Flagship Name

  • Spirit of Fire

    Votes: 21 47.7%
  • Vigilance

    Votes: 23 52.3%

  • Total voters
    44
  • Poll closed .
Newcomers: The Outsiders of Verdica
Just some last minute Woedica stuff.

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Newcomers: The Outsiders of Verdica

To: Director Balfao
From: Commander Bruce Volan, Verdica Garrison
Subject: Refugee Group Analysis and Assessment
Priority: Red

Director,

I hope this message finds you well, though I regret the timing given that we are now T-minus one month from Operation Lawbringer's activation. The recent surge of refugees, exiles, and pilgrims converging upon Verdica and the greater Satoh sub-sector has exceeded all initial projections and demands immediate attention.

Nearly a quarter billion individuals are attempting to reach Verdica. Unfortunately, we lack the resources to effectively prevent this influx without resorting to the extreme measure of attacking their vessels. After careful consideration, I refrained from issuing such an order. I am fully prepared to face any consequences arising from this decision; however, I concluded that avoiding direct confrontation was the path of least resistance under the circumstances.

Our Exalt detachment has expressed strong disapproval, emphasizing that Verdica's selection was predicated on its obscurity and remoteness—both of which are now at significant risk. Despite his objections, Major Thorne did not interfere when I directed our forces to stand down and allow the refugee ships passage.

Complicating matters further, intelligence reports indicate that these refugees are highly organized and claim to have been guided to Verdica by "divine providence." Thousands among them assert visions and dreams imparted by the so-called "Burning Queen," whom they believe to be Woedica.

That is a concern in itself, but the situation surrounding these individuals is even more troubling due to the numerous factors tied to their plans and histories and the uncertainty of whether they can be trusted not to create issues—for us or anyone else who might come investigating. This is already becoming a reality, as a representative from the Imperial Army has begun asking questions, though I will elaborate on that shortly.

We have identified three distinct power blocs that have emerged within the refugee population. While I have endeavored to gather as much intelligence as possible, our information remains incomplete, and verifying the details has proven challenging. These people do not seem interested in telling their stories unless we make certain assurances.

I hope this information will direct the rest of the council toward a specific decision. It might be necessary in the long run. I've already received reports of these refugees causing problems for farmers and homesteaders, but nothing from the colonial government yet. God willing, we will arrange a solution before the ascension begins.




The Perturabian Concord

Officially designated the Emergency Provisional Concord, most of its members call themselves the Perturabian Concord, reflecting their deep ties to the Lord of Iron's dominion. The Concord was established approximately two years ago, born from an exodus of former administrators, military leaders, technocrats, and other influential figures who once flourished under Perturabo's rule after surrendering to him.

Perturabo, known for his pragmatism, extended clemency and mercy to those who served him loyally and effectively. However, this leniency did not prevent the inevitable rise of internal strife. In-fighting, political machinations, and betrayal took root over time, as the relentless environment of the Lord of Iron's domain punished failure—if not with death, then with social exile. Consequently, many members of the Concord were cast out due to political shifts, reforms, or personal failures, leaving them no choice but to seek a new future beyond Perturabo's reach.

While technically classified as refugees, Concord's leadership rejects this label, viewing their departure not as an act of fleeing but as a strategic emigration in response to mounting issues within their former home. Armed with significant skills, knowledge, and resources, they occupy a paradoxical position: powerful exiles who are also displaced wanderers, straddling the line between strength and exposure.

The bulk of the Perturabian Concord's citizenry is a patchwork of individuals from varied backgrounds. They are united primarily by their shared displacement and loyalty—or dependence—on the council leaders. Most of these people likely had nowhere else to go or invested all their fortunes and favors in them.

Leadership: The Provisional Council

To their credit, the Perturabian Concord is the most organized and disciplined faction among the refugees. The Provisional Council was established swiftly after their exodus and now governs with a blend of industrious pragmatism and strict enforcement of order. Within the Concord, idleness is not tolerated, yet the council remains committed to supporting and improving the lives of their people.

The Provisional Council comprises six core members, each contributing unique expertise and perspectives to maintain cohesion and guide the trajectory of their faction upon arriving at Verdica.

Marika Vollen (Logistics and Strategy)

Marika Vollen is a calculating, efficiency-driven leader who prioritizes order and meticulous resource management. As the council's de facto organizer, she is critical in maintaining the Concord's operational stability. Her background reveals a shrewd and ambitious individual who once hailed from Taranis Secundus, one of Perturabo's experimental hive worlds designed to exemplify perfect efficiency.

Marika's downfall came from her penchant for consolidating power. She was exiled after being accused of cutting secret deals that disproportionately benefited her allies at the expense of the populace. Ironically, her rivals—likely engaging in similar practices—leveraged their influence to oust her on charges of corruption. Following her exile, Marika contacted other displaced figures from Perturabo's domain, eventually becoming a key member of the Concord.

General Rykan Voltos (Military Affairs)

General Rykan Voltos, the council's enforcer and chief strategist, embodies strength and discipline. He ensures the Concord's security and advocates for militaristic policies, often clashing with more moderate or idealistic council members. Born on Drakar IV nearly 80 years ago, Voltos grew up during the Primarch's conquest of his world, which was transformed into a proving ground for siegecraft and mechanized warfare.

Voltos's exile stemmed from the failure of a critical military campaign, compounded by his subsequent addiction to combat stimulants. Dishonorably discharged from the Imperial Army, he leveraged his remaining resources and loyal followers to form a mercenary unit. His leadership and experience eventually led him to join forces with the exiles that formed the Perturabian Concord.

Isolde Kraith (Technological Innovation)

A brilliant yet unpredictable technocrat, Isolde Kraith is the driving force behind the Concord's technological advancements. Her unorthodox methods are both a boon and a risk: they push the boundaries of innovation but frequently challenge ethical and practical norms. Among her peers, she is often described as "unhinged," a label that reflects both her genius and the volatility of her work.

Isolde hails from Helica Prime, a Forge World famed for its experimental research into automatons and servitors. Under Perturabo's governance, the planet was granted limited autonomy to pursue its controversial projects, provided the results were useful. However, Isolde's loyalty to her peers ultimately led to her downfall. She was declared a Heretek after aiding scientists and engineers in escaping the otherwise rigid control of the Mechanicum and subsequently contacted the other exiles that would eventually make the Concord.

Aric Vaelen (Diplomacy and Trade)

Aric Vaelen serves as the Concord's chief negotiator and the driving force behind its external diplomacy and trade initiatives. A shrewd and ambitious businessman, he spearheads efforts to establish a new currency and banking system to stabilize the exiles' economy on Verdica.

Vaelen's background is rooted in commerce; he was once a prominent magnate of a sprawling mercantile network based on Celestara Majoris. During his tenure, he collaborated with Perturabo to maintain vital trade routes within Sector Xanin, leveraging his influence to solidify regional economic stability. However, his aggressive business practices—deemed exploitative by the Administratum—ultimately led to his removal and subsequent exile.

Lenira Doss (Civilian Affairs)

Lenira Doss is one of the most unconventional members of the Provisional Council, serving as a passionate populist and staunch advocate for the displaced civilians within the Concord. Many of these individuals joined out of desperation—whether pressed into service or seeking a chance to start anew. Lenira serves as a counterbalance to her peers' technocratic and militaristic tendencies, consistently championing the welfare of the vulnerable and emphasizing the importance of community cohesion.

Lenira hails from Vortath III, an Agri-World that suffered greatly under the Iron Warriors' control. After multiple failed attempts to meet sufficient crop yields, the planet was repurposed as an experimental testbed for cash crops and medicinal plant strains. The people of Vortath III, resentful of the imposed austerity measures and loss of autonomy, grew increasingly discontent. Lenira rose as a vocal leader, spearheading efforts to resist these changes and protect her world. Despite her efforts, external merchants and political pressures ultimately forced her into exile.

Hierophant Kelnan Thas (Cultural and Ethical Mediation)

Hierophant Kelnan Thas is one of the most enigmatic figures on the Provisional Council, proclaiming himself to be among the first prophets of Woedica. Before embracing this role, Kelnan was a high-ranking scribe on the Imperial world of Ephemeris IV. During his tenure, he amassed significant wealth while working with the Iron Warriors. However, a profound crisis of faith led him to renounce his materialistic pursuits, claiming he had become ensnared by the allure of wealth and power.

As a member of the council, Kelnan provides moral guidance and tirelessly works to bridge the ideological divides among his peers. His conciliatory nature is vital to maintaining cohesion within Concord, and his administrative expertise greatly supports its operations. Despite his contributions, others often underestimate or dismiss Kelnan's influence.

Group Goals

The Perturabian Concord seeks to establish a sovereign nation-state on Verdica, leveraging the extensive experience and knowledge gained under Perturabo's domain. Their primary objective is to create a structured, industrious society that actively aids Woedica's new realm.

Additionally, the Concord aims to achieve this by applying the harsh lessons of order, discipline, and innovation learned during their time within the Lord of Iron's domain. They believe such principles can lay the foundation for a new power aligned with Woedica's will.

Based on what our teams have learned, the Provisional Council has no intention of returning to the Imperium proper and considering certain elements have taken samples of the Iron Warrior's technology, this would give the Perturabians a rather considerable amount of influence in the long run.

Evaluation

The Perturabians display no apparent ill intentions toward the Verdica Project or its inhabitants and seem genuinely committed to supporting Woedica's ascension to this plane of existence. It would behoove us to not start a fight with them.

However, our scholars and scientists are perplexed by how the Perturabians could "hear" or "receive" visions of Woedica from beyond the subsector, raising unresolved questions and concerns.

Furthermore, there are growing concerns about the type of "justice" the Perturabians advocate for and how it might influence Woedica during the critical moment of her creation. While the Perturabians do not appear to seek retribution against Perturabo or the Imperium, their focus seems to be on addressing a myriad of perceived injustices—ranging from corruption and betrayal to political machinations.

Exalt has expressed concern that focusing on these "minor" injustices could detract Woedica from confronting the far greater issues plaguing the galaxy, such as systemic inhumanity and widespread indignity. They argue that Woedica must not become mired in addressing petty grievances at the expense of tackling the galaxy's most profound moral and existential crises.



The Sable Expedition

The Sable Expedition stands in stark contrast to the Perturabian Concord. While the Concord identifies as exiles from the Imperium, the Sable Expedition makes no such claim. Instead, it presents itself as a military task force ostensibly operating under the banner of the "Celestial Dominion," led by Supreme Commander Rynold Kheran and his command staff.

This expedition has traversed an extraordinary distance, claiming origins as far as the Galactic Badlands and beyond. Their journey has spanned over fifteen years, marking them as seasoned wanderers in the void and eager to settle down. It seems that Verdica could be considered a promised land for them.

Despite being entirely human, the Sable Expedition exhibits cultural and social traits distinct from the baseline Imperium. While they know the Imperium of Man, they express no intention of joining it, citing that they will, someday, return home. Commander Kheran and his followers describe their mission as a "generational endeavor," vowing not to return to their Dominion until they receive orders from their Empress.

Notably, Commander Kheran and his forces' survival prospects appear grim. The expedition resembles a "repentance crusade," a term one of my directors coined that seems fitting given the Celestials' descriptions. Their flotilla consists largely of soldiers, voidsmen, colonists, and their families, all committed to this long mission.

Leadership: Sable Command Staff

Supreme Commander Rynold Kheran

Supreme Commander of the Sable Expedition, Kheran is, by all accounts, an exceptionally skilled leader who would have thrived within the Imperial Army. Renowned for his brilliant strategic mind and decisive leadership, he possesses a commanding presence that inspires loyalty among his subordinates.

However, Kheran's talents are overshadowed by his admitted arrogance—a flaw that ultimately led to his downfall. His hubris drove him to challenge the authority of the Empress of the Celestial Dominion, a miscalculation that resulted in his exile and assignment to this grueling repentance expedition. He ultimately attempted to subsume control over an entire Dominion commissariat, which seems to be their version of a sub-sector, although this plot was uncovered and subsequently ended. Kheran was granted a stay of execution for treason and instead allowed to regain his honor if he returned with something of notable value to the Empress.

Otherwise, we could not learn more about his history or that of the Celestial Dominion outside of a prepared data package that seemed more propaganda than anything. This is a recurring issue with most of the Sable Expedition. It should be noted that Kheran has access to some rather powerful weapons and armor.

Chief Tactician Ellisar Varn

Second-in-command to Commander Rynold Kheran, Ellisar Varn is the Chief Tactics Officer of the Sable Expedition and the leader of the Sable 1st Marine Company. While these marines are not comparable to Astartes, their training and equipment make them closer to the elite Solar Auxilia of old, making them a formidable force under Varn's command.

Ellisar's role extends beyond battlefield strategy. He is the frontline officer of the expedition's combat forces, often taking operational command in engagements, while Kheran focuses on broader strategic objectives. Despite his evident loyalty, his relationship with Kheran is ambiguous. Eyewitness accounts suggest frequent and heated disagreements between the two, though these clashes stem from conflicting philosophies rather than any intent by Ellisar to usurp leadership.

However, tensions could escalate. Ellisar has vocally opposed the decision to settle the expedition on Verdica. While the reasons for his objections remain unclear, the Shrike Commission suspects it might relate to unease over proximity to a God of Justice like Woedica.

Liaison Rika Astelvei

Procuring detailed information on Rika Astelvei has proven notably challenging, but Ravenloft has confirmed that she is a psyker and the head of the Sable Psy Corps. Descriptions of her role suggest she functions as a political officer tasked with maintaining morale and discipline within the Sable Expedition while rooting out subversive or treasonous activity.

Psykers in the Celestial Dominion appear to occupy a role similar to their counterparts in the Imperium, where their abilities are regarded primarily as assets. However, unlike Imperial psykers, members of the Dominion Psy Corps seem less involved in direct combat and more focused on intelligence and counter-intelligence operations. This focus raises questions, especially in Rika's case, as she is reportedly a pyromancer—an ability that seems at odds with espionage and internal security work.

Her presence within the expedition is likely as much about ensuring adherence to the Empress's mandate as it is about supporting the expedition's survival. Ravenloft suspects her ultimate goal may be to monitor Commander Kheran and Chief Varn, ensuring neither harbors ambitions to turn the expedition into a secessionist state against the Dominion. Where Rika stands regarding Woedica remains unclear.

Chaplain Timos Kaelvar

Once again, we found another odd character: Chaplain Timos Kaelvar. He has proven to be the most forthcoming member of the Sable Expedition, willing to exchange substantial information in return for promises to support the establishment of his temple on Verdica. He oversees the expedition's spiritual health and is generally well-liked among its members.

Kaelvar is an intriguing figure. He is a devout adherent of the "Faith of Eternal Soul," a belief system that blends Buddislamic Zenshia traditions with the idol worship of Celestial Saints. This faith appears to emphasize spiritual enlightenment achieved through the veneration and study of these saints, who are the chosen emissaries of the Celestial Dominion's Empress.

He describes the Empress as immortal (evidently common knowledge in the Celestial Dominion) favored by an enigmatic entity or organization called the "Crux." According to him, the Empress's divine mandate extends across all stars, worlds, and civilizations, both human and alien.

This belief suggests a unifying spiritual doctrine that transcends traditional Imperial dogma, emphasizing the Empress's role as a figure of universal sovereignty and enlightenment. His portrayal of the Empress as a divinely anointed ruler could also hint at a broader agenda to position the Dominion's ideology on Verdica alongside whatever happens with Woedica.

Group Goals

The goals of the Sable Expedition appear to center less on establishing a traditional nation-state and more on creating a strategically placed outpost that will act as their "temporary" colony within this sector. The expedition's members believe their ultimate goal is to earn the right to return to the Celestial Dominion.

This mission-focused mindset deeply influences the expedition's societal structure. Children born within the expedition are raised with a dual emphasis on military training, civic responsibility, and unwavering loyalty to the mission. They are prepared to contribute from a young age, whether as soldiers, administrators, or skilled workers. Integrating families into daily operations fosters a tightly knit community where even non-combatants play vital support roles. This ensures everyone knows what is at stake if one element doesn't pick up the slack.

Commander Rynold Kheran has demonstrated a pragmatic and inclusive approach to recruitment. He is open to allowing individuals from outside the Dominion—including abhumans and even xenos—to join the expedition, provided they prove their loyalty and dedication to the mission. This inclusivity, while practical in expanding the expedition's manpower and resources, also highlights a notable divergence from the Imperium's more rigid and exclusionary policies.

Regarding Woedica, the Sable Expedition wishes to utilize her for their eventual return, and if this requires their services, so be it. Chaplin Kaelvar has already begun "allowing" the worship of Woedica in exchange for a treaty agreement that recognizes their Empress as the sole divine authority of the Celestial Dominion.

Evaluation

The Sable Expedition embodies a paradoxical mix of hope and denial. While they outwardly maintain a strong connection to their origins in the Celestial Dominion, the reality of their situation suggests otherwise. The majority of the expedition's members appear unaware—or unwilling to accept—that their mission is likely a one-way journey designed to exile them permanently rather than offer a path to redemption.

Kheran may privately understand this truth, yet he believes that achieving a miraculous victory or gaining divine favor could change their fate. The possibility of Woedica's ascension seems to have captivated Kheran's imagination and perhaps is a sign that the godspeed reached out to him across the vastness of space for whatever reason.

He likely views the prospect of securing the support of a literal god as a way to influence the Empress and vindicate his people. This belief has become a rallying point, bolstering their morale and unity. However, it raises concerns about the consequences of intertwining Woedica's nascent divinity with the ambitions of politically motivated exiles.

The Sable Expedition's paradox extends to its social and ideological structure. Though it exhibits traits reminiscent of insular religious sects encountered by Ravenloft, it is also remarkably open to outsiders—provided those individuals prove their loyalty and commitment.

However, their desire for Woedica to "bless" their brand of justice—a justice focused on redemption and reintegration—raises critical questions. While redemption can be a powerful force, it becomes precarious when wielded by those with a history of treason and political ambition. Traitors embody betrayal and self-interest by their very nature, making their motives and loyalty perpetually suspect. Woedica's association with such a group risks diluting her principles and potentially endangering her nascent identity.



The Scattered

Perhaps the most tragic group found on Verdica is the Scattered. Where the Sable Expedition and the Perturabians came to Verdica with distinct goals and ambitions, the Scattered appear to have arrived through what can only be described as "divine providence," seemingly guided by Woedica's unseen hand.

Unlike the other factions, the Scattered are refugees in the truest sense—desperate, displaced, and driven by the need to survive rather than any unified purpose or grand design until now.

But who are the Scattered exactly? Unfortunately, they are rather difficult to truly categorize due to their origins, namely in that they Scattered hail from over a hundred worlds and encompass a thousand different cultures, each forced to abandon their homes for one reason or another. Tens of millions that share no common heritage. Many are survivors, having lost their families and kin long ago.

What unites them is not their origins but their shared experiences. They are the casualties of authoritarian regimes, victims of corruption, systemic neglect, or outright genocide. The Scattered are the marginalized and the outcast: impoverished underhivers, displaced agri farmers, voidsmen who lost their ships or stations, soldiers or mercenaries without a war, and those labeled undesirable by their societies—villagers driven from their lands, those who fled their cities being attacked, or entire hab blocs discarded like refuse by the uncaring machinery of their former worlds.

Despite their varied backgrounds, the Scattered have forged a tenuous unity built upon the necessity of cooperation and mutual aid. Their determination to survive and their capacity for resilience is nothing short of remarkable. Perhaps even miraculous…

Leadership: The Scattered Positions

Magister Erena Damasque

Before joining the Scattered, Erena was a mid-tier administrator on Remulin Prime, a world that had only rediscovered nuclear fusion when invaded by a xeno race known as the Beloians. The invasion forced the Remulians to flee aboard hastily constructed ships, only to be captured by human slavers while searching for refuge.

