changer in particular from undermining, misleading, or sabotaging the Humanitarian reforms of the Imperium of Man. Find any and all threats and eliminate them without exposing my brothers to that which they are not allowed to know by the Emperor's Mandate for now. Do what I cannot and keep them safe and their dreams alive. I have faith in you my nephew, and hope that you are able to find a better life and purpose than what you had before.





Sigma merely rolled up the letter and set fire to it, to ensure that none could read it after, the words already committed to memory. Of course Kesar Dorlin would ask this, it fit with everything Sigma knew about him. Care for his brothers, for him, for the War against Chaos. And the part that had him laughing despite himself...Kesar meant every bit of it.

The secret Agent Astartes found himself where'd originally set himself out to travel to, the temporary quarters of the Night Lord's Primarch, Konrad Cruze. They opened without a word and the darkness invited the man silently to enter.

Although tempted, Sigma did not roll his eyes at the 'mystique' of the reformed Primarch, some old habits died hard it seemed. Besides, it wasn't like Sigma could not see in the dark.

Once he was seated the darkness shrouded form of another of his uncles uttered a single word, "Report." and Sigma found himself reciting.

"At least three were in the mid stages of Corruption, and another twenty were in the early stages due to either artifacts that had been missed or cultists amongst the refugees and populace. And that was just in the time I was with them. Your 'information' was on point" A deep sigh echoed in the room.

"Pity, I had hoped the numbers were another attempt to dishearten me. Was there any suspicion?" Sigma shook his head decisively, "No. but if we don't do something soon they will need to be killed to prevent them from turning."

"Understood, you leave that matter to me. I will see what can be done and if there is nothing...then they will be granted peace." Sigma thought he had kept his usual poker face firmly on but a mirthless chuckle still emanated from the gaunt demigod, "What is it nephew? Speak freely."

Sigma opened his mouth for another his usual deflections only for Konrad's form to lean in, "Speak truthfully. I will know." Sigma allowed himself to blink.

"I...have concerns about what we are doing. Why we are working in the shadows like this." Konrad nodded and leaned back, "Because, the forces of Chaos will want the reforms to fail and put forward every effort to ensure that. I know, you know it, and Vulkan knows it." Sigma's eyes widened, "So you.."

"Yes, I told him, no I have not told Kesar that I did. I am fond of him but he obey's his creed too much to understand why I broke that decree. Vulkan needed to know what we do, else it would poison his efforts, and what we do is fight a shadow war much like your former legion did, albeit with different goes. We fight a war to keep the spirit of the reforms alive. That war, the war against them is not what Vulkan is meant to fight, and he knows it. That is our task. The task of the bloody, the broken, and the desperate. As Kesar no doubt wrote to you, the reforms are under great risk from those that would benefit from them being warped or betrayed, and so we must guard against their efforts, and thanks to his runes we at least have a way to counter their influence. But we cannot counter it if we do not know where it is. And that is what we do. We seek out their tendrils so they may be rooted out. We kill those that are too far gone but that only means we failed and they won. For each one of ours they get their claws in is another that we cannot count on and they know it. Our methods may not be fair, but we are protectors still. Now, I will need you to go along these routes and..."

As the former Night Haunter detailed the next areas Sigma would check for attempted corruption, he wondered if Kesar realized how much he'd changed. Even if they were not as close now as they had once been, it was of little doubt that the time with Kesar had given Konrad what he needed to bond with Vulkan, to step onto a new path. Perhaps that was enough for the Primarch he wondered, that even if it was not with him, those he cared about were safe and well...he wondered if he was amongst that number.

But that was a conversation for a later day, right now he had work to do.




===============================================

Been meaning to write this for awhile and never quite got the tone right till now. Basically going under the premise that Konrad and Sigma are heading the anti chaos efforts of the reforms and trying to prevent any Corruption from getting too far, and in the spirit of Sigma's own issues and Konrad's new leaf, seeing the killing of any NL or S as a sign that their efforts had failed. Hope you all like

@Daemon Hunter

Breaking out in joyous laughter, Kesar released his sons from the hug, his face and posture showing the sheer amount of pride that filled him. "I never imagined you would grow so much so quickly."

The 3rd Captain turned a shade of crimson, as he stammered out his response. "I … I've only done what was asked of me."

Oriacarius frowned and proceeded to shake his head. "None of what happened in the arena was my doing, all of the growth was Maticus'." Taking a moment to contemplate his now obsolete contingencies, Oriacarius proceeded to sigh. "Do you know how many contingencies of mine you just rendered obsolete?" Before Maticus could respond, Oriacarius stepped forward, placing his finger on the Captain's chest. "734. It took me days to make those contingencies and you then decide to just make them worthless." Throwing his hands up in a mix of amusement and exasperation, Oriacarius ensured that Maticus was paying attention as he spoke next. "Next time you proceed to improve by such a degree, try and let me know so I can plan my backups around it."

