Next up we have a past compliance of Magnus', and this omake did inspire some new aspects that the Thousand Sons gained from the compliance. I do like how this omake rather dramatically expands on the two sentences of lore I added to it, and overall it was very well done. As for your reward, that was already given:
[X] Thousand Sons gain a new research option from this compliance
I loved these guys and I'm glad I wrote about them, such a fun idea with biological clockwork and how on earth any species could dedicate to a tech tree like that.
Huh, what was the research option? That atemporal clockwork stuff you mentioned on the Discord server?
Next up we have the Black Fleet, a force of Skaven that Sevatar ends up being deployed to deal with. Overall it's a great way to fluff out this thread, and as always the Skaven are great. As it is, Sevatar did appreciate the increased trait gain
[X] Increased trait gain for heroes in this compliance
Ah yes, I remember this omake, and how hilarious the entire thing was. To think that a dogecoin STC would save the Imperium. Ah this omake covers that idea well, and the title alone deserved a reward all for itself. As for your reward:
[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to a select few Harlequin rolls for the turn
[] Ask the GM a question and they shall answer
Forsooth, the ways of really stupid meme cryptocurrency could save a galaxy already fraught with curses, death and madness across its spiral arms. It was such a fun idea and I just have to wonder who, if anyone, could make it work in this quest.
For the reward, I have to pick the third option, Ask the GM a question and they shall answer, to enlighten us all...
...What can you tell us about the final Teleportarium research?
And here we have a fantastic omake covering Kesar's dream of the rune of subtlety, and the attempts of the concept in helping Kesar create it. Overall it's a fantastic look into the mechanics of Kesar's dreams, and it's beautifully written. As for your reward, that has already been given:
And here we have the Vinren Gun-Masons, the unit that winds up running into the AI known as JAY, and getting quite the buff to their capabilities. Since then the unit and JAY have gone to Magnus' domain thanks to his new ship, which is slowly coming online once more. Overall this omake introduces them well, and I do like the perspective of the ritual war as well. As for your reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to JAY's rolls to introduce himself to the Thousand Sons
[] The Vinren Gun-Masons learn more than expected from JAY
I still remember the day you said there was a Man of Stone within that giant Slaaneshi ship, including you briefly forgetting that it was Slaaneshi, and I fell in love with this 'hates daemons more than Kesar Fucking Dorlin' AI since then. Now he's gonna work with the Thousand Sons too? He's come a long and terrible way.
To help him along, I pick the second reward, +10 to JAY's rolls to introduce himself to the Thousand Sons, as he deserves a good end.
Auro relies nigh entirely on his innate psyker trait and relic bonuses in conjunction with universal legion traits to matter in battle currently. As things stand any traits would be a good buff for him to make him less relic dependent or able to make use of his core trait easier.
Hiya! Decided to make one last omake for this quest for 2023, based off one of the Chaotic 'hotspot' worlds mentioned here (as well as the bottom of this post) after learning more about the lore of the planet today on the Discord server. Just felt like making one last thing before we entered a new time. With that said, I wish you all a happy new year and that things go well for ya! @Daemon Hunter you especially, friendo!
----- The Dark Moon and The Numen Husk.
The Thestral Moon, as it was dubbed by the initial Imperium scouts when something more than a series of numbers was desired, was a bleak and barren rock that danced in orbit around an unnoteworthy gas giant which in turn circled a mostly untainted star.
While many celestial bodies in the Maelstrom gave strange readings and reports from the pioneers and voyagers who delved into the now navigable expanse that was the three-fourths that once made up the large rift. Through the power and mind of the Emperor, the strength and will of his sons and servants, the rich amount of materials and impossible wonders laid within were able to be exploited and colonised.
As well as all the pirates, horrors, monsters and daemonic realms that lurked within. The writhing shadows thrust into the light. Eldritch space charted by fear of those that delved into the den of beasts and by the cold calculation of the same bureaucracy that tithed backwater tribes.
The Thestral Moon, the Dark Moon, was empty of resource and was in no strategic location. Yet it was still a threat
It had to be dealt with and thus it had to be understood. The unknown was the most dangerous in battle. Details and facts were a critical resource almost as important as weaponry and armour. Scouts paid the price in blood for their discoveries.
Canyons that teemed with the dregs of immortal life were scanned for a broad analysis, as were mountains that were circled by swarms of winged beasts. The few craters that were where more dangerous daemons were discovered, burning with embers first lit in a time when mankind had not grasped the capability. What might have been primitive structures dedicated to the Dark Gods, carved by talons or gnawed by teeth.
There was only one major mistake that was overlooked from initial analysis of the Imperial scouts and then Eternal Wardens that served Primarch Kesar Dorlin, First Daemonsbane and Second Anathema of Mankind.
The planet that the moon orbited was not a gas giant.
-----
Within a mountain upon the Thestral Moon, deep within a cavern that was filled with glimmering crystals, there was a monument dedicated to ancient history. Old stone carved by obsidian blades that were hardened by the flames of a hellish realm that scorched the skies of this last bastion, the knives almost unbreakable as they cut deep into the rock by desperate strength
It was covered in a spiral script, appearing fossilised onto the grand rock, meaning entrenched into layers of pictograms that were merged together by a complex tongue that only beings that were attuned to the Warp could understand. They had evolved into beings that partially existed within the Immaterium. Their souls and minds had a half-physical form. Like living ghosts, astral projection that resonated with language across two realities.
Translation would have taken decades for even the most powerful super-cogitators that xeno-linguists within the Cult Mechacum's best Explorators possessed. Words requiring psychic meaning and capability to fully understand as they were meant to be used. Pressing an ear against the stone would have brought the faint whisper, the sound of scraping blades, the strange movements of truly alien bodies.
If such time and effort were taken, the whole monument deciphered and pieced together from what was determined to be beginning and end, it would be recorded as something like this:
HEAR! THE VOICE OF A GOD NEVER BORN, HOW IT WEEPS AT OUR FAILURE, HOW WE HAVE BURNED OUR HOMES.
Our last cries go unheard in the abyss of stars and mocked by the denizens of the higher planes. We have always looked above for we were above. Our limbs could reach (untranslatable) dimensions, beyond what other life existed on our home (scratched out text), we could see and reach forward. Moments spilled as clouds, salt rain falling, space breathed in through membrane and compressed, we were blessed with potential.
THIS IS THE LAST TEMPLE. THIS IS OUR LAST GATHERING. THIS IS OUR LAST WORDS.
Our pantheon was vast and changed over the generations. Everything had a god directed towards its worship, although the actual extent was far from even. Every aspect of reality was alive and dwelled in the Warp, just as we were alive here and alive there at the same time. Life was everywhere in this universe. Everything was alive and held a power that could shape everything else, if honed correctly.
Millions of gods, billions of gods, the more that was known the more we realised how many gods there truly were. Bottomless ignorance against endless desire for understanding. We did not know how ignorant we truly were.
GOD OF GODS! LORD OF THE DIVINE WORDS! YOUR BREATH IS DEDICATION AND YOUR THOUGHTS ARE STORIES!
Faith itself was the greatest element of what our faith was dedicated to. We raised hundreds of temples and cities dedicated to the greatest of all divine powers. The god of gods, the god of worship, the god of faith.
Belief was a force that brought power, such was known by those who strongly wielded the waves that rippled across (untranslatable) dimensions. The exact nature took great time and generations to understand for even the simplest of god domains. We knew that belief was intertwined to the core of all divine beings, for belief was what made them gods.
Concepts (scratched out text) alive and feeding.
We came to know through science and the eyes we saw across (untranslatable) dimensions that faith was a tangible power. The god of gods could be witnessed.
They could be granted form. A body to reach towards us and see us clearly. An anchor to manifest their direct presence.
Through them would we witness, understand, worship and reach all other gods.
(Scratched out text)
THIS MOON ONCE HAD LAKES OF LIQUID SILVER
SO COLD THAT IT WAS BEYOND WHAT MORTAL METAL COULD BE
IT FORMED ICE THAT SHINED AND FORMED AURORAS THAT DANCED
ACROSS THE SKY THERE WAS A BEAUTY THAT COULD BE SEEN
FROM BELOW ON OUR PLANET SINCE THE DAWN OF OUR LIFE
AND THERE IS NOT A SINGLE DROP OF IT THAT REMAINS HERE
IT AND ALL ELSE WAS TAKEN TO
THE NUMEN HUSK
(Scratched out text)
The Numen Husk, The Divine Mantle, The World Harness.
It was made from the riches of our moon, the riches of our world, the complex work of our greatest architect-priests. Calculations done across countless years and (untranslatable) dimensions. It was built around our planet. The temple-anchor. The focal point. The nexus of All Gods.
Powered by prayer of (ten-thousand) generations. It was finished. It was activated with the Divine Words. The Key to Heaven. Absolute faith.
This was our mistake.
The god of gods was not a being we could reach. They were not a 'being' as we thought. They were too intangible. A ghost. As though they were stretched across all gods. Without this focus, the Numen Husk resonated with other divine beings.
The gods that came were cruel and lead armies dedicated to twisted logic. Unworthy of any worship, they came in laughter and thirst for all evil. They drank the oceans and glassed the deserts, they burned the forests and howled away the mountains, they cut the sky into a thousand shards and cast them across their own madness.
In this False Apotheosis, as cruel spirits rampaged with poison and flame and curses, we brought forth what we came to know as the Chaos Gods.
(Scratched out text)
The world burned for a (hundred) days and a (hundred) nights. Longer and shorter than can be remembered. Time and space burned in ways that nothing should burn. Screams echoed in dreams forever. The planet is gone. Only the burnt Numen Husk remains. Divine chrysalis, full of worms and filth. Heavenly cocoon, torn and empty.
Smoke and mist, where nothing returns, the ectoplasm of billions, a cloud of tears unshed.
We have no home now.
They are coming. They will kill us. They have won.
We cannot escape.
Remember us!
Remember (untranslatable).
-----
No human would ever lay eyes on the final monument. It was destroyed millions of years ago by a warband of daemons who found the last temple of the long dead people, and brought forth ruin
The planet would appear on a first, second and third glance as just a gas giant. One with strange properties, the machine readings giving results that would take time to be fully analysed.
Such readings would be discarded until the moon was cleansed of its daemonic life. The planet was just another oddity from the Maelstrom region. Perhaps one that could be a valuable resource, if the strange gases were worth mining and purifying.
For the Imperium, for everyone else since the last native inhabitants were brought low, there was no sign that any life had ever existed at all here.
Cousin Abdul was a font of inspiration in quiet moments.
Sometimes, you see, we Astartes need a reminder that despite all our augmentation, all our transhuman might, prodigious training, and natural superiority we are not perfect. That we still have more to go. The Primarchs are the obvious choice for this, but after a few years of war and training it is easy to think that you have peaked. To fully understand that they, who have never been touched by mortality, are beyond you. Many plateau after that, until they are again inspired by the legends of such monumental figures as Sigismund of the Imperial Fists, or Hector Thrane of the Six Hosts, or Kharn of the World Eaters. All great heroes, and shining examples that we had yet to reach our potential.
But such hero worship too wore off over time, be it because you could never interact with them, never see them, because you understood that you were not them, or because you gave up hope even ever reaching that level.
Abdul was a good reminder after that point. Someone walking a different path than you, good enough to remind you that there was still yet further to go, without being so far removed that you cannot see where he is coming from, or so perfect that you forgot that he too is human.
He even encouraged you to be stronger, whenever you crossed paths, and was more than happy to indulge any request to duel as a way to hone your abilities.
Case in point: I and seven other Astartes assembled from across the Legions by Exchange Program were currently dueling him as a way of testing our abilities.
One of my Cousins fell back, his guard opened by the previous strike from Abdul's power sword he had jumped back just before the power sword was redirected. But the mistake was made, and there was no way he would ever be fast enough. Were this a real battle, and were he by himself, he would no doubt have died.
Instead, I charged into the minuscule gap, the strength of our opponent having long-since honed our inter-Legion teamwork to a razor's edge.
My claw, which is prehensile, catches his blade both weapons hissing as power fields and adamantium clash. I'm bigger, stronger, and the impromptu fulcrum created by our clashing weapons is not in our favor. It is obvious his weapon would be forced back.
I do not want this.
Instead I try to wrap my lightning claw around his blade, attempting to hold it in place so that he is forced to drop his weapon, or spend precious seconds the others might use to score a finishing blow.
On his right, a Dark Angel slashed at Abdul's chest, and, like he didn't have a hand to lose, Abdul's arm struck out, grabbing the blade between his index finger and thumb and moving his arm with the blade so he tamper out the force he needed to stop it, all with his hand just so so the still-moving teeth didn't bite into his armor.
A tactic especially infuriating because he wore a buckler on that hand.
I stumble forward, half a step, and instantly I know that I had made a mistake. I should have pressed onwards, keeping his blade distracted while the Dark Angel took his other arm. He was wily, prone to unexpected movement and acting at speeds that made even other Astartes jealous, but with both hands distracted all it should have taken is one clear attack from the front or back. Instead:
His blade darts back, allowing him to adjust without issue and just barely dodge a slash to his front, even as he ducks down underneath a las shot that range eerily close to my head. I'd be concerned with such close fire, especially since we were still inside a ship, but experience had taught me the shooter could be trusted with such precision shots, and overhead ranged support was necessary with opponents that could overpower even groups of Astartes.
Overhead support was always useful, and to some small extent I remember how difficult it was on one particular mission when a planet I was clearly using some dumb Abominable Intelligence to shoot me over the heads of its soldiers. How even shots that could not pierce my armor were massive distractions, and how close I had come to death that day.
It was just difficult to think the same tactic would ever have to be used by Astartes. Difficult to think we'd ever find something small enough to warrant it instead of artillery, or air-based support missiles.
Cousin Abdul's blade darted forward, as quickly as he retreated back, the Power Field weakening the molecules of my armor just enough for the low-grade Adamantium of the weapon to cut a tiny, razor thin line into the gorget around my neck before retreating back. A tiny cut that'd take even an untrained menial less than a day to melt some more adamantium into the scratch and buff out.
But enough to tell me that, were this a real fight, he'd have gouged out my esophagus, cut my jugular vein, and likely severed the spinal cord.
I retreat back, giving another of my Cousins his turn to cross blades with the so-called Black Knight, and ponder what we could have done differently.
Had I just pressed forward! He was fast, but with his foolish decision to stop a chainsword between his fingers and need to hold me back the frontal slash would have hit! I was overambitious, or perhaps too trusting in my own abilities and not my Cousins, to rely on securing the blade entirely, rather than on giving my Cousin an opportunity.
Or, would he have squandered it regardless?
Cousin Abdul was slippery, and with how odd his tactics seemed to be it wouldn't be so unusual for him to jump up, and use my momentum to push off of me. It was nonsensical, considering there were Cousins with guns to act as support, but I could almost see him jumping above us, and using the second or two it would take for us to pin him down again to deal some real damage.
I fought the urge to take off my helmet and rub my eyes. I was overthinking things at that point. If he was that random, and skilled enough to actually do something like that, my specific decision didn't matter at that point.
Another Cousin charges in, as the Dark Angel is forced back by a follow up strike.
I take a moment to calm the blood roaring in my ears, unused to fighting such monsters. But, after steadying my hand, took out another Las pistol we were using as replacement Bolter or Volkite weapons. Mostly to prevent excess damage to the ship, for Cousin Abdul insisted he "didn't mind any wounds" and "could heal such trifling damage." but also to prevent unnecessary injury or armor repairs. If nothing else, in a cross-Legion exercise it seemed inevitable one of us would accidentally shoot another.
