Plus let's not forget that we ALREADY have them not only be a force that is keeping the IA in the Maelstrom contained as they are checked for corruption, but their faith and the Golden path are being spread into the same in order to increase the CR of the IA there...we've already formally supported them in some big ways...this would just be in line with that, using their loyalty and lack of bias to good effect.
The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
Dauan Tienar
To the endless horizon
- Location
- Victoria
[X] Write-in: Have a Trial period of not only using the Black Brigades and the Sun Guard in conjunction, but using the Shades as a barrier between the two. It won't be easy, and there will be tensions, but the Shades are loyal to you and your sons, and if you say that there must be peace and civility between these two post compliance forces, then peace they will ensure there will be, even if they must keep the respective forces in their respective corners. If you are going to have tools in your belt, best to have both because as much as you might wish the Sun Guard is all you need, there is a reason the Black Brigades are both useful and feared.
[X] Write-in: Oricarius, as he is won't to do, has considered the short and long term consequences of the situation in Tironia, and has written the details to Kesar. The Primarch has considered that not only should the financing be shared by the Generals and Lord Commander Lasmin in a 65/35 split, due to the main onus being with the generals on the ground having performed the action but the Lord Commander's lax discipline allowing the opportunity, but that there should be the creation of the Imperial Restitution Fund out of a similar split to be used for future incidents such as this.
[X] Write-in: Oricarius, as he is won't to do, has considered the short and long term consequences of the situation in Tironia, and has written the details to Kesar. The Primarch has considered that not only should the financing be shared by the Generals and Lord Commander Lasmin in a 65/35 split, due to the main onus being with the generals on the ground having performed the action but the Lord Commander's lax discipline allowing the opportunity, but that there should be the creation of the Imperial Restitution Fund out of a similar split to be used for future incidents such as this.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Alright, looks like both write-in wins. Seems like the more ambitious options are a go. Well, that'll certainly lead to some interesting ramifications. Konrad is happy I will say.
- Location
- Elsewhere
And forgot to actually close voting.
When have I *not* been ambitious in this quest?
Yey
So how long until the shade religion begins to spread to the Sun Guard and Black Brigades and wherever any of the above get deployed to? ...Does the Ravenloft know about them yet?
- Location
- Elsewhere
A long time, the Black Brigaders are broken enough that trying to spread the religion to them would be difficult. And the Sun Guard do attempt to be non-religious in order to be able to deal with more cultures. Ravenloft does know of the Shades at this time.
Speaking of our auxillieries, are the antigians up and running? Because I'm wondering if it'd be worth pitching an expansion to some of our brothers, they help us pay for the expansion and we get them a proven aux unit that lets their legions keep steamrolling things harder for longer.
What about our witch hunters? Do we have some deployed with the other legions? Pretty sure the Vlka Fenryka would want to keep some around.
What about our witch hunters? Do we have some deployed with the other legions? Pretty sure the Vlka Fenryka would want to keep some around.
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- Location
- Elsewhere
1. They aren't, they're a fairly pricy unit to set up and would need time from a Primarch to properly setup
2. They're working on expanding to cover more planets, as well as recovering from losses during the Maelstrom Crusade
(No) Absence of Light
(No) Absence of Light
Kesar always felt a bit awkward when meeting the Shade leadership. Even after all these years, he had to remind himself that he was enshrined as a figure of direct worship. He was, in many instances, the one thing that Lorgar wished had happened to Father. All these years after his brother's passing, his toxic ideas lingered in Kesar's mind like a scar on his soul.
The Primarch didn't think anyone who gained such a reputation would ever truly feel comfortable with their "divinity." Yet he knew it was necessary. A proportional amount of validation was due. To do so otherwise would shatter their spirits and devalue their sacrifices, at least in his thinking.
Who was he to deny them that purpose, especially those who fought and died for him? Yes, he did have that "right," but the notion of condemning them over such a thing was only egregiously stupid; it was a death sentence. No amount of discomfort was worth such a ghastly solution.
Besides, they were good soldiers. Loyal soldiers.
If nothing else, Kesar didn't want to disappoint the Shades, especially after their contributions to the Wardens. When one weighs the issue of their faith versus their loyalty and dedication, even the most "devout" follower of the Imperial Truth would be reticent to cast aside, let alone deny their valor and skill.
And it was because of these distinctions that Kesar reached out to Madsten. This was a rare request due to how much time and effort he put into making the Shades as capable as possible, especially when keeping up with the Wardens or Imperial Army. Organizing an army was exhausting work for most humans. Madsten was no different in that regard, although his zeal and dedication provided the more than necessary motivation.
However, Kesar didn't need his zeal at the moment, but rather his advice and a recommendation. The recent decision to accept Konrad's Sun Guard into Warden's domain was expected to cause issues. Ori had already gone over the "potential" clashes with some aspects of the Imperial Army. While even the most pessimistic scenarios were well within acceptable levels of deaths, Kesar wanted to nip this issue in the bud.
To that order, Ori suggested then that the Sun Guard work alongside a capable and dedicated unit of the Warden's army auxiliary forces. Ori initially recommended the Nightwatch, but Kesar knew that wouldn't work due to differences in doctrine, force composition, and sizing. His First Captain then suggested the Shades.
"Their doctrines don't fit, but the Shades still the psychological profiling of being, at best, an extension of the Sun Guards' desire for effective and positive change in post-compliance operations. At worst, they will see the Shades as a group of overtly zealous soldiers. However, that is still far better than being associated with the Black Brigades."
Ori was always good at finding a balanced answer to just about everything, although it would be up to Kesar to determine if this was even viable. The Sun Guard and Shades were from radically different cultures. Kesar expected a few clashes on an ideological level, but Ori believed it would be only that. Actual physical fights weren't expected, but while psychological profiles said one thing, not everyone would fall into specific parameters.
Soldiers were still people, after all. However, Madsten ran a tight ship to use a Terran phrase, which was why Kesar was putting his hopes in that the old general could provide insight into the validity of this eye…but maybe even put forward a name to ensure that this can run smoothly without his oversight.
In some ways, this was another test for the Shades. Kesar had been putting off giving the Shades a bit more leeway and responsibility in post-compliance operations for fear of possible incidents caused by their zeal. A sharp sword was never amiss, but sometimes it need not always be used for war but for righteousness and order.
Just as Kesar wished to see the Sun Guard perform in action, so did he want to see the Shades work towards becoming more. For if nothing else, Kesar can give them the chance to build a better future for themselves via their own creations. Mayhaps that will require a few shrines built in his name, but there were undoubtedly worse sacrifices to be made by the Primarch.
A long time ago, on the planet Ranloth…
Today was going to be a good day, or so Major Aretia Durand thought to herself as she waited outside the office of the Councilor of War: Jaya Gretasdottir. Rarely did anyone of Aretia's rank get summoned by someone as powerful as a Councilor, but an exception must've been made for the major. A hopefully promising sign that her request for project approval had been granted!
Aretia must have been beaming the entire time, smiling with a bounce in her step. She recognized that must have been the case because of all the surprised and bemused looks she was getting from the nearby clerks and personnel. This was a monumental moment for her military career, after all. Especially since she was the first of her family to join the army since the days of the Hurar Imperial Army.
Her family had been part of the original pilgrim families that settled in the system, and anyone could tell her bloodline was tied to those of the ancient Scandian Coalition. However, the Durands hadn't been involved in the military since the collapse of the Hurar Empire. Most had refused to join the military might of the Fractured Conclave. That wasn't to say they hadn't contributed to the collective good of the conclave.
The Durands were builders and architects by trade. If anything, the Durands had a hand in building the infrastructure on multiple worlds, and her ancestors made most of the underground mag-rails and sewer systems on Ranloth. Her grandpa joked their family was responsible for ensuring all the filth in the capital got to where it needed to go, including all the shit.
She was proud of her lineage and their contributions to their people. Even with the ever-present threat of Ashani and psykers, the Durands kept building and fixing all the little things that worlds like Ranloth needed to keep everyone focused on what was most important. Unfortunately, times had gotten a bit rough for the Durands, and in particular Aretia.
"Major Durand." An aide approached with a look of caution, "The counselor will see you now."
"Excellent." Aretia grabbed her files. She had a lot to go over with the councilor. The aide was giving her a sideways glance.
"Is that everything you are bringing into the meeting?"
Aretia nodded, "Just about!" She felt her heart racing at the prospect of meeting one of the most influential people in the Conclave, "Is there anything I should know before I meet with her?"
"Oh, uh, yes." The aide looked at the files, "She has a hectic schedule…I would strongly suggest that you have several summaries ready. Additionally, please do not say anything about the scars."
Those sounded reasonable enough, "Very well, I understand." Aretia had long since learned the art of succinctly making her point or dumbing something down for others to understand. A pair of talents had gotten Aretia far enough in the conclave military.
The aide didn't seem too convinced but nodded, "Just keep that advice in mind, alright?" What an odd thing to say, but Aretia figured it was warranted. She, naturally, heard a few of the nasty rumors associated with Jaya Gretasdottir, but the major associated them with muckraking and backchannel bitching. Of course, Jaya had enemies. She held the highest position in the conclave military and took the army in different directions. Aretia hoped that same mindset was what their meeting was about, especially with her project.
As Aretia was escorted, she felt the atmosphere and mood change upon reaching a checkpoint where a group of guards effectively frisked her for any weapons or technology on her. Nothing new there…that was until she reached the second checkpoint.
Then the third and fourth. Aretia understood that security was necessary for the Councilor, but this was ridiculous. Moreover, she didn't appreciate how some guards took their time when "sweeping" her for bombs or weapons. Was it all necessary after the second time? It was only after the meeting concluded that Aretia would realize that all of this was designed to disorient and frustrate anyone who planned on meeting with Jaya. All to ensure that Jaya was always calm and prepared while, in the meanwhile, everyone else was flustered.
When Aretia finally got to the office, her excitement returned, along with a bit of nervousness over the meeting. However, the major was still confident. All she had to do was make a convincing pitch.
Another set of guards at the door scanned her one last time before she was allowed to enter the office of the Councilor of War. Stepping inside, Aretia was surprised to see how…ostentatious it was. The exquisite painting hanging above the office mantle probably cost Aretia's entire salary for the year…let alone the rug, vases, wooden desk, and other items of interest. No surprise that the councilors made a lot of money, but this was something else. Even the Durands at their height were considered "rich," but this screamed "lavishly wealthy" than anything.
Sitting behind a desk that looked ancient was Jaya Gretasdottir. The councilor of war hadn't looked up from some paperwork before idly remarking, "Have a seat, major."
Obeying the command, Aretia quickly took a seat and then patiently waited. It was odd because, in most instances, a commanding officer would've offered some idle chit-chat or asked if she wanted some recaff or tea. Sometimes, an officer might even be forced to sit through a boring lecture about one thing or another.
Instead, there was only silence. For about five minutes, Aretia waited and waited until finally, the councilor of war looked up. The aid wasn't kidding about the scars on Jaya's face, but Aretia didn't pay much attention to it.
"I ordered you here to go over your little project," She looked over a stack of files and then grabbed one with the words "CRESTMANTLE" adorned on it. Aretia perked up now and felt anticipation. "Let me start by saying that this is certainly an ambitious idea. Most of your peers in Department Black are focused on developing new weapon systems that no one can afford or that we don't even need. Yet here you are…coming up with an entirely new foundation of logistical maintenance and transportation."
Aretia could've sworn that was a tiny hint of praise in the councilor's words. Project Crestmantle wasn't exactly a "sexy" project compared to others, but its rewards could revolutionize early warning readiness and expediency for military endeavors across the whole of the conclave. The reality was that if the conclave had to go into total mobilization, it would take months to get their forces ready, let alone adequately equipped or fueled in time. Ashani forbid they had to raise additional MTFs on a moment's notice.
In Aretia's mind, this could even be seen as revitalizing the conclave workforce and providing jobs for hundreds of millions. Restoring confidence while strengthening the reach of their forces, especially to stop any possible invaders or psykers.
"Yes, that is correct, councilor." Aretia reached for the top file of her stack of documents, "I think if you look over the numbers, you'll be pleased with how much we can save and-"
"It's been denied, major Durand." Jaya tossed the file on her desk, "The other councilors don't think it worthwhile, and I have to agree."
Ashani herself could've announced her presence at that moment, which still wouldn't have removed the stinging disappointment and embarrassment that welled up in Aretia's heart, "I…I don't understand?"
"What is there to understand?" The counselor seemed almost disappointed, "All you brought forward was some insipid concept that has been done to death through multiple administrations already. You aren't the first to come up with this." The more she drove the proverbial knife into Aretia's heart, the more major started to realize why her colleagues and peers seemed so amused over her summons now. They knew what was going to happen. Maybe a few of them wanted her to learn a hard lesson from a soft blow, but then again, they also wanted to see her getting humiliated for her hubris.
