@Daemon Hunter What are the requirements looking like at this point to not fail in getting the Tier 10 achievement? And I don't mean "don't die" but rather "Don't do these things or you will instantly fail to get the achievement."
The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
- Location
- Elsewhere
Right now the requirements are to not require an extraction and to effectively take over the daemonworld in question. Things that wouldn't count would be just removing the head daemon and taking over their palace, you effectively need to demand a metaphysical capture of the daemonworld. As such, you'll have to take multiple locations and drag the planet out of the warp entirely.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
So it won't count if Kesar took it over completely but didn't drag it out of the Warp?
- Location
- Elsewhere
In those cases it'd usually count, but it runs into the risk of it being considered a temporary takeover. Usually that'd not be an issue, but due to Be'lakor that becomes an issue as he's good enough to drive a wedge into that metaphysical control and exploit it.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
So if Kesar really, really succeeds in his method acting, then we can keep this planet in the Warp for the benefit of his alter ego. But otherwise it's just too risky.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Yep, that's accurate.
[X] Plan: All Or Nothing, Crazy Style.
- Location
- Bronx new york
[X] Plan: All Or Nothing, Crazy Style.
[x] Plan: All Or Nothing, Crazy Style.
- Location
- USA
Wait...
Isn't exposure to the rune of chaos like instantly corrupting to people that aren't demonsbanes or something like that?
Who is going to be doing the surgery to remove it? Will they be corrupted by pulling it out of Kesar?
Isn't exposure to the rune of chaos like instantly corrupting to people that aren't demonsbanes or something like that?
Who is going to be doing the surgery to remove it? Will they be corrupted by pulling it out of Kesar?
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
Not instantly corrupting, but it would be a CR check for other people who are exposed to it or try using it.
Thankfully, Kesar can force it to stop that so long as he has it on his person. So it should be a simple matter of cutting him open and then Kesar grabs the Rune out of his own stomach. Even if that's not possible, Wardens have high enough CR to pass the test easily.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Kesar has a high enough pain tolerance to perform surgery on himself. And failing that he'd get one of the Warden heroes to do so.
- Location
- USA
Ok. Just as long as we're sure.
I was just remembering how messed up that rune is and was worried we were accidentally condemning a group of surgeons.
Isn't there a group of uncorrupted left on the planet? Will eating the rune make them hostile to us if we seem to be another demon?
I was just remembering how messed up that rune is and was worried we were accidentally condemning a group of surgeons.
Isn't there a group of uncorrupted left on the planet? Will eating the rune make them hostile to us if we seem to be another demon?
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- Location
- USA
I think the CR test is "Narrative CR or Fall" not just a standard test. Which is why only Kesar/Heroes can use it due to them having narrative CR.
There is only 1 uncorrupted person on the world a Hero from what I recall. And well they are almost certainly not primarch grade which means that it would be fairly easy for Kesar to work around them and not show themselves to them.
The Hidden Threat: Codex Ulwarth
The Hidden Threat: Codex Ulwarth
My name is Morianne Lyfae of Craftworld Ulthwé, and I was too late to stop the Ulwarth.
I have gazed upon the doom that now looms over the galaxy. It is a malignancy born of the Aeldari's hubris and arrogance—one that many of my kin choose to ignore, for it is a shameful specter of our once-glorious past, and now we must all pay for this failure.
What has come to pass requires an explanation. Who is behind the apocalypse that has spread forth from the Eye of Terro?
I speak of the First Traitors, the Ulwarth. A threat once shrouded not in secrecy, for I have seen their destruction firsthand and fought one, but in fear. For even among the Aeldari, we fear them. We feared what they represented in us.
And now their twisted ambitions have unleashed a catastrophe beyond the comprehension of most who dwell in this galaxy. There is no undoing what has been set loose. There is only now an opportunity to cleanse this vileness from our universe before it consumes anyone else.
Perhaps in another time, some would have called my warnings an exaggeration or possibly born of fear or prejudice, yet as a Farseer, I had seen what awaited us if the Ulwarth were left to carry out their plots. I wish I dared to say what I had seen when I had the opportunity.
I was weak, and because of this weakness, the galaxy suffered.
We now exist in an age of peril, where countless souls unite against this new and unknowable enemy. I make no distinction among those who strive to hold back this unholy storm; we are bound together by fate and necessity in this struggle.
And so I write this tome, this "Codex," as Magnus names it, as my offering to those who seek understanding. Knowledge is power, and knowing the Ulwarth—their schemes, strengths, and weaknesses—means enlightenment, and we shall achieve victory through that. I can only hope this information has not arrived too late.
This question demands an answer, though the truth is as burdensome as it is forbidden. To recount the Fall of the Aeldari is an act fraught with peril. Such tales are left untold among my kin, for even the mere act of remembering invites shame and despair. Putting this history to parchment may be deemed treasonous—a wound inflicted upon the pride of a people who cling desperately to their dignity. Pride binds us all in its chains, and love for our legacy can inspire vengeance against those who threaten it.
Yet this truth must be spoken, preserved. My people's past has been veiled in shame and distorted by necessity. We silence the story of our ruin to shield our dignity and protect our very souls. If left unspoken, our history will be buried with us, forgotten in the mists of time.
Through the Warp, I have glimpsed fragments of what once was. Days spent gazing upon the strands of fate and years of searching within the Black Library have revealed only scattered truths. Even the Harlequins—our enigmatic keepers of lore—offer no clarity. Their warnings are veiled in riddles, their dances brimming with cryptic gestures. To my inquiries, they caution: "Beware of what you give back to the Warp when you seek its truths."
Still, I have learned enough to speak of the Ulwarth.
The Fall of the Aeldari—the tragic collapse of our empire and the birth of Sai'lanthresh, She Who Thirsts—is remembered as a calamity only centuries old. But the rot that doomed us had already festered for millennia. Corruption seldom erupts suddenly, nor does it arise without cause. Its roots grow deep, nurtured by ambition and apathy.
Almost five thousand years before the Fall, the Aiek Woris—the Pleasure Cults—emerged at the height of the Dominion's decadence. They were born of a slow, creeping malaise: the inevitable stagnation of a civilization with nothing left to achieve. With safety assured and horizons explored, the Aeldari grew idle and listless, their creativity warped into hedonistic pursuits. The Aiek Woris promised meaning through indulgence and excess, attracting the brightest and most powerful minds under the guise of seeking blissful eternity.
The Aeldari, who had once uplifted the lesser races and safeguarded the galaxy's balance, twisted their mastery of the Warp and their cultural brilliance into tools of unimaginable suffering. The Pleasure Cults consumed our people's energies, but even they were not the true architects of our doom. No, the Ulwarth arose from this degeneracy—a breed of manipulators who saw in the rising darkness an opportunity for power, not destruction.
In another time, the First Traitors would have been called heroes and loyalists, those who would have safeguarded the Dominion against all threats. Yet without the wisdom and hope of the gods, their hearts blackened.
A confederation of miscreants: radical alchemists obsessed with unlocking forbidden truths, ambitious lordlings driven by insatiable greed, disillusioned priests who abandoned the gods for darker whispers, mad sorcerers who pried too deeply into the Warp, and glory-starved warriors who sought purpose in conquest when none remained at home. Among the Phoenix Emperor's court and the highest ministries of governance, they were leaders, generals, sorceresses, artists, visionaries—or so they claimed.
These First Traitors emerged not from desperation or ignorance but from the heart of the Dominion itself. Their betrayal was not one of impulse but of cold calculation, carried out in the name of their "vision" for the Aeldari. The Ulwarth believed they were the chosen ones, destined to transcend the collapse of our civilization and, through their survival, one day redeem our species.
I cannot say how they first encountered the Great Enemy. Perhaps they unearthed long-forgotten knowledge buried in our archives or traded too freely with the denizens of the Immaterium in their pursuit of power. Whatever the cause, the Ulwarth saw the coming storm and profited from it instead of seeking to prevent it.
They reasoned that if the Dominion was doomed, it was better to guide its destruction on their terms than to let it unravel into chaos without purpose.
To this day, the Ulwarth's arrogance defies comprehension. They did not see their actions as treachery but as a gift—damnation delivered as a "test" for our people's glory. History, they believed, would vindicate them. That belief, their certainty in their righteousness, is the most galling insult of all.
I have no words vast enough to convey my fury nor the weight of disgust I feel toward the Ulwarth. Were every Aeldari given a voice to condemn them, it would not suffice. They betrayed us all—our past, present, and what little remains of our future—in service to nothing but themselves.
Nevertheless, they carried on with their vile skullduggery, becoming the architects of our ruination. They fanned the flames of the Aiek Woris, encouraging the spread of the Pleasure Cults under the guise of cultural enrichment and spiritual freedom. They silenced and censored the warnings of our seers and priests, dismissing their prophecies as fearmongering meant to stifle progress or to hinder the commands of our Phoenix Emperor.
It was impossible to stop their corruption. Our people soon became willing pawns or perhaps merely ignorant of what happened at court. Besides, the Ulwarth offered much, commanding our people to strike at the lesser races of the galaxy under the pretense of "culling" threats to our supremacy.
Their betrayal was insidious. Yet the resolve of the Aeldari was equally pathetic. They did not need to do much. The Ulwarth did not announce their treachery but wove it into the fabric of the Dominion's decline, manipulating events so subtly most were blind to see their hand at work save for the farseers.
Not that anyone would have said anything. Those who dared to question the growing corruption—seers, leaders, and even ordinary citizens—were swiftly silenced, vanishing without a trace or meeting unfortunate ends. This is where the legend of the Ulwarth began, through the tales of those who knew someone who had "vanished" for speaking out against one thing or another.
Yet there was no stopping this. Because the Ulwarth were still merely a disease that had gotten the most power and influence. They were never truly the masterminds behind the end of the Aeldari civilization.
Still, the Ulwarth played their part, presenting themselves as loyal servants of the Dominion even as they sharpened the knife for its back. By the time their true allegiance became clear, it was too late. The Dominion had already been hollowed out, its foundations crumbled by decadence and despair.
When the Fall began, and the grandeur of our civilization crumbled into ruin, the Ulwarth emerged from their palaces or hidden strongholds to seize what little remained. The remnants of the Dominion, left unaided by the Asuryani, the Drukhari, or the Exodites, fell into their grasp.
To add insult to injury, the Ulwarth crowned themselves the inheritors of our shattered empire, proclaiming themselves the rightful rulers of what was once the greatest power in the galaxy. No one who wasn't uncorrupted heard the proclamation, although whispers of such intentions were passed from fleeing refugees.
And so, they welcomed Sai'lanthresh and her thralls, confident that their allegiance to the Dark Prince would shield them. They believed their willing betrayal, their service to the rising tide of corruption, had earned them a place of safety amidst the storm they unleashed. I can only imagine the horror etched upon their faces when Sai'lanthresh demanded their souls all the same.
To the Great Enemy, there is no loyalty, no sanctuary—only hunger and eventual death.
Their miscalculation should have been a source of vindication for the Aeldari, but no satisfaction could be gleaned from this moment. The Ulwarth, undeterred, entrenched themselves in the ruins of the Dominion. They carved up its remains like ravenous beasts, dividing its corpses into territories they claimed as their own.
The Ulwarth are not rulers of an empire reborn. They are scavengers, presiding over the bones of the Dominion, serving only themselves and their warped ambitions, not even being collared by Sai'lanthresh has culled their designs.
How the Ulwarth Are Organized
When the Fall ended, the Ulwarth believed they would rise as the sole inheritors of the greatest empire the galaxy had ever known. They had deluded themselves into thinking that they had done everything for the long-term survival of our people, poised to reshape our history and species in their image.
But their expectations were dashed. Instead of the grandeur they envisioned, they were left with scraps—ruined worlds, hollowed-out wonders, endless graveyards, and the corrupted husk of a once-great civilization.
The Craftworlds, though few and carrying only fragments of our once-peerless technology, proved far more resilient. Their meager fleets and scattered populations were enough to preserve and replicate much of what was lost. In stark contrast, the Ulwarth were forced to make do with the poisoned remains of the Dominion.
Though they claimed dominion over thousands of worlds, their holdings were ruins and wastelands, and not even the dead could be called upon to aid them. Now, they had become monuments to waking nightmares, warped by the birth-scream of Sai'lanthresh. The Ulwarth were not rulers but prisoners trapped within their corrupted domains, where daemons and abominations of the Dark Prince roamed freely.
It was a bitter truth for the Ulwarth that shattered whatever unity remained among the First Traitors.
The promises of a new future, the grand visions they had sold to one another to justify their betrayal, had crumbled to dust. Betrayal turned inward as they turned on each other, their arrogance and ambitions driving them to war. For a brief, tantalizing moment, it seemed they might tear themselves apart, delivering the justice they so richly deserved.
But the galaxy is rarely so merciful.
As their position became clear, the Ulwarth were forced to confront the truth: if they allowed their infighting to continue, they would be devoured by the daemons they had once welcomed into their realms. They knew they were weak, fractured, and vulnerable.
So, they chose pragmatism over annihilation. Through gritted teeth and clenched fists, the Ulwarth agreed to a series of treaties that divided the ruined Dominion among the most powerful factions.
These accords marked the birth of the Ulwarth Enclaves. Of course, in their vanity, they called themselves the Royal Enclaves, as if clinging to the shattered illusion of their former glory could justify the wretchedness of their dominion.
But I refuse to call these desecrated strongholds by such a name. They are not royal courts or no beacons of civilization. They are bastions of cruelty, monuments to arrogance, and temples to their wicked designs. They are not kings or lords but scavenges, feasting on the corpse of our empire, oblivious to the stench of rot that clings to their every act.
Though some identify as Conclaves or Kingdoms, these distinctions are meaningless. Each faction may claim unique practices, rituals, or proficiencies, but they are all united by cruelty and corruption. They are twisted reflections of what our people once were, wielding their malice with equal mastery of their profane arts.
At a more "personal" scale, the leadership of these Enclaves is chaotic by their very nature.
First, the Ulwarth have no single leader or figurehead; their boundless arrogance makes such unity anathema to their nature. To place one above the rest would require a measure of humility they do not possess.
Instead, they are governed—or, more accurately, constrained—by a council known as the Convocation of Eighteen. This assembly consists of six lords from each of the three ruling Enclaves. A similar system is imposed by the other "minor" elements of the Ulwarth.
Regardless, the reach of the Convocation of Eighteen extends across the broken remnants of the once-mighty Aeldari Dominion, a mockery of the order and majesty that once defined our empire. None shall ever surmount to the Phoenix Emperors or Lords.
Even after all this time and with the assistance of others, I have failed to divine the identities of these lords through the Warp. Perhaps with the help of Eldrad Ulthran, this would have been possible, but that time has passed.
But whether hidden by deliberate warding, shrouded by the tides of Chaos, or perhaps cloaked by their own irrelevance, their true natures remain a mystery. It is even possible that among their own ranks, they are more symbols of authority than individuals of substance—avatars of power rather than beings of flesh and thought.
Still, this Convocation is no beacon of unity.
Rather, it is a stage for endless discord of the Ulwarth, where alliances are forged in lies and broken without warning, treachery is the only currency, and even the illusion of consensus is an act of theater.
While their disunity might seem a fatal flaw, paradoxically, it is the source of their resilience. No failure can shatter their structure in the perpetual chaos that defines them, and no betrayal can unmake what was never truly whole. No singular elimination will stop it. The only way to destroy the Convocation is to end the Ulwarth completely.
The Ulwarth thrive in the chaos they have created. Where others might see weakness, they see opportunity—an endless cycle of power struggles that ensures only the most cunning, ruthless, and depraved rise to prominence. Chaos is a ladder in their minds.
Thus, the Convocation of Eighteen endures. Its members are not rulers in the traditional sense; they are predators, keep a knife behind their backs, and wait for an opportunity to gain more influence over the other. Yet they seem more than capable of working together against a common foe.
In light of recent events, it seems the Convocation of Eighteen is becoming increasingly enamored with the notion of creating a new Phoenix Emperor—a figurehead to bind their fractured ambitions and give form to their delusions of reclaiming the glory of the past. If my suspicions are correct, this plan may already be in motion. But I digress; I must not let my thoughts outrun the truths I have uncovered.
The Convocation's power is not evenly distributed. Three Enclaves hold dominion over the council and shape its direction with iron fists and poisonous whispers. These are not mere factions but the founders of the Ulwarth, the architects of betrayal who lit the pyre that consumed the Aeldari Dominion.
They are known as the Túrë Pella, Arwë Partalë, and Ohta Liyúmë, grand titles that reflect their twisting of our history. In the common tongue of Imperial Gothic, they are called the Thaumaturgists, the Artisans, and the Templars. These are the masterminds behind the Ulwarth and the crisis unleashed upon the galaxy.
Arwë Partalë (The Artisians)
Formally known as the Radiant Brotherhood of Artisans, the Arwë Partalë were once the silent architects of prosperity within the Dominion. I suppose for any human reading this, they were akin to the Administraum, although associating either entity with another would be like comparing a snub-revolver to a macrocannon.
In ancient times, the Arwë Partalë devoted themselves to perfecting the arts of administration, industry, and design. They were also devoted believers in Hoeth, the god of knowledge, learning, and wisdom.
While others claimed glory on the battlefield or through acts of creation, the Arwë Partalë labored tirelessly in the background, ensuring the lifeblood of the Dominion flowed uninterrupted, ensuring the Phoenix Emperor always had his armies, fleets, and worlds ready and able.
But more than that, they adhered to caring for our people. The Arwë Partalë ensured our people had music, food, opportunity, and safety. Everyone was given the right to a glorious future. For their genius lay not only in their craft but in their devotion to unity.
They wove a vast and seamless logistical network capable of serving every citizen's needs—be it a sprawling craftworld, a distant colony, or a single individual. They were the humble stewards of our civilization, ensuring that no one was ever left wanting. Their bureaucratic brilliance transformed the Dominion into a harmonious force that endured for millennia.
But harmony is fragile.
As the Aiek Woris rose to prominence, so did their demands upon the Arwë Partalë. The once-pure ambitions of the Radiant Brotherhood were slowly twisted to serve the insatiable appetites of the debauched elite and greedy masses.
The logistics they had perfected for the good of all were turned toward feeding the Dominion's growing depravity and, soon, bloody wars of conquest. Resources were redirected to sustain the endless hedonistic indulgences of our people while the cries of those left behind fell upon deaf ears.
Corruption seeped in like poison.
Bit by bit, the Arwë Partalë abandoned their moral foundation, choosing complicity over resistance. They became administrators of excess, co-conspirators of our demise, and aided the architects of our ruin.
By the time the Fall approached, the Brotherhood had transformed into a grotesque mockery of its former self under the Ulwarth. With the coffers of the Dominion firmly in their grasp, the Arwë Partalë was all but financing and sustaining the corruption that doomed our people.
When the Fall came and swept away the Dominion, the Arwë Partalë emerged as something new—a hollow reflection of their once-noble purpose. Freed from the oversight of a shattered civilization, they returned to their craft, tainted by the darkness that had consumed them.
Many would scoff at the notion of an Ulwarth faction dedicating itself to bureaucracy and logistics, dismissing such efforts as mundane and uninspired. But those who laugh fail to grasp the dark ingenuity of the Artisans. What might have seemed like a retreat into the banal was, in truth, the foundation of a grand and terrible ambition.
The Artisans, ever seeking to merge their administrative expertise with the gifts of Chaos, used their ties to Sai'lanthresh and the Great Enemy to craft what they deemed a "magnificent" framework for governance. Their vision, tainted as it was, sought to reshape the very fabric of reality to serve the Ulwarth's will.
It began with the creation of Warp Codices—devices or constructs capable of storing vast quantities of knowledge, each bound with a daemon from the realms of Sai'lanthresh. These Codices were more than mere repositories; they were sentient entities imbued with a perfectionist's touch, capable of analyzing and optimizing systems to an unimaginable degree. To the artisans, this was a triumph of function and an art form, blending their ancient talents with the dark powers of the Warp.
The concept evolved quickly. Inspired by their success, the Artisans turned their attention to creating daemonic constructs—artificial beings bound with warp entities designed to act as counselors, advisors, and even administrators for the rulers of the Enclaves. In effect, they began selling these advisors, crafting daemonically powered intelligence tailored to solve the complex demands of governance and strategy.
At first glance, these constructs might seem comparable to the thinking machines of the Materium, but the truth was far more sinister. Unlike soulless machines, these creations were alive, driven by the malevolent essence of the daemons they contained. Their advice came with a price, one often paid in corruption, suffering, or the inevitable collapse of those who depended too much on their "guidance."
The Artisans' ambition did not end there. The success of the Warp Codices and constructs led them to a far more audacious idea: the rewriting of reality itself. By binding daemons to the framework of governance and using the immaterium as a tool, the Artisans sought to perfect the flaws they perceived in the galaxy. Like the artists they once claimed to be, they envisioned the universe as a canvas to be remade according to their twisted ideals.