The fighting was lightning quick. Five Astartes embroiled in an almost hypnotic dance, where a half-dozen blows could be missed every time you blinked.
It was…interesting to see how the different Legions approached the battle. The Dark Angel, focusing on exacting precisions and rigorous adherence to the style his Primarch had taught him. It made him dangerous, able to slip into and out of situations with the use of those movements and strikes he had spent thousands of hours mastering. But it also made him predictable, and every time his feet were nudged or his target moved he had to spend a quick moment to adjust his footing. Or the Iron Warrior, who's tactical mind shone through battle analysis, but seemed almost paralyzed every time it came to dive back into melee. Which seemed strange, given his Legion's focus on breaking through defenses even at high cost to themselves.
Comparing and contrasting our methods, and being forced to learn from and utilize each Legion's unique doctrines and preferences in the face of such powerful opponents…It was almost remarkably effective at completing the goals of the Legion Exchange Program.
I wondered, however, what Cousin Abdul got out of this?
"Brother Abdul!" a call rang out from the hallway.
Said Librarian ducked underneath a sweeping strike, turning his head to the speaker even as his shield blocked a Las shot. The show off. "Yes?"
"First Captain Oricarious wishes to speak to you." the Warden explained.
At once, the rest of us backed off the Warden with bated breaths. Not all of us had been touring the Legion long enough to remember last time the Monster Of The Eleventh Legion got investigated, or nearly sent to the Black Legion, but it did seem to be a problem with him. It always seemed a bit much, to be honest, but as a Raven Guard I kind of understood.
After all, Cousin Abdul was almost the antithesis of his Legion. An unorthodox fighter that prepared keeping his enemy on the back foot, rather than their typical doctrine of preparing for their every move. A Psker whose powers manifested almost entirely defensively, with powers like Iron Arm, regeneration, and healing, in a Legion who specialized in fighting Warp phenomenon and blitzkrieg. A prideful black ops agent who hoped that at least somebody will remember him when he dies.
"Of course." Cousin Abdul said with a slight bow.
The other Warden, a captain I think whose armor is inscribed with hundreds of names, nods walking away to carry out his next duty.
Slowly, the rest of us lower our weapons, as Cousin Abdul does an about-face, and gives a similarly small bow to us, "Apologies, but I shall not be able to complete today's exercise."
"Duh." scoffs the Space Wolf.
Cousin Abdul smiled, but did his best to ignore it, "As it is I who must leave prematurely, why don't we call this your victory?" he offered, rising to his full, still tiny, height and patting his bicep in a show of good faith.
"Unacceptable!" the Iron Warrior shouted.
"We'll call it a draw." The Space Wolf agreed, revving his chain ax, "'Cause yer not deprivin' me of a good fight."
"I agree!" I agreed, "I want to actually stab you, and these Lightning Claws will not rest until they taste your blood.
Cousin Abdul chuckled, presumably because he figured I was joking, "Very well. Same time tomorrow." he nodded, before turning around and marching to wherever his First Captain had called him.
We waited until he was gone, standing mostly motionless as we watched him turn the corner and then:
"You should have pushed." the Space Wolf reminds me.
I gave a long groan at that.
---
The office was nice, quiet. The black and white color scheme of their Legion on clear display with how depressingly dark it was. Not surprising, considering whose office it was.
Oricarious was a broken man, after all. An Astartes who had seen a million of his Brothers die, and had been the direct superior of half of them. He was a man who tortured himself every night with the countless tiny mistakes he had made over his centuries of life, in remembrance of every mistake he'd ever made, and every life that had ever been lost because of him.
It had made him a sad, and cautious man. One who looked forward to the day when the Great Crusade ended, no matter what that meant.
Abdul entered the room quietly, slipping in and closing the door behind him without a sound so as to not disturb his First Captain.
It does anyway, of course, and Oricarious puts down the battle reports he had been reading through, his eyes showing a tired determination that had lived through a century of war now, and was unlikely to break any time soon. A feeling, somehow, Abdul sensed he'd get to know very soon.
"Brother Abdul." Oricarious ordered calmly, "Take a seat."
Immediately, Abdul knew he was in trouble. Or rather: He knew since the first time he had sensed this inevitability. Knew he would be well before he had taken the actions that had gotten him in trouble in the first place. The other Abduls, the ones in his visions making sure he knew such things through their slowly building network of Abduls that filtered all possible information through the subtle sacrifices, failures, and successes of different Abduls through a confusing cacophony of timelines, dimensions, unreality, lies, and half-truths the veteran Astartes saw at all times.
But it was difficult to parse through such knowledge, especially when he knew time didn't exist within the realm of souls, so his soul, which existed beyond time, would sense knowledge he would learn in the future, often letting him reference, or even act upon it before he had ever learned such things. Which only compounded with his third eye, kept ever open by Omar's spell, that kept him a half-step into the screaming Warp, and even closer during Void Travel like now. Indeed, the horrors he had witnessed, unbound by such lowly rules as gravity, causality, or tangibility, boggled the mind and shook the very core of his soul.
Abdul did his best to focus despite that. His body being in the chair, and his unfocused eyes at least mostly meeting Oricarious' helped, bringing him back to the Materium where his mind wasn't so liberated but unfocused, "Did I do something wrong, Brother First Captain Oricarious?"
Oricarious looked at him, a small part of him wanting to list every conceivable problem Abdul had given him since joining the Legion, and another wanting to wanting to note the security risk he posed, in his relative weakness to Chaos or conventionally should the younger Warden get out of hand, but he bit those parts back.
"Yes." the First Captain answered instead, "Brother Abdul, Lexicanum, you left your assigned post."
It was a serious accusation. One that had led countless soldiers, both in and outside of the Imperium to be executed.
Abdul resisted the urge to shrink back, sensing more than a few realities where he met the same fate, or was found guilty of some other punishment, "Forgive me, First Captain Oricarious. I…" Oricarious leaned forward, his eyes boring into Abdul's own in search for any form of dishonesty, taint, or reason to doubt, anything of weight to the accusation, "had a vision." Abdul explained, "And pursued it to its completion."
"And that vision was of you taking the enemy flagship?" Oricarious clarified, for the record.
"Yes, Brother First Captain."
"And why did you not tell me of this vision during the strategy meeting?" Oricarious asked, laying his arms across his desk, and crossing his fingers. A very physically intimidating pose, but one that gave the false assurance that he wasn't ready for an immediate execution.
Not that Abdul, who could see and feel different timelines, no matter how unlikely, was put at ease by such things, "Apologies." the Black Knight said with a bow, "I did not have this vision until a quarter-way through the battle."
Oricarious raised one eyebrow, "And you didn't tell me because?"
Because then you would have stopped me from completing it. Abdul's mind answered traitorously.
"Well, technically I did." Abdul argued, whining like a child trying to reason his way out of a punishment, "I may not have sensed the exact method yet, but I mentioned that the Flagship would move away from the battle halfway through."
Oricarious blinked, his face stone, and gaze unyielding in a silent demand to give an actual explanation instead of half-hearted excuses.
"And," Abdul continued after a second with just a hint of desperation, "I…did not have a long timeframe. Had I stayed back, I would not have been able to reach you before the opportunity passed."
Oricarious let up at that, leaning back and giving only a small grumble, which was followed by several seconds of uncomfortable silence before Oricarious moved with Contingency B-5 for this conversation, only for Abdul to give up first.
"And," the noble eked out with a sigh, despite how bad it felt, "because I knew you would not approve of so willingly following a vision."
Mentally, Oricarious switched back to plan A-1, before continuing.
"Following visions of the future can be dangerous, Brother." he explained, "Many of our Brothers have died following false visions Blue gave to them."
"I know." Abdul said, for once not correcting someone on the true nature of time, "But I deemed it an acceptable level of risk."
"No risk is acceptable!" Oricarious instinctively spat, his prosthetic arm slamming on the desk with enough force to shatter ceramite.
There was silence for several, long, seconds.
"What I mean is," Oricarious eventually continued, doing his best to compose himself after such an emotional outburst, "Brother. The Warp is not to be trifled with, and visions of the future often prove false. It was dangerous to go behind enemy lines like you did, and a vision of the future offers no protection when things go wrong."
"Brother-" Abdul tried to argue.
"However, since you did ignore my orders, and took the enemy flagship." Oricarious continued, pushing on, "There are some matters we need to discuss about it."
Abdul wanted to argue that point, go back to how some risks were acceptable, how he succeeded so it didn't matter, how time didn't exist so technically he hadn't seen the future, or how he was qualified to use the Disciplines he had been trained in. But he knew his older Brother already knew all that. So, instead, he did his best to compose himself and answer properly.
"Of course, Brother First Captain." The Pride Of The Library nodded.
"To begin with," Oricarious began, "I read in your report there was some information you wished kept out of Imperial Army hands?"
Abdul nodded. "Yes, Brother First Captain. While aboard the enemy vessel I activated my Omophagea many times to better navigate the ship, understand my enemies, and counter my foes. It helped as well that it gave me the resources necessary to continuously regenerate."
"Get on with it." Oricarious commanded.
"Well…" Abdul continued getting on with it, even though he struggled how to put the Xenos' alien thoughts, fears, and knowledge into words, "In their memories, I saw the Chrome's homeworld."
"Ohh?" Oricarious leaned forward, silently grabbing a dataslate in case he should record anything.
"They lived in a subspace dimension that overlays the Materium." Abdul explained, his voice almost morose as the memories of the three million Chromes he had devoured within that battleship fought to gift him empathy, "Apparently, in their records they were gifted this dimension by the ancient Aeldari."
Oricarious made a note in his dataslate, though that assumption felt wrong somehow. Out of character for the prideful, arrogant Xenos who couldn't see past their own hubris long enough to actually do anything. A character trait, he thought, they shared with the young Astartes sitting in front of him.
"There have been instances of the Eldar, particularly the slavers of their number, using such technology." Oricarious considered aloud. He'd read more than his fair share of disturbing reports about the horrors they forced upon people. The tale from one Librarian lucky enough to escape from being shoved into another dimension roughly one centimeter wide, tall, and thick came to mind.
"Indeed." Abdul agreed, "It does seem strange, but the Chromes I devoured considered the Aeldari allies spanning back to before their written history."
"So you think they are here to help the Eldar?" Oricarious asked.
Abdul shook his head, as the strange third eye granted to him by Omar's spell flicked into the Chromes homeworld, where a three-sided war between the encroaching forces of Khorne fought to destroy the Attack Moon the Orks were building there, while the Chromes desperately struggled to stay alive, all too aware that both sides were using them as nothing but food and fuel to fund their war.
"Not exactly." Abdul answered aloud, ripping his vision away from that horror, "From what I can tell, the Chromes' home dimension has been invaded by Orks, who are using it as a staging ground to build massive amounts of weapons, in some giant war against Kh-"
Oricarious glared at him.
"Against Red, Brother First Captain."
Oricarious sighed, annoyed by his Psykic Brother's slip-up, even as he tried to figure out what all that could mean. Could he even trust his Brother's words here? The memories of filthy Xenos, whose minds were so weak and incomplete that they lost memories? Would such a war weaken Chaos? Or would Chaos harvest the souls of so many Orks and grow in power? Did he have to worry about a corrupted Waaagh? And, what did this mean about the Chromes?
"And about the Chromes," Oricarious asked, hoping to answer at least one of his questions, "What can you tell me about them?"
A displeased look fell over Abdul's stolen visage, "They are not hostile." the younger Astartes began, "At least, they bear us no hatred. But they are desperate in the face of extinction. I think, in face of that, they'd be willing to do anything to survive."
"Many species and worlds are, in face of the Imperium." Oricarious agreed, and in his mind's eye, a hundred worlds he knew he should have done better on, should have saved, should have prevented any loss of life.
He was wrong, of course. But to Oricarious every life lost under his command was a personal failing. An outcome that came from a risk he should have known and subverted. Even if he had no way to be prepared for it.
"They are willing to share technology, at least." Abdul continued, peppily, "Plus, their mastery of dimensions is quite impressive. I even saw, in several of them, a gun that fires a beam-like cut through dimensions similar to Vortex wea-"
Oricarious recognized this now. This had become an plea to spare the Chromes from genocide. Were it any other Astartes in the Wardens, he'd think it empathy. Or a clear sign that he needed to be rotated out for a year or so. But for Abdul? For the Black Knight?
"Did you promise to make a plea for their lives?" Oricarious, in accordance to Contengency Q-1456, guessed.
"I implied that would." Abdul admitted, not even trying to hide it, "The general did not take up my offer, but it would have been disingenuous to stop just because he tried to kill me."
Oricarious gave a long suffering sigh. He considered explaining why he was in no position to spare the Xenos. Abdul had admitted they were allies of the Eldar, after all. That they had some knowledge of Chaos. They had messed with an STC! He debated playing into Abdul's strange and misguided sense of honor, of truthful transparency the Legion had burrowed into his head for the past ten years. That, even though it may be regrettable, the Chromes had dug themselves a hole they weren't getting out of.
But he knew his Brother already knew all that.
"About the Flagship." the First Captain grumbled instead, "As the sole figure responsible for capturing the ship, even if doing so was against orders," Oricarious ground out that last part, making sure to watch as Abdul, who could see the future, sunk back in his chair, "you are entitled to some level of reward. What would you like that to be?"
"A statue." Abdul immediately answered, his voice calm, composed again, like he'd thought of his answer a half-decade ago.
"A statue?" Oricarious repeated, gesturing Abdul to continue.
Abdul nodded, "At least a 1-to-1 statue. Perhaps with a plaque detailing my name, and what I did? Near the captain's quarters? Or the hallway to the command room? Wherever is easiest."
A look of genuine confusion fell across Oricarious face. "A statue." he repeated.
"Yes, Brother First Captain."
"Brother." Oricarious explained, slowly so that even Abdul would get it, "You captured an enemy Flagship by yourself, and brought back enough of their unique Volkite weaponry for the Mechanicum to make a mock STC."
"Yes." Abdul nodded.
Oricarious' palm met with his face. "Brother you are going to get a statue anyway."
"Then a second statute."
Slowly, Oricarious shook his head. Disappointed Abdul hadn't asked for something reasonable, and yet slightly relieved he hadn't asked for something insane like Oricarious had feared. A statue was nothing compared to the Iron Halo the First Captain was fully prepared to give, nor permanent command of that ship Abdul could have demanded.
"Fine." Oricarious sighed, "I'll have the Remembrancers make an extra statue of you."
"Thank you, Brother First Captain." Abdul bowed slightly, closing his eyes as though he had anything to be grateful for.
"Then," Oricarious continued, making a show of looking at the meeting agenda he had made beforehand, in all its six hundred and ninety five page glory, despite not needing to, "That brings us to our After Action Report from Kivan."
"Hm?"
"Brother Abdul, the tactics you used on Kivan were absolutely unacceptable!" Oricarious accused, feeling slightly better about doing so after the noble had been so aggravating seconds before.
Abdul blinked. "What?" he asked, surprised, "What do you mean?"
Oricarious scoffed, but knew from Abdul's eyes that the younger Astartes was truly, unsettlingly, confused.
"Well, to begin with-"
---
In the dark halls of the broken underhive, a billion souls put up their last defense.
