The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
[X] Plan: Let Me Solo Her.
[X] Plan: Let Me Solo Her.
- Location
- Bronx new york
[X] Plan: Let Me Solo Her.
Yes Let's Go Kesar Killing Daemons no Politics no family drama Just good old Fashion Violence
Yes Let's Go Kesar Killing Daemons no Politics no family drama Just good old Fashion Violence
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- Location
- Elsewhere
That depends on how the Imperium reacts to Kesar's arrival. While Kesar could beat Abbaddon and his forces, his main issue would just be the Imperium's inherent nature acting against its best interests and likely attacking Kesar and the Wardens with him. It doesn't help that Dantioch and the Iron Warriors are with him.
In other news, it seems that Kesar will in fact be attempting to solo a daemonworld. This should be interesting.
Too bad as of 40k Dantioch's former legion is definitely full on traitor and would not be look on kindly since while Dantioch is a hero, no doubt his real origin is scrubbed and rewritten.
Considering how absurdly powerful Kesar and his Kesar-ness is those idiotic Imps are in for an ASS KICKING this is the same guy who escalate everything.
December 5th, 2024 Omake Rewards
- Location
- Elsewhere
Alright omakes, first up we have a main threadmark update made by Ruirk. It's a great section and very well written overall. It conveyed everything I had hoped for and saved me quite a bit of time. As for your reward:
[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +/-10 to Dark Eldar rolls for the turn
[] Ask the GM a question and they shall answer (subject to veto)
Up next we have Ferrus and Fulgrim meeting Kesar leading to a rather interesting conversation on what they have been up to. I certainly enjoyed reading Kesar's reaction to the reason for why the Goliath Protocol was called. As for your reward:
[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] Horus and Perturabo receive an extra action next turn for a social between themselves
[] Fulgrim and Ferrus receive an extra action next turn for a social between themselves
Here we have an excellent omake covering the Woedica and what's to come. It's very well written and I do like the part with Lockcraft covering what could go wrong with it as well as the complications. As for your reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Woedica's birth rolls
[] Increased knowledge gained from Woedica's birth
And up next we have a very fun omake on how Cegorach delayed the Solar Auxilia sent to interfere with the Woedica. It's a very fun idea and I do enjoy the details within it. As for your reward, that was already given:
[X] Reduced chance of interference from third parties for the birth of the Woedica
Then we have an excllent omake covering Kesar's battle with a Shard of Khaine. I honestly love just how petty Khaine is in this as well as the lead up to the fight itself. As for your reward:
[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Kesar's rolls for the turn
[] Slightly increased trait gain for Kesar this turn
And here we have an excellent omake covering Kesar and Guilliman's introduction to Harlequin plays from the back end. It's very well written and I do love the metaphors sprinkled throughout. As for your reward:
[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] Slightly increased trait gain for Kesar this turn
[] Reduced chance of death for Kesar this turn
Then we have a fun omake covering a security incident for Ravenloft. It's a very nicely written omake and I do love the timeline shown in it on what transpired. As for your reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Ravenloft's secondary research for the turn ([ERROR]s and Containment)
[] Slightly reduced death rate for Ravenloft operatives this turn
Up next we have a very nice omake covering the gathering of force for the Port. I do like the look at the War Witch showing up as well as some of the internal issues present. As for your reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM"s choice
[] +10 to combat rolls for the Port
[] Slightly reduced chance of death for heroes at the Port
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[] Ask the GM a question and they shall answer (subject to veto)
Question: Tell us any and all secrets on World of Tormented Martyrs 03-02-15, the Daemworld that Kesar is expected to try and solo.
[] Fulgrim and Ferrus receive an extra action next turn for a social between themselves
[] +10 to Woedica's birth rolls
[] +10 to Ravenloft's secondary research for the turn ([ERROR]s and Containment)
[] Slightly reduced chance of death for heroes at the Port
[] Reduced chance of death for Kesar this turn
Question: Tell us any and all secrets on World of Tormented Martyrs 03-02-15, the Daemworld that Kesar is expected to try and solo.
[] Fulgrim and Ferrus receive an extra action next turn for a social between themselves
[] +10 to Woedica's birth rolls
[] +10 to Ravenloft's secondary research for the turn ([ERROR]s and Containment)
[] Slightly reduced chance of death for heroes at the Port
[] Reduced chance of death for Kesar this turn
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- Location
- Elsewhere
There's a Favored of Slaanesh on the planet as well as an uncorrupted human Delta faction hero that's lying in wait for an ambush. Additionally the temples are primed for a sorcerous ritual aimed at any invading force that Kesar could cut through. After two months of fighting they'll switch to fully focusing on stalling Kesar due to Be'lakor being close enough to arrive within a year.
Funnily enough this does mean that one of the Emperor's more long term plans is possible early. Namely the recovery of a rather powerful STC (+20 combat bonus for all Imperial units) from a rather powerful daemonworld that has Be'lakor on call. Said STC is cheap enough to roll out immediately without a significant cost increase.
- Location
- Elsewhere
For this, it effectively means he's on a far stricture time limit than initially planned for. Unless he blitzes it and gets lucky, it means that he's unlikely to take it in time.
As for the win condition of Emps recovering the STC, that's remaining on the daemonworld for 5 months (3 months after the daemons switch to stalling)
Ha! Like always Kesar keeps unraveling big E's plans even when he does not know it🤣
- Location
- USA
This is the guy that can most likely kill Kesar in spite of all the anti demon buffs he has right?
Oh boy...
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
I'm glad you liked the omake. It's fun to imagine just how much Khaine, or at least pieces of their divine power, are willing to have any means available to take over as the hateful king over all if given the chance. Even working with a mon-keigh! Admittedly a rather powerful one, especially against Chaos, but still! What a great showing it was for both sides, honestly.
With all this in mind, and because it is kind of a matter of life and death if Be'lakor shows up, I'll pick the second reward, +10 to Kesar's rolls for the turn.
So, there are some additional events that were covered last night in the discord.
There was an attempt to resolve the Gamma Camp that was part of Angrons domain. Unfortunately, there were many complications.
For starters, arguments over who actually is responsible for this Gamma/proto-Delta faction result in some problems for Lhorke, as the Imperial Army doesn't want to handle it, but they also don't want the War Hounds to handle it. Leman isn't dealing with it because it's objectively not his responsibility. So while the Imperial Army asked the League for assistance, Lhorke asked the Thousand Sons detachment to render aid.
This led to a bit of a shitshow as the League mercs weren't willing to let a payday vanish but also weren't willing to fight the Thousand Sons over it, which caused a further delay. During this the Alliance Military Council for Salvation sent a rescue force for these soldiers. This then led to some extremely fast-paced negotiations between the League, Thousand Sons, and the Imperial Army.
These negotiations broke down, and the Thousand Sons just went "fuck it" and left due to the IA not wanting them there. The League then asked for increased payment on their contract due to the involvement of AMSAL. Rather than a well-motivated infantry unit, they instead have a well-motivated combined arms army to face off against which now had limited naval support.
At this point, the Imperial Army leadership for this shitshow said, "Fuck all of this" and promptly used mass ortillery and bioweapons against the rebels and AMSAL contingent. It should be noted that Leman prohibited such tactics and was incredibly angry upon finding out about this. It does kill off most of this Delta/Gamma Camp, even if the AMSAL personnel came out of it alive and well due to their gear and training.
The League mercs at this point fucked off due to the bad PR that it brings. The reaction to this shit is: Increase in Delta faction recruitment, Gamma faction recruitment, less support for the Imperium, and a decrease in the League's reputation in the general area. As it is, it's technically resolved in that this camp was destroyed with the remnants absorbed by AMSAL.
That and total civilian casualties. Any survivors that didn't go to AMSAL are now likely part of the Merciful Ones.
So yeah, kind of a disaster for the Imperium.
In some better news, the ME threat that Lhorke squared off against went a lot fucking better.
The opening for this is described as a substantial clash of vessels in orbit and with the ground defenses, followed by Lhorke and the War Hounds executing a high-risk drop that, if successful, will allow them to deploy all their forces inside the Legio Deicidium's defenses and against all expectations, this succeeds in large part due to the Legio not expecting such an audacious maneuver.
As a result of this drop, the War Hounds and Blood Angels with them are able to immediately engage the Legion in advantageous circumstances
During this period, Vorias is forced to withdraw after the head Princeps manages a snapshot on them. While the Legio is slowly cut down by skilled Astartes deployments. A fluid encirclement of the enemy Titans occurs, which is both good and bad. Good in that the War Hounds are able to ensure initiative. It's bad in that the Legio Deicidium seems to appreciate it. This is then followed by a siege that, if you looked at the casualties, would make one think that it was a low-intensity fight. Rather than the incredibly tense knife fight that it was with both sides conducting a metric fuck ton of constant maneuvers to ensure optimal positioning.
This positional war lasts 14 months before an extended skirmish results in a minor setback for the Imperium where the Legio is able to target a logistical node in the rear line resulting in Lex, a Ultramarine proto hero being removed from the battle due to severe injuries. The next stalemate though only lasts two weeks, which ends when Lhorke and Mkkani take a Stormbird and drop onto the Legio's head Titan.
This ends with the Princeps perishing in combat, albeit due to setting their soul on fire in an attempt at a last-minute power up using a vial of Refined Celhor. Following their death, the rest of the Legio surrenders. Which mean that the War Hounds do now have an understrength Titan Legion.
Mkani got a +10 to duels out of this. In some better news, War Hound legion numbers will be up to 75,000 next turn, although it should be noted that includes the 30,000 Blood Angels and 9,000 Ultramarines. The more important thing is that his recruitment rate is now back to 30k as it was at 10k before this turn.
There was an attempt to resolve the Gamma Camp that was part of Angrons domain. Unfortunately, there were many complications.
