This is where it pays to remember that even the best factions for ramming on TT Battlefleet Gothic Failed their rams the majority of the time...purely because they miss.
Turns out, Space Big.
The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
Turns out, Space Big.
Peculiar Patterns
So for context, this omake is about trying to get Ravenloft to locate these guys.
---
Peculiar Patterns
Ravenloft Facility Zenith…
The Office of Director Vigo Benasman…
Amidst the rustling of papers, Vigo Benasman's voice cut through the silence, tinged with a hint of exasperation. "Two-team deployment with a platoon of werewolves for security? Afshin, you always seem to want more than you think you need." With a resigned shake of his head, Vigo delved into yet another mission report, marking it as his 19th of the afternoon.
As the document joined the clutter on his desk, Vigo let out a weary sigh, sinking back into the welcoming embrace of his plush leather chair. Secluded within the confines of his generously proportioned office, he seized a rare moment of solitude to ease the strain on his fatigued eyes and contemplated how he got here at Ravenloft.
Vigo figured he would always go up somewhere like this, in some office on some miserable little planet or perhaps some sector capital. It made sense to him. Vigo would have just been doing the same thing he did for decades in the Imperial Armada, but now maybe for a guild or a governor.
Although he most certainly never thought about helping run an organization like Ravenloft, mainly because it would have required a specific type of individual. One with a lot of focus. It almost made sense why it was staffed by monks, priests, scientists, and now military men: each brought their unique blend of discipline, enthusiasm, and commitment, essential qualities for running something like this.
When you looked to the higher-ups, the founders, you'd find those who had all three in spades but also no real life outside of the position. This was true for Vigo, a former Imperial Armada officer now the director of Expeditions, Surveys, and Deployments.
It was a pretty important position, as it meant that anyone from Ravenloft who wanted to go on any officially sanctioned mission would need Vigo's approval, assuming they hadn't gotten it from Director Lockcraft.
Vigo wielded considerable influence, serving as the final arbiter for any officially sanctioned mission. Though not the sole authority, his approval was a crucial prerequisite, often following the scrutiny of Director Lockcraft and a cadre of administrators, captains, and division leads who collectively ensured the smooth functioning of the organization's myriad endeavors.
While it lacked the glamour of frontline heroics, Vigo found satisfaction in his role, relishing the challenges of logistics and strategic planning. Whether it was coordinating resources, vessels, or personnel, he thrived on the intricate puzzle of ensuring everything fell into place.
He was good at this. Vigo even quite liked it. His superiors called him a genius but never sought to rank him above commander, even after a century of service. Not that Vigo cared. He just wanted to do his job and do it right.
Eventually, his penchant for problem-solving led him to an unexpected opportunity: aiding refugees fleeing a violent upheaval. Unbeknownst to him then, they were religious refugees who should have been reported. But Vigo's impulse to assist was driven solely by his humanitarian instincts. His parents raised him to help others, and he did exactly that.
No one knew; of course, Vigo wasn't stupid. He covered his tracks, but no one was wiser.
Imagine his surprise when this act of compassion would catapult him into the attention of influential figures—individuals who saw potential and compassion in him beyond the confines of his previous, unassuming role.
Vigo wasn't a man who considered himself worthy of anyone important, yet his endorsement from Corvus Corax, the Primarch of the Raven Guard, was a defining moment in Vigo's life.
Handpicked for a new position within Ravenloft, it marked a significant shift from his days aboard starships. A bittersweet moment, really. He was declared dead, and thus, he couldn't exactly be seen commanding any ship. Not that it mattered. Vigo embraced the opportunity to contribute in a different capacity.
So here he was, one of the founders and directors of a secret clandestine organization. If nothing else, Vigo could say that he was at least doing something different at Ravenloft. However, as Ravenloft expanded in scale and mandate, Vigo became increasingly occupied.
That was the problem with this line of work. Vigo was potentially sending people into harm's way, and knowing what Ranveloft was involved with and their enemies? You couldn't just send someone off without considering the dangers and consequences. Not only did you need to keep this information secure, making sure to leave no evidence or a trail behind, but there was a real chance that people could die.
Each request that landed on Vigo's desk carried weight, demanding his meticulous attention. The steady influx of assignments often led to intense negotiations with Director Lockcraft, where Vigo had to present compelling arguments to secure approval for critical initiatives. He deliberated over whether the potential gains justified the accompanying risks, a balancing act that required careful consideration of Ravenloft's objectives and capabilities.
In the current climate, even the movement of "items of interest" posed significant challenges, let alone the logistical feat of relocating entire contingents comprising soldiers, seekers, scientists, and their extensive equipment and armaments. What began as the transfer of small teams had evolved into the deployment of platoons and even entire battalions. With each successful operation, Vigo contemplated the possibility of future endeavors involving entire regiments or even entire fleets.
While Ravenloft's growing militarization was undeniable, its origins remained deeply rooted in scholarly pursuits. Despite the shift towards a more martial focus, the organization retained its commitment to academic exploration and intellectual inquiry concerning the divine and anything else that might come its way.
With nearly 500 mission approvals under his belt, Vigo had become a seasoned hand at his job, handling each task with precision and efficiency. As he approached this milestone, a sense of anticipation lingered, a hope for something more exhilarating to mark the occasion.
Yet, Vigo knew better than to tempt fate with such thoughts, especially in a world where the gods themselves held sway. He couldn't help but wonder if they were watching, ready to muck up his day or year. Unfortunately, the intrusive thoughts won, and Vigo figured today would be good.
As Vigo was about to delve into the next report, a knock on his office door interrupted his focus. He looked up to see an old acquaintance. "Olaitan, what brings you to my domain?"
Perhaps one of the better department leads, Olaitan, a former minister of the Karnori Empire and an esteemed "Elder" Seeker, entered with a casual air. They were most certainly friends these days, and like Vigo, he too was confined to his office, orchestrating the movements of the numerous teams under his command. Both men had their glory years behind them now.
"You know how it is," Olaitan replied with a nonchalant wave. "I can't disturb your peace unless I have something worthwhile to discuss."
Vigo chuckled, "Don't want to miss a chance to interrupt me if it gets you out of the office."
Olaitan made a noise of dismissal, "Good use of my off-hours."
"Do we even have designated off-hours?" Vigo quipped, motioning for Olaitan to take a seat.
Olaitan shrugged in response, a hint of wry amusement in his expression. "I believe I took a five-minute vacation last week," he half-joked.
"Any exciting destinations?" Vigo inquired, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.
"Not particularly," Olaitan admitted with a chuckle. "I do remember a delightful cup of recaff, though."
"Well, it's the simple pleasures that keep us going," Vigo remarked before returning to work. "So, I take you got something for me?"
Olaitan hesitated for a moment before responding, his demeanor shifting slightly. "Funny you should ask. Something did cross my desk. In fact, it passed through several hands and landed in mine. Now, it seems pertinent to bring it to your attention."
Vigo set aside his current report and focused intently on Olaitan. "Is this a matter of urgency?"
"I believe so," Olaitan confirmed, his expression serious.
"Which grade?"
"Orange." That meant an unquantified but suspected high value. "But if I trust my instincts, and I do, I'd say it's more than that. This one feels like it could be serious—red, perhaps even black."
"That does sound serious," Vigo mused, his brow furrowing with concern. "But why not take this directly to Lockcraft? I might be a founder, but I'm unaware of most of the real commotion around here."
"As I mentioned, it's passed through numerous hands," Olaitan explained, his tone betraying a hint of apprehension. "I'm worried that vital details might have been overlooked or misinterpreted. I thought it wise to consult with you, gather a second opinion, or tap into your intuition."
Vigo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You flatter me, my friend, but I'm no psychic. Just because a few hunches turned out right doesn't mean I can predict the future."
"Fair point," Olaitan conceded with a nod. "But even so, your insights could prove invaluable in assessing the situation and determining if an expedition is warranted."
"True enough," Vigo agreed, settling back into his seat. "But let's hear the details first. Is this worth pursuing?"
Olaitan's smile was cryptic. "It all begins with an illegal auction."
—
Five months ago, on the Imperial World of Nandonia…
Kilian Sengasz was unimpressed by the items on display at the supposed "auction," though this hardly surprised him these days. If divine-blessed artifacts could be unearthed at any flea market, the gods would surely never have faded into obscurity in the first place.
A man was forced to contend with false idols born of deranged minds, guild artisans scrambling to make a quick throne, or conmen who swindled a priest. As Kilian surveyed the array of dusty relics before him and his team, he couldn't help but feel a familiar sense of disappointment at the assortment of mundane items laid out before him and his team.
He was an older man now who had spent the majority of his life toiling away in guild halls, educating menials on the basics of literacy and cataloging, nurturing hopes that they might one day ascend to the esteemed rank of scribes. While Kilian never harbored disdain for this labor, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely imparting survival skills rather than fostering the boundless potential of the human imagination.
His path took a dramatic turn when Ravenloft extended an offer to him, plucking him from the confines of a jail cell where he had been incarcerated for the audacious act of conducting an impromptu art class using work supplies. How different things might have been if he had been born within Fulgrim's domain! Alas, fate had placed him in the more austere realm of Leman Russ. Nonetheless, Kilian eagerly embraced his new role within the organization, which, to his surprise, involved teaching—a far cry from what he had anticipated.
Now he was Professor Kilian Sengasz. Yet, beneath this guise, as a teacher of ancient human history at Nerlo Capital University, he harbored a clandestine identity. By night, he led a group known as the Nerlo Spirit Lodge, a gathering place for enthusiasts of forbidden lore and covert discussions—what Ravenloft called a "Crows Nest."
Though some might dub it a secret society or Kilian, a cult leader, the reality was far more mundane in how it often conducted itself. The lodge served as a venue for young adults and idealistic staff to indulge in harmless discussions about esoteric subjects, usually devolving into banter about forbidden knowledge, indulgence, and the admiration of recovered artifacts.
Rather, Kilian's primary objective was to ensure that these meetings remained harmless and jovial, all while discreetly gathering pertinent information to report back to Ravenloft. In an emergency, he needs only to send a specific signal, high-tail it out of the danger zone, and then wait for further orders.
Mercifully, no such thing had yet come to pass. Instead, Kilian immersed himself in his secondary duties—acquiring items of interest. Nadonia stood as a crossroads between nine warp routes and was once the site of a prominent Norscan religious hub until its unfortunate destruction almost fifty years prior.
This unique position ensured a constant influx of buyers and sellers passing through Nadonia, seeking to procure intriguing or "forbidden" items from the frequent illegal auctions, sales, and black markets peddling smuggled or illicit goods. Fortunately, this presented no obstacle for Ravenloft, as the Shrike Commission held sway over most of the sector's smugglers and cold traders.
As a result, Kilian enjoyed the privilege of having the first pick of whatever came his way. His expertise as a trained investigator equipped him to handle bio-etheric scanning equipment adeptly, and his authorization to engage with representatives of the Shrike Commission lent weight to his endeavors.
Amidst contemplating the displayed items, Kilian's attention was snagged by the arrival of Hoggard Jakton, his liaison from the Shrike Commission. Kilian maintained his professional demeanor despite harboring a deep-seated disdain for the man.
"Any promising finds?" Hoggard inquired, his unsettling grin failing to sway Kilian's resolve.
"Not particularly," Kilian replied, his tone laced with a hint of disdain. "Most of what's on offer appears to be either replicas or outright fakes."
Hoggard merely nodded in response. "But the craftsmanship seems commendable, wouldn't you agree?"
"I suppose," Kilian conceded, though his skepticism remained palpable. This was his ninth auction, and the only thing of note found so far was a half-burned scripture from a Hebrite law cleric from a world that suffered through the Desolation, but that was half-burned.
Kilian mechanically scanned each item with his biotic scanner, though he knew it was futile; none of these artifacts would yield any biotic readings. It was a protocol he dutifully followed, nonetheless. Meanwhile, Hoggard prattled on, attempting to engage Kilian in conversation.
"Some of these pieces have origins in xenos cultures," Hoggard remarked, his tone almost resembling a salesman's pitch as he sought to pique Kilian's interest. "There's quite a market for them, you know. Potential for substantial profits."
"Indeed," Kilian replied absentmindedly, focusing on his scanning task. "I'm sure plenty of individuals are willing to pay top thrones for something that looks like a deranged killer made out of the bones of his victims," he remarked dryly, gesturing toward an unsettling bone sculpture that resembled something out of a nightmare.
Hoggard chuckled, seemingly entertained by Kilian's cynicism. "Indeed, some have quite peculiar tastes."
"Peculiar is one way to put it," Kilian muttered, scanning a metal device with the biotic scanner only to find no readings. "Some people are just borderline psychopaths."
"Nobles pay for this stuff mostly," Hoggard remarked with a knowing smile.
Kilian couldn't help but roll his eyes. "And there you have it," he remarked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. A sense of anticipation built within him as Kilian scanned the last group of items. His biotic scanner suddenly began to go haywire when he reached what appeared to be a gnarled wooden hand.
"262 biotic rating?" Kilian murmured, his curiosity piqued. He glanced at Hoggard and pointed to the item in question. "Who brought this one in?"
Hoggard consulted a small booklet, scanning through the entries until he found the item number corresponding to the box containing the wooden hand. "Ah, that's from the Fortunate Daughter," he explained. "It's a Verdant Mist clanner artifact. They're not local—probably from a good three sectors away. But you know how these things eventually find their way to one place or another."
Approaching the intriguing artifact box, Kilian knew he had to act. "I want to purchase this."
Hoggard's eyes gleamed with greed. "It's priced at 250,000 thrones."
Kilian winced at the steep price. "Make it 200,000, and I'll be sure to put in a good word for you with the Shrike Commission once I pass this on to higher-ups at Ravenloft." Finally, an opportunity for excitement had presented itself, albeit temporarily. If nothing else, this would make for an exciting story to tell one day.
—
Three months ago, at the hidden Starport "Lucky Sinner."
Criminals lie. Everyone knows that. Criminality is woven into the fabric of society. When the first market stall was put up, five thieves were probably in waiting. Orva Bircha grew up to become a criminal and figured it was just a fact of life. From her earliest days, she'd been immersed in information brokering, inheriting the family business after her parents fell victim to rivals.
She ran one of Paxtil's most sophisticated and well-funded information networks for sixteen years, and Orva was good at it. She knew all the tricks and tools to get an answer out of someone, and if she had the stomach for interrogation, she might have found a good place among the Paxtil Enforcers.
Orva's trade encompassed vast data, ranging from mundane personal details to high-stakes financial secrets. Yet, occasionally, she found herself entangled in matters far more delicate—like stumbling upon a weapons smuggling ring and promptly protecting its secrets, as was expected of her position. So when authorities closed in, she faced the harsh reality of arrest.
Refusing to betray her principles and ruin her reputation (and likely getting her killed in the process), Orva maintained her innocence with a brazen display of deception. Maybe she could have been an actor in another life. Still, despite her efforts, the Adeptus Terra branded her a traitor, a verdict that would have spelled certain death were it not for an unexpected rescue orchestrated by a Ratling woman named Miss Taturu.
Grateful for her newfound salvation, Orva owed Miss Taturu a considerable debt of gratitude. Her new affiliation with the Shrike Commission came with a profound appreciation for Orva's discretion, a trait that had saved her from the gallows. It became apparent that Orva's network extended far beyond Paxtil, a fact she and her benefactors were keen on preserving.
Given her circumstances, Orva struck a deal with the Commission. With no home left on Paxtil, joining their ranks seemed the logical choice. However, she carved out a unique role for herself. Rather than merely relaying information, Orva became instrumental in orchestrating covert arrangements without directly implicating the Commission.
The Shrike Commission operated through a web of fronts and proxies, a strategic approach designed to minimize unwanted scrutiny. Their aim wasn't to sow chaos but to provide a discreet avenue for individuals seeking less-than-honorable means of livelihood. Orva's expertise in navigating such criminal landscapes proved invaluable in maintaining the Commission's elusive presence.
It wasn't about stirring up trouble but rather keeping trouble away from the limelight. For the Imperium, maintaining control meant cracking down on criminals, pirates, and smugglers, projecting an image of order and discipline. The last thing they wanted the public to hear about was corruption or illicit dealings within the upper echelons of the Imperium.
Ironically, the Shrike Commission aimed to create a facade of respectable criminality that the authorities could conveniently ignore, as long as it didn't interfere with their power…or they got a big enough cut of the profits.
Orva was now a Skipper in the Shrike Commission—the type who went and did "skip" work for the higher-ups. Her presence often signaled trouble, as the organization preferred not to send anyone to deal with their clients, associates, or operations. Especially when an associate or member should have known better.
As Orva delved into the investigation, it led her to Port Lucky Sinner, where she crossed paths with Savatin Nightsail, leader of the Verdant Mist clan. Their encounter occurred in the dimly lit confines of a bar named the "Sinners Reprieve," permeated with the pungent odors of lho sticks, cheap whisky, and gunpowder—a testament to the establishment's rowdy clientele.
"You ain't here to kill me, ya?" Savatin quipped between chews on what seemed to be a ball of siskin tobacco, his tone laced with a hint of skepticism.
Orva couldn't help but roll her eyes. "No, I'm not here to kill you," she retorted, her patience tested by the crude surroundings of their conversation spot.
With a sigh, Orva retrieved a picture of a peculiar wooden bionic from her pocket. "I wanted to know how your clan came about this item."
Savatin's gaze fixated on the image momentarily before a curse slipped past his lips. "Damn. So you ain't the only ones looking for the source of this stuff."
"What do you mean?" Orva's frustration was palpable as she pressed for clarity. "Did your ship, the Fortunes Daughter, not provide the source of this object?"
Savatin's response was brusque. "I don't know," he admitted with a scowl, further fueling Orva's irritation. "I never got the chance to ask Appy. Our stronghold, the Black Eye, got invaded, you see. This was when we sold some alien knickknacks on the black market, but I wasn't there for whatever was sent out. I had other priorities."
He paused to take a sip of his whisky before continuing. "I was planning on reclaiming the Black Eye once I heard about what happened, but that's probably a pipe dream now."
Orva's exasperation was evident as she pressed for more information. "And why is that?" she demanded, her patience wearing thin with each moment of vague answers. This was already looking to have gotten out of control.
"Well, for starters, the Black Eye got hit from the inside, which means there were probably a lot of infiltrators," Savatin began, his tone grave. "Next were the nine scav clans that assaulted it, which consisted of about forty or fifty ships, mostly ramshackle destroyers. And well, heh, the guns of the Black Eye aren't exactly up to standards, either."
Orva's patience was wearing thin with each vague answer. "Is this story going anywhere other than making me wonder if the Commission will regret making you an associate?" she interjected, pushing for more concrete information.
Savatin chuckled, recognizing Orva's frustration. "Was gettin' to that," he replied. "One of our scoops did escape, and they got some scans and footage before they lost contact with the Black Eye and our ships. Guess who was leading the attack?" He produced a data slate, displaying a Mechanicum Cruiser and a small escort of Cobras destroyers.
Orva's expression shifted as she grasped the gravity of the situation. "So outnumbered, outmatched, and outplayed," she mused, acknowledging Savatin's predicament. "Fine. I can't say you weren't wise to not try and provoke the Mechanicum." She knew the Commission wouldn't be pleased with this turn of events.
But Savatin's next revelation caught her off guard. "Oh, this wasn't the Mechanicum. Not really," he clarified, prompting Orva to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Our ship that escaped actually did so after getting a few people out who learned something about these cog-boys. They ain't official. In fact, I think they are hereteks."
Orva's expression turned serious as she absorbed this information. "You think or know?" she inquired, her tone firm. "What did you learn exactly?" The revelation of hereteks operating outside Mechanicum jurisdiction was a significant development that warranted closer scrutiny.
"The cruiser is called the First Truth, under the command of the Cult of Arcanum Cognitum, led by some Magos Primus named Vortigern. They were looking for something, the umm..." Savatin paused to double-check the data slate, "The Ciar'Yankra."
Orva absorbed the information, nodding slowly. "You got all that from a few interrogations?" she asked, impressed by the extent of Savatin's knowledge. Still, she knew there was likely more to uncover. "Whatever the case, just give me all your information on what happened and this Magos and its cult."
Savatin's expression darkened, his frustration evident. "First, I want compensation for my loss, per the terms of my membership in the Commission," he demanded, seeking recompense for the devastation inflicted upon his clan.
Orva's tone remained firm as she addressed his request. "You'll need to speak to Miss Taturu and the commission members for that," she stated, clarifying that such matters fell outside her purview. "I strongly suggest you show up with good intentions and dressed appropriately," she added, emphasizing the importance of professionalism when dealing with the Commission.
"Such groxshit," Savatin remarked with a frown. It "feels like I'm in a business more and more."
"It's called being in a racket," Orva retorted, her tone sharp and unsympathetic. "Get used to it if you want to have a stake in the Commission."
—
Two months ago, Ravenloft Operations Center SAMSON…
Ravenloft didn't approach warfare like the Imperium did, not yet, anyway. Someday, it would have its own armies, but for now, Ravenloft preferred to fight like special forces with their wits and intellect. Information, the first principle of warfare, must form the foundation of all one's efforts. Know, of course, thine enemy. But in knowing him, do not forget, above all, to know yourself.
This was vital for an organization that employed many faithful and skeptics alike. To understand what they were fighting for, all must first know themselves. This is difficult as the self is fluid, and man is often caught in worldly affairs. Ravenloft was devoted to the divine and other such ideas. War by itself was a difficult piece to place within such a purpose.
Such were the thoughts of Captain Saqr el-Othman, formerly of the Delast 76th Hounds, who had struggled with such concerns for the better part of a decade. Saqr had enlisted in the Imperial Army during the Desolation, a time of turmoil and conflict. While many of his friends chose to fight as Mujahedin for the FPA, he remained steadfast in allegiance to the Imperium. Despite the destruction it wrought upon his people, Saqr firmly believed in a unified humanity.
Did he ever regret his decision to fight alongside those who were, in essence, responsible for the deaths of his own kin? No. For Saqr, the fight was about more than just allegiance to a particular faction; it was about fighting for the greater idea of a unified people. Even if it meant going against the tenets of his faith.
But while he was willing to sacrifice those beliefs, Saqr believed it unfair that the Imperium forced others to abandon them. He believed in granting individuals the freedom to worship as they saw fit, a belief that would have gotten him into serious trouble…if he ever made it apparent.
When Saqr used his authority and influence to aid refugees and safeguard religious artifacts, he didn't see himself as a traitor or a criminal. To him, he was simply doing what he believed was right for humanity, even if it meant going against the Imperium's otherwise uncompromising stance on the matter.
No one from the Imperial Army ever apprehended him. Instead, Ravenloft sought him out, drawn by the tales of Saqr's compassion and assistance from those he had aided. Initially hesitant to align himself with what he perceived as a religious order, Saqr only reconsidered after a conversation with Director Lockcraft.
Despite his claims of encountering gods, Lockcraft remained a skeptic at heart. He viewed human faith as a nuanced tool that warranted understanding rather than suppression through state-sanctioned purges. In his eyes, faith now served a crucial role in humanity's resilience against the myriad horrors lurking beyond.
Persuaded by Lockcraft's pragmatic viewpoint, Saqr accepted a leadership role within Ravenloft. Tasked with overseeing an outpost transformed into a fortified stronghold, his detachment specialized in gathering intelligence—a task at which Saqr excelled.
Though far from glamorous, Saqr's duties kept him grounded at Samson while his teams ventured into the galaxy's far reaches, often disappearing for years at a time. While they operated in the field, Saqr remained at the fortress, training new recruits and meticulously cataloging the wealth of information gathered by informants and operatives.
With the influx of data becoming overwhelming, Saqr needed additional support. He requested additional scribes and analysts to manage the ever-expanding archive of intelligence reports, ensuring that no valuable information slipped through the cracks.
Saqr's fortress was a vital hub within the expansive Eleria Reach, a cluster of sectors colloquially called the "sea." As such, it was positioned strategically at the crossroads of over a dozen worlds that facilitated a significant portion of the region's trade, acting as a gateway to the renowned Realm of Ultramar. Amidst the bustling commerce, information flowed freely, exchanged for the right price, or shared casually in passing—precisely the type of data Saqr meticulously collected and cataloged.
Each month brought a barrage of requests, prompting Saqr and his teams to sift through files, reports, and even whispers of rumors and gossip. It was almost neverending. People talked more than they should have. But Ravenloft thrived off these rumors.
Besides that, Fortress Samson's task was to compile this wealth of information and transmit it to one of the main facilities for a thorough review. While the job may have seemed laid-back to some, Saqr maintained discipline and focus among his personnel, never forgetting his roots as a soldier and officer.
However, when a priority message arrived, flagged jointly by Ravenloft and the Shrike Commission, demanding all intelligence related to the Cult of Arcanum Cognitum to be dispatched to Facility Zenith, the entire fortress sprang into action. It was one of those rare moments when every corner of the stronghold buzzed with activity.
"What do we know?" Saqr asked the assembled scribes, researchers, and analysts.
"For starters, the Cult of Arcanum Cognitum emerged in the wake of the Aphex incident," said senior analysts. "It seems to have been founded approximately five years ago, following the events on the forge world of Aphex. Details regarding the incident are scarce, as the Mechanicum has sealed most of the information. However, we do know that Magos Primus Vortigern was exiled as a result."
Another team member chimed in, adding another piece to the narrative. "Approximately two years ago, a reclamation clan from the Zalonik System encountered the cult after discovering several alien artifacts of unknown origin. The encounter ended disastrously for the clan, destroying most of its members by what they described as a small but formidable force."
Saqr nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. Then, Operative Hemlick provided further insight into Vortigern's ideology. "Our sources within the local Mechanicum elements suggest that Vortigern is a radical, advocating for a doctrine known as Genesis Appropriation. According to our contacts, this doctrine posits that humanity can lay claim to new knowledge upon its creation, allowing it to be reconfigured to align with the Great Mysteries and Warnings."
"I take it wasn't received well?" Saqr asked Hemlick, who merely nodded.
"Got Vortigern and his followers thrown out, but not until after the Aphex Incident. Based on what I know about it, he might have found something related to this Ciar'Yankra force and tried experimenting on it, and promptly caused a disaster of some kind."
One of the scribes seemed to ponder the situation further. "So, this is either some last-ditch attempt to obtain information or the location of the Ciar'Yankra. They must have learned about the Verdant Mist having the source of these artifacts and decided to obtain this information directly."
"Guess the cult figured they didn't need to ask nicely," Hemlick quipped before delving back into the reports. "The Cruiser, the First Truth, isn't the only thing we must worry about. The Cult had about ten million members, although most were probably just servants or menials. No, the issue is the Skitarii Cohort of Classiarii, Hypaspist, and a host of Praetorians."
A Ravenloft captain chimed in with another concern. "Additionally, we've looked into these scav clans that Vortigern is controlling. The Shrike Commission was right to claim these guys aren't a real threat, but they've got numbers. Expecting at least five regiments worth of infantry and maybe two or three worth of armor. All low-quality, but an effective screen for the cult's elite."