Be that as it may, Aretia still tried to argue her case, "I spent two years crunching the numbers, heading on-site to multiple locations across the conclave, and even communicating with other civil and military engineers on the viability of Crestmantle." Saying that aloud made the Major think of how much time she dedicated to something now going down in flames. "I know this can work, it just needs the funding and political approval for it, and the amount of money isn't an issue." The whole project would cost the same amount for several void stations, so not exactly what you'd call chump change. However, the return value would be almost ten times its initial cost.
Jaya only shrugged, "What can I say? The political capital and willpower just aren't there. And good luck convincing the other Councilors." Aretia heard genuine frustration, "Such is the way things work here. Besides…I'm doing you a favor. You do not want to be put in the middle of any political shitshow this would create."
The younger woman blinked at such a blunt remark, "Doing me a…" Aretia trailed off, realizing that the Councilor wouldn't do anything else. "I see." A distant part of her wondered if this was some sort of joke or perhaps a test, but Aretia knew that wasn't the case. Jaya Gretasdottir was infamous for having no sense of humor. Arguing with her was also pointless, especially as she was still Aretia's commanding officer.
So that was it…Project Crestmantle died without even a second guess.
"In any case," Jaya remarked before leaning back into her chair, "I have something else in mind for you." She gave Aretia a somewhat bored look, "Because while your project is dead in the water, it still has remarkable potential, especially as your designs were nothing short of impressive. Your family's legacy seems to be holding true even after everything that has happened to our great nation."
Aretia blinked at the sudden praise, "Thank you, Councilor." There was no telling how many honest compliments Jaya Gretasdottir gave in a single year, but Aretia imagined it could be counted on one hand. "What did you have in mind, though?"
Jaya smirked like a cat that just caught a mouse and reached for another folder, "Before I go into too much detail, this is highly classified, and I cannot stress this last part, potentially hazardous due to the exact nature of this specific project. However, I can promise you certain allowances and benefits for accepting this assignment. The rewards for those who participate in this grand endeavor, those worthy of the position." Jaya gave Aretia a scrutinizing glare, "Do you understand?"
For some reason, a small part of Aretia felt like this was a bad idea. However, Jaya was the Councilor of War and a servant of the Conclave in her own way. Everything she did, she did for the good of humanity and to stop threats like Ashani.
"I understand."
Jaya didn't look too convinced, "Do you? Hmm…" The Councilor looked conflicted on the matter before speaking up, "Strange that you are so readily prepared to go on this unknown undertaking…I seem to recall you have a son, yes?"
Aretia slowly nodded, wondering where this was going, "Yes…Erik." She hadn't seen him since he was three. Erik was five years old now. "He's staying with my family here on Ranloth."
"Most people want to spend time with their children, especially after being away for so long." The scars on Jaya's face made her glare a bit more intimidating, "Although when I did a background check on you, it looked like you had no partner. Meaning you are a single mother on top of a career woman. I don't know if such a project needs someone that is…well, conflicted on what their priorities might be."
Though Aretia didn't show it on her face, her fists tightened at such an insinuation. The sad reality was that such a topic was incredibly uncomfortable and challenging for her. Try as it might, the conclave military tended to look down upon those with "familial obligations or attachments" that would've stopped them from doing what was necessary. And considering that no one was spared from the risk of their children becoming psykers…one had to be ready to submit to the greater good of their nation.
Beyond that, there was still a stigma attached to single mothers. No doubt, Jaya also looked down at Aretia, either thinking her a whore, unable to hold a successful marriage, or simply too young or attached to her child. A bad reputation for female officers in any military. Considering just how cutthroat the Conclave could be, any perceived weakness was to be exploited no matter how superfluous or callous it might be.
Aretia, however, needed this. She wouldn't let her career get destroyed because of this, but she wouldn't let this further ruin her relationship with Erik and her family. To hell with what others thought; a little obstruction and politicking wouldn't stop Aretia.
"It won't be an issue." Aretia explained calmly, "The Durands are a family that has always contributed to the greater good of our people and government. Naturally, certain sacrifices have to be made, but we live in the shadow of evil and destruction. Besides, I will not let certain preconceived notions stop me from my military ascension."
Jaya looked only a little surprised, "So you are prepared to distant yourself from your family and son?"
Aretia shook her head, "Perish the thought!" She gave the Councilor a slight smirk, "You wouldn't want someone that would abandon their family anyway. If I was willing to do that to flesh and blood, I would have no loyalty to my superiors, yes? No, I will make whatever you have in mind work without having to abandon my ties." There wasn't much else she could do or say at that moment to convince Jaya otherwise.
"Very well…" The Councilor of War didn't look happy with the answer, but she did look satisfied with it, "If you wish to have such impediments, so be it. Just as long as I get results from you."
The folder in Jaya's hands opened, "What am I about to tell you is to never leave this room or any future briefings. This shouldn't surprise you, but failure to keep this information secret will result in execution. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Aretia knew this song and dance, "I understand."
Jaya placed the folder down in front of the Major. The words "Top Secret: SALVATION" appeared at the top. There was barely any information or details, but Aretia saw that it was related to the Black Towers, the psyker prisons.
Aretia's eyes widened, "Ashani, show mercy…" Even with that small epitaph, she reached forward and started reading the documents, "Just what exactly is this project supposed to do, and where do I fit into this?"
"We will make a specific facility designed to hold an emergency response device and force in the event the Black Towers completely fail." Jaya had a grim look on her face, "But first…we need to get this facility built. We need it built fast, effectively, and within a set cost limit."
"And you want me to be part of the project?"
Jaya laughed, "Major, I expect you to helm it. If you take this assignment, it will be your focus for the next ten years at the minimum. You'll be given an instant promotion to Colonel, salary increase, a choice of property, get your own task force, and so on."
A veritable king's ransom for someone as young as Aretia. "This is a bit too good to be true. What exactly is expected of me once I take command?"
"Besides from living within a distance of the Black Towers? You will still need to train and lead a response force. In time you could even be given command of your own MTF. Additionally, you will need to be my eyes and ears and my hand in matters about this project. I will slowly bring you into the fold regarding the politics of the Conclave."
It was almost like the Councilor was trying to take on an apprentice or something. Aretia doubted it was that, though. More than likely, she didn't want Aretia to cause any political issues when her peers came around to ask about Project Salvation. Everything about this situation still sends up red flags, but what other option did Aretia have?
"Now then," Jaya seemed impatient for an answer, "Are you in?" Such a blunt and unprofessional response. Once again, it made Aretia think about just who she was allying with now.
"Of course." Aretia didn't show any hesitation. That was too dangerous in this instance anyway, perhaps even deadly. "When do I start?"
Current time, on the Vigilance…
Kesar liked interacting with Madsten. The man had long since become accustomed to being in the presence of a "god" like Kesar. Naturally, the awe and devotion were still there, but it was tempered and seconded to a professional demeanor expected of a seasoned general.
What made him so fascinating to the Primarch was that Madsten shunned unnecessary ceremony. He hated the fanfare other generals expected from the rank and file and their peers. He even absconded from staying longer most of the time, although it clearly pained Madsten to do so; the man had a work ethic that rivaled Ori.
"The Warp won't wait for me." He once remarked to Kesar, and perhaps there was also a feeling of dread, one born of knowledge and self-awareness. Someday Madsten would perish, either in battle or from old age. Thankfully the man still had plenty of centuries left him, and Madsten was too stubborn and spiteful to die. If only Kesar had an entire officer corps of men and women with the same discipline and devotion, maybe that blasted Rune World would be completed by now.
Pushing that aside, Madsten would arrive onboard the Vigilance without much fanfare, make a straight line to the Primarchs office, and report as instructed. To be fair, Kesar had made his summons a priority. So Madsten arriving only a few weeks after receiving the message was good for both of them.
"Lord Dorlin," Madsten Bosson stood proudly before his god, "Pray forgive my tardiness, but the warp remains a fickle thing when it isn't a hellscape. Our ships sail without hindrance, yet even a single squall could cause days of delay."
The Primarch nodded, "The Warp has been fickle as you say, although thankfully it remains relatively tame and cowed."
"I suppose we can thank you for that," Madsten remarked factually, "The Warp fears you, rightfully so."
"Fear sadly does not make for faster warp transitions." Kesar half-joked, "Any case, please, have a seat, general." Gesturing towards one of the human-sized leather chairs, Madsten calmly took a seat. As he sat down, the Primarch saw the man wince, "Sore?"
Madsten nodded, "Astute of you," He grimaced and gently rubbed his right leg, "Even after all these years of getting back into my conditioning, there are some aches that never go away, a trait found only in aging soldiers."
"You aren't that old, Madsten."
The general laughed, "I feel old sometimes." He paused for a second, "No, the soreness is just a symptom of…everything I've been through, before and after the rebellion. I might not always be on the field, but I still need to keep up with the rookies."
"And your officers." Kesar commented, "Truth be told, I was hoping to ask about them…"
Madsten looked a little concerned, "Oh dear, don't tell me one of them is causing an issue?"
"No, nothing of the sort." The Primarch tried a different approach, "This isn't a private reprimanding. Rather, I need your assistance in picking out a particular officer from among the Shades."
Looking relieved, Madsten quickly nodded, "You need only ask, Lord. But while I don't begrudging you coming directly towards me, surely you didn't need my advice on who to pick…unless it's for a specific position that you feel might require a more delicate touch."
Kesar smirked and nodded, "How astute of you," He joked by throwing back Madsten's line from earlier, "Yes…I have a particular mission in mind; thus, I need a commander who embodies all that is good in the Shades. That eagerness and dedication towards destroying our enemies, yet their touch and personality must be tempered and tested."
"You'll find plenty of commanders among our ranks that fulfill that criteria to a certain extent." He started before frowning, "However, we both know what makes the Shades so dangerous is their indomitable spirit and resolve. That fire in their hearts and souls is why our enemies are intimidated by their presence."
Kesar nodded, then frowned, "But sadly, that also intimidates or makes our allies uncomfortable. I need someone among the Shades that can extol the virtues and control the zealous parts."
"Is this about the Sun Guard?" Madsten leaned forward to get a better look at the Primarch, "It is, isn't it? You want the Shades to be…what, hosts to them?"
"Representatives." Kesar gently corrected, "Outside regiments, especially this one, tend to frown at what steps must be taken to achieve our mission." It was bloody work, but all necessary actions regarding the threat of Chaos had to be carried out. "The Shades are fiery souls, yes, but they are well-disciplined and are friendly enough."
Madsten was thinking, "But you want someone capable of working with other regiments?" He frowned for a moment, "My options are somewhat limited, and those that might fit that criterion are already involved in crucial tasks. If I could, I'd have Girish and Herjun take over, but those two are focused on training our reinforcements and procurement of specific materials, which has become a significant workload."
Those procurement reports were quite interesting. The Shades seemed intent on developing their brand of fast attack vehicles and troop transports. So far, though, Madsten was intent on just getting troops additional armor and weapons before all else. Regardless, this was still an issue as it meant that most of the Shade's leadership was already tasked. Taking away even one of them could result in organizational or leadership problems.
Kesar hated thinking he'd need to find someone outside the Shades for this position, especially after meeting Madsten. The last thing the Primarch wanted was to cause a misunderstanding over such a reason.
As he thought about it a little more, Kesar had another idea, "Is there anyone back in the Fractured Conclave that could fulfill this position?"
Unfortunately, Madsten shook his head, "No, sadly, everyone from the Enshaden Rebellion is already with us; there isn't anyone-" Suddenly, Madsten stopped, and then his eyes widened, "Wait…wait, no…I think I might have someone."
Well, this was a fortuitous turn of events, "You remembered someone then?"
"Yes…" Madsten looked almost ashamed, "I can't believe I forgot about Aretia! It's been so long since she left, though." A small sigh escaped him, "Really am getting old if I'm forgetting people like her now."
"Who is this, Aretia, and why isn't she here with you and the Shades?" If this woman was just as dedicated to the cause as Madsten, why wouldn't she have come with the main force? So many volunteers came from the conclave that a hold would have to be placed for new recruits.
Madsten looked a bit ashamed, "Aretia Durand was…technically is a general of the Conclave Civil Defense; or what we all used to call CivDef. Before the rebellion, she was part of an old family that helped build many cities and critical infrastructure on Ranloth. The last Councilor of War, Jaya Gretasdottir, warp curse her name, got her tendrils into Aretia early on."
How fascinating, "Why was that exactly?"