For starters, arguments over who actually is responsible for this Gamma/proto-Delta faction result in some problems for Lhorke, as the Imperial Army doesn't want to handle it, but they also don't want the War Hounds to handle it. Leman isn't dealing with it because it's objectively not his responsibility. So while the Imperial Army asked the League for assistance, Lhorke asked the Thousand Sons detachment to render aid.
This led to a bit of a shitshow as the League mercs weren't willing to let a payday vanish but also weren't willing to fight the Thousand Sons over it, which caused a further delay. During this the Alliance Military Council for Salvation sent a rescue force for these soldiers. This then led to some extremely fast-paced negotiations between the League, Thousand Sons, and the Imperial Army.
These negotiations broke down, and the Thousand Sons just went "fuck it" and left due to the IA not wanting them there. The League then asked for increased payment on their contract due to the involvement of AMSAL. Rather than a well-motivated infantry unit, they instead have a well-motivated combined arms army to face off against which now had limited naval support.
At this point, the Imperial Army leadership for this shitshow said, "Fuck all of this" and promptly used mass ortillery and bioweapons against the rebels and AMSAL contingent. It should be noted that Leman prohibited such tactics and was incredibly angry upon finding out about this. It does kill off most of this Delta/Gamma Camp, even if the AMSAL personnel came out of it alive and well due to their gear and training.
The League mercs at this point fucked off due to the bad PR that it brings. The reaction to this shit is: Increase in Delta faction recruitment, Gamma faction recruitment, less support for the Imperium, and a decrease in the League's reputation in the general area. As it is, it's technically resolved in that this camp was destroyed with the remnants absorbed by AMSAL.
That and total civilian casualties. Any survivors that didn't go to AMSAL are now likely part of the Merciful Ones.
So yeah, kind of a disaster for the Imperium.
In some better news, the ME threat that Lhorke squared off against went a lot fucking better.
The opening for this is described as a substantial clash of vessels in orbit and with the ground defenses, followed by Lhorke and the War Hounds executing a high-risk drop that, if successful, will allow them to deploy all their forces inside the Legio Deicidium's defenses and against all expectations, this succeeds in large part due to the Legio not expecting such an audacious maneuver.
As a result of this drop, the War Hounds and Blood Angels with them are able to immediately engage the Legion in advantageous circumstances
During this period, Vorias is forced to withdraw after the head Princeps manages a snapshot on them. While the Legio is slowly cut down by skilled Astartes deployments. A fluid encirclement of the enemy Titans occurs, which is both good and bad. Good in that the War Hounds are able to ensure initiative. It's bad in that the Legio Deicidium seems to appreciate it. This is then followed by a siege that, if you looked at the casualties, would make one think that it was a low-intensity fight. Rather than the incredibly tense knife fight that it was with both sides conducting a metric fuck ton of constant maneuvers to ensure optimal positioning.
This positional war lasts 14 months before an extended skirmish results in a minor setback for the Imperium where the Legio is able to target a logistical node in the rear line resulting in Lex, a Ultramarine proto hero being removed from the battle due to severe injuries. The next stalemate though only lasts two weeks, which ends when Lhorke and Mkkani take a Stormbird and drop onto the Legio's head Titan.
This ends with the Princeps perishing in combat, albeit due to setting their soul on fire in an attempt at a last-minute power up using a vial of Refined Celhor. Following their death, the rest of the Legio surrenders. Which mean that the War Hounds do now have an understrength Titan Legion.
Mkani got a +10 to duels out of this. In some better news, War Hound legion numbers will be up to 75,000 next turn, although it should be noted that includes the 30,000 Blood Angels and 9,000 Ultramarines. The more important thing is that his recruitment rate is now back to 30k as it was at 10k before this turn.
December 6th, 2024 Omake Rewards
- Location
- Elsewhere
Alright, omakes. First up we have a rather fun omake on Epitaph and Kesar having a dream about it. It's a fun omake and I do enjoy the more dream-like qualities within. As for your reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] Increased trait gain for Epitaph this turn
[] Increased trait gain for Kesar this turn
Next up we have a fun omake covering the Rune of Cure and the various details behind it. I do enjoy the perspective of it and the inspiration gained from Ahriman. As for you reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] -1 year for creating the Rune of Cure
[] +10 to rolls for the Rune of Cure
And here we have a rather fun omake covering Corvus' world to handle, and one I rather enjoyed. The fluff and lore for this was very fun to read. As for your reward, it was already rewarded:
[X] +10 to rolls for this ME
Next up we have the Rune of Knowledge with Kesar exploring the Black Library for it to a degree. It's a fun omake that covers a variety of topics and for your reward:
[] +10 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] -1 year for creating the Rune of Knowledge
[] +10 to rolls for the Rune of Knowledge
Alright, last up we have a fun social between Karcer and Kesar. I do like the various dialogue between them as well as how the reveal was shared. As for your reward:
[] +15 to a roll of the GM's choice
[] +10 to Karcer's rolls for the turn
[] Ask the GM a question and they shall answer (subject to veto)
- Location
- Elsewhere
She effectively needs a power source to do that. This can be done in a few ways, the most difficult of which would be obtaining narrative CR and managing to effectively fuel her potential with her own soul. More likely however would be something along the lines of injecting a mixture of celhor and estus particles into her. Which would have consequences for any other human. A third option would be something she'd never agree to, but is possible. That'd be effectively removing her individuality and having a god of some sort puppet her. Also becoming the Idol of a God would unlock some of her potential.
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TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
I really like making omakes on Runes. This particular one has been a long time coming, considering the other omake reward it got years ago, and I'm very looking forward to seeing Kesar finally making this one.
With that in mind, and the other reward it has, I pick the second choice, -1 year for creating the Rune of Cure.
I'm not even entirely sure what this Rune does beyond the general idea, but I'm definitely looking forward to getting this and trading a copy or two to Mars for another Knight House.
I'll take the second reward again, the -1 year for creating the Rune of Knowledge, as that seems cool.
So, something else that was rolled up a while ago was the Goliath Protocol. For context, this was born of the shitshow that followed from this make and almost resulted in a civil war breaking out. The intention was to resolve and ultimately get one side to agree to "officially" stay out of civil war. In this case, the Goliath Protocol was a 5v5, albeit in bouts of 1v1 with a best of three.
Per the agreement, each side could call upon one outsider to help.
So, we start going down the list of fights. It should be noted that no one died in the Protocol. So keep that in mind.
Fight One: Nagatami vs. Sevatar
Fight Two: Sigismund vs Abaddon
Fight Three: Ave and Lucius
Fight Four: Garviel and Eidolon
Fight Five: Thrallas and Alma
The loyalist side wins the Goliath Protocol 3 to 2. By this point, Fulgrim has Horus and Pert both sign the Khetraic Protocol, a weapons ban treaty on using WMDs, orbital bombardments, and the like against heavy population centers, Primarch homeworlds, etc without a necessary or pressing reason to do so.
A big point of contention was that the losing side is to stay out of the civil war. In this case, Pert and Horus are obligated not to support the rebel side of things, although only by honoring this agreement. Naturally, Pert and Horus aren't going to abide by that, at least privately, and Fulgrim and Ferrus know this because they'd have done the same if they lost. Neither party is stupid, nor do they not have workarounds.
In any case, the cause and reason for the Goliath Protocol are now promptly buried, and most believe that whatever slight of honor caused it has been resolved. Less than a dozen know the actual truth now, which includes Kesar.
Sigismund lost an arm and shoulder for his efforts but Fulgrim and Ferrus will be building him a custom bionic and some equipment to go along with it.
For traits gained:
Sigismund: +10 to duels before immediately being hit by a -10 to duels
Abbadon: Negates first wound in a duel. +5 to duels.
Sevatar: +5 vs "Eldar" (really Necrons)
Ave: +2 to duels
Eidolon: Negate first wound taken
Thrallas: Remove negative trait. +20 to command.
Lucius meanwhile got jack and shit. "Went from a nat 100 in the round to a 4 for trait gain rolls
"
Per the agreement, each side could call upon one outsider to help.
So, we start going down the list of fights. It should be noted that no one died in the Protocol. So keep that in mind.
Fight One: Nagatami vs. Sevatar
Fight Two: Sigismund vs Abaddon
Fight Three: Ave and Lucius
Fight Four: Garviel and Eidolon
Fight Five: Thrallas and Alma
The loyalist side wins the Goliath Protocol 3 to 2. By this point, Fulgrim has Horus and Pert both sign the Khetraic Protocol, a weapons ban treaty on using WMDs, orbital bombardments, and the like against heavy population centers, Primarch homeworlds, etc without a necessary or pressing reason to do so.
A big point of contention was that the losing side is to stay out of the civil war. In this case, Pert and Horus are obligated not to support the rebel side of things, although only by honoring this agreement. Naturally, Pert and Horus aren't going to abide by that, at least privately, and Fulgrim and Ferrus know this because they'd have done the same if they lost. Neither party is stupid, nor do they not have workarounds.
In any case, the cause and reason for the Goliath Protocol are now promptly buried, and most believe that whatever slight of honor caused it has been resolved. Less than a dozen know the actual truth now, which includes Kesar.
Sigismund lost an arm and shoulder for his efforts but Fulgrim and Ferrus will be building him a custom bionic and some equipment to go along with it.
For traits gained:
Sigismund: +10 to duels before immediately being hit by a -10 to duels
Abbadon: Negates first wound in a duel. +5 to duels.
Sevatar: +5 vs "Eldar" (really Necrons)
Ave: +2 to duels
Eidolon: Negate first wound taken
Thrallas: Remove negative trait. +20 to command.
Lucius meanwhile got jack and shit. "Went from a nat 100 in the round to a 4 for trait gain rolls
"
Flashpoints: Post-Consolidation War III
Flashpoints: Post-Consolidation War III
What did I miss…?