It was a familiar tactic and a grisly one as far as Saqr was concerned. "What shall the recommendation be for Ravenloft?" he asked, sipping his tea. A barrage of suggestions followed, with some advocating for calling for Raven Guard assistance, while others proposed resolving the situation with a dedicated military response from Ravenloft.
After an hour of deliberation, Hemlick addressed Saqr. "Getting Raven Guard assistance would be the more effective choice, but they are currently tasked with battles elsewhere. We need to consider that this situation doesn't require an Astartes response. One minor cult, even if it's like one of these Gamma Camps that certain circles have been talking about, doesn't warrant the Marines."
The back-and-forth continued, with Saqr carefully considering and weighing all their options. The night was young, and it would take another week to conclude this session fully. Important decisions like these couldn't be rushed; they required thorough examination and deliberation. As far as he was concerned, they still needed more information before making any definitive choices.
Little did Saqr know that the Shrike Commission was also independently investigating the matter. Weeks later, he received crucial information that ultimately led to a formal recommendation to Ravenloft.
—
Five weeks ago, on the former Verdant Mist stronghold, "The Black Eye."
It was the oldest trick in the book, yet humanity had fallen for it for tens of thousands of years, and it seemed they would continue to do so until the end of their existence: the honeypot trap. It is was timeless folly of mankind. All it took to extract any important secret was a pleasant demeanor, a charming smile, and a lack of awareness. A simple one-night stand could quickly spiral into a catastrophic mistake.
Sex would be the doom of humanity. At least they would all go out with a smile in that case.
Mai couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement as she moved stealthily through the personal quarters of Captain Lucy "Lacy" Recesta, who lay sleeping, unaware of the intrusion. The two of them had just finished consummating their "marriage," and Captain Recesta was so drunk and exhausted that she'd be asleep for the next five hours.
It certainly didn't hurt that Lucy had unknowingly ingested a potent sedative that would keep her in slumber and erase much of her memory. By the time she woke, Mai would have looked like she had never even left the bed. It was almost reassuring to see that another woman was just as susceptible to the allure of a honeypot trap as any man.
Putting those thoughts aside, Mai focused on her mission. The Shrike Commission had hired her, or more accurately, her "masters," the House of Love, to gather crucial information. Compared to some of her previous assignments, this one seemed relatively straightforward. Pirates and scavengers were predictable, and these clans acted like kings simply by seizing control of an otherwise unremarkable station.
Why was the Shrike Commission shelling out this much? It likely had more to do with the Mechanicum cruiser everyone was buzzing about. Fortunately, Mai's assignment didn't involve seducing one of those cog-boys. Those machine-freaks always unsettled her.
Approaching Captain Recesta's desk, Mai began rifling through the documents. "There we go," she whispered softly, though there was no need. Lucy had dismissed her guards for the night. As a lover, Lucy was fiery, but she was also a tad careless.
Mai finally found what she was after—a date chit. Swiftly, she inserted it into the side of her forehead, where a subdermal interface port lay. Mai's brain had long been replaced by a cortex implant and a personalized machine spirit that shielded her consciousness from "intrusive" thoughts.
The irony wasn't lost on her. Everything but her mind was organic now. The House of Love ensured she still indulged in all the pleasures of the flesh, but it came at a cost. But Mai figured that everyone ultimately has to give up something to be the best at who they are.
With the data now safely downloaded into her brain, Mai reckoned she needed more details, but she intended to linger until Lucy tired of her or until she received fresh instructions. Perhaps she'd get lucky, and someone would foolishly attempt to assassinate her. That was the problem with the married life. Nothing ever exciting happens.
—
Now, Ravenloft Facility Zenith…
The Office of Director Vigo Benasman…
"After that, Captain el-Othman obtained much more detailed information. In summary, the Verdant Mist knows the source of the Ciar'Yankra artifacts. They confirmed the existence of an alien civilization at that location, but much of the leadership with knowledge of the precise coordinates perished in the conflict. Arcanum Cognitum plans to launch an expedition to the source from the Black Eye within the next year."
Vigo nodded thoughtfully. "So, what's the recommended course of action?"
"A comprehensive military and research expedition," Olaitan replied. "I concur with his assessment, so I've brought it to your attention to gather your input."
They had been discussing for nearly three hours, and Vigo had reservations. "Our information is based on the word of a third-party operative, likely seeking something in return. That's hardly a solid foundation for a recommendation to the Director."
"I anticipated that concern, so I saved this last detail for your review." Olaitan produced a small, grainy photo. "This is the best image the House of Love operative could provide, but..."
Vigo examined the photo closely, his expression turning serious. "This resembles... a forge world?"
"Or at least an approximate," Olaitan remarked. "It appears to be the source of the artifacts—a full-fledged alien civilization right under our noses."
"A civilization capable of imbuing items with biotic energies," Vigo mused with concern. "The mere thought of Gamma Camp gaining access to such power, even if not for conquest, spells disaster."
Olaitan looked at him expectantly. "So, are you convinced now?"
Vigo exhaled heavily, returning his gaze to the photo. "It's certainly worth investigating. I'll make some calls. But let me be clear: this will require a substantial deployment of ships, troops, and equipment. It won't happen overnight."
"The Commission appears fully committed to this endeavor now," Olaitan replied. "We can likely expedite the acquisition of mercenaries and equipment. But the real threat lies with the cruiser and those Mechanicum forces."
Vigo reassured him. "Don't fret over that. Right now, your focus should be elsewhere. I'm tasking you with coordinating this expedition, Olaitan."
Olaitan nodded. "Understood. I already have a few candidates in mind for frontline duties. When do you need them by?"
"In the next hour," Vigo replied firmly, his fingers moving across his personal cogitator. Please gather everyone and provide me with an initial timeline by tonight."
"As you will it," Olaitan echoed, a smile gracing his lips at the successful outcome of their discussion. Vigo's enthusiasm mirrored his own, indicating that the old captain recognized the opportunities and dangers inherent in this situation for their organization.
Indeed, the effort expended in gathering and presenting this information could not be ignored. Witnessing the outcomes that emerged from closely examining those most peculiar patterns was fascinating. Sometimes, everything came together.
---
@Daemon Hunter Didn't know how to end this omake, but I just wanted to get it out of the way now.
---
Peculiar Patterns
Ravenloft Facility Zenith…
The Office of Director Vigo Benasman…
Amidst the rustling of papers, Vigo Benasman's voice cut through the silence, tinged with a hint of exasperation. "Two-team deployment with a platoon of werewolves for security? Afshin, you always seem to want more than you think you need." With a resigned shake of his head, Vigo delved into yet another mission report, marking it as his 19th of the afternoon.
As the document joined the clutter on his desk, Vigo let out a weary sigh, sinking back into the welcoming embrace of his plush leather chair. Secluded within the confines of his generously proportioned office, he seized a rare moment of solitude to ease the strain on his fatigued eyes and contemplated how he got here at Ravenloft.
Vigo figured he would always go up somewhere like this, in some office on some miserable little planet or perhaps some sector capital. It made sense to him. Vigo would have just been doing the same thing he did for decades in the Imperial Armada, but now maybe for a guild or a governor.
Although he most certainly never thought about helping run an organization like Ravenloft, mainly because it would have required a specific type of individual. One with a lot of focus. It almost made sense why it was staffed by monks, priests, scientists, and now military men: each brought their unique blend of discipline, enthusiasm, and commitment, essential qualities for running something like this.
When you looked to the higher-ups, the founders, you'd find those who had all three in spades but also no real life outside of the position. This was true for Vigo, a former Imperial Armada officer now the director of Expeditions, Surveys, and Deployments.
It was a pretty important position, as it meant that anyone from Ravenloft who wanted to go on any officially sanctioned mission would need Vigo's approval, assuming they hadn't gotten it from Director Lockcraft.
Vigo wielded considerable influence, serving as the final arbiter for any officially sanctioned mission. Though not the sole authority, his approval was a crucial prerequisite, often following the scrutiny of Director Lockcraft and a cadre of administrators, captains, and division leads who collectively ensured the smooth functioning of the organization's myriad endeavors.
While it lacked the glamour of frontline heroics, Vigo found satisfaction in his role, relishing the challenges of logistics and strategic planning. Whether it was coordinating resources, vessels, or personnel, he thrived on the intricate puzzle of ensuring everything fell into place.
He was good at this. Vigo even quite liked it. His superiors called him a genius but never sought to rank him above commander, even after a century of service. Not that Vigo cared. He just wanted to do his job and do it right.
Eventually, his penchant for problem-solving led him to an unexpected opportunity: aiding refugees fleeing a violent upheaval. Unbeknownst to him then, they were religious refugees who should have been reported. But Vigo's impulse to assist was driven solely by his humanitarian instincts. His parents raised him to help others, and he did exactly that.
No one knew; of course, Vigo wasn't stupid. He covered his tracks, but no one was wiser.
Imagine his surprise when this act of compassion would catapult him into the attention of influential figures—individuals who saw potential and compassion in him beyond the confines of his previous, unassuming role.
Vigo wasn't a man who considered himself worthy of anyone important, yet his endorsement from Corvus Corax, the Primarch of the Raven Guard, was a defining moment in Vigo's life.
Handpicked for a new position within Ravenloft, it marked a significant shift from his days aboard starships. A bittersweet moment, really. He was declared dead, and thus, he couldn't exactly be seen commanding any ship. Not that it mattered. Vigo embraced the opportunity to contribute in a different capacity.
So here he was, one of the founders and directors of a secret clandestine organization. If nothing else, Vigo could say that he was at least doing something different at Ravenloft. However, as Ravenloft expanded in scale and mandate, Vigo became increasingly occupied.
That was the problem with this line of work. Vigo was potentially sending people into harm's way, and knowing what Ranveloft was involved with and their enemies? You couldn't just send someone off without considering the dangers and consequences. Not only did you need to keep this information secure, making sure to leave no evidence or a trail behind, but there was a real chance that people could die.
Each request that landed on Vigo's desk carried weight, demanding his meticulous attention. The steady influx of assignments often led to intense negotiations with Director Lockcraft, where Vigo had to present compelling arguments to secure approval for critical initiatives. He deliberated over whether the potential gains justified the accompanying risks, a balancing act that required careful consideration of Ravenloft's objectives and capabilities.
In the current climate, even the movement of "items of interest" posed significant challenges, let alone the logistical feat of relocating entire contingents comprising soldiers, seekers, scientists, and their extensive equipment and armaments. What began as the transfer of small teams had evolved into the deployment of platoons and even entire battalions. With each successful operation, Vigo contemplated the possibility of future endeavors involving entire regiments or even entire fleets.
While Ravenloft's growing militarization was undeniable, its origins remained deeply rooted in scholarly pursuits. Despite the shift towards a more martial focus, the organization retained its commitment to academic exploration and intellectual inquiry concerning the divine and anything else that might come its way.
With nearly 500 mission approvals under his belt, Vigo had become a seasoned hand at his job, handling each task with precision and efficiency. As he approached this milestone, a sense of anticipation lingered, a hope for something more exhilarating to mark the occasion.
Yet, Vigo knew better than to tempt fate with such thoughts, especially in a world where the gods themselves held sway. He couldn't help but wonder if they were watching, ready to muck up his day or year. Unfortunately, the intrusive thoughts won, and Vigo figured today would be good.
As Vigo was about to delve into the next report, a knock on his office door interrupted his focus. He looked up to see an old acquaintance. "Olaitan, what brings you to my domain?"
Perhaps one of the better department leads, Olaitan, a former minister of the Karnori Empire and an esteemed "Elder" Seeker, entered with a casual air. They were most certainly friends these days, and like Vigo, he too was confined to his office, orchestrating the movements of the numerous teams under his command. Both men had their glory years behind them now.
"You know how it is," Olaitan replied with a nonchalant wave. "I can't disturb your peace unless I have something worthwhile to discuss."
Vigo chuckled, "Don't want to miss a chance to interrupt me if it gets you out of the office."
Olaitan made a noise of dismissal, "Good use of my off-hours."
"Do we even have designated off-hours?" Vigo quipped, motioning for Olaitan to take a seat.
Olaitan shrugged in response, a hint of wry amusement in his expression. "I believe I took a five-minute vacation last week," he half-joked.
"Any exciting destinations?" Vigo inquired, a hint of sarcasm lacing his tone.
"Not particularly," Olaitan admitted with a chuckle. "I do remember a delightful cup of recaff, though."
"Well, it's the simple pleasures that keep us going," Vigo remarked before returning to work. "So, I take you got something for me?"
Olaitan hesitated for a moment before responding, his demeanor shifting slightly. "Funny you should ask. Something did cross my desk. In fact, it passed through several hands and landed in mine. Now, it seems pertinent to bring it to your attention."
Vigo set aside his current report and focused intently on Olaitan. "Is this a matter of urgency?"
"I believe so," Olaitan confirmed, his expression serious.
"Which grade?"
"Orange." That meant an unquantified but suspected high value. "But if I trust my instincts, and I do, I'd say it's more than that. This one feels like it could be serious—red, perhaps even black."
"That does sound serious," Vigo mused, his brow furrowing with concern. "But why not take this directly to Lockcraft? I might be a founder, but I'm unaware of most of the real commotion around here."
"As I mentioned, it's passed through numerous hands," Olaitan explained, his tone betraying a hint of apprehension. "I'm worried that vital details might have been overlooked or misinterpreted. I thought it wise to consult with you, gather a second opinion, or tap into your intuition."
Vigo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You flatter me, my friend, but I'm no psychic. Just because a few hunches turned out right doesn't mean I can predict the future."
"Fair point," Olaitan conceded with a nod. "But even so, your insights could prove invaluable in assessing the situation and determining if an expedition is warranted."
"True enough," Vigo agreed, settling back into his seat. "But let's hear the details first. Is this worth pursuing?"
Olaitan's smile was cryptic. "It all begins with an illegal auction."
—
Five months ago, on the Imperial World of Nandonia…
Kilian Sengasz was unimpressed by the items on display at the supposed "auction," though this hardly surprised him these days. If divine-blessed artifacts could be unearthed at any flea market, the gods would surely never have faded into obscurity in the first place.
A man was forced to contend with false idols born of deranged minds, guild artisans scrambling to make a quick throne, or conmen who swindled a priest. As Kilian surveyed the array of dusty relics before him and his team, he couldn't help but feel a familiar sense of disappointment at the assortment of mundane items laid out before him and his team.
He was an older man now who had spent the majority of his life toiling away in guild halls, educating menials on the basics of literacy and cataloging, nurturing hopes that they might one day ascend to the esteemed rank of scribes. While Kilian never harbored disdain for this labor, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely imparting survival skills rather than fostering the boundless potential of the human imagination.
His path took a dramatic turn when Ravenloft extended an offer to him, plucking him from the confines of a jail cell where he had been incarcerated for the audacious act of conducting an impromptu art class using work supplies. How different things might have been if he had been born within Fulgrim's domain! Alas, fate had placed him in the more austere realm of Leman Russ. Nonetheless, Kilian eagerly embraced his new role within the organization, which, to his surprise, involved teaching—a far cry from what he had anticipated.
Now he was Professor Kilian Sengasz. Yet, beneath this guise, as a teacher of ancient human history at Nerlo Capital University, he harbored a clandestine identity. By night, he led a group known as the Nerlo Spirit Lodge, a gathering place for enthusiasts of forbidden lore and covert discussions—what Ravenloft called a "Crows Nest."
Though some might dub it a secret society or Kilian, a cult leader, the reality was far more mundane in how it often conducted itself. The lodge served as a venue for young adults and idealistic staff to indulge in harmless discussions about esoteric subjects, usually devolving into banter about forbidden knowledge, indulgence, and the admiration of recovered artifacts.
Rather, Kilian's primary objective was to ensure that these meetings remained harmless and jovial, all while discreetly gathering pertinent information to report back to Ravenloft. In an emergency, he needs only to send a specific signal, high-tail it out of the danger zone, and then wait for further orders.
Mercifully, no such thing had yet come to pass. Instead, Kilian immersed himself in his secondary duties—acquiring items of interest. Nadonia stood as a crossroads between nine warp routes and was once the site of a prominent Norscan religious hub until its unfortunate destruction almost fifty years prior.
This unique position ensured a constant influx of buyers and sellers passing through Nadonia, seeking to procure intriguing or "forbidden" items from the frequent illegal auctions, sales, and black markets peddling smuggled or illicit goods. Fortunately, this presented no obstacle for Ravenloft, as the Shrike Commission held sway over most of the sector's smugglers and cold traders.
As a result, Kilian enjoyed the privilege of having the first pick of whatever came his way. His expertise as a trained investigator equipped him to handle bio-etheric scanning equipment adeptly, and his authorization to engage with representatives of the Shrike Commission lent weight to his endeavors.
Amidst contemplating the displayed items, Kilian's attention was snagged by the arrival of Hoggard Jakton, his liaison from the Shrike Commission. Kilian maintained his professional demeanor despite harboring a deep-seated disdain for the man.
"Any promising finds?" Hoggard inquired, his unsettling grin failing to sway Kilian's resolve.
"Not particularly," Kilian replied, his tone laced with a hint of disdain. "Most of what's on offer appears to be either replicas or outright fakes."
Hoggard merely nodded in response. "But the craftsmanship seems commendable, wouldn't you agree?"
"I suppose," Kilian conceded, though his skepticism remained palpable. This was his ninth auction, and the only thing of note found so far was a half-burned scripture from a Hebrite law cleric from a world that suffered through the Desolation, but that was half-burned.
Kilian mechanically scanned each item with his biotic scanner, though he knew it was futile; none of these artifacts would yield any biotic readings. It was a protocol he dutifully followed, nonetheless. Meanwhile, Hoggard prattled on, attempting to engage Kilian in conversation.
"Some of these pieces have origins in xenos cultures," Hoggard remarked, his tone almost resembling a salesman's pitch as he sought to pique Kilian's interest. "There's quite a market for them, you know. Potential for substantial profits."
"Indeed," Kilian replied absentmindedly, focusing on his scanning task. "I'm sure plenty of individuals are willing to pay top thrones for something that looks like a deranged killer made out of the bones of his victims," he remarked dryly, gesturing toward an unsettling bone sculpture that resembled something out of a nightmare.
Hoggard chuckled, seemingly entertained by Kilian's cynicism. "Indeed, some have quite peculiar tastes."
"Peculiar is one way to put it," Kilian muttered, scanning a metal device with the biotic scanner only to find no readings. "Some people are just borderline psychopaths."
"Nobles pay for this stuff mostly," Hoggard remarked with a knowing smile.
Kilian couldn't help but roll his eyes. "And there you have it," he remarked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. A sense of anticipation built within him as Kilian scanned the last group of items. His biotic scanner suddenly began to go haywire when he reached what appeared to be a gnarled wooden hand.
"262 biotic rating?" Kilian murmured, his curiosity piqued. He glanced at Hoggard and pointed to the item in question. "Who brought this one in?"
Hoggard consulted a small booklet, scanning through the entries until he found the item number corresponding to the box containing the wooden hand. "Ah, that's from the Fortunate Daughter," he explained. "It's a Verdant Mist clanner artifact. They're not local—probably from a good three sectors away. But you know how these things eventually find their way to one place or another."
Approaching the intriguing artifact box, Kilian knew he had to act. "I want to purchase this."
Hoggard's eyes gleamed with greed. "It's priced at 250,000 thrones."
Kilian winced at the steep price. "Make it 200,000, and I'll be sure to put in a good word for you with the Shrike Commission once I pass this on to higher-ups at Ravenloft." Finally, an opportunity for excitement had presented itself, albeit temporarily. If nothing else, this would make for an exciting story to tell one day.
—
Three months ago, at the hidden Starport "Lucky Sinner."
Criminals lie. Everyone knows that. Criminality is woven into the fabric of society. When the first market stall was put up, five thieves were probably in waiting. Orva Bircha grew up to become a criminal and figured it was just a fact of life. From her earliest days, she'd been immersed in information brokering, inheriting the family business after her parents fell victim to rivals.
She ran one of Paxtil's most sophisticated and well-funded information networks for sixteen years, and Orva was good at it. She knew all the tricks and tools to get an answer out of someone, and if she had the stomach for interrogation, she might have found a good place among the Paxtil Enforcers.
Orva's trade encompassed vast data, ranging from mundane personal details to high-stakes financial secrets. Yet, occasionally, she found herself entangled in matters far more delicate—like stumbling upon a weapons smuggling ring and promptly protecting its secrets, as was expected of her position. So when authorities closed in, she faced the harsh reality of arrest.
Refusing to betray her principles and ruin her reputation (and likely getting her killed in the process), Orva maintained her innocence with a brazen display of deception. Maybe she could have been an actor in another life. Still, despite her efforts, the Adeptus Terra branded her a traitor, a verdict that would have spelled certain death were it not for an unexpected rescue orchestrated by a Ratling woman named Miss Taturu.
Grateful for her newfound salvation, Orva owed Miss Taturu a considerable debt of gratitude. Her new affiliation with the Shrike Commission came with a profound appreciation for Orva's discretion, a trait that had saved her from the gallows. It became apparent that Orva's network extended far beyond Paxtil, a fact she and her benefactors were keen on preserving.
Given her circumstances, Orva struck a deal with the Commission. With no home left on Paxtil, joining their ranks seemed the logical choice. However, she carved out a unique role for herself. Rather than merely relaying information, Orva became instrumental in orchestrating covert arrangements without directly implicating the Commission.
The Shrike Commission operated through a web of fronts and proxies, a strategic approach designed to minimize unwanted scrutiny. Their aim wasn't to sow chaos but to provide a discreet avenue for individuals seeking less-than-honorable means of livelihood. Orva's expertise in navigating such criminal landscapes proved invaluable in maintaining the Commission's elusive presence.
It wasn't about stirring up trouble but rather keeping trouble away from the limelight. For the Imperium, maintaining control meant cracking down on criminals, pirates, and smugglers, projecting an image of order and discipline. The last thing they wanted the public to hear about was corruption or illicit dealings within the upper echelons of the Imperium.
Ironically, the Shrike Commission aimed to create a facade of respectable criminality that the authorities could conveniently ignore, as long as it didn't interfere with their power…or they got a big enough cut of the profits.
Orva was now a Skipper in the Shrike Commission—the type who went and did "skip" work for the higher-ups. Her presence often signaled trouble, as the organization preferred not to send anyone to deal with their clients, associates, or operations. Especially when an associate or member should have known better.
As Orva delved into the investigation, it led her to Port Lucky Sinner, where she crossed paths with Savatin Nightsail, leader of the Verdant Mist clan. Their encounter occurred in the dimly lit confines of a bar named the "Sinners Reprieve," permeated with the pungent odors of lho sticks, cheap whisky, and gunpowder—a testament to the establishment's rowdy clientele.
"You ain't here to kill me, ya?" Savatin quipped between chews on what seemed to be a ball of siskin tobacco, his tone laced with a hint of skepticism.
Orva couldn't help but roll her eyes. "No, I'm not here to kill you," she retorted, her patience tested by the crude surroundings of their conversation spot.
With a sigh, Orva retrieved a picture of a peculiar wooden bionic from her pocket. "I wanted to know how your clan came about this item."
Savatin's gaze fixated on the image momentarily before a curse slipped past his lips. "Damn. So you ain't the only ones looking for the source of this stuff."
"What do you mean?" Orva's frustration was palpable as she pressed for clarity. "Did your ship, the Fortunes Daughter, not provide the source of this object?"
Savatin's response was brusque. "I don't know," he admitted with a scowl, further fueling Orva's irritation. "I never got the chance to ask Appy. Our stronghold, the Black Eye, got invaded, you see. This was when we sold some alien knickknacks on the black market, but I wasn't there for whatever was sent out. I had other priorities."
He paused to take a sip of his whisky before continuing. "I was planning on reclaiming the Black Eye once I heard about what happened, but that's probably a pipe dream now."
Orva's exasperation was evident as she pressed for more information. "And why is that?" she demanded, her patience wearing thin with each moment of vague answers. This was already looking to have gotten out of control.
"Well, for starters, the Black Eye got hit from the inside, which means there were probably a lot of infiltrators," Savatin began, his tone grave. "Next were the nine scav clans that assaulted it, which consisted of about forty or fifty ships, mostly ramshackle destroyers. And well, heh, the guns of the Black Eye aren't exactly up to standards, either."
Orva's patience was wearing thin with each vague answer. "Is this story going anywhere other than making me wonder if the Commission will regret making you an associate?" she interjected, pushing for more concrete information.
Savatin chuckled, recognizing Orva's frustration. "Was gettin' to that," he replied. "One of our scoops did escape, and they got some scans and footage before they lost contact with the Black Eye and our ships. Guess who was leading the attack?" He produced a data slate, displaying a Mechanicum Cruiser and a small escort of Cobras destroyers.
Orva's expression shifted as she grasped the gravity of the situation. "So outnumbered, outmatched, and outplayed," she mused, acknowledging Savatin's predicament. "Fine. I can't say you weren't wise to not try and provoke the Mechanicum." She knew the Commission wouldn't be pleased with this turn of events.
But Savatin's next revelation caught her off guard. "Oh, this wasn't the Mechanicum. Not really," he clarified, prompting Orva to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Our ship that escaped actually did so after getting a few people out who learned something about these cog-boys. They ain't official. In fact, I think they are hereteks."
Orva's expression turned serious as she absorbed this information. "You think or know?" she inquired, her tone firm. "What did you learn exactly?" The revelation of hereteks operating outside Mechanicum jurisdiction was a significant development that warranted closer scrutiny.
"The cruiser is called the First Truth, under the command of the Cult of Arcanum Cognitum, led by some Magos Primus named Vortigern. They were looking for something, the umm..." Savatin paused to double-check the data slate, "The Ciar'Yankra."
Orva absorbed the information, nodding slowly. "You got all that from a few interrogations?" she asked, impressed by the extent of Savatin's knowledge. Still, she knew there was likely more to uncover. "Whatever the case, just give me all your information on what happened and this Magos and its cult."
Savatin's expression darkened, his frustration evident. "First, I want compensation for my loss, per the terms of my membership in the Commission," he demanded, seeking recompense for the devastation inflicted upon his clan.
Orva's tone remained firm as she addressed his request. "You'll need to speak to Miss Taturu and the commission members for that," she stated, clarifying that such matters fell outside her purview. "I strongly suggest you show up with good intentions and dressed appropriately," she added, emphasizing the importance of professionalism when dealing with the Commission.
"Such groxshit," Savatin remarked with a frown. It "feels like I'm in a business more and more."
"It's called being in a racket," Orva retorted, her tone sharp and unsympathetic. "Get used to it if you want to have a stake in the Commission."
—
Two months ago, Ravenloft Operations Center SAMSON…
Ravenloft didn't approach warfare like the Imperium did, not yet, anyway. Someday, it would have its own armies, but for now, Ravenloft preferred to fight like special forces with their wits and intellect. Information, the first principle of warfare, must form the foundation of all one's efforts. Know, of course, thine enemy. But in knowing him, do not forget, above all, to know yourself.