Amused, Kesar commented on another aspect of Maticus' work over the past few years. "Don't forget about the third company. I wasn't expecting a Sergeant to get as far as he did."

"Lares is one of the better Sergeants within the company." Shifting uncomfortably at the praise, Maticus gave his own thoughts on the matter. "Since I started dueling him in one-on-one spars, he's improved far more than anyone else."

Nodding in agreement, Kesar responded amicably. "There's a reason why I had your Sergeants form a kill team each." Smirking, the Primarch turned to Oriacarius. "Although I have a feeling I increased someone's workload."

Muttering audibly, the First Captain tried not to sound annoyed by the entire endeavor. "You have no idea, I've had to adjust so many plans recently."

"Is that what you've been doing for the last year? I was wondering what you were working on." Kesar thought back to how overworked Oriacarius had seemed recently. With the ritual upcoming, it wasn't surprising, although he'd prefer his First Captain without bags under his eyes.

Motioning so-so with his hand, Oriacarius described his work over the past few years. "It's one of the things I've been working on. Also a variety of contingencies for what might occur in the Maelstrom, and some more morbid ones best suited to be explained in a more private environment."

"Of course, shall we move this discussion to my quarters?" At Oriacarius' nod, Kesar looked at Maticus who caught the unspoken question and followed them.

---

Once within his quarters, Kesar sat behind his desk, while his sons took their own seats. "Maticus, there's something you should know." The third Captain leaned forward, as Kesar took out a set of documents Perturabo had written. "At my recommendation Perturabo has decided to deploy you on one of the most critical worlds."

The third Captain's face turned serious as he shook off the traces of weariness that were creeping onto his face. "I won't disappoint father."

"You never do." Turning to Oriacarius, Kesar pulled a letter from his desk, one written by the Lord of Iron. "As for you my son, Perturabo has sent you a letter of thanks for your actions against the Mitu. According to him, what you did will save billions in the years to come."

The First Captain looked visibly relieved, while he thought of it as the right decision, there was that gnawing feeling that perhaps he was deluding himself. Hearing from a Primarch that it was the correct choice put an end to those traces of doubt. "I'm glad it was worth it Kesar. I assume that means I'll have a similar duty to Maticus?"

Nodding his head, Kesar noticed Maticus stifle a yawn as he gave his response to Oriacarius. "You will, although there is talk of having you act as a quick response force as well."

"I see, do you know when Perturabo will be making his decision?" Reading through the letter Perturabo has sent him, the First Captain was annoyed by a lack of details, although from what he knew of the Lord of Iron, it was expected.

"Likely when he gets all the details he can." Pausing, Kesar tried to find the words to describe how Perturabo commanded. "He's very particular about having full control of all the details."

Distracted by a faint motion to his side, Oriacarius looked over at Maticus who seemed to be struggling not to fall asleep on his seat. After having fought in the tournament and then faced a Primarch, the First Captain wasn't surprised to see the 3rd Captain in such an exhausted state. Placing his hand on his brother to steady him, the Astartes spoke quietly. "It might be best if you take a nap, I'm impressed you're still awake after our duel. And Kesar won't mind."

"He's right you know." Looking on in amusement, Kesar was glad to see Maticus stir for a moment.

"Maybe just a few minutes." A few seconds later, the 3rd Captain's breathing softenned and turned rhythmic, indicating his asleep state.

The smile on Kesar's face slowly faded, as he shifted slightly in his seat. Placing his elbows on his desk and pressing his palms against each other while they lay on the desk, he looked towards Oriacarius expectantly. Taking the hint, the First Captain began to explain his more morbid contingencies. "Recently, I've been working on contingencies for my death, as well as contingencies for the death of other key figures."

"Including me?"

"Yes." The word seemed to hang in the air, as the First Captain and Primarch stared at each other.

"I'd expect nothing less from you." Leaning back, Kesar pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish that work would be rendered unnecessary, but I don't think that'll be the case."

"Not even in a best case will we emerge without major losses." As his own face morphed into one of regret, the First Captain shared some of his own thoughts. "Sometimes I wish our goal wasn't so ambitious."

"I ask myself that far too often." A flicker of apprehension and dread flashed across Kesar's face which was swiftly suppressed. "By making that decision, I have consigned trillions to death."

"By extension so has the Emperor by agreeing to it." Stretching his arm out, Oriacarius placed his hand on Kesar's forearm. "If he allowed it, then he knows you'll succeed. He's rarely wrong, if ever."