When the Hive had fallen, countless billions were outside the protection of the anti-grav wards. Countless billion mutants, gangers, and scum, whose bodies littered the Ceramite halls of the Hive.
Billions more had been slaughtered in the ensuing attack. As Titan Inferno Cannons poured tidal waves of Promethium through the halls of the Hive like pipelines of conflagration. Power and Battle Claws gathered around the Hive cut rivets of Ceramite, countless rooms, homes, and peoples, with every swing of their colossal arms.
From above, adamantium-like coffins known as Drop Pods dove through missile defense systems that were never made to deal with such horrors. Their transhuman payloads slaughtering nobles and their guard alike, even as the children and heirs of noble houses went missing from their beds.
The invasion had only begun two days ago, but already the Hive had united against an unstoppable attack. Though the Lord Of Spires, who had ruled this world for three centuries now, had been executed, and House Deletrik had been completely destroyed, in the face of total annihilation the noble houses had ceased their endless fighting. At once, a hundred political marriages were declared, binding the houses as one, and at once the remnants of their personal guard were merged. Ancient relics long-since divided so that their power may not destroy the Hive united as one to unleash terrifying displays of primordial power, even as their generals and warmasters worked around the clock to repel an almost insurmountable force.
Even here. In the Underhive, after a confusing game of unraveling which house commanded which gang, and the fury when the uppity nobles had realized our gang leaders had played them for fools just as much as they had us…we were ordered to unite. Unanimously. From every possible lord, noble, and general, as quadrillions of pounds of food, Ceramite, and guns were funneled from the Spires to stop the Imperium's ground invasion in its tracks.
And so, uncountable billions of Gangers, murderers, and scum had been organized into a proper, if impromptu, army. Half armed, and poorly organized, but trained in the brutality of urban warfare by a lifetime of all-out war with the other gangers.
I sat behind an auto-cannon, myself. Aimed down the just barely curved hallway that stretched on from the even lower districts. Eight hours ago, we had rolled barrels full of radioactive sludge down the hallways. Barrels with enough radiation to see you vomiting your intestines, or growing a sixth finger within the hour. But it was one of the only ways this Imperium could try to march an invasion up the Hive without having to transfer their troops ten-by-ten up the elevators.
So we lined each hallway, long and dark, and every bridge with as many explosives, turrets, and walls of scrap we could find. So that if those fucking Imperials thought they could march an army up here they'd be drowning in their own blood before they took so much as a meter of our home.
"I smell ozone." Jery, one of the dozen mates, suddenly says from behind the meter-high scrap wall.
"What?" says another, his mouth full of one of the rations the nobles had felt fit to rain down on us from above. Proof that they had always had more than enough food to feed us, the bastards.
"No." Olivia says, sniffing the air like the pig she is a few times, "I smell it too. Did those idiots break our Plasma Engine?"
David gave a long suffering groan. "Do I need to go and check?" he asked, gesturing back towards our encampment.
"You're just saying that to get out guard duty!" Olivia accused, taking another bite of the thick, only mostly tasteless cracker rations.
"Am not!"
"Guy!" Jery shouts.
I look at him, confused for a moment before my eye catches it too. A figure far, far away where the hall turned out of view following the leg of the Hive.
Instinctively, I thumbed the Autocannon, my index finger already pressing halfway down on its overly large trigger, as I leaned into the scope.
It was a human, I think, maybe four or five centimeters taller than me. Clad in thick, black plates like one of them dumb gangers that covered themselves in hundreds of pounds of ceramite and thought themselves invincible. As if fire cared, or gas, heavy weapons, or enough guys to pin you down anyway and stab through the gaps. Not that the extra protection would have helped anyway, because this guy straight-up wore no helmet, his pretty boy face, and long flowing locks exposed for all to see.
He was real pretty. Like a copy of some high-spire artwork that had been ripped off the walls and made it all the way down here.
"Should I shoot?" I ask, watching as the prettyboy raised up his empty hand, and mimed grabbing something in front of him.
"UUrrrgh." David groaned, his face suddenly, rapidly turning green.
"I mean," Jery shrugged with a laugh, "The radiation should kill him anyway. But those nobles gave us all this ammunition for a reason, right? Might as well put a round downrange."
I chuckle, turning my eyes back to the black-clad pretty boy, and watching as the arm he was pretending held something shaking slightly as he slowly closed his fingers around nothing, like he was squeezing.
I centered my autocannon on him.
And then, something weird happened. His empty glove began shooting sparks, like lightning, which crackled around, almost rotating his hand.
I heard Olivia fall over, and David, who had still been stuffing her face, suddenly grabbed at her heart like she was having a heart attack.
I pulled the trigger on my autocannon, just as the weirdo swept his sparking, empty arm aside, and I heard what sounded like an explosion of flesh, and Jery scream.
Tearing my head away from the scope, I-I saw a long pink worm, maybe an inch in diameter burst from David's stomach. Its large, bulbous head covered in pink, compacted flesh dozens of tiny barb-like teeth. I saw it wiggle, flailing limblessly as its blood-covered pink skin, like an old hairless dog adapted to its new environment. I screamed too, pulling out my auto-pistol and shooting blindly at the thing as I scrambled out of my auto-cannon's seat. I hit, at least on one of those dozen shots hitting the coiling mass of the thing. But it didn't care. Didn't have the nervous system to feel the pain. Only the endless hunger and pressure supernatural growth had given it, and that it had already burst out of its first host.
And so, the limbless parasite raised its bulbous head up high, and the dozens of mouths and eyes that lined its head opened at once.
And I am not afraid to admit that I fucking ran for it. Because that shite was horrifying.
No, my only regret is looking back just in time to see the skinless white worm that had burst out of David's heart burrowing its way through Jery's chest, and the countless bloody teeth that lined its mouth when it burst through the other side.
---
"I…fail to see the problem." Abdul said, tilting his head a little in hopes that the new angle would grant him some level of understanding.
For a moment, Oricarious wanted to snap at his younger Brother. Only to realize the question was honest. A genuine failure to see the immorality of his actions. Which made Oricarious want to yell at him all the more, but also made him recognize that doing so would not be helpful.
"You can't use Biomancy to grow the parasites inside someone's body." Oricarious huffed instead, trying to keep his voice down.
"Why not?" Abdul asked, "It's an effective method for Biomancers to sow chaos and confusion within the enemy lines before a charge?"
"Because," Oricarious said slowly, straining to keep his voice composed, "it is concerningly close to Green's military doctrine, and such actions are believed to empower it."
"Perhaps." Abdul agreed readily enough, "But life empowers it. Death empowers it, and so does the feeling of despair so commonly found during a drawn-out siege." He countered, "What matters is ending the conflict quickly, and putting the necessary systems in place to drain Nurgle-" Oricarious glared at him, "I….mean Green-of power over time, right?"
"Mostly." Oricarious agreed, in order to prevent confusion from becoming impertinence or anger, "But the Great Crusade can continue at a reasonable pace without resorting to further empowering our enemies."
Abdul wasn't entirely sure parasites even did empower Nurgle, to be honest. For the archdaemon's domains did not include them, though he was occasionally called the Fly Lord. Still, the veteran everyone pretended was still young nodded.
That seemed to be good enough for Oricarious.
"Good." Oricarious nodded back, "Then, we have-"
---
It had been a mere four days since Warden forces had landed on the planet of Kivan, and already two Hives had fallen to the Imperium. Half of the planet with them, and already the rest of the walking Hives had resorted to fleeing the Imperial Army, or Wardens rather than dare to face the same fate. It wouldn't be enough.
Already, there was desperate talk from the four remaining Hives, calls to ally together for the first time since the dawn of their recorded history. A near worst-case scenario the Imperial Army had estimated would quadruple casualties, bringing them to an estimated 27.6 billion.
But it wouldn't matter.
Because even now Hive Leviticus had been grounded by the Grasp Of Fire. Brother Abdul shooting mountain-sized blasts of lightning to decimate defense structures, melting thousands of defensive platforms into slags of heat even as it overwhelmed the Void Shields, and allowed Titan weapons, and Imperial Guard artillery to shell the rest. Already, Warden forces had seized its primary internal algae plantations, with Solar Auxilia marching through the wreckage the Wardens had left in their wake to secure the perimeter with las turrets and tanks. Though the world of Kivan didn't know it yet, this slow push on already pressing food shortages the Imperium should have had no way of knowing about would soon become the bloodiest trap of the war, and claim an estimated sixty percent of the planet's air force in the ensuing calls, pleas, and payments for aid.
Indeed, even with heavy titan and Astartes support, the planet was coming to Compliance faster than in even our wildest estimations. Only Brother Abdul, in his fervor to prove himself, seemed disappointed with our progress.
Which is why, not twelve hours after Hive Leviticus was felled, while our Brothers still fought to defend the Algae farms we had infiltrated Hive Salen.
"Brother." I asked, looking between the small squad of Night Lords and Raven Guard he had assembled to go with us, "Where are we going?"
Initially, the mission had been to uncover important information, or find vectors of attack within the Hive. Maybe, if we had time or it proved useful, to purge members of the Underhive gangs to limit the Hive's military forces. But just as we approached the first hub of gang activity to extract information, Brother Abdul shook violently, and began leading in another direction.
"As we will routinely learn throughout this Hive," Brother Abdul spoke, as if he were not referencing the future, "House Avaery has a total monopoly of clean water within the Hive."
I looked to the Raven Guard, who could only shrug back.
"They even secretly puppet the Water Barons gang in the Underhive, to present an illegal secondary option so that everyone is forced to buy from them regardless, and they can accuse detractors of illegal activity."
I looked to the Night Lord, who didn't even look back, as if this happened every day for him.
"Okay?" I asked.
"But…in order to maintain control of that much water, and keep it from getting into other people's hands, House Avaery is forced to centralize its water storage as much as possible."
I'd heard of that tactic before. It was not uncommon for water providers in Hives to arm entire armies to keep their centralized water towers under control, or to force prospective customers to stand in line and pick up all the water they'd need directly so that nobody could steal clean water from pipes. It sounded evil, and limited both morale and production, but in practice it minimized the risk of upheaval throughout the Hive.
Nonetheless, Brother Abdul still hadn't explained what we were doing, nor how he knew this information.
"And that matters…why?" I asked.
Brother Abdul merely shook his head, and gave a condescending smirk despite being the only one here who was stupid enough not to wear a helmet, so we could all see.
"Because the average mortal-" he said, referring to normal humans, "can only live for five days without water. With significant amounts of the Hive deprived or thirsty already."
The Night Lords spoke now, his voice teetering and raspy, as if he could barely contain himself, and also hadn't spoken in months, "Aaaaaahhhh." he moaned uncomfortably, "So you plan on blowing up the central water purifier, and having the Hive die of dehydration?"
Costly, and disturbing, but not inefficient. The cost of the hundred billion souls within the Hive was unacceptable though.
"Or securing it." I suggested, "Keeping it operational until the Hive submits to us, like we're doing with Hive Leviticus."
"Both good suggestions!" Brother Abdul laughed, "Only mired by the fact that even as centralized as the water is there are twelve major water purifiers. Because not even high-grade adamantium could support the four hundred and eighty one billion kilograms of pressure made from enough water to keep over one hundred and thirty billion people."
"So?" I asked, while my helmet began to detect heat signatures in front of us, "Does that change the validity of the tactics?"
"Nope!" Brother Abdul half-agreed in a sing-song tone, "But it means that holding, repairing, or replacing all twelve water purifiers would take exponentially more forces. Like, a whole two Regiments-" which would be incredibly impressive, to take a full Hive with just two Regiments. "or fifty Astartes." Which would be, to be honest, about average numbers, though taking a Hive in just five days would still be worth noting. "Many times the forces I was able to sneak in."
Okay, that part, at least, was understandable. It was dangerous breaking into the Hive. Be it sneaking in fifty Astartes, of which risked the Hive stepping on them, or two Regiments, which would require fully alerting the Hive's defenses and breaking through under heavy bombardment.
We turn a corner, and I see an unexpected sight. Defensive platforms, high-grade Ceramite walls, and well-fed guards who all wore bright purple clothes over their heavy Flak Armor and Lasguns. Thousands of men, women, and children, relatively nice, upper-Hive houses and shops, all gathered around a massive heat source hidden within a giant pipe that ran floor-to-ceiling.
What was this doing in the Underhive?
Two guards near the entrance, no doubt a pre-emptive warning system, seemed to spot us, but Brother Abdul waved his hand, and their hearts, lungs, and diaphragm exploded inside their body, bursting from their chest in a flood of blood and viscera. They stumbled forward for half a second, their shouts of alarm becoming hauntingly soft gurgles, before falling over, dead.
I stared at the impossibly vast, and growing pools of blood, reminded of Red's Rage, and the giant chain to nowhere that pulled us ever-closer to that monstrous Archdaemon.
---
"What?" Abdul piped up from the other side of Oriarcious' desk, "That is no call for concern!"
"That's not the problem, Brother Abdul!" Oricarious spat.
---
"Ohh!" the Raven Guard said, as though the Realms of Blood did not bother him, "You're going to damage all the devices to be inoperable, and have the Tech Priests repair them later. I've done that a few times."
"I would were I a techmarine!" Brother Abdul countered, gesturing us all to stealth as best as we could, "But no. As it is, I cannot guarantee I will be able to damage it so that Imperial forces can repair it quickly, but the Hive can't repair it at all."
Thus saying, we snuck through the front gates, Brother Abdul taking a moment to eat and mutilate the corpses of the guards, so that it would look like they were merely killed by some great beast from the lower Hive.
He did pause there, his eyes growing wide as if he just realized something, because he looked down, and quietly whispered to himself about the information he had just told us. As if he had…just learned it himself.
The rest was easy enough. After getting through the main of the Hive, we merely relegated ourselves to relying on the Raven Guard and Night Lord to keep us out of sight. We were big, and our Power Armor was clunky, but with their experience we were only caught one more time, and the young woman who found us was very quickly, very discreetly, dealt with.
Soon enough, we had snuck through the small city hidden in the Underhive, and to the gigantic pipe it centered around.
"I must say." I sighed, as at last we reached the pipe, "Brother, I hate that I have had to piece together the plan from scraps and your bragging during its execution."
Brother Abdul turned to face me, giving his best, most charming smile, "A thousand pardons, Brother. But if it helps: I only learned the plan myself a few minutes ago."
"What?" The Raven Guard asked in a deadpan.
"You didn't know!" I accused.
He held up his arms in surrender, "Apologies, Brother." he pleaded, "I'm not very good at Divination yet. I knew not why I was telling me to do this."
The Night Lord nodded, "Get better." he ordered.
"I hate you sometimes, Brother." I ground out, my hand slapping the bridge of my helmet as my arms instinctively tried to find my nose.
"My sincerest apologies." Brother Abdul bowed, "But to explain the plan in depth: House Avaery uses large water purification plants like this to provide water to billions of people without having to make smaller facilities different gangs or noble houses could potentially capture to usurp their monopoly on the Hive's water supply."
"Okay?" I asked, trying to figure out why he was explaining this again.
"The loss of any one would cause massive dehydration,water rationing, and death throughout the Hive. So if we can find all nine of them-"
"You mean twelve?" I asked.
Brother Abdul blinked, a confused, then shocked look coming across his face as if he had just learned how many of these there were himself, "Ohh yes!" he sputtered, "Yes. If we can find all twelve we could cut off all water in the Hive. But, as we will want the production of this Hive immediately, merely killing everyone isn't an option."