This was vital for an organization that employed many faithful and skeptics alike. To understand what they were fighting for, all must first know themselves. This is difficult as the self is fluid, and man is often caught in worldly affairs. Ravenloft was devoted to the divine and other such ideas. War by itself was a difficult piece to place within such a purpose.
Such were the thoughts of Captain Saqr el-Othman, formerly of the Delast 76th Hounds, who had struggled with such concerns for the better part of a decade. Saqr had enlisted in the Imperial Army during the Desolation, a time of turmoil and conflict. While many of his friends chose to fight as Mujahedin for the FPA, he remained steadfast in allegiance to the Imperium. Despite the destruction it wrought upon his people, Saqr firmly believed in a unified humanity.
Did he ever regret his decision to fight alongside those who were, in essence, responsible for the deaths of his own kin? No. For Saqr, the fight was about more than just allegiance to a particular faction; it was about fighting for the greater idea of a unified people. Even if it meant going against the tenets of his faith.
But while he was willing to sacrifice those beliefs, Saqr believed it unfair that the Imperium forced others to abandon them. He believed in granting individuals the freedom to worship as they saw fit, a belief that would have gotten him into serious trouble…if he ever made it apparent.
When Saqr used his authority and influence to aid refugees and safeguard religious artifacts, he didn't see himself as a traitor or a criminal. To him, he was simply doing what he believed was right for humanity, even if it meant going against the Imperium's otherwise uncompromising stance on the matter.
No one from the Imperial Army ever apprehended him. Instead, Ravenloft sought him out, drawn by the tales of Saqr's compassion and assistance from those he had aided. Initially hesitant to align himself with what he perceived as a religious order, Saqr only reconsidered after a conversation with Director Lockcraft.
Despite his claims of encountering gods, Lockcraft remained a skeptic at heart. He viewed human faith as a nuanced tool that warranted understanding rather than suppression through state-sanctioned purges. In his eyes, faith now served a crucial role in humanity's resilience against the myriad horrors lurking beyond.
Persuaded by Lockcraft's pragmatic viewpoint, Saqr accepted a leadership role within Ravenloft. Tasked with overseeing an outpost transformed into a fortified stronghold, his detachment specialized in gathering intelligence—a task at which Saqr excelled.
Though far from glamorous, Saqr's duties kept him grounded at Samson while his teams ventured into the galaxy's far reaches, often disappearing for years at a time. While they operated in the field, Saqr remained at the fortress, training new recruits and meticulously cataloging the wealth of information gathered by informants and operatives.
With the influx of data becoming overwhelming, Saqr needed additional support. He requested additional scribes and analysts to manage the ever-expanding archive of intelligence reports, ensuring that no valuable information slipped through the cracks.
Saqr's fortress was a vital hub within the expansive Eleria Reach, a cluster of sectors colloquially called the "sea." As such, it was positioned strategically at the crossroads of over a dozen worlds that facilitated a significant portion of the region's trade, acting as a gateway to the renowned Realm of Ultramar. Amidst the bustling commerce, information flowed freely, exchanged for the right price, or shared casually in passing—precisely the type of data Saqr meticulously collected and cataloged.
Each month brought a barrage of requests, prompting Saqr and his teams to sift through files, reports, and even whispers of rumors and gossip. It was almost neverending. People talked more than they should have. But Ravenloft thrived off these rumors.
Besides that, Fortress Samson's task was to compile this wealth of information and transmit it to one of the main facilities for a thorough review. While the job may have seemed laid-back to some, Saqr maintained discipline and focus among his personnel, never forgetting his roots as a soldier and officer.
However, when a priority message arrived, flagged jointly by Ravenloft and the Shrike Commission, demanding all intelligence related to the Cult of Arcanum Cognitum to be dispatched to Facility Zenith, the entire fortress sprang into action. It was one of those rare moments when every corner of the stronghold buzzed with activity.
"What do we know?" Saqr asked the assembled scribes, researchers, and analysts.
"For starters, the Cult of Arcanum Cognitum emerged in the wake of the Aphex incident," said senior analysts. "It seems to have been founded approximately five years ago, following the events on the forge world of Aphex. Details regarding the incident are scarce, as the Mechanicum has sealed most of the information. However, we do know that Magos Primus Vortigern was exiled as a result."
Another team member chimed in, adding another piece to the narrative. "Approximately two years ago, a reclamation clan from the Zalonik System encountered the cult after discovering several alien artifacts of unknown origin. The encounter ended disastrously for the clan, destroying most of its members by what they described as a small but formidable force."
Saqr nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. Then, Operative Hemlick provided further insight into Vortigern's ideology. "Our sources within the local Mechanicum elements suggest that Vortigern is a radical, advocating for a doctrine known as Genesis Appropriation. According to our contacts, this doctrine posits that humanity can lay claim to new knowledge upon its creation, allowing it to be reconfigured to align with the Great Mysteries and Warnings."
"I take it wasn't received well?" Saqr asked Hemlick, who merely nodded.
"Got Vortigern and his followers thrown out, but not until after the Aphex Incident. Based on what I know about it, he might have found something related to this Ciar'Yankra force and tried experimenting on it, and promptly caused a disaster of some kind."
One of the scribes seemed to ponder the situation further. "So, this is either some last-ditch attempt to obtain information or the location of the Ciar'Yankra. They must have learned about the Verdant Mist having the source of these artifacts and decided to obtain this information directly."
"Guess the cult figured they didn't need to ask nicely," Hemlick quipped before delving back into the reports. "The Cruiser, the First Truth, isn't the only thing we must worry about. The Cult had about ten million members, although most were probably just servants or menials. No, the issue is the Skitarii Cohort of Classiarii, Hypaspist, and a host of Praetorians."
A Ravenloft captain chimed in with another concern. "Additionally, we've looked into these scav clans that Vortigern is controlling. The Shrike Commission was right to claim these guys aren't a real threat, but they've got numbers. Expecting at least five regiments worth of infantry and maybe two or three worth of armor. All low-quality, but an effective screen for the cult's elite."
It was a familiar tactic and a grisly one as far as Saqr was concerned. "What shall the recommendation be for Ravenloft?" he asked, sipping his tea. A barrage of suggestions followed, with some advocating for calling for Raven Guard assistance, while others proposed resolving the situation with a dedicated military response from Ravenloft.
After an hour of deliberation, Hemlick addressed Saqr. "Getting Raven Guard assistance would be the more effective choice, but they are currently tasked with battles elsewhere. We need to consider that this situation doesn't require an Astartes response. One minor cult, even if it's like one of these Gamma Camps that certain circles have been talking about, doesn't warrant the Marines."
The back-and-forth continued, with Saqr carefully considering and weighing all their options. The night was young, and it would take another week to conclude this session fully. Important decisions like these couldn't be rushed; they required thorough examination and deliberation. As far as he was concerned, they still needed more information before making any definitive choices.
Little did Saqr know that the Shrike Commission was also independently investigating the matter. Weeks later, he received crucial information that ultimately led to a formal recommendation to Ravenloft.
—
Five weeks ago, on the former Verdant Mist stronghold, "The Black Eye."
It was the oldest trick in the book, yet humanity had fallen for it for tens of thousands of years, and it seemed they would continue to do so until the end of their existence: the honeypot trap. It is was timeless folly of mankind. All it took to extract any important secret was a pleasant demeanor, a charming smile, and a lack of awareness. A simple one-night stand could quickly spiral into a catastrophic mistake.
Sex would be the doom of humanity. At least they would all go out with a smile in that case.
Mai couldn't help but feel a sense of amusement as she moved stealthily through the personal quarters of Captain Lucy "Lacy" Recesta, who lay sleeping, unaware of the intrusion. The two of them had just finished consummating their "marriage," and Captain Recesta was so drunk and exhausted that she'd be asleep for the next five hours.
It certainly didn't hurt that Lucy had unknowingly ingested a potent sedative that would keep her in slumber and erase much of her memory. By the time she woke, Mai would have looked like she had never even left the bed. It was almost reassuring to see that another woman was just as susceptible to the allure of a honeypot trap as any man.
Putting those thoughts aside, Mai focused on her mission. The Shrike Commission had hired her, or more accurately, her "masters," the House of Love, to gather crucial information. Compared to some of her previous assignments, this one seemed relatively straightforward. Pirates and scavengers were predictable, and these clans acted like kings simply by seizing control of an otherwise unremarkable station.
Why was the Shrike Commission shelling out this much? It likely had more to do with the Mechanicum cruiser everyone was buzzing about. Fortunately, Mai's assignment didn't involve seducing one of those cog-boys. Those machine-freaks always unsettled her.
Approaching Captain Recesta's desk, Mai began rifling through the documents. "There we go," she whispered softly, though there was no need. Lucy had dismissed her guards for the night. As a lover, Lucy was fiery, but she was also a tad careless.
Mai finally found what she was after—a date chit. Swiftly, she inserted it into the side of her forehead, where a subdermal interface port lay. Mai's brain had long been replaced by a cortex implant and a personalized machine spirit that shielded her consciousness from "intrusive" thoughts.
The irony wasn't lost on her. Everything but her mind was organic now. The House of Love ensured she still indulged in all the pleasures of the flesh, but it came at a cost. But Mai figured that everyone ultimately has to give up something to be the best at who they are.
With the data now safely downloaded into her brain, Mai reckoned she needed more details, but she intended to linger until Lucy tired of her or until she received fresh instructions. Perhaps she'd get lucky, and someone would foolishly attempt to assassinate her. That was the problem with the married life. Nothing ever exciting happens.
—
Now, Ravenloft Facility Zenith…
The Office of Director Vigo Benasman…
"After that, Captain el-Othman obtained much more detailed information. In summary, the Verdant Mist knows the source of the Ciar'Yankra artifacts. They confirmed the existence of an alien civilization at that location, but much of the leadership with knowledge of the precise coordinates perished in the conflict. Arcanum Cognitum plans to launch an expedition to the source from the Black Eye within the next year."
Vigo nodded thoughtfully. "So, what's the recommended course of action?"
"A comprehensive military and research expedition," Olaitan replied. "I concur with his assessment, so I've brought it to your attention to gather your input."
They had been discussing for nearly three hours, and Vigo had reservations. "Our information is based on the word of a third-party operative, likely seeking something in return. That's hardly a solid foundation for a recommendation to the Director."
"I anticipated that concern, so I saved this last detail for your review." Olaitan produced a small, grainy photo. "This is the best image the House of Love operative could provide, but..."
Vigo examined the photo closely, his expression turning serious. "This resembles... a forge world?"
"Or at least an approximate," Olaitan remarked. "It appears to be the source of the artifacts—a full-fledged alien civilization right under our noses."
"A civilization capable of imbuing items with biotic energies," Vigo mused with concern. "The mere thought of Gamma Camp gaining access to such power, even if not for conquest, spells disaster."
Olaitan looked at him expectantly. "So, are you convinced now?"
Vigo exhaled heavily, returning his gaze to the photo. "It's certainly worth investigating. I'll make some calls. But let me be clear: this will require a substantial deployment of ships, troops, and equipment. It won't happen overnight."
"The Commission appears fully committed to this endeavor now," Olaitan replied. "We can likely expedite the acquisition of mercenaries and equipment. But the real threat lies with the cruiser and those Mechanicum forces."
Vigo reassured him. "Don't fret over that. Right now, your focus should be elsewhere. I'm tasking you with coordinating this expedition, Olaitan."
Olaitan nodded. "Understood. I already have a few candidates in mind for frontline duties. When do you need them by?"
"In the next hour," Vigo replied firmly, his fingers moving across his personal cogitator. Please gather everyone and provide me with an initial timeline by tonight."
"As you will it," Olaitan echoed, a smile gracing his lips at the successful outcome of their discussion. Vigo's enthusiasm mirrored his own, indicating that the old captain recognized the opportunities and dangers inherent in this situation for their organization.
Indeed, the effort expended in gathering and presenting this information could not be ignored. Witnessing the outcomes that emerged from closely examining those most peculiar patterns was fascinating. Sometimes, everything came together.
---
@Daemon Hunter Didn't know how to end this omake, but I just wanted to get it out of the way now.
That is a question directed toward @TinyGladiator on the potential end results.
The Masquerade Ends
The Masquerade Ends
Macragge, Palace of Ultramar…
Today was busy and exhausting for Euten. She was effectively running the Realm of Ultramar as usual, not that she could blame Roboute. He still had his obligations to the Imperium, even if it felt like no one on Terra appreciated just how much effort he was making.
Her son had been absent for nearly two years, engrossed in a campaign that yielded around 1300 new worlds. However, these conquests required extensive development for decades before they reached Roboute's exacting standards. That was the problem with a genius like him: perfect is the enemy of good.
As such, Roboute would be hyper-fixated on the problem for some time before finally handing off these problems to others. This meant that politicians and bureaucrats would be consumed by the intricacies of managing this vast, Stellar Empire and reconciling it with the remnants of the Free World Coalition for years to come.
Meanwhile, the urgent need for rebuilding or simple revitalization loomed over hundreds of war-torn and impoverished worlds within these new acquisitions. At least in time, they would recover. The Realm of Ultramar would still need to pour hundreds of billions into these planets and receive their investment back tenfold.
Undoubtedly, this development wouldn't be as well received as her son might have hoped. The simple truth was that while much of the realm had been spared the worst aspects of the Great Crusade, its citizens still paid quite a bit for the Imperial war machine. People were getting frustrated, especially toward Roboute.
Her son was trying this hardest, bless his soul. He was looking at the bigger picture, but Euten worried that might cost him his realm. At times, she couldn't help but wonder if this was all part of an elaborate charade orchestrated by her son—a grand display ensuring that no one could fault Primarch Guilliman for lack of effort should the Imperium falter.
Euten harbored doubts but refrained from dwelling on them. She understood that Roboute wasn't seeking civil unrest, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that if it did erupt, he wouldn't shoulder the blame. Perhaps she needed to trust in her son's plans, influenced as they may be by other third parties, particularly by a certain Aeldari woman.
The matter of Roboute's clandestine affair with Yvraine weighed heavily on Euten's mind—a veritable Pandora's box she had yet to open nor wanted to. She hadn't broached the subject with her son, and it remained a lingering concern. Euten still opted to leave it be.
All she could really do was just that: leave things be. Returning to the palace, fatigued but composed, Euten idly reflected on Roboute's natural aptitude for governance while realizing that even after all these years, she could barely keep it functional. Yet her son relished all the challenges, even finding enjoyable aspects—a sentiment she couldn't comprehend but knew was a blessing.
Skipping dinner, Euten retreated to a private chamber, seeking solace in the company of Aldrich, who was now her most trusted confidant and perhaps the only other man besides her son whose presence she found truly comforting. Yet, as their bond deepened, Euten couldn't help but ponder the nature of their relationship. She routinely told herself that she and Aldrich were just friends anyway.
Brushing aside such musings, Euten justified their closeness as akin to Roboute's unconventional pursuits. She reminded herself that she was entitled to companionship. Still, she might have to address this soon. It might not look good if she was seen in more intimate moments with the new Legatus.
When Euten entered her chambers, she was taken aback to find a meal awaiting her. "Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, taking in the charming spread before her. It wasn't the lavish candle-lit dinners she had shared with Konor, but it had a welcoming appeal.
Aldrich emerged from the small kitchenette, wiping his hands on a washcloth. "I was wondering when you'd get here. Your shuttle landed almost thirty minutes ago," he remarked.
"I got held up reviewing something," she explained absentmindedly, her attention drawn to the meal. "Did you order this?"
"No," Aldrich replied, raising an eyebrow. "I cooked."
Euten was surprised. "You cook?" Despite their years of friendship, she had never known this about him.
Aldrich chuckled. "Yes, I lived by myself for years on Cetin. Eating plain cooked meat daily gets old, so I learned to spice things up a bit." He gestured toward the spread. "I just picked up some supplies from the local kitchen. Nothing too fancy."
The sight of the food stirred Euten's appetite. "I had planned to skip dinner, but I think you've changed my mind," she admitted with a soft smile. Aldrich's thoughtfulness never failed to make her feel appreciated or wanted. He must have anticipated how this gesture would be perceived, yet he seemed content to share this simple meal with her.
"I'm glad to hear it," Aldrich replied, pulling out her seat. "I thought you might appreciate a chance to relax. Just have the two of us do something simple tonight."
Taking her seat, Euten nodded. "Simple sounds perfect right now."
A moment of relaxation would be a welcome change. In the past, when Konor was still by her side, they often strolled along the battlements, sometimes pausing to savor each other's company more intimately.
Euten glanced over at Aldrich as he poured her a glass of wine. "What did you have in mind?" she inquired.
"Well, you have that pict-screen in here. Maybe we could watch a holodrama?" Aldrich suggested, but Euten hesitated. Watching a holodrama tended to induce a level of relaxation that might lead to unintended consequences.
Instead, she proposed, "I think M-Talk is on tonight."
"M-Talk?" Aldrich seemed puzzled. "Isn't that a talk show?"
"Something like that. M-Talk is a blend of a talk show, discussion panel, and news channel. My son had a hand in its design," Euten explained. Oddly enough, it had become one of the most popular programs in the Realm of Ultramar. Despite the weeks required for each episode's transportation, there was a significant demand for it. An entire industry had emerged to expedite the delivery of tapings as swiftly as possible.
"Isn't that something?" Aldrich's surprise was evident. "To think a Primarch would go to such lengths to secure a host for a holo show."
"Roboute's been on a journey of growth these past decades," Euten remarked, sipping her wine. "Say what you will about him, but he's adept at learning from his missteps and seizing any advantage within reach."
"Well, now you've piqued my interest," Aldrich admitted. "Perhaps this M-Talk will prove more captivating than we anticipate."
Euten chuckled softly. "I wouldn't hold my breath. If there were any notable guests tonight, I would have heard about it. No Primarchs, Astartes, Magi, or the like will be gracing the stage. It's likely to be a rather mundane affair."
For a brief moment, Euten thought she heard the faint sound of laughter somewhere from beyond the walls of her most private chamber. This would have been impossible as the walls were soundproof. It was probably just her nerves acting up.
Ten hours ago, on the set of M-Talk…
A venerable newscaster stared back at Ian Lancel Cicero from the mirror. "Oh, wait, I'm looking at a mirror," he joked to himself, a quip he must have made a hundred thousand times over his three and a half centuries of politicking, newscasting, and debate. Cicero had seen it all.
Makeup had already finished his appearance, and his aides had left him to gather his thoughts. Tonight, he was scheduled for a straightforward three-hour book discussion with the author—a mundane affair compared to the countless other topics he'd tackled over his two decades hosting M-Talk.
When Euten's "son" approached him about taking the show's helm, Cicero hesitated. Primarch Guilliman, while a great leader, was known for his strict control over information and ideas. News outlets often served as mere mouthpieces for the lords of Ultramar and the Primarch.
Yet Roboute promised Cicero complete control over his conduct on the show, with only a list of topics and guests off-limits. Initially skeptical, Cicero expected pushback from the Civitas, but they remained silent, even after countless controversial guests and topics had graced his stage.
Pushback from certain groups was expected. The studio and producers received their fair share of letters and complaints, which Cicero often turned into entertaining content by addressing their points on air. It added to the show's appeal and kept viewers engaged.
Despite the meticulously planned nature of the show, there were moments when debates became so heated that viewers felt they were on the verge of witnessing a live duel. These tense moments often broke records for viewership.
However, M-Talk was never actually live. All tapings were done half a day in advance. This timing ensured that citizens of Macragge and those across the Realm of Ultramar could watch the show at their convenience.
This leisurely approach allowed Cicero and the producers to run the show smoothly. Excitement only peaked when an Astartes or even the Primarch himself appeared. Otherwise, it was a relaxed discussion with a public official, author, veteran, or guest.
With the show about to begin, Cicero needed to take the stage to greet his guests and kickstart the discussion. Tonight, there was going to be a Remembrancer talking about their book. He had quickly skimmed through it, but most of the ideas went over his head, which was fine. All Cicero needed to prompt the right pointed questions, and the guest would do most of the work.
Cicero approached Mr. Lockcraft with his signature warm smile and a firm handshake, a well-rehearsed routine he had perfected over countless episodes. "Welcome to the show, Mr. Lockcraft."
"Thank you," Lockcraft responded. His demeanor appeared rather ordinary at first glance, given that he had heard of a simple but expensive suit. However, his striking obsidian black eyes hinted at something more intriguing beneath the surface.
"Showtime in three minutes, Ian," Natale's voice chimed in through his cochlear implant.
Acknowledging the impending start, Cicero turned to both Natale and Lockcraft. "We're about to begin. If you have any last-minute questions or concerns, now's the time."
Lockcraft declined politely but dismissively, though Cicero couldn't help but notice a hint of nervousness. It was understandable; many guests felt jittery before going live. Cicero had even seen space marines succumb to stage fright, although they quickly overcame it once the conversation flowed.
Cicero held firm to his belief that both interviewer and interviewee should feel at ease during discussions. After all, they were adults, and any potential vices displayed were an example of such talks.
"Well, I glanced over your book but only got it yesterday," Cicero admitted, settling into his seat across from Lockcraft. "So bear with me if I make false or idiotic assumptions."
Lockcraft didn't seem bothered by the disclaimer. "I wouldn't be too concerned," he replied casually, pouring himself a glass of scotch from the provided bottle. "I'll do my best to keep things interesting and informative."
Cicero chuckled lightly. "With a topic as controversial as yours, I doubt we'll have any shortage of discussion points. Just a heads up, though—I won't be tossing you any softballs. I prefer honest answers." Natale's voice signaled thirty seconds until showtime.
Lockcraft's response caught Cicero off guard. "You'd think that. But sometimes, a straight answer isn't the best one." There was an edge to Lockcraft's tone that gave Cicero pause, but he brushed it off as the countdown neared its end.
"Showtime," Cicero reminded himself, turning his attention to Camera One. "Good evening, everyone. I'm Ian Cicero, your host for M-Talk. Joining me tonight is Jonathon Ezikeli Lockcraft, a member of the Imperial Remembrancer Corps, here to discuss his controversial book, A Necessary Masquerade, which has stirred praise and controversy within academic circles." Cicero turned to Lockcraft with a nod. "Mr. Lockcraft, thank you for joining us."
Lockcraft's demeanor seemed to ease slightly, appearing more human now.
"Thank you for having me on," Lockcraft responded diplomatically, as expected.
Cicero wasted no time in delving into the discussion. "If I may, our research uncovered an article published by the Imperial Society of Education that described your book as deeply troubling, going so far as to label it a 'heretical tome' by all metrics. Can you enlighten our viewers and listeners on the topic of your book?"
Lockcraft's demeanor remained composed as he began to explain. "Certainly. A Necessary Masquerade is a critique of organized religion, as well as a condemnation of the Imperial Truth for mirroring the same flaws and atrocities it seeks to eradicate from faith-based institutions."
An excellent start. "Your peers quoted you as stating that the 'hysterical secularization of the galaxy will inevitably lead to a false faith in the institutions that have consistently proven corrupt, incompetent, and merciless towards the common man.' Do you believe there's a risk of the Imperium adopting a form of state worship instead of religious faith?"
"It's already begun," Lockcraft responded bluntly. "In the last century alone, we've witnessed thousands of sanctioned pogroms and relocation attempts targeting religious minority groups. Meanwhile, state-mandated doctrinal focuses on secular practices, reminiscent of quasi-ritualism, have devastated localized education, culture, and governance that were previously established. The alliance with the Mechanicum only amplifies this hypocrisy, shedding an unflattering light on the Imperium's control over industry and scientific endeavors."
"So, are you suggesting that the Mechanicum and the Imperium are fundamentally incompatible due to their differing governing laws?" Cicero inquired, clearly intrigued by the conversation.
Lockcraft appeared annoyed, though not at the question itself. "When the average citizen realizes the extent of the Mechanicum's control and their violation of the tenets of the Imperial Truth, it reveals two aspects of human nature. First, the recognition of the Mechanicum's necessity for the greater good. Second, a willingness to tolerate others' faith as long as it doesn't encroach upon their beliefs."
Cicero nodded in understanding. "The Mechanicum tends to operate within its own sphere, often without interfering with the common citizen."
"Unless it serves their agenda to get involved," Lockcraft clarified. "Then they act with impunity. The arguments presented in my book underscore that the issue lies not with faith itself but with the Imperium's reluctance to manage a multitude of religious orders vying for control. Organized religion, while offering benefits, also poses significant risks to humanity. Just imagine the ramifications if the Mechanicum were to withdraw their support or if another religious order gained dominance over crucial sectors like agriculture or promethium production."
"Indeed, the Imperium maintains control over these crucial aspects," Cicero acknowledged. "But are you suggesting that a fervent secularization has occurred within the Imperium, leading to similar issues as those faced under religious rule?"
Lockcraft elaborated, "The average Imperial citizen remains confined to their world, lacking financial resources and formal education. Slavery persists, and our civilization has failed to offer viable alternatives. Consequently, many resent the state unless their living conditions improve drastically. While the Realm of Ultramar may exemplify the Imperium's aspirations, the reality for 98% of humanity is starkly different. When the state fails to address their needs, people often turn to religion for solace."
Cicero referred to his notes as he continued, "You make a compelling argument, echoed in Chapter 9, where you discuss the human tendency to seek comfort and meaning in times of adversity. This innate survival mechanism drives individuals to turn to religion for answers when the state falls short."
Lockcraft reflected, "The common critique of that mindset is that those individuals are simply deceiving themselves. And to some extent, I must concur." He continued, "The reality is that the likelihood of gods intervening with miracles or gracing us with their presence is slim, if existent at all. From this perspective, faith might appear as nothing more than a crutch, at its best."
"However, I presented an argument advocating for humanity's inherent need to worship as a survival mechanism, enabling belief in the tangible aspects of life: family, community, nation, and species. Faith is necessary for the soul, and spirituality is a soothing agent in times of adversity. Just as our physical bodies require sustenance like food and water, our souls crave..."
Here, Lockcraft paused, searching for a clearer expression. "Let me put it this way: they crave to believe in something greater, thereby imbuing significance into the minutiae of existence. Giving power to the idea that a god cared enough to try for your sake, you should try for the sake of others."
Cicero seemed to anticipate Lockcraft's argument, "You argue that while human decency and understanding should form the bedrock of an individual's principles, faith, and the expressions of religion can wield significant influence over societal norms, values, and institutions, often effecting change more rapidly than attempts to promote secular practices."
Lockcraft's expression grew somber as he elaborated, "Logic and understanding are sadly lacking in our times. The Long Night, colloquially known as the Age of Strife, plunged humanity into an era of scientific and societal regression, resembling what many in Ultramar would consider barbarism or savagery. During this chaotic period, the resurgence of ancient faiths paralleled the emergence of newer belief systems. Whether revived or born anew, these faiths predated the Unification Wars on Terra by millennia. However, the Great Crusade and its aggressive push for secularization within the last century have merely attempted a cycle of revisionism."
"Indeed," Cicero interjected, "You suggest that revisionism isn't inherently reductive in your work. In Chapter Six, you acknowledge the Imperial policy of eradicating idol worship as a necessary measure, given the prevalence of heinous practices across numerous worlds."