A similar story to many. Perhaps what made Erena appropriate for the primary leadership role of the Scattered was that of Magister, the highest authority among the Scattered, at the urging of their assembled elders and advisors after she aided in a mutiny of the Night Jackal, later renamed the Freedom's Call.

The Scattered eschew general elections, as most have only a vague or uninformed concept of democracy. Yet, they are equally determined to avoid being ruled by a tyrant or monarch. With her unassuming background and practical experience, Erena emerged as a natural compromise—someone who could lead without lording over her people.

Erena has proven invaluable in her role, leveraging her innate negotiation skills and keen ability to balance competing interests—vital for managing the Scattered fleet's diverse and often fragmented populations. Her adaptability is further aided by her talent as a polyglot, allowing her to communicate with many of the "primitive" cultural groups among the Scattered and bridge divides that might otherwise lead to discord.

High Guardian Linra Calderon

High Guardian Linra Calderon, a former mercenary commander, has reinvented herself as a protector and advocate for the vulnerable, trading a life of exploitation for redemption. Originally hailing from the Jespin Republics, a small stellar empire centered on a sprawling hive world, Linra grew up in an environment of violence and poverty. Seeking escape, she joined the Republic's military, only to become embroiled in its brutal campaigns. By her own admission, she participated in numerous atrocities that deepened the cycle of suffering and injustice she had hoped to leave behind.

Disillusioned and hardened, Linra eventually deserted the military with a small cadre of like-minded soldiers, forming the Blacksteel Company. While initially viewing her new mercenary enterprise as freedom from her past, she soon found herself perpetuating the horrors she had sought to escape, this time for profit rather than ideology. Her turning point came during a campaign that saw the Jespin Republics embroiled in conflict with numerous factions, which resulted in the massive orbital bombardment of several cities.

Linra decided to atone for her sins after this. Taking the Blacksteel Company with her, Linra aligned with the nascent leadership of the Scattered, offering her considerable military expertise to protect rather than destroy. Her much-needed involvement earned her the title of High Guardian, placing her at the head of the Scattered's defensive and strategic operations. Linra now serves as their chief military strategist and a symbol of redemption.

The Workers Trinity—Korrik Rann, Faryne Halto, and Jorren Vais

An eclectic but necessary arrangement; but the Workers Trinity represents the farmers, machinists, and laborers who keep the fledgling civilization functioning. They embody the tireless effort needed to ensure survival, managing everything from feeding the population to maintaining the Scattered's stolen or salvaged ships. Their collective efforts sustain the fleet and the hope of a new beginning for the Scattered.

Korrik Rann hails from an agri-world and was exiled for practicing a faith banned by his oppressive regime. With his deep farming knowledge, he works tirelessly to develop efficient food production systems, often mentoring others unfamiliar with agriculture.

Faryne Halto was labeled a political dissident in her developing world and cast out for her refusal to conform. Before joining the Scattered, she had never set foot on a starship. Now, she directs the millions of farmers with crops on agri-decks, providing her expertise for those with little knowledge of growing food on a voidship.

Jorren Vais, once a Hive worker, was declared a mutant for his striking blood-red eyes and was forced into a labor gang. He eventually escaped and now serves as the logistical mastermind of the Scattered. He works to organize the workforce, ensuring that every hand is put to good use and that no one is left idle. His sharp mind and relentless drive keep the Scattered's operations running smoothly.

The Workers Trinity faces a daunting challenge: many of the Scattered were unskilled laborers or peasants, often with little formal education or specialized training. Those with technical skills usually must adapt to entirely new methods, as much of their prior knowledge is outdated or flawed. Most of the Scattered are illiterate or speak in fragmented dialects, which adds another layer of difficulty to organizing and unifying the community.

The Elders' Council

With all the exiled peoples of the Scattered, many of whom come from "primitive" backgrounds, it stands to reason that many would seek the wisdom of their elders. The Elders' Council provides wisdom, cultural guidance, and moral counsel to the broader populace and key figures like the Workers Trinity, Magister Damasque, and the Guardians. While their contributions are valued, their influence is tempered by a recurring challenge: the limitations of their perspectives.

The primary issue with the Elders' Council is its tendency to rely heavily on past experiences and traditional ways of thinking. While their knowledge can offer valuable insights, it often lacks the adaptability to address the Scattered's present and future challenges. Many of the younger and more pragmatic members of the Scattered have noted that the elders' advice, though well-meaning, sometimes fails to account for the extraordinary and dangerous situations they've found themselves in.

Still, the council's presence serves as a stabilizing force. Their role as keepers of cultural memory and as mediators during disputes fosters a sense of continuity and respect for the diverse heritages within the Scattered, perhaps even offering a chance for the many peoples to possibly one day revive their cultures on a new world, perhaps even on Verdica itself.

Group Goals

The Scattered's goals are straightforward yet deeply ambitious: to rebuild their lives on Verdica and, perhaps one day, to return to their ancestral homeworlds—not as exiles, but as liberators, unlike the Perturabians or the Sable Expedition, who have resigned to starting anew or seeking to eventually return home with grace, the Scattered harbor no such dependency. They have resolved that they will return to their home, no matter how long it takes, even if the names of their peoples and legacies have faded into obscurity. For them, their shared resolve is encapsulated in a defiant declaration: "We will not let these indignities go unpunished."

And it is this determination that binds them together. They have bonded over a shared experience that transcends culture. Whether hailing from primitive villages or hive cities, they share a collective need to confront the injustices they suffered and reclaim the dignity stripped from them, even if it must be done through future generations.

What makes this situation all the more intriguing or concerning is their arrival. Unlike the calculated ventures of the Perturabians and the Sable Expedition, their journey seems guided by what can only be described as divine providence. The Elders' Council claims that they were summoned to this world by Woedica herself—a recurring story among many of the exiles that have arrived here.

To them, Verdica is not merely a haven but a promised land where their people can regroup, rebuild, and eventually prepare for their long-promised return to their homeworlds. Whether Woedica's intentions align fully with theirs remains uncertain, but for the Scattered, their divine summoning is a sign that their destiny is within reach.

Evaluation

The Scattered pose a potentially greater problem than the Sable Expedition and the Perturabians due to their underlying vindictive nature, although they do not openly speak of vengeance. While they are victims of oppression and persecution, their actions and rhetoric suggest that their understanding of justice extends far beyond mere restitution. It's not enough to just survive and rebuild. The Catherics call this type of retribution "An eye for an eye."

To them, justice is inseparable from retribution, and they envision themselves as both judge and executioner, wielding the scales of fairness in one hand and the sword of punishment in the other, and they shall be vindicated upon liberating their worlds.

A deep-seated belief in this mission is now being co-assigned to Woedica so that she can act not just as a judge but as the bringer of justice, which exacerbates our concerns. They seem to project their vision of retributive justice onto Woedica, seeing her as a potential divine ally who will mete out their desired penalties against the oppressors they have fled.

It is essential to recognize the paradox of the Scattered: while they lack the technological sophistication, military discipline, or rigorous training seen in groups like the Sable Expedition or the Perturabians, their zeal and unyielding determination more than compensate for these deficits. This fervor makes them both an asset and a liability.

On one hand, it positions them as prime targets for demagogues who could weaponize their sense of injustice for destructive ends. On the other hand, their resilience and willingness to endure hardships could be harnessed to create a loyal and steadfast ally under the right guidance. If nothing else, it means there is a chance to let these people build a new life on their own terms.

We should also take this warning as a lesson, not only about the Scattered but also about the essence of justice itself, particularly in the context of Woedica's potential influence. Retribution is undeniably a component of justice—it is the promise that wrongdoing will not go unanswered.

Without this element of inevitability, justice risks being perceived as weak or impotent. However, retribution must be balanced with virtue; otherwise, it devolves into mere vengeance, indistinguishable from the wrongs it seeks to rectify.

The Scattered, brutalized, and betrayed as they stand at a precipice. If Woedica were to ascend as a paragon of justice tempered by integrity, she would likely find in the Scattered her most fervent and loyal adherents. Their yearning for justice could evolve into something more profound—a commitment to justice not only for their own people but as a principle that transcends personal grievances.

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@Daemon Hunter
 
Vexus the Executor, Daemon Prince of the Arkifane, Unknowing Victim Of An Anathema's Deception.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake on the servant of Vashtorr Kesar Dorlin has recently met and would work with in taking over The World Of Tormented Martyrs in disguise, that Slaaneshi daemon world that's being dealt with, because I just felt like writing up about this fellow. Especially after seeing how this cooperation played out!
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Vexus the Executor, Daemon Prince of the Arkifane, Unknowing Victim Of An Anathema's Deception.

You are pure thought, and as thought did you always think and remember.

There are those who would do anything to stay away from the path of corruption. Those who saw the great tide of ever-burning psychic madness as nothing more than nightmares made manifest. So many that witnessed the worship of foul divinity as damnation into agonising nothingness, to be strangled by the whim of thirsting gods, to be deafened by laughter, to be inflicted by endless hunger and then devoured by it directly.

You were not like those fools, those that were blind and deaf to the potential that was so easily within reach. At least, now you were. In a way, a part of you had once respected such beliefs for both the strength of will behind such things and the laudable arrogance that could create and fuel them.

In a much larger sense, with parts of you that writhed through dimensions that were beyond material space and time, you thought such delusions beneath you. The mutterings of mortals that tried to view transience above transcendence, that saw their own ephemeral nature as a strength rather than a weakness. A logical and natural philosophy, for who liked to admit their own weakness and mortality so plainly? Life would never have the strength to emerge at all.

Even you had once believed that you could master the spirits that you conjured and communed with in life. A partial truth, a notion that was aided by hidden whispers and dreams in retrospect. Born of youthful pride as much as ignorance, nurtured by the endless influence that any could fall under. But you had grown wiser, been seared by countless truths that lurked within the Warp, and you understood the weakness of your form and soul. Knew what the ultimate prize was, snatched from the mocking maws of those beings that had inspired you and saw as something beyond mortality.

To be deathless, or as close as any could truly reach. Under the patronage of a divine being, or perhaps raw energy itself, one would join a deific existence and obtain a shadow of immortality. Becoming living thought, animated emotion, a creature that had no birth or end. An ouroboros that was cast by a tiny flame of a mundane soul, and achieved infinity.

Names and histories became a looser concept after ascension, looser still once enough 'time' had passed in the form of events and legends for you. Accomplishing countless dark deeds that granted you further power by simply doing them at all, along with further favour towards the one who had lifted you up and wove the true name that made up the core of your being.

Unlike some grand champions and followers of Chaos, you were not a servant of the Old Four. Not directly, for of course you engaged with their cults and daemons even before you had arisen into your formless existence. You followed a path that was far, far more rarer due to the costs involved. Or rather the appearance of cost, for it was simply a more honest path than the vague promises that were afforded to others. It made fools balk and granted assurance to those more clever.

Vashtorr the Arkifane, Master of the Soul Forges, the Demigod of Malevolent Artifice. Within the vast expanse of the Formless Wastes, between the endless realms of the Chaos Gods, this domain was one that was weaker in raw power to any of the Old Four's dominions but it had a focus that was near unmatched and a drive that was afforded for those who could endure the impossible to achieve the unthinkable.

Once you knew of their majestic work, a brilliance that could easily surpass the greatest minds that still lived in the galaxy, you devoted yourself to them with all your heart and mind. Resonating with such wonders, eager to hear even fragmented words to unleash creations that could destroy anything in your path, to find secrets untainted by vulgar deception to be used to your heart's content… for the right price.

You walked through the steps of the Arkifane's trials, at first having to work from scattered notes and guesses before beginning to receive true guidance. In your dreams did you see the hellish factory that stretched across all horizons, with towers that reached above the sky and filled it with screaming smoke, ash and lightning falling from the soul-furnaces to mark the industrial end of countless victims. One time, you swore you saw the faces of those you had personally butchered in the name of your master.

You did not miss a single deadline, no matter how harsh or how cruel, all the souls and metal and flesh granted to the one whom you wished to serve to grant you what you desired most of all. Until finally, as you wrote down a grimoire that contained every act you had committed in Vashtorr's name, the ultimate contract was offered. Immortality for a cost that no mortal could ever pay in their lifetime, in countless generations collectively working together, what an entire civilization could not hope to pay.

Yet in the face of being ascended into one of the great beings of Chaos, a daemon prince of Vashtorr himself, what did any price even matter? In the face of an undying existence, you could accomplish anything at all given enough time. Afterwards, you would simply accept a new contract to reach a higher level of power and potential. Infinite rewards from infinite work. Put so simply when framed like that, when you could receive such complex orders from your lord or offers from contracts you had accepted from those who came to the Soul Forges, but it was more truth than not.

There were countless forms that could be taken by those who had become one with the Warp, within the expanse of Chaos, endless permutations and reflections of being. Primal forms of snarling maws, fangs and teeth, crawling horrors, winged beasts, mechanical abominations, geometric beings, mythological echoes and shifting horrors. Your 'form' was simple, as living thought.

Near invisible to those not blessed by ability to perceive the Warp, or for when you revealed yourself to a victim, you were a mass of energy that spoke in whispers to yourself, and louder to those that you chose to speak with. Sometimes you manifested as electricity that coursed through flesh and metal, the living surge of emotion and mind, hatred buzzing through a construct as you brought carnage to your foes. Other times you became an insidious monster that infected a mind, drowning their very personality with yourself, until they were dissolved into your being.

After ascendence, you preferred to be freely flowing. A taskmaster that infected the minds of those that lesser in the chain of hierarchy than you were, able to slowly seep down into the core of their being and weed out dissident thought and bringing about cruel efficiency, forcing bodies to work even when long past the breaking point.

Unfortunately, you were not able to remain as such. There were better uses of your talents, and you could never control more than a few souls at best and were unable to hide your influence when you tried to read a potential buyer's thoughts. The Arkifane had moved you from management towards mercenary work, to act as an enforcer and fulfiller of bargains. You had to admit, for your master was genius personified, it was hard to deny their insight as you took on your body of combat. You worked best with controlling machinery than people.

Static names were things that belonged to those who preferred to remain in one form, or an entity infamous for taking countless and switching between them, and you were neither. You viewed such things as trophies, as dark titles that you engaged with for whenever your whims demanded one or when you tried to build up a reputation to get better deals. Exchanging one for another, or more depending on what you desired.

In your current form, as a war-machine that was puppetted by your amorphous being, you were known as Vexus the Executor. A mechanism that at first had been rather plain, a core without almost any additional features beyond the bare minimum. A body that you would spend so much blood, metal and souls into empowering. Worlds burning. Empires crumbled. Champions and warbands slain, or brought back to the Soul Forges in scorching chains, or bloodied enough to accept a new contract.

You had to admit, you had grown attached to your body over the timeless years. Each aspect woven not just by your brilliant mind and experience, but by your victory and might. A cannon that that won by cunning in a duel over the flaming skies of a burning moon. A blade sharpened by the fractal edges of the blade-sea that tried to swallow you whole. A skull taken from a beast so fearsome that it was once an apex predator on a world filled with daemons.

A few other daemons had even risen up as your direct attendants, after besting them soundly in a trial of might. Using your own superior strength to ensure loyalty over them, when a deal could not suffice or be binding enough, you were a weapon that was almost unmatched compared to the many foes and fools you faced in your immortal life.

These thoughts lingered as you entered the world of sacrifice, a place dedicated to following the Prince of Pleasure in a way that was quite rare to see with such devotion. An unknown champion had come here, some other servant of Vashtorr according to rumour and hearsay, trying to find a daemonic ally with enough avarice to accept a plan to take over the world. Succeeding in finding one filled with enough greed to agree, and also sell out their new companion instantly to whoever was willing to listen.

It wasn't exactly good business to immediately slay another servant of the Arkifane without at least trying to make another deal, because raising your master's ire by ending a favoured one's life before they could accomplish their debt or higher purpose was not ideal. You'd give them a chance, find a way to buy them out and get them to leave, then figure out who they really were after the fact. Kill them if you couldn't convince them.

Or… well, who knew? Perhaps you'd even be willing to work with them for a short while if their honeyed promises were enticing enough. Taking over a world all to yourself, without anyone else in the way, was rather appealing. If opportunity called for it, perhaps this situation could turn out to your benefit.
 
The Fallen and Rising Heroes
Just wanted to get this out of the way.

---

The Fallen and Rising Heroes

Heroes. A wretched title, bestowed upon those condemned to the greatest folly of ego-driven ambition: failure. To fail as a hero is to betray everything you swore to uphold—your civilization, your honor, your comrades, your family. And in the end, even your own dignity. Death, in that sense, becomes a mercy—a final escape from the crushing weight of their expectations and your shame.

Yet failure, in its purest form, carries a strange, mournful dignity. A hero who perishes in pursuit of their mission can at least find absolution in death. Such a soul may even be venerated as a martyr—someone whose end was noble, whose intent was pure. After all, who could condemn one who gave their life for a cause?

But what of betrayal?

To betray the mission, to forsake comrades and oaths, to sever all ties of kinship and nation and willingly side with the enemy—this is a sin beyond redemption. Such a figure is loathsome, fit only for the darkest pits of damnation, their name cursed by the living and the dead alike.

Traitors are the weakest of all creatures—grasping, ambitious cowards who trade loyalty for personal gain. They are unworthy of respect, even from their enemies, who at least remain steadfast to their own oaths.

But what of those who betray everything… and still accomplish their mission?

Is it not heroic to damn oneself if it means others may see another sunrise? To sacrifice honor, kinship, and even one's soul to defeat a greater foe?

"They went too far," the voices would say. "Who can trust such a villain?" would come the inevitable judgment. A hero turned villain, damned for making the kind of choice no one else dared. All because their decision did not fit the comforting image of what a hero should be. But what did those voices know?

When the time comes to sacrifice or to suffer—when hard decisions mean trading one life for another—such deeds are never celebrated. The tales will not speak of those choices unless the hero falls. Failure, after all, makes for a better story.

Who decides when a hero becomes a villain? Who has the right to judge? And at what point does the truth no longer matter?

Elid'kharoth had pondered such questions for millennia. He found no answers as a mortal. None as a hero. None as a traitor. And now, as a daemon prince, the questions haunted him still, gnawing at the edges of his fragmented soul.

How long had it been since he had betrayed all that mattered?

The warp, in its infinite malice, ensured he would remember. Perhaps this endless brooding was his punishment, a cruel mockery layered upon his failures. As if the title it had given him wasn't torment enough.

Among the other Neverborn, his name was a byword for scorn, spoken with a sneer and whispered in contempt: The Fallen Hero. Always in mocking tones, as though his ruin were a jest crafted solely for their amusement. Elid'kharoth had long since abandoned any pretense of seeking retribution for every slight. The futility of such efforts had become as much a part of him as his shame.

Not that it mattered anymore.

He had chosen exile ages ago, casting himself adrift in the endless, writhing expanse of the Warp. Its seemingly infinite vastness offered boundless desolation—perfect for one seeking to drown in disgrace, provided they could defend themselves from its ceaseless horrors.

And even after his maiming, Elid'kharoth remained more than capable. The scars of his failure might have marred his form, but they had not robbed him of the strength to survive. Besides, he doubted anyone would go looking for trouble from a disgraced daemon prince.

So he cast himself out into the forgotten wastes of the warp where reality twists and writhes like a dying beast. There was no name for this land, at least not in any tongue. Elid'kharoth called it the Gol'aon in honor of his mortal tongue.

Here in this wretched place would Elid'kharoth carve out his final home: a fortress. This stronghold was built to be a paradox, imposing and forlorn, with towers stretching skyward in impossible spirals and jagged edges piercing the churning, blood-red shadows above and whose defenses could withstand an army of Neverborn.

The terrain of Gol'aon was also a nightmare in itself.