"Aretia is a good commander, but she isn't the best. However, her strengths lie in two aspects; authenticity and engineering." The Primarch was surprised to hear such a strange descriptor. "I'm saying she's a good soul and a genius in building things."
That was all well and good, certainly high praise from Madsten, but Kesar was concerned about a few things, "Yet that doesn't explain why she is not with you and your officers. Is she not part of the Shades?"
"Aretia is most certainly with the Shades but is working with the Imperial Army directly," Madsten nodded, "Let me be clear, her devotion is unwavering, and she believes in our duty; nevertheless, Aretia is haunted by certain events that occurred before and after the rebellion."
Kesar figured plenty among the Fractured Conclave felt such grief or regret. A civil war, even when wholly justified, pitted a people against one another. What exactly happened caused her to distance herself from the Shades.
"Explain."
Madsten grimaced, "Aretia built the facility that would house the Salvation Device, although she didn't know that was what it was made for." Now that got Kesar's attention. The facility which held the device was an extensive and professionally crafted military base. "The galaxy played a cruel joke on her. Most of the Durands were all killed when Ashani broke containment. Save for Aretia and her son, who had been off-world."
"I see…"
"What makes this cruel is when you examine what the Salvation Device intended to do…and then you realize that even Ashani had simply done nothing and not killed everyone, all those people, including Aretia's family, would've all died anyway. Those bastards on the council would've ordered its activation regardless of circumstances." Madsten looked disgusted, "So many lies…we all should've seen them for what they were, but I think we were lost in a haze of apathy. Yet, for Aretia, she was a believer. And when you heard her talk about all the good work that she had done, you almost could've thought that maybe there was a chance for us."
He paused and shook his head, "But none of us could've stopped the evil that had taken root in our nation. When we all came face to face with what PubOr had done, or cleansing reports came to light, or saw just how much destruction the Grey Boots caused…some of us tried to hold out hope that the council would find the courage to do the right thing and accept that they had gone too far. There had to be justice, not a reckoning. Not yet, at least."
Kesar knew such individuals would not be so self-aware or willing to give up what they had "built" in their time. "And was Aretia in all of this?"
"Ranloth." Madsten answered as he concentrated, "Most of the fighting was taking place outside the cities. A cadre of generals and other officers held key infrastructure and the spaceports. Aretia was in charge of Port Gerold, one of the biggest logistical centers. I don't recall what happened to her after she finished building the facility for the Salvation Device, but I do remember that she had fallen into a depression after what happened with Ashani. Her entire family, and her life's work, were reduced to nothing. The worst was yet to come, though. She hadn't been told what the Salvation Device was, so she left in the dark until her son contacted her and told her."
"Her son told her the truth?" Kesar almost winced at hearing that. He couldn't begin to imagine how that conversation went, but the Primarch imagined it didn't end well between the two of them, "I see…"
"It gets worse," Madsten spoke grimly, "Her son was captured by Grey Boots. Jaya thought Aretia was part of a conspiracy, working with either a separate group or with me or the Shades. She almost went when they demanded that she come before the council or what was left of it. However, I sent a message to her just hours before, and whatever I said must have gotten to her. Aretia didn't go…she stayed with forces, all utterly loyal to her, and simply waited for the council's response."
"And?"
"Brought her son on live pict. The poor bastard looked beaten and tortured. I can't imagine what was going through Aretia's mind. Her son was the only light left in her life. Yet, we all know what would happen after he finished talking…taken out back and shot like a dog in the street, just like so many others…." Madsten stopped for a moment, "But then he did something…one final act of courage that made me and I think Aretia realize that our rebellion was righteous."
As if trying to replicate the scene, Madsten held his arms out, "Erikson got this glimmer of fire in his eyes. It was like everything in life had prepared him for this moment. He reached forward and grabbed the mic like a man possessed and started yelling, 'they made me say this, they are losing, the Shades are winning, the warp can bleed, and for all of us to keep fighting,' and the PubOr idiots barely had time to cut off the transmission."
Kesar slowly nodded, "One last act of defiance…"
"No," Madsten shook his head, "One last act of love. Aretia knew her son died after that transmission, but he died with dignity. His death cleansed her soul and heart, tragic as that sounds. An hour after that transmission, she ordered her forces to start fortifying the port, and she was declared open rebellion alongside our Shades. The Grey Boot armies were repulsed nine times. Idiots attacking combat and civil engineer-designed fortification. By the time I arrived, a small mountain of bodies was seen. All of them our enemies."
"And in all of this, she found her faith?" What caused her to become so invested in the Shade faith then?
"She did," Madsten nodded again, "But those are questions you must ask Aretia, my lord, for they are her answers."
"I will take that under advisement." A brief look into this woman's mindset, although Kesar still wasn't sure if this was the right pick for the job. "Can you arrange for her to come and meet me?"
"Easily," Madsten answered, "She will be more than happy too. If anything, she's probably a bit tired from building forts and supply depots for the Imperial Army out in the middle of nowhere…"
"Madsten," Kesar interjected, "Is she capable of leading this assignment?" A builder of fortifications and infrastructure was one thing, but this task required someone capable of building ties between men and women of different mindsets and ideologies.
He thought about the Primarchs question for a moment, "The Sun Guard wants to build a better galaxy via words and actions? Well, Aretia wanted to do the same once. She understands the hurdles and obstacles that come with trying to achieve that dream and the pain of failure that can come with it. Her love and faith are similar to our own but tempered and strengthened from a different source." A sad smile graced his face, "The lights of her life were snuffed out, yet while they are gone, there is no darkness in her soul. I know that sounds a bit strange, but you'll understand when you speak to her at length. Aretia sees what she calls the "Great Work" ahead of us. And she's right…there is much work to be done."
"Hmm…" Kesar said nothing else on the matter. The conversation about Aretia promptly ended after that and returned to other issues related to the Shades and future projects that lay in store ahead of them. The entire meeting took almost four hours before Kesar dismissed Madsten. By this point, the Primarch was left with his thoughts on the matter.
The truth was that Kesar wasn't entirely convinced on this, Aretia Durand. A general specializing only in building and whose tragic past could reflect her ability to command could present a liability. Indeed, there were better options when one leveled other individuals against such demerits.
Yet he began to understand this woman much more deeply once he received the file on General Durand from the Shades back in the Conclave and the Imperial Army. Aretia was a dedicated officer, a certified genius, and an overall capable commander, just as Madsten said she was. Yet what stood out to Kesar was her assignment requests and her accomplishments.
Successfully building entire cities and infrastructure on devastated worlds, redirecting supplies from nearby systems, negotiating with guilds, Mechanicum, and third parties for aid, and a general focus on reconciliation with rebuilding efforts. He was honestly more surprised at not hearing about her sooner, but the Imperial Army didn't nearly reward "peacekeepers" as they did conquerors and military heroes. There were undoubtedly a few complaints against her, primarily due to her "strange" veneration of the Golden Path. Yet Aretia still had made more than a few powerful friends in her time since joining the Imperial Army. Someone always enjoyed another doing all the tedious but necessary work for them.
While reviewing the files, he saw a rather fascinating pair of pictures. One from the Conclave, detailing Aretia's file when she was just assigned to Project Salvation, a portrait of a young Colonel Durand, full of life, hope, and excitement. How often had Kesar seen so many young officers become apathetic before dying? Age and despair eating away at their very souls?
The second photo…well, something about it confused Kesar. The woman staring back at him was…old. Old in the sense that war and tragedy had taken away their youth and vitality. More often than not, you could tell even from a photo when someone had dead eyes. A classic sign of trauma and apathy.
Yet, in this photo, Kesar saw something else. A woman who had seen and lost much held her head high through it all. You don't see that much in just a photo, but some could give off that aura. A tempered spirit, but one that hadn't been broken, only made stronger in the end.
Kesar contemplated what Madsten had said, "No darkness in her soul, only an unseen light…" A peculiar individual, if nothing else. Well, the Primarch was too interested to not have his meeting with General Durand now. If nothing else, he'd want to hear more about the Great Work expected of her and the others. There was a great work ahead of the galaxy and the Eternal Wardens.
That much was he was certain of now.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, posted.
Not the biggest fan of how I did this omake, and I had a lot more interesting plans and ideas for it, but like all things I've been getting a bit more distracted with shit and other ideas rolling around in my head. I just wanted to get this posted before Daemon flys off for an entire week.
"Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you." - Saint Augustine.
"We all sacrificed and lost something in the Enshaden Rebellion. Some more than others. Yet we also gained so much more because of it." - Madsten Bosson.
"I've always been good with my hands and mind when building things. So this time, this time, I will do some good." - Aretia Durand.
"We all sacrificed and lost something in the Enshaden Rebellion. Some more than others. Yet we also gained so much more because of it." - Madsten Bosson.
"I've always been good with my hands and mind when building things. So this time, this time, I will do some good." - Aretia Durand.
Kesar always felt a bit awkward when meeting the Shade leadership. Even after all these years, he had to remind himself that he was enshrined as a figure of direct worship. He was, in many instances, the one thing that Lorgar wished had happened to Father. All these years after his brother's passing, his toxic ideas lingered in Kesar's mind like a scar on his soul.
The Primarch didn't think anyone who gained such a reputation would ever truly feel comfortable with their "divinity." Yet he knew it was necessary. A proportional amount of validation was due. To do so otherwise would shatter their spirits and devalue their sacrifices, at least in his thinking.
Who was he to deny them that purpose, especially those who fought and died for him? Yes, he did have that "right," but the notion of condemning them over such a thing was only egregiously stupid; it was a death sentence. No amount of discomfort was worth such a ghastly solution.
Besides, they were good soldiers. Loyal soldiers.
If nothing else, Kesar didn't want to disappoint the Shades, especially after their contributions to the Wardens. When one weighs the issue of their faith versus their loyalty and dedication, even the most "devout" follower of the Imperial Truth would be reticent to cast aside, let alone deny their valor and skill.
And it was because of these distinctions that Kesar reached out to Madsten. This was a rare request due to how much time and effort he put into making the Shades as capable as possible, especially when keeping up with the Wardens or Imperial Army. Organizing an army was exhausting work for most humans. Madsten was no different in that regard, although his zeal and dedication provided the more than necessary motivation.
However, Kesar didn't need his zeal at the moment, but rather his advice and a recommendation. The recent decision to accept Konrad's Sun Guard into Warden's domain was expected to cause issues. Ori had already gone over the "potential" clashes with some aspects of the Imperial Army. While even the most pessimistic scenarios were well within acceptable levels of deaths, Kesar wanted to nip this issue in the bud.
To that order, Ori suggested then that the Sun Guard work alongside a capable and dedicated unit of the Warden's army auxiliary forces. Ori initially recommended the Nightwatch, but Kesar knew that wouldn't work due to differences in doctrine, force composition, and sizing. His First Captain then suggested the Shades.
"Their doctrines don't fit, but the Shades still the psychological profiling of being, at best, an extension of the Sun Guards' desire for effective and positive change in post-compliance operations. At worst, they will see the Shades as a group of overtly zealous soldiers. However, that is still far better than being associated with the Black Brigades."
Ori was always good at finding a balanced answer to just about everything, although it would be up to Kesar to determine if this was even viable. The Sun Guard and Shades were from radically different cultures. Kesar expected a few clashes on an ideological level, but Ori believed it would be only that. Actual physical fights weren't expected, but while psychological profiles said one thing, not everyone would fall into specific parameters.
Soldiers were still people, after all. However, Madsten ran a tight ship to use a Terran phrase, which was why Kesar was putting his hopes in that the old general could provide insight into the validity of this eye…but maybe even put forward a name to ensure that this can run smoothly without his oversight.
In some ways, this was another test for the Shades. Kesar had been putting off giving the Shades a bit more leeway and responsibility in post-compliance operations for fear of possible incidents caused by their zeal. A sharp sword was never amiss, but sometimes it need not always be used for war but for righteousness and order.
Just as Kesar wished to see the Sun Guard perform in action, so did he want to see the Shades work towards becoming more. For if nothing else, Kesar can give them the chance to build a better future for themselves via their own creations. Mayhaps that will require a few shrines built in his name, but there were undoubtedly worse sacrifices to be made by the Primarch.
A long time ago, on the planet Ranloth…
Today was going to be a good day, or so Major Aretia Durand thought to herself as she waited outside the office of the Councilor of War: Jaya Gretasdottir. Rarely did anyone of Aretia's rank get summoned by someone as powerful as a Councilor, but an exception must've been made for the major. A hopefully promising sign that her request for project approval had been granted!
Aretia must have been beaming the entire time, smiling with a bounce in her step. She recognized that must have been the case because of all the surprised and bemused looks she was getting from the nearby clerks and personnel. This was a monumental moment for her military career, after all. Especially since she was the first of her family to join the army since the days of the Hurar Imperial Army.