Lockcraft nodded, affirming Cicero's statement, "Indeed, there were countless instances of societies engaging in barbaric rituals, including acts of brutality, cannibalism, human sacrifice, and occult practices aimed at summoning otherworldly entities. However, it's crucial to note that many of these beliefs were not rooted in reverence for human deities but rather in practices that ran counter to societal decency."
Cicero posed a probing question, "How should societies navigate the distinction between the sacred and the profane? Where does the path to dialogue and understanding begin?"
Lockcraft raised a finger thoughtfully, "It necessitates an open-minded approach that seeks to discern the underlying intentions of faith from its outward manifestations. Critique and skepticism play pivotal roles in this process."
"You advocate for skeptics and nonbelievers to have a place in society," observed Cicero with a hint of amusement.
"Every individual should possess the capacity for skepticism," Lockcraft affirmed. "However, theocratic or authoritarian governments often view such dissent as threatening their authority. Those who seek truth, whether challenging gods or rulers, frequently find themselves targeted by unseen forces."
Reviewing his notes once more, Cicero delved into another question, "I'm intrigued by a particular section toward the end of your book. Forgive me if I mispronounce it, but you mention something called 'Shibboleth' and highlight an inherent problem in attributing evidence to faith. This question may seem premature, but it struck me as significant. You advocate for skepticism toward gods and religion, yet you also assert that individuals should be free to worship gods."
"Shibboleth originates from an ancient Hebrite practice used for identification, but it has evolved into a means of fostering group cohesion," Lockcraft explained. "As I mentioned, humans have an innate tendency to gravitate toward such symbols and practices. The Imperium could spend centuries dismantling temples, shrines, and churches only to foster the emergence of new forms of worship unwittingly. Consider the veneration of Primarchs and the Emperor in various forms. Many might argue that this alone suggests that we as a civilization are already in the presence of a god and his demigods, regardless of what they tell us. A tyrant can demand worship and never be truly seen as a god, but the Primarchs and Emperor have never asked to be worshiped, yet they are attracting hundreds of trillions of followers. However, the crucial question remains: What do these figures truly represent? Can we envision the people of Ultramar worshipping Roboute Guilliman? Some might find it conceivable, given his exceptional leadership. But what of his brothers? What of the Emperor?"
Lockcraft shook his head, recalling the words of a Catheric priest, "We seek evidence of faith—a wholehearted acceptance of God's promise of a better world. For we maintain that man is justified by faith alone. Thus, faith becomes the true shibboleth." I suggest that perhaps a human-wide 'Shibboleth' is necessary and that if the Imperium fails to achieve it through its own means, humanity will eventually need the gods to ensure it. In that sense, this is a warning that we should all heed."
Now, Macragge, Palace of Ultramar…
Some might have raised eyebrows at the intimacy of Euten and Aldrich's seating arrangement, given their age difference, but Euten brushed off any potential gossip with the conviction that friends behaved this way, even if society might beg to differ.
As they watched the engaging discourse unfold on M-Talk between Cicero and Mr. Lockcraft, Euten turned to Aldrich with a gentle inquiry, "Aldrich, if I recall correctly, you were once a devout practitioner, weren't you?"
"Technically, I suppose you could say I'm a lapsed Christian," Aldrich replied with a casual shrug. "Haven't stepped foot inside a church since I left Cetin as a conscript. Rarely find myself in prayer these days, although that hasn't stopped people from labeling me as such."
"I suppose that's why they call you the Archangel," Euten mused.
"A bit of a backhanded compliment, really," Aldrich smirked. "But I've grown rather fond of it. As for this debate, do you want my take on what Lockcraft argues?"
"Well, you did wield considerable influence within the Imperium at one point," Euten noted. "Your insights could prove invaluable."
Surprisingly, Aldrich shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have any profound insights on the matter. Personally, I believe religion shouldn't dictate government policies, yet the Imperium seems intent on eradicating it entirely from society. However, Lockcraft does raise a valid point about the tendency for people to place excessive admiration and even worship upon certain individuals, like the Primarchs and the Emperor."
"People do idolize celebrities, but not to the extent of actual worship," Euten reflected, recalling how even someone as formidable as Arthron held Roboute in high esteem. Despite being centuries older, Arthron, a Beta-Level psyker who had vanquished entire armies, looked up to her son with reverence.
Considering this, was it surprising to envision ordinary citizens worshipping her son or his brothers? Let alone a man like the Emperor?
"Imagine the chaos if one of the Primarchs declared themselves a god or converted to another faith," Aldrich mused. "Whole worlds would flock to their worship overnight."
Euten nodded in agreement but pointed out a flaw in such a move, "Yes, but it would ultimately be self-defeating. They'd undermine their own authority."
"Exactly why they never do it," Aldrich agreed. "Perceived as gods without claiming the title, they avoid the pitfalls of direct worship while forfeiting the ability to curb any problematic religious movements, like the so-called hysterical secularization Lockcraft warned about."
"And what would you propose, then?" Euten inquired. "If you were in a position of authority?"
Aldrich shrugged, offering a pragmatic approach: "Let people worship as they wish, as long as they fulfill their civic duties and uphold the law. It sounds simple on paper, but balancing these demands is difficult. Convincing someone to pay taxes is often more challenging than allowing them to worship freely. It probably says something more about human nature than anything else."
8 hours ago, on the set of M-Talk…
So far, Cicero's discussion with Mr. Lockcraft had been fascinating. Their conversation delved deep into Lockcraft's book, exploring various policies, situations, and a broad overview of prominent faiths. Undoubtedly, quite a few complaints will be sent to the studio due to his stance on such topics. Still, that was good for business.
Lockcraft's expertise on the subject matter was evident as he seamlessly wove together anecdotes and testimonies from religious scholars, skeptics, priests, and philosophers. Each story or topic served as a cautionary tale, meticulously crafted to impart warnings wrapped in observations, presented as digestible parables for the layman to ponder.
'This man might have missed his calling as a politician,' Cicero thought, observing Lockcraft's adeptness in discourse. 'With a more polished demeanor, he could easily ascend to the role of governor of his own world.'
As the discussion progressed smoothly, Cicero's attention was abruptly diverted by an urgent message from Natale via his implant. Her tone conveyed fear, indicating something serious. "Ian, we have a problem," her voice crackled through the implant. "I don't have much time to explain, but armed men have entered the building—lots of them. I don't think they're Enforcers."
Maintaining a composed exterior despite the rising panic within, Cicero continued to engage Lockcraft with another question while internally grappling with the alarming news. Armed men in the building? Terrorists, perhaps, or disgruntled citizens seeking retribution? M-Talk never revealed its guests in advance, leaving Cicero to wonder about the motive behind the intrusion.
"Judging by the absence of gunshots, I don't believe their intent is to cause harm," Natale's voice resumed before abruptly cutting off as Cicero detected muffled voices in the background, instructing her to step away from the control board.
Cicero found himself in a precarious situation. The prudent course would be to halt the proceedings and order the cameras off, but he hesitated, wary of escalating the situation and potentially endangering lives. He certainly didn't want to find himself negotiating with terrorists over technical matters.
Unfortunately, the control room, which housed the kill switch for all transmissions, appeared to have been compromised, leaving Cicero with little choice but to comply with the intruders' demands and maintain a facade of calm.
Meanwhile, Lockcraft's demeanor suggested an eerie prescience about the unfolding events. "I knew something was going to happen today," he remarked, his gaze fixed on the commotion. With the cameras still rolling, every moment was captured, signaling the premature end of the interview.
As the tension thickened, a uniformed figure approached the stage, his authoritative tone cutting through the room. "I will have everyone's attention!" he declared, brandishing a laspistol. "As of right now, this studio is under our control. Please cooperate and follow all instructions. We aren't here to harm or kill anyone unless forced to. Do not panic. This will be over soon, and we promise you will be allowed to leave safely and unharmed."
With a commanding gesture, he directed the cameramen to continue recording, ensuring that every moment was captured. A trio of armed men stood guard, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation. Then, turning to Lockcraft and Cicero, he addressed them directly.
"Lord Cicero, your services are necessary," he stated firmly. "Mr. Lockcraft, you can be escorted to join the other hostages."
To their astonishment, Lockcraft refused. "No, I'd rather not. I think I am meant to be here," he asserted, his demeanor unyielding.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I must insist," the uniformed man responded, his tone firm as he emphasized his authority with the visible presence of his weapon. Yet Lockcraft remained unfazed, his calm demeanor causing Cicero to feel a growing sense of unease.
"And I must insist as well," Lockcraft countered with resolve. "You clearly aren't the one who has something to say, so bring out whoever wants to speak, and I'll play ball with them along with Lord Cicero here."
Before their exchange escalated, the uniformed man paused, his demeanor shifting as he listened to someone on the other end of a microbead. "Fine," he relented, making a series of hand gestures to his comrades. "Search both Mr. Lockcraft and Lord Cicero for any weapons. Duchess will be on the scene in three mikes."
A few moments later, another group of individuals, whom Cicero could only assume were soldiers of the Imperial Army (they certainly weren't Ultramar Auxilia), approached with scanning devices. They waved the devices over Cicero and Lockcraft before announcing they were "cleared" of weapons or contraband.
For some reason, Cicero noticed a brief smirk on Lockcraft's face, almost as if he had gotten away with something. The old host sincerely hoped that his guest wasn't planning anything. Either way, their situation was still precarious.
Taking a moment to pour himself a bit of scotch to calm his nerves, he idly remarked to Lockcraft, "I've never been in a hostage situation before."
"Nor have I," Lockcraft replied. "And as far as firsts go, I imagine this is quite tame."
Cicero chuckled softly, "Well, I suppose that's one perspective." He lifted his glass, taking a measured sip of his scotch. "It's bound to make quite the tale."
Lockcraft nodded thoughtfully as he replenished his glass with more scotch. "I can't shake the feeling that we're on the brink of something far beyond the demands of a mere lunatic."
Aware that the cameras continued to record, Cicero made a conscious effort to maintain composure, his demeanor poised and collected. He had no intention of appearing cowardly or foolish, particularly if facing imminent danger. Despite the surreal circumstances, Cicero couldn't deny a twinge of exhilaration at the thought of meeting his end while engaged in the profession he cherished—a fitting conclusion to four centuries of existence. As long as he could maintain a semblance of dignity, he mused.
Barely a minute into Cicero's contemplation of the potentially grandiose finale, a squad of armored soldiers marched in, forming a perimeter around a stern-faced yet oddly tranquil woman clad in the Imperial Army uniform. The trooper who had just concluded his "conversation" with Lockcraft and Cicero approached her, murmuring softly while casually gesturing toward the two men.
Unperturbed by the trooper's concern, the woman dismissed it with the effortless authority of a seasoned commander. She signaled for her troops to encircle the stage before striding forward, presumably to address Lockcraft and Cicero. Strangely enough, both men also noticed the beautiful ring on her right hand. It seemed to shine like it contained the light of a small star within its gems and adamantium band.
"Gentlemen," her voice resounded, though delivered with a restrained tone reminiscent of Konor Guilliman, momentarily striking Cicero with a sense of familiarity, "At this juncture, this broadcast has been commandeered to disseminate the truth. I trust you'll comply accordingly."
Lockcraft's retort came as he raised his glass for another sip of scotch, his tone tinged with resignation. "Seems we're left with little choice." His gaze shifted to the imposing figure before them. "You're Lord General Arabella Blair."
The mention of her name caused Blair's entire body to stiffen momentarily, though she quickly regained her composure, acknowledging Lockcraft with a placid nod. "Indeed," she replied evenly. "You seem to be well-informed, Mr. Lockcraft."
Lockcraft set down his glass with a dissatisfied air. "You're quite far from your jurisdiction, General," he remarked, turning to Cicero. "This esteemed lady here, by any measure, is deemed a traitor to the Imperium." The revelation of a traitorous Lord General left Cicero incredulous; it seemed unfathomable that someone of such high rank would brazenly commit treason. Yet, her recent actions spoke volumes.
Blair's glare pierced Lockcraft's accusation. "I am no traitor," she asserted firmly.
"I never claimed you were," Lockcraft countered, his frustration evident. "But your deeds certainly border on the criminal, reckless, and perilous. I implore you to reconsider."
However, Blair shook her head resolutely. "There is no turning back now."
Blair addressed the cameras without further preamble, preempting any opportunity for Lockcraft or Cicero to interject. "People of Maccragge, citizens of the Realm of Ultramar, faithful subjects of the Imperium, and humanity at large," she began, her voice projecting unwavering resolve. "Listen to my words. I am Lord General Arabella Blair of the 77th Cthonia Expeditionary Force. I have dedicated over a century of service to the Imperial Army and the Imperium. Like many of you, I emerged from a life of poverty and strife, driven by a desire to defend humanity."
Cicero observed the tension in Blair's demeanor as she continued, her fists clenched and her voice trembling with emotion. "But their sacrifices were in vain! They perished in conflicts perpetuated under the guise of human unity, unwittingly serving the interests of Terran elites, Imperial bureaucrats, and Martian technocrats. Even the Primarchs have benefited from the suffering of ordinary humans. And to compound this betrayal, the Emperor of Mankind has deceived us all with the Imperial Truth."
"Don't," Lockcraft's voice pleaded softly, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Please, don't do this…"
"I stand here to reveal the truth: that the gods, our gods, are real. They are returning," Blair declared solemnly, gesturing to one of her guards who initiated a holographic display. "What you witness on these screens is the murder of a god. A god of the Deorum pantheon known as Saturn."
Blair's proclamation hung heavily in the air, yet as Cicero and the others bore witness to the unfolding horror, Lockcraft's expression twisted into one of fury. Unable to contain himself, he rose from his seat and advanced toward Blair, his anger palpable.
"Do you even comprehend the magnitude of what you've done?!" Lockcraft's voice rang out, undeterred by the guns now trained on him. "The pandemonium you've unleashed?!"
Unfazed by Lockcraft's confrontation, Blair fixed him with a steely gaze. "I would have thought you, of all people, would appreciate this revelation," she retorted. "You spoke of the Imperium's suppression of human faith in favor of materialism. Humanity deserves to know that their gods are returning."
Lockcraft's disdain was evident as he practically spat his response. "And you've sentenced trillions to death in the process, all for the sake of your misguided crusade!"
"And you propose we continue perpetuating the lie?!" Blair shot back. "People have the right to worship, as you yourself have argued!"
Lockcraft's anger burned fiercely, though he maintained his composure. "Only once our civilization has achieved a balance between governance and the divine has what you are doing triggered a cataclysmic collapse of everything," he countered. You're being manipulated, and I know by whom."
Blair seemed momentarily taken aback by Lockcraft's assertion. "You couldn't possibly…" she began, trailing off as realization dawned. "Cegorach never mentioned you."
Cicero interjected, his voice filled with confusion. "Who is Cegorach?"
Lockcraft's response was swift. "An Aeldari deity. The Laughing God. The Great Fool. And a master manipulator," he explained, fixing Blair with a pointed stare. "I can't help but wonder if he orchestrated this scheme and not solely for the sake of your announcement."
Blair's smirk conveyed a sense of assurance. "Perhaps now is as good a time as any to announce my intention to extend a hand of friendship to all gods and their followers," she declared. "As well as our plans to manifest one on this plane of existence."
Lockcraft's incredulity was evident. "Are you—" He struggled to find the words. "You're serious? You intend to summon forth a god? Are you out of your mind?!"
Once more, Cicero couldn't help but interject, his voice cutting through the tension. "Excuse me!" he exclaimed, drawing their attention. "Are you both suggesting that the gods are real and can be summoned?!"
"Precisely," Blair affirmed proudly, but Lockcraft quickly interjected.
"Lord General Blair is oversimplifying a complex process," he countered, his tone pointed. "And the fact that she's making such assertions while being recorded for the public only underscores the recklessness of her decisions."
Blair bristled at his criticism. "And what authority and experience do you possess to make such judgments?!" she demanded.
"I've collaborated with numerous scientists, priests, and scholars on matters concerning the divine," Lockcraft explained matter-of-factly. "What you propose is immensely difficult and perilous. The repercussions could be catastrophic, akin to the calamities of the Age of Strife."
"Don't dismiss this as impossible," Blair retorted defiantly. "I have evidence to support my claims." With a flourish, she produced a secure case containing three vials, emanating an otherworldly aura that even distorted the camera feed.
"This is deity blood!" Blair declared triumphantly. "Concrete proof of the divine. Coupled with the accounts of psykers, it confirms the existence of the divine and the journey of souls beyond death."
Lockcraft groaned, rubbing his temples, while Cicero and the others struggled to comprehend the implications of such revelations. Even Cicero, usually skeptical, found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the extraordinary evidence before him.
The only one seemingly unimpressed was Lockcraft's companion. "You're once again manipulating and cherry-picking facts."
Blair scoffed. "Do you claim to know the destination of all human souls after death as well?"
"Yes," Lockcraft replied firmly, meeting Blair's glare head-on. "They go to the Emperor."
Blair stiffened, her glare intensifying. "You're mistaken. The Emperor is not a god."
Lockcraft nodded. "Indeed. That's precisely his mistake in this situation. He controls the fate of human souls not bound for the Warp, yet denies the reality of faith and the divine."
The Lord General's glare remained fixed on Lockcraft. "And look where such denial has led us."
"Once again, I agree," Lockcraft spat. "He should have embraced his role as a god of humanity and left his stewardship to one of his sons, ensuring the preservation of the afterlife for all."
Blair struggled to find a response. "It would have been the only noble act he could have bestowed upon us," she conceded. "Perhaps then, the Imperium would have shown true concern for humanity."
Lockcraft nodded, acknowledging her point. "While I don't intend to diminish the Imperium's atrocities," he began, "we must recognize that it's also been the one force that has preserved humanity, offering us a chance at survival so that we could stand to better ourselves. But with your actions, you've jeopardized generations of progress."
"What progress?" Blair countered sharply. "In just one generation, the Imperium has endured the betrayal of a Primarch, the Desolation claiming the lives of over a quadrillion souls, and most recently, a coup on Terra itself. We stand on the brink of civil war."
Lockcraft sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not referring to the politics on Terra," he clarified. "Over the past century, the Imperium has maintained stability in the galaxy, providing a window of opportunity for our leaders to contemplate reconciliation and address the spiritual needs of our society. Change is inevitable, but it should have been achieved through a collective effort, not by sparking a religious divide that will only plunge us into further chaos. And while I acknowledge the Imperium's flaws, a religiously motivated civil war is the last thing we need."
Blair shook her head, dismissing Lockcraft's concerns. "You cling to the Imperial Truth as if it's some noble doctrine," she retorted. "But it's nothing more than a tool of oppression, denying people the comfort of faith in favor of state control. How many have suffered under its tyranny, denied basic rights and happiness, all because they sought solace in the divine, which is real? It's the hypocrisy of the highest order."
"It's not that simple," Lockcraft countered, noticing something on the video feed and gesturing toward it. "You're echoing the sentiments of Primarch Lorgar Aurelian. Yes, he made compelling arguments, but he also brought destruction upon his own people through his folly."
Blair nodded grimly. "Lorgar was a fool," she agreed, her gaze distant as she recounted past horrors. "But it wasn't his legion that massacred everyone on Monarchia. I witnessed the atrocity firsthand, the wanton destruction by the Space Marines, leaving the aftermath for others to clean."
Cicero, trying to grasp the complexities of the conversation, turned to Lockcraft for clarification. "Is what she's saying true?"
Lockcraft sighed, weary of the topic. "The Primarchs possess unique qualities, almost divine in nature, but they are not gods. They are beings of flesh and mind, with their own desires, much like the gods themselves."
Cicero struggled to follow. "What do you mean?"
Lockcraft's response was cryptic. "The gods are intertwined with humanity, and vice versa. That's all I can say."
Blair interjected, "And they are allies of humanity. That's why we must align ourselves with them."
Lockcraft's frustration was palpable. "You're making dangerous assumptions. The gods may not mean us harm, but they are not benevolent benefactors. They have their own agendas."
Blair disagreed vehemently. "Their aid is invaluable. This won't be a futile plea for salvation; they will answer our call. She promised that when I spoke with—" She stopped herself abruptly.
Lockcraft's expression darkened as realization dawned. "Venus. You were going to say, Venus," he muttered under his breath, cursing softly in a melodic language. After a moment to compose himself, he turned to Blair with a shake of his head. "You're being manipulated, a mere pawn to their whims."
"We're all pawns," Blair countered defiantly. "But I choose to have faith in their benevolence. I choose to have hope, something we all desperately need right now."
"But by doing so, you'd be igniting hope and faith within the context of a religious counter-revolution," Lockcraft cautioned gravely. "Hundreds of trillions will wage war and devastation, convinced they must protect their souls when, in reality, they are already safeguarded by the Emperor. They'll commit unspeakable atrocities in their pursuit to summon a god, oblivious to the lurking dangers awaiting their prayers. And the casualties resulting from the Imperium's response will only amplify the cacophony of death reverberating throughout the warp."
"Perhaps that's what needs to occur," Blair responded solemnly, her gaze meeting Lockcraft's with a sense of resignation. "The Imperium has suppressed individuals like us for too long. It is time for us all to be players on this stage instead of just watchers. But I have faith in humanity. Yes, there will be those who succumb to fear and violence upon learning the truth. But amidst the chaos, there are benevolent beings who genuinely care for us. I choose to give them a voice, and in doing so, I give all of humanity a voice as well."
"A valid observation," Lockcraft conceded, nodding in agreement. "But in the grand scheme of things, you'll always remain a mere follower to the gods. Only a chosen few are granted—" He trailed off, a realization dawning upon him. "You intend to become an idol yourself."
"An idol?" Blair appeared puzzled by the notion.
"A conduit for a god," Lockcraft clarified. "A rare and prestigious honor bestowed upon a mortal. And given your ambitious plan to summon a new god, it suggests you aim to wield significant influence over it."
The Lord General remained silent, her fingers tracing the ring's intricate design adorning her hand. "You possess keen insight, Mr. Lockcraft," she acknowledged cryptically, "but you're not privy to all the details."
Lockcraft hesitated, a moment of internal struggle evident on his face before he composed himself. "In that case, offering my assistance would be in my best interest."
"I... excuse me?" Blair's astonishment was palpable. "I'm not sure what audacity compels you, Mr. Lockcraft, but you're gravely mistaken if you believe I require or desire your help summoning a new god."
Cicero observed the exchange, recognizing Lockcraft's determination and authority as he spoke with conviction. "Please understand: you're in over your head. But I can see a way to mitigate the potential fallout from your actions. It may salvage the chaos you're about to unleash."
Before Blair could respond, a soldier approached her urgently, delivering unexpected news. Her expression shifted to one of surprise. "What?! How is that possible?!"
Lockcraft interjected, his tone calm yet commanding. "Let me guess," he began, addressing Blair. "You've just been informed of 20 new intruders entering the premises? That would be my security detail—a combination of Mujahedin, Templars, and Berserkers." Stepping closer to Blair, despite the raised weapons of her guards, Lockcraft stood face-to-face with her.
"Now, we have a choice," Lockcraft continued, gesturing toward the screen displaying the testimonies of psykers. "We can engage in hostilities here and now, undoubtedly making for a thrilling conclusion to M-Talk." He paused, then continued more earnestly. "Or, alternatively, I can accompany you, Blair. Those aligned with me, and I can offer our assistance. Perhaps together, we can navigate the uncertain path you've set humanity upon and find a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos."
Just as Cicero received Natale's urgent message through his implant, he watched as Blair weighed her options. "Cicero! The soldiers leave, but they are going to take everyone with them. They don't want me to cut the transmission, but I set a timer to do so," Natale's voice echoed in Cicero's mind.
Turning to face the cameras, Cicero shook his head and silently mouthed the words: Keep filming. Natale must have gotten the message since she went silent once again.
Unaware of this exchange, Blair contemplated her choices. "Cegorach said that I could trust you," she admitted hesitantly, "But I don't trust him."
"So far, that's the most sensible thing you've said," Lockcraft responded bluntly. "And frankly, to hell with what he thinks. What matters is your trust. Do you trust me to help humanity, regardless of my skepticism?"
"I don't need a skeptic," Blair countered firmly. "I need believers."
"What you need is someone who cares, believer or not," Lockcraft retorted. "I care about humanity. I care about ensuring we don't plunge into another Age of Strife or succumb to the whims of savage gods. Do you want humanity to be free? The only path to freedom is acknowledging our limitations and our peril. But despite our grim prospects, we still have the power to make choices and take action."
She deliberated for a moment before closing her eyes and muttering under her breath, "Gods damn it." Then, with resolve, Blair turned to Lockcraft and nodded. "Alright. If you can help me see this through, we must leave immediately. Our window of escape is closing."
"Agreed," Lockcraft affirmed, nodding before addressing the somewhat stunned Cicero. "It's been an unusual experience. I apologize for the disturbance caused by this situation."
Cicero managed a strained smile. "Yes, indeed," he replied before one of the uniformed soldiers approached him. "I suppose we can end the show now."
"Everyone will be escorted with my group," Blair announced as soldiers began ushering people away. "You'll be released shortly."
Lockcraft shook his head slightly before extending a hand to Cicero. "I guess this is farewell, then."
The situation felt surreal, but Cicero reached out and shook Lockcraft's hand. "I'm not entirely sure what's happening, but I genuinely hope you succeed in your endeavors, Mr. Lockcraft."
With that handshake, the tumultuous situation appeared to have reached some semblance of resolution. The cameras continued to roll as Cicero, Lockcraft, Blair, and her forces exited the stage. Meanwhile, the screens displayed repeated loops of the evidence presented by Blair.
Nearly an hour passed before the authorities shut down the broadcast. However, word had spread among the people of Macragge by then, and many had witnessed the entire exchange or caught glimpses before the transmission ceased.
It would take a full day before anyone could unravel how Blair and her forces had infiltrated and escaped from the planet. In the interim, Macragge was gripped by a lengthy but subdued crisis.
Now, Macragge, Palace of Ultramar…
Euten's demeanor was tense as she entered crisis mode the moment she witnessed what appeared to be terrorists seizing control of the M-Talk studio. With the situation escalating before her eyes, she knew immediate action was necessary.
"I don't care where Chief Sink is. Find him and bring him to me now!" Euten's voice rang out urgently as she practically shouted into the emergency phone in her private chambers. Beside her, Aldrich watched with concern as the events unfolded on the screen.
Exiting her chambers, Euten wasted no time in taking charge. Spotting the nearest Ultramarine, she swiftly approached him. "YOU! What's your name?!" she demanded, her tone firm and commanding.
The marine, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter with his Primarch's mother, snapped to attention. "B-brother Kaidon, Lady Consul!" he stammered.
"Kaidon, go find Captain Helon and tell him we're placing Macragge on lockdown. He's to meet me in the strategic quarter in ten minutes," Euten ordered decisively, her sense of authority cutting through the confusion.
Though initially taken aback by the directive, the marine quickly composed himself. "Yes, ma'am!" he responded with a sharp salute before hurrying to carry out his orders.
Returning to her chambers, Euten glanced over to see Aldrich, his expression a mixture of horror and shock as he watched the events unfolding on the screen. "I can't believe Arabella is doing this," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Her support letters made it seem like she had a solid head on her shoulders."