Roboute Guilliman made it a point to stay informed, priding himself on keeping up with the Imperium's ever-shifting tides and fortunes. These days, it seemed more and more likely that some other apocalyptic event was on the horizon, so staying on top of events seemed reasonable.
To help, Roboute created and maintained a dedicated force of clerks and adepts he called the Divisio Praevisorum. Their sole purpose was to track and process the constant stream of messages coming to and from his central command, whether in the Realm of Ultramar or out on a campaign.
In that sense, the Praevisorum was to sift through the flood of inbound reports and dispatches, distilling them into concise summaries that could be given to Roboute, the Tetrarchs, and the Chapter Masters.
Under typical conditions, the system worked in layered stages. Lesser reports were filtered through junior clerks and only escalated if they contained critical information, while messages from key sectors and battlefield updates were channeled directly to adept overseers who condensed them into actionable briefs. To keep up, they operated almost in shifts around the clock—teams dedicated to updates from distinct systems, be it logistics, changes in policy, or recent developments among his brother's domains.
All easier said than done. Especially when away from most Imperial lines for so long. Even so, Roboute ordered the Praevisorum to continue their duty.
During the Consolidation War, this finely tuned system faltered under the sheer strain of battlefront chaos, warp travel, and communication complications, and the general length of time it took to confirm the validity of the news. Roboute demanded precision, not simply for his understanding but to allow him to anticipate future disasters or if a civil war had finally broken out in the Imperium.
Perhaps Roboute was being a bit unfair to the Praevisorum. He had put them in an enviable position, but his focus, along with most of his command staff, was solely on the war and waging it. Did he prefer this? No, but it had to be done. Everything simply had to be cataloged and filed away for later.
All Roboute could do now was hope that the galaxy hadn't unraveled in his absence. The war had lasted only four years—a blink in the grand timeline of the Great Crusade—but chaos took root in that brief span. Surely, nothing catastrophic had happened while his focus had been consumed elsewhere?
"There are at least nine priority messages, some dated as far back as six years ago," Dominus Adrel Quintus explained, his tone crisp and efficient as he addressed the towering figure of the Primarch. "In addition, we have 23 secondary reports awaiting your review, 105 tertiary scripts, and 528 flagged updates that require your signature, Lord Guilliman."
Guilliman's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind already calculating the scale of the backlog. "Six years? Some of these messages were sent before the war even began?"
"Yes, my Lord," Quintus confirmed, a faint trace of unease slipping through his usually composed demeanor. "The delays appear to stem from disruptions in astropathic relays during the campaign. Many messages were either lost in transit or heavily delayed as resources were diverted to support war efforts. It has taken the Praevisorum considerable time to reassemble even this portion of what was missed."
That was the inherent flaw in Guilliman's approach to this war: his unwavering focus on the conflict left little room for unrelated matters. He had delegated nearly everything outside the theater of war, trusting his system to manage itself. The cost of that singular focus was becoming apparent as the war ended.
"We need to prioritize the nine most critical missives," Guilliman said firmly. "I'll review the secondary and tertiary reports afterward. The rest can wait."
"As you command, Lord Guilliman," Quintus replied, giving a sharp nod before retrieving a secured briefcase. With precise movements, he unlocked it and removed the first report. "This is the most recent request for aid from your brother, Leman Russ." He handed the document to Guilliman, watching intently as the Primarch accepted it.
Roboute's eyes narrowed. What could the Wolf King possibly need from him? "When did we receive this?" he asked, scanning the report's contents.
"Two months ago," Quintus replied. "It arrived via courier vessel from the Desolation regions."
Guilliman's grip on the parchment tightened ever so slightly. It was never good news when the Desolation was involved. That cursed expanse was where the Imperium's woes had first spiraled out of control. It wasn't just a scar on the galaxy but a festering wound, bleeding resources, manpower, and hope.
The Desolation had consumed the lives of quadrillions of Imperial citizens, left thousands of worlds in ruin, and outright destroyed hundreds more. And now, it remained an insatiable and blood-soaked void, devouring money, materials, and lives at an unsustainable rate.
As Roboute read through his brother's message, it became clear that Russ had underestimated the scale and gravity of the turmoil within the Desolation. The Wolf Lord described it as a chaotic, fractured region where conventional warfare was wasteful and counterproductive.
What truly surprised Guilliman, however, was Russ's admission that he sought a more peaceful resolution—an approach that seemed at odds with his brother's reputation for ferocity. It appeared that Leman had no design to waste any more resources trying to bring it into true compliance.
His brother wrote that the problems were as vast as the Desolation itself. The survivors and scattered citizens of the region, battered by endless strife, had little trust in outsiders. These "New Delta Factions," as the Imperial Army called them, were hardened by years of conflict and entirely unwilling to entertain diplomacy or peaceful resolutions.
True to his nature, Russ was ready to fight them if necessary, but his report reflected a keen understanding of the futility of such action. Even if he won every battle, the Desolation would crumble again as soon as his forces withdrew. The region's instability wasn't just a military problem but systemic. The worlds and people of the Desolation had no hope or inclination to rejoin the Imperium.
If anyone could salvage this situation, it would require a more deft and considering hand to decide on its fate. Leman's appeal was both pragmatic and uncharacteristically introspective. He acknowledged that the only viable solution to the Desolation's woes was a sustainable, lasting peace.
He admitted that this would require more than martial prowess; it demanded a comprehensive strategy to rebuild governance, trade networks, security, and the general welfare of the people. And for that, the Wolf Lord sought the expertise of the Lord of Ultramar. The request was humbling and significant, for it wasn't often that Leman turned to Roboute for aid—let alone for guidance in matters of statecraft and rebuilding.
If Leman recognized that the might of the Vlka Fenryka wasn't enough to fix the Desolation, then the situation was worse than Guilliman had feared.
The more Roboute read, the more the report revealed something deeply troubling—Mortarion and his Death Guard were active in the Desolation, and, even worse, they outright refused to heed Terra's commands.
Leman had admitted the full gravity of his mission: he was tasked with bringing Mortarion and his legion to heel. If the Lord of Death continued to defy orders, Russ and his Vlka Fenryka were authorized to "terminate the threat" posed by the Death Guard.
Roboute's hands tightened on the parchment. So this is it, he thought grimly. A civil war, at least within the Desolation.
Mortarion's rebellion was madness. Guilliman could scarcely imagine what had driven his brother to such extremes. Worse still, Leman's mission wasn't his alone—he was reportedly joined by elements of the Custodes and even the Dark Angels. That meant the decree to apprehend or eliminate Mortarion had come directly from the Emperor himself. Either the Lord of Death would face Terra's justice in chains, or his rebellion would end with the Death Guard buried in the ashes of the Desolation.
The implications were staggering. Guilliman had seen the cost of conflict between brothers before. He didn't need to be told how this would end or the scars it would leave across the Imperium. And this? This was just the first message.
"What else came through?" Roboute asked, his voice steady but his mind racing. He needed to process the full scope of events before prioritizing his attention.
Dominus Quintus stepped forward with another sealed report. "This one is marked as a priority, Lord Guilliman. It comes from your brother, Lord Corvus Corax."
Roboute raised an eyebrow. Corvus had effectively gone dark before the Consolidation War, claiming he had uncovered something vital but requiring time to confirm it. Guilliman, trusting his brother's judgment, hadn't pressed him for answers.
Breaking the seal, Roboute began to read. As his eyes scanned the parchment, his stomach sank. It appeared that Corvus had been "recruited" by his Drukhari consort to aid in reclaiming something called Port Kelthuanesh. Moreover, it wasn't just a personal endeavor—much of the Raven Guard legion had been drawn into this venture.
If they emerged victorious, Roboute knew it was only a matter of time before the Eldar, whether the Drukhari or their craftworld kin, made their presence known. In other words, he had no idea what this could ultimately entail.
Setting the report aside with a sigh, Roboute rubbed his temples. Two messages in, and already the weight of impending disaster loomed. "Two down, and it already feels like I'm staring into the abyss. Give me the next one," he said, his tone carrying an edge of dread.
Quintus hesitated, his expression twisting into a grimace. "This one comes from Macragge, my lord. There's been… an incident. Unfortunate and rather widespread."
Roboute's jaw tightened. "How positively reassuring," he muttered with a hint of sarcasm, his worry only deepening. Uncomfortable incidents on Macragge rarely boded well.
He nearly snatched the report from Quintus' hands, flipping it open with practiced efficiency. His eyes scanned the first few lines, then the next. By the time he finished the opening paragraph, his composure faltered. If it were possible, his eyes might've leaped from their sockets.
"How..." Roboute's voice trailed off, laden with fury and confusion, the words failing him. His grip on the parchment tightened, the material crinkling faintly under the force of his hand.
Someone had not only managed to breach Macragge's planetary security but had also unleashed a deluge of broadcasts filled with incendiary content—revelations about the Emperor, humanity's gods, and the supposed lies underpinning the Imperium itself. Enough damning evidence would eventually put the Realm of Ultramar under intense scrutiny, especially with the level of chaos that undoubtedly followed such an event.
But it didn't end there. The damage was compounded by the unintentional efficiency of his own communications system. Designed to disseminate critical information swiftly from Macragge, it had now become the very vehicle that ensured this information spread far and wide.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he closed the report, fury simmering just beneath the surface. The galaxy didn't need any of this, especially given the veracity of what was reported. The people were calling the Masquerades End.
"Who is responsible for this?" Guilliman's voice cut through the room like a blade, colder than the void itself.
Quintus visibly hesitated before replying, "Lord General Arabella Blair. Her name was directly mentioned in the M-TALK broadcast, my lord. Reports indicate that she and her forces have openly declared against the Emperor and the Imperium of Man."
Guilliman's expression hardened further, though it seemed impossible for him to look grimmer. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that carried both anger and exasperation. "Of course she did," he muttered, half to himself.