Her family had been part of the original pilgrim families that settled in the system, and anyone could tell her bloodline was tied to those of the ancient Scandian Coalition. However, the Durands hadn't been involved in the military since the collapse of the Hurar Empire. Most had refused to join the military might of the Fractured Conclave. That wasn't to say they hadn't contributed to the collective good of the conclave.
The Durands were builders and architects by trade. If anything, the Durands had a hand in building the infrastructure on multiple worlds, and her ancestors made most of the underground mag-rails and sewer systems on Ranloth. Her grandpa joked their family was responsible for ensuring all the filth in the capital got to where it needed to go, including all the shit.
She was proud of her lineage and their contributions to their people. Even with the ever-present threat of Ashani and psykers, the Durands kept building and fixing all the little things that worlds like Ranloth needed to keep everyone focused on what was most important. Unfortunately, times had gotten a bit rough for the Durands, and in particular Aretia.
"Major Durand." An aide approached with a look of caution, "The counselor will see you now."
"Excellent." Aretia grabbed her files. She had a lot to go over with the councilor. The aide was giving her a sideways glance.
"Is that everything you are bringing into the meeting?"
Aretia nodded, "Just about!" She felt her heart racing at the prospect of meeting one of the most influential people in the Conclave, "Is there anything I should know before I meet with her?"
"Oh, uh, yes." The aide looked at the files, "She has a hectic schedule…I would strongly suggest that you have several summaries ready. Additionally, please do not say anything about the scars."
Those sounded reasonable enough, "Very well, I understand." Aretia had long since learned the art of succinctly making her point or dumbing something down for others to understand. A pair of talents had gotten Aretia far enough in the conclave military.
The aide didn't seem too convinced but nodded, "Just keep that advice in mind, alright?" What an odd thing to say, but Aretia figured it was warranted. She, naturally, heard a few of the nasty rumors associated with Jaya Gretasdottir, but the major associated them with muckraking and backchannel bitching. Of course, Jaya had enemies. She held the highest position in the conclave military and took the army in different directions. Aretia hoped that same mindset was what their meeting was about, especially with her project.
As Aretia was escorted, she felt the atmosphere and mood change upon reaching a checkpoint where a group of guards effectively frisked her for any weapons or technology on her. Nothing new there…that was until she reached the second checkpoint.
Then the third and fourth. Aretia understood that security was necessary for the Councilor, but this was ridiculous. Moreover, she didn't appreciate how some guards took their time when "sweeping" her for bombs or weapons. Was it all necessary after the second time? It was only after the meeting concluded that Aretia would realize that all of this was designed to disorient and frustrate anyone who planned on meeting with Jaya. All to ensure that Jaya was always calm and prepared while, in the meanwhile, everyone else was flustered.
When Aretia finally got to the office, her excitement returned, along with a bit of nervousness over the meeting. However, the major was still confident. All she had to do was make a convincing pitch.
Another set of guards at the door scanned her one last time before she was allowed to enter the office of the Councilor of War. Stepping inside, Aretia was surprised to see how…ostentatious it was. The exquisite painting hanging above the office mantle probably cost Aretia's entire salary for the year…let alone the rug, vases, wooden desk, and other items of interest. No surprise that the councilors made a lot of money, but this was something else. Even the Durands at their height were considered "rich," but this screamed "lavishly wealthy" than anything.
Sitting behind a desk that looked ancient was Jaya Gretasdottir. The councilor of war hadn't looked up from some paperwork before idly remarking, "Have a seat, major."
Obeying the command, Aretia quickly took a seat and then patiently waited. It was odd because, in most instances, a commanding officer would've offered some idle chit-chat or asked if she wanted some recaff or tea. Sometimes, an officer might even be forced to sit through a boring lecture about one thing or another.
Instead, there was only silence. For about five minutes, Aretia waited and waited until finally, the councilor of war looked up. The aid wasn't kidding about the scars on Jaya's face, but Aretia didn't pay much attention to it.
"I ordered you here to go over your little project," She looked over a stack of files and then grabbed one with the words "CRESTMANTLE" adorned on it. Aretia perked up now and felt anticipation. "Let me start by saying that this is certainly an ambitious idea. Most of your peers in Department Black are focused on developing new weapon systems that no one can afford or that we don't even need. Yet here you are…coming up with an entirely new foundation of logistical maintenance and transportation."
Aretia could've sworn that was a tiny hint of praise in the councilor's words. Project Crestmantle wasn't exactly a "sexy" project compared to others, but its rewards could revolutionize early warning readiness and expediency for military endeavors across the whole of the conclave. The reality was that if the conclave had to go into total mobilization, it would take months to get their forces ready, let alone adequately equipped or fueled in time. Ashani forbid they had to raise additional MTFs on a moment's notice.
In Aretia's mind, this could even be seen as revitalizing the conclave workforce and providing jobs for hundreds of millions. Restoring confidence while strengthening the reach of their forces, especially to stop any possible invaders or psykers.
"Yes, that is correct, councilor." Aretia reached for the top file of her stack of documents, "I think if you look over the numbers, you'll be pleased with how much we can save and-"
"It's been denied, major Durand." Jaya tossed the file on her desk, "The other councilors don't think it worthwhile, and I have to agree."
Ashani herself could've announced her presence at that moment, which still wouldn't have removed the stinging disappointment and embarrassment that welled up in Aretia's heart, "I…I don't understand?"
"What is there to understand?" The counselor seemed almost disappointed, "All you brought forward was some insipid concept that has been done to death through multiple administrations already. You aren't the first to come up with this." The more she drove the proverbial knife into Aretia's heart, the more major started to realize why her colleagues and peers seemed so amused over her summons now. They knew what was going to happen. Maybe a few of them wanted her to learn a hard lesson from a soft blow, but then again, they also wanted to see her getting humiliated for her hubris.
Be that as it may, Aretia still tried to argue her case, "I spent two years crunching the numbers, heading on-site to multiple locations across the conclave, and even communicating with other civil and military engineers on the viability of Crestmantle." Saying that aloud made the Major think of how much time she dedicated to something now going down in flames. "I know this can work, it just needs the funding and political approval for it, and the amount of money isn't an issue." The whole project would cost the same amount for several void stations, so not exactly what you'd call chump change. However, the return value would be almost ten times its initial cost.
Jaya only shrugged, "What can I say? The political capital and willpower just aren't there. And good luck convincing the other Councilors." Aretia heard genuine frustration, "Such is the way things work here. Besides…I'm doing you a favor. You do not want to be put in the middle of any political shitshow this would create."
The younger woman blinked at such a blunt remark, "Doing me a…" Aretia trailed off, realizing that the Councilor wouldn't do anything else. "I see." A distant part of her wondered if this was some sort of joke or perhaps a test, but Aretia knew that wasn't the case. Jaya Gretasdottir was infamous for having no sense of humor. Arguing with her was also pointless, especially as she was still Aretia's commanding officer.
So that was it…Project Crestmantle died without even a second guess.
"In any case," Jaya remarked before leaning back into her chair, "I have something else in mind for you." She gave Aretia a somewhat bored look, "Because while your project is dead in the water, it still has remarkable potential, especially as your designs were nothing short of impressive. Your family's legacy seems to be holding true even after everything that has happened to our great nation."
Aretia blinked at the sudden praise, "Thank you, Councilor." There was no telling how many honest compliments Jaya Gretasdottir gave in a single year, but Aretia imagined it could be counted on one hand. "What did you have in mind, though?"
Jaya smirked like a cat that just caught a mouse and reached for another folder, "Before I go into too much detail, this is highly classified, and I cannot stress this last part, potentially hazardous due to the exact nature of this specific project. However, I can promise you certain allowances and benefits for accepting this assignment. The rewards for those who participate in this grand endeavor, those worthy of the position." Jaya gave Aretia a scrutinizing glare, "Do you understand?"
For some reason, a small part of Aretia felt like this was a bad idea. However, Jaya was the Councilor of War and a servant of the Conclave in her own way. Everything she did, she did for the good of humanity and to stop threats like Ashani.
"I understand."
Jaya didn't look too convinced, "Do you? Hmm…" The Councilor looked conflicted on the matter before speaking up, "Strange that you are so readily prepared to go on this unknown undertaking…I seem to recall you have a son, yes?"
Aretia slowly nodded, wondering where this was going, "Yes…Erik." She hadn't seen him since he was three. Erik was five years old now. "He's staying with my family here on Ranloth."
"Most people want to spend time with their children, especially after being away for so long." The scars on Jaya's face made her glare a bit more intimidating, "Although when I did a background check on you, it looked like you had no partner. Meaning you are a single mother on top of a career woman. I don't know if such a project needs someone that is…well, conflicted on what their priorities might be."
Though Aretia didn't show it on her face, her fists tightened at such an insinuation. The sad reality was that such a topic was incredibly uncomfortable and challenging for her. Try as it might, the conclave military tended to look down upon those with "familial obligations or attachments" that would've stopped them from doing what was necessary. And considering that no one was spared from the risk of their children becoming psykers…one had to be ready to submit to the greater good of their nation.
Beyond that, there was still a stigma attached to single mothers. No doubt, Jaya also looked down at Aretia, either thinking her a whore, unable to hold a successful marriage, or simply too young or attached to her child. A bad reputation for female officers in any military. Considering just how cutthroat the Conclave could be, any perceived weakness was to be exploited no matter how superfluous or callous it might be.
Aretia, however, needed this. She wouldn't let her career get destroyed because of this, but she wouldn't let this further ruin her relationship with Erik and her family. To hell with what others thought; a little obstruction and politicking wouldn't stop Aretia.
"It won't be an issue." Aretia explained calmly, "The Durands are a family that has always contributed to the greater good of our people and government. Naturally, certain sacrifices have to be made, but we live in the shadow of evil and destruction. Besides, I will not let certain preconceived notions stop me from my military ascension."
Jaya looked only a little surprised, "So you are prepared to distant yourself from your family and son?"
Aretia shook her head, "Perish the thought!" She gave the Councilor a slight smirk, "You wouldn't want someone that would abandon their family anyway. If I was willing to do that to flesh and blood, I would have no loyalty to my superiors, yes? No, I will make whatever you have in mind work without having to abandon my ties." There wasn't much else she could do or say at that moment to convince Jaya otherwise.
"Very well…" The Councilor of War didn't look happy with the answer, but she did look satisfied with it, "If you wish to have such impediments, so be it. Just as long as I get results from you."
The folder in Jaya's hands opened, "What am I about to tell you is to never leave this room or any future briefings. This shouldn't surprise you, but failure to keep this information secret will result in execution. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Aretia knew this song and dance, "I understand."
Jaya placed the folder down in front of the Major. The words "Top Secret: SALVATION" appeared at the top. There was barely any information or details, but Aretia saw that it was related to the Black Towers, the psyker prisons.
Aretia's eyes widened, "Ashani, show mercy…" Even with that small epitaph, she reached forward and started reading the documents, "Just what exactly is this project supposed to do, and where do I fit into this?"
"We will make a specific facility designed to hold an emergency response device and force in the event the Black Towers completely fail." Jaya had a grim look on her face, "But first…we need to get this facility built. We need it built fast, effectively, and within a set cost limit."
"And you want me to be part of the project?"
Jaya laughed, "Major, I expect you to helm it. If you take this assignment, it will be your focus for the next ten years at the minimum. You'll be given an instant promotion to Colonel, salary increase, a choice of property, get your own task force, and so on."
A veritable king's ransom for someone as young as Aretia. "This is a bit too good to be true. What exactly is expected of me once I take command?"
"Besides from living within a distance of the Black Towers? You will still need to train and lead a response force. In time you could even be given command of your own MTF. Additionally, you will need to be my eyes and ears and my hand in matters about this project. I will slowly bring you into the fold regarding the politics of the Conclave."
It was almost like the Councilor was trying to take on an apprentice or something. Aretia doubted it was that, though. More than likely, she didn't want Aretia to cause any political issues when her peers came around to ask about Project Salvation. Everything about this situation still sends up red flags, but what other option did Aretia have?
"Now then," Jaya seemed impatient for an answer, "Are you in?" Such a blunt and unprofessional response. Once again, it made Aretia think about just who she was allying with now.
"Of course." Aretia didn't show any hesitation. That was too dangerous in this instance anyway, perhaps even deadly. "When do I start?"
Current time, on the Vigilance…
Kesar liked interacting with Madsten. The man had long since become accustomed to being in the presence of a "god" like Kesar. Naturally, the awe and devotion were still there, but it was tempered and seconded to a professional demeanor expected of a seasoned general.