Euten huffed angrily, her frustration palpable. "I've come to realize that almost everyone in the Imperium is either a fool, insane or just too blind to see the consequences of their actions," she declared, her tone laced with bitterness.
Sensing her distress, Aldrich reached out and gently took her hand. "Euten, it's going to be alright," he reassured her, his voice soft and soothing.
"How?" Euten's despair was evident in her voice as she struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "That woman has just thrust my son and our world into the midst of the greatest security breach in galactic history or sparked a religious crusade against the Emperor."
"Can't we prevent the spread of this?" Aldrich suggested, his voice tinged with hope. "You're planning on locking down the entire planet anyway."
But Euten shook her head, her despair deepening. "My son ensured that the distribution of these records would be swift and efficient, with minimal oversight. This broadcast likely occurred hours ago, and knowing Blair, she's likely ensured it's left Macragge. With thousands of ships and shuttles departing the planet as we speak, even if we attempt to intercept them all, it's highly likely that one or more have slipped through, carrying the records of this...nightmare."
The prospect of the humiliation that would befall Roboute due to this event, especially under her watch, weighed heavily on Euten's mind. "I need... I need to address the people," she declared, her voice tinged with urgency.
Aldrich nodded in agreement. "That's a wise decision. We can begin drafting a response once we've gained control of this crisis. I'll start coordinating with our forces to plan a search pattern and contain the spread."
As Euten contemplated the unfolding chaos, a sudden realization struck her. "We need a distraction. Something to divert the people's attention," she muttered, her thoughts racing.
"Uh, I'm not sure if that's the best approach after such a bombshell," Aldrich interjected cautiously.
"No," Euten countered, determination flickering in her eyes. "We have something. A significant announcement. I can declare that Roboute is getting married."
Aldrich's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected suggestion. "Is that wise? And you're not suggesting he's marrying an Aeldari, are you?"
"Did you not just witness what happened?" Euten gestured to the holographic display. "If Blair's claims hold any truth... then the specifics of Roboute's partner become inconsequential. At this point, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, the people may welcome any semblance of good news, regardless of its nature."
"But it could also incite further unrest," Aldrich cautioned, a note of concern in his voice. "Please, let's take the time to consider this carefully."
Recognizing Aldrich's wisdom, Euten made the conscious decision to regain her composure and redirect her focus. She realized that the immediate priority was to contain and suppress any dissemination of the sensitive information before addressing it publicly.
Acknowledging Aldrich's concerns, Euten rose from her seat and motioned for him to accompany her. As they left the room, she allowed herself a moment to acknowledge the anxiety and fear that gripped her before resuming her role as a leader. Having Aldrich by her side provided a sense of reassurance during this tumultuous time.
Despite their decision to delay the distraction tactic, Euten couldn't shake the feeling that the danger was far from over. The events that had transpired had left an indelible mark, and she knew they would need to remain vigilant in the days to come.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, done with this one.
"Truth is so obscure in these times, and falsehood so established, that, unless we love the truth, we cannot know it." - Blaise Pascal, "Pensées" (Thoughts).
—
—
Macragge, Palace of Ultramar…
Today was busy and exhausting for Euten. She was effectively running the Realm of Ultramar as usual, not that she could blame Roboute. He still had his obligations to the Imperium, even if it felt like no one on Terra appreciated just how much effort he was making.
Her son had been absent for nearly two years, engrossed in a campaign that yielded around 1300 new worlds. However, these conquests required extensive development for decades before they reached Roboute's exacting standards. That was the problem with a genius like him: perfect is the enemy of good.
As such, Roboute would be hyper-fixated on the problem for some time before finally handing off these problems to others. This meant that politicians and bureaucrats would be consumed by the intricacies of managing this vast, Stellar Empire and reconciling it with the remnants of the Free World Coalition for years to come.
Meanwhile, the urgent need for rebuilding or simple revitalization loomed over hundreds of war-torn and impoverished worlds within these new acquisitions. At least in time, they would recover. The Realm of Ultramar would still need to pour hundreds of billions into these planets and receive their investment back tenfold.
Undoubtedly, this development wouldn't be as well received as her son might have hoped. The simple truth was that while much of the realm had been spared the worst aspects of the Great Crusade, its citizens still paid quite a bit for the Imperial war machine. People were getting frustrated, especially toward Roboute.
Her son was trying this hardest, bless his soul. He was looking at the bigger picture, but Euten worried that might cost him his realm. At times, she couldn't help but wonder if this was all part of an elaborate charade orchestrated by her son—a grand display ensuring that no one could fault Primarch Guilliman for lack of effort should the Imperium falter.
Euten harbored doubts but refrained from dwelling on them. She understood that Roboute wasn't seeking civil unrest, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that if it did erupt, he wouldn't shoulder the blame. Perhaps she needed to trust in her son's plans, influenced as they may be by other third parties, particularly by a certain Aeldari woman.
The matter of Roboute's clandestine affair with Yvraine weighed heavily on Euten's mind—a veritable Pandora's box she had yet to open nor wanted to. She hadn't broached the subject with her son, and it remained a lingering concern. Euten still opted to leave it be.
All she could really do was just that: leave things be. Returning to the palace, fatigued but composed, Euten idly reflected on Roboute's natural aptitude for governance while realizing that even after all these years, she could barely keep it functional. Yet her son relished all the challenges, even finding enjoyable aspects—a sentiment she couldn't comprehend but knew was a blessing.
Skipping dinner, Euten retreated to a private chamber, seeking solace in the company of Aldrich, who was now her most trusted confidant and perhaps the only other man besides her son whose presence she found truly comforting. Yet, as their bond deepened, Euten couldn't help but ponder the nature of their relationship. She routinely told herself that she and Aldrich were just friends anyway.
Brushing aside such musings, Euten justified their closeness as akin to Roboute's unconventional pursuits. She reminded herself that she was entitled to companionship. Still, she might have to address this soon. It might not look good if she was seen in more intimate moments with the new Legatus.
When Euten entered her chambers, she was taken aback to find a meal awaiting her. "Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, taking in the charming spread before her. It wasn't the lavish candle-lit dinners she had shared with Konor, but it had a welcoming appeal.
Aldrich emerged from the small kitchenette, wiping his hands on a washcloth. "I was wondering when you'd get here. Your shuttle landed almost thirty minutes ago," he remarked.
"I got held up reviewing something," she explained absentmindedly, her attention drawn to the meal. "Did you order this?"
"No," Aldrich replied, raising an eyebrow. "I cooked."
Euten was surprised. "You cook?" Despite their years of friendship, she had never known this about him.
Aldrich chuckled. "Yes, I lived by myself for years on Cetin. Eating plain cooked meat daily gets old, so I learned to spice things up a bit." He gestured toward the spread. "I just picked up some supplies from the local kitchen. Nothing too fancy."
The sight of the food stirred Euten's appetite. "I had planned to skip dinner, but I think you've changed my mind," she admitted with a soft smile. Aldrich's thoughtfulness never failed to make her feel appreciated or wanted. He must have anticipated how this gesture would be perceived, yet he seemed content to share this simple meal with her.
"I'm glad to hear it," Aldrich replied, pulling out her seat. "I thought you might appreciate a chance to relax. Just have the two of us do something simple tonight."
Taking her seat, Euten nodded. "Simple sounds perfect right now."
A moment of relaxation would be a welcome change. In the past, when Konor was still by her side, they often strolled along the battlements, sometimes pausing to savor each other's company more intimately.
Euten glanced over at Aldrich as he poured her a glass of wine. "What did you have in mind?" she inquired.
"Well, you have that pict-screen in here. Maybe we could watch a holodrama?" Aldrich suggested, but Euten hesitated. Watching a holodrama tended to induce a level of relaxation that might lead to unintended consequences.
Instead, she proposed, "I think M-Talk is on tonight."
"M-Talk?" Aldrich seemed puzzled. "Isn't that a talk show?"
"Something like that. M-Talk is a blend of a talk show, discussion panel, and news channel. My son had a hand in its design," Euten explained. Oddly enough, it had become one of the most popular programs in the Realm of Ultramar. Despite the weeks required for each episode's transportation, there was a significant demand for it. An entire industry had emerged to expedite the delivery of tapings as swiftly as possible.
"Isn't that something?" Aldrich's surprise was evident. "To think a Primarch would go to such lengths to secure a host for a holo show."
"Roboute's been on a journey of growth these past decades," Euten remarked, sipping her wine. "Say what you will about him, but he's adept at learning from his missteps and seizing any advantage within reach."
"Well, now you've piqued my interest," Aldrich admitted. "Perhaps this M-Talk will prove more captivating than we anticipate."
Euten chuckled softly. "I wouldn't hold my breath. If there were any notable guests tonight, I would have heard about it. No Primarchs, Astartes, Magi, or the like will be gracing the stage. It's likely to be a rather mundane affair."
For a brief moment, Euten thought she heard the faint sound of laughter somewhere from beyond the walls of her most private chamber. This would have been impossible as the walls were soundproof. It was probably just her nerves acting up.
Ten hours ago, on the set of M-Talk…
A venerable newscaster stared back at Ian Lancel Cicero from the mirror. "Oh, wait, I'm looking at a mirror," he joked to himself, a quip he must have made a hundred thousand times over his three and a half centuries of politicking, newscasting, and debate. Cicero had seen it all.
Makeup had already finished his appearance, and his aides had left him to gather his thoughts. Tonight, he was scheduled for a straightforward three-hour book discussion with the author—a mundane affair compared to the countless other topics he'd tackled over his two decades hosting M-Talk.
When Euten's "son" approached him about taking the show's helm, Cicero hesitated. Primarch Guilliman, while a great leader, was known for his strict control over information and ideas. News outlets often served as mere mouthpieces for the lords of Ultramar and the Primarch.
Yet Roboute promised Cicero complete control over his conduct on the show, with only a list of topics and guests off-limits. Initially skeptical, Cicero expected pushback from the Civitas, but they remained silent, even after countless controversial guests and topics had graced his stage.
Pushback from certain groups was expected. The studio and producers received their fair share of letters and complaints, which Cicero often turned into entertaining content by addressing their points on air. It added to the show's appeal and kept viewers engaged.
Despite the meticulously planned nature of the show, there were moments when debates became so heated that viewers felt they were on the verge of witnessing a live duel. These tense moments often broke records for viewership.
However, M-Talk was never actually live. All tapings were done half a day in advance. This timing ensured that citizens of Macragge and those across the Realm of Ultramar could watch the show at their convenience.
This leisurely approach allowed Cicero and the producers to run the show smoothly. Excitement only peaked when an Astartes or even the Primarch himself appeared. Otherwise, it was a relaxed discussion with a public official, author, veteran, or guest.
With the show about to begin, Cicero needed to take the stage to greet his guests and kickstart the discussion. Tonight, there was going to be a Remembrancer talking about their book. He had quickly skimmed through it, but most of the ideas went over his head, which was fine. All Cicero needed to prompt the right pointed questions, and the guest would do most of the work.
Cicero approached Mr. Lockcraft with his signature warm smile and a firm handshake, a well-rehearsed routine he had perfected over countless episodes. "Welcome to the show, Mr. Lockcraft."
"Thank you," Lockcraft responded. His demeanor appeared rather ordinary at first glance, given that he had heard of a simple but expensive suit. However, his striking obsidian black eyes hinted at something more intriguing beneath the surface.
"Showtime in three minutes, Ian," Natale's voice chimed in through his cochlear implant.
Acknowledging the impending start, Cicero turned to both Natale and Lockcraft. "We're about to begin. If you have any last-minute questions or concerns, now's the time."
Lockcraft declined politely but dismissively, though Cicero couldn't help but notice a hint of nervousness. It was understandable; many guests felt jittery before going live. Cicero had even seen space marines succumb to stage fright, although they quickly overcame it once the conversation flowed.
Cicero held firm to his belief that both interviewer and interviewee should feel at ease during discussions. After all, they were adults, and any potential vices displayed were an example of such talks.
"Well, I glanced over your book but only got it yesterday," Cicero admitted, settling into his seat across from Lockcraft. "So bear with me if I make false or idiotic assumptions."
Lockcraft didn't seem bothered by the disclaimer. "I wouldn't be too concerned," he replied casually, pouring himself a glass of scotch from the provided bottle. "I'll do my best to keep things interesting and informative."
Cicero chuckled lightly. "With a topic as controversial as yours, I doubt we'll have any shortage of discussion points. Just a heads up, though—I won't be tossing you any softballs. I prefer honest answers." Natale's voice signaled thirty seconds until showtime.
Lockcraft's response caught Cicero off guard. "You'd think that. But sometimes, a straight answer isn't the best one." There was an edge to Lockcraft's tone that gave Cicero pause, but he brushed it off as the countdown neared its end.
"Showtime," Cicero reminded himself, turning his attention to Camera One. "Good evening, everyone. I'm Ian Cicero, your host for M-Talk. Joining me tonight is Jonathon Ezikeli Lockcraft, a member of the Imperial Remembrancer Corps, here to discuss his controversial book, A Necessary Masquerade, which has stirred praise and controversy within academic circles." Cicero turned to Lockcraft with a nod. "Mr. Lockcraft, thank you for joining us."
Lockcraft's demeanor seemed to ease slightly, appearing more human now.
"Thank you for having me on," Lockcraft responded diplomatically, as expected.
Cicero wasted no time in delving into the discussion. "If I may, our research uncovered an article published by the Imperial Society of Education that described your book as deeply troubling, going so far as to label it a 'heretical tome' by all metrics. Can you enlighten our viewers and listeners on the topic of your book?"
Lockcraft's demeanor remained composed as he began to explain. "Certainly. A Necessary Masquerade is a critique of organized religion, as well as a condemnation of the Imperial Truth for mirroring the same flaws and atrocities it seeks to eradicate from faith-based institutions."
An excellent start. "Your peers quoted you as stating that the 'hysterical secularization of the galaxy will inevitably lead to a false faith in the institutions that have consistently proven corrupt, incompetent, and merciless towards the common man.' Do you believe there's a risk of the Imperium adopting a form of state worship instead of religious faith?"
"It's already begun," Lockcraft responded bluntly. "In the last century alone, we've witnessed thousands of sanctioned pogroms and relocation attempts targeting religious minority groups. Meanwhile, state-mandated doctrinal focuses on secular practices, reminiscent of quasi-ritualism, have devastated localized education, culture, and governance that were previously established. The alliance with the Mechanicum only amplifies this hypocrisy, shedding an unflattering light on the Imperium's control over industry and scientific endeavors."
"So, are you suggesting that the Mechanicum and the Imperium are fundamentally incompatible due to their differing governing laws?" Cicero inquired, clearly intrigued by the conversation.
Lockcraft appeared annoyed, though not at the question itself. "When the average citizen realizes the extent of the Mechanicum's control and their violation of the tenets of the Imperial Truth, it reveals two aspects of human nature. First, the recognition of the Mechanicum's necessity for the greater good. Second, a willingness to tolerate others' faith as long as it doesn't encroach upon their beliefs."
Cicero nodded in understanding. "The Mechanicum tends to operate within its own sphere, often without interfering with the common citizen."
"Unless it serves their agenda to get involved," Lockcraft clarified. "Then they act with impunity. The arguments presented in my book underscore that the issue lies not with faith itself but with the Imperium's reluctance to manage a multitude of religious orders vying for control. Organized religion, while offering benefits, also poses significant risks to humanity. Just imagine the ramifications if the Mechanicum were to withdraw their support or if another religious order gained dominance over crucial sectors like agriculture or promethium production."
"Indeed, the Imperium maintains control over these crucial aspects," Cicero acknowledged. "But are you suggesting that a fervent secularization has occurred within the Imperium, leading to similar issues as those faced under religious rule?"
Lockcraft elaborated, "The average Imperial citizen remains confined to their world, lacking financial resources and formal education. Slavery persists, and our civilization has failed to offer viable alternatives. Consequently, many resent the state unless their living conditions improve drastically. While the Realm of Ultramar may exemplify the Imperium's aspirations, the reality for 98% of humanity is starkly different. When the state fails to address their needs, people often turn to religion for solace."
Cicero referred to his notes as he continued, "You make a compelling argument, echoed in Chapter 9, where you discuss the human tendency to seek comfort and meaning in times of adversity. This innate survival mechanism drives individuals to turn to religion for answers when the state falls short."
Lockcraft reflected, "The common critique of that mindset is that those individuals are simply deceiving themselves. And to some extent, I must concur." He continued, "The reality is that the likelihood of gods intervening with miracles or gracing us with their presence is slim, if existent at all. From this perspective, faith might appear as nothing more than a crutch, at its best."
"However, I presented an argument advocating for humanity's inherent need to worship as a survival mechanism, enabling belief in the tangible aspects of life: family, community, nation, and species. Faith is necessary for the soul, and spirituality is a soothing agent in times of adversity. Just as our physical bodies require sustenance like food and water, our souls crave..."
Here, Lockcraft paused, searching for a clearer expression. "Let me put it this way: they crave to believe in something greater, thereby imbuing significance into the minutiae of existence. Giving power to the idea that a god cared enough to try for your sake, you should try for the sake of others."
Cicero seemed to anticipate Lockcraft's argument, "You argue that while human decency and understanding should form the bedrock of an individual's principles, faith, and the expressions of religion can wield significant influence over societal norms, values, and institutions, often effecting change more rapidly than attempts to promote secular practices."
Lockcraft's expression grew somber as he elaborated, "Logic and understanding are sadly lacking in our times. The Long Night, colloquially known as the Age of Strife, plunged humanity into an era of scientific and societal regression, resembling what many in Ultramar would consider barbarism or savagery. During this chaotic period, the resurgence of ancient faiths paralleled the emergence of newer belief systems. Whether revived or born anew, these faiths predated the Unification Wars on Terra by millennia. However, the Great Crusade and its aggressive push for secularization within the last century have merely attempted a cycle of revisionism."
"Indeed," Cicero interjected, "You suggest that revisionism isn't inherently reductive in your work. In Chapter Six, you acknowledge the Imperial policy of eradicating idol worship as a necessary measure, given the prevalence of heinous practices across numerous worlds."
Lockcraft nodded, affirming Cicero's statement, "Indeed, there were countless instances of societies engaging in barbaric rituals, including acts of brutality, cannibalism, human sacrifice, and occult practices aimed at summoning otherworldly entities. However, it's crucial to note that many of these beliefs were not rooted in reverence for human deities but rather in practices that ran counter to societal decency."
Cicero posed a probing question, "How should societies navigate the distinction between the sacred and the profane? Where does the path to dialogue and understanding begin?"
Lockcraft raised a finger thoughtfully, "It necessitates an open-minded approach that seeks to discern the underlying intentions of faith from its outward manifestations. Critique and skepticism play pivotal roles in this process."
"You advocate for skeptics and nonbelievers to have a place in society," observed Cicero with a hint of amusement.
"Every individual should possess the capacity for skepticism," Lockcraft affirmed. "However, theocratic or authoritarian governments often view such dissent as threatening their authority. Those who seek truth, whether challenging gods or rulers, frequently find themselves targeted by unseen forces."
Reviewing his notes once more, Cicero delved into another question, "I'm intrigued by a particular section toward the end of your book. Forgive me if I mispronounce it, but you mention something called 'Shibboleth' and highlight an inherent problem in attributing evidence to faith. This question may seem premature, but it struck me as significant. You advocate for skepticism toward gods and religion, yet you also assert that individuals should be free to worship gods."
"Shibboleth originates from an ancient Hebrite practice used for identification, but it has evolved into a means of fostering group cohesion," Lockcraft explained. "As I mentioned, humans have an innate tendency to gravitate toward such symbols and practices. The Imperium could spend centuries dismantling temples, shrines, and churches only to foster the emergence of new forms of worship unwittingly. Consider the veneration of Primarchs and the Emperor in various forms. Many might argue that this alone suggests that we as a civilization are already in the presence of a god and his demigods, regardless of what they tell us. A tyrant can demand worship and never be truly seen as a god, but the Primarchs and Emperor have never asked to be worshiped, yet they are attracting hundreds of trillions of followers. However, the crucial question remains: What do these figures truly represent? Can we envision the people of Ultramar worshipping Roboute Guilliman? Some might find it conceivable, given his exceptional leadership. But what of his brothers? What of the Emperor?"
Lockcraft shook his head, recalling the words of a Catheric priest, "We seek evidence of faith—a wholehearted acceptance of God's promise of a better world. For we maintain that man is justified by faith alone. Thus, faith becomes the true shibboleth." I suggest that perhaps a human-wide 'Shibboleth' is necessary and that if the Imperium fails to achieve it through its own means, humanity will eventually need the gods to ensure it. In that sense, this is a warning that we should all heed."
Now, Macragge, Palace of Ultramar…
Some might have raised eyebrows at the intimacy of Euten and Aldrich's seating arrangement, given their age difference, but Euten brushed off any potential gossip with the conviction that friends behaved this way, even if society might beg to differ.
As they watched the engaging discourse unfold on M-Talk between Cicero and Mr. Lockcraft, Euten turned to Aldrich with a gentle inquiry, "Aldrich, if I recall correctly, you were once a devout practitioner, weren't you?"
"Technically, I suppose you could say I'm a lapsed Christian," Aldrich replied with a casual shrug. "Haven't stepped foot inside a church since I left Cetin as a conscript. Rarely find myself in prayer these days, although that hasn't stopped people from labeling me as such."
"I suppose that's why they call you the Archangel," Euten mused.
"A bit of a backhanded compliment, really," Aldrich smirked. "But I've grown rather fond of it. As for this debate, do you want my take on what Lockcraft argues?"
"Well, you did wield considerable influence within the Imperium at one point," Euten noted. "Your insights could prove invaluable."
Surprisingly, Aldrich shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have any profound insights on the matter. Personally, I believe religion shouldn't dictate government policies, yet the Imperium seems intent on eradicating it entirely from society. However, Lockcraft does raise a valid point about the tendency for people to place excessive admiration and even worship upon certain individuals, like the Primarchs and the Emperor."
"People do idolize celebrities, but not to the extent of actual worship," Euten reflected, recalling how even someone as formidable as Arthron held Roboute in high esteem. Despite being centuries older, Arthron, a Beta-Level psyker who had vanquished entire armies, looked up to her son with reverence.
Considering this, was it surprising to envision ordinary citizens worshipping her son or his brothers? Let alone a man like the Emperor?
"Imagine the chaos if one of the Primarchs declared themselves a god or converted to another faith," Aldrich mused. "Whole worlds would flock to their worship overnight."
Euten nodded in agreement but pointed out a flaw in such a move, "Yes, but it would ultimately be self-defeating. They'd undermine their own authority."
"Exactly why they never do it," Aldrich agreed. "Perceived as gods without claiming the title, they avoid the pitfalls of direct worship while forfeiting the ability to curb any problematic religious movements, like the so-called hysterical secularization Lockcraft warned about."
"And what would you propose, then?" Euten inquired. "If you were in a position of authority?"
Aldrich shrugged, offering a pragmatic approach: "Let people worship as they wish, as long as they fulfill their civic duties and uphold the law. It sounds simple on paper, but balancing these demands is difficult. Convincing someone to pay taxes is often more challenging than allowing them to worship freely. It probably says something more about human nature than anything else."
8 hours ago, on the set of M-Talk…
So far, Cicero's discussion with Mr. Lockcraft had been fascinating. Their conversation delved deep into Lockcraft's book, exploring various policies, situations, and a broad overview of prominent faiths. Undoubtedly, quite a few complaints will be sent to the studio due to his stance on such topics. Still, that was good for business.
Lockcraft's expertise on the subject matter was evident as he seamlessly wove together anecdotes and testimonies from religious scholars, skeptics, priests, and philosophers. Each story or topic served as a cautionary tale, meticulously crafted to impart warnings wrapped in observations, presented as digestible parables for the layman to ponder.
'This man might have missed his calling as a politician,' Cicero thought, observing Lockcraft's adeptness in discourse. 'With a more polished demeanor, he could easily ascend to the role of governor of his own world.'
As the discussion progressed smoothly, Cicero's attention was abruptly diverted by an urgent message from Natale via his implant. Her tone conveyed fear, indicating something serious. "Ian, we have a problem," her voice crackled through the implant. "I don't have much time to explain, but armed men have entered the building—lots of them. I don't think they're Enforcers."
Maintaining a composed exterior despite the rising panic within, Cicero continued to engage Lockcraft with another question while internally grappling with the alarming news. Armed men in the building? Terrorists, perhaps, or disgruntled citizens seeking retribution? M-Talk never revealed its guests in advance, leaving Cicero to wonder about the motive behind the intrusion.
"Judging by the absence of gunshots, I don't believe their intent is to cause harm," Natale's voice resumed before abruptly cutting off as Cicero detected muffled voices in the background, instructing her to step away from the control board.
Cicero found himself in a precarious situation. The prudent course would be to halt the proceedings and order the cameras off, but he hesitated, wary of escalating the situation and potentially endangering lives. He certainly didn't want to find himself negotiating with terrorists over technical matters.
Unfortunately, the control room, which housed the kill switch for all transmissions, appeared to have been compromised, leaving Cicero with little choice but to comply with the intruders' demands and maintain a facade of calm.
Meanwhile, Lockcraft's demeanor suggested an eerie prescience about the unfolding events. "I knew something was going to happen today," he remarked, his gaze fixed on the commotion. With the cameras still rolling, every moment was captured, signaling the premature end of the interview.
As the tension thickened, a uniformed figure approached the stage, his authoritative tone cutting through the room. "I will have everyone's attention!" he declared, brandishing a laspistol. "As of right now, this studio is under our control. Please cooperate and follow all instructions. We aren't here to harm or kill anyone unless forced to. Do not panic. This will be over soon, and we promise you will be allowed to leave safely and unharmed."
With a commanding gesture, he directed the cameramen to continue recording, ensuring that every moment was captured. A trio of armed men stood guard, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation. Then, turning to Lockcraft and Cicero, he addressed them directly.
"Lord Cicero, your services are necessary," he stated firmly. "Mr. Lockcraft, you can be escorted to join the other hostages."
To their astonishment, Lockcraft refused. "No, I'd rather not. I think I am meant to be here," he asserted, his demeanor unyielding.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I must insist," the uniformed man responded, his tone firm as he emphasized his authority with the visible presence of his weapon. Yet Lockcraft remained unfazed, his calm demeanor causing Cicero to feel a growing sense of unease.
"And I must insist as well," Lockcraft countered with resolve. "You clearly aren't the one who has something to say, so bring out whoever wants to speak, and I'll play ball with them along with Lord Cicero here."
Before their exchange escalated, the uniformed man paused, his demeanor shifting as he listened to someone on the other end of a microbead. "Fine," he relented, making a series of hand gestures to his comrades. "Search both Mr. Lockcraft and Lord Cicero for any weapons. Duchess will be on the scene in three mikes."
A few moments later, another group of individuals, whom Cicero could only assume were soldiers of the Imperial Army (they certainly weren't Ultramar Auxilia), approached with scanning devices. They waved the devices over Cicero and Lockcraft before announcing they were "cleared" of weapons or contraband.