"Sometimes I forget that you were one of the original Astartes of the Wardens." A thought occurred to the Primarch, something he should have asked a long time ago. "What was the Emperor like in those days?"

"I don't truly know Kesar, I was never close to him." The Primarch was disappointed at the response, but there wasn't much either of them could do about it.

"I can't say I expected anything different. But I was hoping for a story or two." Switching topics, Kesar shook his head and decided to focus on his son's actions over the last year. "Who have you developed contingencies for?"

"You, myself, Maticus, Solarus, Doom Slayer, Raziel, Baldur, Bader, Aurelian, and Otto. There's a few more I'm working on now, but those are the ones I've completed."

"I see, can you tell me more about them and if I can do something to help?" Focusing on the conversation at hand, the Primarch and son began to spend a few hours discussing more morbid topics before finally Oriacarius left. Leaving Kesar to place a blanket he had on the sleeping form of Maticus before leaving himself to get his reports on what his brothers had been up to over the last year.

---

Looking over the reports, Kesar found himself wondering why they were so delayed compared to normal before remembering his conversation with Malcador the previous year. It seems that the communication issues were making itself apparent. For Horus this year, he had come across an empire that Kesar suspected Guilliman would approve of. Utilizing expert quartermasters and logisticians, they had managed to create an incredible supply line system, and when Horus invaded, they were able to martial that system into a plan that would have defeated Horus in detail were it not for the Primarch's retreat. Something which while necessary, also delayed the compliance.

The second action of note was by the Luna Wolves' First Captain Abbadon. A Xenos world with powerful artifacts, the war had turned into a slow grinding victory that would have crippled the Luna Wolves. Then Abbadon led a charge personally, where he tore his way through the Xenos until he managed to reach their commanders and personally slew them. When the other Astartes arrived, there was a field of alien corpses, and Kesar now had a rather interesting image of the scene as depicted by the Remembrancers.

Leman found himself dealing with another empire that seemed to enjoy large explosions. This one however targeted civilians in order to drive governments to surrender, a method of war that disgusted Kesar personally. Thankfully, only one such device went off, and the Daemonsbane suspected a Callidus assassin or two was responsible for that. The war itself was a swift matter, with Leman leading the majority of the Space Wolves in a conquest that barely took a few days. More curious was a letter from his brother, where Leman Russ discussed Zunia. Kesar found himself wondering just how their relationship had developed as he read the Primarch's ramblings on how nothing she was doing made sense anymore. A small smile appeared on his face as he read about a number of her accomplishments, and it was only now that Kesar began to understand just why Fulgrim had asked what he knew about Zunia and Leman's relationship.

Ferrus, however, was having a much more difficult year. Already dealing with a monstrously difficult siege of a Dark Age fortress, it was complicated by a Xenos raider fleet that had been found. Warping into the system with the fortress, they withdrew after a brief skirmish, but the damage had been done. At the time, the Iron Hands were suppressing the fortress' weapon systems with orbital bombardment and using the time to build up an improved set of siege lines. The arrival of the xenos forced the fleet to cease their bombardment, leading to thousands of Astartes deaths in the following minutes. Current reports are not hopeful, and Ferrus requested support, which will hopefully arrive from the Phoenician.

Vulkan himself didn't lead his Legion this year, absorbed as he was preparing for his reforms. Instead, his First Captain led a force that made Kesar raise an eyebrow. It wasn't nearly enough for a compliance, rather it would make for an even battle based on what he the reports had said. Thankfully for the Salamanders, a mixture of skillful planning, tenacity, and luck allowed for a compliance with low casualties. Kesar, however, found himself frowning when he reached the end of the report where it explained that the planet itself initially was going to join the Imperium, but that Vulkan's recent set of standards meant it had to either comply with them or be conquered. Hopefully more worlds followed the Primarch's demands, as Kesar was certain he had good cause for his decision.

It was Guilliman's conquest for the year that was most mysterious. A world with far more psyker than normal, they had a series of psyker academies where the best among them participated in tournaments. The Ultramarines appeared to have conquered the world in short order while the Master of Macragge dueled their most powerful and skilled psyker for 30 hours before they were taken down. Attached to the note, however, was a report of the forming of multiple resistance groups, along with a declaration by Guilliman that no Black Brigades would be deployed to the world. There was also a document that contained a letter of complaint to the Siggillite, and to his surprise, Kesar recognized the name as someone that would be deployed to the Ritual War. One Orbán Vilmo, the leader of the Black Brigades that would be fighting under him.