What made him so fascinating to the Primarch was that Madsten shunned unnecessary ceremony. He hated the fanfare other generals expected from the rank and file and their peers. He even absconded from staying longer most of the time, although it clearly pained Madsten to do so; the man had a work ethic that rivaled Ori.
"The Warp won't wait for me." He once remarked to Kesar, and perhaps there was also a feeling of dread, one born of knowledge and self-awareness. Someday Madsten would perish, either in battle or from old age. Thankfully the man still had plenty of centuries left him, and Madsten was too stubborn and spiteful to die. If only Kesar had an entire officer corps of men and women with the same discipline and devotion, maybe that blasted Rune World would be completed by now.
Pushing that aside, Madsten would arrive onboard the Vigilance without much fanfare, make a straight line to the Primarchs office, and report as instructed. To be fair, Kesar had made his summons a priority. So Madsten arriving only a few weeks after receiving the message was good for both of them.
"Lord Dorlin," Madsten Bosson stood proudly before his god, "Pray forgive my tardiness, but the warp remains a fickle thing when it isn't a hellscape. Our ships sail without hindrance, yet even a single squall could cause days of delay."
The Primarch nodded, "The Warp has been fickle as you say, although thankfully it remains relatively tame and cowed."
"I suppose we can thank you for that," Madsten remarked factually, "The Warp fears you, rightfully so."
"Fear sadly does not make for faster warp transitions." Kesar half-joked, "Any case, please, have a seat, general." Gesturing towards one of the human-sized leather chairs, Madsten calmly took a seat. As he sat down, the Primarch saw the man wince, "Sore?"
Madsten nodded, "Astute of you," He grimaced and gently rubbed his right leg, "Even after all these years of getting back into my conditioning, there are some aches that never go away, a trait found only in aging soldiers."
"You aren't that old, Madsten."
The general laughed, "I feel old sometimes." He paused for a second, "No, the soreness is just a symptom of…everything I've been through, before and after the rebellion. I might not always be on the field, but I still need to keep up with the rookies."
"And your officers." Kesar commented, "Truth be told, I was hoping to ask about them…"
Madsten looked a little concerned, "Oh dear, don't tell me one of them is causing an issue?"
"No, nothing of the sort." The Primarch tried a different approach, "This isn't a private reprimanding. Rather, I need your assistance in picking out a particular officer from among the Shades."
Looking relieved, Madsten quickly nodded, "You need only ask, Lord. But while I don't begrudging you coming directly towards me, surely you didn't need my advice on who to pick…unless it's for a specific position that you feel might require a more delicate touch."
Kesar smirked and nodded, "How astute of you," He joked by throwing back Madsten's line from earlier, "Yes…I have a particular mission in mind; thus, I need a commander who embodies all that is good in the Shades. That eagerness and dedication towards destroying our enemies, yet their touch and personality must be tempered and tested."
"You'll find plenty of commanders among our ranks that fulfill that criteria to a certain extent." He started before frowning, "However, we both know what makes the Shades so dangerous is their indomitable spirit and resolve. That fire in their hearts and souls is why our enemies are intimidated by their presence."
Kesar nodded, then frowned, "But sadly, that also intimidates or makes our allies uncomfortable. I need someone among the Shades that can extol the virtues and control the zealous parts."
"Is this about the Sun Guard?" Madsten leaned forward to get a better look at the Primarch, "It is, isn't it? You want the Shades to be…what, hosts to them?"
"Representatives." Kesar gently corrected, "Outside regiments, especially this one, tend to frown at what steps must be taken to achieve our mission." It was bloody work, but all necessary actions regarding the threat of Chaos had to be carried out. "The Shades are fiery souls, yes, but they are well-disciplined and are friendly enough."
Madsten was thinking, "But you want someone capable of working with other regiments?" He frowned for a moment, "My options are somewhat limited, and those that might fit that criterion are already involved in crucial tasks. If I could, I'd have Girish and Herjun take over, but those two are focused on training our reinforcements and procurement of specific materials, which has become a significant workload."
Those procurement reports were quite interesting. The Shades seemed intent on developing their brand of fast attack vehicles and troop transports. So far, though, Madsten was intent on just getting troops additional armor and weapons before all else. Regardless, this was still an issue as it meant that most of the Shade's leadership was already tasked. Taking away even one of them could result in organizational or leadership problems.
Kesar hated thinking he'd need to find someone outside the Shades for this position, especially after meeting Madsten. The last thing the Primarch wanted was to cause a misunderstanding over such a reason.
As he thought about it a little more, Kesar had another idea, "Is there anyone back in the Fractured Conclave that could fulfill this position?"
Unfortunately, Madsten shook his head, "No, sadly, everyone from the Enshaden Rebellion is already with us; there isn't anyone-" Suddenly, Madsten stopped, and then his eyes widened, "Wait…wait, no…I think I might have someone."
Well, this was a fortuitous turn of events, "You remembered someone then?"
"Yes…" Madsten looked almost ashamed, "I can't believe I forgot about Aretia! It's been so long since she left, though." A small sigh escaped him, "Really am getting old if I'm forgetting people like her now."
"Who is this, Aretia, and why isn't she here with you and the Shades?" If this woman was just as dedicated to the cause as Madsten, why wouldn't she have come with the main force? So many volunteers came from the conclave that a hold would have to be placed for new recruits.
Madsten looked a bit ashamed, "Aretia Durand was…technically is a general of the Conclave Civil Defense; or what we all used to call CivDef. Before the rebellion, she was part of an old family that helped build many cities and critical infrastructure on Ranloth. The last Councilor of War, Jaya Gretasdottir, warp curse her name, got her tendrils into Aretia early on."
How fascinating, "Why was that exactly?"
"Aretia is a good commander, but she isn't the best. However, her strengths lie in two aspects; authenticity and engineering." The Primarch was surprised to hear such a strange descriptor. "I'm saying she's a good soul and a genius in building things."
That was all well and good, certainly high praise from Madsten, but Kesar was concerned about a few things, "Yet that doesn't explain why she is not with you and your officers. Is she not part of the Shades?"
"Aretia is most certainly with the Shades but is working with the Imperial Army directly," Madsten nodded, "Let me be clear, her devotion is unwavering, and she believes in our duty; nevertheless, Aretia is haunted by certain events that occurred before and after the rebellion."
Kesar figured plenty among the Fractured Conclave felt such grief or regret. A civil war, even when wholly justified, pitted a people against one another. What exactly happened caused her to distance herself from the Shades.
"Explain."
Madsten grimaced, "Aretia built the facility that would house the Salvation Device, although she didn't know that was what it was made for." Now that got Kesar's attention. The facility which held the device was an extensive and professionally crafted military base. "The galaxy played a cruel joke on her. Most of the Durands were all killed when Ashani broke containment. Save for Aretia and her son, who had been off-world."
"I see…"
"What makes this cruel is when you examine what the Salvation Device intended to do…and then you realize that even Ashani had simply done nothing and not killed everyone, all those people, including Aretia's family, would've all died anyway. Those bastards on the council would've ordered its activation regardless of circumstances." Madsten looked disgusted, "So many lies…we all should've seen them for what they were, but I think we were lost in a haze of apathy. Yet, for Aretia, she was a believer. And when you heard her talk about all the good work that she had done, you almost could've thought that maybe there was a chance for us."
He paused and shook his head, "But none of us could've stopped the evil that had taken root in our nation. When we all came face to face with what PubOr had done, or cleansing reports came to light, or saw just how much destruction the Grey Boots caused…some of us tried to hold out hope that the council would find the courage to do the right thing and accept that they had gone too far. There had to be justice, not a reckoning. Not yet, at least."
Kesar knew such individuals would not be so self-aware or willing to give up what they had "built" in their time. "And was Aretia in all of this?"
"Ranloth." Madsten answered as he concentrated, "Most of the fighting was taking place outside the cities. A cadre of generals and other officers held key infrastructure and the spaceports. Aretia was in charge of Port Gerold, one of the biggest logistical centers. I don't recall what happened to her after she finished building the facility for the Salvation Device, but I do remember that she had fallen into a depression after what happened with Ashani. Her entire family, and her life's work, were reduced to nothing. The worst was yet to come, though. She hadn't been told what the Salvation Device was, so she left in the dark until her son contacted her and told her."
"Her son told her the truth?" Kesar almost winced at hearing that. He couldn't begin to imagine how that conversation went, but the Primarch imagined it didn't end well between the two of them, "I see…"
"It gets worse," Madsten spoke grimly, "Her son was captured by Grey Boots. Jaya thought Aretia was part of a conspiracy, working with either a separate group or with me or the Shades. She almost went when they demanded that she come before the council or what was left of it. However, I sent a message to her just hours before, and whatever I said must have gotten to her. Aretia didn't go…she stayed with forces, all utterly loyal to her, and simply waited for the council's response."
"And?"
"Brought her son on live pict. The poor bastard looked beaten and tortured. I can't imagine what was going through Aretia's mind. Her son was the only light left in her life. Yet, we all know what would happen after he finished talking…taken out back and shot like a dog in the street, just like so many others…." Madsten stopped for a moment, "But then he did something…one final act of courage that made me and I think Aretia realize that our rebellion was righteous."
As if trying to replicate the scene, Madsten held his arms out, "Erikson got this glimmer of fire in his eyes. It was like everything in life had prepared him for this moment. He reached forward and grabbed the mic like a man possessed and started yelling, 'they made me say this, they are losing, the Shades are winning, the warp can bleed, and for all of us to keep fighting,' and the PubOr idiots barely had time to cut off the transmission."
Kesar slowly nodded, "One last act of defiance…"
"No," Madsten shook his head, "One last act of love. Aretia knew her son died after that transmission, but he died with dignity. His death cleansed her soul and heart, tragic as that sounds. An hour after that transmission, she ordered her forces to start fortifying the port, and she was declared open rebellion alongside our Shades. The Grey Boot armies were repulsed nine times. Idiots attacking combat and civil engineer-designed fortification. By the time I arrived, a small mountain of bodies was seen. All of them our enemies."
"And in all of this, she found her faith?" What caused her to become so invested in the Shade faith then?
"She did," Madsten nodded again, "But those are questions you must ask Aretia, my lord, for they are her answers."
"I will take that under advisement." A brief look into this woman's mindset, although Kesar still wasn't sure if this was the right pick for the job. "Can you arrange for her to come and meet me?"
"Easily," Madsten answered, "She will be more than happy too. If anything, she's probably a bit tired from building forts and supply depots for the Imperial Army out in the middle of nowhere…"
"Madsten," Kesar interjected, "Is she capable of leading this assignment?" A builder of fortifications and infrastructure was one thing, but this task required someone capable of building ties between men and women of different mindsets and ideologies.
He thought about the Primarchs question for a moment, "The Sun Guard wants to build a better galaxy via words and actions? Well, Aretia wanted to do the same once. She understands the hurdles and obstacles that come with trying to achieve that dream and the pain of failure that can come with it. Her love and faith are similar to our own but tempered and strengthened from a different source." A sad smile graced his face, "The lights of her life were snuffed out, yet while they are gone, there is no darkness in her soul. I know that sounds a bit strange, but you'll understand when you speak to her at length. Aretia sees what she calls the "Great Work" ahead of us. And she's right…there is much work to be done."
"Hmm…" Kesar said nothing else on the matter. The conversation about Aretia promptly ended after that and returned to other issues related to the Shades and future projects that lay in store ahead of them. The entire meeting took almost four hours before Kesar dismissed Madsten. By this point, the Primarch was left with his thoughts on the matter.
The truth was that Kesar wasn't entirely convinced on this, Aretia Durand. A general specializing only in building and whose tragic past could reflect her ability to command could present a liability. Indeed, there were better options when one leveled other individuals against such demerits.
Yet he began to understand this woman much more deeply once he received the file on General Durand from the Shades back in the Conclave and the Imperial Army. Aretia was a dedicated officer, a certified genius, and an overall capable commander, just as Madsten said she was. Yet what stood out to Kesar was her assignment requests and her accomplishments.
Successfully building entire cities and infrastructure on devastated worlds, redirecting supplies from nearby systems, negotiating with guilds, Mechanicum, and third parties for aid, and a general focus on reconciliation with rebuilding efforts. He was honestly more surprised at not hearing about her sooner, but the Imperial Army didn't nearly reward "peacekeepers" as they did conquerors and military heroes. There were undoubtedly a few complaints against her, primarily due to her "strange" veneration of the Golden Path. Yet Aretia still had made more than a few powerful friends in her time since joining the Imperial Army. Someone always enjoyed another doing all the tedious but necessary work for them.