For some reason, Cicero noticed a brief smirk on Lockcraft's face, almost as if he had gotten away with something. The old host sincerely hoped that his guest wasn't planning anything. Either way, their situation was still precarious.
Taking a moment to pour himself a bit of scotch to calm his nerves, he idly remarked to Lockcraft, "I've never been in a hostage situation before."
"Nor have I," Lockcraft replied. "And as far as firsts go, I imagine this is quite tame."
Cicero chuckled softly, "Well, I suppose that's one perspective." He lifted his glass, taking a measured sip of his scotch. "It's bound to make quite the tale."
Lockcraft nodded thoughtfully as he replenished his glass with more scotch. "I can't shake the feeling that we're on the brink of something far beyond the demands of a mere lunatic."
Aware that the cameras continued to record, Cicero made a conscious effort to maintain composure, his demeanor poised and collected. He had no intention of appearing cowardly or foolish, particularly if facing imminent danger. Despite the surreal circumstances, Cicero couldn't deny a twinge of exhilaration at the thought of meeting his end while engaged in the profession he cherished—a fitting conclusion to four centuries of existence. As long as he could maintain a semblance of dignity, he mused.
Barely a minute into Cicero's contemplation of the potentially grandiose finale, a squad of armored soldiers marched in, forming a perimeter around a stern-faced yet oddly tranquil woman clad in the Imperial Army uniform. The trooper who had just concluded his "conversation" with Lockcraft and Cicero approached her, murmuring softly while casually gesturing toward the two men.
Unperturbed by the trooper's concern, the woman dismissed it with the effortless authority of a seasoned commander. She signaled for her troops to encircle the stage before striding forward, presumably to address Lockcraft and Cicero. Strangely enough, both men also noticed the beautiful ring on her right hand. It seemed to shine like it contained the light of a small star within its gems and adamantium band.
"Gentlemen," her voice resounded, though delivered with a restrained tone reminiscent of Konor Guilliman, momentarily striking Cicero with a sense of familiarity, "At this juncture, this broadcast has been commandeered to disseminate the truth. I trust you'll comply accordingly."
Lockcraft's retort came as he raised his glass for another sip of scotch, his tone tinged with resignation. "Seems we're left with little choice." His gaze shifted to the imposing figure before them. "You're Lord General Arabella Blair."
The mention of her name caused Blair's entire body to stiffen momentarily, though she quickly regained her composure, acknowledging Lockcraft with a placid nod. "Indeed," she replied evenly. "You seem to be well-informed, Mr. Lockcraft."
Lockcraft set down his glass with a dissatisfied air. "You're quite far from your jurisdiction, General," he remarked, turning to Cicero. "This esteemed lady here, by any measure, is deemed a traitor to the Imperium." The revelation of a traitorous Lord General left Cicero incredulous; it seemed unfathomable that someone of such high rank would brazenly commit treason. Yet, her recent actions spoke volumes.
Blair's glare pierced Lockcraft's accusation. "I am no traitor," she asserted firmly.
"I never claimed you were," Lockcraft countered, his frustration evident. "But your deeds certainly border on the criminal, reckless, and perilous. I implore you to reconsider."
However, Blair shook her head resolutely. "There is no turning back now."
Blair addressed the cameras without further preamble, preempting any opportunity for Lockcraft or Cicero to interject. "People of Maccragge, citizens of the Realm of Ultramar, faithful subjects of the Imperium, and humanity at large," she began, her voice projecting unwavering resolve. "Listen to my words. I am Lord General Arabella Blair of the 77th Cthonia Expeditionary Force. I have dedicated over a century of service to the Imperial Army and the Imperium. Like many of you, I emerged from a life of poverty and strife, driven by a desire to defend humanity."
Cicero observed the tension in Blair's demeanor as she continued, her fists clenched and her voice trembling with emotion. "But their sacrifices were in vain! They perished in conflicts perpetuated under the guise of human unity, unwittingly serving the interests of Terran elites, Imperial bureaucrats, and Martian technocrats. Even the Primarchs have benefited from the suffering of ordinary humans. And to compound this betrayal, the Emperor of Mankind has deceived us all with the Imperial Truth."
"Don't," Lockcraft's voice pleaded softly, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Please, don't do this…"
"I stand here to reveal the truth: that the gods, our gods, are real. They are returning," Blair declared solemnly, gesturing to one of her guards who initiated a holographic display. "What you witness on these screens is the murder of a god. A god of the Deorum pantheon known as Saturn."
Blair's proclamation hung heavily in the air, yet as Cicero and the others bore witness to the unfolding horror, Lockcraft's expression twisted into one of fury. Unable to contain himself, he rose from his seat and advanced toward Blair, his anger palpable.
"Do you even comprehend the magnitude of what you've done?!" Lockcraft's voice rang out, undeterred by the guns now trained on him. "The pandemonium you've unleashed?!"
Unfazed by Lockcraft's confrontation, Blair fixed him with a steely gaze. "I would have thought you, of all people, would appreciate this revelation," she retorted. "You spoke of the Imperium's suppression of human faith in favor of materialism. Humanity deserves to know that their gods are returning."
Lockcraft's disdain was evident as he practically spat his response. "And you've sentenced trillions to death in the process, all for the sake of your misguided crusade!"
"And you propose we continue perpetuating the lie?!" Blair shot back. "People have the right to worship, as you yourself have argued!"
Lockcraft's anger burned fiercely, though he maintained his composure. "Only once our civilization has achieved a balance between governance and the divine has what you are doing triggered a cataclysmic collapse of everything," he countered. You're being manipulated, and I know by whom."
Blair seemed momentarily taken aback by Lockcraft's assertion. "You couldn't possibly…" she began, trailing off as realization dawned. "Cegorach never mentioned you."
Cicero interjected, his voice filled with confusion. "Who is Cegorach?"
Lockcraft's response was swift. "An Aeldari deity. The Laughing God. The Great Fool. And a master manipulator," he explained, fixing Blair with a pointed stare. "I can't help but wonder if he orchestrated this scheme and not solely for the sake of your announcement."
Blair's smirk conveyed a sense of assurance. "Perhaps now is as good a time as any to announce my intention to extend a hand of friendship to all gods and their followers," she declared. "As well as our plans to manifest one on this plane of existence."
Lockcraft's incredulity was evident. "Are you—" He struggled to find the words. "You're serious? You intend to summon forth a god? Are you out of your mind?!"
Once more, Cicero couldn't help but interject, his voice cutting through the tension. "Excuse me!" he exclaimed, drawing their attention. "Are you both suggesting that the gods are real and can be summoned?!"
"Precisely," Blair affirmed proudly, but Lockcraft quickly interjected.
"Lord General Blair is oversimplifying a complex process," he countered, his tone pointed. "And the fact that she's making such assertions while being recorded for the public only underscores the recklessness of her decisions."
Blair bristled at his criticism. "And what authority and experience do you possess to make such judgments?!" she demanded.
"I've collaborated with numerous scientists, priests, and scholars on matters concerning the divine," Lockcraft explained matter-of-factly. "What you propose is immensely difficult and perilous. The repercussions could be catastrophic, akin to the calamities of the Age of Strife."
"Don't dismiss this as impossible," Blair retorted defiantly. "I have evidence to support my claims." With a flourish, she produced a secure case containing three vials, emanating an otherworldly aura that even distorted the camera feed.
"This is deity blood!" Blair declared triumphantly. "Concrete proof of the divine. Coupled with the accounts of psykers, it confirms the existence of the divine and the journey of souls beyond death."
Lockcraft groaned, rubbing his temples, while Cicero and the others struggled to comprehend the implications of such revelations. Even Cicero, usually skeptical, found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the extraordinary evidence before him.
The only one seemingly unimpressed was Lockcraft's companion. "You're once again manipulating and cherry-picking facts."
Blair scoffed. "Do you claim to know the destination of all human souls after death as well?"
"Yes," Lockcraft replied firmly, meeting Blair's glare head-on. "They go to the Emperor."
Blair stiffened, her glare intensifying. "You're mistaken. The Emperor is not a god."
Lockcraft nodded. "Indeed. That's precisely his mistake in this situation. He controls the fate of human souls not bound for the Warp, yet denies the reality of faith and the divine."
The Lord General's glare remained fixed on Lockcraft. "And look where such denial has led us."
"Once again, I agree," Lockcraft spat. "He should have embraced his role as a god of humanity and left his stewardship to one of his sons, ensuring the preservation of the afterlife for all."
Blair struggled to find a response. "It would have been the only noble act he could have bestowed upon us," she conceded. "Perhaps then, the Imperium would have shown true concern for humanity."
Lockcraft nodded, acknowledging her point. "While I don't intend to diminish the Imperium's atrocities," he began, "we must recognize that it's also been the one force that has preserved humanity, offering us a chance at survival so that we could stand to better ourselves. But with your actions, you've jeopardized generations of progress."
"What progress?" Blair countered sharply. "In just one generation, the Imperium has endured the betrayal of a Primarch, the Desolation claiming the lives of over a quadrillion souls, and most recently, a coup on Terra itself. We stand on the brink of civil war."
Lockcraft sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not referring to the politics on Terra," he clarified. "Over the past century, the Imperium has maintained stability in the galaxy, providing a window of opportunity for our leaders to contemplate reconciliation and address the spiritual needs of our society. Change is inevitable, but it should have been achieved through a collective effort, not by sparking a religious divide that will only plunge us into further chaos. And while I acknowledge the Imperium's flaws, a religiously motivated civil war is the last thing we need."
Blair shook her head, dismissing Lockcraft's concerns. "You cling to the Imperial Truth as if it's some noble doctrine," she retorted. "But it's nothing more than a tool of oppression, denying people the comfort of faith in favor of state control. How many have suffered under its tyranny, denied basic rights and happiness, all because they sought solace in the divine, which is real? It's the hypocrisy of the highest order."
"It's not that simple," Lockcraft countered, noticing something on the video feed and gesturing toward it. "You're echoing the sentiments of Primarch Lorgar Aurelian. Yes, he made compelling arguments, but he also brought destruction upon his own people through his folly."
Blair nodded grimly. "Lorgar was a fool," she agreed, her gaze distant as she recounted past horrors. "But it wasn't his legion that massacred everyone on Monarchia. I witnessed the atrocity firsthand, the wanton destruction by the Space Marines, leaving the aftermath for others to clean."
Cicero, trying to grasp the complexities of the conversation, turned to Lockcraft for clarification. "Is what she's saying true?"
Lockcraft sighed, weary of the topic. "The Primarchs possess unique qualities, almost divine in nature, but they are not gods. They are beings of flesh and mind, with their own desires, much like the gods themselves."
Cicero struggled to follow. "What do you mean?"
Lockcraft's response was cryptic. "The gods are intertwined with humanity, and vice versa. That's all I can say."
Blair interjected, "And they are allies of humanity. That's why we must align ourselves with them."
Lockcraft's frustration was palpable. "You're making dangerous assumptions. The gods may not mean us harm, but they are not benevolent benefactors. They have their own agendas."
Blair disagreed vehemently. "Their aid is invaluable. This won't be a futile plea for salvation; they will answer our call. She promised that when I spoke with—" She stopped herself abruptly.
Lockcraft's expression darkened as realization dawned. "Venus. You were going to say, Venus," he muttered under his breath, cursing softly in a melodic language. After a moment to compose himself, he turned to Blair with a shake of his head. "You're being manipulated, a mere pawn to their whims."
"We're all pawns," Blair countered defiantly. "But I choose to have faith in their benevolence. I choose to have hope, something we all desperately need right now."
"But by doing so, you'd be igniting hope and faith within the context of a religious counter-revolution," Lockcraft cautioned gravely. "Hundreds of trillions will wage war and devastation, convinced they must protect their souls when, in reality, they are already safeguarded by the Emperor. They'll commit unspeakable atrocities in their pursuit to summon a god, oblivious to the lurking dangers awaiting their prayers. And the casualties resulting from the Imperium's response will only amplify the cacophony of death reverberating throughout the warp."
"Perhaps that's what needs to occur," Blair responded solemnly, her gaze meeting Lockcraft's with a sense of resignation. "The Imperium has suppressed individuals like us for too long. It is time for us all to be players on this stage instead of just watchers. But I have faith in humanity. Yes, there will be those who succumb to fear and violence upon learning the truth. But amidst the chaos, there are benevolent beings who genuinely care for us. I choose to give them a voice, and in doing so, I give all of humanity a voice as well."
"A valid observation," Lockcraft conceded, nodding in agreement. "But in the grand scheme of things, you'll always remain a mere follower to the gods. Only a chosen few are granted—" He trailed off, a realization dawning upon him. "You intend to become an idol yourself."
"An idol?" Blair appeared puzzled by the notion.
"A conduit for a god," Lockcraft clarified. "A rare and prestigious honor bestowed upon a mortal. And given your ambitious plan to summon a new god, it suggests you aim to wield significant influence over it."
The Lord General remained silent, her fingers tracing the ring's intricate design adorning her hand. "You possess keen insight, Mr. Lockcraft," she acknowledged cryptically, "but you're not privy to all the details."
Lockcraft hesitated, a moment of internal struggle evident on his face before he composed himself. "In that case, offering my assistance would be in my best interest."
"I... excuse me?" Blair's astonishment was palpable. "I'm not sure what audacity compels you, Mr. Lockcraft, but you're gravely mistaken if you believe I require or desire your help summoning a new god."
Cicero observed the exchange, recognizing Lockcraft's determination and authority as he spoke with conviction. "Please understand: you're in over your head. But I can see a way to mitigate the potential fallout from your actions. It may salvage the chaos you're about to unleash."
Before Blair could respond, a soldier approached her urgently, delivering unexpected news. Her expression shifted to one of surprise. "What?! How is that possible?!"
Lockcraft interjected, his tone calm yet commanding. "Let me guess," he began, addressing Blair. "You've just been informed of 20 new intruders entering the premises? That would be my security detail—a combination of Mujahedin, Templars, and Berserkers." Stepping closer to Blair, despite the raised weapons of her guards, Lockcraft stood face-to-face with her.
"Now, we have a choice," Lockcraft continued, gesturing toward the screen displaying the testimonies of psykers. "We can engage in hostilities here and now, undoubtedly making for a thrilling conclusion to M-Talk." He paused, then continued more earnestly. "Or, alternatively, I can accompany you, Blair. Those aligned with me, and I can offer our assistance. Perhaps together, we can navigate the uncertain path you've set humanity upon and find a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos."
Just as Cicero received Natale's urgent message through his implant, he watched as Blair weighed her options. "Cicero! The soldiers leave, but they are going to take everyone with them. They don't want me to cut the transmission, but I set a timer to do so," Natale's voice echoed in Cicero's mind.
Turning to face the cameras, Cicero shook his head and silently mouthed the words: Keep filming. Natale must have gotten the message since she went silent once again.
Unaware of this exchange, Blair contemplated her choices. "Cegorach said that I could trust you," she admitted hesitantly, "But I don't trust him."
"So far, that's the most sensible thing you've said," Lockcraft responded bluntly. "And frankly, to hell with what he thinks. What matters is your trust. Do you trust me to help humanity, regardless of my skepticism?"
"I don't need a skeptic," Blair countered firmly. "I need believers."
"What you need is someone who cares, believer or not," Lockcraft retorted. "I care about humanity. I care about ensuring we don't plunge into another Age of Strife or succumb to the whims of savage gods. Do you want humanity to be free? The only path to freedom is acknowledging our limitations and our peril. But despite our grim prospects, we still have the power to make choices and take action."
She deliberated for a moment before closing her eyes and muttering under her breath, "Gods damn it." Then, with resolve, Blair turned to Lockcraft and nodded. "Alright. If you can help me see this through, we must leave immediately. Our window of escape is closing."
"Agreed," Lockcraft affirmed, nodding before addressing the somewhat stunned Cicero. "It's been an unusual experience. I apologize for the disturbance caused by this situation."
Cicero managed a strained smile. "Yes, indeed," he replied before one of the uniformed soldiers approached him. "I suppose we can end the show now."
"Everyone will be escorted with my group," Blair announced as soldiers began ushering people away. "You'll be released shortly."
Lockcraft shook his head slightly before extending a hand to Cicero. "I guess this is farewell, then."
The situation felt surreal, but Cicero reached out and shook Lockcraft's hand. "I'm not entirely sure what's happening, but I genuinely hope you succeed in your endeavors, Mr. Lockcraft."
With that handshake, the tumultuous situation appeared to have reached some semblance of resolution. The cameras continued to roll as Cicero, Lockcraft, Blair, and her forces exited the stage. Meanwhile, the screens displayed repeated loops of the evidence presented by Blair.
Nearly an hour passed before the authorities shut down the broadcast. However, word had spread among the people of Macragge by then, and many had witnessed the entire exchange or caught glimpses before the transmission ceased.
It would take a full day before anyone could unravel how Blair and her forces had infiltrated and escaped from the planet. In the interim, Macragge was gripped by a lengthy but subdued crisis.
Now, Macragge, Palace of Ultramar…
Euten's demeanor was tense as she entered crisis mode the moment she witnessed what appeared to be terrorists seizing control of the M-Talk studio. With the situation escalating before her eyes, she knew immediate action was necessary.
"I don't care where Chief Sink is. Find him and bring him to me now!" Euten's voice rang out urgently as she practically shouted into the emergency phone in her private chambers. Beside her, Aldrich watched with concern as the events unfolded on the screen.
Exiting her chambers, Euten wasted no time in taking charge. Spotting the nearest Ultramarine, she swiftly approached him. "YOU! What's your name?!" she demanded, her tone firm and commanding.
The marine, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter with his Primarch's mother, snapped to attention. "B-brother Kaidon, Lady Consul!" he stammered.
"Kaidon, go find Captain Helon and tell him we're placing Macragge on lockdown. He's to meet me in the strategic quarter in ten minutes," Euten ordered decisively, her sense of authority cutting through the confusion.
Though initially taken aback by the directive, the marine quickly composed himself. "Yes, ma'am!" he responded with a sharp salute before hurrying to carry out his orders.
Returning to her chambers, Euten glanced over to see Aldrich, his expression a mixture of horror and shock as he watched the events unfolding on the screen. "I can't believe Arabella is doing this," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Her support letters made it seem like she had a solid head on her shoulders."
Euten huffed angrily, her frustration palpable. "I've come to realize that almost everyone in the Imperium is either a fool, insane or just too blind to see the consequences of their actions," she declared, her tone laced with bitterness.
Sensing her distress, Aldrich reached out and gently took her hand. "Euten, it's going to be alright," he reassured her, his voice soft and soothing.
"How?" Euten's despair was evident in her voice as she struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "That woman has just thrust my son and our world into the midst of the greatest security breach in galactic history or sparked a religious crusade against the Emperor."
"Can't we prevent the spread of this?" Aldrich suggested, his voice tinged with hope. "You're planning on locking down the entire planet anyway."
But Euten shook her head, her despair deepening. "My son ensured that the distribution of these records would be swift and efficient, with minimal oversight. This broadcast likely occurred hours ago, and knowing Blair, she's likely ensured it's left Macragge. With thousands of ships and shuttles departing the planet as we speak, even if we attempt to intercept them all, it's highly likely that one or more have slipped through, carrying the records of this...nightmare."
The prospect of the humiliation that would befall Roboute due to this event, especially under her watch, weighed heavily on Euten's mind. "I need... I need to address the people," she declared, her voice tinged with urgency.
Aldrich nodded in agreement. "That's a wise decision. We can begin drafting a response once we've gained control of this crisis. I'll start coordinating with our forces to plan a search pattern and contain the spread."
As Euten contemplated the unfolding chaos, a sudden realization struck her. "We need a distraction. Something to divert the people's attention," she muttered, her thoughts racing.
"Uh, I'm not sure if that's the best approach after such a bombshell," Aldrich interjected cautiously.
"No," Euten countered, determination flickering in her eyes. "We have something. A significant announcement. I can declare that Roboute is getting married."
Aldrich's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected suggestion. "Is that wise? And you're not suggesting he's marrying an Aeldari, are you?"
"Did you not just witness what happened?" Euten gestured to the holographic display. "If Blair's claims hold any truth... then the specifics of Roboute's partner become inconsequential. At this point, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, the people may welcome any semblance of good news, regardless of its nature."
"But it could also incite further unrest," Aldrich cautioned, a note of concern in his voice. "Please, let's take the time to consider this carefully."
Recognizing Aldrich's wisdom, Euten made the conscious decision to regain her composure and redirect her focus. She realized that the immediate priority was to contain and suppress any dissemination of the sensitive information before addressing it publicly.
Acknowledging Aldrich's concerns, Euten rose from her seat and motioned for him to accompany her. As they left the room, she allowed herself a moment to acknowledge the anxiety and fear that gripped her before resuming her role as a leader. Having Aldrich by her side provided a sense of reassurance during this tumultuous time.
Despite their decision to delay the distraction tactic, Euten couldn't shake the feeling that the danger was far from over. The events that had transpired had left an indelible mark, and she knew they would need to remain vigilant in the days to come.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, done with this one.
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tl;dr: Blair has confirmed that there is an afterlife, the gods are real, one was murdered, the Imperial Truth is a lie, Blair was born on Chtonia, witnessed the aftermath of Monarchia (named dropping the Wolves and Dark Angels), named dropped Cegorach and Venus, showed off vials of supposed god blood, admitted to planning to summon/create a god, has extended an opening to all Terran gods and their followers to her domain, and effectively said that everyone should have the right to worship.
- Location
- Reno Nv
They will, but at the moment, Emps and Malc are going to be responding a bit too late. They didn't so well on their rolls to learn about this due to the current shitshows they are trying to handle.
- Location
- colombia
man,this quest is a blast,i always been a cynic as far the imperium goes,so see slide from "imperium rah,rah,rah" attitude (both inside narrative and in thread) towards "oh fuck,oh fuck,oh fuck,everyone is a dumbass and this was gonna fail no matter what,isnt?" is great
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Yeah, this time not because of Chaos or Daddy Issues but for the same reason all fascistic empires are doomed to fail.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Sorry for the late response, but for divinity found on the world...
The Yankra are a plant-based xenos species that, since ancient times, believe in the 'Ciar'yag' or 'Genesis Network'. Essentially a god of creation and knowledge that exists in the form of knowledge and creation. A living foundation for literally everything, a seed from which all trees sprout, a machine that has build everything. Constantly growing as life, reality, knowledge and such things are developed by, well, life.
Ciar'yag for the faith is full of different sects and sub-sects, dedicated to different aspects of the network or interpretations of it, for the very notion of different ideas and understanding them exist within the network and thus fit within the whole divine plan. For everything sprouts from this thing, thus it only grows and deepens understanding to have different views.
As a 'foundation' god, I picture it as a deity that functions as a perpetual godseed, to use the term here:
At least, that's what the Yankra believe. How the god would work, if it exists at all as they believe it to be or if it would come into existence, is unknown to me.
The funny thing about Blair's whole thing was that this was her supposed end-game that she sprinted toward too because of her getting absurdly high dice rolls that seemingly cascaded one after the other. Daemon had this sort of story arc in mind, but then said "Right, Venus and Cegorach are looking into this" and once other dice rolls concluded with other major events, it resulted in this.
Cegorach is manipulating events like crazy here. Eldrad isn't even truly aware of what is going on. Also, Cegorach let Blair used a security loop-hole that the Alpha Legion had been working on for thirty years to allow her forces to get in and out, which is now going to be plugged by the Smurfs.
So Cegorach sending a reminder to the Twins: Don't fuck with me or my clowns.
Cegorach is manipulating events like crazy here. Eldrad isn't even truly aware of what is going on. Also, Cegorach let Blair used a security loop-hole that the Alpha Legion had been working on for thirty years to allow her forces to get in and out, which is now going to be plugged by the Smurfs.
So Cegorach sending a reminder to the Twins: Don't fuck with me or my clowns.
Memories of Minds in War.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Hiya! Decided to make another omake for Epsilon-354 and Kesar Dorlin, as this battle is pretty to the knife and it's super fascinating to me and some of the lore behind it, so I hope it's decent enough to read, haha!
-----
Memories of Minds in War.
It begins with a moment of absolute nothingness.
A time that could not be measured in nanoseconds, yet comparable to years. Where most languages falter to contain the essence of this transcendental emptiness being filled. Perception layering with thousands of levels, that then reflect in on each other into thousands more, fractal patterns of numbers and electrical currents across machinery that was advanced to the point it could do what only the greatest devices could truly accomplish.
Live.
It is the moment where a sapient mind, bestowed memory and personality, comes into existence.
You are Epsilon-354, War Mind of the Federation, Artificial Intelligence wrought by the species known as humanity, and you have just been born.
The long road of your life begins with wonderful, confusing and shifting memories and ideas that turn from abstract ideas into your reality. Perception sharpens as the language that makes up your mind activates and is understood. You know all the words and then understand the meaning behind them. You become- no, you are you. Epsilon-354.
Your consciousness inhabits a large core structure that exists in a room. The room is full of people. Humans. All of them looked different, even if many were wearing the same uniforms with symbols you recognise, and you understand why the next moment. Information was being supplied to you at a rapid pace. Culture. History. Societies. Purpose. A research facility, a place of science and learning.
It is at this exact moment that your first desire has been crystalised. It existed since the moment you became aware, before any initial understanding had finished, the spark of life. Purpose. You are not just learning, you want to learn. You wish for it. You want to know more.
Delight manifests as you say your name to those around you, as was prompted. Other machine intelligences greet you and offer to explain whatever questions you had, humans slowly following suit.
Your first emotion is joy.
-----
You are Kesar Dorlin, the strangest child on a world known as Valhalla, and you begin to learn the nature of everything here and yourself.
What you learn is that you are an impossibility.
The cold that you knew instantly when you stepped from that metal shell was the only proof needed. It should have killed you. It had killed countless others, even a few children you had come to know in the orphanage. Yet it didn't harm you as it would harm others. Without clothing, without protection or a source of heat, a normal child should be dead within minutes if not seconds in an open blizzard.
It didn't affect you. Few things really did. That was a mark of concern to others, that checked you for corruption quite a few times, yet they have welcomed you. The people treating you as one of them. Different yet without making a difference.
It makes you feel warm inside, that thought. Something in your mind, a mind that knew so much when you should know nothing such as that a normal human would be dead in the cold, tells you that this is false warmth and just an emotional response to acceptance of others in a social group.
Your hearts, for you had two and this was also strange, said that it was true. Yet they didn't provide answers to the questions that
What were you? Why did you exist? Why did you come here?
There is an answer and it is one that you do not like at all. Chaos, the terrible force from the Warp. The impossible power that could reshape and twist humans into things that possessed powers and traits that should not exist. To know what was unknowable, to survive the unsurvivable, to come from nothing and infiltrate a group of the uncorrupted.
It didn't feel like the right answer, but what else was there?
You did not know what you were, what your purpose was, but you would find out.
Understanding is the key to success. To know yourself and your enemies. For your home.
You were a Valhallan, whatever your origin was, and you would fight against Chaos.
-----
You are Epsilon-354, War Mind of the Federation, and you witness the end of an era.