Paths curved into themselves, distances folded and unfolded like a mocking puzzle, and horizons shifted with every glance. The ground, if it could even be called that, was a mosaic of cracked obsidian, pulsating veins of molten light, and jagged shards of glass-like substance that reflected grotesque, distorted visions of dying worlds. Rivers of corrosive liquid bled from nowhere, carving paths of despair and dissolving anything unfortunate enough to stray too close.

Beyond the defenses, the interior was a monument to everything that had gone wrong for him in his mortal existence. Inside, its halls were vast and hollow, their echoes carrying whispers of memories better left forgotten. Ornate chambers and throned halls suggested a past glory now buried beneath layers of bitterness and regret.

Elid'kharoth filled these spaces with trophies of his mortal life and symbols of his once-noble purpose, each a cruel reminder of what had been lost. This made it feel nice and "homely" to him. This was his prison and sanctuary, where he could endure the jeers of the Neverborn from afar and ponder the infinite questions that plagued him.

Here, in this self-imposed exile, Elid'kharoth brooded over his past and fate.



One day—or whatever passed for time within Gol'aon—a stranger appeared outside the desolate fortress of Elid'kharoth. How they navigated the treacherous, maddening expanse of Gol'aon, let alone knew of the Fallen Hero's exact location, were questions that might have stirred curiosity if Elid'kharoth cared enough to ponder them. He did not.

"Go away," his voice rumbled, echoing from the very stones of the fortress. "I have no desire to entertain guests or duel foolish challengers. If you've come to oust me, then proceed—or begone."

The stranger remained silent. For a moment, Elid'kharoth almost felt a pang of disappointment as the figure outside vanished into the chaotic expanse. But that fleeting thought was swiftly banished when he sensed a disturbance—a sudden and unmistakable presence within his personal chambers.

The intruder was none other than the stranger who had been outside moments before.

With a fluid motion, Elid'kharoth seized the Requiescat Blade and Ruby Scutum, the ancient weapons igniting with a crimson glow that painted the chamber in hues of malice and readiness.

But the stranger raised his hands in a gesture of peace, his voice calm and steady. "Calm yourself, Elid'kharoth. I bear you no ill will nor any intention of violence."

Elid'kharoth's eyes narrowed, his tone sharp. "You intrude upon my sanctuary. Has time stripped the Neverborn of all sense of decorum?"

The stranger chuckled, a rich, disarming sound that seemed almost out of place in the grim chamber. "You had no intention of greeting me. I was merely…assertive in ensuring a proper audience. For that, I offer my apologies."

He stepped forward, his smile unyielding yet devoid of malice. "I am U'mas, and I bear a proud title: Hunter of Daemon Hunters."

Elid'kharoth's grip on the hilt of his blade tightened for a moment before he recovered his composure, though his voice carried a note of skepticism. "You seek out the Daemonsbanes? A fool's errand, as dangerous as it is pointless."

U'mas inclined his head, his gaze unwavering. "Yes," he said simply. "And you, of all beings, would know why."

Elid'kharoth narrowed his eyes. "Then you already know why I stopped hunting them." His disgraceful defeat had nearly ended his existence.

"You were defeated by Ynanera of the Glimmering Suns, a Daemonsbane of the Aeldari," U'mas began, his tone casual but sharp. "Before that, you betrayed and killed Kramais of the Red Sea—your oath-brother and the daemonsbane of the Armeika Empire. That treachery not only led to your ascension but also to the extinction of your entire species. Bravo, truly. A betrayal for the ages."

Elid'kharoth's expression darkened, but his tone remained measured. "Is there a point to this? Or do you expect me to guess what you want?"

U'mas smirked, his posture as relaxed as ever. "You already know, but if you insist on hearing it, I want your help to kill a specific Daemonsbane."

"A specific Daemonsbane?" Elid'kharoth leaned forward, his curiosity piqued despite himself. "How have the Aeldari produced more after the Dark Prince devoured most of their souls?" Even in Gol'aon's isolation, the birth of the Fourth Chaos God was impossible to ignore.

U'mas chuckled. "You really have been out in the middle of nowhere, haven't you? The Aeldari aren't what they once were. This Daemonsbane doesn't come from them. A new species has taken to dominating the Materium—our favorite little playground. They call themselves humans."

Elid'kharoth's eyes narrowed further as the memory stirred. "Humans? An empire of scientists and explorers, wasn't it?"

"Not anymore." U'mas shook his head, his smile fading. "The galaxy fractured with the birth of the Dark Prince. Humanity nearly collapsed—until that dreadful Anathema seized control of them."

"An Anathema?" Elid'kharoth spat the word, the hatred dripping from his tone. "That accursed being. Of course, they'd bring about Daemonsbanes."

"It gets worse." U'mas's voice lost its humor entirely, his expression grim. "There's a second Anathema now, and they've already created eight Daemonsbanes."

The sound of cracking stone echoed through the chamber as Elid'kharoth's grip nearly shattered the armrest of his throne. "Two Anathemas and eight Daemonsbanes? What are the Neverborn doing? Where are the gods in all of this?"

He paused, his gaze narrowing further as realization dawned. "No… none of that matters. Where are the Black Covenants?"

The Black Covenants had always been the answer—or at least the attempt—to counter Daemonsbanes. They weren't perfect, but they were often the first and last line of defense.

U'mas sighed, spreading his hands in a gesture of futility. "There hasn't been a Black Covenant since before the Fall of the Aeldari. They've been lost to time."

Elid'kharoth's jaw tightened, but U'mas continued before he could speak. "That's why I've taken it upon myself to revive them. The gods and their so-called champions won't lift a finger, not for this."

The Fallen Hero regarded U'mas with a mixture of skepticism and begrudging respect. "You plan to rebuild them? To stop the Anathemas?"

U'mas offered no direct answer, only a faint, enigmatic smile. "Perhaps. The Black Covenants might be our only chance—but they lack champions worth the title."

Elid'kharoth leaned back on his throne, studying the stranger before him. A flicker of purpose began to stir within him for the first time in eons. "The Black Covenants were never an effective answer to the Daemonsbanes," Elid'kharoth said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of disillusionment.

"And yet, unless the gods themselves intervene, they remain our only answer," U'mas replied evenly. He grabbed a chair crafted from warped bones and splintered wood, dragging it across the floor with a slow screech before sitting across from Elid'kharoth. His calm demeanor seemed almost mocking in the face of such bleak truths. "Our options are limited, our chances of success even more so, but we must try."

"Easier said than done," the Fallen Hero remarked, his tone edged with cynicism. "Those who join the Black Covenants are either too ambitious or unpredictable for their own good. They dream of glory, influence, and carving their fates into the Warp."

Elid'kharoth had seen the last Black Covenants fall into ruin because they stopped caring about how to defeat Daemonsbanes—they wanted power above all else.

"Enticing prospects, wouldn't you say?" U'mas smirked, leaning back in the grotesque chair. The expression on his face spoke of amusement, but there was a sharpness in his eyes. "But you don't want any of that, do you, Elid'kharoth? You desire something entirely different—a clean slate to wash away your failures. Redemption."

Elid'kharoth's gaze darkened at the word, a flicker of anger flashing across his visage. "Redemption is for those who still have something worth redeeming," he growled. "I know what I've done and what I've lost. The Neverborn do excuse failure."

"And yet you remain," U'mas countered softly. "Here, in exile, wallowing in your disgrace. Why not let the Warp consume you, then? Why not give yourself over entirely to oblivion?"

Elid'kharoth said nothing. The thought of embracing the endless night had been enticing more often than he'd like to admit. A true death would have been an appropriate end. Yet he always figured that perhaps he'd been better off waiting for something to happen.

"That's what I thought." U'mas leaned forward, his tone sharp. "A champion of your caliber, brooding in some fortress in the middle of nowhere. Disgraceful. Even that blasted Skarbrand still tries to get the Blood God's attention."

Elid'kharoth's hand tightened on the armrest of his throne, but he didn't interrupt.

U'mas looked expectantly at Elid'kharoth, "This…wallowing is a waste of your time. So, I came here intending to bring you into the fold. To make you do something worthwhile or end your existence for a worthy cause. Let your damnation become an opportunity, and we'll see where it goes?"

"I haven't agreed to anything," Elid'kharoth remarked bitterly, his voice laced with disdain.

Yet U'mas appeared unfazed, his expression calm as he procured and held out a grotesque tome. The thing pulsed faintly as if alive, its cover made of fleshy sinews that reeked of sulfur and decay.

"Perhaps not," U'mas said with a sly smile, "but take this nonetheless." He pressed the tome toward Elid'kharoth. "If you are truly and genuinely uninterested after reading what lies within, your part ends here. You need not lift another claw or blade for the cause."

Elid'kharoth hesitated, his disinterest apparent as he took the artifact. It felt unnervingly warm, as though it had a pulse. Probably made from the body of some miserable mortal.

U'mas deliberately rose from his chair, brushing imaginary dust from his silhouetted person. "I, however, have much to do and little time to spare. So, I must take my leave." His smirk returned, sharper now. "If and when you decide to participate in the salvation of the Neverborn, come and find me. Call it the first test."

Elid'kharoth turned the tome over in his hands, barely suppressing a sneer of disgust. Despite himself, curiosity bubbled beneath his apathy. Still, he couldn't help but ask, "And where exactly is the Black Covenant located?"

"My Black Covenant?" He shook his head. "It's something you'll have to find. But your Black Covenant, Elid'kharoth, will have to be forged by you—and you alone. But I'm sure you know how to make one. You've fought against one and alongside another in your time. In any case, I wish you luck."

With that, U'mas turned toward the exit, his silhouette framed by the chaotic formation of the inner fortress, and without another word, the daemon vanished, leaving Elid'kharoth with his thoughts and putrid tome in his possession.

"How utterly absurd," Elid'kharoth muttered over what just happened, all while glancing at the tome.

Yet, despite his words, he carried the tome with him as he retreated deeper into his fortress.



The tome contained a dossier on a Daemonsbane, but that wasn't what immediately caught Elid'kharoth's attention.

At first glance, this "Astartes," known as Orion Jes,k appeared to be an unimpressive champion of these humans. His weapon of choice was certainly imposing, but his martial prowess and threat level were described as merely "above average" compared to others of his legion.

He had truly slain a few notable Neverborn amid the hundreds of lesser ones he had dispatched, yet none were exceptional beyond their local significance. These were victories, to be sure, but hardly the sort that would warrant such attention.

By all accounts, Orion Jesk was a capable fighter—perhaps still untested, but the kind that any daemon of sufficient power or favor could likely defeat in direct confrontation.

And yet, the deeper Elid'kharoth delved into the details of this mortal, the more uneasy he became.

U'mas writings on this daemonsbane had been cryptic, but one thing he had said now rang ominously in Elid'kharoth's mind: This one is capable of something far more threatening than mere strength of arms or skill in battle.

Orion Jesk was not a towering figure of immediate destruction nor the embodiment of unrelenting fury. No, his threat lay elsewhere—within his ability to inspire, unify, and create something greater than himself.

This mortal had spent time training other Astartes and humans in the art of fighting daemons or at least resisting the call of the Warp and seemed gifted when it came to instructing them in these lessons. He lifted others up when resisting and fighting the Immaterium, or at least that was what U'mas suspected.

In simple terms, a hero.

Not just any hero, though. Orion Jesk was a hero who represented a potentially obtainable ideal. His victories extended beyond battlefields into the hearts of those who followed him. He was a catalyst, a spark that could ignite something far greater than any mortal could hope to achieve alone.

He was like Kramais, who always inspired the best in his comrades and people. Elid'kharoth remembered that Kramais had led their band against the daemons in their world and had nearly succeeded had it not been for Elid'kharoth's betrayal.

Elid'kharoth paused, his hands tightening around the tome with such force that even his maimed arms could not stop his claws from digging into the bleeding and screaming flesh of the tome.

The Fallen Hero destroyed the tome with a low growl, his mind racing. U'mas hadn't brought him this as a test of curiosity; it was a gauntlet thrown at his feet, a challenge to confront a unique threat not just to his existence but possibly to the long-term survival of the Neverborn.

If this Orion Jesk could indeed train others like Kramais had to allow another to become a daemonsbane…then what would happen if dozens or hundreds were taught by this mortal?

Worse yet, what if he found the means to improve other already existing daemonsbanes?

Where did the threat stop?

Elid'kharoth sat atop his fortress, letting the storms and winds of Gol'aon play havoc around him as he contemplated. For the first time in centuries, he felt a flicker of something he could not quite name—a strange amalgamation of dread and reluctant anticipation.

Orion Jesk had to die. A Black Covenant had to be forged to ensure it.

If U'mas harbored his own agenda, so be it. At least he had the sense to extend an alliance to the Fallen Hero—though just barely. It was a fragile accord, one built on necessity rather than trust.

But where did that leave Elid'kharoth?

The answer was clear, even if he hesitated to admit it. A challenge had arisen. An opportunity lay before him. Did he seek redemption? Hardly. Redemption was a hollow ideal, one that had long since lost its appeal in the cold expanse of his exile.

No, this was not about salvation. Perhaps it was simply that Elid'kharoth had been brooding and wallowing in the desolation of Gol'aon for too long. Stagnation was a poison, and he had drunk deeply of it for millennia.

Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

Orion Jesk.

The name lingered in his mind like a thorn, not for the mortal's deeds but for the memory it conjured. Jesk reminded him far too much of Kramais. His oath-brother. His greatest betrayal.

The prospect of facing this new Daemonsbane stirred something deep within him.

If nothing else, striking down Orion Jesk might feel like killing Kramais all over again.

He would strike down the Rising Hero. And for the Fallen Hero, that was reason enough.

---

@Daemon Hunter
 
Gelidanima: The Treaty | The Lore of Gelidanima
Here are a few more omakes regarding Gelidanima one of my omaked worlds.
Eternal Salutions Primarch Kesar,

I hope that this message reaches you, I will not waste any time on the typical fare of politics by asking about your health or wellbeing for such is an answered question. Instead I shall endeavor to render this a concise message for our hopefully pleasant relationship between overlord and subject. I hold no grudge for the subservient position that my world and myself now fall under within your overrule, to fight against you and the imperium is a losing prospect but I have spoken with your sons and the IA within your command and both have answered my questions giving me hope that you are a better person than the Imperium and its Emperor at large are. I am fully cognizant of the fact that by the time you behold this letter the treaty will be sealed and signed, but for my own reasons do I pen this massive to you. I expect the one to finalize our treaty will be the one to present this massive in turn to you, I must rely upon him to explain any deviations from the plan contained below regarding the treaty we have struct.

The debt that you have won with your destruction of the Revenant Lord is a debt of honor that will last for generations. I believe you understand more than most from what little of your early history I have learned, you also come from a world assault by a force of darkness beyond the reach of death for eons. Even though the debt is true and deep, and your power dwarfs my own in ways that are perhaps beyond my true understanding I have several requests for the official compliance of my world and people.

The first such request will be the oddest to you based upon imperial culture I have learned, but I request a wife; a psychic woman of notable stability and resolve willing to become my queen in all the weight and power the position entails to give me my first true heir. My only true request is for her to be greater than an epsilon psyker by your accounting, for this is in part a political marriage between myself and the imperium, but to add power to my bloodline is not unwanted. Even if you dismiss all the other requests please give me this token.

The second request is one for your own people's health even if it comes from a place of selfish desire of my own. My world Gelidanima in your language is a place with barely enough resources and industry to support ten million people. It will expand now that I no longer have to deal with the Revenant Lord, but it will take time to properly grow for I reject the images of forge and hive worlds. My world will remain wild and natural where possible as long as it can. As such I have learned that due to the presence of my nation and the slight industry at hand a fraction of the imperial army, minuscule compared to its totality seeks to call this world home. I ask for you to have them colonize another celestial body within the system or build a void city in high orbit, for I do not have the ability to provide enough erdra to protect them from the soul storms that wander the world.

Of course once things are prepared and ready I am eager to bring fresh blood into my populace along with talents that have long since lost to the mists of history. It will accelerate my expansions and ensure that we become a productive member of your rule within mere generations rather than centuries if you allow for us to set the requirements of true immigration. Gelidanima is a hostile world, that we have adapted too over the course of generations and eons, newcomers will be poorly suited to its harshness for a time. I have seen among the imperial army them lose vitality as they remain upon the world, I have seen them suffer miserably in the high mountains and the plains. This is a world not for the faint of heart nor the feeble of body and mind, and so I would require anyone seeking to become a true immigrant to be learn how to handle the strain and become able to withstand the edges of a soul storm for a time.

With the above in place, we can handle the influx in a controlled manner ensuring our culture that has ensured our survival will remain intact while expanding outward and into new fields of ability with the addition of the imperium's technology. Following from this I have learned that psykers are often treated as monsters or worse by the imperium, the few psykers that were apart of the army that came to us were pathetic, cowering individuals scared of their own shadows unfit for the power they command. I am a Beta by your classification, and I am stable, but I am not the only stable psyker upon the world. My Deathseers and Death Knights stand as testament to the power of trained psykers, divination and combat respectively. I offer Gelidanima as a psyker training world for the maelstrom as I have learned this region is called. Send to me your unwanted psykers and I shall give you trained Deathseers and Death Knights in return.

Now we come to the difficult question of the Tithe, my world is ill suited to paying in material or populace. With only ten million populace at the moment I need them one and all to truly ensure that my people can survive in this new world. I also categorically refuse to become a mining world, I have seen the images of such places and I will not unless forced destroy the harsh beauty of the world. Instead of such matters if offer Deathforged materials and weapons. Without the Revenants and the others guarding the path I can instruct a cadre of your people and keep stationed a few of my own Death Knights to utilize the great Forge in a constant working. It will not enable true mass production I caution, but it is enough for hundreds of items to be infused per month and thousands per year. I also offer you and your chosen sons free access to the Deathforge itself in private or with me at your side as you wish.

I have learned of the nature of your sons and their origin from the imperial army and the wardens themselves. I am impressed with their skill and valor in battle, I am discomforted at the nature of the origination, but I understand the needs of war and their myths well founded. As such I offer your legion your pick of one thousand male children per year. I do not know how to choose the best potential recruits, or the characteristics you seek, but of a thousand a handful should be suitable. I do not enjoy the thought of sending the youngest of my people away for they are the future of my people, but men are more expendable than women in the end.

Now we come to a more nebulous conclusion drawn on my own with little supporting information, but I believe myself to be in a superior position to many other worlds inherently due to a native human population and industry along with the Deathforge that will almost surely draw traders and economic value to the system. As such I offer favorable rates upon goods imported and exported, along with no fees for system entry or exit for the next 200 years. I do not relinquish nominal claim to the system nor its material wealth, but until the time where Gelidanima is able to properly exploit that I give limited mining rights to the imperial army to work the system.

Finally I offer myself in service and will be sending a cadre of Deathseers and Death Knights to join your legion. Only one hundred of each, but that presents most of my standing force, but if you do begin to send psykers to train upon my lands that number will grow in time. My Deathseers are as mentioned before skilled diviners who study the currents of fate to see the death tolls and to maximize those of our foes and to limit those of our allies. While the Death Knights are my martial arm, they are trained to fight in melee and range warfare, with spell and blade to kill even the unkillable and to withstand damage that would lay low scores of normal men. Each of them are the product of decades of mastery and their powers have served me well for my reign and before me my ancestors in turn. I ask that you do not spend their lives freely for they are a cherished organization upon the world.

Now I conclude this letter and await your response, and all I can do is watch the snow fall where it may.

Undying Regards;
Thasar Thilmene, Undying King of Gelidanima
Kesar lowered the short letter to look at Baldur who had returned bearing the seal of a completed compliance and the letter. "What are your thoughts on Thasar?" He carefully stated his question with no hint of his own thoughts to avoid giving direction to Baldur's own reply. His office cluttered and filled with paper, data slates and other such items limiting the room that they had to work with. Baldur hmmed, "Thasar is difficult to understand under normal conceptions of what he should be." Kesar nodded leaning back with carefully hidden surprise for that was an interesting start. "How so?" He carefully inquired as Baldur thumbed through his data slate seeking some information or perhaps to simply give him time to think through his coming statements.