To realize their grand vision of universal "perfection," the Arwë Partalë knew they would need more than just their daemonic constructs and Warp Codices. They required a new type of servant capable of executing their warped ambitions and binding the galaxy more tightly to their growing warp logistics network. Through centuries of experimentation, trial, and error—and the catastrophic loss of a hundred worlds—they finally succeeded. Thus, the first Mermilmë was born.
A Mermilmë is what the Artisans deceitfully describe as a wish-granter, a being of unfathomable power capable of fulfilling the deepest desires of those who summon it. According to the Artisans, the Mermilmë offers salvation, prosperity, or vengeance—whatever its petitioner desires most. Comparisons have been drawn between the Mermilmë and the ancient Djinn of Old Terra, trickster spirits from human myth who were said to grant wishes with disastrous consequences. But even this comparison does not fully capture the sinister nature of these creations.
The Mermilmë is not born in the natural sense nor even conjured in a straightforward summoning ritual. It is a product of the Artisans' quasi-gestalt codices, created through an intricate merging of warp sorcery and technological ingenuity. At its core, the Mermilmë is an extension of the Ulwarth Network, a chaotic lattice of interconnected Warp Codices that spans the shattered remnants of the Aeldari Dominion. With the codices serving as its mind, the Mermilmë takes physical form when bound to a specially prepared construct or a host body. This vessel, corrupted and reshaped by the warp, allows the Mermilmë to manifest in the Materium.
Once summoned, the Mermilmë can tap into the vast, chaotic energies of the Warp to manipulate reality on a scale that defies comprehension. Whether calling forth matter and energy from the immaterium or bending the laws of physics themselves, the Mermilmë can provide anything the petitioner desires—wealth, power, immortality, or even the destruction of enemies. For a desperate or ambitious soul, the temptation is irresistible.
But like all gifts of Chaos, the Mermilmë's boons come at an unspeakable cost. The Artisans, shielded by their mastery over the daemonic forces they command, remain immune to the creature's corrupting influence. However, a Mermilmë's aid is a poisoned chalice for everyone else. The desires it fulfills are often twisted into something horrific: wealth that crumbles to dust, power that invites ruin, or immortality that becomes eternal torment. Worse still, the summoning of a Mermilmë inevitably deepens the corruption of the Materium, further entwining the summoner—and the world around them—into the clutches of Sai'lanthresh.
To the Artisans, the Mermilmë represents the pinnacle of their craft, a perfect fusion of chaos and design. They deploy these creatures to serve their logistical needs and as weapons of subtlety and subversion. Entire worlds have been ruined by a single Mermilmë, as its promises sow discord and despair, leaving the survivors ripe for the Artisans' influence.
It has already caused havoc and destruction, giving the Ulwarth access to incredible resources and influence. I fear that the longer this crisis subsists, the worse things shall become for us all.
Ohta Liyúmë (The Templars)
There is no greater shame for a civilization than for its protectors to help usher in its doom.
It may seem inconceivable to many, but those entrusted with safeguarding their people and serving as sentinels against external and internal threats are meant to be the first and last line of defense.
Yet I am reminded of an old saying from Magnus: "Who watches the watchmen?" Had someone been watching the Ohta Liyúmë, perhaps the Aeldari Dominion might have possessed a force capable of suppressing the Aiek Woris and their hidden Ulwarth masters.
Alas, the Templar Order of the Watchful Phoenix failed spectacularly in this sacred duty. Unlike the Artisans, who succumbed to corruption through moral decay, or the Thaumaturgists, who sought to control it for their own ends, the Templars willingly embraced their damnation, driven by an unfulfilled quest for everlasting glory.
One must understand that the Dominion's hard-won, millennia-old peace became the Templars' greatest enemy. No campaigns were left to wage, no adversary mighty enough to test their mettle, and no cause worthy of sacrifice.
In their eyes, the era of prosperity was a slow decay of their order. The Orkeads had long been contained, the lesser species of the galaxy cowered in the Dominion's shadow, and the gods were silent.
This bitterness grew stronger, and in their hubris, the Templars dismissed the notion that peace was a triumph of their ancestors; instead, they saw it as a chain—a curse of stagnation that left them aimless and yearning for purpose. What good were warriors among the endless bounty and peace?
The Templars grew restless as the galaxy slumbered under the Dominion's hegemony. Their swords gathered dust in temples of stone and crystal, and their banners faded in the archives of a past they could only dream of matching. They spent their days guarding the relics of bygone eras, watching over dusty monuments to the gods and heroes of old. They were the keepers of memory, tasked with preserving the myths of an age where the Aeldari strode across the galaxy as giants and heroes.
It is no wonder that whispers of the Pleasure Cults found fertile ground among their ranks. Tales of the glory of ancient battles, of gods walking beside warriors in the age of the Old Ones, must have ignited a yearning in their hearts—a yearning to escape the tedium of guardianship and reclaim the vitality of a past that no longer existed.
For while the Cults preached indulgences and debauchery, they also spoke of battle and valor that could be obtained by their people once more. When the Ulwarth approached the Ohta Liyúmë with promises of a new "order," which would require strength and devotion to lead their people to a higher purpose, the Templars did not hesitate.
They did not fall with reluctance nor bargain cautiously as others might have. They embraced the offer with fervor, believing that the gifts of the Great Enemy were a means to restore their own glory.
In their arrogance, they convinced themselves that they were not betraying the Dominion but saving it—that by forging a new order through Chaos, the Ulwarth would breathe life into a civilization they saw as decaying, and the Templars would be the swords of this change. They clung to this lie even as they cast aside their oaths, abandoned their honor, and became the pawns of the Great Enemy.
And so, the Templars' descent into treason began. It was not a gradual erosion but a fiery transformation. What started as whispers of discontent became chants of devotion to their new masters. They reforged their once-holy symbols into twisted icons, their armor and weapons reshaped into grotesque mockeries of their former splendor as the whispers of daemons gave them terrible secrets.
When the Fall commenced, the Ohta Liyúmë moved with ruthless precision. They exterminated anyone who might have remained loyal to the Dominion, even as the Phoenix Emperor and his court were slaughtered in the chaos and the Phoenix Lords were thrown into the warp.
The Templars coordinated seamlessly with the other Ulwarth sects, ensuring that no resistance could arise and allowing profane rituals across our homeworlds to continue uninterrupted. Countless loyalists died. All for a good cause, I imagine, was what the Templars told themselves. They saw themselves not as traitors but as architects of a new era, making necessary sacrifices to usher in the rebirth of their people.
We will never know how many Templars remained loyal to their people and gods. Unfortunately, their sacrifice, among other things, has been erased. The Templars accomplished what they set out to do.
But their triumph turned to ash when the birth of Sai'lanthresh concluded. They witnessed not the glorious resurgence they had been promised but a nightmare beyond comprehension.
The souls of their people were dragged screaming into the new god, condemned to eternal torment, while daemons—twisted, leering mockeries of their expectations—flooded into reality and upon the still smoldering ruins of our cities and worlds.
How appropriate, then, that the Templars, who had envisioned themselves as champions of a renewed Aeldari supremacy, were stunned and furious. Their dream of ascension had transformed into a waking nightmare. The Ohta Liyúmë were warriors of discipline and pride, but now they answered to abominations—daemons whose chaotic whims mocked the Templars' once-orderly vision of glory.
This betrayal ignited a seething fury within the Templars, and their hatred toward daemons helped distinguish them from the Ulwarth. Like all the others, they had been promised a new future, yet now they were forced to serve Sai'lanthresh.
And to the Templars, this was intolerable—a violation of the very order they sought to impose upon the galaxy.
Thus began their dark resolve: if they could not destroy the daemons outright, they would enslave them. This hatred and ambition birthed their ultimate design: a plan to bend the ruinous powers to their will and use the daemons as tools to restore the Aeldari people.
Of course, the irony is inescapable. Even as they justified their actions to save their people, they once again ignored the glaring truth: their ambition had doomed the Aeldari to begin with. They could not see the cycle they perpetuated, blind to the fact that their lack of self-awareness and refusal to accept accountability had always been their greatest weakness.
Yet that still did not stop them.
The Ohta Liyúmë embarked on a grim path of research and experimentation, fixating on the enslavement, destruction, and exploitation of daemons. A name was given to this practice.
Enia Canwacimië: Made to Serve
Some might find these priorities amusing in their pettiness—a crusade born of wounded pride rather than noble purpose.
But the fruits of their labor have silenced all mockery. No one is laughing now. The Enia Canwacimië has seen the Templars accomplish much. It started small, as they did not want to alert the Great Enemy of their intentions, but the Ulwarth are, if nothing else, the type to excel in hiding like the vermin they are.
The Templars began their twisted work by targeting the weakest or isolated daemons. Using the sorcery granted to them during their descent into corruption, they captured these entities and subjected them to the unspeakable torment of the Enia Canwacimië.
Alongside their fellow Ulwarth, the Templars devised cruel methods to bind and break daemons, forcing them into servitude. Those daemons too weak to endure their abuse were simply converted into raw matter and energy, used to forge stronger chains for binding more powerful denizens of the Warp.
This cycle of hatred and domination transformed the Templars' worldview. It became not only a vendetta against daemonkind but a ruthless philosophy of survival of the fittest. Among their own ranks, they began to believe that only the strongest among them could hope to confront and control truly formidable daemons.
Weakness was an unforgivable sin, whether in their prey or in themselves.
In time, their relentless pursuit of dominance led them to uncover a dangerous secret: the ability to "purify" daemons and their environments. How the Templars came upon this knowledge remains a mystery, even to this day.
However, one theory persists among the Eternal Wardens. They claim that certain Ulwarth had been quietly monitoring Daemonsbanes, studying their abilities and skills. The Templars may have artificially replicated this "purification" process through rediscovered tomes and forbidden experiments.
Armed with this newfound power, the Templars expanded their repertoire of daemonology to horrifying new heights. They enslaved daemons for scut work, forged them into daemon weapons and armor, and wove their tortured essence into unholy constructs. Yet their Purity Crusades revealed their ultimate ambition: the destabilization of Chaos.
Under this twisted doctrine, the Templars became zealots of destruction, waging war not only against daemons but against the fabric of the Immaterium itself. Anyone caught in these battles was simply fodder for them.
Their campaigns are infamous for their audacity and brutality. They target everything from daemon worlds to warp storms, launching ruthless campaigns to "purify" these blights from existence, although never for any altruistic reasons but merely to gather up slaves of all kinds, resources, and just to spite anyone they come into contact with.
Such designs have reached a galactic level of disruption, with the Templars attacking and sabotaging galactic ley lines, disrupting the delicate lattice of the Warp that enables interstellar travel and communication.
In their crusade to disrupt the Materium connection from the Immaterium, they have pioneered the creation of Warp sinks and dams, metaphysical constructs designed to suppress or isolate Warp energy entirely and housed within the bodies of massive warp entities that barely qualify as being alive, living errors upon our reality.
These constructs cut regions of space off from the Warp, leaving them stranded, lifeless, and desolate. Yet their most insidious tactic is the deployment of false beacons—deceptive signals that lure unsuspecting ships and worlds into deadly traps, where their victims are annihilated or repurposed for the Templars' horrific experiments.
For the Ohta Liyúmë, no strategy is too extreme, no sacrifice too great. Every act, no matter how heinous, is justified in their eyes if it brings them closer to their ultimate goal: the subjugation of the Warp and the reclamation of what they see as the Aeldari's rightful glory.
Túrë Pella (The Thaumaturgists)
Stagnation. This recurring theme lies at the heart of the Ulwarth's motivations for acting as midwives to the Fall of the Dominion, although this was more attributed to a particular sect of the Ulwarth. The stagnation of our civilization was a rot—an endemic failure spanning countless facets of our existence.
Yet the Túrë Pella, the Conclave of Thaumaturgists, attributed this stagnation to a singular and damning cause: the Aeldari's refusal to evolve.
For all the vaunted scholars, priests, seers, and singers of the Phoenix Emperor's court, it was the Túrë Pella who perhaps embodied the most damning flaws of the Aeldari race. Not merely in their cruelty or arrogance—though the Thaumaturgists were most certainly not lacking in either—but in their obsessive, unyielding pursuit of perfection.
To them, the Aeldari species was a masterpiece tarnished by millennia of complacency and indulgence, a blade once forged by the Old Ones and sanctified by the Aeldari Pantheon, now dulled by decadence and self-imposed limitations. What good is a weapon if it dulls itself against weak enemies? The Túrë Pella sought to resolve this issue.
The Thaumaturgists believed it was their divine right—no, their duty—to restore the Aeldari to their former glory by dragging their species further along. Yet they went further still, insisting that restoration was not enough. The Aeldari, they claimed, must transcend their original design and become something greater, a superior and perfected species worthy of ruling the stars once more.
But at the height and even encroaching decline of the Dominion, few took their ambitions seriously.
If you were to ask any Aeldari of that time, they would have laughed at the notion of "improving" upon their form. The Aeldari were already perfect, they would say, and to alter their divine creation was heresy of the highest order.
Perhaps, had someone taken the Thaumaturgists' dangerous ideals more seriously and scrutinized their activities with greater care, they might not have fallen so easily to the Ulwarth's corruption.
But in truth, I believe the Túrë Pella were damned from the very start. They were radicals and perfectionists, unable to see the folly in their relentless pursuit of a flawed ideal. They looked upon the latent potential within the Aeldari genome and resolved to reshape their kin into something they believed was superior—regardless of the cost and the ruin it would ultimately bring.
And so, the Thaumaturgists began their dark work. While their methods were undoubtedly insane and their motives irresponsible, the brilliance and creativity that defined their designs and machinations cannot be denied. Unfortunately, genius and madness are often intertwined.
Where our Bonesingers displayed unmatched mastery over Wraithbone, the Thaumaturgists sought to push the boundaries of possibility, forging new processes and applications for this sacred material with unholy experiments.
In secret, they began conducting experiments to hybridize Wraithbone and flesh.
While not entirely unknown to the Aeldari, this field of study had always been heavily scrutinized and tightly regulated. Naturally, the Thaumaturgists had no interest in adhering to oversight or heeding the voices of caution. They believed themselves above the judgments of lesser minds.
A taboo placed upon the ascension of our species was built upon the prospect of close-minded fools or, worse, those who sought to undermine our glory. The Thaumaturgists had no qualms in believing enemies were all around them.
Not that they would have encountered any or any resistance.
In their rise to prominence, the Pleasure Cults fostered a pervasive sense of ennui and disillusionment among the populace. Many Aeldari, seeking to escape the mediocrity of stagnation and the perceived inadequacies of their physical forms, turned eagerly to the Thaumaturgists, who offered the allure of Wraithbone infusions as a path to transcendence.
For those Imperials reading this, I'm sure you already recognize how familiar this all sounds to the Red Brotherhood of Mars. It has not been lost on me and has been a subject of inquiry and speculation.
Regardless, during their experiments, the Thaumaturgists concluded that our species had become shackled by our "biological tethers" to this reality, claiming that our very souls were "weighed down by the gravity of the universe."
It was a damning indictment of our dependence on our mortal forms, one that resonated deeply with those who sought escape from the confines of existence as they knew it. We are a species tied close to the Warp, but the Aeldari never considered themselves a part of it.
But when the whispers came from the daemons of the Immaterium, the Túrë Pella became convinced otherwise. These dark entities whispered to the Thaumaturgists of rituals and rites that could sever these supposed chains, promising a path to liberation and ascension.
The Túrë Pella succumbed to the seduction of this promise. Finally, they thought that we would be free of our physical shells; our minds needed only to unlock the cages that were our bodies.
Like so many others, they fell under the Immaterium's influence and ultimately found their place within the ranks of the Ulwarth. Fools and madmen flocking together under the same banner like they often want.
And so it went. The Thaumaturgists set about their work ruthlessly, subverting and corrupting all the colonies and worlds responsible for shaping and nurturing Wraithbone. These were the cradles of our most precious resource and the repositories of knowledge that had long defined the glory of our civilization. The Thaumaturgists ensured that, when the Fall came, those who remained loyal and sane would be unable to salvage even fragments of this vital legacy.
Had those places remained untouched, the Aeldari today might have stood a chance of replicating the marvels of our greatest war machines. But the Ulwarth left nothing to chance. Their machinations guaranteed our people's helplessness, and for their treachery, the Thaumaturgists were granted dominion over the largest untouched stockpile of Wraithbone and relics—artifacts spared the corruption and destruction that consumed so much during the Fall.
When the Fall concluded, Sai'lanthresh and its daemonic minions had not liberated the Aeldari from their supposed "physical chains." Instead, the souls of our people became bound to She Who Thirsts, eternal prisoners to her insatiable hunger. In this moment of reckoning, the Thaumaturgists realized the magnitude of their betrayal. Yet, in their boundless arrogance, they refused to see themselves as victims. Instead, they convinced themselves that their error lay not in their ambitions but in trusting an external force. With this rationalization, they resolved to continue their grotesque experiments, emboldened by the knowledge and resources they had amassed.
However, the path to ascension—the ultimate liberation from the physical form and the chains of mortality—remained distant. They concluded that further refinement was necessary, that sacrifices of the body and mind would be required, for now, the Aeldari soul had become the most vital of all resources.
Thus began the Pata Ka Orosta, the Search for Ascension.
The Pata Ka Orosta is not a singular doctrine or edict but a sprawling compendium of ideas, philosophies, and aspirations.
Where the Ulwarth preach salvation or ascension as a collective goal to the Túrë Pella, such ideals can only be realized through relentless innovation and evolution. They believe that ascension is not merely a matter of individual transcendence but a total redefinition of Aeldari culture, technology, philosophy, and even divinity itself.
In pursuit of this vision, the Thaumaturgists began the painstaking process of remaking themselves. They worked to shed their mortal forms, infusing their bodies with Wraithbone in preparation for the ultimate transition: the transfer of their souls into perfected Wraithbone shells. These constructs would allow them to transcend the limitations of flesh, retaining "mundane" bodies only for interacting with the enslaved masses they still deemed beneath them.
This metamorphosis has already borne horrifying fruit. We have seen the emergence of corrupted champions of the Ulwarth—nearly unkillable beings commanding legions of Wraith constructs. Or the so-called "Perfected" Aeldari forged in the image of this new order. Twisted creatures, living dolls that act as servants and emissaries or who serve the Eidolons of Glory Everlasting, grotesque amalgamations of Wraithbone and stolen souls.
And, at the heart of it all, whispers persist of the Nexus of Eternity. A place—or perhaps an artifact—that holds the ultimate key to the Thaumaturgists' twisted ambitions.
The Future That Awaits
What was the mistake we made? The mistake I made? Did we deliberately blind ourselves to the dangers posed by the Ulwarth, consumed by other pressing concerns? It is a question I have asked myself during many sleepless nights now.
The signs were all there. My visions warned me, as they did many others. Many among the Aeldari blame the splintering of the Imperium for consuming our attention. That endless fracturing forced our people to take sides amidst one brutal civil war after the other while trying to hold back the Great Enemy or stem the tide of the Blood and Thunder War.
But none among us—myself included—has had the humility to admit that our arrogance paved the way for the calamity that has since unfolded. When whispers of the Ulwarth's intentions reached us, their designs to maim the Warp and sabotage Sai'lanthresh, we told ourselves their failure or success would ultimately benefit us. We naively believed their reckless actions would diminish the Great Enemy and weaken its grip on the galaxy.
Now we know the truth, and it is a bitter lesson: the Ulwarth's victories, though selective and sparse, have benefited no one but themselves. Their deeds have ultimately wrought devastation on a scale that even the Great Enemy could not achieve alone.
We convinced ourselves that our enemies would destroy one another, that the fires of their conflict would burn themselves out. Had Eldrad been here, perhaps his foresight and wisdom would have pierced the illusions we wove around ourselves.
Had I been more focused and willing to act upon the truth, maybe we could have reacted before it was too late. The reality we now face is grim beyond words.
The Ulwarth may have thwarted the greatest champions of the Warp from entering the Materium, but in their place, an endless tide of lesser daemons now spills into the galaxy like locusts.
And those abominations that are banished or killed are instead harvested, enslaved, and twisted into tools of war by the Templars. The Thaumaturgists, in their madness, have transformed daemons into grotesque artificial wombs for their blasphemous resurrections. The Mermilmës have revived the Croneworlds, turning those cursed worlds into engines of war and devastation.
Millions of Exodites have been slaughtered in the name of their twisted ambitions; their homes turned to ash. Worse still, their children—our children—are taken. Stolen from the ashes of their homes and subjected to a relentless cycle of reconditioning and indoctrination, molded into pawns of the Ulwarth's monstrous designs.