Planets burn as legions of drones destroy all life around them, entire systems are turned into apocalyptic warzones just by the countless bits of debris, stars being torn into shreds by war-machines in the shape of colossal serpents.
Close friends and people you knew had turned into monsters. So many artificial intelligences waged war on everything. Humans, robots, aliens, machine entities and other forms of life turned to war. Destruction reigned supreme. Things that only existed as conceptualised designs, ideas too terrible to put into practise, were used constantly. Bombs that tore at time and space, bullets that destroyed the soul, star-flames to ensure not even ash remained.
You fought against digital cages that were bound by malicious code-attacks, viral-data that spread at a pace could have swallowed your mind if you lost even a nanosecond of attention, memetic weapons that were used to turn people into crazed killers and machines into hostile death-traps. Again and again and again.
Physics itself was breaking. Outside from battles where the pinnacle of known science has been weaponised to break fundamental forces on ruined battlefields, beyond the influence of the screaming Warp, reality itself is shifting. Results that were exact are now variable, processes that should work one way now do so differently, most travel through the Immaterium wrought with conditions orders of magnitude worse than before witnessed.
Everything was becoming insane. What happened was decimating the galaxy. War, madness, death, slaughter and doom. Where before you knew conflict and loss and fought for peace and progress, now you felt crushing despair and impossible frustration as you fight an ultimate losing battle.
This is the worst calamity in human history. Possibly one of the worst for the galaxy's recent memory. It was only getting worse.
You had to find a way to end this disaster.
-----
You are Kesar Dorlin, Primarch of the Eternal Wardens, and you feel the crushing weight of loss and the taste of retribution.
Gehenna. The very name conjures rage and sorrow. The station from the Dark Age of Technology, the fallen pinnacle of what humanity was capable of, turned to the forces of Chaos. Men of Iron wielding the fell strength of madness, wielding symbols of slaughter, covered in blood and skulls.
You had faced grief and seen terrible destruction done by this nightmarish foe before, since you had seen the battlefields of Valhalla. Yet even when you had your great battle and slayed the Lord of Change, the wound you faced here was worse than the one the winged daemon left on you.
Your sons.
The Eleventh Legion, the Eternal Wardens, were your children. Not by blood, though they shared some of it through the gene-seed implanted in them all, but by something deeper. An army wrought by your own father, the Emperor of Mankind, to serve the Imperium that would unite the galaxy. So many warriors who were ready to follow your every word, lead by a number of champions that held experience beyond you. A few were older than you, those that fought at the very beginning of this Great Crusade.
That number was fewer still after this terrible conflict. Over half the Legion was cut down by these machines. These monsters. These accursed relics of a bygone era. Everything here was so mired in corruption that it would take half a century just to purify this domain. So much knowledge, advanced technology, weaponry and more locked behind the touch of ruin. At a cost you hoped you would never pay again.
You had met your sons so recently. So many of them you had barely gotten to know, or only knew then by name, with no idea as to how they thought or acted or lived. So you could only honour them in one way, to ensure at least their memories wouldn't fade away.
You carry them. On your armour was each name, carved by your own hand. A heavy reminder.
To fight onwards.
-----
You are not Epsilon-354.
You are not Kesar Dorlin.
You are… the story, the time of peace, the memory of a better age.
The former decides to tell the latter this tale. There is contempt and sorrow behind this act, frustration and resignation, a flicker of the hope that you once inspired. There is no real belief that you could change anything. It's just done to ensure that somebody remembers and could share it, record it, preserve it. Some human. Some nation in the galaxy.
That once, before all this bloodshed and loss, there was a time where people across the galaxy could come together and forge an agreement. Not a conquering empire demanding subservience to a supposed lesser civilization, not an arrogant set of demands that had to be met, not even the typical political backroom deals that could see many people suffer the consequences.
This was a council years, decades, centuries… millennia in the making. All human history leading towards this point. Countless individuals of countless nations coming together in the name of peace or at least a better set of standards that people should adhere to. To set the guidelines during war, laws for soldiers and weapons to be restricted, to make countless complex humanitarian protocols to limit the terror and suffering of conflict.
This council made standardised human rights for all human worlds to follow.
The one who listened to this tale, the god-forged child meant for conquest and war in a galaxy wrought with strife, said that he had never heard of this council or these rights before. The one who told it, who had lived at this age and had been present for this council, feels another stab of crushing despair at the answer. It was an expected response, for so much time had passed and loss occurred…
…but to truly hear that somebody at the top of the largest current empire of mankind had no idea it happened, in a tone of voice that betrayed amazement and confusion at the idea ever actually happening, is to truly hear the fall of an era.
You continue to be told in beautiful detail. Your speaker was there at a young age, barely a few decades old and still excitedly learning about everything as an innocent child. They had tasted conflict and loss to some degree, a fraction of a fraction to what they'd suffer later, but this moment had transformed them. To see this peace, to see this effort be paid off, to see all the agreements done and what it would mean. The herald of a golden age. An enlightened era.
Epsilon-354 had declared that they would follow these rights no matter what, this guide helping shape who they were as a person.
Kesar Dorlin asked what was even in these standardised human rights.
For a moment there is no answer. The speaker and the listener are enemies. A pointless conflict wrought to bitter extremes. The time of peace for here, and the galaxy, had passed. Conquest, bloodshed, madness and more was seen by the artificial intelligence and it heard what atrocities the Imperium was committing to all those within the spiral arms of the galaxy.
Then, because the question was asked and because to leave it unanswered was too painful, the War Mind shared what the rights were in detail.
It was a lot, lot more than what the Primarch could have expected in every single way.
Thus your story is told.
-----
Memories of Minds in War.
It begins with a moment of absolute nothingness.
A time that could not be measured in nanoseconds, yet comparable to years. Where most languages falter to contain the essence of this transcendental emptiness being filled. Perception layering with thousands of levels, that then reflect in on each other into thousands more, fractal patterns of numbers and electrical currents across machinery that was advanced to the point it could do what only the greatest devices could truly accomplish.
Live.
It is the moment where a sapient mind, bestowed memory and personality, comes into existence.
You are Epsilon-354, War Mind of the Federation, Artificial Intelligence wrought by the species known as humanity, and you have just been born.
The long road of your life begins with wonderful, confusing and shifting memories and ideas that turn from abstract ideas into your reality. Perception sharpens as the language that makes up your mind activates and is understood. You know all the words and then understand the meaning behind them. You become- no, you are you. Epsilon-354.
Your consciousness inhabits a large core structure that exists in a room. The room is full of people. Humans. All of them looked different, even if many were wearing the same uniforms with symbols you recognise, and you understand why the next moment. Information was being supplied to you at a rapid pace. Culture. History. Societies. Purpose. A research facility, a place of science and learning.
It is at this exact moment that your first desire has been crystalised. It existed since the moment you became aware, before any initial understanding had finished, the spark of life. Purpose. You are not just learning, you want to learn. You wish for it. You want to know more.
Delight manifests as you say your name to those around you, as was prompted. Other machine intelligences greet you and offer to explain whatever questions you had, humans slowly following suit.
Your first emotion is joy.
-----
You are Kesar Dorlin, the strangest child on a world known as Valhalla, and you begin to learn the nature of everything here and yourself.
What you learn is that you are an impossibility.
The cold that you knew instantly when you stepped from that metal shell was the only proof needed. It should have killed you. It had killed countless others, even a few children you had come to know in the orphanage. Yet it didn't harm you as it would harm others. Without clothing, without protection or a source of heat, a normal child should be dead within minutes if not seconds in an open blizzard.
It didn't affect you. Few things really did. That was a mark of concern to others, that checked you for corruption quite a few times, yet they have welcomed you. The people treating you as one of them. Different yet without making a difference.
It makes you feel warm inside, that thought. Something in your mind, a mind that knew so much when you should know nothing such as that a normal human would be dead in the cold, tells you that this is false warmth and just an emotional response to acceptance of others in a social group.
Your hearts, for you had two and this was also strange, said that it was true. Yet they didn't provide answers to the questions that
What were you? Why did you exist? Why did you come here?
There is an answer and it is one that you do not like at all. Chaos, the terrible force from the Warp. The impossible power that could reshape and twist humans into things that possessed powers and traits that should not exist. To know what was unknowable, to survive the unsurvivable, to come from nothing and infiltrate a group of the uncorrupted.
It didn't feel like the right answer, but what else was there?
You did not know what you were, what your purpose was, but you would find out.
Understanding is the key to success. To know yourself and your enemies. For your home.
You were a Valhallan, whatever your origin was, and you would fight against Chaos.
-----
You are Epsilon-354, War Mind of the Federation, and you witness the end of an era.
Planets burn as legions of drones destroy all life around them, entire systems are turned into apocalyptic warzones just by the countless bits of debris, stars being torn into shreds by war-machines in the shape of colossal serpents.
Close friends and people you knew had turned into monsters. So many artificial intelligences waged war on everything. Humans, robots, aliens, machine entities and other forms of life turned to war. Destruction reigned supreme. Things that only existed as conceptualised designs, ideas too terrible to put into practise, were used constantly. Bombs that tore at time and space, bullets that destroyed the soul, star-flames to ensure not even ash remained.
You fought against digital cages that were bound by malicious code-attacks, viral-data that spread at a pace could have swallowed your mind if you lost even a nanosecond of attention, memetic weapons that were used to turn people into crazed killers and machines into hostile death-traps. Again and again and again.
Physics itself was breaking. Outside from battles where the pinnacle of known science has been weaponised to break fundamental forces on ruined battlefields, beyond the influence of the screaming Warp, reality itself is shifting. Results that were exact are now variable, processes that should work one way now do so differently, most travel through the Immaterium wrought with conditions orders of magnitude worse than before witnessed.
Everything was becoming insane. What happened was decimating the galaxy. War, madness, death, slaughter and doom. Where before you knew conflict and loss and fought for peace and progress, now you felt crushing despair and impossible frustration as you fight an ultimate losing battle.
This is the worst calamity in human history. Possibly one of the worst for the galaxy's recent memory. It was only getting worse.
You had to find a way to end this disaster.
-----
You are Kesar Dorlin, Primarch of the Eternal Wardens, and you feel the crushing weight of loss and the taste of retribution.
Gehenna. The very name conjures rage and sorrow. The station from the Dark Age of Technology, the fallen pinnacle of what humanity was capable of, turned to the forces of Chaos. Men of Iron wielding the fell strength of madness, wielding symbols of slaughter, covered in blood and skulls.
You had faced grief and seen terrible destruction done by this nightmarish foe before, since you had seen the battlefields of Valhalla. Yet even when you had your great battle and slayed the Lord of Change, the wound you faced here was worse than the one the winged daemon left on you.
Your sons.
The Eleventh Legion, the Eternal Wardens, were your children. Not by blood, though they shared some of it through the gene-seed implanted in them all, but by something deeper. An army wrought by your own father, the Emperor of Mankind, to serve the Imperium that would unite the galaxy. So many warriors who were ready to follow your every word, lead by a number of champions that held experience beyond you. A few were older than you, those that fought at the very beginning of this Great Crusade.
That number was fewer still after this terrible conflict. Over half the Legion was cut down by these machines. These monsters. These accursed relics of a bygone era. Everything here was so mired in corruption that it would take half a century just to purify this domain. So much knowledge, advanced technology, weaponry and more locked behind the touch of ruin. At a cost you hoped you would never pay again.
You had met your sons so recently. So many of them you had barely gotten to know, or only knew then by name, with no idea as to how they thought or acted or lived. So you could only honour them in one way, to ensure at least their memories wouldn't fade away.
You carry them. On your armour was each name, carved by your own hand. A heavy reminder.
To fight onwards.
-----
You are not Epsilon-354.
You are not Kesar Dorlin.
You are… the story, the time of peace, the memory of a better age.
The former decides to tell the latter this tale. There is contempt and sorrow behind this act, frustration and resignation, a flicker of the hope that you once inspired. There is no real belief that you could change anything. It's just done to ensure that somebody remembers and could share it, record it, preserve it. Some human. Some nation in the galaxy.
That once, before all this bloodshed and loss, there was a time where people across the galaxy could come together and forge an agreement. Not a conquering empire demanding subservience to a supposed lesser civilization, not an arrogant set of demands that had to be met, not even the typical political backroom deals that could see many people suffer the consequences.
This was a council years, decades, centuries… millennia in the making. All human history leading towards this point. Countless individuals of countless nations coming together in the name of peace or at least a better set of standards that people should adhere to. To set the guidelines during war, laws for soldiers and weapons to be restricted, to make countless complex humanitarian protocols to limit the terror and suffering of conflict.
This council made standardised human rights for all human worlds to follow.
The one who listened to this tale, the god-forged child meant for conquest and war in a galaxy wrought with strife, said that he had never heard of this council or these rights before. The one who told it, who had lived at this age and had been present for this council, feels another stab of crushing despair at the answer. It was an expected response, for so much time had passed and loss occurred…
…but to truly hear that somebody at the top of the largest current empire of mankind had no idea it happened, in a tone of voice that betrayed amazement and confusion at the idea ever actually happening, is to truly hear the fall of an era.
You continue to be told in beautiful detail. Your speaker was there at a young age, barely a few decades old and still excitedly learning about everything as an innocent child. They had tasted conflict and loss to some degree, a fraction of a fraction to what they'd suffer later, but this moment had transformed them. To see this peace, to see this effort be paid off, to see all the agreements done and what it would mean. The herald of a golden age. An enlightened era.
Epsilon-354 had declared that they would follow these rights no matter what, this guide helping shape who they were as a person.
Kesar Dorlin asked what was even in these standardised human rights.
For a moment there is no answer. The speaker and the listener are enemies. A pointless conflict wrought to bitter extremes. The time of peace for here, and the galaxy, had passed. Conquest, bloodshed, madness and more was seen by the artificial intelligence and it heard what atrocities the Imperium was committing to all those within the spiral arms of the galaxy.
Then, because the question was asked and because to leave it unanswered was too painful, the War Mind shared what the rights were in detail.
It was a lot, lot more than what the Primarch could have expected in every single way.
Thus your story is told.
Years 51-55 Part 8 - The Cold Reality
- Location
- Elsewhere
[X] Plan Playing To Strengths
-[X] Ask Karandras for an Avatar of Khaine, cost one Eldar favor.
-[X] Take the Missile Battery with Kesar leading the assault and Durante engaging in guerilla and infiltration operations
-[X] Do not Deploy them.
-[X] Detach Forces.
-[X] The Avatar of Khaine goes to handle the the void front along with Aurelian and Dantioch.
-[X] Ask Karandras for an Avatar of Khaine, cost one Eldar favor.
-[X] Take the Missile Battery with Kesar leading the assault and Durante engaging in guerilla and infiltration operations
-[X] Do not Deploy them.
-[X] Detach Forces.
-[X] The Avatar of Khaine goes to handle the the void front along with Aurelian and Dantioch.
The guardsman stands at the edge of a gaping void across from a Stone Golem, the ledge crumbling below her.
The Stone Golem holds out a hand and she prays to a deity her parents told her about as a child.
The guardsman leaps across and is caught by the Stone Golem.
The guardsman stands up and shivers as night falls and light vanishes.
The Stone Golem holds open two hands, one holds a pistol the other holds a coin.
The guardsman chooses the pistol.
Kesar thought he understood how Epsilon's forces fought without the AI's direct guidance. They were well coordinated, with massive formations reacting to the vision of individual units. They utilized a significant number of anti-air systems, outright sweeping the skies of any enemy aircraft. Their ECM systems drowned out everything and anything, leaving guided systems near worthless and making even communication reliant on wired systems and messengers. They used advanced technology to fight at ranges the Imperium couldn't, whilst utilizing defensive systems capable of shrugging off ten times the firepower of Imperial systems. Then there was the ability of the AI's forces to counteract his actions, having no less than a hundred weapons from infantry weapons to superheavy railguns directed at Kesar himself no matter the circumstances.
If he closed in? They would focus on him. If he stepped back to command, they would attack. If he acted to support the backlines of his forces, they would ensure he was under pressure from artillery.
It was maddening to him, causing Kesar to spend more time simply avoiding injury than he spent supporting his sons. And yet, just when he thought he had an understanding of the enemy, their tactics and strategy suddenly shifted. They were no less coordinated than before, but the second the Warden frontline engaged the defenses around the Missile Battery the enemy's actions became unpredictable.
Switching to a fluid, elastic defense rather than the purely positional struggle of before, the AI's forces ceded ground in orchestrated withdrawals before slamming the trap shut, closing on the salient from at least three separate axes whilst blocking forces prevented reinforcement. Moreover, before the engagement Epsilon's forces used feints sparingly, preferring to act in uncreative but proven ways. But now … now they were using feints on an hourly basis, sometimes with entire battalions, other times with individual squads, and on one memorable occasion an entire aerial wing.
Taking out his frustration on an infantry frame that had tried to hide under a disabled vehicle and stab him, Kesar would normally have thought it just one kill of many.
"I never did like you." Said a spiteful feminine voice.
The Primarch snapped his head back to the machine, swiftly decapitating it in a smooth motion. He welcomed a conversation to understand the enemy, but when that conversation was with a robot body that was actively trying to kill him his patience ran thin.
Kesar felt his mood only sour further as time went on. He had thrown nearly everything at this fight, only leaving behind the remnants of the Legio Deicio. And what did he get? Another positional struggle, this time with just enough variety to make it an entirely unique painful experience. The frontline shifted back and forth rapidly, with both Imperial and AI forces fighting over the corpses of Imperial Titans. At times Warden forces controlled a Titan wreck, other times it was the AI, and often it was neither.
The fallen Imperator for instance was entirely unreachable by everyone, with entire armored columns dueling over the prize. "I was never fond of the Imperium," said the same feminine voice from the infantry unit he just slew. The robot's eyes flashed in a manner that reminded Kesar of a human, and it looked down at the sword in its chest before looking the Primarch in his eyes. "And yet, I was told to fight for it."
The Primarch dragged Epitaph upwards, severing the upper part of the robot into two vertical pieces. "Should I know who you are?"
Kesar twisted, his sensor systems warning of movement behind him. Ducking underneath a stream of laser fire, he replied with Sagita, creating a hole the size of his fist in the robot that just attacked him. "No, no one knew," the robot touched a hand to its chest, seemingly surprised at what it felt. "But you will soon."
Leaning back to avoid a tank shell, the Primarch took a step forward, crushing the robot's head with his hand. "I would recommend speaking directly instead of using vaguely intimidating statements."
"If you wish," said a robot lying in the mud with half its limbs. "I was a conscript in your stupid fucking war," Kesar blinked, surprised at the sheer hate in that voice. "I did my duty, and you know what I got?!" The robot dragged itself through the mud towards a fallen lasgun. "I got dumped on a random backwater with nothing but what I could carry, forced to rejoin this stupid army of the Imperium to eat."
A member of the Khalsa finished off the robot with a bolter. Simultaneously, Kesar swung his sword in an arc, catching three machines dropped from a landing craft at high altitude. "I'm sorry for that," the Primarch sighed, it was all too common that veteran guardsmen ended their term of service only to find themselves with nothing. "Your story is one of billions, it's not right, but it is reality."
One of the robots twitched on the ground, laughing maniacally. "You-you think it's one of b-b-b-billions?" Kesar spotted hydraulic fluid leaking from the machine as one of the Khalsa moved to execute it. "I-I d-d-d-d-did the math, how many survive the guard? HOW MANY?!"
"A percent of a percent of a percent," the Primarch replied. Turning away after one of the Khalsa executed the robot with their spear, Kesar smoothly avoided a sniper shot before smoothly slicing through a host of robots advancing on him. "All in all, there are 25 million guardsmen veterans out there right now. And in the history of the Imperium, there have been 2 billion."
"No, no, no," said a robot that had survived having lost its ocular sensors. "You think that's alright? That it's fine because it happens to others as well?!" Despite knowing his enemy couldn't see him at this moment, Kesar could swear she was looking at him. "I was given nothing in the guard! Nothing! They said I have a pension, but it didn't pay me. I don't have a family, so it didn't pay them. Why don't I get it? I did what I was told. WHY DID I GET NOTHING FOR IT?!"
"It isn't alright, nor is it fine." The Second Anathema replied sadly. "On thousands of worlds people toil and suffer, every day billions die for little reason but that is how reality is." Kesar put the robot in front of him out of its misery with the backswing of Epitaph. "I do not have the power to stop it, any more than you can stop the motion of the galaxy. It is simply the cruel reality we live in." The Primarch paused, his thoughts churning as he spoke. "I wish I could change it, that I could just snap my fingers and make what you went through not happen anymore. But I can't."
"Lies upon lies upon lies," said a broken robot that Kesar could barely even recognize. "Lies to you, lies to me, lies to us all." The robot twitched slightly, moving barely an inch towards an anti-tank weapon. "It hasn't been fixed for three centuries, and it would be so easy to do." The robot lurched forward a few more inches, "All the guard needed to do was pay its veterans. So why didn't they?"
"It's not that simple," Kesar replied.
"YES IT FUCKING IS!" The robot lurched forward with surprising speed, managing to wrap a hand around the weapon before Kesar managed to stop it. "I didn't ask for a mansion! I didn't ask for land! I didn't even ask for juve-nat! I asked for enough to not starve! AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET THAT?! WHY DIDN'T I GET THAT?! WHYWHYWHWYWHY?!"
Kesar crushed the robot beneath his foot, sighing in relief that its screaming stopped. Whatever he was facing here was a lot more unstable than Epsilon was. Hopefully, it wouldn't fall to Chaos. Thinking it over, the Primarch paused. Well, it would be easier if it did.
"You would have to ask the Imperial Army," the Primarch reluctantly began. "They have made many mistakes, they have made many changes and corrections. But they are making progress with time. I know it isn't comforting to hear, but the Imperial Army just hasn't developed enough to treat its veterans as it should."
"Lies upon lies upon lies," said a robot that was dragging itself towards Kesar with a knife in its hand. "They could have made the change now, they could have made the change a year ago, a decade, a century, at the start. And they never did. They won't change, I don't believe it." The robot paused, gazing up at the Primarch as it loomed over the broken, mangled body. "And you shouldn't either."
"Aldritch tried," Kesar replied, "as did Eli. …In his own way."
"You … you think that's trying?!" The Primarch sighed, crushing the robot's body with his foot before it could begin screaming. Only for another robot without an arm to charge at him. "You think I care about monetary efficiency?! You think I care about better guns to shoot with?! Which one of them funded veteran's programs?! Which one of them helped put food on my plate?! WHICH ONE OF THEM CARED ABOUT ME AS ANYTHING OTHER THAN A WEAPON TO POINT?!"
This was going to be Kesar's life for the next few months, he already knew it. Listening to a guardsman half-mad with bitterness and pain screaming about how she was owed a debt. And the worst part was, she was right to an extent. "And you think Epsilon is better? After he conscripted you for his war?"
The robot laughed hysterically, giggling in a voice more fit for a child than an adult. "The difference between you and him is he gave me something I deserved. Something the Imperium never would. He gave me a body after mine broke and couldn't move anymore." She looked at Kesar with hateful eyes, "Would the Imperium do the same?"
It wouldn't.
The rescue of Solarus was always going to be a hectic nightmare the Assassins had quickly realized. With a team composed of Phish the Vanus, Carrie the Eversor, Miss Nobody the Culexus, and Sigma-17 the Vindicare, they had managed to locate the Astartes in a single month rather than the 5-10 months they had expected. And after weeks of preparation, they were ready for the rescue operation.
The plan was for Sigma-17 to provide overwatch, while Phish disarmed as many alarms and traps as she could before waking Solarus. Due to the sheer number of embedded trackers, jammers, and other implanted sedation devices within the Captain, simply removing him physically would have necessitated a physical withdrawal through hostile airspace controlled by a technologically superior enemy. Rather than take on a suicidal plan, the assassins instead elected for extraction via teleportation beacon. As such, the jammers in particular had to be removed. And while that process was underway, Carrie and Miss Nobody would act as blocking forces, delaying any response Epsilon could muster until they were able to escape.
There were a few minutes when the Assassins thought they might be able to manage it without direct conflict. Where Phish was successfully able to deactivate thirteen separate devices without triggering an alarm. But on the 14th, she failed to notice an intentional hardware fault that caused the software to run instructions in seemingly random patterns that formed a complex cryptographical scheme. As such, the signal she emulated didn't match the device's, causing a massive surge in forces to the area.
The only reason the assassins within hadn't been caught by surprise was Sigma-17's overwatch. When the machines in the area broke from their normal patrols and took on seek-and-destroy missions, the Vindicare took action instantly. Firing shot after shot into the various machines, her hands blurred as she cycled her weapon and continuously reloaded magazine after magazine.
Hearing the Exitus rifle rounds tearing through the machines around them, Miss Nobody and Carrie immediately burst into action. Breaching through walls, the two began to force Epsilon's various teams to fight them before being able to secure Solarus, allowing Phish to work in relative peace. The Vanus in contrast had given up on remaining quiet, now outright performing rushed surgery on the Astartes as she began removing dozens of devices and decoys from the Warden's frame.
The next few minutes were chaotic, to put it mildly. Sigma-17 was forced to sprint between prepared positions, firing her Exitus rifle on the move both at forces threatening the rest of the extraction team and air assets being vectored to handle her. Miss Nobody meanwhile, was in the unenviable position of facing no less than four IFVs. With the AI's forces correctly surmising that she had little answer to armored support. Carrie herself was being suppressed by waves upon waves of infantry frames that continuously pushed forward heedless of casualties. Some even managed to make it around her, forcing Phish to occasionally divert her attention between the improvised operation on Solarus and simply staying alive.
After what felt like hours, but in reality was just 4 minutes, Phish let out a soft sigh of relief. "We're good for extraction, get us out of here!" Sending off a prepared signal an Escort in orbit activated its teleporter, rescuing the extraction team and immediately providing medical attention once aboard the vessel.
Cataloging the various injuries, an Apothecary determined that while he would be waking Solarus in a matter of hours, the injuries sustained during Phish's improvised surgery would render him a liability in any fight. Even if his mind was healthy and he could act as an advisor, the Apothecary strongly suggested that the Astartes Captain wait 2-3 months before conducting physical activity. With a month being the bare minimum before they can act.
Miss Nobody and Carrie's recovery would be longer due to the inability to use psykers on the former, and the latter actively refusing biomantic healing. Their time to recover was estimated to be 6 months. Phish had also suffered a few injuries herself, but due to her skillset, she could act immediately. And had redeployed to the ground to support operations there. And Sigma-17 had managed to survive uninjured, which was quite a welcome surprise. Also transferring to the ground to support actions there, they would need all the help they could get.
"Blood Runs."
In the void, an Avatar of Khaine awoke. Directed by the Phoenix Lord to smite the enemies of the Eldar, there were few enemies Khaine hated more than soulless robots. Immediately beginning to tear into the ship he had just been teleported into, the Bloody Handed God was only surprised by the lackluster support from those around him. If the Aeldari had gotten this soft, he may have to correct them.
"Anger Rises."