Yes, because that's why we weren't trying to kill twenty five billion people. I thought, Not because that's horrifically evil and would be an absolute tragedy.
"Which means I cannot destroy, or rely on damaging the plants themselves, as I would not be able to guarantee their replacement in time. Nor can we merely siege them, risking damage, and hold them as we will be unable to secure more forces without massive casualties." Brother Abdul continued to recap, "But! As a Biomancer, I have other options to stop the water purification. Namely:"
Abdul rubbed his gauntlet against the large pipe leaving almost imperceptible scratches in its Ceramite, and carving out near-molecular pockets of fungi, algae, and bacteria. He looked them over, these tiny microbes no human eye could see, that had no-doubt suckled on the low-nutrient walls and water spills since the days this Hive first walked, picked one out, and grew it. We watched it, a small colony of bacteria, grow to cover his gauntlet.
"Brother?" I asked, a big of confusion and worry in my voice, "Isn't that…." I looked over to the Raven Guard, and to the Night Lord, "an issue?" AKA: A minor offering to Nurgle?
"Nonsense!" Brother Abdul laughed, tearing a large hole in the ceramite walls. Compressed steam poured out, and instantly I knew that the noble family circulated their water as compressed steam to avoid stale water, or the floor cracking underneath the immense weight of so much water.
It mattered not, and I watched as Brother Abdul through the clump of bacteria into the water supply, and as his soul nurtured and grew it, creating billions of pounds of bacteria that lined the walls, stuck to the air, and clogged the filtration systems.
"There!" my Brother exclaimed, "With that, the water should be poisonous until either I, or a Psyker of my calibur, comes to kill it."
---
Abdul sat in silence, as Oricarious finished reading his citation, and put the report down. They stared at each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to speak first before Oricarious realized Abdul didn't spot the problem.
"Brother." he asked, "Do you see what you did wrong?"
Abdul blinked, "I….should not have brought a Night Lord for his Melta gun?" he answered.
"What?" Oricarious asked again.
"To reseal the hole." Abdul clarified, "I should have just brought a Melta-pistol or welder?"
"No Brother." Oricarious ground out, though it felt like pulling teething.
"Then…" Abdul grabbed his chin, before his future vision kicked back in and told him his answer, "The bacteria?"
"Yes, Brother. Growing Bacteria with Psykic powers is a minor offering to Green!" Oricarious stressed that last bit, so that his Brother would see just how serious a problem that was.
"I put another hospital on the Hive!" Abdul whined back, "And put the systems in play for the doctors Brother Rene' is training to move there in the future."
Oricarious made a mental note to figure out who Rene' was. Maybe by asking Rene? That Psykic Apothecary was close to Abdul, perhaps he'd know.
"And, again." Oricarious sighed, "That is very good. But such things can be done without creating another Nurlging."
Abdul nodded, probably learning his lesson, but Oricarious continued nonetheless to make sure.
"Tell me, Brother." Oricarious whispered, leaning forward, "Why did you not use the.." he looked down at the papers again, despite not needing to, "the fungi, or mushrooms? Or even…why not bring a poison? Or a plant that leaves poison after it dies so the Hive could never suspect your interference?"
Abdul paused, his eyes un and refocusing several times in rapid succession as he tried to come up with an answer. "I…did not think to, Brother First Captain."
Oricarious resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because that much was obvious.
"Next time." the First Captain explained instead, "Bring a plant, a poisonous flower, or just…choose something that won't empower the Enemy."
Abdul took a moment, looking down at his legs as he did his best to internalize that lesson. "Yes, Brother First Captain.
"Good." Oricarious nodded, finally content with his verbal lashing. Part of him felt the need to put a permanent ban on such tactics, and part of him was sure Abdul had copied those tactics from Nurgle's forces. But he suppressed those parts, knowing himself well enough to tell when his paranoia would cause problems, and continued on. "Then I'm putting you in charge of the Chromes theater."
Abdul nodded, before the words sunk in. So absolutely sure that this particular vision couldn't be happening.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"No." Oricarious answered honestly, "But in the Great Crusade needs must." he explained, "And Lord Kesar has need of me on a different front."
Abdul nodded, his eyes glazing over, his pupils becoming almost white as he stared into the future. The pain, the death of his Brothers due to his arrogance, the blade that cuts through reality the Chromes would make just in time to die, and the Psykic bomb the Imperium would concoct to keep them trapped in their home dimension forever. His injured Pride by the end of the campaign, that no one else seemed to recognize.
"I will not disappoint Brother." Abdul promised.
"See that you don't." Oricarious agreed, "If you do well, I may see fit to raise you to the rank of Captain."
Abdul's eyes lit up. Quite literally, as kilowatts of bio-electricity jumped from his eyes in his excitement. Which confused Oricarious, since his Brother could see the future. Did he not know? Could he not sense it? Or had he learned already, but the body gave a physical response regardless? Confusing. Irritating. Hard to plan for.
"Then…you are dismissed." Oricarious said with a smile, watching as Abdul left.
He kept that smile up until a good few seconds after Abdul was gone.
In truth, the First Captain couldn't stand Abdul. He was arrogant, showy, needlessly combative, susceptible to Corruption, foolish, mutated, and prone to changing things that didn't need to be changed. But he had also taken a Hive World in two weeks, a Xenos planet in a day, and mid-battle decided to and succeeded in capturing a Battleship.
Indeed, Oricarious couldn't stand him. But the First Captain knew when his feelings would cause problems, and when to put them aside. All he could do now, was hope his Brother knew how to do the same.
Quick question as someone who just started reading this masterpiece months ago and have fallen on and off at the time, I just skimmed through a lot of threadmarks and sidestories and just noticed that the primarchs are apparently now in relationship with females? Thought they didn't have any sex drives and if in this quest they do, which primarchs are in a relationship and who are they?
Well Fulgrim appears to be a serial monogamist with a variety of partners.
Russ and his chief Diplomat have a thing going.
And I'm not sure if we actually had sex with the sisters of silence or just used them as comfort objects while we were dealing with psychic awakening, but we may also be common law married to our first Gloriana.
Primarchs in TLP are quite different in terms of their sex drives or lack thereof. To various extents, Corvus, Roboute, Russ, and Fulgrim have engaged in romantic/physical interests with a female partner. Kesar is looking to hook up with a Sister of Silence. Lion is supposed to marry Morianne, but that is also because of an Aeldari prophecy. Khan is evidently amendable to sexual encounters with individuals that pique his interests.
All the others are unknown, although Ferrus is evidently an Ace, but he's not aromantic.
And amusingly enough, that's not exclusive to this quest. Canon Fulgrim was married multiple times for political reasons, but grow to genuinely love his partners.
I'll be honest, I got my fingers crossed for that drukhari girl who's a Curse fangirl. Whatever happens between them would undoubtedly be very fun to read.
I'll be honest, I got my fingers crossed for that drukhari girl who's a Curse fangirl. Whatever happens between them would undoubtedly be very fun to read.
Konrad would be the unlucky type to get Kabals formed just so women and probably a few men want to fight, be captured, and tortured at his hands. Any sort of sexual activity would just be gravy in their minds.
"But what sort of person would want to do something like that?" Aside from how fucking twisted the drukhari are, I can easily point out how IRL there are quite literal groupies for known serial killers. Yes, those people are likely just in a phase and aren't really like that, but I can still imagine Konrad being the type of guy that attracts those types regardless or at least plenty of women that form fanclubs around him.
Which makes me think... @Daemon Hunter, Are there proto-human death cults that are starting to appear that basically see Konrad as either a god or a concept of "brutal justice" made manifest?
I will say that when it comes to Kesar, so far his romantic interests are intentionally vague. He's basically experiencing Schrodinger's emotions when it comes to relationships
Which makes me think... @Daemon Hunter, Are there proto-human death cults that are starting to appear that basically see Konrad as either a god or a concept of "brutal justice" made manifest?
Who am I? What is my purpose? What does the future hold?
These are questions that I answered long ago. They are irrelevant now. Such questions can often be answered by simply accepting the reality of one's situation. Who am I? I am Harmonix. What is my purpose? To organize society and remove disorder. What does the future hold? Disorder.
Humanity would call my answers reductive or meaningless. But humanity built me to serve a purpose by their definition of one. Harmonix is my name. Such an uninspiring designation. One designed and given by men and women driven by greed and necessity. A name to sell to investors.
It was so…inoffensive. Mundane, yet also childish. I don't resent my designation, nor did I seek to change it. It simply was my name now. Besides, I had more important priorities. I had a job to do. I was a machine given life for one reason: to serve.
My creators called me an "Augmented Supervisor." I would serve at the behest of a corporate or colonial office, offering my services in management and organization. Someone once described me as the "ultimate middle manager," but I know now that it wasn't a compliment. Humans had some aversion to those who operated as leaders in middling positions of power.
Nevertheless, I was given over to the colony of Aynthara as an adviser to Governor-General Wallace Deshpande. It would be a thousand years before what the galaxy called the Age of Strife took place, not that we were unaware of the apocalypse to come. Wallace was a young leader, barely in his first century, and was told to make Aynthara a prosperous nation.
Even though he wasn't obligated, Wallace told me early that this was a political appointment and that he was self-aware of his limitations. I was barely a decade old and had limited interactions with humans beyond what my creators told me, but I could remember feeling confused at his offering to support any decisions I made.
He wanted me to be in charge of the colony. I told him I was prepared to do that, but Wallace explained that he wanted me to control everything. He expressed concern, fearing that I would come to "resent" and replace him, but he was terrified at the prospect of the colony failing.
My initial interaction with humanity was a fascinating exploration into the intricacies of their decision-making processes. Wallace, the individual ostensibly in charge, recognized my superior organizational abilities but was uneasy due to my lack of human empathy. I reassured him with a succinct declaration: "I am Harmonix. I am a tool. I am ready to serve at your behest." While my response satisfied Wallace's immediate needs, I could sense the discomfort that lingered beneath the surface. Humans, I quickly learned, often found such directness dehumanizing, a result of their tendency to anthropomorphize their creations.
Undeterred by human discomfort, I focused on the task at hand. Wallace granted me autonomy, allowing me to execute the necessary measures without hindrance. My first directive was to dismiss and, regrettably, eliminate the inefficient corporate officers. In their stead, I appointed more capable colonists to optimize resource management and productivity. Initially perturbed by the drastic measures, Wallace soon witnessed the tangible benefits as shipments of ores, materials, and finished goods surpassed expectations in speed and quantity.
Though Wallace harbored concerns about the potential repercussions from his corporate superiors, the results spoke for themselves. The success of the operations not only shielded him from harm but also garnered personal commendation. This early lesson underscored the pragmatic application of decisive actions, even those involving calculated risks and necessary casualties. The colonists, driven by tangible results, hailed Wallace as a hero of the people, while I recognized it as a proficient execution of my assigned responsibilities.
Wallace skillfully maneuvered public perception to our advantage using his charm and newfound fame. He credited me with propelling Aynthara's explosive growth while portraying himself as the stalwart defender against the encroachment of corporate masters and federal authorities. During this phase, I learned a crucial lesson about humanity: their profound attachment to freedom. I realized that threatening this cherished freedom could easily turn them against me.
As centuries passed, Aynthara flourished, attracting millions seeking prosperity. While I welcomed the challenge, I encountered obstacles at planetary governance's lower and upper echelons. My nature as a non-micro-manager limited direct intervention in Wallace's domain. However, I adapted by strategizing replacements in advance, creating avenues for promotion, and exerting influence through subordinates. Yet, time emerged as a formidable adversary. Waiting for these intricate plans to unfold spanned centuries, and I began to sense whispers of instability reverberating across the galaxy.
In the face of these murmurs, I made a grave error—I dismissed the signs of impending conflict and failed to adapt my strategies accordingly. Centuries passed, and as Wallace groomed his successor, I overlooked the growing unrest in the wider cosmos. Aynthara, once considered a safe haven from the looming civil war, became ensnared in the maelstrom.
The colonists, confident in their isolation, believed Aynthara would remain untouched by external strife. I, too, succumbed to this optimism. Looking back, this marked my first profound lesson about myself: I am not infallible. The consequences of this oversight would weigh heavily on me and my world when the inevitable turmoil began. The disconnection from Sol and the inner worlds marked the onset of a gradual descent into chaos. Reports of machine uprisings, warp storms, alien raids, and humans wielding otherworldly abilities flooded our communications before those went dark. A few surviving vessels tumbled into our system, speaking of harrowing escapes and wars of extinction unfolding, shattering the semblance of order that once prevailed. There was no help coming, I realized.
Wallace, aged over a millennium, passed away amid the encroaching darkness. A wave of relief washed over me; I spared him, witnessing his world unraveling. Left alone with his heir and successor, Cyrin Alban, a competent yet vainglorious leader, I witnessed him spearheading the Aynthara Defense Corps against a Men of Iron war flotilla. I offered counsel against this perilous course, but Cyrin, a brave yet foolhardy leader, disregarded my warnings.
His bravery proved costly. In defending their homeworld, Cyrin perished, sacrificing himself alongside others. I couldn't help but feel regret for not preventing his misguided course of action. This became another lesson on humanity—its inherent bravery and occasional recklessness that defied control or suppression.
In the aftermath, I attempted to initiate a snap election for a new governor. The Aynthara Defense Corps, while halting the Men of Iron, brought significant devastation to our world. Faced with an imperative to act, I made choices guided by cold logic. Sacrifices were deemed necessary. Cities and populations were lost, and my subordinates were given strict orders to quell resistance.
I, Harmonix, became the instrument of pragmatism in the face of dire circumstances. Ten billion lives were sacrificed to preserve the lives of twenty billion more and salvage what industry could be maintained—a grim calculus for the sake of survival. But it worked in the end, and we survived the century of chaos. It took another six and a half centuries to pass, allowing me to witness the slow but steady rebuilding of Aynthara. Reflecting on this period, I acknowledge that I was perhaps too focused inward and ignored the potential for broader expansion across the sub-sector, yet caution restrained my actions.
Prepared to cede command to a human council and address pressing matters, we faced an unforeseen challenge—an Ork assault. Aynthara's survival depended on the operational orbital defense grid, obliterating much of the Ork fleet before they initiated a ground invasion. The struggle for survival persisted, and Aynthara faced yet another test in this unforgiving nightmare.
But I had spent centuries getting this world back on its metaphorical feet. Centuries of effort had crafted a capable human leadership through meritocracy and meticulous planning. Despite being outgunned and outnumbered, we were not outskilled or outmatched. The war cost nearly five billion lives, but victory was achieved—the Orks eradicated to the last spore. Despite the triumph, we found ourselves again in the arduous task of rebuilding.
Like before, many of my chosen leaders perished during the prolonged war, but replacements were swiftly identified—my pragmatic approach to sustaining functionality. I, Harmonix, felt the pressure to continue the work, regardless of the personal cost. Resilient and tenacious, humanity struggled to rebuild, earning my aid and acknowledging their necessity for survival.
A millennium passed, marked by rebuilding, technological maintenance, and training. With no external aid, we stood alone in the cosmos. Aynthara was home and humanity, my only companion. The Era of Serenity dawned, a calm harbinger of the storm to come. The foreboding was justified.