Nothing is sacred to the Ulwarth. Nothing ever was, and nothing ever will be.
Now, I have glimpsed what awaits us all. The sacrifices I made to uncover their ambitions will haunt me until the end of my days, but to have done nothing would have cost the Aeldari everything.
A singular Ulwarth has risen, their power and prestige surpassing all expectations. Soon, even the Convocation of 18—the once-mighty voices of reason and unity—will be unable to oppose them. In time, they will be forced to yield to Ulwarth's demands. This usurper will unite the Three Enclaves and the scattered Kingdoms and Conclaves. Upon the ruins of the Phoenix Court, in the shadow of our ancient grandeur, this pretender will be crowned the reborn Phoenix Emperor—the master of a New Aeldari Dominion.
But this is no revival; it is the prelude to a cataclysm. This so-called Phoenix Emperor would ignite a true war between the Ulwarth and Sai'lanthresh, a conflict that could spell the end of She Who Thirsts. This tyrant, armed with forbidden knowledge and unspeakable power, would unleash Ynnead, the Aeldari God of Death, against our ancient nemesis. And I fear they would succeed.
How the Ulwarth achieved this defies understanding, but they have clearly turned one of our most sacred prophecies against us, co-opting its hope for their own twisted ends. With Ynnead's ascension, the Ulwarth would gain dominion over the spirits of those who perished during the Fall and, inevitably, control the fates of all who remain outside the Infinity Circuit.
We would have exchanged one nightmare for another. This time, however, the nightmare would be insurmountable. The Ulwarth would become an empire of souls, a dominion beyond mortal reckoning, impossible to overthrow without obliterating what little remains of our people and civilization.
The so-called Phoenix Emperor—a Vulture Emperor—would usher in Rhana Dandra, the prophesied end. But it would not be the Aeldari's triumphant stand against Chaos. No, it would be a final, devastating civil war, a battle that would consume our entire race and erase our history from the stars.
All I can think of is how fitting an end this would be for our species. All that glory, all that prosperity—eons of unmatched achievement—reduced to ash by our own hands. No one deserves it more than we do.
Perhaps, when the dust finally settles, the humans will rise from the ruins, wiser for having watched our fall. Maybe they will learn from our folly and carve a better path than the one we trod.
—
The Present…
"Where was this found?" Eldrad Ulthran's voice carried a sharp edge as he regarded the two Aeldari standing before him. His fellow Farseer, Landesh, stood rigid, his expression a thundercloud of unease, while the Harlequin Death Jester, Yral Piaf, seemed inscrutable, his death mask concealing any trace of emotion. They had just concluded their review of the Codex Ulwarth, a text as unnerving as enigmatic.
"It was the human Curators who uncovered it," Yral Piaf replied with a faintly theatrical air. Though the mask obscured his face, the subtle tilt of his head and the cadence of his words suggested amusement. "They claimed it was among a trove of other recovered texts, almost as if it were deliberately left in plain sight—an afterthought, or perhaps bait."
Landesh's eyes narrowed, his frustration barely contained. "The Black Library is too fond of its riddles," he muttered darkly. "It conjures such artifacts, scatters them like seeds in the wind, and leaves us to divine their purpose. It defies all reasoning."
Eldrad offered a faint sigh, the weariness of millennia apparent in the slight slump of his shoulders. "Reason and the Black Library seldom walk hand in hand," he murmured. He had long since abandoned any hope of unraveling the Library's inscrutable motives without inviting madness.
The Codex Ulwarth sat ominously on the Wraithbone table between them, its cover etched with intricate, sinuous patterns that seemed to shift subtly under the room's faint light. The text within was filled with chilling revelations, its contents penned by what appeared to be a much older and far more disillusioned Morianne.
Eldrad's brow furrowed as he considered the timestamp embedded in the entries. Although the writings were dated over 10,000 years beyond their current era, the tone and details hinted at a skewed reality, as if drawn from another timeline.
"Another timeline," Eldrad mused, his voice quiet but laced with unease. His piercing gaze turned toward Yral Piaf. "And what of the humans? Did they understand the significance of what they uncovered?"
The Death Jester tilted his head slightly, his body language still unreadable. "The Curators are not so ignorant as their kin often are. They recognized it as dangerous, but not why. They handed it over to us, claiming it 'sang with truths best unheard.' A fun descriptor, wouldn't you say?"
Landesh's arms were crossed tightly, his demeanor like a storm barely contained. "And yet, we must be cautious. This... 'Codex Ulwarth'..." He spat the name with disdain. "...seems as much a warning as it is an archive. A vision of what might be, not necessarily what will come to pass."
Eldrad's fingers traced faint patterns in the air above the Codex, his mind cycling through potential futures, each more troubling than the last. "It would be easier to dismiss this as fiction. Yet we know the threads of fate have a way of weaving themselves, no matter how improbable the design."
"And the writing," Landesh interjected. "Morianne is many things, but to see her writings hint that she agrees with the end of our people…" It didn't need to be said, but the troubles she must have witnessed likely made her jaded.
Eldrad exhaled slowly, his expression one of carefully measured resolve. "We will dissect this Codex, compare it with what we know, and look further into the activities of the Ulwarth. If even a fraction of its contents hold truth, their schemes are more far-reaching than any of us anticipated."
Landesh's voice softened, tinged with doubt. "And if this is not a warning but a prophecy?"
Eldrad looked away, the faint glow of his psychic presence dimming slightly as he pondered the question. "Then the Aeldari are in far graver peril than even I foresaw. However, no future has been set just yet. The threads of fate are still unbound and ever-changing. We are not yet lost."
It was a good sentiment, but as the Great Seer looked down upon the Codex Ulwarth, it seemed like a serpent coiled and waiting to strike. Eldrad didn't want or need this information getting out, especially if it resulted in the Great Enemy or the Ulwarth reevaluating their plans.
"Should we show this to Morianne?" Landesh asked, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "This pertains to her not just on a deeply personal level but also because of the path she is destined to walk regarding the Ulwarth."
Eldrad weighed the suggestion carefully before shaking his head. "No," he said firmly. "She carries enough burdens already. What lies within these pages is a possibility, not a certainty. We must first dissect and evaluate this knowledge, ensuring we understand it fully before involving her."
Morianne, still young and brimming with hope, had yet to face the full weight of the reality that awaited her. She would change in time—of that, Eldrad was certain—but there was no need to hasten that transformation with horrors she was not yet equipped to bear.
"Better to shield her from this... for now," Eldrad murmured, almost to himself. "Let her hold on to what hope she can, if just for a little longer."
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, done with this.
My name is Morianne Lyfae of Craftworld Ulthwé, and I was too late to stop the Ulwarth.
I have gazed upon the doom that now looms over the galaxy. It is a malignancy born of the Aeldari's hubris and arrogance—one that many of my kin choose to ignore, for it is a shameful specter of our once-glorious past, and now we must all pay for this failure.
What has come to pass requires an explanation. Who is behind the apocalypse that has spread forth from the Eye of Terro?
I speak of the First Traitors, the Ulwarth. A threat once shrouded not in secrecy, for I have seen their destruction firsthand and fought one, but in fear. For even among the Aeldari, we fear them. We feared what they represented in us.
And now their twisted ambitions have unleashed a catastrophe beyond the comprehension of most who dwell in this galaxy. There is no undoing what has been set loose. There is only now an opportunity to cleanse this vileness from our universe before it consumes anyone else.
Perhaps in another time, some would have called my warnings an exaggeration or possibly born of fear or prejudice, yet as a Farseer, I had seen what awaited us if the Ulwarth were left to carry out their plots. I wish I dared to say what I had seen when I had the opportunity.
I was weak, and because of this weakness, the galaxy suffered.
We now exist in an age of peril, where countless souls unite against this new and unknowable enemy. I make no distinction among those who strive to hold back this unholy storm; we are bound together by fate and necessity in this struggle.
And so I write this tome, this "Codex," as Magnus names it, as my offering to those who seek understanding. Knowledge is power, and knowing the Ulwarth—their schemes, strengths, and weaknesses—means enlightenment, and we shall achieve victory through that. I can only hope this information has not arrived too late.
- Dated 15,014 After Fall (M42.958 in the Imperial Calander)
This question demands an answer, though the truth is as burdensome as it is forbidden. To recount the Fall of the Aeldari is an act fraught with peril. Such tales are left untold among my kin, for even the mere act of remembering invites shame and despair. Putting this history to parchment may be deemed treasonous—a wound inflicted upon the pride of a people who cling desperately to their dignity. Pride binds us all in its chains, and love for our legacy can inspire vengeance against those who threaten it.
Yet this truth must be spoken, preserved. My people's past has been veiled in shame and distorted by necessity. We silence the story of our ruin to shield our dignity and protect our very souls. If left unspoken, our history will be buried with us, forgotten in the mists of time.
Through the Warp, I have glimpsed fragments of what once was. Days spent gazing upon the strands of fate and years of searching within the Black Library have revealed only scattered truths. Even the Harlequins—our enigmatic keepers of lore—offer no clarity. Their warnings are veiled in riddles, their dances brimming with cryptic gestures. To my inquiries, they caution: "Beware of what you give back to the Warp when you seek its truths."
Still, I have learned enough to speak of the Ulwarth.
The Fall of the Aeldari—the tragic collapse of our empire and the birth of Sai'lanthresh, She Who Thirsts—is remembered as a calamity only centuries old. But the rot that doomed us had already festered for millennia. Corruption seldom erupts suddenly, nor does it arise without cause. Its roots grow deep, nurtured by ambition and apathy.
Almost five thousand years before the Fall, the Aiek Woris—the Pleasure Cults—emerged at the height of the Dominion's decadence. They were born of a slow, creeping malaise: the inevitable stagnation of a civilization with nothing left to achieve. With safety assured and horizons explored, the Aeldari grew idle and listless, their creativity warped into hedonistic pursuits. The Aiek Woris promised meaning through indulgence and excess, attracting the brightest and most powerful minds under the guise of seeking blissful eternity.
The Aeldari, who had once uplifted the lesser races and safeguarded the galaxy's balance, twisted their mastery of the Warp and their cultural brilliance into tools of unimaginable suffering. The Pleasure Cults consumed our people's energies, but even they were not the true architects of our doom. No, the Ulwarth arose from this degeneracy—a breed of manipulators who saw in the rising darkness an opportunity for power, not destruction.
In another time, the First Traitors would have been called heroes and loyalists, those who would have safeguarded the Dominion against all threats. Yet without the wisdom and hope of the gods, their hearts blackened.
A confederation of miscreants: radical alchemists obsessed with unlocking forbidden truths, ambitious lordlings driven by insatiable greed, disillusioned priests who abandoned the gods for darker whispers, mad sorcerers who pried too deeply into the Warp, and glory-starved warriors who sought purpose in conquest when none remained at home. Among the Phoenix Emperor's court and the highest ministries of governance, they were leaders, generals, sorceresses, artists, visionaries—or so they claimed.
These First Traitors emerged not from desperation or ignorance but from the heart of the Dominion itself. Their betrayal was not one of impulse but of cold calculation, carried out in the name of their "vision" for the Aeldari. The Ulwarth believed they were the chosen ones, destined to transcend the collapse of our civilization and, through their survival, one day redeem our species.
I cannot say how they first encountered the Great Enemy. Perhaps they unearthed long-forgotten knowledge buried in our archives or traded too freely with the denizens of the Immaterium in their pursuit of power. Whatever the cause, the Ulwarth saw the coming storm and profited from it instead of seeking to prevent it.
They reasoned that if the Dominion was doomed, it was better to guide its destruction on their terms than to let it unravel into chaos without purpose.
To this day, the Ulwarth's arrogance defies comprehension. They did not see their actions as treachery but as a gift—damnation delivered as a "test" for our people's glory. History, they believed, would vindicate them. That belief, their certainty in their righteousness, is the most galling insult of all.
I have no words vast enough to convey my fury nor the weight of disgust I feel toward the Ulwarth. Were every Aeldari given a voice to condemn them, it would not suffice. They betrayed us all—our past, present, and what little remains of our future—in service to nothing but themselves.
Nevertheless, they carried on with their vile skullduggery, becoming the architects of our ruination. They fanned the flames of the Aiek Woris, encouraging the spread of the Pleasure Cults under the guise of cultural enrichment and spiritual freedom. They silenced and censored the warnings of our seers and priests, dismissing their prophecies as fearmongering meant to stifle progress or to hinder the commands of our Phoenix Emperor.
It was impossible to stop their corruption. Our people soon became willing pawns or perhaps merely ignorant of what happened at court. Besides, the Ulwarth offered much, commanding our people to strike at the lesser races of the galaxy under the pretense of "culling" threats to our supremacy.
Their betrayal was insidious. Yet the resolve of the Aeldari was equally pathetic. They did not need to do much. The Ulwarth did not announce their treachery but wove it into the fabric of the Dominion's decline, manipulating events so subtly most were blind to see their hand at work save for the farseers.
Not that anyone would have said anything. Those who dared to question the growing corruption—seers, leaders, and even ordinary citizens—were swiftly silenced, vanishing without a trace or meeting unfortunate ends. This is where the legend of the Ulwarth began, through the tales of those who knew someone who had "vanished" for speaking out against one thing or another.
Yet there was no stopping this. Because the Ulwarth were still merely a disease that had gotten the most power and influence. They were never truly the masterminds behind the end of the Aeldari civilization.
Still, the Ulwarth played their part, presenting themselves as loyal servants of the Dominion even as they sharpened the knife for its back. By the time their true allegiance became clear, it was too late. The Dominion had already been hollowed out, its foundations crumbled by decadence and despair.
When the Fall began, and the grandeur of our civilization crumbled into ruin, the Ulwarth emerged from their palaces or hidden strongholds to seize what little remained. The remnants of the Dominion, left unaided by the Asuryani, the Drukhari, or the Exodites, fell into their grasp.
To add insult to injury, the Ulwarth crowned themselves the inheritors of our shattered empire, proclaiming themselves the rightful rulers of what was once the greatest power in the galaxy. No one who wasn't uncorrupted heard the proclamation, although whispers of such intentions were passed from fleeing refugees.
And so, they welcomed Sai'lanthresh and her thralls, confident that their allegiance to the Dark Prince would shield them. They believed their willing betrayal, their service to the rising tide of corruption, had earned them a place of safety amidst the storm they unleashed. I can only imagine the horror etched upon their faces when Sai'lanthresh demanded their souls all the same.
To the Great Enemy, there is no loyalty, no sanctuary—only hunger and eventual death.
Their miscalculation should have been a source of vindication for the Aeldari, but no satisfaction could be gleaned from this moment. The Ulwarth, undeterred, entrenched themselves in the ruins of the Dominion. They carved up its remains like ravenous beasts, dividing its corpses into territories they claimed as their own.
The Ulwarth are not rulers of an empire reborn. They are scavengers, presiding over the bones of the Dominion, serving only themselves and their warped ambitions, not even being collared by Sai'lanthresh has culled their designs.
How the Ulwarth Are Organized
When the Fall ended, the Ulwarth believed they would rise as the sole inheritors of the greatest empire the galaxy had ever known. They had deluded themselves into thinking that they had done everything for the long-term survival of our people, poised to reshape our history and species in their image.
But their expectations were dashed. Instead of the grandeur they envisioned, they were left with scraps—ruined worlds, hollowed-out wonders, endless graveyards, and the corrupted husk of a once-great civilization.
The Craftworlds, though few and carrying only fragments of our once-peerless technology, proved far more resilient. Their meager fleets and scattered populations were enough to preserve and replicate much of what was lost. In stark contrast, the Ulwarth were forced to make do with the poisoned remains of the Dominion.
Though they claimed dominion over thousands of worlds, their holdings were ruins and wastelands, and not even the dead could be called upon to aid them. Now, they had become monuments to waking nightmares, warped by the birth-scream of Sai'lanthresh. The Ulwarth were not rulers but prisoners trapped within their corrupted domains, where daemons and abominations of the Dark Prince roamed freely.
It was a bitter truth for the Ulwarth that shattered whatever unity remained among the First Traitors.
The promises of a new future, the grand visions they had sold to one another to justify their betrayal, had crumbled to dust. Betrayal turned inward as they turned on each other, their arrogance and ambitions driving them to war. For a brief, tantalizing moment, it seemed they might tear themselves apart, delivering the justice they so richly deserved.
But the galaxy is rarely so merciful.
As their position became clear, the Ulwarth were forced to confront the truth: if they allowed their infighting to continue, they would be devoured by the daemons they had once welcomed into their realms. They knew they were weak, fractured, and vulnerable.
So, they chose pragmatism over annihilation. Through gritted teeth and clenched fists, the Ulwarth agreed to a series of treaties that divided the ruined Dominion among the most powerful factions.
These accords marked the birth of the Ulwarth Enclaves. Of course, in their vanity, they called themselves the Royal Enclaves, as if clinging to the shattered illusion of their former glory could justify the wretchedness of their dominion.
But I refuse to call these desecrated strongholds by such a name. They are not royal courts or no beacons of civilization. They are bastions of cruelty, monuments to arrogance, and temples to their wicked designs. They are not kings or lords but scavenges, feasting on the corpse of our empire, oblivious to the stench of rot that clings to their every act.
Though some identify as Conclaves or Kingdoms, these distinctions are meaningless. Each faction may claim unique practices, rituals, or proficiencies, but they are all united by cruelty and corruption. They are twisted reflections of what our people once were, wielding their malice with equal mastery of their profane arts.
At a more "personal" scale, the leadership of these Enclaves is chaotic by their very nature.
First, the Ulwarth have no single leader or figurehead; their boundless arrogance makes such unity anathema to their nature. To place one above the rest would require a measure of humility they do not possess.
Instead, they are governed—or, more accurately, constrained—by a council known as the Convocation of Eighteen. This assembly consists of six lords from each of the three ruling Enclaves. A similar system is imposed by the other "minor" elements of the Ulwarth.
Regardless, the reach of the Convocation of Eighteen extends across the broken remnants of the once-mighty Aeldari Dominion, a mockery of the order and majesty that once defined our empire. None shall ever surmount to the Phoenix Emperors or Lords.
Even after all this time and with the assistance of others, I have failed to divine the identities of these lords through the Warp. Perhaps with the help of Eldrad Ulthran, this would have been possible, but that time has passed.
But whether hidden by deliberate warding, shrouded by the tides of Chaos, or perhaps cloaked by their own irrelevance, their true natures remain a mystery. It is even possible that among their own ranks, they are more symbols of authority than individuals of substance—avatars of power rather than beings of flesh and thought.
Still, this Convocation is no beacon of unity.
Rather, it is a stage for endless discord of the Ulwarth, where alliances are forged in lies and broken without warning, treachery is the only currency, and even the illusion of consensus is an act of theater.
While their disunity might seem a fatal flaw, paradoxically, it is the source of their resilience. No failure can shatter their structure in the perpetual chaos that defines them, and no betrayal can unmake what was never truly whole. No singular elimination will stop it. The only way to destroy the Convocation is to end the Ulwarth completely.
The Ulwarth thrive in the chaos they have created. Where others might see weakness, they see opportunity—an endless cycle of power struggles that ensures only the most cunning, ruthless, and depraved rise to prominence. Chaos is a ladder in their minds.
Thus, the Convocation of Eighteen endures. Its members are not rulers in the traditional sense; they are predators, keep a knife behind their backs, and wait for an opportunity to gain more influence over the other. Yet they seem more than capable of working together against a common foe.
In light of recent events, it seems the Convocation of Eighteen is becoming increasingly enamored with the notion of creating a new Phoenix Emperor—a figurehead to bind their fractured ambitions and give form to their delusions of reclaiming the glory of the past. If my suspicions are correct, this plan may already be in motion. But I digress; I must not let my thoughts outrun the truths I have uncovered.
The Convocation's power is not evenly distributed. Three Enclaves hold dominion over the council and shape its direction with iron fists and poisonous whispers. These are not mere factions but the founders of the Ulwarth, the architects of betrayal who lit the pyre that consumed the Aeldari Dominion.
They are known as the Túrë Pella, Arwë Partalë, and Ohta Liyúmë, grand titles that reflect their twisting of our history. In the common tongue of Imperial Gothic, they are called the Thaumaturgists, the Artisans, and the Templars. These are the masterminds behind the Ulwarth and the crisis unleashed upon the galaxy.
Arwë Partalë (The Artisians)
Formally known as the Radiant Brotherhood of Artisans, the Arwë Partalë were once the silent architects of prosperity within the Dominion. I suppose for any human reading this, they were akin to the Administraum, although associating either entity with another would be like comparing a snub-revolver to a macrocannon.
In ancient times, the Arwë Partalë devoted themselves to perfecting the arts of administration, industry, and design. They were also devoted believers in Hoeth, the god of knowledge, learning, and wisdom.