Sanguinius himself arrived to a world locked in a stalemate with a Man of Stone. With the battle already an even fight, the Angel of Baal easily tilted matters in the favor of humanity. It took a matter of weeks for the robots to be purged, and now a group of Imperial Army regiments specialized against AI were fighting for the Blood Angels.

Konrad had the most reports, in large part due to having to cover both Perturabo and Khan's domain. Thus far his brother had done an excellent job, and had managed to minimize Imperial Army losses. The first report came from Vereena where the mystery was revealed. The source of the problem upon the world was a nanobot creation of unknown origins that proceeded to rewrite an individual's mind. The infection had taken over the Imperial Army fleet present, and it had taken nearly two years for the Night Lords to ensure it was purged from the system.

The next report was of a new Rogue Trader Dynasty, one that had pledged 25 years of at cost service to the Night Lords in gratitude for the Warrant of Trade. Kesar suspected that it was an attempt to get close to the Legion, but with their wealth and connections, he had to admit it was likely going to be quite successful.

The last report of note was for the World Eaters, who had gotten stuck in a warpstorm. The remnant left was led by a young Captain that had managed to do far better than expected and commanded with the experience of an individual twice his age. Finishing the reports, Kesar turned his attention to the preparations for the ritual.

Perturabo (7 Actions. 6 Locked. Pick 1.)
With his current position as the leader of the crusade, the Lord of Iron is spending every waking moment preparing. His sons report that they to are under a tight schedule while they prepare.
[X] Invade the newly discovered chaos world in order to get practice against daemonic forces.
[X] Coordinate with Guilliman in order to streamline the logistical transfer
[X] Construct a series of superweapons for use during the ritual crusade
[X] Train corruption resistance
[X] Train anti-daemonic tactics
[X] Meet with Imperial Army Heroes to determine how best to use them
[] Make preparations in case he dies
[] Try and gain additional support from other parts of the Imperium
[] Have the Iron Warriors teach the other Legions better Legion Combat (Does not include the Ultramarines)
[] Write-in

Khan (5 Actions. 2 Locked. Pick 3.)
The Khan has his own projects, ones that he has spent years on. He has put them on hold while he focuses as much as he can on the ritual while making time for his brothers.
[X] Train corruption resistance
[X] Train anti-daemonic tactics
[] Train Legion Combat
[] Share some of the custom modifications made to the Astartes fleet to increase overall ship speed.
[] Share his Storm Seers and have them train the other Librarians where possible.
[] Have the Storm Seers try and divine possible threats within the Maelstrom.
[] Meet with the Imperial Army officers to see what they are like, and to see if there are regiments particularly skilled at hit and run attacks.
[] Try and gain additional support from other parts of the Imperium
[] Make preparations in case he dies
[] Write-in

Guilliman (3 Action. 2 Locked. Pick 1.)
Returning from his compliance without a word, Guilliman was gone for barely a month. Taking the time to bring another difficult world in. Since then he has been working on the logistical side of matters, but even Perturabo can tell he seems staunchly irritated. What could have caused this?
[X] Combine the logistics of the four Legions into a single system
[X] Building up infrastructure in the area near the Maelstrom
[] Begin mustering Imperial Army reinforcements early
[] Try and find a way to get supplies through a warpstorm
[] See if Guilliman is willing to transfer the production and soldiers from Ultramar for the Maelstrom Crusade
[] Have the Ultramarines be looped into the command structure of the other Legions in case their support is needed
[] Try and gain additional support from other parts of the Imperium
[] Train corruption resistance
[] Train anti-daemonic tactics
[] Write-in

Kesar (4 Actions. None Locked. Pick 4)
While Kesar would like to spend more time preparing, he has been careful to avoid drawing the notice of the Archdaemons. If the Wardens were not currently crusading, then the Archdaemons would certainly take notice.
[] Train the Astartes in corruption resistance
[] Train the Astartes in anti-daemonic tactics
[] Train Legion Combat
[] Train the Librarians present in corruption resistance
[] Train the naval crews on how to resist daemonic boarding attempts
[] Assist the Iron Warriors while they invade a newly discovered chaos world which worships Nurgle.
[] Ensure that Perturabo and Guilliman get along while they coordinate with each other
[] Meet with the main Imperial Army officers to see what they are like
[] Meet with the two assassin temples that Malcador has deployed.
[] Try and gain additional support from Kelbor-Hal
[] Subordinate the Wardens under Perturabo to simplify the command structure
[] Guilliman seems displeased. Kesar isn't close to him, but perhaps he should see what the issue is.
[] Try and convince Guilliman to allow Alpha Legionaries to support him
[] Make preparations in case he dies
[] Spend time with the Primarchs
[] Write-in