He straightened, his imposing frame radiating authority and an undercurrent of barely restrained fury. "I want all reports on this incident and her forces sent to my desk immediately," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Quintus bowed his head in acknowledgment. "At once, Lord Guilliman. I will have the Praevisorum prioritize the search for actionable intelligence. There is, however, some good news from this. Seneschal Tarasha and Legatus Baelsar reduced most of the political fallout from this event on Macragge and much of the Realm of Ultramar."
Quintus inclined his head respectfully. "At once, Lord Guilliman. I will have the Praevisorum prioritize the search for actionable intelligence. There is, however, a glimmer of positive news. Seneschal Tarasha Euten and Legatus Aldrich Baelsar have significantly mitigated the political fallout from the broadcast across Macragge and much of the Realm of Ultramar."
Roboute gave a slow nod. "Good. But how exactly did they achieve this? If their methods are that effective, we may be able to replicate them across the wider Imperium."
Quintus consulted a document. "They allowed religious freedoms to an extent, but with strict oversight and taxation. This approach appears to have placated most of the populace. Additionally, there's... an intriguing development the Praevisorum recently uncovered, dated three weeks ago."
Roboute raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Quintus adjusted his tone, sensing this might warrant a shift in gravity. "It appears the Seneschal and Legatus are engaged to be married. Although they've delayed the ceremony until your return, reports indicate hundreds of invitations have already been issued to key figures and factions. The announcement has also reignited discussions about certain state matters within the Realm."
Roboute blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Wait. Repeat that first part."
Quintus hesitated, puzzled by the reaction. "The marriage, sire?"
"Yes... that." The Primarch's expression flickered between disbelief and faint horror. "Who, precisely, is getting married?"
"Seneschal Tarasha Euten and Legatus Aldrich Baelsar," Quintus repeated, tilting his head slightly. "Sire, are you well? You look rather pale."
Three Headed Master…
A transition of power within the Imperium was a paradoxical process—simultaneously delicate in its orchestration and blunt in its execution. For most worlds brought into compliance, it was a mixture of upheaval and adaptation. Marius Gage, a seasoned veteran of the Imperium's expansion, had overseen the compliance of nearly 200 worlds. Each time, the process left behind a trail of lingering resentment among the subdued populace and the civilian transitional authorities tasked with maintaining order.
The Tixburians were a unique case. Their resentment toward the Imperium of Man was palpable—undeniable, even—but hadn't manifested into violence or disobedience. There was no armed resistance, no rebellious undercurrent threatening to boil over.
Instead, the Tixburians appeared almost eager to restore order to their world and rebuild their civilization with the Imperium's assistance. This attitude was likely due, in no small part, to the Primarch's unprecedented decision to pardon the entire Consolidation government. It was a bold move that had undoubtedly eased tensions and smoothed the path toward integration.
But it was also yet another controversial decision by Guilliman. Another likely point of contention against him.
Officially, the Imperium had every right to purge those who had actively and openly resisted compliance. Allowing all members of the Consolidation government to survive—even Chairman Yung—could be perceived as a weakness, potentially inspiring further discontent and fueling anti-imperial sentiment.
Some among the Imperial Army and even the legions felt that the Primarch was being too lenient, although such words were whispered privately in officer quarters or out in the field more than anything. Guilliman heard and promptly ignored such talk.
Marius, however, understood the Primarch's reasoning. Guilliman prioritized establishing a lasting, productive peace over exacting retribution. By pardoning the Consolidation leadership, he ensured that Tixburi could quickly stabilize and begin contributing to the Imperium, sparing himself the need to micromanage the transition.
While some resented this decision, many quietly appreciated the Primarch's restraint, especially in light of the tragedies that had befallen both the Imperial diplomats and the Ultramarine delegation during earlier attempts at negotiation. It was, before all else, a wise decision.
Guilliman's had to forgo retribution. Besides, if the Tixburians were willing to cooperate, the Imperium would seize the opportunity to move forward. There was, after all, still much work to be done in the coming years.
With this cooperation came the time for the Imperium to decide how to manage and govern Tixburi. Yet even this matter proved more complex than expected. Guilliman, alongside Ferrus Manus and Fulgrim, concluded that laying the foundation for any future governor was necessary as the last thing anyone wanted was the governor attempting to make sweeping changes right from the start.
Instead, they resolved to establish a triarchy, a shared system of governance that balanced Imperial oversight with the unique needs of the Tixburian people. Marius had been assigned to establish this triarchy, which meant he would help the three picks.
The Primarchs had already decided on who would be part of this. Guilliman had already appointed and announced that Captain Erython Cassidian of the 2nd Chapter would be the first among equals in the triarchy.
If Marius were completely honest, Erython would have also been his first choice. A scholar at heart, Erython possessed a deep appreciation for Ultramarian governance and its principles. His strategic mind and leadership capabilities were exemplary, making him well-suited to oversee a nation. However, Erython was an unremarkable combatant—more comfortable managing infrastructure and policy than leading his brothers into battle. He was the kind of Marine whose talents lay firmly in administration rather than warfare.
Then there was the Iron Hands' candidate, Thalvax Ferrum, who was selected by the council of the Iron Fathers. Thalvax embodied the grim and stoic nature of his Legion. With extensive bionic augmentations and an unyielding reliance on cold logic, he could be an intimidating presence. Yet, beneath the layers of metal and relentless pragmatism, Marius had glimpsed a glimmer of humanity—a grudging compassion for those under his command. Thalvax was, in many ways, a paradox: a man who wielded reason as a weapon but retained a spark of empathy, no matter how deeply buried.
Finally, Captain Saul Tarvitz was chosen by the Emperor's Children. A rising star of the 3rd Legion and hailed as one of the heroes of the Consolidation War, Tarvitz was widely admired. His charisma and battlefield valor had earned him a reputation as a symbol of hope and resilience. Even Marius, a pragmatist to the core, had to admit that Saul Tarvitz had the look of a hero—a quality that made him the natural choice to serve as the public face of the triarchy.
It sufficed to say that they were a solid group. But now was the time to prepare them for the duty ahead.
Marius had summoned all three to meet him in one of the officer rooms within the still-under-construction Governor's Palace, located at the heart of the Tixburian capital. This meeting was not just a briefing; it was the first time the triarchy would meet one another face-to-face.
When the initial introductions were exchanged, Marius observed the dynamic forming among the three Astartes. Each carried themselves with the bearing of a seasoned leader, and all seemed willing to cooperate. However, it was clear that the absence of shared brotherhood left a subtle gap in their interactions.
Still, they were Astartes. Erython offered measured words, speaking with a calm precision befitting a son of Ultramar. Thalvax Ferrum listened intently, his gaze betraying no emotion as he processed every detail methodically. Saul Tarvitz bridged the silence with geniality, his natural charm filling the room.
Despite the differences in their backgrounds and temperaments, Marius could sense a foundation being laid. It would be enough for now.
"Brothers," Marius began, his tone steady and authoritative. "I believe it prudent to proceed. You are already aware of the scope of your appointments, so we can forgo exhaustive questioning. For record-keeping purposes, let me clarify: each of you will oversee a distinct aspect of governance. Erython will ensure the Tixburians remain focused, Thalvax shall keep them occupied, and Tarvitz will maintain their loyalty. These are the triarchy's primary functions until the arrival of the appointed governor."
The three Astartes listened intently, their expressions unreadable. Saul Tarvitz, however, seemed particularly intrigued by one detail. "Has an appointee for the governor's position been selected yet?" he asked, his tone probing.
"It has," Marius confirmed with a nod. "Sifiso V of the Karnori has been chosen."
Saul and Thalvax exchanged a brief glance, the name unfamiliar to them. Erython, however, stiffened slightly, recognition flashing across his face. "The heir to their little empire? He's barely a colonel in the Imperial Army," Erython remarked, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and incredulity.
Marius met Erython's gaze evenly. "That is correct. Heir or not, Sifiso has proven himself capable of leadership, but the Primarch believes that he needs more experience leading a world and governing it. In part, the three of you will assist him in such matters when you have the time and inclination. Make no mistake, he has his own part to play."
"What exactly are the long-term aims of our Triarchy?" Thalvax asked, his voice rasping unnaturally due to his synthetic enhancements. "Tixburi is to aid the Imperium, but in what capacity?"
Captain Tarvitz leaned forward slightly, nodding in agreement. "Yes, I've been wondering that as well. Most of their civilization is still recovering—whether from losing resources, labor, or infrastructure. It will take time for them to get back on their feet."
Marius nodded thoughtfully. "It will indeed take time—years, if not decades. However, you three are only assigned here for five to ten years, so you will not see their complete recovery. Guilliman's expectations are clear: the Tixburians are to contribute by producing completed goods and technologies and aiding in training Imperial forces via Training Facility Eastpoint. When deemed ready, they must also deploy regiments for off-world compliances."
Erython's brows furrowed slightly, and he said, "Generous terms. Most worlds are compelled to support the Imperial Army with regiments immediately upon compliance, but the Tixburians seem to be receiving considerable leniency. I suppose having unique technologies and industries earns special dispensation."
Marius did not disagree but raised a hand to caution him. "Your observation is not incorrect, brother, but keep such thoughts to yourself. The Tixburians must not develop the impression that they can dictate terms to the Imperium. Your responsibility, along with Governor Sifiso, is to ensure they transition into loyal and productive citizens."
Thalvax spoke again, his tone grim and deliberate. "That may prove challenging. I've heard whispers of discontent among their leadership and citizenry. They question why their world failed to repel the Imperium. The Tixburians are a proud people, but pride will not shield them from the reality of what happened. Calls for change are getting louder."
Saul grimaced, "There are debates about whether certain ancient practices should be abolished or escalated entirely. Their 'MILITA' program is one such institution that has come under scrutiny."
"I've heard their plans to rebuild their orbital infrastructure are facing significant challenges," Thalvax noted, his tone measured but grim. "The Imperial Navy left nothing untouched. Even with Ultramar's support, I expect it will take centuries to restore everything to its former capacity."