Once the ship he was on began to list in orbit and burn, the Avatar deigned to look at the auxiliaries supporting him. Shocked to see not a single Aeldari face, Khaine almost ripped through the Mon'Keigh in front of him. The knowledge this was temporary was the only reason they stayed their hand. As such, Khaine glared at the primitives before returning to slaughtering machines on a new vessel.
"Death Wakes."
Now aboard the cruiser, the Avatar continued their slaughter. Only now they began to face opposition capable of slowing them. Elite machines meant to corral his movements, with weapons capable of harming him. In days of old he would have dealt with them by … odd, he couldn't recall that. He'd try and figure it out after he had won the battle.
"War Calls!"
One of the elites had begun screaming at him in that annoyingly primitive language of Mon'Keigh. He didn't bother responding, for there was no reason to banter with an enemy so far below him. Moreover, Khaine's attention was more focused on the latest group of primitives behind him. These ones were more disciplined. Willing to kill both enemy and ally when appropriate, the Bloody Handed God tentatively approved of the work of these formations clad in black. If only more Mon'Keigh were at the barest level of acceptable. Then things would be better for the galaxy and Aeldari.
Dantioch's scowl deepened despite the good news. Ever since Lord Primarch Dorlin had activated his Xenos artifact, the enemy commander had become furious and irrational. Rather than the calm but taunting messages Epsilon had been sending, the messages were now replaced by utter rage and conspiracy theories.
Admittedly many of his statements were intriguing, with the AI claiming that the Xenos artifact was a fragment of an Eldar God named Khaine. Following this, it explained Khainite worshippers were one of the leading factors in creating a unified human military among the various disconnected human nations in the galaxy. The level of carnage a single troupe of Khainites could do was apparently apocalyptic, with Epsilon claiming each Aeldari under Khaine's aegis was worth a million of humanity's finest. Admittedly there was a lot more hate and incoherency in Epsilon's statements, but Dantioch was good at understanding the rantings of those made irrational from hate.
While these statements were made on an open channel, mostly due to Epsilon still not knowing where Dantioch was, Warden anti-cult procedures had proven useful in containing any mortals invested in the accidental sales pitch. However, the Black Brigades in particular had proven worryingly susceptible to Khainite influence, with an estimated 4% of them having begun to worship Khaine in various ways. Dantioch was rather torn on the matter, as while the converted Black Brigades had grown notably more effective, it was also absolutely in violation of the Imperial Truth. Not to mention the optics of using Aeldari artifacts when the view of them was already so negative.
Nonetheless, the irrationality had proven useful, allowing Dantioch to conduct multiple maneuvers without being interdicted. The detachment he had sent under Aurelian had proven instrumental, managing to take out a significant number of fireships before Epsilon shifted tactics. With half of the suicide ships destroyed and the other half scattered over multiple light-seconds, Dantioch could breathe easier knowing they would not be an issue for a few more weeks. Moreover, the Iron Warrior had been able to isolate and destroy several different detachments of the enemy. Significantly reducing the number of escorts, cruisers, and battleships he faced.
It was good, great even. A victory beyond his expectations certainly. Yet, he didn't think it was enough. While the AI had seemed to treat it as a massive victory in the void, Dantioch believed that Epsilon was overestimating the degree of success achieved by the Imperium. The scales had certainly evenned, but in a direct engagement, the AI still held minor to moderate advantages.
Currently, Epsilon's forces had begun shifting their tactics with the success they had on the ground. Flattening the formation and shifting to skirmishing formations, Dantioch knew this had just become harder. While the lessened rate of casualties was certainly welcome, he may have to deploy attachments to the ground. And Epsilon's current formation allowed for a fair degree of maneuvering. Even if the broader formation did introduce holes, thereby making it easier to get ships to support the ground engagement, Dantioch was certain any ships chosen for such a task would be harassed to hell and back. Moreover, the Iron Warrior suspiciously eyed the edges of the AI's formation, where the majority of their heavier vessels remained.
The other issue was with the Vigilance, as while Lord General Militant Karcer had done an acceptable job engaging the enemy's flagship. She was nonetheless unable to contest it on even footing. The fact that it had taken this long for the Gloriana's shields to fall was a testament to both the mortal's command and the Vigilance's machine spirit. However, Epsilon's elite units had made their appearance in the void, with them aborting an attempt to hijack one of the Imperial Army's battleships. As such, Dantioch fully expected them to either deploy to support boarding attempts across the fleet, or to concentrate on the Vigilance whilst it was exposed. Neither of which was good, and neither of which he could handle.
Creating a stable vox link was a task that Kesar had thought to be near-impossible. But due to a copious degree of effort by both Bodin and Scotty, the techmarines had managed a three-way link being broadcast through the fleet as a whole. On it were Dantioch, Karcer, and the Primarch himself. Kesar had hoped to get Solarus as well, but he was currently being cared for. And while Aurelian would be useful, his position meant that any attempt to include him would compromise the link's encryption.
"The situation on the ground is problematic," the Primarch started the discussion first. "The enemy intelligence, referred to as 270, has stalemated our offensive and has tied up Durante with ensuring the missile battery doesn't fire en masse. Moreover, Pathfinder recon has determined that the probing assaults we have faced are a prelude to a massive offensive by Epsilon's forces."
To that, Kesar sent over a data packet, waiting a few seconds for Dantioch and Karcer to read through it. "They'll be using a two-pronged assault," the Iron Warrior surmised. "The first flank will strike from the far side of Fortress 467, where our forces are most overstretched." Thinking for a moment, Dantioch then marked a set of locations on the southern flank. "And another assault will occur somewhere in this area, if it succeeds it'll drive a wedge between forces sieging the Fortress and assaulting the Missile Battery."
"And if I move to relieve one front, 270 will launch a full assault where I am," Kesar added, hammering home the untenable position they were in. "What are our options for orbital support?"
"We can have Aurelian lead a detachment to provide a series of strafing runs," Dantioch suggested. "But I'm not sure that would be enough due to the anti-orbital weapons present."
"How many forces could you spare?" Kesar asked.
"None," Dantioch's expression soured. "I need every ship I can for the void war, but I will make do with what I have."
The Primarch rubbed his hand on his chin, thinking of what options were available to him. "Perhaps I could ignore the two offensives and take the Missile Battery in the time I have, if I activate the remnants of the Legio Deicio, I could manage it."
"The AI will have reinforced the front," Karcer interjected, the Lord General Militant looking extremely thoughtful yet oddly quiet. "And no matter what happens, another third of your force will die if you use that plan."
"Perhaps that artifact of yours has other capabilities?" Dantioch said hesitantly. "It has proven to be a capable commander and does seem to provide a notable set of blessings to Black Brigades it fights with."
"Where did you get that from?" Karcer asked sharply, looking at Kesar with an analytical stare. "And more importantly, do you have any other surprises in store?"
"That's all," Kesar shook his head, "and I can't tell you where I got it from."
The Lord General Militant sighed at that. Muttering in a voice she likely thought Kesar couldn't pick up, "Of course, that's the answer."
As she remained uncharacteristically in thought, Kesar turned towards Dantioch. "Regardless, we have also located Astartes prisoners, what options do we have for a rescue?"
The Iron Warrior visibly winced, "Until we have greater control of the void and planet, I don't think we have any with the Assassins out of the picture. Not unless we try to land forces desperately needed elsewhere."
"Noted," Kesar stated. "Regardless, it seems we will have to activate our remaining Titans, and I must remain where I am. One of the choices I'm faced with is where to deploy the forces, either they support the southern flank or the western one."
"Neither," Karcer interjected, subconsciously straightening herself as she spoke. "As the Lord General Militant in charge of the Maelstrom-"
"Don't you dare," Dantioch began, realizing what Karcer was doing.
"I hereby order a full withdrawal of all forces from this planet with full haste." Karcer continued, ignoring Dantioch's interjections.
"My sons remain imprisoned," Kesar growled, "You would have me leave them?"
Karcer visibly flinched at the stony look on the Primarch's face. "Be that as it may …" she swallowed, hesitating but managing to soldier on. "I have determined the situation to be untenable and that a full withdrawal is the only course of action. I leave the method of the retreat in your hands. Additionally, as a courtesy, I am willing to provide the order myself if needed."
"You have no authority over a Primarch," Dantioch interjected his voice into the matter. Appearing visibly infuriated by the mortal's actions. "Despite First Captain Oriacarius' deference to your orders, you aren't capable of making such decisions."
Kesar remained calm, refusing to allow anger and irritation to color his thoughts. "Do you understand the optics of if I bend and follow a formal order of yours? This will cause permanent issues for the chain of command."
Karcer seemed to consider it, clearly mulling over what the Primarch said. "I will amend my previous statement, consider it an official recommendation rather than an order."
Kesar breathed a sigh of relief, "I will consider it."
The mortal didn't relax, instead seeking to clarify her reasoning. "I wasn't trying to make this a power struggle."
"You did a poor job of that," Dantioch snarked, causing Karcer to glare at him with an irritated gaze.
"Regardless," she said, snapping attention back to herself. "I don't see any possible method of victory here."
"And the Titan hulls? And the prisoners?" Kesar asked neutrally. "I don't see how I could justify leaving them."
"You don't have to," Karcer swiftly responded. "Claim it was due to my recommendation, my career is already dead. It doesn't matter if you drive the final nail in it."
Kesar sighed at how this discussion was going, "Karcer, while I appreciate the gesture, this isn't going to help us either. Besides, if this turns into a disaster, I'm not going to thrust this upon one person. If nothing else, I will be taking full responsibility here."
"I am trying to avoid a disaster here," Karcer replied with a bit of heat in her voice. "And I fully believe any further action taken here that doesn't involve retreating will result in a disaster."
"We shall see."
General Strategy
[] Full Retreat - Following Karcer's recommendation, the force can withdraw in good order. Epsilon's current fleet stance makes it easier than normal, allowing for the navy to retreat. While there will be a hit to morale due to the losses taken, it can be alleviated due to the threat posed by the AI.
[] Rushed Retreat - Withdrawing in full haste, abandoning the guardsmen would be in poor taste, but due to the difficulty of any such retreat, you may be forced to do so. Planning from the start to abandon the guard would ensure all Astartes make it out alive.
[] Scorched Earth Withdrawal - While a retreat is wise, there's no reason not to leave behind parting gifts. Utilizing vortex bombs and other vortex weapons, some damage can be done to the AI as you depart. While the orbital bombardment is likely to be negligible, and it will ensure Epsilon makes it difficult to withdraw in full, it will soften him up for next time.
[] Full Defense - Trying to build defenses in front of Fortress 467 has proven to be impossible. But even so, ceding the initiative on the ground and bunkering down is a valid strategy. This will rely on Dantioch winning the war above and that the defensive lines hold.
[] Continue the Fight - Continuing to try and take the Missile Battery but also defending against the two assaults Epsilon's forces are conducting will not be easy to do. However, if it is done, then the situation on the ground could improve. This does involve a lot of ifs, however, even if it does allow Dantioch to focus on the void war in full.
[] Hold Fast, Stand Firm - Holding ground but also getting a degree of support from Aurelian's fleet above, this will make it easier to hold the position on the ground and help enable offensives on the Missile Battery. However it leaves the void war in a precarious position, and Aurelian could be interdicted still.
[] Tactical Offensive - Throwing everything on the ground at the Missile Battery will sacrifice the forces on the far side of Fortress 467, but provides the best chance of seizing the battery. But considering the number of forces Epsilon has surged, there will be a massacre should you fail. Dantioch will managed the void war as he sees fit.
[] Write-in
Solarus' Position
[] Deploy Solarus in the backline where he can support with his explosives. This will see him deployed on the ground where he's relatively vulnerable, however. But if he strains himself, his recovery will take longer.
[] Have Solarus focus on providing custom armament to the void war. He'll be less effective here, but also safer. But if he strains himself, his recovery will take longer.
[] Do not deploy Solarus at all
The Warden's Walk: 16 + 20 (Astartes) + 95 (Legion Combat) + 19 (Anti-Daemon) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 20 (Teleportariums) + 5 (Forward Unto Dawn) + 20 (Omakes) + 1 (Defenses) + 20 (Legion Exchange) + 120 (Kesar) + 30 (The Primarch is Here) + 40 (Durante and Vergil) - 5 (Drone Swarms) +5 (Outnumbered) + 5 (The Khalsa) = 421
+405
Missile Battery: 40 + 80 (Infantry Frames) + 40 (Defenses) + 40 (Anti-Air) + 60 (Technology) + 30 (ECM) + 80 (Titans) + 5 (Local Supercomputers) + 20 (Armored Forces) + 40 (270) - 20 (Why is it Cold?) + 10 (Numbers) = 405
+365
The Siegelines: 31 + 20 (Astartes) + 95 (Legion Combat) + 19 (Anti-Daemon) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 20 (Teleportariums) + 20 (Omakes) + 20 (Legion Exchange) + 30 (Numbers) = 260
+229
The Probing Assaults: 10 + 80 (Infantry Frames) + 60 (Technology) + 30 (ECM) + 20 (Armored Spearhead) = 190
+180
Aurelian: 44 + 39 (Void Combat) + 20 (Iron Warriors) + 20 (Astartes) + 20 (Omakes) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 60 (The Butcher) - 20 (Chaff) = 168
+124
The Fire Ships: 40 + 60 (Technology) + 60 (Void Combat) + 10 (Ramming Speed!) = 170
+130
The Quagmire: 90 + 39 (Void Combat) + 20 (Iron Warriors) + 20 (Astartes) + 105 (Dantioch) + 30 (Vigilance) + 20 (Teleportation) + 20 (Omakes) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 50 (Khaine) - 25 (Anti-Champion) - 20 (Chaff) + 10 (Numbers) = 364
+274
My Turn: 1 + 60 (Technology) + 60 (Void Combat) + 130 (Epsilon's Command) + 40 (Flagship) + 30 (Orbital Defenses) - 10 (Lose Cruisers) - 10 (Lost Battleships) + 10 (Hammer Down) - 20 (Crit Fail) = 301
+320
The Battleship: 78 + 20 (Astartes) + 40 (Crew Complement) = 138
The Elites: 49 + 120 + 20 - 40 = 149
The Vigilance: 86 + 100 (Gloriana) + 30 (Vigilance) + 10 (Omakes) + 20 (Karcer) = 246
+160
The Flagship: 94 + 120 (Flagship) + 60 (Technology) = 274
+180
The Rescue: 76 + 200 (Assassins) = 276
Defenses: 14 + 200 (Various Defenses) = 214
+405
Missile Battery: 40 + 80 (Infantry Frames) + 40 (Defenses) + 40 (Anti-Air) + 60 (Technology) + 30 (ECM) + 80 (Titans) + 5 (Local Supercomputers) + 20 (Armored Forces) + 40 (270) - 20 (Why is it Cold?) + 10 (Numbers) = 405
+365
The Siegelines: 31 + 20 (Astartes) + 95 (Legion Combat) + 19 (Anti-Daemon) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 20 (Teleportariums) + 20 (Omakes) + 20 (Legion Exchange) + 30 (Numbers) = 260
+229
The Probing Assaults: 10 + 80 (Infantry Frames) + 60 (Technology) + 30 (ECM) + 20 (Armored Spearhead) = 190
+180
Aurelian: 44 + 39 (Void Combat) + 20 (Iron Warriors) + 20 (Astartes) + 20 (Omakes) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 60 (The Butcher) - 20 (Chaff) = 168
+124
The Fire Ships: 40 + 60 (Technology) + 60 (Void Combat) + 10 (Ramming Speed!) = 170
+130
The Quagmire: 90 + 39 (Void Combat) + 20 (Iron Warriors) + 20 (Astartes) + 105 (Dantioch) + 30 (Vigilance) + 20 (Teleportation) + 20 (Omakes) + 5 (Blood of Our Brothers) + 50 (Khaine) - 25 (Anti-Champion) - 20 (Chaff) + 10 (Numbers) = 364
+274
My Turn: 1 + 60 (Technology) + 60 (Void Combat) + 130 (Epsilon's Command) + 40 (Flagship) + 30 (Orbital Defenses) - 10 (Lose Cruisers) - 10 (Lost Battleships) + 10 (Hammer Down) - 20 (Crit Fail) = 301
+320
The Battleship: 78 + 20 (Astartes) + 40 (Crew Complement) = 138
The Elites: 49 + 120 + 20 - 40 = 149
The Vigilance: 86 + 100 (Gloriana) + 30 (Vigilance) + 10 (Omakes) + 20 (Karcer) = 246
+160
The Flagship: 94 + 120 (Flagship) + 60 (Technology) = 274
+180
The Rescue: 76 + 200 (Assassins) = 276
Defenses: 14 + 200 (Various Defenses) = 214
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TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
@Daemon Hunter Assuming we do choose to stay and fight, and assuming we either do super well on the ground either on our own or with the Avatar of Khaine, what is that expected to do for the overall war if we take the missiles?
- Location
- USA
Sigh...
What a sad and pointless slog of a fight.
I almost, almost, wish we had been more rebellious against imperium rules since then we might have had a chance of working with Epsilon instead of us destroying each other.
Or that a different Primarch had this one. One more able to negotiate or do AI stuff.
Alas...
What a sad and pointless slog of a fight.
I almost, almost, wish we had been more rebellious against imperium rules since then we might have had a chance of working with Epsilon instead of us destroying each other.
Or that a different Primarch had this one. One more able to negotiate or do AI stuff.
Alas...
What a fucking pointless clusterfuck.
Unless it ends with capturing the AI and secretly gave it to Pert or Magnus this whole battle no matter the outcome is a pointless endeavor only good to waste time, lives and resources.
Fuck politics, fuck Imperium, I'm gonna vote for Full Retreat.
Unless it ends with capturing the AI and secretly gave it to Pert or Magnus this whole battle no matter the outcome is a pointless endeavor only good to waste time, lives and resources.
Fuck politics, fuck Imperium, I'm gonna vote for Full Retreat.
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- Location
- Elsewhere
That would give you enough of a foothold that you would be able to essentially dig in and ensure you have an FOB to utilize for further offensives. Additionally, due to the situation if you do manage to fortify in some way, Epsilon will have massive issues dislodging you. That being said, this would require also taking Fortress 467. Which you could write-in to try doing. It'd be a similar effect to trying to go all in on the Missile Battery, just a bit harder.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Ah, that's my mistake. I just added a moratorium. I forgot to add it in previously.
I thought it was weird that I saw no countdown.
- Location
- The Golden State
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We got Solarus, we are leaving!!!
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
Not without the Titans
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Barebones-thingie from me (may or may not be accurate) on the state of the Epsilon-354 battle:
Our side: Losses on the ground have been 19k Astartes casualties, 181 billion Imperial Army casualties (with a decent chunk being deserters), 25% of the Titan Legion are at the Missile Battery, 50% are too damaged to fight.
This leaves 68k Astartes, 19 billion Imperial Army soldiers (15% of which are members of the elite Solar Auxilia) and 25% of the Titan Legion (able to provide a +10 to a +20 bonus). Morale is not good, but not on the brink of collapse.
Naval-wise we had a bonus of +274, and due to the enemy's nat 1 their bonus was lowered to a +290 from a +320. The Vigilance has its shields shot down, will take around two more 'phases' to come back.
In two phases Solarus will also be able to act after his wounds are treated, as otherwise he'll only provide a +5 right now and being deployed will tax his health to the point recovery will take longer.
If we survive for twelve phases in total, we will get another 200 billion Imperial Army soldiers as reinforcement which should ensure victory if we haven't lost or won already.
Heroes/Notable units: Dantioch (Hero focused on commanding the overall void front, is being targeted for assassination by the assassin force we have).
Aurelian (Proto-Hero that acts as bloody commander with a minor focus on void-related combat). Durante and Vergil (Dual hero units heavily focused on traversal, disengagement and minorly in stealth vs Chaos foes.)
Karcer Urial (leader of the Imperial Army forces in the Maelstrom, acting as captain for the Vigilance).
Kesar Dorlin (still weakened Primarch of the Eleventh Legion, is able to use psychic powers to a relatively minor degree).
Avatar of Khaine (acting as an exceptional warrior).
Execution Force of Assassins (various notable figures from different Assassin temples, most of which were injured to rescue Solarus and will need time to recover).
Solarus (Hero of the Eleventh Legion, best explosive expert of the Eternal Wardens).
Epsilon's side: Epsilon itself acts as a powerful commander.
53 billion infantry drones, with various other drones and mechanical forces supporting them.
An elite group that halves the bonus of a single champion unit they face.
A force of Knights.
An advanced Titan Legion.
A planet's worth of very advanced infrastructure including orbital facilities.
An exceptionally strong fleet with a flagship that slightly outmatches the Eternal Warden's Vigilance Gloriana battleship.
Various notable locations (Communications Facility, Strategic Missile Battery etc. etc.)
Project Turing units (injured Imperial Army captives given the choice for digital uploading, and then a choice to join the battle on Epsilon's side).
---
Victories achieved: Primary Sensor Node destroyed, leaving Epsilon without their all-seeing capability for ground combat (which is partly what decimated our Titan Legion). Solarus recovered, who is an exceptional and stories Hero unit of the Eternal Wardens. Relatively massive win against an overwhelming naval force as of the latest update.
---
I say we should spend at least one more turn to engage with this compliance, going for the 'Continue the Fight' option, and see where things go from there. If we achieve victory there, and don't lose the naval front, we can maybe get through this.
If we leave, Epsilon will freely be able to either heavily reinforce themself and build up forces. To even reach this point we used an one-use superweapon from Primarch Vulkan, an Eldar favour to gain an Avatar of Khaine and a very lucky set of rolls from the assassins to recover Solarus. Also, this one time omake reward:
(Sidenote, losing 40k+ Astartes in a single compliance will finally award Kesar Dorlin a long awaited trait. His own version of something his brother Lion El'Jonson was trying to get and grinded for during the Rangdan Xenocides:
Coming back to face with Oriacarius, Doom Slayer and perhaps the Cherished Son (second Gloriana battleship) along with research done and new Runes researched could possibly ensure victory but it would be very bloody and Epsilon could advance to a much larger extent. Or we could ignore the AI.
Leaving would also leave 500 Eternal Wardens captives trapped longer, 85 million Imperial Army captives (with another 15 million who defected from the Imperium and is seeking asylum, and a full quarter of the Legio Deicio Titan Legion. Dantioch and the 25k Iron Warriors sent with him would also not be here. The Avatar of Khaine is certainly not coming back without another favour to the Eldar paid.
Epsilon-354 could also, instead of reinforcing their position... just leave. Similar to what happened to the Eldar from the Lahrens planet.
However, I am not against withdrawing now. I just recommend we try one last attempt, and if this fails then we pull out immediately.
Our side: Losses on the ground have been 19k Astartes casualties, 181 billion Imperial Army casualties (with a decent chunk being deserters), 25% of the Titan Legion are at the Missile Battery, 50% are too damaged to fight.
This leaves 68k Astartes, 19 billion Imperial Army soldiers (15% of which are members of the elite Solar Auxilia) and 25% of the Titan Legion (able to provide a +10 to a +20 bonus). Morale is not good, but not on the brink of collapse.
Naval-wise we had a bonus of +274, and due to the enemy's nat 1 their bonus was lowered to a +290 from a +320. The Vigilance has its shields shot down, will take around two more 'phases' to come back.
In two phases Solarus will also be able to act after his wounds are treated, as otherwise he'll only provide a +5 right now and being deployed will tax his health to the point recovery will take longer.
If we survive for twelve phases in total, we will get another 200 billion Imperial Army soldiers as reinforcement which should ensure victory if we haven't lost or won already.
Heroes/Notable units: Dantioch (Hero focused on commanding the overall void front, is being targeted for assassination by the assassin force we have).
Aurelian (Proto-Hero that acts as bloody commander with a minor focus on void-related combat). Durante and Vergil (Dual hero units heavily focused on traversal, disengagement and minorly in stealth vs Chaos foes.)
Karcer Urial (leader of the Imperial Army forces in the Maelstrom, acting as captain for the Vigilance).
Kesar Dorlin (still weakened Primarch of the Eleventh Legion, is able to use psychic powers to a relatively minor degree).
Avatar of Khaine (acting as an exceptional warrior).
Execution Force of Assassins (various notable figures from different Assassin temples, most of which were injured to rescue Solarus and will need time to recover).
Solarus (Hero of the Eleventh Legion, best explosive expert of the Eternal Wardens).
Epsilon's side: Epsilon itself acts as a powerful commander.
53 billion infantry drones, with various other drones and mechanical forces supporting them.
An elite group that halves the bonus of a single champion unit they face.
A force of Knights.
An advanced Titan Legion.
A planet's worth of very advanced infrastructure including orbital facilities.
An exceptionally strong fleet with a flagship that slightly outmatches the Eternal Warden's Vigilance Gloriana battleship.
Various notable locations (Communications Facility, Strategic Missile Battery etc. etc.)
Project Turing units (injured Imperial Army captives given the choice for digital uploading, and then a choice to join the battle on Epsilon's side).
---
Victories achieved: Primary Sensor Node destroyed, leaving Epsilon without their all-seeing capability for ground combat (which is partly what decimated our Titan Legion). Solarus recovered, who is an exceptional and stories Hero unit of the Eternal Wardens. Relatively massive win against an overwhelming naval force as of the latest update.
---
I say we should spend at least one more turn to engage with this compliance, going for the 'Continue the Fight' option, and see where things go from there. If we achieve victory there, and don't lose the naval front, we can maybe get through this.
If we leave, Epsilon will freely be able to either heavily reinforce themself and build up forces. To even reach this point we used an one-use superweapon from Primarch Vulkan, an Eldar favour to gain an Avatar of Khaine and a very lucky set of rolls from the assassins to recover Solarus. Also, this one time omake reward:
(Sidenote, losing 40k+ Astartes in a single compliance will finally award Kesar Dorlin a long awaited trait. His own version of something his brother Lion El'Jonson was trying to get and grinded for during the Rangdan Xenocides:
This trait means that if you roll is under 40 of whatever an enemy rolled, say you rolled a 120 but they rolled a 230 it's mechanically treated as a roll of 120 vs a roll of 160 and such. I think you can see some potential worth in such a thing. The reason Kesar is in the running to get this trait is, uh, all the tremendous losses suffered on single compliances like Gehenna, Cadia, Aleph, etc. etc.)
Coming back to face with Oriacarius, Doom Slayer and perhaps the Cherished Son (second Gloriana battleship) along with research done and new Runes researched could possibly ensure victory but it would be very bloody and Epsilon could advance to a much larger extent. Or we could ignore the AI.
Leaving would also leave 500 Eternal Wardens captives trapped longer, 85 million Imperial Army captives (with another 15 million who defected from the Imperium and is seeking asylum, and a full quarter of the Legio Deicio Titan Legion. Dantioch and the 25k Iron Warriors sent with him would also not be here. The Avatar of Khaine is certainly not coming back without another favour to the Eldar paid.
Epsilon-354 could also, instead of reinforcing their position... just leave. Similar to what happened to the Eldar from the Lahrens planet.
However, I am not against withdrawing now. I just recommend we try one last attempt, and if this fails then we pull out immediately.