"Gelidanima is a medieval world, potentially on the verge of industrial. Before our arrival there was no true understanding of worlds beyond their own, and due to the nature of the world no understanding of diplomacy in general or intrigue operations. For Gelidanima, the enemy has always been without, few if any subversive individuals exist within the Undying Empire. Due to this I was expecting Thasar to be ill suited to managing the compliance, enabling us to gain a beneficial if fair treaty." Kesar nodded as he spoke even if he felt that Baldur meant that he had intended to write a treaty that was only barely fair to Thasar, but he could honestly not reject that for a habitable world in the Maelstrom was an important resource to cultivate.

"But that was not the case?" It was less of a question than it was of a statement from Kesar as he filled the still air of the room. Baldur nodded slightly as he continued, "Thasar proved to be far more aware of the state of things than I had expected. From speaking with the Imperial Army and the Wardens primarily Crescum Auro over the time they were present upon the world he had managed to gather a large amount of insight into the imperium." Baldur sighed ruefully, "Through this insight he managed to argue convincingly for his concessions and also the payments that we would provide to him. The majority of what he asked for in the letter I authorized, however he did concede to a standing force upon the world of 100k imperial soldiers that met his standards for them."

Kesar let his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise at the concise statement, "Explain your reasoning." Baldur simply opened a file on his data slate, "The limitations of the world make it a poor ground based staging point as such the void city or the colonization of one of the other planetary bodies was accepted with the small base of 100k upon world. The tithe was concluded to be of limited value when calculated in terms of people, raw materials, or currency forms such as gems. Leaving the tithe best paid with psykers and psychically enhanced materials. Following from this, I had no reason to argue against the world becoming the primary psychic schooling world for the maelstrom. It is a duty that must be done somewhere, but on most worlds would cause instant rebellion if they were handed down the order. Thasar in a moment of genius offered his world for it and I believe he knows just how critical that will make his world in time. As for the immigration policies I have not much to say on them beyond allowing them as he is correct in that they will accelerate the growth of the world."

Kesar nodded slowly, thinking things through. The Maelstrom had a higher number of psykers per capita than normal locations in the galaxy, but few worlds if any truly wanted psykers especially in this region. Even fewer would be willing to accept outsider psykers into their worlds. Thasar offering his world as the primary psyker school for the Maelstrom was an offer that he could honestly not afford to reject. A world with a tradition of stable psyker kings and psyker seers and bodyguards, willing to accept psylers from across the region was a boon that would be unlikely to come again. In truth, having a fully functional psyker schooling world within his domain, one with a proven track record and a culture similar to Prospero was a boon to the compliance of the region.

Contacting Magnus would be needed to finalize matters or perhaps making use of the Eldar. But yes, Kesar could see why Baldur accepted the deal as the offer of the psyker school was honestly a bigger concession than Thasar could have understood from a cursory overview of the imperial culture and nature. Maybe one in a thousand worlds could accept the idea, of that maybe one in five hundred would not explode into civil war if it was revealed to the public, and finally a bare handful of worlds had a preexisting psychic tradition without needing to import teachers, staff and everything else. All said, a world willing to become a psyker school could likely be counted within the mere hundreds across the imperium. To apply that to the Maelstrom and Kesar could tell that he would be extremely lucky to have another world so prepared to become the psyker training world.

Of course there was the concern that the nature of the world might distort the psykers into the mold of the native psykers, but was that really a problem in the end. Kesar was unsure, if they were still able to function in the same rolls as normal psykers it would be something to look into but it would not be a truly major issue overall. He nodded, "I understand the reasoning, and I agree that the treaty is fair to us and him." Baldur nodded as he left the room leaving Kesar to contemplate matters.

Thasar leaned forward upon the great throne of black and silver metal interlaced with ice all while spectral fire traced runic designs across the entirely of the construction and into the greater whole of the palace of the Undying King. Upon his throne, within his domain Thasar stood upon the threshold of the might of an Alpha as the power of death and soul were channeled into the very depths of reality around him merely awaiting direction to act. Within the walls millions perhaps billions of soul embers drifted in peace and restful dreaming quietude. The Morning Blade was at his side leaning against the Throne, hundreds of souls slipping from it and into the palace joining the countless others that had been given peace and safety within the hallowed walls of bone, edra and ice.

Before the throne stood Auro and the Doom Slayer, the latter of whom peered at the skeletons marching through the hallways wondering if they were slaves. While the former stared at the ruler of this place and saw a man that was a genius of necromancy, a man that had learned from countless centuries of the magic of death and soul and remained untouched by corruption. A mastery of magic that would corrupt any that dared reach for it and yet Thasar and the rest remained true and unfaltering, Auro saw the souls within the walls, how they were not bound with chains as the forces of Chaos were so wront to do. Instead the souls were given peace within the walls, they were offered the chance to remain and they choose of their own will to remain within the walls as they slowly dissolved into free energy for Thasar to wield.

"There is nothing I can offer that you do not already posses or can find better beyond this world. But a debt has been won this day with your victory, if I can I shall endeavor to see a boon given as desired." Thasar spoke with a measured cadence, clarity ensured, his regal voice echoing through the great halls as he stated his offer in full awareness of the situation.

The Doom Slayer shook his head and stomped out of the room, as Thasar nodded in acceptance. "I expected such a response from a warrior reforged upon the anvil of cruelty. To many good men and women find themselves losing themselves within a singular emotion, I hope in time he finds peace." His words echoed unnaturally through the air, the very energies of death and soul echoing them forth as the skeletons and living servants work in tandem without his seeming awareness. He turned his eyes upon Auro, who stood still his eyes tracing Thasar's own soul the radiance burning bright and yet controlled. A measure of control comparable to his own leashed the fires of the soul to a leash and it remained still. Yet, within the flame did Auro see hints of another power at play, other energies that had merged with the soul flame.

"Information." Auro stated in a monotone cadence as he stared up at Thasar, no emotion slipping free of his own iron control. Thasar nodded slowly, before a soft smile formed on his face, "A scholar you are then. Your soul burns with power, chained and mastered as all should achieve, yet so few step beyond power to seek the truest power of knowledge. Follow me and be welcome to my library." Thasar spoke as he stepped down from the throne, his steps graceful and yet echoing with power beyond his own might as the very air of the palace amplified his being. The pair a king of a world and an astartes walked through the great halls, through the rune covered columns that forged this place into a singular grand psychic focus and relic of truly immense scale.

The skeletons cleaning and maintaining the palace even as living individuals ate in rooms and trained in others. All of whom born the mark of the warp within their souls, mastering their powers along defined lines. Auro watched as women and men were lead through combat drills using psychic power in melee and at ranged simultaneously with thick armor by an ancient figure radiating cold. Each of them was powerful, but some showed the signs of weaker talents being brought through training to higher realms of might, each was being forged into a warrior fit for a king or the imperium now.

In another training hall others mediated under the gaze of a women with spectral wings drifting from her back. As she lead them through odd divination practices focusing not upon the futures but instead upon the likihood of death and their causes to find the way to elimiate such events. It was again a sign of how long had psykers served this world that they were trained with such competence.

Only a few minutes later the pair reached the library and Thasar opened it with a flick of his wrist and a pulse of power, revealing a cavernous room buried deep into the bedrock of the valley. As spectral blue flames lit the torches it was revealed that tens of thousands perhaps even hundreds of thousands of cavities had been carved into the rock and in each rested sheets of bone upon which the local language was carved. "The Ossuary our second greatest treasure. Upon these hallowed bones rests all our lore of the magics of frost, soul, death and necromancy. Foul and pure, all is recorded within this vault, from my forefather Vygairan Thilmene first of our lineage and the builder of this great edifice." His voice echoed through the walls as he entered the great chasm, the cavities with the bones clean and revered unspoiled even by the great age of the earliest sheets.

To Auro's eyes each bone bore the marks of centuries of faith and loyal care, burning bright in the dreaming world of the warp. Giving a surety to the information recorded upon the plates, formed from both human and not. Thasar reverently traced his finger along one such cavity, "Here lies the instructions for the construction of this palace. The Soul Well in all its wonder and hope, this was the key that ensured that my people became more than prey to the world without." Carefully with immense care he slowly lifted the sheet of bone from the cavity it rested in and handed it over to Auro who from a glance could understand the principles behind it but could not understand it in fullness as he handed it back.

"As with my Death Knights and Death Seers you have free access to this place. With but a single condition, the bones remain within these hallowed walls." Thasar stated even if both knew the odds were against him if Auro decided to fight, but such would not be logical here and Auro inclinded his head a fractional degree and both knew the other had accepted. Thasar smiled his sad smile once more, "You are as broken as your peer, but your soul beats with new life. A silent living death is no fate for a man, I hope in time you find yourself." He whispered as he left the room a chorus of souls drifting with him.
 
Assembling the Covenant
Alright, one more omake. For context, most of these stats/traits are finalized, but are also still subject to change by Daemon. Big thanks to Jam for helping flesh out the traits.

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Assembling the Covenant

The Blood and Thunder War raged beyond the veil of reality, a glorious cacophony of carnage and chaos, yet Vekheidon, the Balor and Ruin of Paragons, found himself relegated to the humiliating task of recruiting lesser daemons and even mortals to join the Blood God's armies. A waste of his talents, his rage, and his immortal time.

Vekheidon was not built for patience. The absence of violence gnawed at him like a mortal affliction—what they might call "anxiety" or boredom. But Vekheidon was no idle creature. When deprived of proper battles, he made his own, provoking fights with any daemon or beast that crossed his path, whether they sought his ire or not.

Did that make him a bastard? Absolutely.

It was maddening. He had slain armies, razed worlds, and piled the skulls of the fallen high for the Skull Throne. He had proved his devotion in rivers of blood, yet here he was, cast aside like a common brute. None of his supposed kin, not even those he had fought alongside, bothered to vouch for his return to the front lines.

And why? Because he had "inconvenienced" Ka'Bandha.

So what if Vekheidon had interfered with one of Ka'Bandha's assaults? The exalted bloodthirster still won his duel against the greenskin warlord, hadn't he? That brief challenge should have been welcomed—a fitting test of strength in the Blood God's name. Instead, Vekheidon had been cast out, and his "insubordination" was deemed an affront to the will of Khorne himself.

It was an insult he could not forgive yet had no choice but to endure.

Now, stripped of glory and purpose, he lingered in pointless drudgery, seething with rage that had nowhere to go. That was until he encountered two strange figures: Elid'kharoth and Thymor'ix.

An odd pair, the two claimed to be master and student, which was just a foreign concept to just about every Neverborn. Among their kind, the only existing relationships were those of master and slave or just "equals" among the most powerful.

When they first tried to speak with him, Vekheidon attacked without hesitation. Out of sheer boredom and because he recognized the Fallen Hero among them—a figure of derision and mockery among the Neverborn.

What should have been an amusing brawl quickly took an unexpected turn when the younger daemon stepped forward. The Student, Thymor'ix, issued his own challenge to Vekheidon. The fight devolved into a brutal clash, a frenzy of blood and fury that left both combatants teetering on the edge of being maimed.

Ultimately, Vekheidon disarmed Thymor'ix and pummeled the younger Neverborn into submission. Yet, to Vekheidon's surprise, the whelp had fought well. Perhaps too well. Either way, the young daemon had what the humans called "guts" and figured that fight was worth hearing him out a little.

So once the dust settled, they began to talk. To his bemusement, the pair had come to offer him something—a place in their so-called Black Covenant.

Vekheidon had laughed. He wasn't interested in politics, schemes, or whatever idealistic nonsense drove them. Still, he became intrigued when the pair explained why they were forming the Black Covenant. A chance to kill one of those Eternal Warden bastards? Now, that was enticing. The fact that this particular foe, an Astartes called Orion Jesk, was considered especially dangerous only sweetened the deal. And then they showed him the weapon—Humility.

Vekheidon had seen countless mortal weapons, most pitiful compared to the armaments forged in the Warp. Yet even he had to admit this blade was extraordinary. It wasn't just a tool of war; it was an instrument of devastation capable of decimating entire armies. The thought of such a weapon being wielded by a mere human—a mortal—was infuriating.

Elid'kharoth explained their plan. This Black Covenant, or rather Thymor'ix's, would train daemons in how to survive and fight against foes like Orion Jesk. They wanted Vekheidon to become their lead instructor. In return, he'd have the opportunity to fight on the frontlines, to revel in the carnage, and to claim vengeance against their enemies.

Vekheidon didn't need much convincing. The condition he set was simple: when they killed Orion Jesk, Humility would be his.

Elid'kharoth agreed without hesitation. Thymor'ix, on the other hand, looked annoyed—no doubt hoping to claim the blade for himself. Tough luck for him.

For the first time since his exile, Vekheidon felt something close to excitement. There was blood to spill, glory to seize, and vengeance to take. Perhaps this Black Covenant wouldn't be such a waste of his time after all.

Balor: Vekheidon, the Ruin of Paragons (Khorne Greater)
+40 to all rolls
+40 to combat (+80 total)
+30 to command rolls (+70 total)
+20 to offensive actions
Increased success rate for training soldiers
Desire- Wants Orion's sword



A civil war was undoubtedly thrilling but left little time to indulge in finer pleasures like music. Scorpyri, the Harpy of Enraptured Melodies, perched above the ruins of yet another palace being savaged by her sisters. The discordant sounds of their screeches and steel clashing against steel filled the air. It was a dreadful cacophony devoid of artistry.

She had been alternating between singing and slaughtering, her days a chaotic blur of violence and half-hearted inspiration. But nothing she encountered stirred her soul enough to compose a song truly worth singing.

Her sisters, of course, were content to sing endless praises to their Most Beautiful and Alluring Mistress, Slaanesh. Scorpyri wasn't immune to such worship—she knew better than to stray too far from the Prince of Pleasure's favor—but even such hymns, however divine, grew tedious after eons of repetition. What good was a song everyone had heard a thousand times before?

No, Scorpyri wanted something more. She yearned to craft a melody so hauntingly exquisite that even the greatest of daemons would pause to listen, ensnared by her voice. Wasn't that what every artist desired? To be adored, feared, and immortalized in their craft? And if her songs served as a weapon to lure prey to their doom, all the better. She wasn't the best fighter among her kin, but Scorpyri knew how to survive—and how to captivate.

Taking flight, she left the fray behind and landed on the outskirts of a floating island of weeping, bleeding meat. The grotesque landscape twitched and groaned beneath her feet, but as she began to sing, her voice wove through the pulsating air, and the island seemed to calm. Scorpyri's lips twisted into a frown—was her only audience a pile of flayed flesh?

Then came the sound of clapping.

Turning, she saw a young, handsome Neverborn standing nearby, his smile full of mischief and menace. His applause was brief; the battle that followed was anything but.

He lunged at her without a word, and Scorpyri took to the air, her talons slashing as his blade hummed in response. They fought with feral elegance, a whirlwind of blood and laughter that stretched into a timeless blur. When the frenzy ebbed, their duel evolved into something... more intimate.

Far be it from Scorpyri to refuse such indulgence. The Prince of Pleasure often whispered that carnal delights after the battle were the perfect way to cleanse the palate, and Scorpyri wasn't one to disobey divine wisdom.

When the intensity waned, the stranger introduced himself as Thymor'ix the Youthful. His vigor certainly lived up to the title, but Scorpyri expected treachery. He'd either try to slit her throat while she was distracted or charm secrets from her lips.

Instead, he surprised her. Thymor'ix wanted her to join his Black Covenant.

At first, Scorpyri nearly laughed. The idea of a Harpy like her—an artist, a free spirit—bound to some martial order? Absurd. Did he imagine she'd rot away in some dreary fortress, training for war like a common soldier?

Still, Thymor'ix wasn't easily deterred. He lavished her with compliments, sang of the souls she could reap, and claimed his poor, wretched heart would ache at the thought of never hearing her voice again. Flattery, promises of power, and seduction—he wielded them all with the skill of a daemon who knew exactly what he was doing.

Scorpyri remained skeptical, though she couldn't deny her curiosity. "If you want me to entertain such a ridiculous notion," she said, brushing her talons against his chest, "you'll have to do better than sweet words. Who's the target? What's my role? Convince me, young lord, or my melody ends here."

To Scorpyri's surprise, Thymor'ix revealed that their target was none other than one of those loathsome Astartes—mortals who dared to unmake Neverborn for good. He explained that the target was a man named Orion Jesk, the so-called Angel of Humility, among other grandiose titles mortals seemed so fond of.

Scorpyri skimmed the information presented, yawning theatrically at the initial details. Another mortal "hero" cutting down daemons. How utterly boring. She was ready to dismiss the entire proposal until her gaze fell upon a memory glyph embedded within the dossier.

The glyph flickered, revealing an image of the Daemonsbane. He was unremarkable—by mortal standards, perhaps impressive, but nothing worth her time. However, beside him stood a woman. She was striking for a human, with a calm demeanor and soft features. The pair were holding hands, almost lovingly.

Something in that simple act made Scorpyri's stomach churn. A visceral disgust bubbled within her, and before she realized it, her voice erupted in a shriek of pure rage. The sound echoed through the grotesque landscape.

"Your target—this Orion Jesk," she spat. "Is he infatuated with this mortal female?"

"They are... what's the word?" Thymor'ix replied, savoring her reaction. "Married. Yes, married. And very much in love."

Love. That damnable, revolting word. Scorpyri's claws curled into fists as she seethed. She hated that wretched emotion, especially when it came to mortals. Their sickening happiness, their oaths of monogamy, their mutual attachment—it was all so nauseatingly selfless.

No daemonette would ever admit it, not even under the most excruciating torture, but mutual love was the one thing that eluded them. Mortals experienced it in defiance of everything, infuriating some Neverborn beyond their most unreasonable urges.

She sneered at the memory glyph, her voice dripping with venom. "What sort of woman could love a man like that?"

"An excellent question," Thymor'ix replied with the smug smile of a young king.

Scorpyri ignored his smirk as a realization dawned upon her. She needed to understand this woman—this mortal who dared to love and be loved by such a creature. And when she did, she would make her move.

She would kill the woman in front of Orion Jesk.

The storm of grief, despair, and rage that would follow would be glorious. The Astartes' heartbreak would echo across the Immaterium, and his suffering would birth a song—her song. One so haunting and exquisite it would outlast the stars themselves.

Her lips curled into a wicked grin. "Fine. I'll join your little Covenant," she declared. "I'll spy, steal, and sabotage as you need. But when the time comes, the woman is mine. Her death will be my masterpiece."

Thymor'ix inclined his head in mock gratitude, though his knowing smile betrayed the manipulative satisfaction beneath. Scorpyri, for her part, didn't care. She had her prize in sight, and for now, that was enough.

Harpy: Scorpyri of the Enraptured Melodies (Slaanesh Greater)
+40 to all rolls
+60 to hit and run attacks
+40 to disengage rolls
Desire- Wants to kill Estirith



Glass, glass, glass. Everywhere, its brilliance caught the light, fractured it, and reflected it back in maddening patterns to the viewer. High above the Burning Sands fields, a magnificent glass temple drifted like an impossible mirage, its many facets shimmering with infernal light.

This was the Chandelier, the floating fortress and sanctuary of Alastassa Hexhell, the Witch and Mistress of Glass. The air itself seemed to hum with the resonant beauty of refracted colors and the chimes of the howling damned. It was a thing of art and cruelty.

Alastassa liked her home. Whenever she needed to craft more glass, Alastassa descended to the Burning Sands, scouring the ashen wastelands for remnants left behind by battles or firestorms.

She took shards of bone, melted armor, and crystallized agony, reforging them within the Chandelier's dazzling glass-forges. These delicate yet potent creations were traded to other Neverborn for tools, refined souls, and rare curiosities that piqued her interest. Information was also valuable to Alastassa, perhaps more than anything else.