While reviewing the files, he saw a rather fascinating pair of pictures. One from the Conclave, detailing Aretia's file when she was just assigned to Project Salvation, a portrait of a young Colonel Durand, full of life, hope, and excitement. How often had Kesar seen so many young officers become apathetic before dying? Age and despair eating away at their very souls?
The second photo…well, something about it confused Kesar. The woman staring back at him was…old. Old in the sense that war and tragedy had taken away their youth and vitality. More often than not, you could tell even from a photo when someone had dead eyes. A classic sign of trauma and apathy.
Yet, in this photo, Kesar saw something else. A woman who had seen and lost much held her head high through it all. You don't see that much in just a photo, but some could give off that aura. A tempered spirit, but one that hadn't been broken, only made stronger in the end.
Kesar contemplated what Madsten had said, "No darkness in her soul, only an unseen light…" A peculiar individual, if nothing else. Well, the Primarch was too interested to not have his meeting with General Durand now. If nothing else, he'd want to hear more about the Great Work expected of her and the others. There was a great work ahead of the galaxy and the Eternal Wardens.
That much was he was certain of now.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, posted.
Not the biggest fan of how I did this omake, and I had a lot more interesting plans and ideas for it, but like all things I've been getting a bit more distracted with shit and other ideas rolling around in my head. I just wanted to get this posted before Daemon flys off for an entire week.
Dragon Lair
Another omake, so soon?
I had started this one four months ago and finally got off my ass to finish it. I just wanted to finally finish it now.
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Dragon Lair
Most soldiers would have been grateful to survive any campaign. Let alone survive through the nightmare that was fighting in the Warp. One could almost call it a miracle. Yet, for the Crystal Dragons, the survivors felt only lingering hatred and shame. Their enemies had not broken against their walls, not in body or spirit. When it came time to retreat, Exarch Menethanil cursed the fates at having his warriors abandon their position. Survival, however, superseded his desire to die in a last stand.
Victory never tasted so bitter. Even so, the final exodus from Citadel Wyrmsrest was a harrowing journey. Almost a third of his remaining forces nearly dealt the killing blow. But ultimately, the Crystal Dragons succeeded in their escape into the Webway. They spent weeks moving through the labyrinthine lanes before the Harlequins found them.
Calling their return a celebration was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more a laidback affair for the Eldar. Of course, their people had to work, so it was a tepid affair. Menethanil used the downtime to recruit more into their Shrine but had limited success.
Let alone hearing the state of things involving the Aeldari people. That Eldrad Ulthran had not only rallied what was left of their species, but he had also effectively co-opted the Druhkari and allied with several Mon'Keigh elements such as Astartes and human mercenaries.
To hear it from the other warriors was one thing, but when Menethanil inquired what hope there was for using primitives in their war against the Great Enemy, the Great Seer only vaguely remarked that "they would surprise him." The Exarch curbed his enthusiasm, though. He didn't think that most species were on-par with the Eldar. And just because the Aeldari military might have been severely hampered didn't mean they were out of the fight. The Crystal Dragons would not rest on their laurels, so Menethanil requested that their shrine be redeployed.
To their surprise, Eldrad agreed with the request. Even though the Crystal Dragons were severely undermanned and underequipped, all warriors capable of aiding Aeldari's efforts had to be sent out on missions. Menethanil was pleased, but only until the Great Seer explained their next assignment.
"Soul stone extraction…" Menethanil remarked under his breath. That wasn't what he expected for the Crystal Dragons' next assignment. They should be on the front lines with the other warriors, aiding the battle against the Great Enemy and the First Traitors. Menethanil admitted they needed new warriors, but the Aspect Shrines had taken to getting fresh aspirants and training them in the field. At least that was what he thought until Eldrad explained that wasn't exactly the case either.
"A critical function in such desperate times," The Great Seer explained, "And one that the Harlequins has requested your Shrine specifically to aid in, an accolade in its own right." Menethanil frown deepened. Why should he care for their praise?
Try as he might, Menethanil could not find such a task worthy of his Shrine, let alone befitting his or his warriors' skills, "Begging pardon, Lord Ulthran. However, is such an assignment not better suited for the Striking Scorpions or Warp Spiders?"
"Normally, yes." Eldrad admitted, "However, this assignment is more than securing soul stones. The Crystal Dragons are perhaps one of the few shrines that can build rather than just kill or destroy." Menethanil nodded in agreement. The Bloody-Handed might have resented that the Crystal Dragons were initially builders, but that lineage allowed them to survive even in the nightmare of the warp.
"You have something in mind, then?" Menethanil was willing to hear out the Great Seer. It wasn't like he had any other choice. And by his will, did the Aeldari survive now. Not only that, Eldrad and his seers were the ones who prioritized who got what. If Menethanil expected to rebuild the Crystal Dragons, he would first need Eldrad's support.
The Great Seer briefly nodded before using a few of his runestones to create an illusionary image. A parlor trick that any Warlock used when visually explaining something, but Menethanil could see that the Great Seer had outdone himself. Menethanil saw what looked to be a map of a sector of space, detailed to an absurd point. The Exarch could make individual stars and worlds, even tiny moons and asteroids.
"The Masque of the Leering Moon has recently uncovered a small alien empire that holds at least a hundred soul stones, give or take. My fellow Seers wish to make all efforts towards their recovery paramount. However, we also believe there is more to the situation that is taking place within this stretch of space. One that requires a more proactive approach on our apart. Leering Moon's leadership requested the Crystal Dragons specifically to build a military fortress to organize and centralize the command structure towards a faction that has become agreeable to our overtures."
"Overtures?" Menethanil looked away from the star map towards Eldrad, "What do you mean?"
"There are several species inside this stretch of space." With only a glance, the map changed to what looked to be a grouping of 100 worlds, "The dominant force is the Royal Federation of Honnêamarcyda; they are the ones that have the soul stones. Though their species have recently engaged in xenocide towards one of their former subjects, another group called the Abrithian Kiiths. They've recently begun a rebellion and are waging what could generously be called an insurgency against the Royal Federation. The Leering Moon's decision to aid the Abrithians and after reading initial reports, I have agreed to provide additional aid in the form of war materials, resources, and the expertise of your Shrine."
The more Menethanil heard the explanation, the deeper his frown became, "Lord Ulthran…why are we aiding these Mon'Keigh? I understand they might be useful pawns in some scheme of yours, but are we expecting to go to such lengths as to deploy the Crystal Dragons alongside an entire Masque?"
Unfortunately for Menethanil, Eldrad nodded, "That is exactly what we are doing here."
"But why?" Menethanil looked back down towards the star map, "The Royal Federation commands at least a few dozen worlds, which means they have significant military power, yes?"
"Quite so," Eldrad seemed amused at the observation, "They have at least 37 Battlegroups, numbering at least 100,000 ships in total, and an army that numbers in the hundreds of billions, most of which is highly trained and armed. The Hanrao, the race that controls the Royal Federation, is exceptionally dangerous and industrious. My seers agree that it would've taken one of the Astartes legions and the Imperial Army considerable resources to take care of this Royal Federation if it turned to war."
The more he heard, the more the Exarch started to worry, "And these Abrithians do they possess any relative military capabilities?"
"What they lack in war materials they have made up in spirit and zeal. The Leering Moons have access to hundreds of millions of furious individuals, ready to be directed towards the enemy once they are trained and equipped. But to answer your question? Nothing worth mentioning, otherwise."
"Begging pardon, Lord Ulthran, but we plan to use these Mon'Keigh to secure the soul stones?"
Eldrad shook his head, surprising Menethanil once more, "Only if it becomes necessary. Those soul stones must be retrieved at all costs if our plans fail in this section of space. That being said, the intention is to use the Abrithian Kiiths to help end the current situation that has taken place inside the Royal Federation."
"What situation is that?"
A quick flick of the fingers and the map narrowed its focus towards a singular world, and Menethanil could see an ugly green and brown planet. "Historically speaking, the Abrithian and Hanrao have been quite friendly towards one another for the millennia. Going even further back, both species kicked out their human oppressors during the start of the Long Night. The Abrithians were part of the Royal Federation of their own violation via a free association. So much so that the Kiiths depended on the federation for protection against Orks, pirates, and whatnot. And yet all of this changed recently. The attempted xenocide came out of nowhere. Certainly, the Abrithians did nothing to warrant such action, or so they claim."
Menethanil snorted, "Savage races will kill each other for no reason. One need only look toward the humans to see that. They kill each other by the trillions even now."
Eldrad agreed with the comment, "Be that as it may, the Leering Moon's and my own visions confirmed that this decision was not popular among the Royal Federation. There are many reports of open protest across their realm over the near-extinction of the Abrithians."
That was interesting to the Exarch, "Which means their leadership made the decision in a vacuum." As he looked down at the illusionary world, he frowned, "Let me guess, their reasoning is about as flimsy as an Ork Trukk?"
"Worse…there has been only silence."
He looked up again, "Silence? Surely someone has…" Menethanil watched as the Great Seer shook his head, "No one has heard anything from their homeworld?"
Eldrad frowned, "Or returned as of yet, or if they do, they seem to disappear after some time."
Now Menethanil was starting to better understand why the Aeldari were throwing resources into this situation. "So you want to organize a rebellion within this federation using the Abrithians as a pretext to rally the dissenting voices among the Hanrao?"
"We will direct the Kiiths and create a narrative that will paint them as victims of an insidious plot of a cabal on Honnêamarcyda. Once we get them into contact with other rebellious elements within the federation military, an organized liberation force will come into fruition. This will allow our forces to determine what happened on Honnêamarcyda, identify our foe, prepare the necessary steps, and once the royal federation has been liberated and secured, we shall take further steps to centralize power for our ends. "
Menethanil nodded; that was undoubtedly a tried and true Aeldari strategy, "But first, we need to organize the Abrithians?"
"Oh yes. The Kiiths really are just rabble at this point. Woefully unprepared for what is needed of them for our plans. Let me ease some of your concerns. Your mission will not be to train or equip them. That will be handled in the background and by other individuals. We do need the Abrithians to rally around a symbol, both a metaphorical and physical one."
"A fortress." Menethanil crossed his arms, "Something that can provide protection for their people and act as a staging ground, a supply depot, etc." There was certainly plenty of logic in this plan. It would've made them a target, but it was a place for their people to come for protection and guidance. "And you want the Crystal Dragons to make this fortress?"
"Of course," Eldrad sounded almost surprised at the question, "Only a handful of groups in the galaxy could consider themselves paragons of defense planning and strategies. Khaine himself honored your ancestor, even when he despised the concept of fighting defensively. Yet this time, the Crystal Dragons will not build a fortress to break the spirits of their foes, but to bolster those of our allies."
—
Menethanil was ultimately convinced to accept the mission. Not that he had much choice, but the Exarch refused to shame the Shrine by rejecting it. Maybe Menethanil disagreed with this plan, but he trusted the Great Seer. Besides, he couldn't argue against the logic of it either. If the Eldar were to survive, drastic measures had to be taken.
If that meant using Mon'Keigh, then so be it. At the very least, Menethanil could stomach such an affront. Better they die than one of his warriors. Unfortunately, the Exarch felt Eldrad was playing with fire to a certain degree. Perhaps the other Aspect Shrines likewise tolerated this new direction, but most would never consider Mon'Keigh as equals.
To do so otherwise would dishonor those that had taken the Path. Especially those that had become "lost" to fulfill their duty to their brothers and sisters. A Crystal Dragon was family, although not all were bonded by blood. The Paths might have been the means to enkindle a specific spark inside an Eldar's soul, but the Crystal Dragons did not separate easily.
Any the left their path was free to do so, more often than not with a celebration as they sought to expand their horizons. That was the difference, though. You never stopped being a dragon, nor did their shrine shun their "former" kin. The other Aspects pretended that wasn't the case with their own…, but Menethanil knew better. Those that refused to become lost on their particular path or simply left became ostracized. In some ways, the Aspect Shrines were tribes bound by honor and shared connection to Kaela Mensha Khaine. Yet past all of that, what were they otherwise? The only way to survive now was to find strength in ties beyond even the Paths.
Because of this, Menethanil had to balance out what was best for his kin and his people. The Farseers had guided all of them, especially the Great Seer. Trust was paramount. And so far, it was only because of the seers that they made it this far. And so that trust, along with his honor and duty, ensured that the Crystal Dragons would accomplish their mission.
Three months later, with new recruits and rested veterans, the Crystal Dragons returned to the Webway. They marched into the unknown with determination in their hearts and a song on their lips.
Nine weeks later…
Menethanil's father once told him and his siblings, "Every citadel began with a small stone, a single hammer, but rings with a squall of a hundred thousand voices." A sentiment that was shared among the Crystal Dragons. One that Exarch kept in mind whenever the building process began on a new world.