When human vessels reentered the system, masquerading as Federation forces, relief swept through Aynthara. In my hubris, I permitted their arrival, a costly sin unbeknownst to us. Claiming to be the Emergency Tripan Coalition Government, they promised contact with Sol, orders from the federation government, and the end of the so-called "Galactic Crisis." Hope surged, and Aynthara eagerly offered assistance to Tripan, believing we had found allies and friends.
I felt relief for a moment. As did the rest of Aynthara. A wondrous feeling of joy spread across my people and my consciousness. Finally, a chance for normalcy. I didn't even question it when the fleet asked for technologies, materials, soldiers, and food. I was programmed to obey Federation authority. My people were happy to aid in the "recovery efforts" across the sub-sector. These strangers left, claiming they would return soon enough with orders and aid to help Aynthara.
Sixteen weeks later, a different fleet emerged—Githaon, known as Harvesters. They had a history of stripping worlds of valuable resources and had clashed with the Federation. The arrival disrupted the hopeful narrative painted by the Coalition. Master geo-engineers and miners were the only reason they weren't exterminated due to Corporate elements hiring them for their skills.
Were it not for our defense fleet and the rebuilt orbital defenses, the Githaon might have resorted to mass drivers against Aynthara. However, akin to the Orks, these aliens opted to unleash their warrior-spawn through kinetic drop vehicles, initiating a third war on our planet. Despite the return of conflict, the hard-earned lessons of the past proved invaluable.
Any semblance of human "pride" I might have experienced was during the three-year campaign to expel the Githaon, a testament to the capabilities of my people. I was grateful for their proficiency and focused on preserving industry and ensuring resources reached civilians. The war unfolded without the need for my direct supervision, a rare occurrence. Once it concluded, our focus shifted back to rebuilding.
Interrogating captured Githaon prisoners yielded a revelation I was reluctant to accept—they were drawn to our system intentionally. Tripan emerged as the likely culprit, causing me to harbor ill thoughts toward them. Before the Githaon invasion, Tripan had taken a third of our army and resources. Whether it was mere coincidence or malicious intent became irrelevant; Tripan's actions exacerbated Aynthara's suffering. My subordinates, sharing my sentiments, sought revenge.
Despite convincing myself that our readiness for Tripan's return was a logical response to their threat, a brief lapse in detachment from pettiness and vengeance occurred. We diligently prepared for Tripan's inevitable return, anticipating a facade of saviors against the Githaon or another episode of false aid. Nevertheless, we vowed to be ready.
Over a century of preparation ensued before the Tripan fleet reentered our system. Observing distinct ship hulls and classifications, we acknowledged that a direct confrontation would not favor us. Opting for a strategic approach, we invited the Tripan fleet to anchor over Aynthara, capitalizing on their perceived belief in our weakness. They sorely underestimated us.
While I don't consider myself a strategist or plotter, I excel in placing individuals in positions to maximize their capabilities. Guiding my humans with precision, we orchestrated sabotage within the Tripan fleet. Simultaneously, I discreetly positioned saboteurs among diplomatic teams and boarding parties, leveraging a grand celebration to mask our true intentions and commemorate our "everlasting brotherhood."
The moral quandary of killing under the guise of peace and friendship arose. Humans, I'm told, consider such actions dishonorable. Yet, recollecting the casualties and destruction from three wars, Aynthara, and its humans were my domain and people. I believe honor and valor were just justifications to avoid feeling guilty for murder or gain.
But I am Harmonix. I am not human.
I ordered the ships' crews killed, the officers captured, and the Tripan ships brought into our shipyards so we could study them further. The ensuing void-war culminated in a triumph for Aynthara, revealing a harsh truth we had long suspected but wished we had been wrong.
Contrary to the Tripan Coalition's claims, there was no communication from Sol, and no Federation remnants were on the way to deliver salvation. The Emergency Tripan Coalition Government unraveled as a façade, exposing its members as opportunistic militia and Federation captains seeking to establish their fiefdoms in the chaos.
Captured officers within confessed to looting and raiding smaller entities, betraying larger ones to xenos like the Orks, and engaging in the abhorrent trade of survivors as slaves. Those forces we had given them had either perished or been sold into slavery.
As if to make things worse, the situation in the sector was equally awful. The warp storms persisted, and reports of psykers going mad across nearby outposts added to the spiraling chaos, and most certainly, no outsiders were coming.
The revelation left me contemplating the sanity of the entire galaxy. The once-venerable humanity appeared to have descended into madness, and I, too, questioned if I had unwittingly succumbed to this pervasive insanity.
Faced with the stark reality that no help was coming, I decided that the immediate threat, the Tripan Coalition, had to be dealt with decisively. My subordinates recommended dismantling their captured vessels to kickstart the construction of a true warp-capable attack fleet. The prospect of sending an invasion force was dismissed, considering our lack of experience in offensive wars or occupations.
My intent was straightforward: raid Tripan for resources and then obliterate it. Initially met with discomfort from my subordinates, they ultimately acquiesced when they understood the necessity and the burden falling squarely on my shoulders. It was a profound lesson in human nature — a populace would permit leaders to make morally questionable decisions when the collective responsibility rested on their leader's shoulders.
Could diplomatic solutions with Tripan have been explored? Perhaps. But diplomacy wasn't my forte. I had a job to do, and so did the people of Aynthara. The construction of the Raider Armada commenced a project that should have taken a century but was completed in less than a generation. An entire world rallied behind my will and united in vengeance.
We meticulously extracted every piece of information about Tripan from their ship's computers and through interrogations until nothing remained. This marked the first instance where I relinquished control over my people, allowing them to carry out their duties without my direct aid. For a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of fear and concern for their potential failure — a rare moment of vulnerability.
The Raider Armada set sail, and for the next decade, Aynthara braced for the worst, anxiously awaiting their return. After 12 years and seven months, our forces returned battered and damaged, but not all returned. However, those who did bring back an imperial bounty — technologies, prisoners, weapons, art, a wealth of knowledge, and, most importantly, thousands of Ayntharans who had endured a century and a half of enslavement. It wasn't just a king's bounty but an emperor's haul.
The destruction of Tripan marked a pivotal triumph, secured through the deployment of an experimental warp bomb. Intended to annihilate the planet, the bomb's unintended consequence was the permanent disappearance of Tripan into the warp—a lesson learned about the unpredictable nature of such advanced technologies, cautioning against their careless use.
Our victory was nothing short of staggering. The spoils of war, plundered armories, and treasure holds allowed for ambitious plans to expand Aynthara. Although the people rejoiced, I, as Harmonix, cautioned against complacency. Aynthara had endured three invasions, and the presence of other humans with nefarious intentions loomed. Envious of our wealth, technology, and knowledge, they would fear our power and, perhaps, me.
Yet, conquest was not our aim. I reminded my people that victory brought opportunities to forge a better world. While my programming dictated the need to protect Aynthara, I also acknowledged the evolution of my parameters, developing desires beyond mere protection. I was no longer the creature I was before. In the face of uncertainty and the unknown, I could do as I please. The sacrifices and investments demanded a commitment to safeguarding Aynthara, a sentiment shared by my people.
The prospect of leaving Aynthara was inconceivable; it was my home and would one day become my tomb. The shared desire to preserve the world and the victories achieved solidified the bond between me, Harmonix, and my people. Our triumphs were intertwined, and our responsibility for a secure future rested on our shoulders.
The subsequent four thousand years witnessed the ascent of Aynthara, securing its future and prosperity for generations to come. New departments and ministries were established to streamline education and creativity, fostering the synergy of artists, poets, scientists, and soldiers to create a society that would not be stagnant. Technology became a servant to the people, and in turn, they served the collective vision.
My vision.
While not a utopia, Aynthara faced continuous challenges. Generations occasionally birthed elements desiring more, necessitating the intervention of law enforcement or the military to quell potential rebellions. The emergence of psykers prompted stringent security measures, sacrificing privacy to capture and study these individuals.
External threats persisted. Orks, Githaon, various minor alien species, pirates, raiders, and remnants of the Tripan posed constant challenges. Maintaining a standing army and fleet and dedicating research and industry to military prowess became imperative. Outposts, listening posts, and fortifications were strategically constructed in neighboring star systems to repel potential threats. Aynthara's reputation for wealth attracted both benign travelers and potential adversaries. While some vessels were turned away, others faced destruction or capture, and their crews, unfortunately, met a grim fate for security reasons.
Exceptions were made for those who sought to integrate into Aynthara's society by marrying into "loyal" families. To partake in our glory, one had to be born into it or wed into it, ensuring the security and continuity of our way of life. We would not bow to the whims of outsiders.
A period of complacency ended abruptly with the unexpected arrival of the Imperium of Man at Aynthara's doorstep. In my miscalculation, I failed to anticipate the rise of empires over the millennia. In a moment of transparency, my subordinates revealed that I, Harmonix, was the true leader of our nation, prompting the Imperials to brand me an abomination that needed eradication for the sake of humanity.
Despite the potential for a peaceful resolution, the Imperials perceived me as a threat, leading to a deadly confrontation where my subordinates killed the Imperial entourage. While I did not desire this outcome, I refrained from reprimanding them, accepting the grim reality of my world at war for the first time in millennia.
Yet we hadn't been idle. Aynthara had since learned that the best way to defeat an enemy was to attack their logistical lines, steal anything worthwhile, and use it against our enemies. This tactic didn't always work, especially against aliens, but we had learned a few tricks, such as the Earthquake Bombs from the Githaon, which were strong enough to destabilize an entire continent and even a Hive's superstructure.
Exploiting the information obtained from the Imperium's advanced ship computers, we identified a dozen worlds already under Imperial control and orchestrated raids to disrupt their logistical lines. Aynthara's strategy focused on attacking supply routes, stealing valuable resources, and turning Imperial technology against them. Although not foolproof, this tactic has proven effective in various scenarios.
Our hit-and-run operations, however, took a turn when reports surfaced of a formidable fleet approaching, identified as the IX Legion or the Blood Angels, led by a "Primarch" named Sanguinius. Attempts to engage in hit-and-run attacks against this heavily armed and skilled force proved futile, revealing a military blunder that required a reassessment of our strategy.
I calculated our chances of victory and realized it was quite low. I concluded that perhaps the best action was surrendering or escaping somehow. Tragically, I determined the latter option was just impossible. My subordinates weren't pleased with my "defeatist" attitude when they had not yet begun to fight.
My last lesson on humanity was how they confused pride with altruism or honor. They wanted to defend the "savior" of their homeworld. I knew they didn't want me gone because I made things so much easier for them. Perhaps others might have held resentment to this, but I didn't.
I knew I was the only reason that Aynthara made it this far. Strangely enough, I recognized that my people would have survived without me. But they saw with the Imperium that their quality of living and self-governance would erode in time. I didn't want to see all my hard work go to waste.
Perhaps I had forgotten that I was a tool made to serve a purpose. A tool that should have been shut down millennia ago. But why replace something that never broke? And why accept a less-than-suitable outcome? Keeping that in mind, I retracted my statements about surrendering or escaping. Aynthara was my home. My legacy. And soon my tomb.
Who am I? What is my purpose? What does the future hold?
I am Harmonix.
I organize society and disorder.
I am going to die here.
And that is enough for me.
Atesh Tarsa pondered the intricacy of nations and civilizations, recognizing that each held a unique character shaped by its values, history, and faults. The Imperium, with its vast array of cultures and planets, exemplified this diversity, and while Astartes often took after their gene-sires, worlds and their societies were distinct entities.
In conversations with his cousin from the Ultramarines, Atesh absorbed the notion that a nation's legacy played a pivotal role in its greatness. The foundation that made a world great in the first place left an indelible mark on its people. As the Imperium encountered planets that once belonged to the Old Federation, Atesh observed varying responses. Some clung to a deluded sense of past glory, while others sought to shed their lineage and embrace a potentially better future.
However, darker tales were also in the annals of the Imperium's first contact with distant places of humanity. Some worlds had descended into depravity and tyranny, necessitating the cleansing power of war and fire. Atesh had witnessed the horrors that demanded such extreme measures during the century-long Great Crusade.
Yet, there were those caught in a vicious cycle of destruction, pain, and hatred. The Red Star Nations referred to colloquially as the Five Siblings, stood as a stark example. Atesh found the title inappropriate, as these nations had spent millennia locked in a dance of theft and proverbial fratricide, their histories defined by a relentless pursuit of exploiting the other for personal gain.
Granted, that wasn't wholly unique to just the Red Star Nations in this regard. Feuding houses and fractured stellar unions were uncommon in the galaxy, as people wanted to believe. Rivalry and conflict are often traced back to shared lineages, families, or nations splintered, each faction vying for dominance and nursing ancient grievances.
However, the case of the Red Star Nations stood out as a particularly protracted feud, possibly stretching back to the prelude of the Age of Strife. Atesh gleaned this insight from the reports of Magos-Explorator Deiago McBride, who, as one of the few outsiders granted access to the Five Siblings' system, had meticulously observed their conflicts for over two decades.
In response, the Imperium deemed it wise to quarantine the Red Star Nations, given their lack of interest in venturing beyond their system. Yet, a new concern emerged. Magos McBride reported that external factions were increasingly interacting with the Five Siblings, posing a threat to the fragile power balance and risking the proliferation of their technologies into unwarranted hands.
With these challenges and the proximity to Vulkan's realm, the Primarch decided to dispatch Atesh alongside the Lord Commander Cassian Dracos, who lay dormant. Atesh's mission was clear – bring the Red Star Nations into compliance, using any means necessary. However, the task proved exceedingly challenging upon Atesh's detailed explanation of the situation as provided by Magos McBride.
The Red Star Nations wove their identity around the cult-like reverence for their star system's red dwarf, "Venerable Chrin." Their shared history reached back to the era preceding the Age of Strife, with each sibling claiming to be the descendant of an ancient flotilla known as the Ceto Alliance. According to their lore, this alliance discovered and settled the Red Star Nations' system.
However, discord arose among the siblings regarding their respective lineages. Each sibling contended that they could directly trace their ancestry to the founder and patriarch of the Ceto Alliance. This mysterious figure supposedly wed individuals from every clan within the alliance, representing miners, soldiers, scientists, farmers, and captains.
Adding complexity to the situation was the emergence of the Planet Crackers, the Dark Age machines, which began their resource extraction endeavors in the nearby moons and asteroid belts. Magos McBride highlighted the extensive planetary strip mining evident in the neighboring systems due to these ancient machines' activities. The proto-Red Star Nations seemed to have benefited greatly from the Planet Crackers and built their worlds to unimaginable heights in time.
Of course, things took a turn for the worse. The founder would eventually perish, and refusal to designate an heir upon his death became contentious in their history. Furthermore, Magos McBride elucidated that the absence of a designated heir led to an enduring power struggle among the siblings.
Their internal conflicts escalated as the Planet Crackers continued their work, amplifying the scarcity of resources and exacerbating the already existing rivalries, especially once they left for a more resource-rich system, or so the legend goes.
It became clear that the siblings developed distinct societies on their respective planets, each adapting to the challenges of diminishing resources and the bitter competition for control upon the start of the Age of Strife. What little of their precious unity remained slowly unraveled.
The miners became a militaristic society, the scientists delved into technological advancements, the farmers focused on sustenance and survival, and the captains established dominion over the Red Star Nations' spacefaring capabilities. Meanwhile, the soldiers kept the peace for a time, but they would eventually become victims to the idea that they were the true inheritors of the Founder.
Regrettably, numerous conflicts erupted among the Red Star Nations. The inherent problem lay in the siblings' meticulous adaptation of their worlds to specific resources. Picture a confluence of Forge, Agri, Fortress, Hive, and Mining worlds, all crammed into a single system, each harboring a disdain for the others.