While others claimed glory on the battlefield or through acts of creation, the Arwë Partalë labored tirelessly in the background, ensuring the lifeblood of the Dominion flowed uninterrupted, ensuring the Phoenix Emperor always had his armies, fleets, and worlds ready and able.
But more than that, they adhered to caring for our people. The Arwë Partalë ensured our people had music, food, opportunity, and safety. Everyone was given the right to a glorious future. For their genius lay not only in their craft but in their devotion to unity.
They wove a vast and seamless logistical network capable of serving every citizen's needs—be it a sprawling craftworld, a distant colony, or a single individual. They were the humble stewards of our civilization, ensuring that no one was ever left wanting. Their bureaucratic brilliance transformed the Dominion into a harmonious force that endured for millennia.
But harmony is fragile.
As the Aiek Woris rose to prominence, so did their demands upon the Arwë Partalë. The once-pure ambitions of the Radiant Brotherhood were slowly twisted to serve the insatiable appetites of the debauched elite and greedy masses.
The logistics they had perfected for the good of all were turned toward feeding the Dominion's growing depravity and, soon, bloody wars of conquest. Resources were redirected to sustain the endless hedonistic indulgences of our people while the cries of those left behind fell upon deaf ears.
Corruption seeped in like poison.
Bit by bit, the Arwë Partalë abandoned their moral foundation, choosing complicity over resistance. They became administrators of excess, co-conspirators of our demise, and aided the architects of our ruin.
By the time the Fall approached, the Brotherhood had transformed into a grotesque mockery of its former self under the Ulwarth. With the coffers of the Dominion firmly in their grasp, the Arwë Partalë was all but financing and sustaining the corruption that doomed our people.
When the Fall came and swept away the Dominion, the Arwë Partalë emerged as something new—a hollow reflection of their once-noble purpose. Freed from the oversight of a shattered civilization, they returned to their craft, tainted by the darkness that had consumed them.
Many would scoff at the notion of an Ulwarth faction dedicating itself to bureaucracy and logistics, dismissing such efforts as mundane and uninspired. But those who laugh fail to grasp the dark ingenuity of the Artisans. What might have seemed like a retreat into the banal was, in truth, the foundation of a grand and terrible ambition.
The Artisans, ever seeking to merge their administrative expertise with the gifts of Chaos, used their ties to Sai'lanthresh and the Great Enemy to craft what they deemed a "magnificent" framework for governance. Their vision, tainted as it was, sought to reshape the very fabric of reality to serve the Ulwarth's will.
It began with the creation of Warp Codices—devices or constructs capable of storing vast quantities of knowledge, each bound with a daemon from the realms of Sai'lanthresh. These Codices were more than mere repositories; they were sentient entities imbued with a perfectionist's touch, capable of analyzing and optimizing systems to an unimaginable degree. To the artisans, this was a triumph of function and an art form, blending their ancient talents with the dark powers of the Warp.
The concept evolved quickly. Inspired by their success, the Artisans turned their attention to creating daemonic constructs—artificial beings bound with warp entities designed to act as counselors, advisors, and even administrators for the rulers of the Enclaves. In effect, they began selling these advisors, crafting daemonically powered intelligence tailored to solve the complex demands of governance and strategy.
At first glance, these constructs might seem comparable to the thinking machines of the Materium, but the truth was far more sinister. Unlike soulless machines, these creations were alive, driven by the malevolent essence of the daemons they contained. Their advice came with a price, one often paid in corruption, suffering, or the inevitable collapse of those who depended too much on their "guidance."
The Artisans' ambition did not end there. The success of the Warp Codices and constructs led them to a far more audacious idea: the rewriting of reality itself. By binding daemons to the framework of governance and using the immaterium as a tool, the Artisans sought to perfect the flaws they perceived in the galaxy. Like the artists they once claimed to be, they envisioned the universe as a canvas to be remade according to their twisted ideals.
To realize their grand vision of universal "perfection," the Arwë Partalë knew they would need more than just their daemonic constructs and Warp Codices. They required a new type of servant capable of executing their warped ambitions and binding the galaxy more tightly to their growing warp logistics network. Through centuries of experimentation, trial, and error—and the catastrophic loss of a hundred worlds—they finally succeeded. Thus, the first Mermilmë was born.
A Mermilmë is what the Artisans deceitfully describe as a wish-granter, a being of unfathomable power capable of fulfilling the deepest desires of those who summon it. According to the Artisans, the Mermilmë offers salvation, prosperity, or vengeance—whatever its petitioner desires most. Comparisons have been drawn between the Mermilmë and the ancient Djinn of Old Terra, trickster spirits from human myth who were said to grant wishes with disastrous consequences. But even this comparison does not fully capture the sinister nature of these creations.
The Mermilmë is not born in the natural sense nor even conjured in a straightforward summoning ritual. It is a product of the Artisans' quasi-gestalt codices, created through an intricate merging of warp sorcery and technological ingenuity. At its core, the Mermilmë is an extension of the Ulwarth Network, a chaotic lattice of interconnected Warp Codices that spans the shattered remnants of the Aeldari Dominion. With the codices serving as its mind, the Mermilmë takes physical form when bound to a specially prepared construct or a host body. This vessel, corrupted and reshaped by the warp, allows the Mermilmë to manifest in the Materium.
Once summoned, the Mermilmë can tap into the vast, chaotic energies of the Warp to manipulate reality on a scale that defies comprehension. Whether calling forth matter and energy from the immaterium or bending the laws of physics themselves, the Mermilmë can provide anything the petitioner desires—wealth, power, immortality, or even the destruction of enemies. For a desperate or ambitious soul, the temptation is irresistible.
But like all gifts of Chaos, the Mermilmë's boons come at an unspeakable cost. The Artisans, shielded by their mastery over the daemonic forces they command, remain immune to the creature's corrupting influence. However, a Mermilmë's aid is a poisoned chalice for everyone else. The desires it fulfills are often twisted into something horrific: wealth that crumbles to dust, power that invites ruin, or immortality that becomes eternal torment. Worse still, the summoning of a Mermilmë inevitably deepens the corruption of the Materium, further entwining the summoner—and the world around them—into the clutches of Sai'lanthresh.
To the Artisans, the Mermilmë represents the pinnacle of their craft, a perfect fusion of chaos and design. They deploy these creatures to serve their logistical needs and as weapons of subtlety and subversion. Entire worlds have been ruined by a single Mermilmë, as its promises sow discord and despair, leaving the survivors ripe for the Artisans' influence.
It has already caused havoc and destruction, giving the Ulwarth access to incredible resources and influence. I fear that the longer this crisis subsists, the worse things shall become for us all.
The Room - Alters reality within an enclosed area, major bonus to research, requires souls to remain active. Absurd defensive bonus (+500 or so).
Cloak of Nothing - Devours djinn to operate, removes psychic presence of an individual entirely. Narrative stealth. Passively erases fragments of souls from those nearby.
The Iron Crown - Reroll all command rolls. +80 to combat. Set wound threshold to 80. Accelerated trait gain. Causes personality changes and insanity. Due to the 4 Djinn present in it.
Bone Automatons - +80 to duels automatons. Each is operated by a Djinn. Basically mass produceable pseudo-heroes.
Cloak of Nothing - Devours djinn to operate, removes psychic presence of an individual entirely. Narrative stealth. Passively erases fragments of souls from those nearby.
The Iron Crown - Reroll all command rolls. +80 to combat. Set wound threshold to 80. Accelerated trait gain. Causes personality changes and insanity. Due to the 4 Djinn present in it.
Bone Automatons - +80 to duels automatons. Each is operated by a Djinn. Basically mass produceable pseudo-heroes.
Ohta Liyúmë (The Templars)
There is no greater shame for a civilization than for its protectors to help usher in its doom.
It may seem inconceivable to many, but those entrusted with safeguarding their people and serving as sentinels against external and internal threats are meant to be the first and last line of defense.
Yet I am reminded of an old saying from Magnus: "Who watches the watchmen?" Had someone been watching the Ohta Liyúmë, perhaps the Aeldari Dominion might have possessed a force capable of suppressing the Aiek Woris and their hidden Ulwarth masters.
Alas, the Templar Order of the Watchful Phoenix failed spectacularly in this sacred duty. Unlike the Artisans, who succumbed to corruption through moral decay, or the Thaumaturgists, who sought to control it for their own ends, the Templars willingly embraced their damnation, driven by an unfulfilled quest for everlasting glory.
One must understand that the Dominion's hard-won, millennia-old peace became the Templars' greatest enemy. No campaigns were left to wage, no adversary mighty enough to test their mettle, and no cause worthy of sacrifice.
In their eyes, the era of prosperity was a slow decay of their order. The Orkeads had long been contained, the lesser species of the galaxy cowered in the Dominion's shadow, and the gods were silent.
This bitterness grew stronger, and in their hubris, the Templars dismissed the notion that peace was a triumph of their ancestors; instead, they saw it as a chain—a curse of stagnation that left them aimless and yearning for purpose. What good were warriors among the endless bounty and peace?
The Templars grew restless as the galaxy slumbered under the Dominion's hegemony. Their swords gathered dust in temples of stone and crystal, and their banners faded in the archives of a past they could only dream of matching. They spent their days guarding the relics of bygone eras, watching over dusty monuments to the gods and heroes of old. They were the keepers of memory, tasked with preserving the myths of an age where the Aeldari strode across the galaxy as giants and heroes.
It is no wonder that whispers of the Pleasure Cults found fertile ground among their ranks. Tales of the glory of ancient battles, of gods walking beside warriors in the age of the Old Ones, must have ignited a yearning in their hearts—a yearning to escape the tedium of guardianship and reclaim the vitality of a past that no longer existed.
For while the Cults preached indulgences and debauchery, they also spoke of battle and valor that could be obtained by their people once more. When the Ulwarth approached the Ohta Liyúmë with promises of a new "order," which would require strength and devotion to lead their people to a higher purpose, the Templars did not hesitate.
They did not fall with reluctance nor bargain cautiously as others might have. They embraced the offer with fervor, believing that the gifts of the Great Enemy were a means to restore their own glory.
In their arrogance, they convinced themselves that they were not betraying the Dominion but saving it—that by forging a new order through Chaos, the Ulwarth would breathe life into a civilization they saw as decaying, and the Templars would be the swords of this change. They clung to this lie even as they cast aside their oaths, abandoned their honor, and became the pawns of the Great Enemy.
And so, the Templars' descent into treason began. It was not a gradual erosion but a fiery transformation. What started as whispers of discontent became chants of devotion to their new masters. They reforged their once-holy symbols into twisted icons, their armor and weapons reshaped into grotesque mockeries of their former splendor as the whispers of daemons gave them terrible secrets.
When the Fall commenced, the Ohta Liyúmë moved with ruthless precision. They exterminated anyone who might have remained loyal to the Dominion, even as the Phoenix Emperor and his court were slaughtered in the chaos and the Phoenix Lords were thrown into the warp.
The Templars coordinated seamlessly with the other Ulwarth sects, ensuring that no resistance could arise and allowing profane rituals across our homeworlds to continue uninterrupted. Countless loyalists died. All for a good cause, I imagine, was what the Templars told themselves. They saw themselves not as traitors but as architects of a new era, making necessary sacrifices to usher in the rebirth of their people.
We will never know how many Templars remained loyal to their people and gods. Unfortunately, their sacrifice, among other things, has been erased. The Templars accomplished what they set out to do.
But their triumph turned to ash when the birth of Sai'lanthresh concluded. They witnessed not the glorious resurgence they had been promised but a nightmare beyond comprehension.
The souls of their people were dragged screaming into the new god, condemned to eternal torment, while daemons—twisted, leering mockeries of their expectations—flooded into reality and upon the still smoldering ruins of our cities and worlds.
How appropriate, then, that the Templars, who had envisioned themselves as champions of a renewed Aeldari supremacy, were stunned and furious. Their dream of ascension had transformed into a waking nightmare. The Ohta Liyúmë were warriors of discipline and pride, but now they answered to abominations—daemons whose chaotic whims mocked the Templars' once-orderly vision of glory.
This betrayal ignited a seething fury within the Templars, and their hatred toward daemons helped distinguish them from the Ulwarth. Like all the others, they had been promised a new future, yet now they were forced to serve Sai'lanthresh.
And to the Templars, this was intolerable—a violation of the very order they sought to impose upon the galaxy.
Thus began their dark resolve: if they could not destroy the daemons outright, they would enslave them. This hatred and ambition birthed their ultimate design: a plan to bend the ruinous powers to their will and use the daemons as tools to restore the Aeldari people.
Of course, the irony is inescapable. Even as they justified their actions to save their people, they once again ignored the glaring truth: their ambition had doomed the Aeldari to begin with. They could not see the cycle they perpetuated, blind to the fact that their lack of self-awareness and refusal to accept accountability had always been their greatest weakness.
Yet that still did not stop them.
The Ohta Liyúmë embarked on a grim path of research and experimentation, fixating on the enslavement, destruction, and exploitation of daemons. A name was given to this practice.
Enia Canwacimië: Made to Serve
Some might find these priorities amusing in their pettiness—a crusade born of wounded pride rather than noble purpose.
But the fruits of their labor have silenced all mockery. No one is laughing now. The Enia Canwacimië has seen the Templars accomplish much. It started small, as they did not want to alert the Great Enemy of their intentions, but the Ulwarth are, if nothing else, the type to excel in hiding like the vermin they are.
The Templars began their twisted work by targeting the weakest or isolated daemons. Using the sorcery granted to them during their descent into corruption, they captured these entities and subjected them to the unspeakable torment of the Enia Canwacimië.
Alongside their fellow Ulwarth, the Templars devised cruel methods to bind and break daemons, forcing them into servitude. Those daemons too weak to endure their abuse were simply converted into raw matter and energy, used to forge stronger chains for binding more powerful denizens of the Warp.
This cycle of hatred and domination transformed the Templars' worldview. It became not only a vendetta against daemonkind but a ruthless philosophy of survival of the fittest. Among their own ranks, they began to believe that only the strongest among them could hope to confront and control truly formidable daemons.
Weakness was an unforgivable sin, whether in their prey or in themselves.
In time, their relentless pursuit of dominance led them to uncover a dangerous secret: the ability to "purify" daemons and their environments. How the Templars came upon this knowledge remains a mystery, even to this day.
However, one theory persists among the Eternal Wardens. They claim that certain Ulwarth had been quietly monitoring Daemonsbanes, studying their abilities and skills. The Templars may have artificially replicated this "purification" process through rediscovered tomes and forbidden experiments.
Armed with this newfound power, the Templars expanded their repertoire of daemonology to horrifying new heights. They enslaved daemons for scut work, forged them into daemon weapons and armor, and wove their tortured essence into unholy constructs. Yet their Purity Crusades revealed their ultimate ambition: the destabilization of Chaos.
Under this twisted doctrine, the Templars became zealots of destruction, waging war not only against daemons but against the fabric of the Immaterium itself. Anyone caught in these battles was simply fodder for them.
Their campaigns are infamous for their audacity and brutality. They target everything from daemon worlds to warp storms, launching ruthless campaigns to "purify" these blights from existence, although never for any altruistic reasons but merely to gather up slaves of all kinds, resources, and just to spite anyone they come into contact with.
Such designs have reached a galactic level of disruption, with the Templars attacking and sabotaging galactic ley lines, disrupting the delicate lattice of the Warp that enables interstellar travel and communication.
In their crusade to disrupt the Materium connection from the Immaterium, they have pioneered the creation of Warp sinks and dams, metaphysical constructs designed to suppress or isolate Warp energy entirely and housed within the bodies of massive warp entities that barely qualify as being alive, living errors upon our reality.
These constructs cut regions of space off from the Warp, leaving them stranded, lifeless, and desolate. Yet their most insidious tactic is the deployment of false beacons—deceptive signals that lure unsuspecting ships and worlds into deadly traps, where their victims are annihilated or repurposed for the Templars' horrific experiments.
For the Ohta Liyúmë, no strategy is too extreme, no sacrifice too great. Every act, no matter how heinous, is justified in their eyes if it brings them closer to their ultimate goal: the subjugation of the Warp and the reclamation of what they see as the Aeldari's rightful glory.
Gi'lith Sae - Converting a daemon into their raw essence allows Templars to obtain powerful psychic abilities
The Cursed Citadel - A megastructure in the warp that is formed of multiple connected planets, it forms the heart of the Templars and is all but unassailable
Artificial Idols - Rending a godseed into pure divine matter, the resulting ichor is used to power a Titan creating a nightmare to face in battle
The Infinite Vessel - A gargantuan vessel under construction, the warp itself quakes with every aspect of the ship that is built. When fully created it will be a chained god in and of itself
The Cursed Citadel - A megastructure in the warp that is formed of multiple connected planets, it forms the heart of the Templars and is all but unassailable
Artificial Idols - Rending a godseed into pure divine matter, the resulting ichor is used to power a Titan creating a nightmare to face in battle
The Infinite Vessel - A gargantuan vessel under construction, the warp itself quakes with every aspect of the ship that is built. When fully created it will be a chained god in and of itself
Túrë Pella (The Thaumaturgists)
Stagnation. This recurring theme lies at the heart of the Ulwarth's motivations for acting as midwives to the Fall of the Dominion, although this was more attributed to a particular sect of the Ulwarth. The stagnation of our civilization was a rot—an endemic failure spanning countless facets of our existence.
Yet the Túrë Pella, the Conclave of Thaumaturgists, attributed this stagnation to a singular and damning cause: the Aeldari's refusal to evolve.
For all the vaunted scholars, priests, seers, and singers of the Phoenix Emperor's court, it was the Túrë Pella who perhaps embodied the most damning flaws of the Aeldari race. Not merely in their cruelty or arrogance—though the Thaumaturgists were most certainly not lacking in either—but in their obsessive, unyielding pursuit of perfection.
To them, the Aeldari species was a masterpiece tarnished by millennia of complacency and indulgence, a blade once forged by the Old Ones and sanctified by the Aeldari Pantheon, now dulled by decadence and self-imposed limitations. What good is a weapon if it dulls itself against weak enemies? The Túrë Pella sought to resolve this issue.
The Thaumaturgists believed it was their divine right—no, their duty—to restore the Aeldari to their former glory by dragging their species further along. Yet they went further still, insisting that restoration was not enough. The Aeldari, they claimed, must transcend their original design and become something greater, a superior and perfected species worthy of ruling the stars once more.
But at the height and even encroaching decline of the Dominion, few took their ambitions seriously.
If you were to ask any Aeldari of that time, they would have laughed at the notion of "improving" upon their form. The Aeldari were already perfect, they would say, and to alter their divine creation was heresy of the highest order.
Perhaps, had someone taken the Thaumaturgists' dangerous ideals more seriously and scrutinized their activities with greater care, they might not have fallen so easily to the Ulwarth's corruption.
But in truth, I believe the Túrë Pella were damned from the very start. They were radicals and perfectionists, unable to see the folly in their relentless pursuit of a flawed ideal. They looked upon the latent potential within the Aeldari genome and resolved to reshape their kin into something they believed was superior—regardless of the cost and the ruin it would ultimately bring.
And so, the Thaumaturgists began their dark work. While their methods were undoubtedly insane and their motives irresponsible, the brilliance and creativity that defined their designs and machinations cannot be denied. Unfortunately, genius and madness are often intertwined.
Where our Bonesingers displayed unmatched mastery over Wraithbone, the Thaumaturgists sought to push the boundaries of possibility, forging new processes and applications for this sacred material with unholy experiments.
In secret, they began conducting experiments to hybridize Wraithbone and flesh.
While not entirely unknown to the Aeldari, this field of study had always been heavily scrutinized and tightly regulated. Naturally, the Thaumaturgists had no interest in adhering to oversight or heeding the voices of caution. They believed themselves above the judgments of lesser minds.
A taboo placed upon the ascension of our species was built upon the prospect of close-minded fools or, worse, those who sought to undermine our glory. The Thaumaturgists had no qualms in believing enemies were all around them.
Not that they would have encountered any or any resistance.
In their rise to prominence, the Pleasure Cults fostered a pervasive sense of ennui and disillusionment among the populace. Many Aeldari, seeking to escape the mediocrity of stagnation and the perceived inadequacies of their physical forms, turned eagerly to the Thaumaturgists, who offered the allure of Wraithbone infusions as a path to transcendence.
For those Imperials reading this, I'm sure you already recognize how familiar this all sounds to the Red Brotherhood of Mars. It has not been lost on me and has been a subject of inquiry and speculation.
Regardless, during their experiments, the Thaumaturgists concluded that our species had become shackled by our "biological tethers" to this reality, claiming that our very souls were "weighed down by the gravity of the universe."