He tried to keep that in mind, here on this alien world. It was difficult, though. Not for want of trying, but Menethanil found himself a bit exasperated at the situation he and his kin faced on this misbegotten planet, that which would be the home of their first fortress since returning from the Warp and that which would become the mind, heart, and soul of an entire rebellion.
The Crystal Dragons called this new stronghold the "Ruby Gateway." The locals, however, had called it the Masosha Amakhanda, "Citadel of the Kiith Guard." An ugly and unflattering name for a work of art in the martial sense. Not that it was the Gateway/Amakhanda was completed, mind you.
Sadly, there were a few challenges to overcome, such as trying to build when the people and world were "difficult" to work with. Like an artist who struggled with unfinished painting, the builder also found issues with his "canvas," in this case, the construction site, and workers.
Any world could be considered either hell or paradise with the right mindset. Menethanil felt their current home-away-from-home, a dusty and near-barren rock of a planet called Ellax, more like "limbo" than either. Yet it was here on Ellax that the seeds for a rebellion had taken root.
Which sounded a lot more promising on paper and aloud, but the reality of their situation was anything but like all things. Not for lack of trying, at least on his Crystal Dragons' part, but Menethanil had come to believe that this new fortress would be completed, at the current rate of progress, before the end of time.
Frankly, there were many issues, from the mundane to the absurd. It didn't help that the Crystal Dragons were on a schedule, but their problems were only starting to pile up. It came back to the current relationship that the Eldar had with the Abrithians. Needless to say, it wasn't a productive one.
The Great Seer briefly explained to Menethanil the exact nature of the Kiiths. Although, this was somewhat limited. If Eldrad Ulthran had the time, he could've peered into the Abrithian's entire history and given a detailed recounting, perhaps even more so than Kiith scholars could've achieved in multiple lifetimes.
But Eldrad Ulthran wouldn't waste his time or energy on such a divining. Not when he had more important concerns to worry about. So instead, he provided just enough information gleaned from rudimentary augry and the Leering Moons. "It might be better for your forces to learn directly from the Abrithians in any case. We don't have much time to watch from the shadows like we normally do. You'll be fine, though. The Crystal Dragons can handle a few diplomatic obstacles." A vote of confidence, one that wouldn't be misplaced. Sadly, the Abrithians proved to be prickly and cantankerous people.
To explain, the Abrithians were a species that had evolved on their desert homeworld of Suva some 100,000 thousand years ago. Suva was a harsh planet that bred an even more resilient people. Abrithians were a muscular and robust race. Their four arms, combined with natural ambidexterity and lungs that could retain oxygen and water for an hour, allowed them to survive and slowly tame their world.
The early Abrithian civilizations grew in two places: the mountains and oases. Water was all-important in a desert world, but so were bronze, iron, and copper. Thus two distinct groups of early Abrithian cultures flourished and finally encountered one another. To these early Abrithians' credit, they did not go to war over wanting the other resources. Instead, they traded with one another for centuries before someone figured out they could accomplish much more by working together.
It worked. The Kiiths formed and spent the next two thousand years building their city-states and petty kingdoms into actual nations. They had just figured out combustion engines when visitors landed on their world from the sea of stars.
Humans.
Once more, the old human empires sought both riches and labor in the form of primitive species and promptly began to exploit them. The way the Abrithians explained it, they spent the next thousand years being used in human mining operations across a hundred worlds. Cheaper than the metal men, or so their long-dead masters once claimed.
Fortunately for the Abrithians, they had to only endure this treatment for another millennium before the Long Night began and the human empire collapsed. Their masters left one day, although some records from the few free Abrithian scholars at the time reported that the humans left with the "fear of the gods" in their hearts. No doubt the humans "Men of Iron" were after the former masters. By fleeing, the Abrithians were spared the fire and fury of the Long Night.
Free of their bondage, the Kiiths still spread out across almost a hundred worlds free of their bondage. Many were left to fend for themselves. They did not know how to traverse the warp but had learned enough from their former masters to use voidships. The Kiiths used courier vessels, often taking decades to move from one system to keep in touch. Inefficient, but it worked for the Kiiths.
It was almost…respectful in its own way. A species that knew that the vastness of space and whatever dangers lurked in it, taking the time and effort, albeit inefficiently, to stay within contact. Perhaps a feat worthy of admiration, even. However, this practice would only last for a millennia before the arrival of the Hanrao…
"Urmholi Menethanil." The Exarch's waxing thoughts were interrupted by a gruff and alien voice. "I have the reports from the Ebenzis." Urmholi was the title of "leader" while Ebenzis meant "worker" in their tongue. The Abrithian language was devoid of elegance or wit but serviceable. For the Aeldari, it was like speaking with a perpetually dry mouth.
Menethanil turned to look at the representative and perhaps sole remain Kiith-Urmholi, Koya of the Silver Rains. His "fellow" Urmholi was clad in what could've been generously called a workman enviro-suit, although enhanced with various colors and iconography to denote his position among his and other Kiiths.
The Exarch nodded, "And what do your men have to report?" It was best to be straightforward with the Abrithians. Usually, it would've been a game to "play" with the Mon'Keighs. To get inside their heads and make them think that the Aeldari was completely aware of everything and anything that had taken place.
A difficult feat, although that was because the Abrithians lacked the social queues needed to pick up things like sarcasm or even humor. Then again, Aeldari humor was difficult for primitives to grasp anyway. There was also one more issue.
"Progress has slowed," His voice rumbled behind his ceremonial scarf, covering the lower half of his face. This, combined with the equally annoying Ingasa, a wide-brim headdress, made it so that Menethanil could only make a pair of amber-colored eyes and red skin looking back at him. The Abrithians had long since developed a cultural practice of covering their faces, stemming from the thousands of years of living in a hostile environment. The males wore scarves and headdresses, while the women wore veils. To the Abrithians, it was just as important as wearing clothes. Quite taboo to be seen without your head-coverings.
"Although not for want of trying. But rather due to the confusing process of your Nezinzo and their strange engineering."
Menethanil clenched his right fist. More setbacks, all because the Abrithians didn't grasp the intricacies of building a fortress of this scale and grandeur. "Haillen should've explained the process." For the fifth time…
Koya nodded, "He has, for the fifth time even." The Kiith-Urmholi sighed wistfully, "Your science is beyond our understanding. This we readily admit. We seek only to do our part, for surely the act of moving dirt and stone, building the homes and warehouses for our people, could be accomplished without utilizing your peoples' technologies."
He wasn't wrong. The Abrithians workers were doing the brunt of the labor. However, they had to work around or with the Crystal Dragons during construction. It was difficult, like someone trying to build a stray hut alongside a skyscraper. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Otherwise, Menethanil and his warriors would spend months trying to complete the Gateway in time.
The Exarch was getting frustrated, "Just have your people listen to the instructions of my warriors."
"Yes, well, that might be another issue." Koya spoke carefully, "Many of your Impia haven't been forthcoming, save for a few like Iza Aymeric and Haurchefant." Ah yes, a pair of rising stars within the Crystal Dragons. They had undoubtedly become popular as of late. "But we dare not burden them with our issues."
Menethanil would've told Koya to do just that, but he needed to limit the number of communication issues right now, "My warriors are dedicated to their tasks, but I can see about having Aymeric and Haurchefant find time among their regular duties to assist your Ebenzis."
"Begging pardon," Koya sounded confused, "But mayhaps we can request the aid of Urmholi Kefka and his dancers to aid in this? Surely such figures could aid in establishing closer ties between our people."
It took all of Menethanil's restraint and will to not have his right eye start twitching at the mention of that man. "No." The Exarch answered in finality, "We shall endeavor without their aid."
Koya tilted his head in surprise before nodding once, "Very well. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave." The Kiith-Urmholi made a strange gesture with all four hands, signally his intention to go. Menethanil barely paid the Abrithians any mind. Instead, the Exarch returned to look upon the great work stalling before his eyes.
He hated to think that he was running into problems. How could it be possible? The Crystal Dragons could build fortresses within the raging abyss that was the Warp. So why then were they not making progress?
It had been only nine weeks since his arrival. Most of the time was spent laying the foundations of the Gateway/Amakhanda, hollowing out the very earth to allow hundreds of millions to live safely, and creating a small eco-system. That which would've taken nature hundreds of millions of years was accomplished in such a short amount of time.
Yet it wasn't fast enough, not for Menethanil and certainly not for the approaching timetable, especially for the Abrithians. The survivors of an entire species were on their way toward Ellax, and while the Exarch showed no love for these aliens, he would not break the promise his people made.
Something had to change…and soon.
Five months later…
The space above Ellax had become crowded, with thousands of vessels in orbit of the dreary planet. Many voidships, from private pleasure transports to the famous hulking Abrithian "Earthshaper" dreadnaughts. Each vessel hailed from destroyed worlds, perhaps holding the last elements of their Kiiths. Tens of billions were fearful of a surprise attack by the Hanrao. Many captains and surviving military commanders argued about what must be done now. More importantly, what to do for the survivors. While millions had volunteered to join the Kiith Guard, there were still billions of civilians.
Most waited for the end to come, while others remained hopeful of the supposed salvation on Ellax. Thanks to the Leering Moons' efforts, that word spread of a safe haven for all Abrithians. As there was no alternative, most captains and surviving Kiith elders and seers opted to try their luck at Ellax. Most didn't believe that it would be in this forgotten colony world that a counter-attack was being organized. However, the prospect of striking back gave hope that there was a chance to avenge the fallen. Maybe even an opportunity to save their civilization.
There were, of course, issues that started to appear. Such as when the Abrithians finally learned who their new allies were and how similar they looked to humans. Most Abrithians hadn't seen or heard from their former masters in thousands of years.
However, the one Aeldari known as "Kefka" somehow calmed and assuaged any possible misgiving or confusion on the nature of this alliance. Menethanil wondered what that blasted clown had done or said to get the Abrithians to start readily working alongside the Eldar. The Exarch figured it was the chance to get revenge or maybe just the vast amount of free aid that won over the Kiiths. Yet even then, Menethanil marveled at now having billions of extra hands and mouths to feed in one go.
Sadly, more hands do not make an adequate replacement for skill. The Ruby Gateway was likely close to being halfway completed. It was an accomplished feat, considering it could comfortably house almost two billion souls. If only the Crystal Dragons were at full strength and under the guidance of Menethanil's father, they would have completed construction months ago.
Instead, he and his warriors were stuck looking at an unfinished work of art. Meanwhile, the Abrithians called the Masosha Amakhanda a wondrous composition of focusing construction and otherworldly engineering. They had already moved women, children, and their elders into it.
And that was when a rather significant problem started to take root.
Menethanil requested an emergency meeting with Koya, recently promoted to the Blessed Kiith-Urmholi. Perhaps if the Exarch cared enough to recognize that the alien before him had been blessed with an ancient title akin to War-King, he might have congratulated the alien. Instead, Menethanil had to temper his frustration as he spoke up. "Why are you moving civilians into the Gateway before it's completed?"
Koya seemed bemused at the question, "We don't wish for them to be stuck on the ships. It is not good for their mental health or spirits. Our civilians must feel the dirt under their feet and starlight upon their skins." That was all well and good, but Koya was ignorant of the problem facing the Crystal Dragons.
"Koya, while I respect that reasoning, the Gateway is intended to be a command and control center for your forces. It shall be where an army is raised, trained, and equipped. You should not be bringing children and seniors to a military encampment. It's not safe."
The Blessed Koya tilted his head again, "And the space above is?" He shook his head now, "We know that the Masosha Amakhanda can withstand orbital bombardments, and with the tunnels, we have carved out below, our citizens can survive below ground. The water and geothermal plants, which I will remind you that my Ebenzis built while still aiding your warriors in constructing this splendid fortress, can ensure that they have clean drinking water and energy to sustain themselves if this turns into a siege."
He couldn't exactly argue that logic. More than that, Koya and his workers saved the Crystal Dragons at least two weeks by getting those plants up and running, even if they were grossly ineffective compared to Aeldari variations. "Our original plan was to build several settlements for the civilians…"
"The elders and other Urmholi didn't agree with that when I explained it to them," Koya remarked flatly to the Exarch, "Right now, their chief concern is trying to protect the civilians and making sure our Nezinzo can go off to fight and die knowing they are safe."
Menethanil shook his head, "It would be safer to keep them on the ships. If the event that Ellax is swarmed by federation ships, I don't know if we will be able to protect everyone down on the ground." The Exarch didn't mention that he and his Crystal Dragons would abandon the world if the Gateway was lost. This planet wasn't worth dying for, especially since it wasn't even Eldar.