Saul nodded, his expression serious. "And then there's the matter of Megablock 372." The mention of the infamous hive caused all four Astartes to grimace or frown. The obliteration of the megastructure had become a symbol of devastation for the Tixburian populace, many of whom considered it the greatest tragedy of the war.
The hive's destruction had been absolute, leaving behind an unthinkable toll. It would take a century or more to clear the rubble, not to mention the painstaking process of safely removing unexploded munitions. And beneath the ruins lay the remains of billions—defenders and attackers alike—whose bodies would continue to be unearthed for decades.
Still, Marius shook his head, redirecting the conversation. "The reconstruction of Tixburi is a generational challenge—one that won't be resolved even long after all of us are gone. Your focus must remain on stability and ensuring the planet begins contributing to the Imperium's needs. Let the Administratum worry about the centuries to come."
The enormity of the task ahead was not lost on any of them. The rebuilding efforts would stretch beyond the lifetimes of those currently involved, with Tixburi's ultimate fate likely resting in the hands of Ultramar for the foreseeable future.
Marius met the gaze of each Astartes in turn, his voice resolute. "The Triarchy's mission is clear: maintain stability, foster cooperation, and ensure progress. For now, that is all that matters. The rest will fall to the judgment of Ultramar and the Administratum."
For all the challenges ahead, Marius felt confident that the Triarchy could hold Tixburi steady long enough for it to contribute toward whatever crisis was looming ahead of them all. The road to full compliance and recovery was long, but the first steps had already been taken. Now, it was up to these three to help ensure the next person didn't stumble on them.
Who Gets to Play with it First…
Vorlan Phrast had to admit, the Tixburians were impressively industrious and endlessly creative—when they weren't griping about the Astartes. Their complaints, while frequent, weren't entirely unwarranted; their world had suffered heavily during the Compliance, and now they had to play nice with their occupiers.
Still, it was a perspective Phrast found difficult to relate to. Numeria, after all, had been saved by the Ultramarines, not subjugated by them. The heroic intervention of the XIII Legion against the Harbinger had not only secured Numeria's survival but allowed NIMROD to thrive within the Realm of Ultramar, carving out a respected niche as unique problem solvers.
If there was one thing that wasn't in short supply in this galaxy, it was problems or issues that were so unusual or dangerous that they required a more deft touch. NIMROD might not have the resources or specialists like the Mechanicum, but to Phrast, it was an organization that lacked all that dogma attached to the Martian Brotherhood.
That was why NIMROD was called to Tixburi, specifically Phrast. As the "Senior Engineer and Lead Evaluator for Heavy Mechanized Systems" in NIMROD—though he more often went by the informal title of Chief Technologist—he was an obvious choice for this assignment. His expertise is in super-heavy machines, mechanical networks, and unconventional engineering solutions.
NIMROD put his name forward to the Primarch for this mission. Not bad for the son of an auto mechanic. Despite his lofty position, Phrast retained the grounded demeanor of his upbringing. Middle-aged and rugged, he had spent much of his career in the field, earning his knowledge through hands-on experience rather than theory or endless hours at a cogitator.
Just enough brains to go with the brawn. His wife, Lydia, often teased him that his sturdy, almost stocky frame was less a product of natural build and more a consequence of constantly hauling reinforced engineering rigs. Phrast himself embraced the moniker of "working man's genius."
Phrast liked machines more than people, although that didn't stop him from getting married. It was a sign, really. His appearance reflected his practicality and preference for function over form. He still kept the same pair of magnifying goggles on his head because why would he get rid of a useful tool?
Hell, even his face bore a perpetual layer of stubble, and his attire—an armored jumpsuit laden with tools and patches—gave him the look of a foreman more than the engineer who developed seven armored vehicles for the Numerian military. He knew machines, but at NIMROD, he grew to understand war machines.
That was why Phrast found himself on Tixburi—more precisely, nearly a dozen kilometers underground in the sprawling labyrinth known as the Therim Enclaves. The Tixburians described the Enclaves as a hybrid of storage depot, armory, and archive—a colossal repository of relics and artifacts from their world's pre-Consolidation era. To any entrepreneur salvager or eager historian, it was less a facility and more a treasure trove of forgotten knowledge, its vast warehouses and chambers still mostly unexplored or lost to time.
But exploration wasn't why Phrast was here. His assignment was straightforward: assist in the analysis and repairs of the Cyclops. At least, that had been the plan. The reality was far more complicated.
Instead of tackling the Cyclops directly, Phrast and the rest of the NIMROD contingent found themselves trapped in the middle of a political and, he dared say, ideological quagmire. A power struggle between the Mechanicum and the Tixburian leadership was at the heart of the conflict.
The Mechanicum had sent a formidable delegation—three Archmagi supported by a small army of tech-priests, Auditorii, and servitors—to oversee the Cyclops's restoration. Their presence was unmistakable, and their red robes and chanting servitors contrasted with the utilitarian Tixburian engineers. Certainly, Phrast and NIMROD looked out of place here as well.
However, the Tixburians had clarified their position: unless they received explicit orders from Primarch Guilliman or the Consolidation government, the Mechanicum would not be granted access to the Cyclops. And if not them, the Imperial Army could decide.
Caught in the crossfire, the Imperial Army was tasked with arbitrating the dispute. This, too, however, had become a bureaucratic nightmare. Colonel Rackman, the officer ostensibly in charge, was frequently off-world, leaving the matter in the hands of his subordinates.
Unfortunately, they were no more unified in their decisions than the factions they were supposed to mediate. Some leaned toward siding with the Mechanicum, citing their expertise, while others believed the Tixburians had more experience with the Cyclops.
The result was a standstill. The Cyclops remained inert, and ongoing disputes delayed its full restoration. However, tertiary repairs and scans were still underway. NIMROD had been granted special dispensation to examine the outer layers and systems, but only under strict conditions set by the Tixburians: any significant discoveries or breakthroughs would require the inclusion of a Tixburian team.
Phrast had no objections to this arrangement. He valued collaboration, even if it came with strings attached. Yet, the situation was undeniably frustrating.
Politics had a knack for derailing engineering projects, and while Phrast had seen his fair share of bureaucratic delays, this particular deadlock seemed especially exasperating. During the height of the Harbinger Crisis, it felt like no delays or red tape were stopping NIMROD from carrying out their desperate mission to save their world.
Yet one side was trying to access a new toy while the other was trying to keep it to themselves for as long as possible before being forced to share it. Even with the dispensation, it took over two weeks before Phrast and the NIMROD team were allowed direct access to the Cyclops.
Then, the work finally began; Phrast and his team approached the machine with professional rigor and quiet awe.
After about ten weeks of intense examination and initial repair efforts, the Cyclops proved to be everything Phrast had hoped for—and more. The superheavy war engine was a marvel of ancient design, its craftsmanship reflecting an era long since passed from the galaxy and showcasing the type of power humanity once wielded.
But as they delved deeper into its systems, Phrast, and his team were equally stunned by what they uncovered: signs of ancient jerry-rigging and improvisation, evident in certain sections of the Cyclops's mechanisms.
These makeshift modifications were unlike anything Phrast had encountered before. They weren't merely signs of age or decay; they were deliberate, almost desperate adjustments, clearly made thousands of years ago to keep the massive machine operational in the face of unknown challenges.
The power systems caught all their attention. The Tixburians who had piloted the Cyclops during the war commented that the Cyclops suffered from "inexplicable" fluctuations in most secondary systems, often needing two to five seconds of time to recalibrate. This had never resulted in any issue save for the power bleed.
The Tixburians and Imperials understood how it worked on paper, but this discrepancy was confusing, to say the least. A deeper examination discovered that entire sections of the power distribution system served no discernible purpose, with a baffling network of redundant connections. Power was fed through as many as twenty conduits in some areas for reasons no one could determine.
Phrast and NIMROD approached the problem with a plan to uncover this, but frustration mounted as each analysis session raised more questions than answers. Phrast, as ever, took it in stride, though even he found the distribution system's convoluted design to be an affront to his engineering sensibilities. "It's like someone gave a child a box of wires and said, 'Go wild,'" he muttered to a colleague during one particularly grueling inspection.
It was so baffling that some among the Mechanicum and Tixburians believed it had been an ancient act of sabotage, perhaps an attempt to prevent the previous owners of the Cyclops from using it again. But the real answer was something more grounded.
A few NIMROD specialists, granted permission to delve into the Therim Enclaves archives, stumbled across several ancient data links buried in the depths of the facility. The recovered information was attributed to a series of records dating back almost 6,000 years that revealed the truth.
Or rather, the Perseus, as it had been known in its prime. Among the records were scathing indictments from engineers and auditors of the era, exposing a long-forgotten scandal: the vendor responsible for the power distribution system had been paid based on the length of wire installed. The labyrinthine design, with its redundant connections and excessive complexity, was not a feature—it was a scam.
When Phrast heard the news, he laughed. How else was he to think of this? "Even the ancients weren't free of the chicanery of some military contract," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's comforting in a way, knowing some things never change. Though I'll bet whoever signed off on that got an earful—or worse—when this came to light."
Everyone was, to put it mildly, flabbergasted to know that the quasi-god machine was likely purchased as an afterthought by the original garrison on Tixburi. The thought of such powerful war machines being bought like one would have purchased a used shuttle or autovehicle also put the power that the Dark Age once wielded into perspective.
For Phrast, it added a new layer of respect for the Cyclops. Despite its dubious origins, the machine had endured for millennia and showed its strength during the war. Its power system was a testament to both ancient ingenuity and the age-old human capacity for corner-cutting. Some things never change.
---
@Daemon Hunter Finally done with this flashpoint that took way fucking longer than it needed too.
What did I miss…?