Because her existence was solitary by design. Alastassa rarely conversed with others of her kin, let alone lent her ear to the commands of the Changer of Ways. Not out of dismissal or arrogance but because the Changer seemed content to leave her be.

That and it was easier, she reasoned, to stay out of the "politics" of the Nine Libraries and the Impossible Fortress. Let her kin squabble over schemes and secrets; she found more intrigue in the silent whispers of her glassworks.

Each piece was a window into something else: a half-formed prophecy, a distorted truth, or an echo of despair trapped within its crystalline depths. The glass was her counsel, her companion, her oracle. It showed her visions, warnings, and wonders. And on this day, it revealed something unexpected—a premonition, specifically for her.

Two figures would come to her soon, their arrival heralding great change.

Alastassa's humanoid lips curled into a wry smile as the shards sang their cryptic song. An exciting change of pace. She would not greet them with open arms, of course. That would be far too easy. No, her glass would test them.

The Chandelier began to shift, its corridors of transparent beauty bending and refracting light into deceptive pathways. Reflections danced across the walls, creating false trails and vanishing doors. Alastassa reveled in the artistry of her preparations, each trap a masterwork of illusion and cruelty.

"If they are here to bring change," she mused to herself, her voice echoing like the delicate chime of breaking crystal, "then they should earn it."

Satisfied, Alastassa returned to her forges, the glass singing its secrets as molten light poured from her fingertips. Let them come. Let them struggle. And perhaps, if they survived her labyrinth and her amusement, she might hear what they had to say.

Soon enough—or perhaps much later than they had intended—her guests arrived. The Chandelier's defenses, intricate and cruel, fell one by one, but not without exacting a price. A pair of Heldrakes led the charge, their molten breath scorching paths through her outer wards while their masters carved their way through illusions and shifting corridors. To mortals, the ordeal would have been maddening, the passage of time rendered meaningless in the endless reflections of her glass.

Finally, after an arduous struggle that left the Chandelier quaking with fury and song, the two intruders breached her final defense and entered the sanctum of her personal forge.

During their approach, the glass had whispered to Alastassa, its crystalline voice clear and insistent. It told her everything: who these figures were, the reasons for their intrusion, the audacity of their request, and the opportunities they carried—if she dared seize them.

When Elid'kharoth the Fallen Hero and Thymor'ix the Youthful finally stood within her domain, she did not greet them as most would. Instead, she allowed her presence to manifest within the very walls, floors, and ceiling of the Chandelier, a temple of glass that was no mere fortress but an extension of her will and soul.

Her voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, a haunting melody that resonated through the crystalline structure.

"Lord Thymor'ix," she intoned, her words ringing like the shatter of distant glass. "And Master Elid'kharoth. Welcome to my temple in the sky."

The light refracted, creating shapes of her visage that flickered across the walls, as if the glass itself were alive and watching.

"I trust the journey here was... enlightening?" Her tone was laced with amusement, the kind that hinted at traps narrowly avoided and trials barely survived. "I do hope you'll forgive me for not meeting you in the so-called flesh. My glass has yet to determine if you're here to speak or to end me. I find it prudent to remain cautious when hosting such esteemed guests."

The crystalline forms of her face dissolved, the light shifting into patterns that encased her visitors in fractured reflections of themselves.

"But do tell me, oh Youthful Lord and Fallen Master: what exactly compels you to intrude upon my sanctum?"

Thymor'ix stepped forward, his youthful arrogance tempered by a practiced eloquence. "We are part of a Black Covenant, specifically mine," he began, his voice clear and confident. "The Fallen Hero beside me," he gestured to Elid'kharoth with a hint of reverence, "is my master, but this endeavor is mine to lead. We've come to recruit you, Mistress of Glass, to aid our cause. Our goal is simple: to end the life of a Daemonsbane, Orion Jesk, before he can threaten the existence of the Neverborn any further."

As Thymor'ix spoke, Alastassa listened with feigned interest. Perhaps it was a compelling tale, but she had heard variations of it countless times before. Covenants, alliances, and grand plans were woven into endless schemes and wars that defined the Neverborn. She was already preparing for her dismissal when the glass whispered.

Orion Jesk, the Daemonsbane, was not merely an enemy of the Neverborn. The glass showed her glimpses, fragments of truths hidden deep within the threads of fate. Jesk knew legion secrets, truths that had eluded even the most cunning of the Changer's followers. More importantly, he possessed a secret tied to the Planet of Plains, Chogoris—a secret that the Children of the Warhawk had buried with blood and fire.

The glass whispered of opportunity. A chance not only to eliminate a mortal who dared wield daemonsbane but to extract knowledge that could offer an opportunity to learn something that perhaps only the Changer of Ways might have known.

Her boredom melted away, replaced by an eager curiosity.

Alastassa's voice returned, now resonant with veiled excitement. "Your Black Covenant intrigues me," she admitted, her face appearing once more in the shifting reflections of the Chandelier. "A chance to extinguish the Daemonsbane... and uncover what he holds within his mind and soul. Yes, the glass whispers of potential—potential I cannot ignore."

Her crystalline visage shifted before Alastassa appeared before Master and Student and bowed. "I will join your Covenant, Thymor'ix. I will be your mistress of intrigue, your weaver of the Warp, and your eyes within the mortal realm."

Witch: Alastassa Hexhell, the Mistress of Glass (Tzeentch Greater)
+40 to all rolls
Rerolls all dice
+40 to combat, halves total wounds
+50 to intrigue rolls
Desire- Wants the secrets of the White Scars



Khorgamex, the Dragon and Hoarder of Misbegotten Fortunes, had just finished counting his vast treasure for the third time this millennium. No sooner had he completed the task than more wealth was added to the ever-growing trove, compelling him to begin anew. For Khorgamex, there was no such thing as "enough."

His hoard was not a mere pile—it was a boundless, glittering expanse of wealth, a treasure trove so immense that if gathered into a single heap, it would rise higher than any Hive spire in the mortal realms. Gems the size of a mortal's head, rivers of molten gold flowing into lakes of liquid wealth, and relics of ancient, forgotten civilizations lay intertwined within the trove.

Every ounce of the collection reflected his avarice, every glint of light a testament to his insatiable greed. To Khorgamex, it was not merely treasure—it was his life's essence, a physical manifestation of his purpose in the Immaterium. His dragon soul burned with a singular need to hoard, possess, and rule over wealth so vast it dwarfed the ambitions of gods and mortals alike.

And yet, the glittering gems, rivers of gold, and priceless relics of the Materium were not even the crowning jewels of Khorgamex's hoard. These were mere baubles compared to the true treasures he had acquired.

Nestled deep within the heart of his vast trove were artifacts of unimaginable power, plundered from the wreckage of fallen worlds and the vaults of gods. Shards of broken moons that still hummed with celestial energy, fragments of ancient starships crafted by civilizations long since consumed by the void, and crystalline tomes containing the forbidden knowledge of lost epochs—all these and more lay hidden beneath the glittering facade of wealth.

Among these treasures were souls—bound and contained within radiant orbs and darkened jewels, pulsing faintly with life. The essence of kings, prophets, and champions is long forgotten by history, and their cries of torment are a soothing melody to the great dragon's ears.

But even the relics and souls paled compared to his most prized possession: the Hoard of the Impossible. This collection of objects defied reason, each piece a paradox born of the Immaterium's chaotic nature. A blade that could cut through fate, a chalice that endlessly poured despair, a mirror that reflected only lies—these impossibilities whispered to Khorgamex, feeding his insatiable lust for the unattainable.

These were the treasures that truly defined him. The gold and jewels were merely the surface, the façade that dazzled lesser minds. His true hoard was buried beneath layers of mundane wealth, waiting for a worthy thief or foolish adventurer to stumble upon its incomprehensible splendor—and inevitably succumb to its curses.

Khorgamex reveled in his hoard. It was his domain, his identity, his addiction. His avaricious soul swelled with pride as he began counting again, and his draconic laughter echoed across the halls of his terrible, twisted domain.

He revealed that even among the Neverborn, his greed was unparalleled. Greed was his creed, and his hoard was eternal. Naturally, there was always someone foolish—or ambitious—enough to attempt to steal from him.

The funny thing was that Khorgamex welcomed visitors with open claws. Anyone who came to trade was met with courtesy, if not outright enthusiasm, for the great dragon loved nothing more than the art of bargaining. To him, every trade was an opportunity to showcase his cunning, to outwit and outvalue his opponent until they left with far less than they realized.

And then there were the bold ones, those who claimed they needed "loans" from his hoard—artifacts or relics of great power for their schemes and conquests. Khorgamex knew better than to challenge the likes of Exalted Daemons or those who came with direct requests from Grandfather Nurgle.

He was greedy, not stupid.

But whenever the more powerful Neverborn came calling, he graciously obliged their requests, always with the toothy smile of a dragon. Khorgamex knew that greed had its limits, but debts?

Debts were forever.

A deal was a deal, especially when it came with a tantalizing offer. So, when a pair of travelers arrived, presumably to bargain, Khorgamex's curiosity flared—briefly. But it quickly dimmed when he recognized the visitors: a young daemon and Elid'kharoth, the Fallen Hero. These two didn't look like they carried anything worth his time.

And he was right, at least initially. They weren't here to trade treasures or offer him anything of immediate value. Instead, they dared to ask him to join their so-called Black Covenant and fund it. Khorgamex roared with laughter, his voice echoing through the endless caverns of his hoard. The laugh wasn't so much amusement as a warning: their request wouldn't happen.

When the young daemon, Thymor'ix, pressed on with his pitch, Khorgamex's mirth turned venomous. His lips curled back to reveal jagged, toxin-coated teeth as he cut the daemon off. "You dare come here empty-handed, appealing to my gracious nature?" he hissed, his voice dripping scornfully. "My home is no haven for drifters or beggars. If you have nothing to offer, I suggest you leave before my patience runs out."

But then Elid'kharoth stepped forward, unflinching under the dragon's baleful gaze. He appealed not to Khorgamex's vanity or power but directly to his unrelenting greed. The Fallen Hero explained that they sought to eliminate a Daemonsbane, Orion Jesk—a mortal of dangerous renown among the Neverborn. As a gesture of good faith, Elid'kharoth offered Khorgamex a relic from his doomed homeworld, a treasure imbued with the sorrow of an extinct species. Intrigued, Khorgamex grudgingly accepted the trinket, if only to examine it later.

He still planned to refuse their request—until something caught his attention. As Elid'kharoth revealed more about Orion Jesk, one of Khorgamex's memory glyphs flickered to life, showing an image of a mortal woman labeled Makima the Daemon Binder. A mortal who could bind daemons? Now, this was interesting.

Khorgamex leaned in closer, his great eyes narrowing to slits. "This Makima—she binds our kind?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Elid'kharoth nodded. "She is an anomaly, to be sure. Her methods are... effective."

The dragon's mind raced. If he could acquire this mortal, she could become the centerpiece of his collection, a tool to bind daemons for trade or leverage. The potential profit was staggering. His disinterest melted away, replaced by a keen hunger.

Thymor'ix shifted uneasily, eager to interject, but Khorgamex silenced him with a flick of his colossal tail. "Very well, young king. I've heard your plea. But let us dispense with the pleasantries, hmm? I care not for your noble cause or your lofty goals. What I care for... is profit. And this Makima represents something far more valuable than a mere relic or bauble."

The possibilities were endless if he could acquire this mortal through capture or coercion. Trapped daemons sold to the highest bidder, artifacts imbued with the power of the bound and the leverage such a captive could provide over rivals and enemies alike.

But Khorgamex wasn't a fool. The risk was immense. The Daemonsbane would undoubtedly defend this mortal, and even with all his wealth and cunning, the dragon knew better than to underestimate a foe. But this Black Covenant could pull it off, especially if he provided aid.
"I shall render my aid and fortune for this." Khorgamex finally declared, his voice booming across the chamber as toxic stones and gold and silver coins cascaded against one another, "I merely desire this Makima upon the death of this mortal. Even her body will suffice."

Elid'kharoth exchanged a glance with Thymor'ix, the young daemon's expression a mixture of apprehension and begrudging agreement. The Fallen Hero gave a slow nod. "It will be as you say, Khorgamex. The Daemon Binder shall be yours."

Dragon: Khorgamex, Hoarder of Misbegotten Fortunes (Nurgle Favored)
+80 to all rolls
Double Wounds
Can only be wounded by Heroes
Autokills unnamed characters
Desire- Wants Makima locked away



The Garden of Attis was a place of both splendor and terror, a paradoxical haven where life flourished even as it intertwined with death. Here, vibrant new growth erupted amidst the decay of the old, and unimaginable horrors were cultivated alongside breathtaking beauty.

It was a sanctuary of paradoxes, where the cycle of creation and destruction was embraced, even celebrated—something that both mortals and Neverborn struggled to truly appreciate. No one could ever truly understand the visions of this place's caretakers.

For Agdistis and Cyiele—the Ent and the Dryad, Husband and Wife—this cycle was the foundation of their bond. Unlike other daemons' fleeting and self-serving unions, their love was enduring, rooted in mutual purpose. Together, they nurtured the garden to see life bloom and create monstrosities that would awe even the most jaded of their kind.

Their love was more than an anomaly—a force of nature. It gave them purpose beyond simple chaos or carnage. Agdistis, towering and ancient, served as the protector and shaper of the garden, his gnarled limbs weaving through the earth to cultivate its darker, more sinister blooms. Cyiele, lithe and graceful, was the tender hand guiding the garden's beauty, her influence encouraging the birth of grotesque yet mesmerizing horrors that carried her delicate, almost maternal touch.

Life and death always found a way, and within that cycle lay the potential to create something remarkable—something the material realm could wield, perhaps even cherish. For Agdistis and Cyiele, this was their ultimate vision: to weave the chaotic energies of the warp into creations that bridged the void between the immaterial and the mortal. It was a grand opportunity, one ripe with possibility but also perilous.

Not everyone shared their vision. Worse still, some sought to destroy it. Among those were Orion Jesk, the Angel of Humility and a Daemonsbane, whose unwavering resolve had laid waste to their most cherished endeavor.

On the mortal world called Elegia, Agdistis and Cyiele toiled to remake its inhabitants, the Elegians, into their "beloved" vision: the Nymphs, perfect beings of warped beauty and a dark purpose. But Jesk and his companions saw to their ruin.

The mortals had slaughtered the Nymphs, carving through them like a plague of righteousness, before turning their blades and sorceries upon the Wife and Husband. Ultimately, Orion Jesk fought and banished Agdistis and Cyiele, forcing them back into the warp. It was not just a defeat—it was a catastrophe.

Their survival was no victory. The loss of Elegia was a bitter wound, a world stripped from their grasp and their experiments reduced to ash. The garden they had begun to nurture on that planet was annihilated, and the dream of transforming it into a grand testbed for their creations was lost forever—all because of him.

The Daemonsbane had cost them dearly, and as they brooded within their Forbidden Garden, their thoughts turned to vengeance. If life always found a way, so too would their wrath—and they would see that Orion Jesk paid for his interference.

The opportunity came unexpectedly, heralded by two strangers who breached the ethereal defenses of the Garden of Attis. Their arrival nearly ended in a violent confrontation as Agdistis and Cyiele prepared to defend their sacred domain. However, the elder of the two visitors, Elid'kharoth the Fallen Hero, spoke first, claiming they shared a mutual enemy: a certain mortal who had wronged them all.

Agdistis and Cyiele needed no further persuasion. Their hatred for Orion Jesk burned brightly, and mentioning his name was enough to still their wrath and sharpen their focus. When the younger daemon, Thymor'ix, detailed the purpose of their Black Covenant and the opportunity to strike at Orion Jesk, the husband and wife listened intently.

When the pitch concluded, the two spoke as one, offering their allegiance—but with a singular, non-negotiable condition: when Orion Jesk was slain, his body would belong to them. They would use his remains for their own experiments, a final act of vengeance to unmake the mortal who had stolen so much from them.

Thymor'ix seemed poised to argue, but the subtle yet commanding glance from Elid'kharoth silenced him. The young daemon-king relented, agreeing to their terms without further protest.

With their condition met, Agdistis and Cyiele pledged themselves to the Black Covenant. They vowed to lend their vast knowledge of the warp and its treacherous landscapes, to provide minions born from their twisted experiments, and to fight with unrelenting fury until Orion Jesk was destroyed. For the Ent and Dryad, this was more than a chance for revenge—it was an opportunity to reclaim their pride, reshape their dreams, and see to it that the Daemonsbane's story ended in anguish and despair.

Agdistis and Cyiele: The Ent and Dryad (Undivided Honored)
+160 to all rolls
Negate the first roll that would result in one of them dying. Does not activate if both would die.
Can make much more hazardous Warp-based environments
Honored-level Warp Hazard creators



The clash of blades echoed across the training grounds, sparks flying as Thymor'ix threw himself into the sparring match with relentless fury. Elid'kharoth, the Fallen Hero, parried each blow with calculated precision, his movements effortless compared to the younger daemon's aggressive strikes. The duel ended as it always did—with Thymor'ix defeated, cursing on the ground, and Elid'kharoth standing over him, sword still in hand.

"That's enough for now," Elid'kharoth said, lowering his weapon. "It seems I still have much to teach you."

The words stung deeply, cutting through Thymor'ix's pride far more effectively than any blade. To him, every failure was a chasm between his ambitions and his reality—a wound to his ego that festered with each defeat.

"So you say," Thymor'ix spat venomously, his frustration manifesting in a viscous, green ichor that hissed and sizzled as it melted into the stone beneath them. "I'm clearly not an impressive lord of this Black Covenant in your eyes."

"You aren't," Elid'kharoth responded bluntly, his tone unyielding. "But you will be."

Thymor'ix's eyes flared with indignation, but Elid'kharoth's gaze was steady, almost fatherly in its gravity.

"Everything I do now," the Fallen Hero continued, his voice heavy with purpose, "is to prepare you for what lies ahead. This covenant, this mission—it hinges on you. If you die, the Black Covenant will fall. If you can't command it effectively, it will tear itself apart. And no one will respect it if you cannot fight for it."

The words lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive. Thymor'ix clenched his fists, the embers of his wrath simmering, but he said nothing. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew Elid'kharoth was right.

"You think this is about pride," Elid'kharoth said, his voice softer but no less firm. "But it's about survival—yours, mine, and the covenants. You're impatient, aggressive, and reckless. But you have potential, Thymor'ix. Boundless potential."

Thymor'ix's molten eyes flared with frustration, his clawed hands flexing as if imagining tearing apart the constraints of his humanoid form. He despised this mimicry of mortals, this necessity forced upon him by practicality and survival. It was unnatural, stifling, and beneath his true, glorious nature.

"I despise this... bipedal form," he growled, venom dripping from his words. "Why can't I fight as I truly am?"

Elid'kharoth's expression remained calm, his tone laced with the weight of experience. "Because it's destructive, loud, and an eyesore," he replied bluntly. "Forms like this give us better accessibility and maneuverability. They allow us to adapt, infiltrate, and survive."

Thymor'ix's lip curled in disdain. "We have to hide ourselves from these daemonsbanes," he spat. "To scurry in the dark like vermin."

"Vermin survive," Elid'kharoth countered, his voice dropping to a dark, foreboding tone. "But they can also kill, given the right opportunity. Keep that in mind. Do you think Orion Jesk is the most dangerous of his kind right now? No. U'mas spoke of the other Daemonsbanes—those that are rising in power. They are growing stronger, and then there's the Second Anathema. That being is a threat that perhaps only a handful of the Neverborn could ever dream of defeating in direct battle."

Thymor'ix sneered at the words, his pride railing against the idea of retreat or caution. "So why focus on Orion Jesk?" he demanded defiantly. "Why not put all our efforts toward defeating the Second Anathema or any other Daemonsbanes?"