It was a damning indictment of our dependence on our mortal forms, one that resonated deeply with those who sought escape from the confines of existence as they knew it. We are a species tied close to the Warp, but the Aeldari never considered themselves a part of it.
But when the whispers came from the daemons of the Immaterium, the Túrë Pella became convinced otherwise. These dark entities whispered to the Thaumaturgists of rituals and rites that could sever these supposed chains, promising a path to liberation and ascension.
The Túrë Pella succumbed to the seduction of this promise. Finally, they thought that we would be free of our physical shells; our minds needed only to unlock the cages that were our bodies.
Like so many others, they fell under the Immaterium's influence and ultimately found their place within the ranks of the Ulwarth. Fools and madmen flocking together under the same banner like they often want.
And so it went. The Thaumaturgists set about their work ruthlessly, subverting and corrupting all the colonies and worlds responsible for shaping and nurturing Wraithbone. These were the cradles of our most precious resource and the repositories of knowledge that had long defined the glory of our civilization. The Thaumaturgists ensured that, when the Fall came, those who remained loyal and sane would be unable to salvage even fragments of this vital legacy.
Had those places remained untouched, the Aeldari today might have stood a chance of replicating the marvels of our greatest war machines. But the Ulwarth left nothing to chance. Their machinations guaranteed our people's helplessness, and for their treachery, the Thaumaturgists were granted dominion over the largest untouched stockpile of Wraithbone and relics—artifacts spared the corruption and destruction that consumed so much during the Fall.
When the Fall concluded, Sai'lanthresh and its daemonic minions had not liberated the Aeldari from their supposed "physical chains." Instead, the souls of our people became bound to She Who Thirsts, eternal prisoners to her insatiable hunger. In this moment of reckoning, the Thaumaturgists realized the magnitude of their betrayal. Yet, in their boundless arrogance, they refused to see themselves as victims. Instead, they convinced themselves that their error lay not in their ambitions but in trusting an external force. With this rationalization, they resolved to continue their grotesque experiments, emboldened by the knowledge and resources they had amassed.
However, the path to ascension—the ultimate liberation from the physical form and the chains of mortality—remained distant. They concluded that further refinement was necessary, that sacrifices of the body and mind would be required, for now, the Aeldari soul had become the most vital of all resources.
Thus began the Pata Ka Orosta, the Search for Ascension.
The Pata Ka Orosta is not a singular doctrine or edict but a sprawling compendium of ideas, philosophies, and aspirations.
Where the Ulwarth preach salvation or ascension as a collective goal to the Túrë Pella, such ideals can only be realized through relentless innovation and evolution. They believe that ascension is not merely a matter of individual transcendence but a total redefinition of Aeldari culture, technology, philosophy, and even divinity itself.
In pursuit of this vision, the Thaumaturgists began the painstaking process of remaking themselves. They worked to shed their mortal forms, infusing their bodies with Wraithbone in preparation for the ultimate transition: the transfer of their souls into perfected Wraithbone shells. These constructs would allow them to transcend the limitations of flesh, retaining "mundane" bodies only for interacting with the enslaved masses they still deemed beneath them.
This metamorphosis has already borne horrifying fruit. We have seen the emergence of corrupted champions of the Ulwarth—nearly unkillable beings commanding legions of Wraith constructs. Or the so-called "Perfected" Aeldari forged in the image of this new order. Twisted creatures, living dolls that act as servants and emissaries or who serve the Eidolons of Glory Everlasting, grotesque amalgamations of Wraithbone and stolen souls.
And, at the heart of it all, whispers persist of the Nexus of Eternity. A place—or perhaps an artifact—that holds the ultimate key to the Thaumaturgists' twisted ambitions.
Artificial Soul Gems - A mass produced item that allows them to trap the souls of enemies and allies. Effectively ensures immortality as long as they win.
Living Fae - The blending of flesh and wraithbone has created spirits that reside in one's body helping boost it to a greater extends. Any similarities to machine spirits are purely coincidental.
Wraithbone Soldiers - Replacing the vast majority of their flesh with wraithbone, they have created a terrifying source of elite infantry that can match Astartes if in numbers
Stored Spells - Using a warp gem to store pre-cast sorcery allows for a greater variety of spells to be used and at greater power.
Living Fae - The blending of flesh and wraithbone has created spirits that reside in one's body helping boost it to a greater extends. Any similarities to machine spirits are purely coincidental.
Wraithbone Soldiers - Replacing the vast majority of their flesh with wraithbone, they have created a terrifying source of elite infantry that can match Astartes if in numbers
Stored Spells - Using a warp gem to store pre-cast sorcery allows for a greater variety of spells to be used and at greater power.
The Future That Awaits
What was the mistake we made? The mistake I made? Did we deliberately blind ourselves to the dangers posed by the Ulwarth, consumed by other pressing concerns? It is a question I have asked myself during many sleepless nights now.
The signs were all there. My visions warned me, as they did many others. Many among the Aeldari blame the splintering of the Imperium for consuming our attention. That endless fracturing forced our people to take sides amidst one brutal civil war after the other while trying to hold back the Great Enemy or stem the tide of the Blood and Thunder War.
But none among us—myself included—has had the humility to admit that our arrogance paved the way for the calamity that has since unfolded. When whispers of the Ulwarth's intentions reached us, their designs to maim the Warp and sabotage Sai'lanthresh, we told ourselves their failure or success would ultimately benefit us. We naively believed their reckless actions would diminish the Great Enemy and weaken its grip on the galaxy.
Now we know the truth, and it is a bitter lesson: the Ulwarth's victories, though selective and sparse, have benefited no one but themselves. Their deeds have ultimately wrought devastation on a scale that even the Great Enemy could not achieve alone.
We convinced ourselves that our enemies would destroy one another, that the fires of their conflict would burn themselves out. Had Eldrad been here, perhaps his foresight and wisdom would have pierced the illusions we wove around ourselves.
Had I been more focused and willing to act upon the truth, maybe we could have reacted before it was too late. The reality we now face is grim beyond words.
The Ulwarth may have thwarted the greatest champions of the Warp from entering the Materium, but in their place, an endless tide of lesser daemons now spills into the galaxy like locusts.
And those abominations that are banished or killed are instead harvested, enslaved, and twisted into tools of war by the Templars. The Thaumaturgists, in their madness, have transformed daemons into grotesque artificial wombs for their blasphemous resurrections. The Mermilmës have revived the Croneworlds, turning those cursed worlds into engines of war and devastation.
Millions of Exodites have been slaughtered in the name of their twisted ambitions; their homes turned to ash. Worse still, their children—our children—are taken. Stolen from the ashes of their homes and subjected to a relentless cycle of reconditioning and indoctrination, molded into pawns of the Ulwarth's monstrous designs.
Nothing is sacred to the Ulwarth. Nothing ever was, and nothing ever will be.
Now, I have glimpsed what awaits us all. The sacrifices I made to uncover their ambitions will haunt me until the end of my days, but to have done nothing would have cost the Aeldari everything.
A singular Ulwarth has risen, their power and prestige surpassing all expectations. Soon, even the Convocation of 18—the once-mighty voices of reason and unity—will be unable to oppose them. In time, they will be forced to yield to Ulwarth's demands. This usurper will unite the Three Enclaves and the scattered Kingdoms and Conclaves. Upon the ruins of the Phoenix Court, in the shadow of our ancient grandeur, this pretender will be crowned the reborn Phoenix Emperor—the master of a New Aeldari Dominion.
But this is no revival; it is the prelude to a cataclysm. This so-called Phoenix Emperor would ignite a true war between the Ulwarth and Sai'lanthresh, a conflict that could spell the end of She Who Thirsts. This tyrant, armed with forbidden knowledge and unspeakable power, would unleash Ynnead, the Aeldari God of Death, against our ancient nemesis. And I fear they would succeed.
How the Ulwarth achieved this defies understanding, but they have clearly turned one of our most sacred prophecies against us, co-opting its hope for their own twisted ends. With Ynnead's ascension, the Ulwarth would gain dominion over the spirits of those who perished during the Fall and, inevitably, control the fates of all who remain outside the Infinity Circuit.
We would have exchanged one nightmare for another. This time, however, the nightmare would be insurmountable. The Ulwarth would become an empire of souls, a dominion beyond mortal reckoning, impossible to overthrow without obliterating what little remains of our people and civilization.
The so-called Phoenix Emperor—a Vulture Emperor—would usher in Rhana Dandra, the prophesied end. But it would not be the Aeldari's triumphant stand against Chaos. No, it would be a final, devastating civil war, a battle that would consume our entire race and erase our history from the stars.
All I can think of is how fitting an end this would be for our species. All that glory, all that prosperity—eons of unmatched achievement—reduced to ash by our own hands. No one deserves it more than we do.
Perhaps, when the dust finally settles, the humans will rise from the ruins, wiser for having watched our fall. Maybe they will learn from our folly and carve a better path than the one we trod.
—
The Present…
"Where was this found?" Eldrad Ulthran's voice carried a sharp edge as he regarded the two Aeldari standing before him. His fellow Farseer, Landesh, stood rigid, his expression a thundercloud of unease, while the Harlequin Death Jester, Yral Piaf, seemed inscrutable, his death mask concealing any trace of emotion. They had just concluded their review of the Codex Ulwarth, a text as unnerving as enigmatic.
"It was the human Curators who uncovered it," Yral Piaf replied with a faintly theatrical air. Though the mask obscured his face, the subtle tilt of his head and the cadence of his words suggested amusement. "They claimed it was among a trove of other recovered texts, almost as if it were deliberately left in plain sight—an afterthought, or perhaps bait."
Landesh's eyes narrowed, his frustration barely contained. "The Black Library is too fond of its riddles," he muttered darkly. "It conjures such artifacts, scatters them like seeds in the wind, and leaves us to divine their purpose. It defies all reasoning."
Eldrad offered a faint sigh, the weariness of millennia apparent in the slight slump of his shoulders. "Reason and the Black Library seldom walk hand in hand," he murmured. He had long since abandoned any hope of unraveling the Library's inscrutable motives without inviting madness.
The Codex Ulwarth sat ominously on the Wraithbone table between them, its cover etched with intricate, sinuous patterns that seemed to shift subtly under the room's faint light. The text within was filled with chilling revelations, its contents penned by what appeared to be a much older and far more disillusioned Morianne.
Eldrad's brow furrowed as he considered the timestamp embedded in the entries. Although the writings were dated over 10,000 years beyond their current era, the tone and details hinted at a skewed reality, as if drawn from another timeline.
"Another timeline," Eldrad mused, his voice quiet but laced with unease. His piercing gaze turned toward Yral Piaf. "And what of the humans? Did they understand the significance of what they uncovered?"
The Death Jester tilted his head slightly, his body language still unreadable. "The Curators are not so ignorant as their kin often are. They recognized it as dangerous, but not why. They handed it over to us, claiming it 'sang with truths best unheard.' A fun descriptor, wouldn't you say?"
Landesh's arms were crossed tightly, his demeanor like a storm barely contained. "And yet, we must be cautious. This... 'Codex Ulwarth'..." He spat the name with disdain. "...seems as much a warning as it is an archive. A vision of what might be, not necessarily what will come to pass."
Eldrad's fingers traced faint patterns in the air above the Codex, his mind cycling through potential futures, each more troubling than the last. "It would be easier to dismiss this as fiction. Yet we know the threads of fate have a way of weaving themselves, no matter how improbable the design."
"And the writing," Landesh interjected. "Morianne is many things, but to see her writings hint that she agrees with the end of our people…" It didn't need to be said, but the troubles she must have witnessed likely made her jaded.
Eldrad exhaled slowly, his expression one of carefully measured resolve. "We will dissect this Codex, compare it with what we know, and look further into the activities of the Ulwarth. If even a fraction of its contents hold truth, their schemes are more far-reaching than any of us anticipated."
Landesh's voice softened, tinged with doubt. "And if this is not a warning but a prophecy?"
Eldrad looked away, the faint glow of his psychic presence dimming slightly as he pondered the question. "Then the Aeldari are in far graver peril than even I foresaw. However, no future has been set just yet. The threads of fate are still unbound and ever-changing. We are not yet lost."
It was a good sentiment, but as the Great Seer looked down upon the Codex Ulwarth, it seemed like a serpent coiled and waiting to strike. Eldrad didn't want or need this information getting out, especially if it resulted in the Great Enemy or the Ulwarth reevaluating their plans.
"Should we show this to Morianne?" Landesh asked, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. "This pertains to her not just on a deeply personal level but also because of the path she is destined to walk regarding the Ulwarth."
Eldrad weighed the suggestion carefully before shaking his head. "No," he said firmly. "She carries enough burdens already. What lies within these pages is a possibility, not a certainty. We must first dissect and evaluate this knowledge, ensuring we understand it fully before involving her."
Morianne, still young and brimming with hope, had yet to face the full weight of the reality that awaited her. She would change in time—of that, Eldrad was certain—but there was no need to hasten that transformation with horrors she was not yet equipped to bear.
"Better to shield her from this... for now," Eldrad murmured, almost to himself. "Let her hold on to what hope she can, if just for a little longer."
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, done with this.
- Location
- Elsewhere
May the Emperor Protect
So it sounds like in canon, the Ulwarth likely came out of their bunkers only to slam head first into the Legion Wars and so were either leveled or found themselves stuck as weaker alloes of the Emperor's Childern. But with the Heresy derailed, this leaves them open to potentially reclaim their worlds within the Eye. Since they are already Slanneshi servants, they have basically little to fear of the eye and so do a good job if left to their own devices.
Expect for the Templars, who sound like they are falling into the orbit of Malal BIG time, but have to fully commit to worshipping him or even realize that they are serving Malal.
Inbound Forces
For context, these are some of the elements that are attempting to converge on the Woedica ritual, no telling what might happen as of yet.
Inbound Forces
Nothing about this mission inspired confidence. Korath Varax, Shield Captain and Prefect of the 2nd Dreadhost could not help but feel a gnawing sense of unease as he reviewed the intelligence on their objective. Everything about their target on Verdica was shrouded in mystery, and despite all that went into his creation and enhancements, Korath could not shake the conviction that something would go catastrophically wrong.
This wasn't fear or him questioning orders. If the Emperor asked him to give up his life, he would do so without hesitation. Korath was ready to fight, kill, and die for his Liege and his dream. Yet he had this rather unorthodox notion that it's always better to have all the details before rushing into a battle.
Doubt was an infectious disease to anyone. The details were sparse, even by the standards of the Imperial Army, let alone for something like the Custodes, who were often given great secrets to carry out. This whole operation, however, was steeped in secrecy.
Korath and his strike force had been charged with stopping a ritual of unknown purpose and origin, one deemed a grave enough threat to warrant the Emperor's intervention. That alone spoke volumes about the stakes. Yet, Korath questioned the logistics of the operation as much as its purpose, especially now that the Master of Mankind had to handle a new crisis.
His strike force, while formidable, was undermanned for a task of this magnitude. Command of the Aegis Invictus, a proud and swift Crusade-class strike cruiser, had been handed to him, but its complement was paltry: himself, five Custodes brothers, and two detachments of Sisters of Silence numbering thirty in total.
It was, by any estimation, a token force. While a single Custodian was worth an entire company of Solar Auxilia and the Sisters of Silence could match even the most elite Astartes in lethality, their numbers paled compared to the possible enemy forces awaiting them. A vague intelligence report suggested that the defenders of Verdica could range from tens of thousands to millions.
And to Korath, assaulting such a potentially entrenched enemy with so few assets seemed, at best, a desperate gamble. He was more than aware, especially after the Coup on Terra and Siege of the Imperial Palace, that a well-placed and disciplined unit of humans could kill Custdoes with enough firepower. So yes, Korath was feeling a bit concerned here.
Thankfully, they were not entirely unsupported. The Emperor and the Sigillite had dispatched an advance reconnaissance force ahead of them: Colonel Tycho Valegris and his 7th Herogard Regiment of the Solar Auxilia. Veterans of countless campaigns and renowned for their unwavering discipline, the 7th was an elite force eager to serve. They were already ahead and would undoubtedly have more details of what they were facing on Verdica.
Meanwhile, Korath and his strike force busied themselves with the final preparations for the assault. The Aegis Invictus had halted in the Markali System, utilizing the opportunity to bolster their forces with whatever assets could be mustered. Fortunately, the system offered a wealth of resources to draw upon.
At its heart lay Markali Prime, a densely populated Hive World typical of its kind. Towering spires pierced the smog-laden skies, casting long shadows over a sprawling urban labyrinth below. Though lacking the grandeur of more renowned hive cities, Markali Prime served as a vital regional hub for Imperial logistics within the neighboring Anaxis Subsector. Its strategic importance was unmistakable, even if its aesthetics left much to be desired.
The governor of Markali Prime had been more than eager to receive Korath. For a provincial official, hosting a Custodian was a rare and profound honor, one sure to elevate his family's standing for generations. Yet, beyond the sycophantic pleasantries, the governor had proven useful, offering reinforcements in the form of a seasoned company of mercenaries from Markali Secundus. A barren deathworld notorious for its harsh conditions and thriving mining and prison industries, Markali Secundus, produced individuals hardened by survival and strife.
Additionally, the governor pledged the service of two regiments of Markalian Longswords, the planetary defense forces renowned for their discipline and expertise in urban warfare. While far from elite by the standards of the Imperium, their presence was not unwelcome.
A subsequent stop at Yrelinis, a minor Forge World governed by a sect of the Organicists, yielded further reinforcements. The Organicists, ever practical in their approach, contributed two thousand medical servitors and a cohort of 100 medicae personnel. A modest but vital addition, ensuring the wounded would not be left unattended in the inevitable chaos to come.
As the Aegis Invictus refueled and restocked, a creeping sense of unease began to gnaw at Korath. Something about the Markali System felt…off. Despite his focus on preparation, the sensation was difficult to ignore. The Astropaths aboard the Invictus confirmed his misgivings, speaking of unseen "eyes" fixed on the unfolding events at Verdica. Their cryptic warnings advised caution, but Korath had little time to dwell on the implications.
The mission loomed ever closer, and he would need to tread carefully to ensure its success. Whatever forces awaited them, Korath knew they would not go unnoticed—or unopposed.
Meanwhile, on another ship…
Vicaris Sintherion cursed his ill fortune. Custodians—those golden sentinels of the Emperor himself—were in the Markali System. This was a disaster for the Sibilant Refrain, his warband devoted to the Most Beautiful of Gods, Slaanesh. As the master of the Refrain, Vicaris had chosen to bide his time in the shadowed chaos of Thalmar's Reach, an asteroid belt sprawling with mineral-rich debris.
Thalmar's Reach was notorious for its sheer density, a labyrinth of tumbling rocks and ore-rich fragments that attracted miners and opportunists alike. While local guilds exploited its resources, the belt's outer edges were said to harbor pirate enclaves. Vicaris could confirm the truth of those rumors; the Nepton Raiders had long maintained a hidden fortress here. Had being the operative word—his warband had slaughtered the pirates to claim the stronghold for themselves.
It was the perfect hideout. The peculiar spatial alignment of the Reach often disrupted augurs and scans, providing ideal conditions for covert refueling or clandestine trade in illicit goods. But Vicaris wasn't here for something so mundane or ugly as pilfering ore from a mining barge. No, his ambitions soared far beyond the petty concerns of mortals.
He was planning to kill a god.
The whispers of the warp, carried by the agonized minds of his enslaved psykers, had spoken of Verdica—a world where a divine presence stirred, embryonic and vulnerable. Such an event was a rare opportunity that promised boundless power to whoever dared seize it. But reaching Verdica without drawing the Custodians' wrath would be a challenge.
Fortunately, Vicaris commanded the Inevitable Malice, a vessel as dangerous as it was exquisite. Sleek and predatory, its hull pulsed with the essence of bound daemons, their malign spirits tethered to the ship in a symbiotic dance of flesh and steel. Through the sacrifice of slaves—an offering both artful and profane—the Malice could slip into the shadows of reality, masking its presence by folding the void around itself in localized warp-space.
It was a delicate balance, as all things in service to Slaanesh must be: extravagant in execution, devastating in effect, and utterly glorious in its purpose. But Vicaris wasn't approaching this endeavor with half-measures. No, he was bringing his finest instruments of war to the symphony of slaughter.
At the forefront was his second-in-command, Lucerian Hellscream, a killer whose ferocity and skill had elevated him to near-mythic status within the warband. Wielding a pair of custom chainswords, their teeth honed to a molecular edge and vibrating with a faint, discordant hum, Lucerian was a whirlwind of carnage. He had bested Astartes in single combat more than once—a feat that made him both feared and envied among the Refrain.