Roboute Guilliman made it a point to stay informed, priding himself on keeping up with the Imperium's ever-shifting tides and fortunes. These days, it seemed more and more likely that some other apocalyptic event was on the horizon, so staying on top of events seemed reasonable.
To help, Roboute created and maintained a dedicated force of clerks and adepts he called the Divisio Praevisorum. Their sole purpose was to track and process the constant stream of messages coming to and from his central command, whether in the Realm of Ultramar or out on a campaign.
In that sense, the Praevisorum was to sift through the flood of inbound reports and dispatches, distilling them into concise summaries that could be given to Roboute, the Tetrarchs, and the Chapter Masters.
Under typical conditions, the system worked in layered stages. Lesser reports were filtered through junior clerks and only escalated if they contained critical information, while messages from key sectors and battlefield updates were channeled directly to adept overseers who condensed them into actionable briefs. To keep up, they operated almost in shifts around the clock—teams dedicated to updates from distinct systems, be it logistics, changes in policy, or recent developments among his brother's domains.
All easier said than done. Especially when away from most Imperial lines for so long. Even so, Roboute ordered the Praevisorum to continue their duty.
During the Consolidation War, this finely tuned system faltered under the sheer strain of battlefront chaos, warp travel, and communication complications, and the general length of time it took to confirm the validity of the news. Roboute demanded precision, not simply for his understanding but to allow him to anticipate future disasters or if a civil war had finally broken out in the Imperium.
Perhaps Roboute was being a bit unfair to the Praevisorum. He had put them in an enviable position, but his focus, along with most of his command staff, was solely on the war and waging it. Did he prefer this? No, but it had to be done. Everything simply had to be cataloged and filed away for later.
All Roboute could do now was hope that the galaxy hadn't unraveled in his absence. The war had lasted only four years—a blink in the grand timeline of the Great Crusade—but chaos took root in that brief span. Surely, nothing catastrophic had happened while his focus had been consumed elsewhere?
"There are at least nine priority messages, some dated as far back as six years ago," Dominus Adrel Quintus explained, his tone crisp and efficient as he addressed the towering figure of the Primarch. "In addition, we have 23 secondary reports awaiting your review, 105 tertiary scripts, and 528 flagged updates that require your signature, Lord Guilliman."
Guilliman's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind already calculating the scale of the backlog. "Six years? Some of these messages were sent before the war even began?"
"Yes, my Lord," Quintus confirmed, a faint trace of unease slipping through his usually composed demeanor. "The delays appear to stem from disruptions in astropathic relays during the campaign. Many messages were either lost in transit or heavily delayed as resources were diverted to support war efforts. It has taken the Praevisorum considerable time to reassemble even this portion of what was missed."
That was the inherent flaw in Guilliman's approach to this war: his unwavering focus on the conflict left little room for unrelated matters. He had delegated nearly everything outside the theater of war, trusting his system to manage itself. The cost of that singular focus was becoming apparent as the war ended.
"We need to prioritize the nine most critical missives," Guilliman said firmly. "I'll review the secondary and tertiary reports afterward. The rest can wait."
"As you command, Lord Guilliman," Quintus replied, giving a sharp nod before retrieving a secured briefcase. With precise movements, he unlocked it and removed the first report. "This is the most recent request for aid from your brother, Leman Russ." He handed the document to Guilliman, watching intently as the Primarch accepted it.
Roboute's eyes narrowed. What could the Wolf King possibly need from him? "When did we receive this?" he asked, scanning the report's contents.
"Two months ago," Quintus replied. "It arrived via courier vessel from the Desolation regions."
Guilliman's grip on the parchment tightened ever so slightly. It was never good news when the Desolation was involved. That cursed expanse was where the Imperium's woes had first spiraled out of control. It wasn't just a scar on the galaxy but a festering wound, bleeding resources, manpower, and hope.
The Desolation had consumed the lives of quadrillions of Imperial citizens, left thousands of worlds in ruin, and outright destroyed hundreds more. And now, it remained an insatiable and blood-soaked void, devouring money, materials, and lives at an unsustainable rate.
As Roboute read through his brother's message, it became clear that Russ had underestimated the scale and gravity of the turmoil within the Desolation. The Wolf Lord described it as a chaotic, fractured region where conventional warfare was wasteful and counterproductive.
What truly surprised Guilliman, however, was Russ's admission that he sought a more peaceful resolution—an approach that seemed at odds with his brother's reputation for ferocity. It appeared that Leman had no design to waste any more resources trying to bring it into true compliance.
His brother wrote that the problems were as vast as the Desolation itself. The survivors and scattered citizens of the region, battered by endless strife, had little trust in outsiders. These "New Delta Factions," as the Imperial Army called them, were hardened by years of conflict and entirely unwilling to entertain diplomacy or peaceful resolutions.
True to his nature, Russ was ready to fight them if necessary, but his report reflected a keen understanding of the futility of such action. Even if he won every battle, the Desolation would crumble again as soon as his forces withdrew. The region's instability wasn't just a military problem but systemic. The worlds and people of the Desolation had no hope or inclination to rejoin the Imperium.
If anyone could salvage this situation, it would require a more deft and considering hand to decide on its fate. Leman's appeal was both pragmatic and uncharacteristically introspective. He acknowledged that the only viable solution to the Desolation's woes was a sustainable, lasting peace.
He admitted that this would require more than martial prowess; it demanded a comprehensive strategy to rebuild governance, trade networks, security, and the general welfare of the people. And for that, the Wolf Lord sought the expertise of the Lord of Ultramar. The request was humbling and significant, for it wasn't often that Leman turned to Roboute for aid—let alone for guidance in matters of statecraft and rebuilding.
If Leman recognized that the might of the Vlka Fenryka wasn't enough to fix the Desolation, then the situation was worse than Guilliman had feared.
The more Roboute read, the more the report revealed something deeply troubling—Mortarion and his Death Guard were active in the Desolation, and, even worse, they outright refused to heed Terra's commands.
Leman had admitted the full gravity of his mission: he was tasked with bringing Mortarion and his legion to heel. If the Lord of Death continued to defy orders, Russ and his Vlka Fenryka were authorized to "terminate the threat" posed by the Death Guard.
Roboute's hands tightened on the parchment. So this is it, he thought grimly. A civil war, at least within the Desolation.
Mortarion's rebellion was madness. Guilliman could scarcely imagine what had driven his brother to such extremes. Worse still, Leman's mission wasn't his alone—he was reportedly joined by elements of the Custodes and even the Dark Angels. That meant the decree to apprehend or eliminate Mortarion had come directly from the Emperor himself. Either the Lord of Death would face Terra's justice in chains, or his rebellion would end with the Death Guard buried in the ashes of the Desolation.
The implications were staggering. Guilliman had seen the cost of conflict between brothers before. He didn't need to be told how this would end or the scars it would leave across the Imperium. And this? This was just the first message.
"What else came through?" Roboute asked, his voice steady but his mind racing. He needed to process the full scope of events before prioritizing his attention.
Dominus Quintus stepped forward with another sealed report. "This one is marked as a priority, Lord Guilliman. It comes from your brother, Lord Corvus Corax."
Roboute raised an eyebrow. Corvus had effectively gone dark before the Consolidation War, claiming he had uncovered something vital but requiring time to confirm it. Guilliman, trusting his brother's judgment, hadn't pressed him for answers.
Breaking the seal, Roboute began to read. As his eyes scanned the parchment, his stomach sank. It appeared that Corvus had been "recruited" by his Drukhari consort to aid in reclaiming something called Port Kelthuanesh. Moreover, it wasn't just a personal endeavor—much of the Raven Guard legion had been drawn into this venture.
If they emerged victorious, Roboute knew it was only a matter of time before the Eldar, whether the Drukhari or their craftworld kin, made their presence known. In other words, he had no idea what this could ultimately entail.
Setting the report aside with a sigh, Roboute rubbed his temples. Two messages in, and already the weight of impending disaster loomed. "Two down, and it already feels like I'm staring into the abyss. Give me the next one," he said, his tone carrying an edge of dread.
Quintus hesitated, his expression twisting into a grimace. "This one comes from Macragge, my lord. There's been… an incident. Unfortunate and rather widespread."
Roboute's jaw tightened. "How positively reassuring," he muttered with a hint of sarcasm, his worry only deepening. Uncomfortable incidents on Macragge rarely boded well.
He nearly snatched the report from Quintus' hands, flipping it open with practiced efficiency. His eyes scanned the first few lines, then the next. By the time he finished the opening paragraph, his composure faltered. If it were possible, his eyes might've leaped from their sockets.
"How..." Roboute's voice trailed off, laden with fury and confusion, the words failing him. His grip on the parchment tightened, the material crinkling faintly under the force of his hand.
Someone had not only managed to breach Macragge's planetary security but had also unleashed a deluge of broadcasts filled with incendiary content—revelations about the Emperor, humanity's gods, and the supposed lies underpinning the Imperium itself. Enough damning evidence would eventually put the Realm of Ultramar under intense scrutiny, especially with the level of chaos that undoubtedly followed such an event.
But it didn't end there. The damage was compounded by the unintentional efficiency of his own communications system. Designed to disseminate critical information swiftly from Macragge, it had now become the very vehicle that ensured this information spread far and wide.
His lips pressed into a thin line as he closed the report, fury simmering just beneath the surface. The galaxy didn't need any of this, especially given the veracity of what was reported. The people were calling the Masquerades End.
"Who is responsible for this?" Guilliman's voice cut through the room like a blade, colder than the void itself.
Quintus visibly hesitated before replying, "Lord General Arabella Blair. Her name was directly mentioned in the M-TALK broadcast, my lord. Reports indicate that she and her forces have openly declared against the Emperor and the Imperium of Man."
Guilliman's expression hardened further, though it seemed impossible for him to look grimmer. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that carried both anger and exasperation. "Of course she did," he muttered, half to himself.