Elid'kharoth's gaze darkened, his aura radiating authority and impatience. "Because you reckless fool," he said, his voice a sharp reprimand, "if Orion Jesk is left unchecked, he will inspire more of his kind. More Daemonsbanes will rise, emboldened by his victories. And then there will be more Black Covenants like ours, forced to stand against them. While our kind may be infinite in number, there are precious few willing to take up the mantle of what amounts to a rendezvous with true death."

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice lowering to a near growl. "This isn't just about one mortal or even one war. It's about the survival of our kind. Even if that end is eons away, it will become a certainty, which means our doom will come. Not just at the hands of the First or Second Anathema or the other Daemonsbanes but also by the countless mortals who will rise with resolve forged by Orion Jesk. Do you understand?"

For a long moment, the younger daemon stood silent, his defiance simmering just beneath the surface. Then, with a sharp exhale, he reluctantly nodded, the motion stiff with resistance. "I understand," he muttered, though the words were laced with a bitterness that refused to be concealed.

Elid'kharoth scoffed, his eyes narrowing in disappointment. "No, you don't," he said flatly, his voice laced with the cold weight of experience. But even as the words left his lips, there was a shadow of something else in his gaze—something darker, more burdensome. He sighed, the sound almost imperceptible. "But you will."

Thymor'ix scowled at the lack of faith, "I'm sure if you snag the Daemonsbane son you'd think he'd make a better student."

"No." Elid'kharoth rumbled, "He wouldn't."

That comment made Thymor'ix feel a bit better: "You should have a bit more faith in me, master. We will win. And when we do, I shall take the only thing left of Orion Jesk and become the Angel of Humility."

"We shall see." Elid'kharoth smiled wickedly, "Maybe you should call yourself the Angel of Arrogance, though."

The Fallen Hero: Elid'kharoth of the Sacrificed Oath (Undivided Daemon Prince)
+40 to all rolls
+60 to combat (+100 total)
Slayer of Daemonsbanes- Negates Daemonsbane penalty for themself.
Always knows the result of a roll before it occurs
Increased trait gain for allies they are working with
Always assesses enemy threat levels accurately
Negates surprise penalties
To Endure- Is cursed to always outlive their Students because of their slaying of the Daemonsbane.
A Finished Journey- Cannot gain experience unless facing a Hero they consider to be highly skilled. Traits gained this way are much more powerful.
Desire- Wants Aelred as their student

The Student: Thymor'ix the Youthful (Undivided, leader of the Black Covenant)
+40 to all rolls
The Folly of Youth- -20 to all rolls, heavily increased trait gain. This trait will remain until certain requirements are fulfilled.
+20 to combat when fighting alongside others
Learns much more from observing and being taught by others.
To Struggle- Narratively pushed towards interesting and dangerous encounters much more often.
Desire- Wants to take the title of the Angel of Humility

---

@Daemon Hunter
 
Last edited:
Years 56-60 Part 16 - Conquests Across the Sector
[X] Plan Teeth-Clenched Teamwork And Ori
-[X] 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.
-[X] Magnus - Lose the gauntlet, +2 to Legion combat from improved psykers
-[X] Vulkan - Receive an artifact for Oriacarius (~+5 to everything)

It didn't take much work to negotiate a deal with the Daemon Prince. Vexus the Executor was calm, collected, and courteous; the most dangerous traits for a daemon to have. While there was a significant element of ambition and a willingness to betray anyone, Kesar could tell that the Daemon Prince of Vashtor was at least predictable enough to only backstab him if he benefited. Therefore setting a time where they could backstab each other helped resolve those issues.

With the two of them, organizing a coup was simple. The Slaaneshi Favored that held this world wasn't popular due to severe conflict between various Slaaneshi factions. Kesar was surprised to hear that there was an active civil war within the Tempter's daemons, but that quickly faded as he leveraged that to great effect. Using a combination of rhetoric and the power of violence, Kesar and Vexus were able to sweep aside the handful of Greater Daemons that attempted to oppose them.

The Favored of Slaanesh fell at his hand, their skull ripped off by a single hand even as their heart was pierced by Epitaph ending their existence. The other individual note was handled by Vexus, which gave Kesar slight pause due to who that was.

An uncorrupted human was dueling the Daemon Prince, causing Kesar's instincts to scream at him to intervene. The only reason he didn't was due to the mortal openly working with the forces of Slaanesh. Having recognized the uniform they wore, Kesar made a mental note to warn forces within the Desolation about this. While the mortal didn't wear the uniform of a larger group such as the Free Planets Alliance, Kesar recognized it nonetheless as a uniform worn by a minor group that Mortarion had killed decades ago. And their active ties to daemons made Kesar question just how many other morally bankrupt groups were doing the same.

Kesar didn't have much time before he had to make a decision, however. Vexus was simply the better combatant, and within minutes the mortal was on their knees staring at two charred stumps that used to be their arms.

Some of his brothers would spend the time calculating if this wretch of a mortal was worth saving. Kesar himself spent a few moments doing the same. But the core of who he was couldn't be denied.

"Shall we decide ownership of this world now?" Kesar intoned in a voice that called for blood. His smile was grotesque, more a baring of teeth than a sincere showing of happiness, but it did what he needed.

"Oh, there's no need for that. It's already decided." Vexus chuckled before the two engaged in battle.

Kesar held himself back, fully understanding that using his true skills would instantly reveal who he was. Despite that, however, he almost immediately began to use more and more of his true power. The Vashtorian was good and worse, Vexus appeared to be in the finest condition he had ever been. What should have been a swift victory even with Kesar holding back as much as he did turned into a duel that lasted for over thirty hours. Towards the end, the Second Anathema finally began to make actual progress, landing a series of light blows here and there that began to add up, slowly causing Vexus to slow down.

However, the killing blow wouldn't come from Kesar, but rather a bystander. During the duel, the remnants of the ruling council surrounded the two duelists, trying to make a good impression on their future overlord. While Kesar kept an eye on them for any possible assassination attempts, Vexus simply couldn't spare the attention due to how the duel was progressing. This resulted in an outcome predictable for daemons.

With his back to the crowd, Vexus was open to a knife in the back. And that was exactly what happened as a squad of six Slaaneshi Daemonettes leaped onto Vexus, driving spires of iron into his robotic frame. Kesar simply acted as if he expected it, turning to the crowd and asking a question.

"Is this how you greet your new master?"

All who heard him immediately knelt, allowing Kesar a moment to contemplate before enacting the next step of his plan.

[] Conduct Purges - Killing off a large section of the former leadership will take time to do, but it'll allow you to remove many, many daemons without blowing your cover.
[] Conduct Purges Under Quarantine - Sealing off the warp portals and then conducting purges will allow them to be far, far more thorough. However, the daemons will certainly act against you should you do so.
[] Daemonic Diplomacy - Sending out forces to assist other daemons would be relatively quick and still weaken the world. However, it would strengthen the groups that receive forces.
[] Declare War on Slaanesh - Turning the forces of this daemonworld against Slaanesh in full by joining the civil war will attract the Tempter's Ire. Not to mention making the world harder to secure. It would, however, arguably have better long-term benefits by escalating the civil war slightly.
[] Drag the World Out of the Warp - A difficult sell, but Kesar could try and claim he's conducting an experiment and drag the daemonworld out of the warp in full. It would absolutely attract attention from the strongest daemons, but it'd make taking the world far easier.
[] Openly Kill - Now that the leadership is dead, you could begin to simply kill every daemon nearby. While it'd allow them to act, you would be able to destroy quite a lot before then.

[] Write-in

And as for the mortal, Kesar had a choice to make

[] Kill Him - He made the choice to ally with daemons. He deserves death.
[] Spare Him - He is not lost yet. And to give a human soul to the Archdaemons is cruel.



The invasion of Gelidanima was a complex affair with multiple complications that arose immediately. While provided with a number of excellent scouting reports for the warp-touched world, the Wardens were limited by the simple fact that this world was practically dunked into the warp. Psychic energy clung to it like glue, with Auro modifying several of his rituals slightly based on some of the conceptual resonances he observed.

The landing was where things started to go wrong. While the initial wave was able to land safely and establish a FOB, a storm moved over the area causing the second wave to run into it headfirst. While storms normally weren't an issue for even Imperial Army landing craft, when a storm was touched by the warp and drenched in rended souls, it could barely be called a storm anymore. Thankfully swift action was taken by Auro and Doom Slayer with the former conducting a ritual to dampen the storm while the lander conducted a series of sallies to break apart various necromantic concentrations.

Once the full force had landed with only minor casualties among the Imperial Army, a full-scale offensive took place. The Legio Deicio strode forward without opposition, shattering necromantic concentrations with ease. Auro's rituals constantly disrupted more subtle assaults and probes while Doom Slayer simply ripped and tore his way through armies. Warden forces advanced on all fronts with ease while Imperial Army regiments flooded the landscape and secured more and more territory. Moreover, the Eternal Wardens were further assisted by local psychic soldiers who opposed the ruling necromancers.

The only brief issue came when Doom Slayer was ambushed by the strongest necromancer present. The Revenant Lord knew the situation was rapidly spiraling, so took a gargantuan risk doing so. Conducting an extremely skilled teleport, they were able to arrive next to the Slayer, managing to land a grievous blow on the Astartes before they could respond. However, once the element of surprise vanished, Doom Slayer was able to achieve a quick victory over his foe. And once the Revenant Lord perished, the rest of the necromancers proved no match for the Imperium.

*Auro gains Large Scale Rituals - +5 to army rolls when Auro is present*



The seizure of CNS Alara proved to be far easier than expected. Using the Cherished Son as a ram, the Wardens present were able to slam into the derelict before the Astartes began pouring out of it. With a heavier presence of psykers than normal, the Triquetra were able to swiftly begin a series of short and successful take and holds across the ship. Helped out by the disorganization among the various chaos factions, the full battle was almost a textbook example of how to board hostile vessels.

This did leave the Wardens with a rather interesting vessel, however. While the CNS Alara was certainly heavily corrupted, to the point that it would take 5 years of concentrated effort to remove the taint from it, it was a rather powerful ship assuming that it could be repaired. Despite not being built as a warship, the simple fact that it was produced in the Dark Age gave it a frame that was superior to all Imperial vessels. Repairs would be needed, however, which caused a few complications thanks to the complexity required to do so.

[] Sell it to Kelbor-Hal - In exchange for the vessel, Kelbor is offering a large number of minor ordinatus to supplement your Legion.
[] Sell it to Ferrus - In exchange for the vessel, Ferrus is offering to expand the Iron Communes into Svarga. This will cause some political complications due to their controversial nature, however.
[] Hire the Mechanicum to Repair it - Providing the Mechanicum with Warden services for a decade will mean that they repair it within a decade for your use.
[] Hire Ferrus to Repair it - In exchange for 5 years of Kesar's time on various research projects, Ferrus is willing to repair the vessel himself. He expects it to take 15 years.
[] Hire Vulkan to Repair it - Due to being quite busy, Vulkan would take 20 years to repair the vessel. But he'd also only ask that Kesar act as a mediator between various Lord Generals for a year or two.
[] Build the Facilities to Repair it - An expensive proposition that would take nearly 10-year to do before the 15 year repair process could begin, building the number of advanced facilities needed to repair it would have its own benefits however.
[] Write-in



The deployment of the Men of Clay to assist with the rebuilding on Tixburi was rather straightforward. The Consolidation government that Guilliman had conquered ruled over abhumans that were derived from the Men of Clay, which led to hopes that a few interesting scientific events would occur. There were a few events of note, with the locals describing the encounter like meeting a human very different to them. A strange human, but a human nonetheless.

However, the Imperial Army began to run interference once this became apparent. They just fought a war for this planet after all, and would prefer to avoid starting another. As such, they ensured that Men of Clay forces would act independently from the locals, minimizing contact between the two groups. Which in turn led to them simply acting as yet another force that was working on rebuilding the damage from the war.

*Night Watch gain Consolidation Equipment - +1 to Special Forces Rolls*



Perturabo would later describe the compliance of the Skeleton Makers as a debacle filled with miscommunication, confused chains of command, and frustratingly few idiots. The combination of Kesar's extensive changes to the Imperial Army and their unfamiliarity with Perturabo as a commander led to breakdowns across the entire force. Regiments received dozens of conflicting orders as various officers attempted to organize the force only for their efforts to undermine the Primarch at every turn. The Lord of Iron was perhaps most frustrated at the lack of individuals to punish. While their efforts had only caused problems, an after-action analysis exonerated nearly everyone apart from a few individuals who were merely verbally reprimanded.

From the very start of the fighting, issue after issue arose. Following the failure of negotiations after Perturabo discovered they were planning on assassinating him during the next talk, he had ordered a full-scale bombardment. Unfortunately, the maintenance personnel of the fleet were unfamiliar with Iron Warrior Imperial Army ship engines which caused multiple engines among the fleet to flare out. It was here where matters rapidly began to spiral as a series of individual naval squadrons attempted to salvage the organized strike by improvising.

Thousands of different landings were attempted. Some involved as many as a thousand landing craft while others involved merely a few dozen Solar Auxilia on a single aircraft. Thankfully for the Imperium, the massive number of landings caused breakdowns in communication among the Skeleton Makers for no one expected to implement responses to this many independent landings.

Aurelian was forced into an administrative role by Perturabo along with thousands of other Astartes who desperately attempted to reorganize the force. The Lord of Iron issued hundreds of orders, often directly communicating with units no larger than a thousand men. Even with the sudden arrival of Black Covenant forces, Perturabo was able to create an ad hoc organizational structure that allowed a massive organized push to shatter the Skeleton Maker's frontline.

The arrival of daemonic reinforcements only moderately affected the Lord of Iron's plans. Ordering Aurelian to handle them, the Primarch instead focused on the greater war which had slowed down after the Skeleton Makers were able to activate their second-line forces and buy time. This, however, was interrupted by a second set of daemonic reinforcements attempting an assassination of Perturabo.

Thankfully, this group had laughably incorrect intelligence and had expected to encounter Maticus rather than a Primarch. This confusion allowed Perturabo to withdraw into an armory and bring his bodyguards into play. Needless to say, a group of daemons attempting to assault a booby-trapped armory defended by a Primarch, Astartes, and Solar Auxilia would only end one way.

Following that distraction, and receiving reports from Aurelian who had managed to banish the four Greater Daemons, Perturabo focused on finishing the war. Breaking the Skeleton Maker's lines through attritional warfare, the Lord of Iron finally pushed them back to their citadel where he personally took to the field. However, heroic defensive efforts prevented Perturabo from breaching the defenses like he planned which led him to make a decision he would later describe as "a strategy so misguided not even fools could have anticipated it."

Attempting a stealth infiltration, the Lord of Iron immediately realized that despite his innate skills, he had a glaring lack of doctrinal experience when it came to special operations. However, this proved to his benefit as the Skeleton Makers knew so as well resulting in a woeful lack of patrols for infiltrating units. This led to the rather comical experience of Perturabo running face first into a notable formation leading to what could only be described as a brawl. Once he won the battle, the Lord of Iron immediately commanded that Captain Aurelian never speak of this to anyone before coming across the cogitator that the Skeleton Makers had tried to hide.

Bleeding a black cognitohazard, Perturabo immediately ordered Warden techmarines to contain it before beginning a series of interrogations. Despite the Skeleton Makers outwardly claiming to use AI, it appears that they were using something far more sinister. Cooperating with "warp xenos" to create a supercogitator using human brains, they had created a daemonic artifact that was passively corrupting the world around them. Due to the sheer danger of the device, along with what the techmarines described as a direct connection to the warp, they were forced to destroy several components to ensure it was properly contained limiting what could be gathered from future research.

*Aurelian gains So That's Why Oriacarius Prepares for Anything - -25% casualties when commanding*




The Eye of Terror is a place of horror that few can imagine. A warp storm that causes the Maelstrom to pale in comparison, within its interior lies monsters more terrifying and more powerful than can be found elsewhere in the galaxy. The ruins of the Aeldari Dominion can be found here, with locations so dangerous not even daemons dare to venture into them. Time and space hold little meaning within this landscape with planets merging together yet remaining in different star systems. A man can walk across the Eye without leaving the ground, if only they could survive the horrors that lay within.

A thousand Aspect Warriors and 14 other Eldar delved into the depths with Maticus, Durante, Vergil, Lares, and the Third Company leading the charge. Durante's chronometer says they were within the Eye for three months, Maticus claims it was a month, one of the Eldar's showcased a year, and the individuals that provided transit say they were within the Eye for precisely 4 years.

1117 individuals entered the Eye of Terror. Only 67 returned.

They faced horrors throughout the expedition. An army of Lost Eldar, a court of Lords of Change, ancient Aeldari psychic automatons, Dark Age soldiers once held by the Aeldari Dominion who lost their minds long ago, ancient Xenos from before the galaxy shattered, countless Slaaneshi daemons of all sorts, grotesque mockeries of the Aeldari of old and more.

Half the Third Company perished along the journey, along with every Aspect Warrior having sacrificed their very souls to ensure that the Aeldari data chip they sought was recovered whole. One of the Eldar's finest heroes gave their lives in the process, having been isolated after the group had been greatly worn down before perishing in a futile last stand. Maticus himself was grievously wounded, having taken a piercing stab from a Bloodthirster along with several minor wounds from various daemonettes. Lares himself barely was spared internment in a Dreadnought after facing foes well beyond him. Now bereft of an eye and an arm, he had to be carried back by other members of the Third Company, most of whom required serious medical attention.

Yet, the Eldar called it a successful mission and one they would attempt again in the future despite the high losses suffered among what was an incredibly elite unit.

*Maticus gains Daemonsbane Tier 3 - Can scale duel rounds by a factor of two*
*Durante and Vergil gain Daemonsbane Tier 5 - Movement can only be interrupted by heroes and specialized proto-heroes*
*Maticus gains Survivor of the Eye - +5 to duels*
*Durante gains Cloak of Emptiness - +2 to stealth*
*Lares gains Stared into the Eye - Negate exhaustion, -5 to enemy rolls in duels*
 
Alright, the initial part of this plan have been done. The 'Chaos Lord' (Kesar Dorlin) has slain the ruler of this world, their 'rival' Vashtorr Daemon Prince, and the uncorrupted (yet very willing to work with Chaos) hero is brought to an end. The most dangerous thing on this planet is, by what is now an even larger margin than it already before, the new 'Chaos Lord'.

He still has the burning hot coal of hell-uranium that is the Rune of Chaos painfully inside him, both helping disguise himself and also feeding him information. He has the Primal Rune of Anathema that's feeding him a lot more information into what every daemon on the planet is going to do. He has the Harlequin mask artefact that's hiding his real power and presence. He has all his strength, skill, knowledge (even if the former two are hampered by the Rune of Chaos).

Be'lakor, the First Daemon Prince of Chaos (and someone who can kill Kesar as easily as he could kill a random and weirdly stronger than normal Bloodletter), is still coming and still a variable time limit before Kesar has to leave.

The current major goals we have thus far, in no particular order:

1) Don't have Kesar Dorlin die.

2) Try to achieve Kesar's Daemonsbane Tier 10 requirement. (Optional, high risk.)
Tier 10: Take Over a Daemon World

3) Delay Be'lakor long enough for the Emperor to steal an extremely critical STC (grants a +20 to most Imperial military forces, including ours). (Optional, low risk.)

My personal side-goals:

1) Have Kesar Dorlin a great learning experience about dealing with Chaos, in entirely new ways.

2) Have fun.

Where the hell do we go from here? Before that, let's review and sorta recap the situation. And add details/explain stuff for anyone not in the know.

From the Discord server, before the plan to act as a Chaos Lord:
TinyGladiator01/12/2024 14:35
4. Assuming no Exalted show up at all, how quickly could Kesar decimate this daemon world?