Next were the Harmonic Scourges, the warband's disciplined vanguard. While they appeared to be mere cultists armed with lasguns and blades, their true strength lay in their mastery of silent coordination, enhanced by sonic disruptors sewn into their gear. They moved as one, a symphony of violence executed with eerie precision. To watch a regiment of Scourges coordinate flawlessly without uttering a word was a spectacle of beauty—and a nightmare for their foes, who struggled to counter their fluid, enigmatic maneuvers.
The Choir of Ecstasies followed—a sinister cadre of mortal sorcerers and minor daemons bound together in a fused collective mind. The Choir had already proven their worth by divining the presence of the Custodes in the Markali System, but their talents extended far beyond mere reconnaissance. In battle, they worked in harmony with the Scourges to unravel the enemy's cohesion, sowing discord and confusion with their psychic assaults.
Then came the Thundering Chorus, an elite contingent of sappers, heavy weapons specialists, and demolition experts. Equipped with an arsenal ranging from missile launchers to autocannons, they could obliterate infantry and armor alike with horrifying efficiency. But their crowning jewel was the Banshee, a daemonically possessed sonic cannon of unparalleled destructive power. Vicaris had once witnessed the Banshee unleash its keening wail on an Olympia-pattern warship, tearing it apart as though it were paper. The sight had been divine.
Finally, the Daemonette Phalanx was commanded by an Alluress of Slaanesh named Silscia Veilwrough. Silscia and her sisters were creatures of deadly grace and seduction, their every movement a beguiling blend of allure and malice. Though they had joined Vicaris only for the promise of tasting the fledgling god's essence, their presence added an air of inevitability to his mission. Silscia, ever ambitious, had already begun whispering of greater rewards should the endeavor succeed.
With these forces at his command, Vicaris felt confident. The stage was set, the players assembled, and the overture was about to begin. All that remained was to deliver a performance worthy of the Most Beautiful of Gods.
Verdica awaited!
Meanwhile, on another ship…
Why the Imperium lacked self-awareness was beyond Angela Ahlstrom. To her, these Imperials were utterly devoid of subtlety. Well, at least it was to the benefit of her mission.
She was a Vanguard of the CDV-Nullis Operata and a loyal patriot of the Celestial Dominion out on a mission of information gathering, namely in regards to uncovering the truth of about this "Woedica" allegedly being created within the Imperium, although not under the sanction of those on Terra. This was an independent action being undertaken by a third party.
Whatever happened, it fell to Unit Xyphon-23 to determine what was truly happening—and how the Dominion might need to respond. Certainly, it required a delicate touch and a keen eye to ascertain what was happening.
This was a marked deviation from their original assignment, which had been to quietly monitor the Imperium from afar. But these orders had come directly from the Empress, and Angela wasn't about to disappoint. She'd rather suffer an exile to the Red Line than embarrass the Wisest Mother.
Besides, success in this mission offered the chance to secure crucial intelligence for her people and bolster her reputation among the Dominion Vanguards—a tantalizing prospect. Thus, she eagerly accepted this opportunity.
One might consider the prospect of infiltrating a foreign empire dangerous, but Angela had the tools and, more importantly, the ship for the job. The Nullis Operata was an ideal vessel for such a task.
It wasn't built for head-on combat and could hardly withstand prolonged fire, but that wasn't its purpose. The ship excelled in speed, agility, and stealth thanks to its advanced Lamina-Shroud Systems, which rendered it invisible to most forms of detection. It also boasted silent displacement drives for short-range warp transitions and psy-warded Gellar fields that shielded it from Warp-based intrusion.
The Nullis Operata even managed to operate in plain sight when necessary. Outwardly, it posed as a freighter known as the Silver Chariot, allegedly hailing from Tygris Prime under the banner of House Nestor. Its crew, while primarily composed of Dominion operatives, had undergone rigorous mental conditioning, ensuring their cover would withstand all but the most invasive psychic scrutiny. Only Angela and her command staff knew the ship's true allegiance.
For months, Xyphon-23 had been shadowing Imperial trade lanes, analyzing patterns, and cataloging weaknesses in the Imperium's surprisingly robust but unsecured trade networks and chartist routes. But now, their focus had shifted. The mystery of Verdica—and the rumors of this nascent "god"—was an anomaly too significant for the Dominion to ignore.
Angela's plans, however, were abruptly complicated by the arrival of the Custodes. Their gaudy presence disrupted the system's equilibrium like a thunderclap in a quiet chapel. Their ship—an ostentatious monument to Imperial grandeur—practically screamed its arrival to anyone paying attention. Subtlety clearly wasn't a word in their lexicon.
Still, the Custodes' presence couldn't be ignored. While they likely weren't aware of the Dominion's operations, their arrival was bound to draw attention—and possibly create unforeseen obstacles. Angela needed to adjust her approach. Whatever Woedica was or wasn't, she would uncover the truth of whatever was happening here.
For now, the plan was simple: shadow the Custodes. Their presence offered a rare opportunity to gather intelligence on the Emperor's fabled Golden Companions, a prospect Angela found both intriguing and potentially invaluable. Xyphon-23 wasn't about to engage them directly—that would be suicide and a blatant violation of mission protocols.
However, Angela had a more subtle objective: infiltrating their vessel. If she could place an operative aboard to relay information, the potential insights could be bountiful in the long run, and, if nothing else, she could claim to be the first Vanguard to successfully infiltrate a Custodes vessel.
---
@Daemon Hunter Another for the pile.
Inbound Forces
Nothing about this mission inspired confidence. Korath Varax, Shield Captain and Prefect of the 2nd Dreadhost could not help but feel a gnawing sense of unease as he reviewed the intelligence on their objective. Everything about their target on Verdica was shrouded in mystery, and despite all that went into his creation and enhancements, Korath could not shake the conviction that something would go catastrophically wrong.
This wasn't fear or him questioning orders. If the Emperor asked him to give up his life, he would do so without hesitation. Korath was ready to fight, kill, and die for his Liege and his dream. Yet he had this rather unorthodox notion that it's always better to have all the details before rushing into a battle.
Doubt was an infectious disease to anyone. The details were sparse, even by the standards of the Imperial Army, let alone for something like the Custodes, who were often given great secrets to carry out. This whole operation, however, was steeped in secrecy.
Korath and his strike force had been charged with stopping a ritual of unknown purpose and origin, one deemed a grave enough threat to warrant the Emperor's intervention. That alone spoke volumes about the stakes. Yet, Korath questioned the logistics of the operation as much as its purpose, especially now that the Master of Mankind had to handle a new crisis.
His strike force, while formidable, was undermanned for a task of this magnitude. Command of the Aegis Invictus, a proud and swift Crusade-class strike cruiser, had been handed to him, but its complement was paltry: himself, five Custodes brothers, and two detachments of Sisters of Silence numbering thirty in total.
It was, by any estimation, a token force. While a single Custodian was worth an entire company of Solar Auxilia and the Sisters of Silence could match even the most elite Astartes in lethality, their numbers paled compared to the possible enemy forces awaiting them. A vague intelligence report suggested that the defenders of Verdica could range from tens of thousands to millions.
And to Korath, assaulting such a potentially entrenched enemy with so few assets seemed, at best, a desperate gamble. He was more than aware, especially after the Coup on Terra and Siege of the Imperial Palace, that a well-placed and disciplined unit of humans could kill Custdoes with enough firepower. So yes, Korath was feeling a bit concerned here.
Thankfully, they were not entirely unsupported. The Emperor and the Sigillite had dispatched an advance reconnaissance force ahead of them: Colonel Tycho Valegris and his 7th Herogard Regiment of the Solar Auxilia. Veterans of countless campaigns and renowned for their unwavering discipline, the 7th was an elite force eager to serve. They were already ahead and would undoubtedly have more details of what they were facing on Verdica.
Meanwhile, Korath and his strike force busied themselves with the final preparations for the assault. The Aegis Invictus had halted in the Markali System, utilizing the opportunity to bolster their forces with whatever assets could be mustered. Fortunately, the system offered a wealth of resources to draw upon.
At its heart lay Markali Prime, a densely populated Hive World typical of its kind. Towering spires pierced the smog-laden skies, casting long shadows over a sprawling urban labyrinth below. Though lacking the grandeur of more renowned hive cities, Markali Prime served as a vital regional hub for Imperial logistics within the neighboring Anaxis Subsector. Its strategic importance was unmistakable, even if its aesthetics left much to be desired.
The governor of Markali Prime had been more than eager to receive Korath. For a provincial official, hosting a Custodian was a rare and profound honor, one sure to elevate his family's standing for generations. Yet, beyond the sycophantic pleasantries, the governor had proven useful, offering reinforcements in the form of a seasoned company of mercenaries from Markali Secundus. A barren deathworld notorious for its harsh conditions and thriving mining and prison industries, Markali Secundus, produced individuals hardened by survival and strife.
Additionally, the governor pledged the service of two regiments of Markalian Longswords, the planetary defense forces renowned for their discipline and expertise in urban warfare. While far from elite by the standards of the Imperium, their presence was not unwelcome.
A subsequent stop at Yrelinis, a minor Forge World governed by a sect of the Organicists, yielded further reinforcements. The Organicists, ever practical in their approach, contributed two thousand medical servitors and a cohort of 100 medicae personnel. A modest but vital addition, ensuring the wounded would not be left unattended in the inevitable chaos to come.
As the Aegis Invictus refueled and restocked, a creeping sense of unease began to gnaw at Korath. Something about the Markali System felt…off. Despite his focus on preparation, the sensation was difficult to ignore. The Astropaths aboard the Invictus confirmed his misgivings, speaking of unseen "eyes" fixed on the unfolding events at Verdica. Their cryptic warnings advised caution, but Korath had little time to dwell on the implications.
The mission loomed ever closer, and he would need to tread carefully to ensure its success. Whatever forces awaited them, Korath knew they would not go unnoticed—or unopposed.
Meanwhile, on another ship…
Vicaris Sintherion cursed his ill fortune. Custodians—those golden sentinels of the Emperor himself—were in the Markali System. This was a disaster for the Sibilant Refrain, his warband devoted to the Most Beautiful of Gods, Slaanesh. As the master of the Refrain, Vicaris had chosen to bide his time in the shadowed chaos of Thalmar's Reach, an asteroid belt sprawling with mineral-rich debris.
Thalmar's Reach was notorious for its sheer density, a labyrinth of tumbling rocks and ore-rich fragments that attracted miners and opportunists alike. While local guilds exploited its resources, the belt's outer edges were said to harbor pirate enclaves. Vicaris could confirm the truth of those rumors; the Nepton Raiders had long maintained a hidden fortress here. Had being the operative word—his warband had slaughtered the pirates to claim the stronghold for themselves.
It was the perfect hideout. The peculiar spatial alignment of the Reach often disrupted augurs and scans, providing ideal conditions for covert refueling or clandestine trade in illicit goods. But Vicaris wasn't here for something so mundane or ugly as pilfering ore from a mining barge. No, his ambitions soared far beyond the petty concerns of mortals.
He was planning to kill a god.
The whispers of the warp, carried by the agonized minds of his enslaved psykers, had spoken of Verdica—a world where a divine presence stirred, embryonic and vulnerable. Such an event was a rare opportunity that promised boundless power to whoever dared seize it. But reaching Verdica without drawing the Custodians' wrath would be a challenge.
Fortunately, Vicaris commanded the Inevitable Malice, a vessel as dangerous as it was exquisite. Sleek and predatory, its hull pulsed with the essence of bound daemons, their malign spirits tethered to the ship in a symbiotic dance of flesh and steel. Through the sacrifice of slaves—an offering both artful and profane—the Malice could slip into the shadows of reality, masking its presence by folding the void around itself in localized warp-space.
It was a delicate balance, as all things in service to Slaanesh must be: extravagant in execution, devastating in effect, and utterly glorious in its purpose. But Vicaris wasn't approaching this endeavor with half-measures. No, he was bringing his finest instruments of war to the symphony of slaughter.
At the forefront was his second-in-command, Lucerian Hellscream, a killer whose ferocity and skill had elevated him to near-mythic status within the warband. Wielding a pair of custom chainswords, their teeth honed to a molecular edge and vibrating with a faint, discordant hum, Lucerian was a whirlwind of carnage. He had bested Astartes in single combat more than once—a feat that made him both feared and envied among the Refrain.
Next were the Harmonic Scourges, the warband's disciplined vanguard. While they appeared to be mere cultists armed with lasguns and blades, their true strength lay in their mastery of silent coordination, enhanced by sonic disruptors sewn into their gear. They moved as one, a symphony of violence executed with eerie precision. To watch a regiment of Scourges coordinate flawlessly without uttering a word was a spectacle of beauty—and a nightmare for their foes, who struggled to counter their fluid, enigmatic maneuvers.
The Choir of Ecstasies followed—a sinister cadre of mortal sorcerers and minor daemons bound together in a fused collective mind. The Choir had already proven their worth by divining the presence of the Custodes in the Markali System, but their talents extended far beyond mere reconnaissance. In battle, they worked in harmony with the Scourges to unravel the enemy's cohesion, sowing discord and confusion with their psychic assaults.
Then came the Thundering Chorus, an elite contingent of sappers, heavy weapons specialists, and demolition experts. Equipped with an arsenal ranging from missile launchers to autocannons, they could obliterate infantry and armor alike with horrifying efficiency. But their crowning jewel was the Banshee, a daemonically possessed sonic cannon of unparalleled destructive power. Vicaris had once witnessed the Banshee unleash its keening wail on an Olympia-pattern warship, tearing it apart as though it were paper. The sight had been divine.
Finally, the Daemonette Phalanx was commanded by an Alluress of Slaanesh named Silscia Veilwrough. Silscia and her sisters were creatures of deadly grace and seduction, their every movement a beguiling blend of allure and malice. Though they had joined Vicaris only for the promise of tasting the fledgling god's essence, their presence added an air of inevitability to his mission. Silscia, ever ambitious, had already begun whispering of greater rewards should the endeavor succeed.
With these forces at his command, Vicaris felt confident. The stage was set, the players assembled, and the overture was about to begin. All that remained was to deliver a performance worthy of the Most Beautiful of Gods.
Verdica awaited!
Meanwhile, on another ship…
Why the Imperium lacked self-awareness was beyond Angela Ahlstrom. To her, these Imperials were utterly devoid of subtlety. Well, at least it was to the benefit of her mission.
She was a Vanguard of the CDV-Nullis Operata and a loyal patriot of the Celestial Dominion out on a mission of information gathering, namely in regards to uncovering the truth of about this "Woedica" allegedly being created within the Imperium, although not under the sanction of those on Terra. This was an independent action being undertaken by a third party.
Whatever happened, it fell to Unit Xyphon-23 to determine what was truly happening—and how the Dominion might need to respond. Certainly, it required a delicate touch and a keen eye to ascertain what was happening.
This was a marked deviation from their original assignment, which had been to quietly monitor the Imperium from afar. But these orders had come directly from the Empress, and Angela wasn't about to disappoint. She'd rather suffer an exile to the Red Line than embarrass the Wisest Mother.
Besides, success in this mission offered the chance to secure crucial intelligence for her people and bolster her reputation among the Dominion Vanguards—a tantalizing prospect. Thus, she eagerly accepted this opportunity.
One might consider the prospect of infiltrating a foreign empire dangerous, but Angela had the tools and, more importantly, the ship for the job. The Nullis Operata was an ideal vessel for such a task.
It wasn't built for head-on combat and could hardly withstand prolonged fire, but that wasn't its purpose. The ship excelled in speed, agility, and stealth thanks to its advanced Lamina-Shroud Systems, which rendered it invisible to most forms of detection. It also boasted silent displacement drives for short-range warp transitions and psy-warded Gellar fields that shielded it from Warp-based intrusion.
The Nullis Operata even managed to operate in plain sight when necessary. Outwardly, it posed as a freighter known as the Silver Chariot, allegedly hailing from Tygris Prime under the banner of House Nestor. Its crew, while primarily composed of Dominion operatives, had undergone rigorous mental conditioning, ensuring their cover would withstand all but the most invasive psychic scrutiny. Only Angela and her command staff knew the ship's true allegiance.
For months, Xyphon-23 had been shadowing Imperial trade lanes, analyzing patterns, and cataloging weaknesses in the Imperium's surprisingly robust but unsecured trade networks and chartist routes. But now, their focus had shifted. The mystery of Verdica—and the rumors of this nascent "god"—was an anomaly too significant for the Dominion to ignore.
Angela's plans, however, were abruptly complicated by the arrival of the Custodes. Their gaudy presence disrupted the system's equilibrium like a thunderclap in a quiet chapel. Their ship—an ostentatious monument to Imperial grandeur—practically screamed its arrival to anyone paying attention. Subtlety clearly wasn't a word in their lexicon.
Still, the Custodes' presence couldn't be ignored. While they likely weren't aware of the Dominion's operations, their arrival was bound to draw attention—and possibly create unforeseen obstacles. Angela needed to adjust her approach. Whatever Woedica was or wasn't, she would uncover the truth of whatever was happening here.
For now, the plan was simple: shadow the Custodes. Their presence offered a rare opportunity to gather intelligence on the Emperor's fabled Golden Companions, a prospect Angela found both intriguing and potentially invaluable. Xyphon-23 wasn't about to engage them directly—that would be suicide and a blatant violation of mission protocols.
However, Angela had a more subtle objective: infiltrating their vessel. If she could place an operative aboard to relay information, the potential insights could be bountiful in the long run, and, if nothing else, she could claim to be the first Vanguard to successfully infiltrate a Custodes vessel.
---
@Daemon Hunter Another for the pile.
Mutation Analyst Star | The Rune of Chaos (Auro)
- Location
- USA
A set of a couple of omakes for Auro.
Within my workshop I examined the many data slates, the myriad concepts that flowed within the warp. The principle of the ritual already designed and understood, a trinity of trinities giving structure and form to the chaos of the shattered empyrean beyond the veil. Yet, that is not my current focus, I turn now towards the lesser works as my brothers would deride them but in their own right they are far greater than the ritual I work upon. Less effort spent for a greater payment of result in the grand future that I hope to build.
The legion has seceded from the Imperium and I hope now a chance to truly build a grander design awaits. If this proves to be yet another false image I will leave this place and go forth on my own, to serve Humanity as I see fit. Regardless, the books will be written, the technical details that the Mechanical strangles in their singular grip unveiled to the galaxy at large, I will shatter their corrupt dominance of all science and knowledge. It is the rightful inheritance of all man to bear these secrets, and the time has come to render this first strike and so I shall.
But, not at this moment, I have something grander in mind to work upon. An evolving design, a creation that breeches the previous limits I would dare to attempt. I now have access to the full list of encountered mutations within the imperium, I have access to the legion's own records of mutations rare and common. I can now for the first time examine them and already I find flaws in the methodology used in the collection of the data, but that is to be expected. My brothers are cautious and would find little reason to truly care about the value of warp induced mutations even if they were pure beyond undoing them.
I take a different path, the Iron of Humanity is fragile, unrefined, it is flawed indeed, it is nothing to my steel flesh or the grander silver of the primarchs. It bears no relation to the inhuman perfect flesh of the custodians or the Emperor, yet that need not be the case for all time. In the ages past humans improved their being through the workings of technology, we ourselves astartes and primarchs are the work of gene craft sublime.
It is perhaps one of the greatest sins of this era that few truly care to understand matters they find disagreeable. Mutation, a simple word for such a myriad of concepts, I ponder the reason for It to mean so much. The definition is to be something changed from the norm, to be altered, to mutate away from a predefined normality point. Yet, by that same standard all of humanity is mutants to each other, a child born upon Valhalla compared to a child of Olympia is notably different, if not yet to the point of being different species their genomes yet tell a story of distance.
If all are mutants then why are Mutants considered as such. Is it because their bodies are mutated away from the standard form of man? That too can not be the answer to this conundrum for many add and replace limbs with cybernetic or even biological augments and none consider them mutants. The Night Watch of the Wardens have been given enough genetic augments as to be by all measures mutants, and yet they are prized and celebrated. What makes a Mutant a Mutant then? The only conclusion I can reach is that the description means nothing in and of itself, with meaning only coming from those that use it.
The Wardens declare any to suffer from a warp induced alteration to the germ or soma cells to be a mutant. Humans declare anything notably different from what they expect to be a mutant. Yet, does that need to be the case? I question the inherent wisdom of discarding the information contained within mutations, the majority are biologically driven even if they do increase the risk of future mutations they do exist within the normal bounds of genetics. It is a rare mutation that exists purely and solely upon the basis of the shattered empyrean enforcing it to work.