He straightened, his imposing frame radiating authority and an undercurrent of barely restrained fury. "I want all reports on this incident and her forces sent to my desk immediately," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Quintus bowed his head in acknowledgment. "At once, Lord Guilliman. I will have the Praevisorum prioritize the search for actionable intelligence. There is, however, some good news from this. Seneschal Tarasha and Legatus Baelsar reduced most of the political fallout from this event on Macragge and much of the Realm of Ultramar."
Quintus inclined his head respectfully. "At once, Lord Guilliman. I will have the Praevisorum prioritize the search for actionable intelligence. There is, however, a glimmer of positive news. Seneschal Tarasha Euten and Legatus Aldrich Baelsar have significantly mitigated the political fallout from the broadcast across Macragge and much of the Realm of Ultramar."
Roboute gave a slow nod. "Good. But how exactly did they achieve this? If their methods are that effective, we may be able to replicate them across the wider Imperium."
Quintus consulted a document. "They allowed religious freedoms to an extent, but with strict oversight and taxation. This approach appears to have placated most of the populace. Additionally, there's... an intriguing development the Praevisorum recently uncovered, dated three weeks ago."
Roboute raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Quintus adjusted his tone, sensing this might warrant a shift in gravity. "It appears the Seneschal and Legatus are engaged to be married. Although they've delayed the ceremony until your return, reports indicate hundreds of invitations have already been issued to key figures and factions. The announcement has also reignited discussions about certain state matters within the Realm."
Roboute blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Wait. Repeat that first part."
Quintus hesitated, puzzled by the reaction. "The marriage, sire?"
"Yes... that." The Primarch's expression flickered between disbelief and faint horror. "Who, precisely, is getting married?"
"Seneschal Tarasha Euten and Legatus Aldrich Baelsar," Quintus repeated, tilting his head slightly. "Sire, are you well? You look rather pale."
Three Headed Master…
A transition of power within the Imperium was a paradoxical process—simultaneously delicate in its orchestration and blunt in its execution. For most worlds brought into compliance, it was a mixture of upheaval and adaptation. Marius Gage, a seasoned veteran of the Imperium's expansion, had overseen the compliance of nearly 200 worlds. Each time, the process left behind a trail of lingering resentment among the subdued populace and the civilian transitional authorities tasked with maintaining order.
The Tixburians were a unique case. Their resentment toward the Imperium of Man was palpable—undeniable, even—but hadn't manifested into violence or disobedience. There was no armed resistance, no rebellious undercurrent threatening to boil over.
Instead, the Tixburians appeared almost eager to restore order to their world and rebuild their civilization with the Imperium's assistance. This attitude was likely due, in no small part, to the Primarch's unprecedented decision to pardon the entire Consolidation government. It was a bold move that had undoubtedly eased tensions and smoothed the path toward integration.
But it was also yet another controversial decision by Guilliman. Another likely point of contention against him.
Officially, the Imperium had every right to purge those who had actively and openly resisted compliance. Allowing all members of the Consolidation government to survive—even Chairman Yung—could be perceived as a weakness, potentially inspiring further discontent and fueling anti-imperial sentiment.
Some among the Imperial Army and even the legions felt that the Primarch was being too lenient, although such words were whispered privately in officer quarters or out in the field more than anything. Guilliman heard and promptly ignored such talk.
Marius, however, understood the Primarch's reasoning. Guilliman prioritized establishing a lasting, productive peace over exacting retribution. By pardoning the Consolidation leadership, he ensured that Tixburi could quickly stabilize and begin contributing to the Imperium, sparing himself the need to micromanage the transition.
While some resented this decision, many quietly appreciated the Primarch's restraint, especially in light of the tragedies that had befallen both the Imperial diplomats and the Ultramarine delegation during earlier attempts at negotiation. It was, before all else, a wise decision.
Guilliman's had to forgo retribution. Besides, if the Tixburians were willing to cooperate, the Imperium would seize the opportunity to move forward. There was, after all, still much work to be done in the coming years.
With this cooperation came the time for the Imperium to decide how to manage and govern Tixburi. Yet even this matter proved more complex than expected. Guilliman, alongside Ferrus Manus and Fulgrim, concluded that laying the foundation for any future governor was necessary as the last thing anyone wanted was the governor attempting to make sweeping changes right from the start.
Instead, they resolved to establish a triarchy, a shared system of governance that balanced Imperial oversight with the unique needs of the Tixburian people. Marius had been assigned to establish this triarchy, which meant he would help the three picks.
The Primarchs had already decided on who would be part of this. Guilliman had already appointed and announced that Captain Erython Cassidian of the 2nd Chapter would be the first among equals in the triarchy.
If Marius were completely honest, Erython would have also been his first choice. A scholar at heart, Erython possessed a deep appreciation for Ultramarian governance and its principles. His strategic mind and leadership capabilities were exemplary, making him well-suited to oversee a nation. However, Erython was an unremarkable combatant—more comfortable managing infrastructure and policy than leading his brothers into battle. He was the kind of Marine whose talents lay firmly in administration rather than warfare.
Then there was the Iron Hands' candidate, Thalvax Ferrum, who was selected by the council of the Iron Fathers. Thalvax embodied the grim and stoic nature of his Legion. With extensive bionic augmentations and an unyielding reliance on cold logic, he could be an intimidating presence. Yet, beneath the layers of metal and relentless pragmatism, Marius had glimpsed a glimmer of humanity—a grudging compassion for those under his command. Thalvax was, in many ways, a paradox: a man who wielded reason as a weapon but retained a spark of empathy, no matter how deeply buried.
Finally, Captain Saul Tarvitz was chosen by the Emperor's Children. A rising star of the 3rd Legion and hailed as one of the heroes of the Consolidation War, Tarvitz was widely admired. His charisma and battlefield valor had earned him a reputation as a symbol of hope and resilience. Even Marius, a pragmatist to the core, had to admit that Saul Tarvitz had the look of a hero—a quality that made him the natural choice to serve as the public face of the triarchy.
It sufficed to say that they were a solid group. But now was the time to prepare them for the duty ahead.
Marius had summoned all three to meet him in one of the officer rooms within the still-under-construction Governor's Palace, located at the heart of the Tixburian capital. This meeting was not just a briefing; it was the first time the triarchy would meet one another face-to-face.
When the initial introductions were exchanged, Marius observed the dynamic forming among the three Astartes. Each carried themselves with the bearing of a seasoned leader, and all seemed willing to cooperate. However, it was clear that the absence of shared brotherhood left a subtle gap in their interactions.
Still, they were Astartes. Erython offered measured words, speaking with a calm precision befitting a son of Ultramar. Thalvax Ferrum listened intently, his gaze betraying no emotion as he processed every detail methodically. Saul Tarvitz bridged the silence with geniality, his natural charm filling the room.
Despite the differences in their backgrounds and temperaments, Marius could sense a foundation being laid. It would be enough for now.
"Brothers," Marius began, his tone steady and authoritative. "I believe it prudent to proceed. You are already aware of the scope of your appointments, so we can forgo exhaustive questioning. For record-keeping purposes, let me clarify: each of you will oversee a distinct aspect of governance. Erython will ensure the Tixburians remain focused, Thalvax shall keep them occupied, and Tarvitz will maintain their loyalty. These are the triarchy's primary functions until the arrival of the appointed governor."
The three Astartes listened intently, their expressions unreadable. Saul Tarvitz, however, seemed particularly intrigued by one detail. "Has an appointee for the governor's position been selected yet?" he asked, his tone probing.
"It has," Marius confirmed with a nod. "Sifiso V of the Karnori has been chosen."
Saul and Thalvax exchanged a brief glance, the name unfamiliar to them. Erython, however, stiffened slightly, recognition flashing across his face. "The heir to their little empire? He's barely a colonel in the Imperial Army," Erython remarked, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and incredulity.
Marius met Erython's gaze evenly. "That is correct. Heir or not, Sifiso has proven himself capable of leadership, but the Primarch believes that he needs more experience leading a world and governing it. In part, the three of you will assist him in such matters when you have the time and inclination. Make no mistake, he has his own part to play."
"What exactly are the long-term aims of our Triarchy?" Thalvax asked, his voice rasping unnaturally due to his synthetic enhancements. "Tixburi is to aid the Imperium, but in what capacity?"
Captain Tarvitz leaned forward slightly, nodding in agreement. "Yes, I've been wondering that as well. Most of their civilization is still recovering—whether from losing resources, labor, or infrastructure. It will take time for them to get back on their feet."
Marius nodded thoughtfully. "It will indeed take time—years, if not decades. However, you three are only assigned here for five to ten years, so you will not see their complete recovery. Guilliman's expectations are clear: the Tixburians are to contribute by producing completed goods and technologies and aiding in training Imperial forces via Training Facility Eastpoint. When deemed ready, they must also deploy regiments for off-world compliances."
Erython's brows furrowed slightly, and he said, "Generous terms. Most worlds are compelled to support the Imperial Army with regiments immediately upon compliance, but the Tixburians seem to be receiving considerable leniency. I suppose having unique technologies and industries earns special dispensation."
Marius did not disagree but raised a hand to caution him. "Your observation is not incorrect, brother, but keep such thoughts to yourself. The Tixburians must not develop the impression that they can dictate terms to the Imperium. Your responsibility, along with Governor Sifiso, is to ensure they transition into loyal and productive citizens."
Thalvax spoke again, his tone grim and deliberate. "That may prove challenging. I've heard whispers of discontent among their leadership and citizenry. They question why their world failed to repel the Imperium. The Tixburians are a proud people, but pride will not shield them from the reality of what happened. Calls for change are getting louder."
Saul grimaced, "There are debates about whether certain ancient practices should be abolished or escalated entirely. Their 'MILITA' program is one such institution that has come under scrutiny."