DaemonHunter — 01/12/2024 14:37
4. 2 years based on what you know
A turn is about five years, as we all know, so 2 years is normally fine to do.

Sadly, as revealed back when an omake reward was used to answer what we'd be dealing with here, Be'lakor was arriving in less than one.
Additionally the temples are primed for a sorcerous ritual aimed at any invading force that Kesar could cut through. After two months of fighting they'll switch to fully focusing on stalling Kesar due to Be'lakor being close enough to arrive within a year.
That's a big deal, and the timeframe isn't getting any longer. However, we have very slightly delayed matters by acting as a Chaos Lord.

Because of a sweet nat 1 that was actually a good result helping things along, and other dice results too, the strongest daemon native to this world who ruled it as its leader has been slain, a powerful human hero has also been slain, Kesar killed a daemon stronger than the previously mentioned leader in front of the native populace. Kesar Dorlin is able to act as the master of the people here, and he has the Runes to help manage his authority and the power to ensure it's ironclad.

On the DIscord server:
JAMalam — 04/01/2025 15:24
2, With the Favored Prince dead, the Vashtorr Daemon Prince dead, and the non-chaos Hero wounded, how long does Kesar think it'd take to blitz the world now if he threw off his disguise?
2a. How long has Kesar been on this world as of the rolls being done?

DaemonHunter — 04/01/2025 15:26
2. Less than a year
2a. Around a month

But let's pull back further, what about that STC? What even is it? Why can it be gotten at all with this?
Funnily enough this does mean that one of the Emperor's more long term plans is possible early. Namely the recovery of a rather powerful STC (+20 combat bonus for all Imperial units) from a rather powerful daemonworld that has Be'lakor on call. Said STC is cheap enough to roll out immediately without a significant cost increase.
DaemonHunter — 06/12/2024 16:17
It includes Astartes as well
And guardsmen, Skiitari, Custodes, etc
It doesn't apply to PDF though
[...]
DaemonHunter — 06/12/2024 16:18
It's basically a rugged comm system
That allows for consistent communication with all nearby forces and self modulates to handle ECM and other issues
Oh, well, that's pretty good.

More information as to how we get such things.
Thank goodness we asked then. Since we now know this, what is Kesar's win condition for soloing the Daemonworld?
For this, it effectively means he's on a far stricture time limit than initially planned for. Unless he blitzes it and gets lucky, it means that he's unlikely to take it in time.

As for the win condition of Emps recovering the STC, that's remaining on the daemonworld for 5 months (3 months after the daemons switch to stalling)
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."
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.
So it won't count if Kesar took it over completely but didn't drag it out of the Warp?
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.
So, where does all this leave us?

If we want to fully take on this world, and get that Daemonsbane Tier 10, We need to focus on finding a way to ensure that Kesar Dorlin kills or otherwise removes as many daemons and cultists as possible, without being hindered

The best way to do that, currently, is to have Kesar Dorlin maintain his act as a 'Chaos Lord' so that all the daemons don't attack him and/or work to get Be'lakor here faster (as well as to make Be'lakor not feel the need to rush at all). Whether or not the act lasts depends on whatever the future holds, but for now what's important is this:

Chaos, as far as we know, currently buys the act.

Slaanesh does not seem to know who this 'Chaos Lord' is on one of their daemon worlds.

Be'lakor is ready to face any Eternal Wardens that come to this daemon world, and is slowly coming because they're interested in either recruiting or removing this interesting new 'Chaos Lord'.

This daemon world, and a few others, assumes that the 'Chaos Lord' is some servant for the Forge of Souls.

Vashtorr the Arkifane, who a lot of people assume is the 'Chaos Lord's master, thinks that Kesar Dorlin is working with the Black Covenants due to the timing of this newcomer's appearance coinciding with recent deals.

Notable things that have to be dealt with to easily take The World Of Tormented Martyrs.

1) The Favoured Daemon of Slaanesh who leads this world. Status: Dead, overthrown by Kesar Dorlin and Vexus.

2) The human hero who decided to ally with Chaos here. Status: Disabled by Venus, dealt with. (Ultimate fate pending.)

3) The myriad temples of sacrifice that help power the world and its rituals with divine sacrificial energy. Status: Not dealt with.

4) A self-sustaining Warp Portal that leads to a Slaaneshi daemon world of equal strength to the current one Kesar Dorlin is on. Status: Not dealt with.

5) A self-sustaining Warp Portal that leads to a world in the Warp stronger than the current one Kesar Dorlin is on. Status: Not dealt with.

Things we know for can surprise Be'lakor enough to (at least temporarily) delay them longer.

1) Somehow disabling the many temples across the daemon world, to ensure that none of the energy is used to hasten Be'lakor's arrival.

2) Join the Slaaneshi civil war, which is a confusing move that only an insane fool, an extremely motivated manipulator or someone who's both would logically do. That'd end up causing a lot of double-checking to occur to see why this turn of events happened.
2a) Also, uh, this is sort of a big political clusterfuck by the already surreal and nightmarish standards of Chaos. Just being involved isn't really something anybody not loyal, or otherwise fanatically hateful, of Slaanesh wants to be in if they don't have any tangible benefit to it.

3) Open a Warp Portal to a daemon world Kesar Dorlin has been on before, and is now currently in Eternal Warden territory. Because either this 'Chaos Lord' is an insane, very motivated and powerful idiot. Or they're secretly someone not on Chaos's side, possibly Alpharius. (This is likely a bad idea, but it's a known way.)

4) Leaving this planet, as then there's no reason for them to appear at all. (I'd rather not, but it is something we can do.)

Things that would cause Be'lakor to rush faster.

1) Working with the Vashtorrian Daemon Prince from before to steal the divine sacrificial energy, to seemingly give to Vashtorr.

-----

Alright, with all that out of the way... I see two options for what we can do.

We either pull one more act to tear down the current two Warp Portals and then send large groups of daemons to other Chaos groups under the pretence of establishing new deals and trade routes, to remove as many combatants on the planet as we possibly can and ensuring that few more would be able to arrive due to the lack of portals, before Kesar goes on a rampage.

We have a few months of being able to freely destroy everything, with Kesar will be able to detect if Be'lakor is worryingly close by and can escape before trouble looms over if need be.

It was noted that, as things are right now, Kesar can likely take on everyone on this planet in under a year. With so many more gone, it's more than possible for total one-man anti-daemon cataclysm being finished before the time limit runs out. Assuming the First Prince doesn't rush too fast in response.

Perhaps that's not enough, as Be'lakor can likely take over this world if Kesar only gets a 'temporary' takeover, but this world would either by fully dead or extremely close to it. Tier 10 is possible, and we hopefully have enough time to distract the Dark Master long enough for the Emperor to get his chance to take the STC.

Or we risk it all for a longer play, likely losing out on the opportunity to gain Tier 10 by killing all the daemons but for better chance of the STC being taken, we can do something that is so quintessentially Kesar Dorlin and 'The Lost Primarch Quest' that even with Tier 10 on the line I'd say that this plan fits too well.

Kesar Dorlin, disguised as a Chaos Lord, can feel ultimate catharsis in his current position by telling Slaanesh to fuck off as he announces the world to join the ongoing rebellion against the Chaos God. Be'lakor slows down by sheer surprise, perhaps for a lot of other reasons if we're lucky,

A surprising amount of the world is willing to join the 'Chaos Lord' if he announces it, according to the Discord server. A full two-thirds are willing to throw hands with Slaanesh and their loyalists, or 66.6% if you would. It's a perfect excuse to cut the existing portals, because it's a bad idea to leave them open, and perhaps use that divine sacrifice energy for something else.

The fighting would be brutal because, even if this isn't apparently the first time a daemon world has gone against them, Slaanesh takes rejection and insults like this extremely badly. Their anger would go off the charts. I wouldn't be surprised if they use up some of their divine power directly in some manner. This won't just be infiltration and a bloody if small, compared to what Kesar normally faces, coup. This would be war. A war against a god, using parts of their own daemonic army, as on a relatively small scale a colossal war being waged by a Chaos God's own forces slightly increases in intensity.

The mere act of doing this is just too good to pass up. Because, come on, in-character this is something Kesar would want to do. Causing daemons to fight each other? Telling one of the Old Four that an entire world of theirs is now suddenly, loudly and insultingly not on their side despite the fact that they're supposed to own it?

Kesar also is very well equipped to fight and lead in this war, as he's... uh, experienced in facing Chaos. Specifically using Chaos against itself is also something the Black Library has helped prepare him for, as seen here:
The Codex Astartes Chaotica - +80 when commanding Chaos Daemons, +10 when commanding against daemons

With this in mind, finally, here's my two ideas for what we should do this turn:

[] Plan: The New Gatekeeper.
-[] Write in: Out with the Old, in with the New - Order the current Warp Portals to be demolished, as the worlds and whatever prior connections they had to this place are a threat to your rule. Then send as many daemons as you can towards other other Chaos groups and champions, under the pretence of building trade relations and new Warp Portals.
-[] Kill Him - He made the choice to ally with daemons. He deserves death.
-[] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.

-----

[] Plan: hey slaanesh ur p mid.
-[] Declare War on Slaanesh - Turning the forces of this daemonworld against Slaanesh in full by joining the civil war will attract the Tempter's Ire. Not to mention making the world harder to secure. It would, however, arguably have better long-term benefits by escalating the civil war slightly.
-[] Kill Him - He made the choice to ally with daemons. He deserves death.
-[] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.
 
[X] Plan: The New Gatekeeper BUT Take A Prisoner
-[X] Write in: Out with the Old, in with the New - Order the current Warp Portals to be demolished, as the worlds and whatever prior connections they had to this place are a threat to your rule. Then send as many daemons as you can towards other other Chaos groups and champions, under the pretence of building trade relations and new Warp Portals.
-[X] Spare Him - He is not lost yet. And to give a human soul to the Archdaemons is cruel.
-[X] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.

Although it's expedient, Kesar choosing to leave a mortal soul to be corrupted and consumed by Chaos when he is in a position to stop it... feels like a step too far, personally. I basically agree with the rest though, and I especially like the portal work because it actually makes use of Kesar's extensive knowledge and research into Warp teleportation.
 
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Wouldn't building the repair stuff ourselves be the better long term option?

It would take longer but then we would have the infrastructure to do that kinda stuff ourselves instead of owing favors. Then we could repair other people's stuff for favor's from them.
 
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[X] Plan: The New Gatekeeper BUT Take A Prisoner
-[X] Write in: Out with the Old, in with the New - Order the current Warp Portals to be demolished, as the worlds and whatever prior connections they had to this place are a threat to your rule. Then send as many daemons as you can towards other other Chaos groups and champions, under the pretence of building trade relations and new Warp Portals.
-[X] Spare Him - He is not lost yet. And to give a human soul to the Archdaemons is cruel.
-[X] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.
 
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[X] Plan: The New Gatekeeper.
-[X] Write in: Out with the Old, in with the New - Order the current Warp Portals to be demolished, as the worlds and whatever prior connections they had to this place are a threat to your rule. Then send as many daemons as you can towards other other Chaos groups and champions, under the pretence of building trade relations and new Warp Portals.
-[X] Kill Him - He made the choice to ally with daemons. He deserves death.
-[X] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.
 
[] Plan: hey slaanesh ur p mid. BUT also a conversation with a prisoner over some hot cocoa
-[] Declare War on Slaanesh - Turning the forces of this daemonworld against Slaanesh in full by joining the civil war will attract the Tempter's Ire. Not to mention making the world harder to secure. It would, however, arguably have better long-term benefits by escalating the civil war slightly.
-[] Spare Him - He is not lost yet. And to give a human soul to the Archdaemons is cruel.
-[] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.

Honestly I like the original version of the plan just fine

(Admittedly I am biased as the reward for an omake I made was an increased chance for epitaph to get traits this turn so the more we fight the better as far as I'm concerned)

Except for the kill The prisoner part
I feel it's both more in Kesars nature to want to take him alive as one that's just who he is I mean the reason he even interfered in the duel and saved the prisoner's life was because and I quote

Some of his brothers would spend the time calculating if this wretch of a mortal was worth saving. Kesar himself spent a few moments doing the same. But the core of who he was couldn't be denied.

It's simply the type of person he is/part of the core of who he is to an extent
That and I honestly think that it would be smarter to take the guy alive and get information from him

( Be it Information willingly given or information forcibly (extracted)

As we don't know if there's more people like him not corrupted but working with chaos out there and this sort of thing is a blind spot to our runes and our specialties/anti demon bonuses

So the more information we can get on on if there's more people like this the better

Even if all we find out is the name or a alias of the demon who hired him that is still quite worthwhile information
And we can still kill him after that
 
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[X] Plan: Alpharius and Omegon are never going to believe this

After discuss in discord. Change the vote to this. Look to be best plan to delay belakor
 
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[X] Plan: The New Gatekeeper.
-[X] Write in: Out with the Old, in with the New - Order the current Warp Portals to be demolished, as the worlds and whatever prior connections they had to this place are a threat to your rule. Then send as many daemons as you can towards other other Chaos groups and champions, under the pretence of building trade relations and new Warp Portals.
-[X] Kill Him - He made the choice to ally with daemons. He deserves death.
-[X] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.


[X] Plan: hey slaanesh ur p mid.
-[X] Declare War on Slaanesh - Turning the forces of this daemonworld against Slaanesh in full by joining the civil war will attract the Tempter's Ire. Not to mention making the world harder to secure. It would, however, arguably have better long-term benefits by escalating the civil war slightly.
-[X] Kill Him - He made the choice to ally with daemons. He deserves death.
-[X] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.

Wouldn't building the repair stuff ourselves be the better long term option?

It would take longer but then we would have the infrastructure to do that kinda stuff ourselves instead of owing favors. Then we could repair other people's stuff for favor's from them.
Probably, but there's no reason why we can't just do that ourselves later on. We just wouldn't be fixing this particular ship as we do so, in-exchange for empowering something that could affect the entire Imperium than just one naval battlefield at a time. Plenty of other ships to fix and maintain instead, after all.
Although it's expedient, Kesar choosing to leave a mortal soul to be corrupted and consumed by Chaos when he is in a position to stop it... feels like a step too far, personally.
I feel it's both more in Kesars nature to want to take him alive as one that's just who he is I mean the reason he even interfered in the duel and saved the prisoner's life was because and I quote
While I get the idea behind this feeling, I'd say that there's a difference between 'saving a misguided person who doesn't know what they're doing as they're subtly influenced by Chaos' and 'saving a vengeful warrior who knows what they're working with and doesn't care so long as they help kill Imperial forces'. This person is not acting out of ignorance, just enough bitter hate to do anything for revenge.

This fellow has been on the world for a while, a place full of ritual sacrifice and horrors from hell doing whatever nightmarish shit they want, and shows no signs of regret or wanting to leave. The only reason this person isn't a full on Chaos cultist is simple time and mental resilience. If a person sits at a table knowing that it's for those dedicated to Chaos, all the suffering and pain and whatever else they inflict on others or themselves, then that table is full of those working for Chaos.

This would not stopping a person from falling off in the first place, this would be to try to pull them up right before they go splat in the bottom of the abyss. If they're so determined to work for those willing to infinitely torture and destroy everything on a whim, then they can die as one of them.

Hell, this is what Kesar's own thoughts were about when he first learned about them:
The daemonworld itself had no threats on it, although the Rune of Chaos did whisper that they had been looking at outside mercenaries to assist. With the Rune of Anathema failing to gain any insights, Kesar expected to find an uncorrupted foe. The mere thought of a mortal willingly working with the Archdaemons was enough to make his blood boil, and if it was possible, he would ensure they died on this world.
Kesar also is under enough scrutiny and timeframe that I just don't feel like it's worth even the time to spare this guy, let alone the logistics about keeping them alive.

Actually, wait, even if we do spare him with the intent of them not dying or falling to corruption, how are we supposed to prevent that? We can't exactly grab a Warp-capable ship, send him on there and only him, without looking extremely suspicious. The alternative of staying on a daemon world of Slaanesh within the Warp, already suffering intense pain from being severely mauled in the duel and having proven that they're willing to work with Chaos to get what they want, doesn't sound like they'll remain uncorrupted to me if given the chance. Even Kesar being near this hero for a while could get them to fall just due to the Rune of Chaos's energy spilling out of him.
So the more information we can get on on if there's more people like this the better

Even if all we find out is the name or a alias of the demon who hired him that is still quite worthwhile information
And we can still kill him after that
Rather get more info from the guy. Let see if we can turn him back to the light. If not, can always kill his ass later.
As for this angle... why bother?

Couldn't we just use the Rune of Chaos and Rune of Anathema to figure that out? The things that tells us secret information and plans of all daemons here? Somebody here hired him, and they weren't a secret force hiding in waiting or else they'd already be attacked and eaten by the natives otherwise. Kesar can just investigate that without talking to this guy by just asking the actual employers, which he has ample reason to do so as he keeps his Chaos Lord act up.

Since this guy isn't corrupted too, there's also no way Kesar has to definitively tell if they're lying without double-checking what any relevant daemons know, which sorta defeats the point of interrogation.
 
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While I get the idea behind this feeling, I'd say that there's a difference between 'saving a misguided person who doesn't know what they're doing as they're subtly influenced by Chaos' and 'saving a vengeful warrior who knows what they're working with and doesn't care so long as they help kill Imperial forces'. This person is not acting out of ignorance, just enough bitter hate to do anything for revenge.

This fellow has been on the world for a while, a place full of ritual sacrifice and horrors from hell doing whatever nightmarish shit they want, and shows no signs of regret or wanting to leave. The only reason this person isn't a full on Chaos cultist is simple time and mental resilience. If a person sits at a table knowing that it's for those dedicated to Chaos, all the suffering and pain and whatever else they inflict on others or themselves, then that table is full of those working for Chaos.

This would not stopping a person from falling off in the first place, this would be to try to pull them up right before they go splat in the bottom of the abyss. If they're so determined to work for those willing to infinitely torture and destroy everything on a whim, then they can die as one of them.

Hell, this is what Kesar's own thoughts were about when he first learned about them:
There's a difference between "saving" and "not feeding to Chaos". I'd be happy with killing this guy, his cooperation/usefulness is not a consideration to me, but I don't like the idea of Kesar just letting his soul go to the Ruinous Powers when it isn't presently claimed by them. If he was already straight up corrupted then this wouldn't even be a choice, since he's already bound for Hell no matter what, barring a lucky True Death. It would be a very concerning step outside of what I believe Kesar's character to be, that for the sake of convenience, he knowingly gives the Great Enemy a soul they otherwise wouldn't have had.
Kesar also is under enough scrutiny and timeframe that I just don't feel like it's worth even the time to spare this guy, let alone the logistics about keeping them alive.

Actually, wait, even if we do spare him with the intent of them not dying or falling to corruption, how are we supposed to prevent that? We can't exactly grab a Warp-capable ship, send him on there and only him, without looking extremely suspicious. The alternative of staying on a daemon world of Slaanesh within the Warp, already suffering intense pain from being severely mauled in the duel and having proven that they're willing to work with Chaos to get what they want, doesn't sound like they'll remain uncorrupted to me if given the chance. Even Kesar being near this hero for a while could get them to fall just due to the Rune of Chaos's energy spilling out of him.
He's been able to handle it before, as you said yourself. If he would be automatically corrupted if held captive for a few years, then once again, I don't think this would be a choice at all. Or at the very least it shouldn't be, but I would hope that Daemon Hunter doesn't give choices which don't do anything.
 
House Guests
House Guests

The Neverborn didn't like mortals. There were countless reasons for this disdain, but the core of it was simple: mortals were weak, fleeting creatures, too fragile for any enduring usefulness. They were often arrogant, demanding power or dominion over the Neverborn without the foresight to understand the disastrous consequences of their ambitions.