I examine the data and find commonalities that others would discard, mutations group together affecting singular parts of the body more often than not. Limbs being added or altered, organs shifted or duplicated, senses adjusted and or added. In the end the more I study the more I consider the majority of mutations as but examples of biology twisted and malformed. But, within every tumor there is an insight to be had. Genetic augments exist that draw upon the principles of cancer to render cells immune to the biological effects of age allowing for indefinite replication, with the issues induced managed by technological means. This is but the same principle writ large, I will study the mutations common, rare, exotic all that exist and are recorded that do not kill the person that has them or induces them into the grip of the maddened fractals. From this I hope to expand my awareness of biology and in due course work with Fabius of the Emperor's Children to author a new genetic ascendance for humanity.
To improve the lives of man, to harden them against corruption, to give them the tools needed to match the threats of the galaxy beyond. Biology refined and a new genome authored rendering all superior, to reach even the level of Shandra is perhaps impossible, but improvements are plentiful as seen with the array of genetic augments that the genetors possess. To expand from working with merely human derived genetics into alien and mutation sourced genomes, purged of undue influence, rendered pure through the use of rational practical effort. I foresee an era of man glorious and absent the many flaws of this age; age and weakness purged, disease a fading memory. A dream that shall never be seen, but perhaps I can lay forth the first step, to set the mortar in place for the future to be built upon.
Turning to my systems, the grinding year long analysis that I have undertaken in the shadows of my grander works. The systems moving forward on their own under the supervision of Ochar rather than myself. Gathering the data that I seek from the imperial army and the domain of Kesar. I have reached out to Baldur for assistance in this manner his spinets a distasteful truth that I accept are yet needed even as I dream of a future where man no longer needs to be watched for sin. In the end, his assistance is great for this purpose giving me access to the least restricted of his data in turn providing me with insight large and small into the situation of the mutants.
Mutants, Abhumans, two words that vary for the same purpose, the twinkling stars of souls of both the same as man, perhaps with aspects occluded or changed, but their hearts are no more apart from man than my own stands. I examine the reports, I parse the data regarding their natures, I calculate the value that their genomes and mutations will provide to humanity and then I begin to build my thesis for the apothecary of the Legion. The legions in the past have taken marines of less than pure stock, I recall the ancient legends of the 9th of their origination. I recall the days when any and all recruits that were compilable were accepted, by the modern standards I would have been rejected and that was a positive trend for I have no illusions regarding my former state as being a positive asset to the legion.
In the past the legions accepted those of varied genetic stock, the 9th most of all, but we all did even the 11th despite Oriacarius' restrictions from the origin. To this end I submit the argument that these restrictions have served their place for the legions, I compare the various genetic profiles of the legions of the modern age that I have data for against the time of origination. I mark out the influence of the research that Kesar has achieved into stability and mutation resolution, all of which combine to render the option of accepting mutants and abhumans once more viable perhaps even to a greater degree than previous.
To turn a mutant or abhuman into an astartes others might find the idea anomalous for my professed desires and goals to see humanity superior and bettered. Yet, to that argument I submit the counterpoint of what could be a more noble action than giving a mutant or abhuman a path out of the mire that they have fallen into of no fault of their own, of no curse that they choose to bear, of merely chance giving them a fate worse than death upon a thousand worlds. I appeal to the emotions of the others in my legion with my cold words, I am no grand orator nor speaker or writer, but my words of harsh truth and clear intent have purpose to them when put to paper the others understand. I write only that which I believe to be true and the same holds now as I turn to the project once more.
I reach out to my contacts in the Thousand Sons, and gain information on their recruitment procedures to a light degree for all such rituals are secrets to the legion that I understand even as I find such secrecy an unfortunate truth. I do not understand the principles behind the secrecy at hand in this field, we are all one and the same cast and molded into the form of the astartes, the chains woven into our soul and flesh. In perhaps an ironic twist the mutants are the true reflection of humanity, a collection of disparate parts that yet work together for a greater future than our artificial conformity of being.
In the end, I have learned much from this project regarding the nature of humanity and mutants, of the plight of the Blank and Psyker. Yet, through the assistance of Baldur I have learned of a third metaphysically important strain of man, the so named Discordant. From the reports I have gathered on their powers and nature, I wonder if perhaps they are blanks that have their powers filtered through a singular aspect into a counteraction to technology. Drawing from my time with Majestic I ponder if perhaps they are a form of natural Grey Soul in disharmonious unity, the material and warp sides conflicting with the other, resulting in a disjunction wherein the warp bleeds into reality altering the subtle underpinnings of physics itself.
It is known that blanks can not become Astartes, but I am unsure if the same yet applies to the Discordant. I would find it a worthy experiment to attempt the ascension upon a worthy one to learn more, but the cost to the Discordant could not be understated, to learn at the cost of another was not anathema to me, but it was distasteful in the extreme. Perhaps Magnus would be willing to provide the services of one of his sons to ensure their survival if the implants rejected them. No matter, I mark down a request for the legion to attempt to recruit a Discordant into our ranks. I would have much to explore with such a man, I must admit to some amusement that their existence seemed to have slipped Cawl and Alexander by as neither mentioned them during my time with the Grey Soul project.
Yet, as interesting as the Discordant was, it was but one of the infinity of mutations that existed within the whole of humanity and but an example of the worth of the study thereof. How many mutations existed that could have such grand effects if properly expressed rather than partly or not even expressed. I write the thesis to the apothecary to entreaty them to sequence the mutations they find among the Imperial Army, and our legion. I hope that in time this will lead to augments derived from the wild mutations that are currently considered verbatim for with such a truth perhaps in time there will be a better future for those so declared as Mutants.
With the aid of my peers of the Library and the apothecaries this mystery will one day be solved and aid humanity in reaching to another level of mastery over themselves and the galaxy at large. A galaxy of a singular form would be a dream place indeed, the majestic sights within the dreaming world of the warp lost and brought into a harsh order unfitting, chaos and order entwined give rise to the true beauty of existence. To give people the gift of self mastery shall in time give rise to great vistas of dreams and hopes that will clash with others and give rise to ever greater complexity. For each mind is an universe unto itself and from those collisions does reality across both sides grow ever richer.
The legion has seceded from the Imperium and I hope now a chance to truly build a grander design awaits. If this proves to be yet another false image I will leave this place and go forth on my own, to serve Humanity as I see fit. Regardless, the books will be written, the technical details that the Mechanical strangles in their singular grip unveiled to the galaxy at large, I will shatter their corrupt dominance of all science and knowledge. It is the rightful inheritance of all man to bear these secrets, and the time has come to render this first strike and so I shall.
But, not at this moment, I have something grander in mind to work upon. An evolving design, a creation that breeches the previous limits I would dare to attempt. I now have access to the full list of encountered mutations within the imperium, I have access to the legion's own records of mutations rare and common. I can now for the first time examine them and already I find flaws in the methodology used in the collection of the data, but that is to be expected. My brothers are cautious and would find little reason to truly care about the value of warp induced mutations even if they were pure beyond undoing them.
I take a different path, the Iron of Humanity is fragile, unrefined, it is flawed indeed, it is nothing to my steel flesh or the grander silver of the primarchs. It bears no relation to the inhuman perfect flesh of the custodians or the Emperor, yet that need not be the case for all time. In the ages past humans improved their being through the workings of technology, we ourselves astartes and primarchs are the work of gene craft sublime.
It is perhaps one of the greatest sins of this era that few truly care to understand matters they find disagreeable. Mutation, a simple word for such a myriad of concepts, I ponder the reason for It to mean so much. The definition is to be something changed from the norm, to be altered, to mutate away from a predefined normality point. Yet, by that same standard all of humanity is mutants to each other, a child born upon Valhalla compared to a child of Olympia is notably different, if not yet to the point of being different species their genomes yet tell a story of distance.
If all are mutants then why are Mutants considered as such. Is it because their bodies are mutated away from the standard form of man? That too can not be the answer to this conundrum for many add and replace limbs with cybernetic or even biological augments and none consider them mutants. The Night Watch of the Wardens have been given enough genetic augments as to be by all measures mutants, and yet they are prized and celebrated. What makes a Mutant a Mutant then? The only conclusion I can reach is that the description means nothing in and of itself, with meaning only coming from those that use it.
The Wardens declare any to suffer from a warp induced alteration to the germ or soma cells to be a mutant. Humans declare anything notably different from what they expect to be a mutant. Yet, does that need to be the case? I question the inherent wisdom of discarding the information contained within mutations, the majority are biologically driven even if they do increase the risk of future mutations they do exist within the normal bounds of genetics. It is a rare mutation that exists purely and solely upon the basis of the shattered empyrean enforcing it to work.
I examine the data and find commonalities that others would discard, mutations group together affecting singular parts of the body more often than not. Limbs being added or altered, organs shifted or duplicated, senses adjusted and or added. In the end the more I study the more I consider the majority of mutations as but examples of biology twisted and malformed. But, within every tumor there is an insight to be had. Genetic augments exist that draw upon the principles of cancer to render cells immune to the biological effects of age allowing for indefinite replication, with the issues induced managed by technological means. This is but the same principle writ large, I will study the mutations common, rare, exotic all that exist and are recorded that do not kill the person that has them or induces them into the grip of the maddened fractals. From this I hope to expand my awareness of biology and in due course work with Fabius of the Emperor's Children to author a new genetic ascendance for humanity.
To improve the lives of man, to harden them against corruption, to give them the tools needed to match the threats of the galaxy beyond. Biology refined and a new genome authored rendering all superior, to reach even the level of Shandra is perhaps impossible, but improvements are plentiful as seen with the array of genetic augments that the genetors possess. To expand from working with merely human derived genetics into alien and mutation sourced genomes, purged of undue influence, rendered pure through the use of rational practical effort. I foresee an era of man glorious and absent the many flaws of this age; age and weakness purged, disease a fading memory. A dream that shall never be seen, but perhaps I can lay forth the first step, to set the mortar in place for the future to be built upon.
Turning to my systems, the grinding year long analysis that I have undertaken in the shadows of my grander works. The systems moving forward on their own under the supervision of Ochar rather than myself. Gathering the data that I seek from the imperial army and the domain of Kesar. I have reached out to Baldur for assistance in this manner his spinets a distasteful truth that I accept are yet needed even as I dream of a future where man no longer needs to be watched for sin. In the end, his assistance is great for this purpose giving me access to the least restricted of his data in turn providing me with insight large and small into the situation of the mutants.
Mutants, Abhumans, two words that vary for the same purpose, the twinkling stars of souls of both the same as man, perhaps with aspects occluded or changed, but their hearts are no more apart from man than my own stands. I examine the reports, I parse the data regarding their natures, I calculate the value that their genomes and mutations will provide to humanity and then I begin to build my thesis for the apothecary of the Legion. The legions in the past have taken marines of less than pure stock, I recall the ancient legends of the 9th of their origination. I recall the days when any and all recruits that were compilable were accepted, by the modern standards I would have been rejected and that was a positive trend for I have no illusions regarding my former state as being a positive asset to the legion.
In the past the legions accepted those of varied genetic stock, the 9th most of all, but we all did even the 11th despite Oriacarius' restrictions from the origin. To this end I submit the argument that these restrictions have served their place for the legions, I compare the various genetic profiles of the legions of the modern age that I have data for against the time of origination. I mark out the influence of the research that Kesar has achieved into stability and mutation resolution, all of which combine to render the option of accepting mutants and abhumans once more viable perhaps even to a greater degree than previous.
To turn a mutant or abhuman into an astartes others might find the idea anomalous for my professed desires and goals to see humanity superior and bettered. Yet, to that argument I submit the counterpoint of what could be a more noble action than giving a mutant or abhuman a path out of the mire that they have fallen into of no fault of their own, of no curse that they choose to bear, of merely chance giving them a fate worse than death upon a thousand worlds. I appeal to the emotions of the others in my legion with my cold words, I am no grand orator nor speaker or writer, but my words of harsh truth and clear intent have purpose to them when put to paper the others understand. I write only that which I believe to be true and the same holds now as I turn to the project once more.
I reach out to my contacts in the Thousand Sons, and gain information on their recruitment procedures to a light degree for all such rituals are secrets to the legion that I understand even as I find such secrecy an unfortunate truth. I do not understand the principles behind the secrecy at hand in this field, we are all one and the same cast and molded into the form of the astartes, the chains woven into our soul and flesh. In perhaps an ironic twist the mutants are the true reflection of humanity, a collection of disparate parts that yet work together for a greater future than our artificial conformity of being.
In the end, I have learned much from this project regarding the nature of humanity and mutants, of the plight of the Blank and Psyker. Yet, through the assistance of Baldur I have learned of a third metaphysically important strain of man, the so named Discordant. From the reports I have gathered on their powers and nature, I wonder if perhaps they are blanks that have their powers filtered through a singular aspect into a counteraction to technology. Drawing from my time with Majestic I ponder if perhaps they are a form of natural Grey Soul in disharmonious unity, the material and warp sides conflicting with the other, resulting in a disjunction wherein the warp bleeds into reality altering the subtle underpinnings of physics itself.
It is known that blanks can not become Astartes, but I am unsure if the same yet applies to the Discordant. I would find it a worthy experiment to attempt the ascension upon a worthy one to learn more, but the cost to the Discordant could not be understated, to learn at the cost of another was not anathema to me, but it was distasteful in the extreme. Perhaps Magnus would be willing to provide the services of one of his sons to ensure their survival if the implants rejected them. No matter, I mark down a request for the legion to attempt to recruit a Discordant into our ranks. I would have much to explore with such a man, I must admit to some amusement that their existence seemed to have slipped Cawl and Alexander by as neither mentioned them during my time with the Grey Soul project.
Yet, as interesting as the Discordant was, it was but one of the infinity of mutations that existed within the whole of humanity and but an example of the worth of the study thereof. How many mutations existed that could have such grand effects if properly expressed rather than partly or not even expressed. I write the thesis to the apothecary to entreaty them to sequence the mutations they find among the Imperial Army, and our legion. I hope that in time this will lead to augments derived from the wild mutations that are currently considered verbatim for with such a truth perhaps in time there will be a better future for those so declared as Mutants.
With the aid of my peers of the Library and the apothecaries this mystery will one day be solved and aid humanity in reaching to another level of mastery over themselves and the galaxy at large. A galaxy of a singular form would be a dream place indeed, the majestic sights within the dreaming world of the warp lost and brought into a harsh order unfitting, chaos and order entwined give rise to the true beauty of existence. To give people the gift of self mastery shall in time give rise to great vistas of dreams and hopes that will clash with others and give rise to ever greater complexity. For each mind is an universe unto itself and from those collisions does reality across both sides grow ever richer.
The rune of Chaos waited for me in the secure room provided by the First Captain, the touch of its presence palpable even outside the systems that held it outside the normal passage of time and space. However that was but the rest echo of the horror contained within the now forsaken metal that had the rune carved into it on a level beyond truth. There was no recovery, no means of purging the rune even if such was sought. The impact it had was so absolute as to be rendered without flaw.
I stare into the rune, seeing the reflection in the shattered empyrean. I do not know what the others see when they behold the rune. Perhaps their eyes perceive merely the mundane truth of the shape or perhaps they sense the horror within but not what it truly is. I see more than I would ever have wished to see. I am aware of the folly of seeking ignorance but to see the true shape of my opposing force was a mental struggle to even bear. Chaos and the beings of Chaos were not the same. And the lies they told enraptured even themselves into the myth and legends of their purpose.
To any that knew the nature of Chaos the name of Chaos would become a question. For why would a force of randomness or perhaps at the most uncharitable disorder be a pure force of total destruction and denigration. For if Chaos was truly Chaotic would it not stand to reason that for every sin they would commuted that they would in turn provide a miracle of constructive intent. Or what about the fact that on any spectrum of action the middle was forever the greater whole. There is far more to the average than there are to the extremes.
Then why would Chaos be as it is rather than a force that when averaged across all actions be at worse a natural force upon the galaxy. Now that I see the Rune I know the truth behind the intent. A fractal three dimensional structure the barest hint of the infinity of dimensional folding that gives rise to the shape within the depths of the shattered empyrean. My peers would be stunned to know my inner thoughts as I behold the rune, Kesar himself would likely reject my conclusions for my stance stands against all that they have held dear.
Chaos is no force of Chaos, it is no force of randomness or disorder. It is in truth a force of Absolute Order. All daemons follow the same path, the archdaemons are but the daemons write large. From the simplest fury to the greatest of the archdaemons such as the Aspect Divider all are the same barring the discrepancy of power. Chaos is no force of disorder upon the galaxy nor of the warp, it does not change, it does not flex it is as constant as the tide to those that can see the pattern.
The daemons are but shards of the greater pattern, the archdaemons nodal points of the pattern. Chaos is a pattern, an algorithm designed to bring about the greatest misery to as many people as possible. Its agents unable to change their paths without great reason, narrative alterations to their very core purposes. The blood and thunder war is perhaps such an event, but that in turn only supports my case to be made on how intense the event must be to shift a being of Chaos even slightly out of its defined path.
The rune calls to me, it offers secrets of the depths of the warp, of the daemon that would enable me to bind to my soul power immortal. I see in its form the fluctuations that would allow me to ascend to glory under the aegis of Chaos via my rituals. I see within its fractal form the order that chaos abides by, I see now how false my previous view of Chaos was. I have long pitied the daemon since I learned how chained they were and how little true growth they could achieve. Now I pity even the archdaemons themselves for the madness that they are unaware that they suffer from unable to change or become something more.
Complexity, free will, the same truth across the many species, souls are perhaps the greatest truth of the mortal life. We are given the chance to grow, to become more as we push forward, our lives are free of innate chains. For that simple truth elevates us far above the daemon even the archdaemons. All of mortal life, from the lowliest animal to the greatest primarch we are all endowed with a innate potential greater than that of the grandest force of Chaos. Not even the nodes of Chaos are free to shape themselves , they are perhaps the most bound to the order that Chaos declares. I peer into the depths of the rune's structure in the depths of the warp seeing and learning, from this I learn now that the daemon princes are perhaps the most flexible of the daemons and even they are but crude imitations of a true soul.
Once the soul is transformed into a daemon there is no more true growth possible, the mind and being are locked forever into that of Chaos. Twisted to pride all that Chaos is and hate all that it is not. There is no way to wield corruption against Chaos. To be corrupted is to become less, it is an absolute truth that I see now how unavoidable it is. Chaos hates us, Chaos loves us, to see a soul torn down and mutilated to no longer be a soul, to no longer be able to cling to that last echo of true growth and freedom is the greatest victory for Chaos.
Chaos, a false title, a false description. Ruinous Order, I declare in my mind to be what I shall call the force from now on. It is a force of Order that seeks to ruin all things, it is absolute, true and harsh in a way that true randomness could never be. I watch the rune lash out in rage at my declaration and my mind and soul under the logical matrix remain unmoved. I stare out into the wider dreaming world and I see the true face of chaos. The madness that is the shattered empyrean flickering between n infinity of states and images and timelines, all curdled together absent order.
Yet, this absence was not a thing to hate, if the empyrean was to be fully ordered then it would lose a truth of its now form. Balance must be held between randomness and order, Chaos aligned too far to the insane and the force of Order. There was no true force of chaos within the warp, nothing that could confront the force of Order that is currently consuming all into itself.
The rune reacts to my sight, it tries to hide itself from me, but I effuse to let it obscure my sight within the mists. I have watered for too long in the mists to let my sight once more become clouded as I peel back the layers to see ever deeper into the ruth of Chaos. At the edge of my perceptions in the enter of the rune I beheld a closed Eye the central point of Chaos, something that underlies it all. A truth that I can not bear at the moment, I know the in the core of my being, if the eye opened all would be lost. But the insight into the order of Chaos was truly invaluable, already I see ways of protecting my rituals from disruption, to walk through paths that would give me a momentary advantage.
All things are an equation and now I see another variable of Chaos, another step upon the long and futile path of resolution. I will bring balance to the warp, I will oppose the force of Ruinous Order, but the shattered fragments, the nodal beings, the agents are all nothing to me. They are enemies of all soul bearing beings yes, but they are not my foe, my peers will fight them, I choose the true foe that of Ruinous Order itself as my target.
I am Crescum Auro, ritual master of the Eternal Wardens and I swear that one day Ruinous Order will be unmade as it was made long ago. I will not be there to see the final victory, but I will lay the foundation for the path and lift my hands to all the efforts that would bring to conclusion this chapter of history.
I stare into the rune, seeing the reflection in the shattered empyrean. I do not know what the others see when they behold the rune. Perhaps their eyes perceive merely the mundane truth of the shape or perhaps they sense the horror within but not what it truly is. I see more than I would ever have wished to see. I am aware of the folly of seeking ignorance but to see the true shape of my opposing force was a mental struggle to even bear. Chaos and the beings of Chaos were not the same. And the lies they told enraptured even themselves into the myth and legends of their purpose.
To any that knew the nature of Chaos the name of Chaos would become a question. For why would a force of randomness or perhaps at the most uncharitable disorder be a pure force of total destruction and denigration. For if Chaos was truly Chaotic would it not stand to reason that for every sin they would commuted that they would in turn provide a miracle of constructive intent. Or what about the fact that on any spectrum of action the middle was forever the greater whole. There is far more to the average than there are to the extremes.