"I've heard their plans to rebuild their orbital infrastructure are facing significant challenges," Thalvax noted, his tone measured but grim. "The Imperial Navy left nothing untouched. Even with Ultramar's support, I expect it will take centuries to restore everything to its former capacity."
Saul nodded, his expression serious. "And then there's the matter of Megablock 372." The mention of the infamous hive caused all four Astartes to grimace or frown. The obliteration of the megastructure had become a symbol of devastation for the Tixburian populace, many of whom considered it the greatest tragedy of the war.
The hive's destruction had been absolute, leaving behind an unthinkable toll. It would take a century or more to clear the rubble, not to mention the painstaking process of safely removing unexploded munitions. And beneath the ruins lay the remains of billions—defenders and attackers alike—whose bodies would continue to be unearthed for decades.
Still, Marius shook his head, redirecting the conversation. "The reconstruction of Tixburi is a generational challenge—one that won't be resolved even long after all of us are gone. Your focus must remain on stability and ensuring the planet begins contributing to the Imperium's needs. Let the Administratum worry about the centuries to come."
The enormity of the task ahead was not lost on any of them. The rebuilding efforts would stretch beyond the lifetimes of those currently involved, with Tixburi's ultimate fate likely resting in the hands of Ultramar for the foreseeable future.
Marius met the gaze of each Astartes in turn, his voice resolute. "The Triarchy's mission is clear: maintain stability, foster cooperation, and ensure progress. For now, that is all that matters. The rest will fall to the judgment of Ultramar and the Administratum."
For all the challenges ahead, Marius felt confident that the Triarchy could hold Tixburi steady long enough for it to contribute toward whatever crisis was looming ahead of them all. The road to full compliance and recovery was long, but the first steps had already been taken. Now, it was up to these three to help ensure the next person didn't stumble on them.
Who Gets to Play with it First…
Vorlan Phrast had to admit, the Tixburians were impressively industrious and endlessly creative—when they weren't griping about the Astartes. Their complaints, while frequent, weren't entirely unwarranted; their world had suffered heavily during the Compliance, and now they had to play nice with their occupiers.
Still, it was a perspective Phrast found difficult to relate to. Numeria, after all, had been saved by the Ultramarines, not subjugated by them. The heroic intervention of the XIII Legion against the Harbinger had not only secured Numeria's survival but allowed NIMROD to thrive within the Realm of Ultramar, carving out a respected niche as unique problem solvers.
If there was one thing that wasn't in short supply in this galaxy, it was problems or issues that were so unusual or dangerous that they required a more deft touch. NIMROD might not have the resources or specialists like the Mechanicum, but to Phrast, it was an organization that lacked all that dogma attached to the Martian Brotherhood.
That was why NIMROD was called to Tixburi, specifically Phrast. As the "Senior Engineer and Lead Evaluator for Heavy Mechanized Systems" in NIMROD—though he more often went by the informal title of Chief Technologist—he was an obvious choice for this assignment. His expertise is in super-heavy machines, mechanical networks, and unconventional engineering solutions.
NIMROD put his name forward to the Primarch for this mission. Not bad for the son of an auto mechanic. Despite his lofty position, Phrast retained the grounded demeanor of his upbringing. Middle-aged and rugged, he had spent much of his career in the field, earning his knowledge through hands-on experience rather than theory or endless hours at a cogitator.
Just enough brains to go with the brawn. His wife, Lydia, often teased him that his sturdy, almost stocky frame was less a product of natural build and more a consequence of constantly hauling reinforced engineering rigs. Phrast himself embraced the moniker of "working man's genius."
Phrast liked machines more than people, although that didn't stop him from getting married. It was a sign, really. His appearance reflected his practicality and preference for function over form. He still kept the same pair of magnifying goggles on his head because why would he get rid of a useful tool?
Hell, even his face bore a perpetual layer of stubble, and his attire—an armored jumpsuit laden with tools and patches—gave him the look of a foreman more than the engineer who developed seven armored vehicles for the Numerian military. He knew machines, but at NIMROD, he grew to understand war machines.
That was why Phrast found himself on Tixburi—more precisely, nearly a dozen kilometers underground in the sprawling labyrinth known as the Therim Enclaves. The Tixburians described the Enclaves as a hybrid of storage depot, armory, and archive—a colossal repository of relics and artifacts from their world's pre-Consolidation era. To any entrepreneur salvager or eager historian, it was less a facility and more a treasure trove of forgotten knowledge, its vast warehouses and chambers still mostly unexplored or lost to time.
But exploration wasn't why Phrast was here. His assignment was straightforward: assist in the analysis and repairs of the Cyclops. At least, that had been the plan. The reality was far more complicated.
Instead of tackling the Cyclops directly, Phrast and the rest of the NIMROD contingent found themselves trapped in the middle of a political and, he dared say, ideological quagmire. A power struggle between the Mechanicum and the Tixburian leadership was at the heart of the conflict.
The Mechanicum had sent a formidable delegation—three Archmagi supported by a small army of tech-priests, Auditorii, and servitors—to oversee the Cyclops's restoration. Their presence was unmistakable, and their red robes and chanting servitors contrasted with the utilitarian Tixburian engineers. Certainly, Phrast and NIMROD looked out of place here as well.
However, the Tixburians had clarified their position: unless they received explicit orders from Primarch Guilliman or the Consolidation government, the Mechanicum would not be granted access to the Cyclops. And if not them, the Imperial Army could decide.
Caught in the crossfire, the Imperial Army was tasked with arbitrating the dispute. This, too, however, had become a bureaucratic nightmare. Colonel Rackman, the officer ostensibly in charge, was frequently off-world, leaving the matter in the hands of his subordinates.
Unfortunately, they were no more unified in their decisions than the factions they were supposed to mediate. Some leaned toward siding with the Mechanicum, citing their expertise, while others believed the Tixburians had more experience with the Cyclops.
The result was a standstill. The Cyclops remained inert, and ongoing disputes delayed its full restoration. However, tertiary repairs and scans were still underway. NIMROD had been granted special dispensation to examine the outer layers and systems, but only under strict conditions set by the Tixburians: any significant discoveries or breakthroughs would require the inclusion of a Tixburian team.
Phrast had no objections to this arrangement. He valued collaboration, even if it came with strings attached. Yet, the situation was undeniably frustrating.
Politics had a knack for derailing engineering projects, and while Phrast had seen his fair share of bureaucratic delays, this particular deadlock seemed especially exasperating. During the height of the Harbinger Crisis, it felt like no delays or red tape were stopping NIMROD from carrying out their desperate mission to save their world.
Yet one side was trying to access a new toy while the other was trying to keep it to themselves for as long as possible before being forced to share it. Even with the dispensation, it took over two weeks before Phrast and the NIMROD team were allowed direct access to the Cyclops.
Then, the work finally began; Phrast and his team approached the machine with professional rigor and quiet awe.
After about ten weeks of intense examination and initial repair efforts, the Cyclops proved to be everything Phrast had hoped for—and more. The superheavy war engine was a marvel of ancient design, its craftsmanship reflecting an era long since passed from the galaxy and showcasing the type of power humanity once wielded.
But as they delved deeper into its systems, Phrast, and his team were equally stunned by what they uncovered: signs of ancient jerry-rigging and improvisation, evident in certain sections of the Cyclops's mechanisms.
These makeshift modifications were unlike anything Phrast had encountered before. They weren't merely signs of age or decay; they were deliberate, almost desperate adjustments, clearly made thousands of years ago to keep the massive machine operational in the face of unknown challenges.
The power systems caught all their attention. The Tixburians who had piloted the Cyclops during the war commented that the Cyclops suffered from "inexplicable" fluctuations in most secondary systems, often needing two to five seconds of time to recalibrate. This had never resulted in any issue save for the power bleed.
The Tixburians and Imperials understood how it worked on paper, but this discrepancy was confusing, to say the least. A deeper examination discovered that entire sections of the power distribution system served no discernible purpose, with a baffling network of redundant connections. Power was fed through as many as twenty conduits in some areas for reasons no one could determine.
Phrast and NIMROD approached the problem with a plan to uncover this, but frustration mounted as each analysis session raised more questions than answers. Phrast, as ever, took it in stride, though even he found the distribution system's convoluted design to be an affront to his engineering sensibilities. "It's like someone gave a child a box of wires and said, 'Go wild,'" he muttered to a colleague during one particularly grueling inspection.
It was so baffling that some among the Mechanicum and Tixburians believed it had been an ancient act of sabotage, perhaps an attempt to prevent the previous owners of the Cyclops from using it again. But the real answer was something more grounded.
A few NIMROD specialists, granted permission to delve into the Therim Enclaves archives, stumbled across several ancient data links buried in the depths of the facility. The recovered information was attributed to a series of records dating back almost 6,000 years that revealed the truth.
Or rather, the Perseus, as it had been known in its prime. Among the records were scathing indictments from engineers and auditors of the era, exposing a long-forgotten scandal: the vendor responsible for the power distribution system had been paid based on the length of wire installed. The labyrinthine design, with its redundant connections and excessive complexity, was not a feature—it was a scam.
When Phrast heard the news, he laughed. How else was he to think of this? "Even the ancients weren't free of the chicanery of some military contract," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's comforting in a way, knowing some things never change. Though I'll bet whoever signed off on that got an earful—or worse—when this came to light."
Everyone was, to put it mildly, flabbergasted to know that the quasi-god machine was likely purchased as an afterthought by the original garrison on Tixburi. The thought of such powerful war machines being bought like one would have purchased a used shuttle or autovehicle also put the power that the Dark Age once wielded into perspective.
For Phrast, it added a new layer of respect for the Cyclops. Despite its dubious origins, the machine had endured for millennia and showed its strength during the war. Its power system was a testament to both ancient ingenuity and the age-old human capacity for corner-cutting. Some things never change.
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@Daemon Hunter Finally done with this flashpoint that took way fucking longer than it needed too.
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