Thymor'ix, however, prided himself on being a touch more compassionate and understanding toward their pitiful existence. His master, Elid'kharoth, had once been mortal before his Ascension, proving to Thymor'ix that even such fragile beings could transcend their limitations under the right circumstances. Chaos was infinite, and with it came infinite choice—an opportunity that, in his view, should be accessible to all life forms.

But these Eldar—these Ulwarth—were sorely testing his patience. The only reason he had agreed to this meeting with the Ulwarth of House Jainorio on their Port Kalthuanesh was due to vital intelligence: Orion Jesk was rumored to be part of an upcoming raid on the port. This presented a golden opportunity for the Black Covenant to strike at their sworn enemy on ground friendly to them.

Yet the further they spoke with the Ulwarth, the less ideal the situation became. Thymor'ix had expected cooperation or at least deference.

Instead, the Storm Admiral and ruler of Port Kalthuanesh, Lord Artari Jainorio, had insulted him and his companions. Rather than offering the Neverborn the respect they were due, Artari dared to make them wait outside the Jainorio estate, claiming it was to avoid inconveniencing his other guests.

The slight was enough to make Thymor'ix's claws twitch with barely restrained fury. His molten core of anger bubbled dangerously close to the surface, and for a moment, he nearly abandoned all restraint. It was only the firm hand of Elid'kharoth that stopped him.

"Control yourself," the Fallen Hero commanded, his voice low and unyielding. "The insult is calculated. If you respond with rage, they'll think they've won. Follow their instructions for now. We have more important matters to consider."

They endured three long days in material time before Lord Artari deigned to summon him and Elid'kharoth. The summons came via an emissary flanked by a war host of Jainorio House Guards. The smug Eldar warriors carried themselves with the same arrogance as their lord as if their Dominion had not long ago been shattered and swallowed by the Dark Prince.

Still, there was some acknowledgment of propriety. Upon their formal arrival at the Jainorio estates, an announcement and introduction to the assembled guests followed, which gave Thymor'ix a fleeting sense of satisfaction. He savored the mix of envy and barely concealed fury in the glares directed at him.

Yet when his master was introduced as the Fallen Hero, the reception was notably less respectful—sniggers and cocky grins rippled through the crowd. Yet Elid'kharoth, ever composed, appeared entirely unbothered by the mockery.

Finally, they were brought before Lord Artari Jainorio. Reclining in decadent ease, the Storm Admiral radiated arrogance. His hand gripped a glass of blood wine fashioned from stardust, the shimmering vessel glinting with otherworldly light. Only the best for the Eldar, of course, damned or otherwise.

Thymor'ix wasted no time, warning about the impending raid and the threat Orion Jesk and his cohort posed. Elid'kharoth added gravitas to the warning, underscoring the danger with a measured tone that brooked no doubt.

But Artari's response was anything but serious. He snorted dismissively, the sound sharp and derisive. Lifting his glass to his lips, he took a long, languid sip of the crimson wine before offering his verdict.

"Your concerns are...noted," he said with a tone of placid concern, his words as smooth and poisonous as the drink in his hand. "But rest assured, any raid on Port Kalthuanesh will be repulsed. Your adversary will find themselves trampled beneath our might. You might not even have a chance to fight them. In fact," he continued with a smirk, "this news pleases me. It has been too long since we've had a worthy hunt for the celebrations. This will provide excellent sport."

Thymor'ix couldn't believe the audacity or stupidity of this creature. His warning, delivered with all the gravity it deserved, had been brushed aside as a mere opportunity for indulgence. He quickly glanced at Elid'kharoth, whose expression remained impassive, though the faintest narrowing of his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

"You underestimate the threat this mortal poses," Thymor'ix said, his voice taut with restrained anger as he attempted a different approach. "He is capable of slaying our kind, often with ease. That means he can more than match your forces. The mere possibility that whoever is raiding your precious Port could gain his aid should be of considerable concern."

Artari Jainorio swirled his blood wine lazily, savoring its aroma before replying. "The Enclaves have a vested interest in maintaining Kalthuanesh, as do certain daemons of She Who Thirsts," he said, his tone dismissive. "No one is taking it. Even if a force were to land, they wouldn't get far."

He flashed a toothy grin that carried more malice than amusement. "You should be pleased, yes? This means it will be a comfortable challenge for your little group. Perhaps if you put on a good show, you might even enjoy yourselves here."

Thymor'ix's patience was wearing thin. "We aren't here to enjoy ourselves, mortal," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "Orion Jesk is a threat that must be eliminated. As such, we request a thousand of your warriors to assist us." Surely, this mortal would at least see the tactical benefit of getting a daemonsbane removed.

Artari tilted his head in feigned thought, his expression mockingly contemplative. "Hmm...no, I don't think I'll do that," he said, taking another leisurely sip of his wine. His grin widened. "Nor will I allow you to recruit any of my forces or guests in case you were considering going behind my back."

The insult was the final straw. Thymor'ix's form shimmered with barely contained fury, a spectral glow radiating from his being. The temperature in the room dropped as the tension escalated, prompting the Ulwarth guards to reach for their weapons. Even Artari froze for a moment, his grin faltering as the raw power of the Harbinger filled the air. But just as Thymor'ix opened his mouth to let loose words that could ignite outright conflict, Elid'kharoth's voice cut through the tension.

"Calm yourself, Thymor'ix," the Fallen Hero commanded, his tone firm and unyielding. "Lord Artari has the right to dictate terms within this...edifice he calls a port. If he chooses not to aid us, so be it. In that case, we simply ask that we not be compelled to aid Kalthuanesh's defense and that no Ulwarth be permitted to issue us orders. We will act as an independent force."

Artari, his composure regained, waved a dismissive hand as though brushing aside the entire matter. "Yes, yes. Do as you will. I won't hinder your mission. In fact, I'll even grant you the freedom to eliminate any contenders foolish enough to challenge you during the hunt for your prize." His smile returned, sharp and condescending. "Now, I have more important matters to attend to. Happy hunting, my esteemed guests."



Once they were far enough from the opulent estates, Thymor'ix could no longer contain his frustration. He turned sharply to his master. "Why did we allow that mortal to order us around? If we were any other Neverborn—"

"If we were any other Neverborn," Elid'kharoth interrupted with an even tone laced with disappointment, "we'd have started a fight, been banished from this place, and likely lost our chance at killing Orion Jesk. Is that what you want?"

Thymor'ix's fists clenched, his voice rising. "It's one thing to placate a stronger daemon, but to an uppity mortal? What happens if others hear of this embarrassment?" Unable to contain himself further, he struck a nearby wraithbone statue, shattering it into dust with a burst of hellish energy. "No one will respect us. No one will fear us."

Elid'kharoth regarded him with a stern, unimpressed expression. "Do not concern yourself with the opinions of others. They are meaningless. Concern yourself with what matters: surviving and, if possible, defeating our enemy."

Thymor'ix bristled, pacing angrily. "Where is the glory in that thinking? How can we feel assured of our victory with such... defeatist reasoning?"

"There is no assurance of victory," Elid'kharoth stated plainly, his voice like iron. "Remember that. It is the truth of our existence. Glory is irrelevant if you are dead."

His student fell silent, the weight of those words settling uncomfortably. They continued their march back to the staging area, the air between them heavy. Finally, Thymor'ix broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less frustrated. "I don't like how they insult you, Master. They mock your title, laugh at it."

Elid'kharoth's gaze flicked to his student, his expression unreadable. "I'm well aware. But I've long since stopped caring. Why should I? The opinions of mortals—of anyone—are meaningless to me."

Thymor'ix hesitated, his reluctance obvious. "Why do you care, then?" Elid'kharoth pressed, his tone demanding.

The younger daemon grimaced, clearly reluctant to speak. "Out with it, Thymor'ix."

He finally relented, his words tinged with bitterness. "Because it harms the image of the Black Covenant. Every time they mock you, every insult affects how others perceive us—as a whole. It weakens us."

Elid'kharoth did not respond immediately, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. Then, to Thymor'ix's surprise, his master nodded in approval. "Good. Keep that in mind. The victories and defeats of every member of the Black Covenant, as well as their glories and humiliations, reflect on us all. This is the price of unity and ambition. If it troubles you so much, ensure our actions leave no room for mockery."

His master had a point. As the Harbinger of their Black Covenant, Thymor'ix was responsible for keeping it and its members focused, disciplined, and respectable. Perhaps the lesson from his master was to keep that in mind in case anything happened to them.

So long as Thymor'ix survived or Orion Jesk lived, their mission wouldn't be over. Still, if their group had no glory to its name, then who would care to heed their goals?



Finally, they returned to their temporary home in this wretched port. It was close enough to the estates but far enough away that even Khorgamex's massive form would be obscured so as not to ruin the pretty scenery.

The guest home had once been a storage juncture for wraithbone. In essence, it was a warehouse whose smooth, sinuous architecture was now marred by the passage of time and the neglect of the Ulwarth aristocracy. Cracks ran like veins across the pale walls, and the once-gleaming surfaces were now dulled and faded.

Faint whispers echoed through the halls—residual psychic energy or perhaps the murmurs of the Covenant's lesser Neverborn thralls lurking just out of sight. Despite its derelict state, the facility served its purpose. Though far from an ideal stronghold, the facility's isolation and neglect ensured few prying eyes wandered near.

As soon as the pair returned, the only member of the Black Covenant present was Alastassa Hexhell, ensconced in her glass obelisk, where she retreated whenever she sought solitude. The chamber was eerily quiet, the absence of the others amplifying the tension that clung to Thymor'ix and Elid'kharoth like a second skin. Thymor'ix's jaw tightened, his irritation plain, while Elid'kharoth's brow furrowed with restrained displeasure.

"Alastassa!" Thymor'ix barked, his voice slicing through the stillness as he glared at the obelisk. "Where in the Warp are the others?"

The obelisk shimmered, emitting a series of soft chimes before the thousand eyes embedded beneath its surface blinked as one. A ripple coursed through the glass, and Alastassa Hexhell began to emerge, her humanoid form slithering out halfway, her movements slow and languid, as if she'd just awoken from a dream.

"Hmm, you've returned," she said, her tone languid and faintly amused. "The others are... out."

Thymor'ix's brow furrowed in confusion, his vexation deepening. "Out? What do you mean, out?"

Alastassa tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "The Harpy is seeking... companionship," she began, her voice almost sing-song in its cadence. "The Balor has gone to the fighting pits, the Dragon is hunting for treasures to hoard, and the Ent and Dryad are exploring the port for plants and insects." She paused, gesturing idly toward her obelisk. "And I? I have been listening to the glass."

Elid'kharoth's expression shifted subtly, his annoyance giving way to curiosity. "And what has the glass whispered to you?" he asked.

Alastassa closed her eyes, though the thousand others within the obelisk continued to shift, refracting light in mesmerizing patterns. Her voice carried a peculiar weight when she spoke, as though channeling the obelisk itself. "Feathers and sea shells... darkness and a crown. A throne and a burning blade. Love intertwined with hate. War and destruction."

Elid'kharoth's face darkened, his frown deepening. "The burning blade," he muttered. "A confirmation of our foe. Orion Jesk is coming. The other portents are irrelevant."

Alastassa's thousand eyes blinked again in unison, and her humanoid form began to retreat back into the obelisk. "Irrelevant to you, perhaps," she murmured, her voice soft but laced with an enigmatic edge. "To the glass, all threads matter."

Thymor'ix scowled, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. "I'll find the others and drag them back myself," he growled, his voice laced with frustration. Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and stalked toward the exit.

Elid'kharoth watched his student leave, his expression unreadable. He made no move to stop him. Perhaps this would be a useful task, a chance for Thymor'ix to channel his volatile energy into something productive. The young daemon's raw emotions needed tempering, but Elid'kharoth trusted him not to cause too much chaos.

At least, not unintentionally.

Elid'kharoth turned his attention back to Alastassa. She had partially emerged from her obelisk, her thousand glassy eyes swirling and shifting in disarray, their usual harmony disrupted. Her gaze seemed distant and unfocused.

"What is it now?" Elid'kharoth asked, his tone both curious and weary.

Alastassa's voice wavered, a strange quiver running through it. "Someone approaches." Her glass eyes began to blink in a slow, hypnotic pattern. "They come with knowledge... and power. They wield a weapon that whispers your name, Fallen Hero."

Elid'kharoth's brows knitted together at her words. "My name?" he repeated, his tone tinged with skepticism. He had no prior history with the Ulwarth. His arrival at Kalthuanesh had been his first encounter with their kind.

"No matter," he said with calm determination. "I will intercept this individual and learn what they seek."

As he turned toward the exit, Alastassa spoke again, her voice a soft murmur that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere. "Be wary, Fallen Hero. The glass shows paths veiled in fire and ash. Not all who call your name do so out of mockery. Some do so out of hatred."

Elid'kharoth paused for a brief moment but didn't look back. "Hatred, I can respect."



Elid'kharoth had barely left the stronghold when he noticed an Ulwarth figure approaching, their gait unhurried but purposeful. A sudden, familiar pain surged through his body like a lance of fire, his old wounds pulsing as if freshly inflicted. He clenched his teeth against the sharp sensation, his crimson eyes narrowing.

The scent of smoke and ozone clung to the air around the approaching figure, an acrid miasma that made Elid'kharoth's stomach churn. This mortal did not seem the least bit intimidated by the presence of the Fallen Hero.

"That's close enough," Elid'kharoth commanded, his voice cold and firm. "State your business, Aeldari."

The Ulwarth froze, then began giggling—low and manic, like the scraping of metal on glass. "Hehehe..." They reached for a weapons container strapped to their back, sliding it open with a deliberate slowness that spoke of practiced theatrics.

Elid'kharoth stiffened as he saw what emerged. The blade was unmistakable: the Shattered Light. Seeing it struck a nerve as old memories surged to the surface. It was the same weapon that had nearly ended him eons ago, the personal blade of Ynanera of the Glimmering Suns.

"This must bring back memories," the Ulwarth sneered, their grin cruel and hungry. "It sang to me, you know. Whispered, no, pined for your death like a bitch in heat."

Elid'kharoth said nothing, his gaze fixed on the blade. The memories of its edge slicing through his daemonic flesh flooded his mind: the ethereal weapon tearing tendon and nerve as though his body were nothing but parchment, leaving wounds no warp magic could fully heal.

"Is this a challenge?" Elid'kharoth finally asked, his tone dismissive despite the tension in the air. "If so, name yourself, mortal."

The Ulwarth tested the blade with a deft flourish, its shimmering edge singing faintly as it cut through the air. "I am Kalistor," they declared, their voice dripping with pride. "Coven Champion and Cradlekeeper of the great star cradled within Kalthuanesh's bosom." Kalistor's gaze burned with twisted amusement. "This blade has told me many things. Its stories are... quite entertaining."

"Where did you acquire that?" Elid'kharoth demanded, his voice sharp.

Kalistor didn't answer immediately. Instead, they caressed the blade almost reverently. "It speaks of Ynanera's death and discretion," they murmured, their lips curling into a smirk.

Elid'kharoth's eyes narrowed further. "How tragic," he said dryly. Though he might have been glad to hear of Ynanera's demise, her legacy now stood before him, a mocking echo of the past. "Once again, where did you get that blade?"

Kalistor finally met his gaze, and their smiles widened. "We stole it," they said simply, their tone oozing mockery. Did you... want it?"

Elid'kharoth's eyes lingered on the blade, an idea forming in his mind. Its power, while a bitter reminder of past pain, could prove invaluable—perhaps even as a weapon for Thymor'ix. "Yes," he said, his tone measured. "Name your price."

Kalistor's grin turned feral. "I... want..." they began, trailing off before breaking into another fit of laughter. "For you to..."

The air around them grew heavy, and Elid'kharoth felt a sudden, sharp tension in the warp. His instincts flared as he realized Kalistor prepared to speak a word of power—a dangerous invocation. But then, the Ulwarth stopped abruptly, their laughter tapering into an unsettling hum.

"Never… mind," Kalistor said, their voice curling into a sinister whisper. "Perhaps we'll save that for later."

"Why wait?" Elid'kharoth retorted, summoning the Requiescat Blade to his grasp and the Ruby Scutum to his other hand, their manifestations humming with latent power.

Kalistor froze for a moment, then raised a hand in mock placation. "No," they said with a smirk. "I want to kill your Daemonsbane first. Then, you."

Elid'kharoth narrowed his gaze, the steady rhythm of his breath masking the tension building within him. "Why?"

Kalistor's grin stretched unnaturally wide, their eyes gleaming with unhinged glee. "Because the blade wants you to suffer." Their voice wavered with manic excitement. "I'm going to kill you, take your soul, and feed it to Hínya. Then maybe she'll stop crying."

Elid'kharoth's expression barely shifted, but his mind sharpened at the mention of the name—Hínya, the star around which Port Kalthuanesh was built.

"That's not going to happen," he said, his tone cold and unyielding. "You've made a grave mistake coming here, let alone warning me."

"Warn you?" Kalistor echoed mockingly as if the notion were absurd. For a moment, there was silence before a sharp and wild hysterical laugh burst forth from their throats. The air around them grew thick and hot as phantom flames danced at their feet, rising higher with every breath. The fires seemed to drink from the oxygen Kalistor exhaled, fueled by their uncontrollable mirth.

Elid'kharoth stood his ground, his grip firm on the Requiescat Blade. "You try and attack me or any member of the Black Covenant, your fate is sealed. Only doom awaits you."

Kalistor's laughter finally subsided, leaving only the crackling of the strange flames. "Doom, is it? I've already heard that story." Their grin returned, impossibly wide. "But the blade tells me yours is far more… poetic."

Kalistor's laughter died out, leaving the eerie crackle of phantom flames as the only sound. "Doom, is it? I've already heard that story," they sneered, their grin stretching into something inhuman. "But the blade tells me yours is far more... poetic."

Elid'kharoth's patience ran thin, his gaze darkening with disdain. "Either draw that blade now or piss off, Aeldari," he snarled, his voice heavy with contempt. "I know the story you cling to, the history you think you hold in your hands. But you will not hear my side, nor will you live to see its end."

Kalistor cocked their head, their amusement unshaken. "Touchy, touchy," they said, voice dripping with mockery. They spun the Shattered Light lazily in one hand before stopping mid-motion, letting the blade's ethereal glow pulse ominously.

But instead of striking, they sheathed the weapon with a dramatic flourish. "Another time, then. Watch. Your. Back. Daemon."

With that, the Ulwarth turned and sauntered away, their laughter echoing faintly as they disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind the lingering stench of smoke and ozone.

Elid'kharoth stood motionless momentarily, his grip tightening on the Requiescat Blade. His old wounds ached, a ghostly reminder of what Shattered Light had once done to him. "Another time," he muttered under his breath, his tone both a promise and a curse. Then, with a final glance into the darkness, he turned and headed back toward the stronghold.

It seemed another challenger was looking to steal their prize. As far as the Fallen Hero was concerned, they would die like any other foe.

---

@Daemon Hunter
 
[X] Plan: Alpharius and Omegon are never going to believe this
-[X] Write-in: Declare War, And Retreat - Declare your desire to live, for everyone on this world to survive, and announce rebellion against Slaanesh so you don't have to risk oblivion against the Second Anathema and their children. Use up the divine sacrificial energy of this planet to power a ritual to allow it and everyone on it to escape from Eternal Warden territory (as well as Be'lakor ).
-[X] Write in: Sell it to Perturabo - In exchange for the vessel, Perturabo will further work on Gehenna station to enhance its capability.
-[X] Spare Him - He is not lost yet. And to give a human soul to the Archdaemons is cruel.

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(Huge thanks to tiny gladiator and Nicholas Brooks
For helping me with this by letting me bounce ideas off of them and in tiny's case refining my idea to teleport the planet into a concise write in)
 
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[X] Plan: Alpharius and Omegon are never going to believe this

This is the best plan for delaying Be'lakor as much as possible, and causing as much shit versus Chaos. Let's go!
 
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