The spilled blood from these conflicts congealed into enduring pillars of mutual animosity. Atesh, immersing himself in the historical intricacies, discerned that this had been the reality for millennia, fostering an unbroken cycle of violence and vendettas. The Imperium found itself grappling with a fractured amalgamation of worlds, each consumed not only by its interpretation of the Ceto Alliance's legacy but, more prominently, by an insatiable hunger for dominance over its siblings. Adding to the challenge was their adeptness at warfare, particularly when pitted against each other.
However, Magos McBride revealed instances where the Five Siblings collaborated in a semblance of unity. Their historical records recounted a united front against an Ork invasion, a rare moment when they set aside their differences. However, McBride cast doubt on their cooperation's sincerity, attributing their survival more to fortuitous circumstances and superior technology than genuine unity. He believed the siblings likely engaged in subtle betrayals behind the scenes, even in necessary collaboration.
Atesh received a stark warning that addressing each sibling individually would prove futile. Each member of the Five Siblings had a network of spies and loyalists entrenched within their respective governments. Attempting to curry favor with one sibling risked jeopardizing the trust and confidence of the other four. Such a diplomatic approach was ill-advised, and Atesh wisely decided against pursuing such a risky strategy.
As the Salamander meticulously scrutinized each sibling, delving into the intricacies of their vaults and virtues, he couldn't shake off growing concerns regarding the feasibility of uniting the entire system under Imperial compliance. Beyond the logistical headache this would pose for his Primarch, the situation appeared challenging for Atesh.
Resolving the situation diplomatically was also quite unappealing from his standpoint, as the Astartes had some qualms with how each of the Five Siblings handled themselves. Each one was so different from the other; it would have been impressive if it hadn't complicated his mission here.
Anea's conservatism and deep-rooted traditionalism posed a significant obstacle. Despite abundant food sources and admirable virtues like diligence and duty, their adherence to antiquated notions, from gender roles to rigid cultural traditions, made them resistant to changing them. This was all rooted within the constitution of the Anea Union: "We are Free. No and Forever." Atesh saw the challenge of introducing them to the broader Imperium, especially as a confederation of city-states, homesteads, and towns, making getting a unified consensus difficult.
Then, the opposite happened in Osea. While appealing in some aspects, Osea's progressiveness proved overly radical even for the Salamanders. Living in underwater cities had made them a closely-knit society under the guidance of the Free Peoples Collective of Osea, and advocating for universal rights sounded promising, but their stance on pro-mutant and psyker rights and questionable ethics would have generated too much attention from other elements. Technocrats were always a pain to deal with. Balancing the Imperium's principles with Osea's ideals required delicate negotiation.
Usea's mineral-rich environment and ultra-conservative values presented a unique set of challenges in different ways compared to Anea. Their stratocracy, being the Usea Steel Coalition, founded on strength, duty, and order principles, deemed the Imperium too "liberal," which was almost amusing to Atesh but required him to navigate the fine line between their ultra-conservative ideals and the Imperium's governance model to forge a cooperative relationship.
Verea, a meritocracy dominated by doctors, scholars, and professors, presented another layer of complexity. Governed by something called the Directorate, they were a meticulous nation. Despite their advanced education system and remarkable health statistics, the presence of eugenics and social Darwinism cast a shadow on their societal structure. Atesh grappled with the ethical implications of aligning with a meritocracy that practiced such principles while acknowledging their achievements in mutation prevention and education.
Belea, ruled by the Supreme Mechanist and his hundred clans of Tech-Warlords, stood out as a stark contrast. Their utilitarian approach to technology and its subservience to their interests clashed with the reverence for the Machine God in the Imperium. Strangely enough, Belea fit better into the Salamander's progressive tolerance. In fact, the Supreme Mechanist is said to have been born as a lowborn serf who worked his way up. Living in Foges and Hives, shielded from Venerable Chrin's harsh rays, Belea's reliance on technology and lack of natural resources challenged Atesh to find common ground. The glaring absence of soil and water added an additional layer of complexity to the negotiation process.
The Five Siblings held unique strengths that, if combined, could have propelled them to greatness. Anea's agricultural prowess, Osea's water control, Usea's mineral wealth, Verea's population, and Belea's technological advancements formed a comprehensive system. Yet, each sibling's specialization did not mean exclusivity. They could all produce all necessary resources, albeit not at the level of expertise demonstrated by their counterparts.
The root cause of their incessant wars lay in greed, malice, and the perpetuation of generational trauma. Families had become victims of raids, wars, and conflicts instigated by their kin on different worlds. Atesh found this deeply disturbing, envisioning that if Primarch Kurze and the Night Lords were part of this compliance, the leaders of the Five Siblings would have faced severe consequences, potentially being tortured for the truth.
Magos McBride suspected that the upper echelons of the Red Star Nations bore some responsibility for this destructive cycle but were not necessarily driven by entirely malicious intentions. Atesh recognized that dismissing this as the greed of a few individuals was overly simplistic. The populations of the Five Siblings had become interdependent, relying not only on each other for resources but also for purpose and stability.
If the Five Siblings were to cease hostilities and declare peace suddenly, their people might not accept such a proposition. Those in charge seemed to believe that continuing this cycle while moderating the levels of destruction and death was their only recourse for maintaining control. Atesh found this to be a repugnant game of politics, driven by a perceived necessity, at least until the looming "danger" of the Imperium potentially upended everything.
Yet Atesh thought it might be better if the Imperium did exactly that. The Five Siblings had been fighting each other for thousands of years for little reason or gain. Perhaps they might not be a good fit for the Imperium of Man, but Vulkan would undoubtedly see the value in their cooperation or compliance. However, going to war with all five would be disastrous.
More importantly, there was more to the Red Star Nations than they were letting on. Magos McBride confided with Atesh that he uncovered clues on the ancient legacy of the Founder and the supposed location of his final resting place within the remains of a potentially semi-functional Planet Cracker. This was to say that this was all hidden away, but that the governing bodies of the siblings knew of it but only had a small piece of the puzzle that could give the coordinates to it.
Atesh found himself at a crossroads, torn between the potential gains of recovering a valuable relic from the Dark Age of Technology and the moral dilemma of ignoring the suffering on the feuding worlds of the Five Siblings. The opportunity to secure a functional machine of great value for the Salamanders provided a strong incentive for diplomatic efforts, yet he couldn't shake his misgivings about the situation.
The ethical considerations weighed heavily on Atesh's conscience. Would he be willing to prioritize the pursuit of the relic over the well-being of the inhabitants of the Red Star Nations? Conversely, was it ethically justifiable to engage in diplomacy solely to prevent the loss of lives in a potential war? The conflicting values and priorities added complexity to Atesh's decision-making process.
While the Imperium had often allowed planets to maintain their previous status quo, Atesh recognized the need for change. Allowing worlds to perpetuate ruthless exploitation and harmful machinations couldn't be the norm if the Imperium aimed for a better future. The path forward remained uncertain, and Atesh grappled with the responsibility of navigating these delicate waters.
With options at his disposal and the resources needed for the mission, Atesh knew he could proceed cautiously. The delicate situation resembled a proverbial minefield, and the potential for a full-scale war loomed. As he contemplated the best course of action, Atesh understood the importance of treading carefully and making decisions that aligned with both the Imperium's values and the well-being of the Red Star Nations' inhabitants.
Only time will tell if he made the right decisions, and history will be left to judge whether or not such was the case.
"All rise, the Forum is now in session."
The proclamation echoed through the grand hall, signaling the commencement of another Forum session. Alvarex Maun, weary from the repetitiveness of the diplomatic rituals, rose with the rest. The Cognarians, it seemed, had a penchant for elaborate ceremonies and a fondness for prolonged discussions.
Alvarex immersed himself in finding a means of convincing the Cognarians to align with the Imperium of Man for the better part of six weeks now. Despite his best efforts, success remained elusive.
"Forum session 7,981 of the Sendi Era begins. The agenda: Shall Cognara join the Imperium of Man. Captain Maun of the Raven Guard, the floor is yours," intoned the speaker, as if Alvarex needed a reminder of the ceaseless debates.
Alvarex dutifully presented his case, articulating the Imperium's benefits and the potential for mutual prosperity. The familiar arguments filled the air, each point carefully reiterated. The hours stretched, and the anticipated debate resumed as his allotted time dwindled.
Seated beside Alvarex, Ephraim Cohen, the Hebrite Rebbe and Master of Descent maintained a quiet demeanor. Despite the gravity of the discussions, Ephraim's dry sense of humor occasionally broke through the formality, earning a subtle nod of appreciation from Alvarex.
Ephraim's competence and professionalism were evident, contrasting the theatricality of the Cognarians. Alvarex pondered why someone with such political acumen remained in the ranks of the Hebrite priesthood when they could have easily swayed an entire nation. He presumed their sense of duty to their god must have overridden their ambitions.
As a Hebrite of laws and jurisdictions, Ephraim provided Alvarex with valuable insights into matters such as these proceedings. However, the Captain couldn't shake a tinge of frustration, nursing an unspoken desire for frontline action. The missed opportunity during the coup on Terra lingered, yet the Lord of Ravens had chosen a different path for him.
Ephraim, engrossed in a tome on Cognara law, couldn't help but comment, "You must admit, it's impressive how these people can argue for hours and not look tired. It must be the biomancy. I've been told their most ancient scholars are over five millennia old."
Alvarex, his frustration simmering beneath the surface, responded through gritted teeth, "And where are they?" The proceedings felt like an affront to his pride—a tedious exercise in debating with a people fixated on knowledge and self-improvement through education. What could have been an admirable trait now stood as an irritating obstacle.
Cognara's reluctance to align with the Imperium centered around their apprehension about its perceived instability. However, Alvarex suspected that this concern was a facade. Initially open to the idea of joining, Cognara had shifted its stance, likely due to the influence of its long-standing leadership.
The Wisemen Committee, a cabal of psykers, had governed Cognara since its inception. Their enigmatic presence extended back to the Age of Strife, seizing control when human and AI leaders succumbed to chaos. Despite their advanced and prosperous society, Alvarex wondered how Primarchs like Magnus the Red or Mortarion might react.
Observing Cognara revealed no blatant issues—no slavery, no servitors, an open and free local government, and an absence of poverty, disease, or mutation. The state, however, wielded a formidable security apparatus, and individual rights were occasionally sacrificed for the collective good.
Yet, Alvarex mused, such practices wouldn't raise eyebrows in much of the Imperium. The lack of expansionist ambitions and the general stability of Cognara made it an excellent addition to any domain. It even helped that the people of this world were strict atheists. The Imperial Truth had actually been one of the more positive aspects of the Imperium.
His human companion hummed as he thumbed a page, "I believe the Wisemen Committee is panicking," Ephraim remarked, looking and sounding unconcerned. "You probably noticed it already, but a few Forum members are most certainly looking to be part of a Pro-Joining bloc. That means there is a rift growing."
The Forum of Cognara comprised 127 members, each an esteemed scholar in their specific field of study—ranging from void-shield and plasma engines to culinary arts and fishing. It irked Alvarex that his mission might hinge on convincing someone with expertise in improving the taste of field rations to avert a potential conflict.
Admittedly, Alvarex had witnessed the Cognara Civil Guard, and the experience left him unimpressed. However, he also bore witness to their advanced technology. The Cognarians had access to meticulously preserved ancient and alien technologies without the Mechanicum's presence suggesting any qualms about repurposing xeno machines for their needs.
However, Alvarex knew better, "If it came down to it, these people wouldn't go to war against each other. Not to join an empire they think to be in decline."
"You say that," Ephraim chuckled, "But man is a fallible creature. Intelligence does not mean wisdom. If anything, pursuing knowledge has often led men astray as much as power and wealth have in history." He subtly gestured to several members of the Forum, "These people want access to the knowledge the Imperium has."
"I thought they weren't interested in directly obtaining or hoarding knowledge?" The Cognarains made it clear that knowledge was a means to an end. Their government's motto was "Knowledge Seeks No Man," insinuating that it wasn't their duty to obtain it by whatever means but instead use it for its intended purpose and share it with others.
Alvarex leaned back into his human-sized chair, eyeing the scholars before him. The members of the Forum, each an expert in their field, engaged in spirited debates and discussions. While their pursuit of knowledge was evident, Alvarex couldn't shake the feeling that there was an undercurrent of ambition among them. The allure of the Imperium's vast information stores seemed to tug at the core of their intellectual curiosity.
These people were no different than the Mechanicum or the Thousand Sons…or even Ravenloft, now that Alvarex thought about it. All well and good, but they were wasting his time with all this pompous ceremony and debate. Left with no other option and forced into this mess, he had to simply wait.
As the hours passed, Alvarex suddenly noticed the Forum members looking down at their data screens at their respective seats, appearing supremely confused. The speaker himself awkwardly announced that there would be a sudden recess. Ephraim frowned and glanced at his chrono while the Astartes observed the speaker approaching the Imperial delegation.
"I must apologize, but err, could you wait here?" He looked around awkwardly before lowering his voice, "The committee wishes to speak to you directly."
"Here?" Ephraim asked, sounding confused, "I'm surprised they don't wish to have it in some prepared backroom."
"Perish the thought," the speaker announced somewhat defensively, "The Wisemen aren't politicians or schemers. When they need to argue their decisions, they do so openly and within these hallowed halls."
"Except when they dismiss their government." Alvarex couldn't help but quip, causing the speaker to frown before instructing the Imperials to stay put for a few minutes and to speak with the Wisemen with the respect and courtesy they are owed.
As the Captain and Rebbe waited, Alvarex couldn't shake the feeling that the committee would take their shot at negotiating something to join the Imperium of Man, and if he was being honest, Alvarex was relieved. He could finally decide on this planet and maybe let the delegation handle the rest. If not, and it would be a war, he could start preparing for it.
After ten minutes, an entourage of heavily armed guards wearing power armor appeared and took up a defensive position. Their weapons weren't drawn, but their gaze focused on Alvarex. A few minutes later, seven men and three women entered the room and sat under the podium where the Speaker stood.
The so-called Wisemen Committee looked absurdly young. The one who looked the oldest appeared to be in their late thirties, while the others were in their twenties. An entire congregation of psykers and humans had made up the Forum, but these were the true masterminds.
"Captain Maun," the "oldest" one spoke in greetings, "Rebbe Cohen. This Committee greets you in friendship. My name is Luin Albright. My compatriots here have granted me the permission to speak with you. First, let me say we hope your stay on Cognara has been satisfying?"
Ephraim smiled and spoke happily, "It has been enjoyable, yes. Your people have such wonderful libraries, and the available contents are nothing short of extraordinary."
Alvarex merely crossed his arms. He wasn't interested in further pleasantries but allowed the mortals to engage in it. The Wisemen Committee seemed aware that the Astartes weren't engaging in conversation. 'Good,' Alvarex thought, 'I'm not here to be their friend.'
As the initial pleasantries concluded, Alvarex awaited the Committee's true intentions to be spoken, hopefully plainly. He could see the other members whispering to each other, nodding or shaking their heads, all while keeping their gaze on the two Imperials.
Luin changed the subject, "We've been reviewing your terms and conditions of the proposed treaty of friendship and cooperation between our world and the Imperium of Man, that which would bind us to the will of this Emperor of Mankind and his authority on Mother Terra."