Then why would Chaos be as it is rather than a force that when averaged across all actions be at worse a natural force upon the galaxy. Now that I see the Rune I know the truth behind the intent. A fractal three dimensional structure the barest hint of the infinity of dimensional folding that gives rise to the shape within the depths of the shattered empyrean. My peers would be stunned to know my inner thoughts as I behold the rune, Kesar himself would likely reject my conclusions for my stance stands against all that they have held dear.
Chaos is no force of Chaos, it is no force of randomness or disorder. It is in truth a force of Absolute Order. All daemons follow the same path, the archdaemons are but the daemons write large. From the simplest fury to the greatest of the archdaemons such as the Aspect Divider all are the same barring the discrepancy of power. Chaos is no force of disorder upon the galaxy nor of the warp, it does not change, it does not flex it is as constant as the tide to those that can see the pattern.
The daemons are but shards of the greater pattern, the archdaemons nodal points of the pattern. Chaos is a pattern, an algorithm designed to bring about the greatest misery to as many people as possible. Its agents unable to change their paths without great reason, narrative alterations to their very core purposes. The blood and thunder war is perhaps such an event, but that in turn only supports my case to be made on how intense the event must be to shift a being of Chaos even slightly out of its defined path.
The rune calls to me, it offers secrets of the depths of the warp, of the daemon that would enable me to bind to my soul power immortal. I see in its form the fluctuations that would allow me to ascend to glory under the aegis of Chaos via my rituals. I see within its fractal form the order that chaos abides by, I see now how false my previous view of Chaos was. I have long pitied the daemon since I learned how chained they were and how little true growth they could achieve. Now I pity even the archdaemons themselves for the madness that they are unaware that they suffer from unable to change or become something more.
Complexity, free will, the same truth across the many species, souls are perhaps the greatest truth of the mortal life. We are given the chance to grow, to become more as we push forward, our lives are free of innate chains. For that simple truth elevates us far above the daemon even the archdaemons. All of mortal life, from the lowliest animal to the greatest primarch we are all endowed with a innate potential greater than that of the grandest force of Chaos. Not even the nodes of Chaos are free to shape themselves , they are perhaps the most bound to the order that Chaos declares. I peer into the depths of the rune's structure in the depths of the warp seeing and learning, from this I learn now that the daemon princes are perhaps the most flexible of the daemons and even they are but crude imitations of a true soul.
Once the soul is transformed into a daemon there is no more true growth possible, the mind and being are locked forever into that of Chaos. Twisted to pride all that Chaos is and hate all that it is not. There is no way to wield corruption against Chaos. To be corrupted is to become less, it is an absolute truth that I see now how unavoidable it is. Chaos hates us, Chaos loves us, to see a soul torn down and mutilated to no longer be a soul, to no longer be able to cling to that last echo of true growth and freedom is the greatest victory for Chaos.
Chaos, a false title, a false description. Ruinous Order, I declare in my mind to be what I shall call the force from now on. It is a force of Order that seeks to ruin all things, it is absolute, true and harsh in a way that true randomness could never be. I watch the rune lash out in rage at my declaration and my mind and soul under the logical matrix remain unmoved. I stare out into the wider dreaming world and I see the true face of chaos. The madness that is the shattered empyrean flickering between n infinity of states and images and timelines, all curdled together absent order.
Yet, this absence was not a thing to hate, if the empyrean was to be fully ordered then it would lose a truth of its now form. Balance must be held between randomness and order, Chaos aligned too far to the insane and the force of Order. There was no true force of chaos within the warp, nothing that could confront the force of Order that is currently consuming all into itself.
The rune reacts to my sight, it tries to hide itself from me, but I effuse to let it obscure my sight within the mists. I have watered for too long in the mists to let my sight once more become clouded as I peel back the layers to see ever deeper into the ruth of Chaos. At the edge of my perceptions in the enter of the rune I beheld a closed Eye the central point of Chaos, something that underlies it all. A truth that I can not bear at the moment, I know the in the core of my being, if the eye opened all would be lost. But the insight into the order of Chaos was truly invaluable, already I see ways of protecting my rituals from disruption, to walk through paths that would give me a momentary advantage.
All things are an equation and now I see another variable of Chaos, another step upon the long and futile path of resolution. I will bring balance to the warp, I will oppose the force of Ruinous Order, but the shattered fragments, the nodal beings, the agents are all nothing to me. They are enemies of all soul bearing beings yes, but they are not my foe, my peers will fight them, I choose the true foe that of Ruinous Order itself as my target.
I am Crescum Auro, ritual master of the Eternal Wardens and I swear that one day Ruinous Order will be unmade as it was made long ago. I will not be there to see the final victory, but I will lay the foundation for the path and lift my hands to all the efforts that would bring to conclusion this chapter of history.
Years 56-60 Part 15 - Success and Complications
- Location
- Elsewhere
[] Plan: All Or Nothing, Crazy Style.
-[] Overkill Subtle Takeover, Kingmaker - Firmly sell the act of being a Chaos Vizier, perhaps of Undivided or of Tzeentchian or some variation of one acting as the other, by swallowing your Rune of Chaos and stomaching the immense agony of having Chaos energy radiate from your body. Then find the greediest, most vain, cowardly and disgusting leech of a daemon on the planet using the Rune of Anathema to guide you into working with them to overthrow the current ruler of the planet to cause as much confusion and in-fighting as possible before proceeding to sabotage everything until you're caught.
-[] Solarus being Solarus - Taking an unorthodox, and sadly unsuccessful, page from the latest Epsilon-354 assault, Solarus has suggested to replicate the idea of abusing the Dark Age of Technology Void Shield system installed on the Vigilance to allow it to brave past all possible attacks to engage in a brief period of, in his own words, 'absolute mayhem' against everything standing in the face of her massive cannons and teleportation systems.
-[] Task them with Garrison Duty, On The Current Planet - Since they had already proven themselves as superior to the existing defensive force of the important logistical hub, and in the interest of resolving things peacefully and retaining the skill of the regiment under the restructured Imperial Army here, just have them garrison on the planet they've already taken. They've already put in work in the defences, after all.
-[] Overkill Subtle Takeover, Kingmaker - Firmly sell the act of being a Chaos Vizier, perhaps of Undivided or of Tzeentchian or some variation of one acting as the other, by swallowing your Rune of Chaos and stomaching the immense agony of having Chaos energy radiate from your body. Then find the greediest, most vain, cowardly and disgusting leech of a daemon on the planet using the Rune of Anathema to guide you into working with them to overthrow the current ruler of the planet to cause as much confusion and in-fighting as possible before proceeding to sabotage everything until you're caught.
-[] Solarus being Solarus - Taking an unorthodox, and sadly unsuccessful, page from the latest Epsilon-354 assault, Solarus has suggested to replicate the idea of abusing the Dark Age of Technology Void Shield system installed on the Vigilance to allow it to brave past all possible attacks to engage in a brief period of, in his own words, 'absolute mayhem' against everything standing in the face of her massive cannons and teleportation systems.
-[] Task them with Garrison Duty, On The Current Planet - Since they had already proven themselves as superior to the existing defensive force of the important logistical hub, and in the interest of resolving things peacefully and retaining the skill of the regiment under the restructured Imperial Army here, just have them garrison on the planet they've already taken. They've already put in work in the defences, after all.
Kesar's initial approach on the World of Tormented Martyrs had led him to a rather problematic situation. It wasn't that his disguise had failed, no, that would have been simpler to handle. Instead, his issue was that his disguise lacked a background which led to a greater number of preconceptions forming among the daemons of the world. He'd easily found a daemon willing to backstab their master and had even convinced it that it would be rewarded after their master's death. Unfortunately, this then led to a chain of unexpected events.
He knew the daemon was greedy, and the subsequent selling of information about his presence was annoying but expected. What wasn't expected was several information brokers incorrectly assuming that his loyalty was to the Minor Chaos God Vashtorr which in turn led to several factions assuming that this was the start of a Vashtorrian coup attempt. Perhaps if his body wasn't screaming at him to remove the Rune of Chaos within his body he may have been able to talk his way out of it. But by the same token, his false level of taint also prevented a number of daemons from seeing who he truly was.
All of this culminated in a Daemon Prince of Vashtorr being brought in to handle the problem. With the Forge of Souls acting far more like mercenaries, it wasn't challenging to find another daemon willing to act against their master's interest for pay. A part of it disgusted Kesar, even Imperial guardsmen were harder to bribe than daemons at times. This opinion wasn't helped when the daemon prince appeared in front of him with two of their subordinates flanking alongside him.
The "negotiations" that followed tested Kesar's patience. The Vashtorrian Daemon Prince asked Kesar to simply depart and come back 20 years from now which Kesar immediately refused. The daemon prince then attempted to elicit a bribe from Kesar, either related to technology, daemon crafting, or simply a large amount of souls. The Second Anathema felt himself bristle in righteous anger but kept his cover. While it galled him to sway the daemon prince, Kesar nonetheless attempted to do so, making a surprising amount of progress doing so with the explanation that the metaphysical value of converting this Slaaneshi daemonworld would be more worthwhile to Vashtorr than whatever the mercenary was paid.
However, despite this, the negotiations continued to drag on until Kesar eventually
[] Attacked Them - Killing these three daemons would be suspicious, but it'd eliminate an organized threat to Kesar. And it'd get the fight over with.
[] Negotiated a deal to cooperate … for now - Working with the daemon prince to take over the world will make things simpler. But both of you know that a mutual backstab is planned.
[] Sell Information - Trading the information you have for the location of strong Greater Daemons would cause the daemon prince to leave. But will cause some minor risks that the Archdaemons learn where the information came from.
[] Write-in
Oriacarius looked over the remnants of the Hell Forge and smiled. While most were initially hesitant to conduct an isolated, high-speed approach with the Vigilance, Solarus' idea did have merit. The Mad Bomber had campaigned heavily for it, explaining the various possible outcomes in a rather eloquent presentation. Even if it had far more explosions than was optimal, the First Captain had been able to refine the plan into one that worked excellently.
The Vigilance approached at a high rate of speed, absorbing the anti-orbital firepower with ease. Oriacarius then ordered it into an extremely precise roll, combining control of individual thrusters, the Vigilance's responsiveness, his own constant adjustments, and the Gloriana's void shields constantly cycling across the ship. This allowed for the ship to reach weapons range, where an astonishing amount of firepower was directed at several different locations followed by a massed teleporter assault and waves upon waves of landing craft.
Even as the Gloriana twisted and flared its engines to slow, the rest of the fleet arrived. Quickly establishing localized orbital supremacy above the destroyed batteries, the fleet began to conduct a series of strafing runs. And above the burning Hell Forge, Oriacarius commanded and exploited every mistake made by the surprised enemy commander. It was simple, clinical, and efficient with the only minor hiccup being the isolation of an Imperial Army group that Timedancer personally intervened in. It did mean that a portion of the army now knew that the Wardens had Eldar support, but said army was also reluctantly grateful that the Xenos witch had saved them. A fact that caused the Imperial Army soldiers to begin a lengthy series of vicious arguments that had yet to abate.
*Solarus gains Unorthodox Ideas - +5 to Command*
Hiring the Phoenix Lord Karandras to empty the vaults of Luskal Bashnom was arguably overkill. The Phoenix Lord easily managed to infiltrate vault after vault leaving behind a series of corpses inside before the Wardens secured and cataloged the contents. While a large number of artifacts were retrieved, most are of little use. However, three proved to be exceptions.
The first was an artifact from a long-extinct Xenos species. A clawed gauntlet made of several different materials, it acts as a focus for psykers wielding it allowing significant improvement in their level of control. While this falls off for stronger psykers, it is nonetheless quite useful for whoever is allowed to wield it. Or possibly selling it to Magnus in exchange for personal training for the Wardens.
[] Kesar - +2 to duels
[] Auro - +3 to duels
[] Savinath - +4 to duels
[] Timedancer - +5 to duels, +1 to army combat (applies to the front Timedancer is at). +1 Eldar favor
[] Magnus - Lose the gauntlet, +2 to Legion combat from improved psykers
[] Write-in
The second item of note to be retrieved was a gargantuan vault containing adamantium. While normally this would be pleasant but not notable, this particular adamantium was made using a different mixture of ingredients. While that recipe has now been lost with the creator unknown, it does have some minor differences in material properties. Nothing truly notable, but enough that selling this would provide a few political favors.
[] Vulkan - Receive an artifact for Oriacarius (~+5 to everything)
[] Ferrus - Receive upgrades for the Vigilance and Cherished Son (~+10 to their bonuses)
[] Kelbor-Hal - Receive a permanent Skiitari force (~+1 to Legion Combat Trait)
[] Rogue Traders - Receive a lump sum of funds (~200 Technology and 500 Materials)
[] Write-in
The last item of note was an antimemetic vault that the Wardens and Karandras both missed at first. Rather it had to be pointed out by a guardsmen before it was noticed. Said vault had a variety of interesting properties, but the most notable was that it was harder for more powerful individuals to hide from it. Astartes Captains for instance had a much harder time noticing the vault than normal Astartes for instance. Currently, the vault is being installed as a high security station aboard one of the Legion's Battleships.
*Antimemetic Vault - +10/20/40 to counter security against non-heroes/proto-heroes/heroes for conversations that occur in the vault.*
Despite a lack of Astartes support on several fronts, the Imperial Army nonetheless continued to grind forward across a wide variety of battlefields. Low-intensity conflicts across both Siea and Stracatar were intensified with a number of short, sharp engagements occurring as Imperial forces attempted a series of raids. In both cases, the natives were able to fight off the Imperial Army, with House Siea managing to leverage their Knights effectively while Stracatar forces were able to coordinate a series of artillery crossfires seemingly at random. Despite this, however, the Lord Generals tasked with handling these compliances adapted from each failed raid ensuring that while casualties were continuous they were at least relatively low and secured information.
The best success managed by the Imperial Army in the Maelstrom has been the conquest of Xiuphilli. While Kesar did alert the Thousand Sons and Eldar about the possible birth of a god, both factions were preoccupied with their own issues. The Imperial Army, however, was oblivious to these discussions and was focused on their own war plans.
An aggressive commander with a substantial force was sent in. Utilizing primarily heavy warships, the invasion made extreme use of orbital bombardment, artillery, and death strikes. General bombardment and brutal battles were common, with a level of destruction comparable to battles conducted by the Death Guard. And with an overwhelming amount of firepower the Imperial Army emerged victorious over a broken world, albeit with heavy losses of their own.
Conflict and negotiations with the Gamma Camps have proven successful despite significantly stiffer opposition than expected. The AARs for these clashes have all echoed the same theme. The Imperial Army is more dangerous and competent than initially expected and that success was only achieved due to the overmatch of forces available.
The Night Watch with their new Asuran upgrades were able to achieve a swift and efficient victory despite the Ravagers managing to coordinate within a low information environment. Of particular note was a series of modifications made by Amelia, the leader of the Night Watch, that have allowed for significantly improved internal coordination among the unit. This in turn allowed for the securing of 30 million more hostages than expected, resulting in half the hostages being recovered alive. As for the Ravagers, the Night Watch and Wardens have slain most of them with the remainder split across a wide variety of penal regiments.
*Night Watch gain Low Information Coordination Protocols - +1 degree of success for special forces rolls*
Hectus' assault on the Weeping Sorrow's homeworld ran into a number of issues immediately. A series of internal reforms among the Gamma Camp had led to a surge in lower-level initiatives on the company level. This led to a number of preconceptions on the responsiveness of Imperial Army regiments having to be reevaluated as response times to assaults were substantially reduced. While the responses were generally insufficient to halt Astartes pushes, it did lead to a series of delays that caused the conflict to last for a full four years with nearly double the expected guardsmen losses. On a more positive note, the Imperial Army has begun trialing the modifications to lower-level officers and hopes to implement a modified series of adjustments across the force in a few years.
*Hectus gains Back Down to Earth - Negate enemy critical successes, negate his critical fails*
*The Imperial Army gains +1 to Combat*
Negotiations with the Lost Boys proved to be harder than estimates indicated. Despite the young ages of those involved, Baldur explained that the leader proved significantly more competent than he had planned for. Rather than the trivial discussion he had expected, he was instead forced to rely on a number of diplomatic strategies. Using a mixture of intentionally extending the length of discussions, repeatedly drawing attention to how various agreements would affect the various teenagers within the regiment and showcasing sympathy, Baldur was eventually able to leverage the emotional connection between the leader and the Lost Boys into them accepting garrison duty tasks on the current planet. It did lead to a few complaints from the prior government, but Baldur viewed that as an acceptable outcome.
Kesar's Impersonation: 1 + 50 (Kesar) + 40 (Warden Stealth) + 10 (Stealth vs Daemons) + 10 (Modified SDS) + 80 (Rune of Chaos) - 40 (Rune of Chaos) + 20 (Omake) - 20 (Critical Fail) = 151
Daemon's Perception: 41 + 80 (Hired Favored of Tzeentch) + 20 (Slaaneshi Daemonworld) = 141
Vigilance: 58 + 100 (Gloriana) + 30 (Vigilance) + 60 (Oriacarius) + 10 (Omake) + 101 (Anti-Daemon) = 359
Ground Defenses: 15 + 60 (Orbital Batteries) + 100 (Numbers) + 80 (Favored) + 60 (AI Assistance) = 315
Invasion: 36 28 + 20 (Astartes) + 100 (Legion Combat) + 101 (Anti-Daemon) + 5 (Blitz) + 20 (The Iron Landers) + 20 (Teleportariums) + 5 (Forward Unto Dawn) + 10 (Omakes) + 1 (Defenses) + 20 (Legion Exchange) + 60 (Oriacarius) + 10 (Vigilance) + 5 (Khalsa) = 413
The Hell Forge: 9 + 80 (Defenses) + 80 (Favored) + 60 (AI Assistance) + 40 (Numbers) + 40 (Daemonic Reinforcements) = 309
Night Watch: 80 + 119 (Night Watch) + 20 (Astartes) + 40 (Warden Stealth) + 20 (Pathfinders) = 279
The Ravagers: 80 + 50 (Guardsmen) + 30 (Hostages) + 20 (Commander) + 20 (Numbers) = 200
Hectus: 80 + 10 (Hectus) + 20 (Astartes) + 120 (Legion Combat) + 5 (Blitz) + 5 (Offensive) = 240
Weeping Sorrow: 100 + 50 (Guardsmen) + 10 (Numbers) + 20 (Crit) = 180
Imperial Army Adaptations (DC90): 94
Baldur: 45 + 20 (Astartes) + 20 (Hero) + 30 (Baldur's Diplomacy) + 5 (Warden Diplomacy) = 120
The Lost Boys: 90 + 20 (Piotr) - 20 (Emotional State) = 90
Daemon's Perception: 41 + 80 (Hired Favored of Tzeentch) + 20 (Slaaneshi Daemonworld) = 141
Vigilance: 58 + 100 (Gloriana) + 30 (Vigilance) + 60 (Oriacarius) + 10 (Omake) + 101 (Anti-Daemon) = 359
Ground Defenses: 15 + 60 (Orbital Batteries) + 100 (Numbers) + 80 (Favored) + 60 (AI Assistance) = 315
Invasion: 36 28 + 20 (Astartes) + 100 (Legion Combat) + 101 (Anti-Daemon) + 5 (Blitz) + 20 (The Iron Landers) + 20 (Teleportariums) + 5 (Forward Unto Dawn) + 10 (Omakes) + 1 (Defenses) + 20 (Legion Exchange) + 60 (Oriacarius) + 10 (Vigilance) + 5 (Khalsa) = 413
The Hell Forge: 9 + 80 (Defenses) + 80 (Favored) + 60 (AI Assistance) + 40 (Numbers) + 40 (Daemonic Reinforcements) = 309
Night Watch: 80 + 119 (Night Watch) + 20 (Astartes) + 40 (Warden Stealth) + 20 (Pathfinders) = 279
The Ravagers: 80 + 50 (Guardsmen) + 30 (Hostages) + 20 (Commander) + 20 (Numbers) = 200
Hectus: 80 + 10 (Hectus) + 20 (Astartes) + 120 (Legion Combat) + 5 (Blitz) + 5 (Offensive) = 240
Weeping Sorrow: 100 + 50 (Guardsmen) + 10 (Numbers) + 20 (Crit) = 180
Imperial Army Adaptations (DC90): 94
Baldur: 45 + 20 (Astartes) + 20 (Hero) + 30 (Baldur's Diplomacy) + 5 (Warden Diplomacy) = 120
The Lost Boys: 90 + 20 (Piotr) - 20 (Emotional State) = 90
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