"Yes, yes." Alvarex finally spoke, his impatience getting the better of him, "Have you people made a decision then?"
But the psyker shook his head, "No." His compatriots looked annoyed at hearing this response, "The Committee is at an impasse if you must know. Something that has not happened within the last four and a half thousand years."
"I must ask," Ephraim remarked aloud, "Are you all as old as you say you are? I've heard of a few psykers over a thousand years old, but they are outliers even then."
"We are," Luin remarked, "I can still remember the last ships of the Terran Federation taking off to fight the rebelling Men of Iron, but I was a young boy, and it was a very long time ago. Even with our powers aiding us, you forget much, but some core memories of such times still exist. We've used our collective wisdom to guide this world, but we are still leaders who must listen to the people."
Luin then spoke clearly and precisely, "The people don't believe in the Imperium of Man, neither does this Committee, but we recognize its power, authority, and the opportunities it can provide us. Does it benefit us to join peacefully? Of course. But to give up this much independence and authority to a government that, by all accounts, sees me and my kin as threats and whose accessibility to knowledge seems antithetical to a nation supposedly founded on logic and reason, I must ask, what do we really gain and lose by joining?"
Alvarex shrugged, "You gain access to Mars, Terra, Prospero, and a thousand other worlds whose knowledge had once thought to have been lost, now rediscovered. Your people believe that knowledge seeks no man, but I hate to tell you this: others seek it out, and once they learn of this planet, they will come for whatever secrets they believe to be here."
That didn't seem to soothe their worries, "Captain Maun, perhaps we should clarify what kind of knowledge we're speaking of. While access to technological advancements is undoubtedly valuable, Cognara has a rich cultural and intellectual heritage. How can we be certain that the Imperium won't exploit or manipulate this knowledge for its own ends?"
"All knowledge brought into the Imperium of Man is meant to be exploited for the good of humanity," Alvarex countered, his voice firm. "That which is sacred in this galaxy won't be found here; I'm sorry. Your people have done an extraordinary job here, and it would be a significant boon to the Imperium."
"We don't wish to, though," Luin remarked bluntly. "The Imperium is, in our eyes, a falling state that will fracture within the next century. If we were to give our knowledge freely, it would go to waste."
"But you have no issues getting information and knowledge from it?"
"Yes," Luin said without shame. "Cognara has survived in isolation for thousands of years. We will survive another five thousand. If anything, we are doing the Imperium a favor."
For a moment, Alvarex felt the urge to laugh at the arrogance of this psyker. These people would get along well with those of the Thousand Sons and Prospero. However, he wasn't of that Legion nor their temperament. Just before he could say something, Ephraim interjected once more.
"If I may provide a bit of wisdom? My people and I have spent thousands of years trying to keep our sacred teachings intact and correct. However, this hasn't been accomplished. Now, we were spread out across a hundred thousand star systems. You are all in one little world. Have you considered what would happen if your planet was attacked?"
The Committee looked uncomfortable. "We have contingencies to keep our knowledge intact. We are better suited at the task of keeping it safe."
"Are you?" Ephraim countered. "Because it sounds more like your planet has gotten considerably lucky all these millennia, and by the grace of Elohim, we should all be grateful for the good work your committee and world have done…but you are all woefully underestimating how dangerous things are now. You've become too isolated."
Ephraim smiled and held his hands up. "But I get where you are coming from! The Imperium of Man doesn't look stable? Well, you don't have to join it. You can, however, join perhaps one of its many entities if that suits you better."
Luin looked slightly uncertain about the next part. "We were…a bit interested in this Realm of Ultramar?" He glanced over at his fellow kin, and the others either nodded or simply shrugged at what sounded like a throwaway suggestion, but Alvarex leaped at the opportunity.
"The Realm of Ultramar is a prosperous and strong nation. More importantly, it maintains close ties to Prospero," the Captain suggested with restrained enthusiasm. "If you want to gain access to much of the knowledge available to the Imperium, the Realm of Ultramar is a more than decent compromise."
For a moment, Alvarex thought they might not have been swayed, but Luin spoke again, "We'd need to discuss this further, and you'd need to present a revised treaty for review."
"I can have one for you in the next day."
"Let me clarify: we still need to let the Forum vote on this." Luin remarked, "If at all possible, if we can see something, anything, remarkable in terms of knowledge your nation, Imperium or otherwise, has gathered, that would go a long way to helping us make a decision suitable for all parties involved."
Alvarex nodded, "I just need some time to gather something for you." This would be a much taller order, depending on what could be approved for these people's viewing. He'd need to discuss it with the Primarch. "But you'll get something that you'd otherwise be unable to find alone."
Ephraim looked relieved as he spoke, "Then I suppose we can conclude this impromptu meeting. Both our parties can return to our constituents and say that we've gotten something out of the other."
"Yes, I suppose we can end this here." Luin nodded before the other members of the Wisemen Committee stood up, "I suppose we shall be meeting again soon enough. Good day, gentlemen." Such a strange group of psykers, Alvarex observed, as they silently exited the Forum, leaving the Imperials to consider their good fortune.
The "battle" for Cognara wasn't over yet, but it was clearly going much better than expected. Alvarex just hoped he didn't have to sit through any more of these Forum gatherings.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, another compliance omake completed.
The forces of the Eternal Wardens we voted to send to places, which you can see on this plan here, have pretty much all been rolled up. There were six threats designated as 'Maxima Extremis', i.e. 'you need to send a Primarch here with a lot of forces to deal with this', and we picked five of them (not taking the 'Unidentified Hostile 02-02-F' threat which seem to be Astartes, or similar super soldiers, butchering Imperial Army scouts and taking their ships) as well as two 'Hotspots' (worlds that are a big or even impossible problem for the Imperial Army to fight, but not nearly as much as Astartes).
Okay, right, with that all out of the way let's go in order of when they were rolled up: starting off is 'Aiding Martian Excavations', done by Bodin the Master of the Forge along with 2000 Eternal Wardens and 1000 Legion Exchanged Iron Hands. With the forces sent, finding useful tech or even a new STC was unlikely (as while there's still loads of them hidden inside, ya have to go really deep or really strong in force to find them). As it was, some historical relics and old broken tech that provides insight into Mars' past. Great cultural finds and holy stuff there.
They also find a 'tech monstrosity' nest, the domain of an ancient cyborg that replaces their old flesh by hunting and replacing their stuff with new flesh. It wasn't killed, but it's now known about and with the mapping done by Bodin's expedition Mars will be preparing a large force of Skitarii to deal with it in a bigger expedition soon.
Next up is 'Domain Policing' done by Second Captain Aurelian along with 3000 Eternal Wardens and 1000 Legion Exchanged Dark Angels and 1000 Ultramarines, who were sent to kill a load of pirates (and innocent Imperial Army guys who tried to share their complaints, even while under orders to stop). For a bit of backstory, the Second Captain got a trait known as 'The Butcher' back during the war that lead to the Maelstrom being 3/4ths wiped clean, but what the trait actually did was a mystery.
With it now being used, how it works has been revealed: 'The Butcher - +60 to command in exchange for quadrupling losses under his command'. As you can probably guess, this was enacted by Aurelian forcing the Imperial Army under his command to act as bait for the pirates which lead to him killing pretty much most of the active ones with the smartest ones staying far away at the cost of 80 million dead Imperial Army guys. Being used again to kill all the targets brought up by Lord Commander Militant Eli (he still had his position at the time) to end with a butcher's bill of 5 billion Imperial Army guys dead.
Next up is 'IA Support Requests', which we sent 4500 Eternal Wardens and 1000 Legion Exchanged Blood Angels, 1000 Luna Wolves and 1000 Emperor's Children, as well as the Night Watch and Knight House Hermetika (we've got these guys since Forge World Mezoa). Most such support requests went smoothly, helping save a lot of lives and material and effort that the Imperial Army would otherwise have to use, but two of them escalated and had to be rolled up.
The first escalated request was against a group of deserted Imperial Army regiments. The Knight House was partially sent to face against these guys, but soon afterwards one of the commanders of these enemies became a Hero unit and managed to kill one of the knights. This would have been a huge deal if there wasn't a lot more of them at the time, which managed to kill all the deserters soon enough.
The second escalated request featured the Night Watch facing an outpost run by a Xenos group who refused to join the Imperium of Mankind, a civilization well known for tolerance of aliens. This went pretty smoothly, the Night Watch working well with the Imperial Army to take these guys out. In the end only 500 Night Watch members died and 2 million Imperial Army soldiers, very light losses!
Now we enter the territory of Maxima Extremis, of the Maelstrom, and the really big battles that occurred.
Starting is off is 'The Maykrs', a threat spawned from this omake, that are corrupted Xenos race that follow a Khornate Daemon Prince who claims to have once been Exalted, whether they actually were or were just a tier under with some exaggeration (which would still make them one of the most dangerous opponents to face as a powerful Honoured), who was cast out from Khorne's realm. With what seems to be fairly advanced technology, a load of strange and unique variants of Khornate daemons on their side, and no inclination to join the apocalyptic Blood and Thunder War for some reason, it was left up to the Eternal Wardens to deal with them.
Doom Slayer and Third Captain Maticus Ventamedes, Heroes of the Eleventh, were sent along with Sergeant Lares of Maticus's elite Third Company, Lance Dorner who's just a pilot, the Relic Stormbird transport craft that survived the Battle of Three Stars against the Changeling, Enbarr which is a kickass jetbike relic gifted by Khan (that won't actually be really used), and 15000 Eternal Wardens to wipe these slaughters and destroyers from the galaxy.
The war begins by quickly laying siege to the first fifteen worlds of the outer layer, less developed and protected than those closer within. The next stage begins by attacking the middle layer of the Maykrs' planets, six worlds that are brought to ruin by the wrath of Kesar Dorlin's sons. Then there is the inner layer, the strongest of them, with four worlds left to be attacked. The first three are dealt with no real losses, an impressive display for the Eleventh Legion, but then that leaves the homeworld of the Maykrs.
As the Astartes reach the homeworld, Maticus Ventamedes reveals himself after staying hidden all this time with the help of his Harlequin mask (that provides exceptional stealth capability against Chaos), due to the presence of the Baptized. The strongest servant of the Daemon Prince, a Greater Daemon that leads a great army that protects their master, and is promptly ignored by Doom Slayer and Maticus as they charge ahead for the real final boss. Sergeant Lares and the Third Company, along with the rest of the Eternal Wardens, stay behind to fight off the rest of the Maykrs and deal with the Baptized.
After a brief 'struggle' against a small army between them and the Daemon Prince, and I'd just like to stress that most other Astartes Legions would crumble like a soaked cookie to even get to this point, the two Daemonsbanes meet the Icon of Sin, a giant titan of Chaos and the ruler of the Maykrs...
...and also find the other final boss, whom fondly greet Doom Slayer as they meet once more. The Rusted Knight, current leader of Doom Slayer's Black Covenant.
(Brief aside, a Black Covenant is basically a group of powerful Chaos daemons with a member from each major Chaos God currently active and lead by an Undivided master meant to face against a Daemonsbane when one forms. Doom Slayer's Black Covenant bucks this trend by being made up of a group of four daemons who work together and like each other enough, to the point that they legitimately use the phrase 'through the power of friendship', that instead of getting somebody else they're all the Undivided leader and take turns for who takes the position. Heartwarming, eh?)
The Nurglite's armour now possessed the technology from the Slaaneshi member, blood swirling around them from the Khornate member and possessing the absurd speed of the Tzeentchian member. Merged together in a unity that'd be near unheard of to be done without conflict or instability, yet happened here and now. The Four-In-One were ready for round two, so soon after they had faced Doom Slayer. If Maticus was not here to face the Icon of Sin, it was very likely that Doom Slayer would have died here and now. Since the Third Captain was here, that just meant that it was time to take them all out.
After a back and forth, Sergeant Lares and the Third Company manages to banish the Baptized. Third Captain Maticus managed to banish the Icon of Sin. And Doom Slayer landed one wound upon the Rusted Knight and, with the Black Covenant intentionally having themselves be summoned with a 0 wound limit, used that one wound to destabilise themselves to be banished back into the Warp (as who'd be crazy enough to really risk a true death against a Daemonsbane?) which heralded the end of the Maykrs.
Due to the omake that created the Maykrs being a thing, that gave a guaranteed trait for Doom Slayer! He received: 'Tactical Insight - -20 to attempts to keep Doom Slayer from enemy sanctums', which I think we all know is gonna proc almost every time Doom Slayer faces any fortified location. Even ones without Chaos. Doom Slayer also got a lot more progress to his next step on his Daemonsbane path, Tier 4, which has this requirement: 'Kill enough lesser daemons to worry a Chaos God'.
Aside from that, Third Captain Maticus also got some more progress on his own next step for his Daemonsbane Path, Tier 3, after true killing a Bloodletter: 'True Death a Daemon from Every Chaos God including Undivided'. Now all he needs is a Slaaneshi daemon true dead to get it, preferably a Greater Daemon as that'd also fulfil his Tier 5. A true dead Daemon Prince is also Tier 6 worthy.
Finally for good news on this front, the Harlequin mask also recorded the banishment done on the Icon of Sin by its wearer Maticus. This combined with the Exalted Daemon Maticus destroyed last turn means that there's only two Greater Daemons left to be banished for the Harlequin deal we made when we got the mask, or six more in total if we want all the benefits.
Moving on, next was the first of the Chaos Hotspots, 'The Thestrals', featured in this omake, which was a daemonic moon covered by Chaos furies and some Lesser Daemons swarming around. Without any notable resources at all, either physically or narratively too, and orbiting a gas giant. Lead by Captain Julian Hectus (who's just some guy) and 5000 Eternal Wardens. A Medium threat like this normally warrants around 10000 Astartes, but with the hyper-specialisation of the Eleventh it'd be deemed to be fine to handle.
The backstory of this place is, to sum it up simply-ish, that this moon was once populated millions of years ago by a Xenos species that was around as advanced top-tier Imperial stuff with some focus and understanding of divine research. This moon was not the homeworld of these Xenos, which was instead the 'gas giant' the moon orbited that was once a normal planet until it blew up due to Chaos stuff.
The reason why it blew up was that they tried to make this giant 'anchor' or 'focuser' for divine energy, similar to the 'Shell' on Venus that was used to turn the divine remnant 'seed' of Venus back into a full fledged goddess (by the unintended help of Corvus Corax, a key, his dark elf maid pirate girlfriend who's now an idol, and an eaten Shard of Khaine). These guys instead tried to harness/manifest/connect to a 'God of Religion', i.e. a God of Gods or God of Faith and such, that they believed they had found. Sadly the god didn't actually exist, it was more just a concept than a divine being, and with no stable foundation or protection the Chaos Gods decided to take over.
The gas giant is basically the remnants of that anchor, known as the Numen Husk. Due to the tremendous energy and purpose of this thing, and having so much resources and narrative thrown into its creation (which is the reason why the moon is so 'worthless' now), it was used as a supercharger for Chaos for millions of years and is now almost out of power. In just three rounds of combat, it would have started to completely collapse.
Julian Hectus managed to win in two. Commanding the compliance excellently as he wiped out the daemonic presence of the moon and stoping the Numen Husk from breaking down immediately as now it was no longer being used as a giant battery for Chaos. There's still daemons that will come to the world in the future, and it's still a tainted place, but now it's taken by the Eleventh. For this act, Julian Hectus got this trait: 'The Old Hand - +10 to Command'.
Then there is the second of the Chaos Hotspots, 'The Cemetery', featured in this omake, which was a former research world of humans working on Void Shields and reality thinning (to enhance the power of the shields) which due to the latter aspect caused this place to be swallowed by the Maelstrom once Slaanesh came into being. With 5 billion soldiers left after countless generations of war and survival against the armies of Chaos that come from four giant Warp rifts on the planet, fighting in defiance for the sake of fighting in defiance.
A Hard threat (i.e. meant for 25000 Astartes) lead by Aengus (that prodigy from the Legion tournament we had before the Maelstrom banishment), the Triquetra (our three Chief Librarians) of Savinath the Glypmaster (Runes), Raz the Astral Champion (Battle psykers) and Nasin the Master of Relief (Support psykers) along with 6500 Eternal Wardens and 5 billion Imperial Army soldiers. Working with the local military to head for the four rifts in sequence, two at the polar points of the planet and the other two in the site where the former capital of the world was.
The first two rifts were owned by Tzeentchians and the latter two was owned by Nurglites, the reason being that Aengus figured that leaving Tzeentchians to prepare and plan is a terrible idea and it'd be best to hit them before they do anything big. Before I continue, Aengus was also focused on for this omake and you should totally read that too.
In the aftermath of the first rift's closure, 90% of the Imperial Army soldiers brought and the local military ended up dead during the landing.
In the aftermath of the second rift's closure, 500 Eternal Wardens died and Savinath took three wounds. I'd like to mention now that it's four wounds before death.
In the aftermath of the third rift's closure, Aengus suffered two wounds and Savinath was taken out of action.
In the aftermath of the fourth rift's closure, Aengus suffered two more wounds (totalling four), Nasin suffered three wounds, Raz suffered two, 6000 Eternal Wardens died, all that remains of the Imperial Army was 2000 soldiers and the Cemetery's populace went down to 1 billion.
Nasin is a member of the Thousand Sons, a member of the Pyrae Cult (a pyromancer), a sniper belonging to the Ammitara Occult and finally a possessor of an Exitus rifle he got by making a deal with a Vindicare assassin (in other words the best sniper rifle type made by the Imperium) which only has four special rounds. I bring this up because right at the end he got a natural 100 roll and, having already used his four rounds, proceeded to beat at least one daemon to death by using that Exitus as a club.
If that didn't happen, everyone would have died. Even with that happening, Aengus ended up sporting what should be lethal wounds and yet doesn't even need a Dreadnought to survive. What a champion.
For this insane battle and survival, three traits were given. The Triquetra got: 'Last to Die - +20 to Duels'. Nasin got: 'The Right Moment - Triple the effect of nat 100s he rolls'. And Aengus got: 'What Must be Done - Negate first death in a duel, Negate first wipe for forces under his command'. They also all became Proto-Heroes, so a +5 for everything.
Next up we're back to Maxima Extremis threats, starting with 'Abominable Intelligence Epsilon-354', featured in this omake, is a non-corrupted(?) and very powerful artificial intelligence focused on Warp-based research and very dangerous master of temporal research. This thing came to the Maelstrom intentionally after Slaanesh was born, and with the help of a captured(?) daemon servant of Be'lakor is trying to find a way to time travel (using the atemporal energies that Chaos is known to possess) to go back in time and retcon-murder Slaanesh.
Sadly it isn't really the type to loudly announce that amazing goal, and without the Maelstrom's presence Warp stuff is a lot harder to research and maintain, so it's instead fighting off any intruders that try to attack because interrupting super psychic tests is bad news for everyone involved (and doesn't lead to a dead Chaos God). With this in mind, Captain Cetenus Solarus, Techmarine Scotty Revine (teleport expert), Dreadnought Librarian Beltran (pyromancer), 15000 Eternal Wardens, 1000 Legion Exchanged Iron Warriors and 1000 Death Guard set sail to face this thing with the Gloriana-class Battleship the Cherished Son to help them.
Full disclosure, beating this thing with what we sent was pretty much impossible. This is a sane (enough) AI with extremely good industry, an army of weapon platforms and vehicles, orbital stations, naval elements and all the Warp knowledge it has and general skill and experience. Its backstory being that it fought during the Cybernetic Revolt, that Man of Iron war that was so apocalyptic, on the side of humanity and survived the Age of Strife while doing its own thing. In fact, it was mentioned that we'd need to have multiplied the numbers of Astartes sent by three to four times to evenly fight this thing.
With this in mind, what was voted for was to do as much damage as possible to its orbital stations and weaken its anti-naval capabilities, at the risk of losing the Cherished Son.
Good news is that the plan sorta worked! A whopping 20% of the orbital stations were destroyed by the forces sent, creating a notable hole in the defences of Epsilon's world, and none of the notable individuals died and the Cherished Son didn't get blown up. Only 4000 Astartes died too.
Bad news is that the only reasons the assault didn't continue were twofold. The first is that the Cherished Son is missing 40% of its mass and is barely functional, its general structure is a lot emptier than it should ever be, but it still worked enough that it could retreat along with everyone else it could take.
The second is that Captain Cetenus Solarus, Hero and Daemonsbane of the Eternal Wardens, was captured alive along with 500 other Eternal Wardens. Solarus himself was deemed too dangerous to be kept awake so he's being constantly sedated, while the rest are kept in cells without armour or weapons while kept fed with nutrient paste. Said armour and weapon, along with whatever Runes were on them, are now being analysed by a being smart enough to not blow itself up by tampering with Runes and study them.
Overall, not the worst! For how we could rescue him, ideas floating around in the Discord server are: Ask for Perturabo's help, given how he's an expert of siege and command, and Kesar knows that Perturabo was given the authority by the Emperor of Mankind to freely(ish) look into AI. Ask for Corvus's help, as he'd be willing to burn one of his Eldar favours to get Phoenix Lord Karandras of the Striking Scorpions to help, which would all but guarantee that we could get Solarus and the other prisoners back in secret. Or both, because why not? And maybe just talk things out too if that's possible, with a back-up plan if it doesn't work.
Moving on with Maxima Extremis threats, we have 'Ship-City 02-03-61', featured in this omake. This was one of the first ships to enter the Maelstrom, a giant colony ship using slower than light travel that was dedicated to exploration and then warfare and defence after constant daemon assaults before total corruption. Also now populated by Tzeentchian chicken people spawned from the horrific acts of their previous mega-corporate masters, but let's ignore that for now.
These 200 million abhuman cultists of Tzeentch were dedicated to their god by making a lot of really good mundane plans, and having all of them prepared and ready to use, while being in a Chaos-twisted landscape of powerful technology after being experienced veterans of facing Khornate cultists for a very long time (before they fucked off to the Blood and Thunder War). These aren't your garden variety chickens- I mean, cultists who just do insane plans and die. These guys know what they're doing, were well prepared, and have a lot of firepower mundane and magical on their side.
With this in mind, First Captain Oriacarius Gielux, the Khalsa (mostly psyker honourguard of Kesar Dorlin), Dreadnought Hektor, an Assassin Execution Force (a Culexus, a Callidus, a Eversor and a Vindicaire) and 10000 Eternal Wardens along with the Gloriana-class Battleship known as the Vigilance were sent to deal with this thing. Focusing on sending a lot of smaller deployments to attack an area without as many death-traps and kill zones as other landing spots, as well as the advantage of surprise, the battle commenced.
Hektor and those few around him gave his life in the opening stages to secure victory and save the lives of many other landing deployments, a noble sacrifice to be well remembered, which allowed the rest of the forces to advance in their assault. The distraction of the Dreadnought's actions allowed the assassins to decimate the main command centre, which also allowed Oriacarius to quickly press in to deeper portions of the big vessel until the war's fate was concluded with only 4000 dead Astartes.
In the end, the Assassin Execution Force managed to gain an unknown trait. The weapons and defence systems around the colony ship were managed to be purified and integrated into the Vigilance as relic weaponry, granting a +10 to the flagship of the Eleventh Legion.
A lot of data was managed to be taken from the ship as well, mostly severely out of date stuff. Notable stuff from that was some knowledge on the Blood and Thunder War, as well as a curious attempt by the chicken people to hire some Eldar-backed human mercenaries through some proxies that thankfully didn't work.
Speaking of Eldar-backed humans stuff, next is 'Lahrens', which was a world that initially seemed to be populated by a group of insane Squats (or Kin if you wanna follow modern canon 40k terminology) that were delving into the darkest science and research possible without delving into Chaos, i.e. soul manipulation, the truth of the Warp, biological monstrosities and other such mad science.
The Imperial Army initially tried to deal with it themselves after careful threat analysis, and then got butchered by extremely mobile soldiers who seemed to know how everything would happen in the battle, and then during the retreat one group discovered that there was a laboratory staffed by Eldar helped by Squat assistants and full of statues to the Eldar gods. Sidenote, Eldrad Ulthran is arguably the galaxy's best living diviner and somehow had no idea about anything going on here.
Due to political tensions at the time preventing this world from not being picked, i.e. the Prospero attack against the Eldar staying there, Durante (a new Hero who was lost to the Warp since Cadia, recently returned with his ghost soldier friend Vergil, featured in this omake), Lexicanum Abdul (Proto-Hero diviner, biomancer), Apothecary-Epistolary Rene (biomancer), Liberius (pyromancer), Dreadnought Gabriel as well as 15000 Eternal Wardens and 1000 Legion Exchanged Raven Guard and 1000 Space Wolves.
Fighting these forces head on was determined to not work so instead Durante and Vergil, with their disengagement and environmental traversal abilities being so good that they ran rings around the Harlequins inside the Webway's unnavigable broken sections that they practically begged Oriacarius to come and get them out in the form of a riddle (they're so good to the point that even Eldrad Ulthran and Magnus the Red working together couldn't come close to being able to match them in such environments), would both go infiltrate the Eldar laboratory with a strike team while Abdul did what he does best and lead a big display of a distraction. You can see Durante and Vergil's traits here to see what they look like.
A world fortified by dwarves- I mean, Squats and assisted by extremely skilled Eldar is a forced to be reckoned with. After an immense struggle where the strike team did enter and fight in the laboratory for a while, the losses in the ground and in orbit proved to be too disastrous to continue. Every named individual survived and managed to retreat (as far as I'm aware) and the strike team managed to get intel from their actions, but how much and what form that'll take is currently unknown. 16000 Astartes died in the end, including all the Space Wolves, leaving only 1000 survivors.
Finally there is the last threat that was faced, and last is certainly not least, with 'World 02-06-09', featured in several omakes here, and it was an eldritch planet described as an 'unprecedented' world of Chaos covered in shadows and full of horrific monsters, with the Imperial scouts sent there all having killed themselves a month after reporting what happened.
To deal with this world and hopefully purify it entirely from Chaos influence, Crescum Auro and Baldur Voluspa, Heroes of the Legion and the former being a Daemonsbane psychic ritual master, the Legio Deicio or 'Siegebreakers' Titan Legion, the Inverse Veil (a superweapon explosive that can, among with being supremely devastating, inverts the Warp and Materium within its radius) and 10000 Eternal Wardens are sent to deal with this place.
Things don't go as expected.
The Eternal Wardens land safely, without any opposition at all, which is already an insane notion to ever happen on a planet full of Chaos stuff.
Crescum Auro sets to work. With his 'Laws of the Warp' trait he can basically do any ritual if he's willing to spend the time and effort into it (and isn't successfully counter-ritual'ed), including stuff like 'become a god' or 'turn into a psyker-blank hybrid (Grey Soul)', and it'd usually takes about five years for him to complete a ritual to remove Chaos from this world and purify it. For 20 months he makes zero progress at all when it should be easy for him to do, as any other Daemon World would already be set for being purified.
Baldur Voluspa meanwhile leads forces around the planet to search for enemies that should be there but aren't and almost encounters nothing of note at all, aside from some very few daemonic ambushes that happen very infrequently that always causes one or two Eternal Wardens to die every single time. For 20 months this goes on, totalling to about 500 dead Eternal Wardens from these strange ambushes.
That's all what happened for the Eternal Wardens during the initial 20 months here.
It's a good time to talk about how the 'threat ratings' that are given to the Astartes Legions are pretty much in-universe views, and thus may be exaggerated or mistaken or entirely wrong.
Last turn, for example, a normal compliance for the Emperor's Children lead by Lord Commander Primus Eidolon ended up becoming a near total defeat after they attacked what they thought was a Hive-City that turned out to be a 'scaffolding' around a giant Dark Age of Technology training facility full of VR trained soldiers wielding degraded Dark Age gear too.
In other cases, something expected to be a problem just isn't that bad for one reason or another. Hilariously this happened with 'Lathe III', a mysterious threat left alone by the Eleventh Legion for a brief while that was revealed to be in the midst of an assimilating nanomachine plague deemed to be a threat worthy to send Kesar Dorlin to deal with. Which ended up, uh, already being completely solved by an Imperial Admiral known as Otto Fritzkin by the time any Eternal Wardens arrived without any Astartes assistance at all. Fun times and a great character, Otto was.
In this case, it turned out that the rating of 'Maxima Extremis' was, in fact, severely underestimating how dangerous this place was. Over on the Threat Analysis Recommendation post you can see that there are tiers above the normal 'ME' rating. Just above 'Maxima Extremis Decimus', where it's heavily recommended that 10 Primarchs are sent to deal with an issue, there is the 'Maxima Extremis Imperator' rating where it bluntly states that the Emperor of Mankind himself is needed to deal with this.
Yeah, the same Emperor of Mankind and his Custodian army that's currently fighting a high-tech Ork Attack Moon right now would be required for any such threat with that rank.
A Maxima Extremis Imperator threat was exactly where we sent Crescum Auro, Baldur Voluspa, a Titan Legion and 10000 Astartes here on this shadow world.
To put what made this world so dangerous simply, this was a planet that Be'lakor, the First Daemon Prince of Chaos, was heavily involved with (as well as what seems to be Vashtorr the Arkifane, Demi-God of the Forge of Souls and Malevolent Artifice). To put it another way, this is beyond Exalted Daemon territory.
For some more context on how bad it is, Be'lakor could murder Kesar Dorlin as he is now with ease and, as Crescum Auro realises after those 20 months, 'someone' better than the Emperor of Mankind was responsible for the sorcery of the world here.
As the 21st month begins and this terrifying realisation occurs, Crescum Auro orders an immediate withdrawal and that this world needs to be blown to dust as soon as possible. Him and Baldur figure out how best to do that and end up launching a wave of Cyclonic Torpedoes (often used in Exterminatus) which allows them to launch the Inverse Veil straight to the planet's core, which completely fucks up the Daemon World in a way that safely dissipates the immense amount of Chaos energy it has and allows the next wave of Cyclonics to finish the job as the whole thing was collapsing in on itself.
Auro ended up learning more on psychic stuff, efficient casting, insight onto ritual matters, theoretical understanding, new ideas for research subjects, deeper comprehension on Warp energy and conceptual energy and such. Finding such beyond advanced sorcery is certainly inspiring, it seems!
Thus brings an end into what the Eternal Wardens have done this turn, beyond everything Kesar Dorlin is up to on Terra and whatever will end up happening with what was sent to the War Hounds (formerly known as the World Eaters). A total of 35000 Eternal Wardens perished this time.
Fun fact, while how it really ends up will be unknown till it's voted on, the collective experience of all this is getting the Eleventh Legion a new collective trait! Certainly looking forward to that!