"And where would those ships go?" Koya's emotionless voice spoke again, "There is nothing else for our people. The last ships that have arrived told us that most of the colonies are gone now…there is nowhere else to run to now." He sighed once, "We shall make our stand here."
All of this was starting to make Menethanil realize that he needed to explain why he couldn't let civilians inside the Gateway, "Koya, I cannot allow civilians inside the Gateway; otherwise, it is an affront to the patron deity of the Crystal Dragons."
"Ahh!" He sounded surprised at hearing this, "Your war-god, yes? Urmholi Kefka explained this…Khaine was described as a mighty deity." Menethanil paused as he expected to hear something else entirely. "Your war shrines are dedicated to him, and he is regarded as a fierce and destructive god."
After a moment, the Exarch narrowed his eyes but nodded, "Yes…that is correct." Just what was that clown up to? "Was that all Kefka told you?"
"Yes," Koya nodded again, "Is that information inaccurate?"
"No…" The Exarch frown deepened as he pondered whatever ploy was at play here, "It's quite accurate." He grits his teeth, "Regardless, this fortress has yet to be appropriately blessed."
Koya considered that, "I see now. This is a very delicate matter, then." The Kiith-Urmholi assessed the situation, "Pray tell then, only those who call themselves Nezinzo are allowed to step foot inside the Amakhanda?"
"Ideally, it would be only Aeldari warriors." Menethanil knew exceptions could be made during a crisis or if specific tributes were made to Khaine. Although Menethanil refused to speak of such practices. Even the Crystal Dragons rarely practice the act of murdering prisoners or committing such gory acts. Especially after their prolonged fights against daemonkind. "There are exceptions. For starters, one needs to be allied with one of the shrines. Additionally, we cannot allow those who do not heed the warrior's call into the Gateway. Finally, blood must be given, either ours or the enemies, to Khaine."
Rather than be discouraged, Koya nodded along, "Fascinating. I must say, the Bloody-Handed One seems rather accommodating, all things considered." If Menethanil expected such an absurd response, he didn't show it. Just what was this alien talking about now? "If I could find an acceptable solution, along with the approval of the Kiiths and your own, would this resolve the issue of the non-combatants being here?"
Just what was Koya trying to get at? "If you could somehow achieve those requirements…you realize that it requires certain conditions to be met by the sum total of your people?"
Whatever Koya was about to say was interrupted by the sudden arrival of his second in command, Aryom. Menethanil's fellow dragon practically burst through the doors with a look of worry on his face, "Exarch, we have a situation developing. Hanrao ships have been spotted at the very edge of the system and our approach."
Menethanil noticed that Koya's body language changed in an instant. The Exarch, meanwhile, couldn't believe that they had been discovered already. He figured they'd at least have a year or two, especially as the Leering Moons were plugging any information leaks. This could only mean someone among the surviving Abrithians gave the Hanrao the system's coordinates. As if he didn't need another reason to not trust the mon'keigh, they can't even keep a bloody secret to save their own lives.
"They likely appeared only a few hours ago," Aryom continued, "It is a small battlegroup, numbering at least 100 ships. Our scouts believe the lead ship is a Royal Federation Kokra-class battleship."
Koya perked at hearing that, "A Kokra? Those are flagships of Honnêamarcyda noble kiiths."
"Wonderful." At least there was a valuable target for the Harlequins if they all survived, "It makes no difference, either way. We have the advantage in numbers, mobility, and skill. We shall prepare our forces accordingly."
What he heard next from Aryom surprised Koya and Menethanil, "That is just it, my Exarch. I don't think they are looking for a fight. They are transmitting that they wish to parlay with Kiith leadership under a banner of peace."
The Exarch felt his right eye twitch, "So…they wish to speak with us diplomatically?"
"Based on the current messages, yes." Aryom had an expected look now, "Shall we prepare for guests then?"
When the Royal Federation of Honnêamarcyda first introduced themselves to the Abrithians, they did so from an elevated positing. An expeditionary force of 4,000 vessels appeared in orbit over the Kiith world of Sadok, led by the Una-Kre the Moon-Princess and 86th Heir to the Throne of Ages. Home to barely a hundred million Abrithians, they were shocked when such a fleet appeared above them and, more importantly, wished to engage in diplomacy.
The Abrithians claimed that the Hanrao were just as surprised to hear that the Kiiths claimed to be part of a nation-state that spanned hundreds of systems without the knowledge of traversing the Warp.
And so, Una-Kre declared that the Abrithians would be brought into the Royal Federation and their people reconnected entirely by teaching them how to use Warp Engines. The Abrithians graciously accepted such a generous boon. Not that anyone made the decision to publicly say otherwise.
Better a rose than a knife, as the Eldar liked to say.
It did not take long for the Hanrao to reach the worlds of the Kiith, and Una-Kre gathered elders and Kiith-Urmholi from across the Abrithian diaspora. She gave them an ultimatum; join the Royal Federation in free association, or she would be forced to take drastic measures to ensure the safety of their race. Was there really any other choice for the Kiiths but to accept?
There was, however, some common ground between the Hanrao and Abrithian. Namely their combined disdain or hatred towards humans. The Hanrao were also victims of human exploitation and imperialism. They were likewise forced to act as a cheap labor force for thousands of years, although, unlike the Abrithians, the Hanrao were used for more specialized work, producing baubles and objects that machine hands couldn't create.
Like most imperialist-inclined nations, everything they did or said showed power. Thankfully for the Abrithians, the Hanrao was a magnanimous empire; devoted to unity and prosperity for those under their banner. War was considered the last act of the desperate, and the gracious lords of Honnêamarcyda sought to incorporate those they encountered peacefully. Naturally, such sentiments were backed by superior firepower and industry.
Fortunately, the Abrithians were grateful and understood that they were better off working with the Hanrao than against them. It took little effort to convince the Kiiths, especially when the offer of trade and technological exchange would allow them to sail the Warp. A deal made and a friendship forged, the Kiiths became members of the Royal Federation within less than a decade of First Contact.
History followed. The Abrithians flourished, a quasi-Golden Age of culture and economic growth that lasted for two centuries gave the Kiiths a sense of renewed hope for the future, and their worlds were safeguarded by the Royal Void Navy. The perfidious games among the Hanrao courts were far away, and the mineral wealth from the Kiiths flowed into the coffers of the noble houses. Perhaps another species would've chafed at how the deals heavily favored the Hanrao, but it did not bother the Abrithians. They had found contentment, and even peace, in this arrangement.
Yet not all was well. The Abrithians witnessed a gradual decline in their resources across multiple colonies. For the first time in centuries, several Kiiths could not make payments to the Hanrao, who likewise began to make further demands to feed their own industries and expansion. When the time came for representatives of the Kiiths to ask for aid in expanding their own borders, the lords on Honnêamarcyda dragged their feet, bickering amongst themselves and complaining about the "costs" and "safety" of their ships.
Ultimately, the response from Supreme-King Throthrausk, 102th heir to the Throne of Ages, advised the Kiiths to "restrain themselves from engaging in unnecessary colonization efforts at this time" and to wait for Honnêamarcyda to decide on this. Yet months turned to years without an answer or declaration. Soon enough, a dozen Kiith colonies were on the brink of bankruptcy.
A decision had to be made. One that would call into question centuries of mutual prosperity and diplomacy. The Kiith-Urmholi quietly gathered upon their homeworld and began to plan out the future of their nation.
Menethanil didn't like hosting the Hanrao representatives inside the halfway completed Ruby Gateway, but it was necessary. He wasn't about to be caught onboard a Kiith ship for these proceedings. Those blasted vessels smelled like dry stones and oil, somehow. Nor was he about to step foot on a Hanrao ship. A comprise had to be made. The Exarch wasn't too happy about this development at all.
The realization that the location of Ellax was potentially out in the open made this situation all the worse. Where in the hells were the Leering Moons in all of this? They promised the Crystal Dragons that the Royal Federation wouldn't hear about their plans. Menethanil doubted that Hanrao learned of the location alone, meaning someone told them.
In any case, the damage was done, and now Menethanil had to clean this up, somehow.
As the Exarch waited inside the meeting room, an unfinished briefing chamber for officers, he idly noticed that the rest of the Abrithians seemed quite agitated. The Exarch had to remind himself that their entire race was on the brink of extinction and that they were about to host a member of the race committing xenocide against them.
Curiously, Koya seemed almost at ease in this situation. Although, Menethanil quickly noticed that two of the aliens' hands were resting on a pair of pistols. Isha save him if he was expected to maintain order here. An Exarch was more than holding diplomatic talks, but one must remember that Khaine abhorred fruitless negotiations or unnecessary chatter. "A blade to the throat is just as effective as a quill on parchment" was said among most Aspect Shrines.
Unfortunately, Menethanil had to be the voice of reason. There were now thousands of vessels within shooting range of one another and tens of billions of panicking refugees and vengeful soldiers looking to start a fight. Meanwhile, the Hanrao clearly had the edge in combat capabilities until the Eldar ships entered the equation. Even Menethanil could see that the Kokra-class battleship could probably rip apart a chunk of Ellax before it was destroyed,
Menethanil still had no idea where the Leering Moons were, another point of contention in these matters. He had no idea what was going on now, and if there was one thing that the Eldar hated, it was not having all the answers or an edge in the discussion.
In any case, the Exarch would have to make due. A single shuttle from the Kokra descended upon the Ruby Gateway after almost a week since the Hanrao's arrival, and upon the start of the 22nd hour, their meeting would finally commence.
All idle chattered stopped when a phalanx of Crystal Dragons entered with a trio of Hanrao in toe. Menethanil had more than enough information on the Hanrao, but standing before one in person finally put to rest a few lingering observations.
Naturally, the uneducated observer could make a few initial accurate assumptions. Recognizing, for starters, that the Hanrao were reptilian by nature, bipedal, dual-gendered, and each had glowing scaled skin. Oddly enough, they had similar facial features akin to humans or Aeldari, including colorful feathers adorned around the crowns of their heads.
That was where the similarities ended, though. The Hanrao had four fingers, eyes that seemed pupilless, stood taller than a fully grown human (but not as tall as an Astartes or Aeldari), and strangest of all were what looked to be webbed fingers of all things. Odd because there were no oceans on Honnêamarcyda, hinting to Menethanil that the Hanrao had been genetically modified by their previous masters. Perhaps the humans wanted to use them for aquatic purposes.
Such things aside, the Hanrao wore clothing and armor that showed off their considerable wealth and status. A rainbow of colors that matched their crown feathers. No doubt that Harlequins found this aspect of Hanrao culture quite enjoyable. Yet to Menethanil, it was another sign of the species' decadence and arrogance. A fanciful showing of power and strength, of laurels everlasting. But the Hanrao had not earned their glories. Not yet.
A Hanrao wearing the ceremonial armor of command, a mix of mechanical body armor, and something called a chola, known colloquially as Battle Scale Armor, approached the gathering of representatives. From what Menethanil could tell, it was a male Hanrao due to the rather broad shoulders the males of the species had. This one looked like a lord or officer within the Royal Navy, although the Exarch could see a house insignia on his right shoulder.
"Well-met," The Hanrao spoke, and Menethanil could already detect that this male was pretty young, "I am Thakoa, First Son of House Thanok and Second Starlord of the RFN Kokkine Petalouda, Ninth Wonder of the Opis Shipyards." A whole lot of nothing, at least to Menethanil, but at least Thakoa did not seem intimidated.
He spared a short glance towards the Exarch before looking at the Abrithians. "I come before you as an emissary of peace and representative of House Thanok and those aligned to its interest. For whom among your number is the leader of this world?"
The Abrithians did not answer. Instead, the council and Koya simply glared at Thakoa and his entourage. After thirty seconds of awkward silence, Thakoa looked almost expectantly toward Menethanil.
Instead, Menethanil glared back at him, "Don't expect me to offer any help," The Exarch remarked flatly, "You came here for a reason, yes? Then you best speak up now." He wasn't in the mood for any flowery words or excuses. If this was going to turn into a fight, it best starts sooner rather than later.
Thakoa seemed to consider his options briefly, "Very well…" The feathers on his head seem to ruffle, "As you are all keenly aware, elements of the Royal Navy carried out hundreds of orbital bombardment attacks against your worlds. I say elements as most of our naval command was unaware of this until it had already occurred."
That caused some clamor and provided more context for reporting discontent across the federation. Was this all some horrible isolated incident? A plot by a cabal of lords and military officers? None of this explained why such devastation was brought upon the Abrithians.
"And what good does this do for us?" Koya interjected over the growing conversation, "Are you saying that a rogue element decided to be destroyed? Did no one on Honnêamarcyda have any inkling about what was coming?"
Menethanil wondered about that as well. There were over a thousand ships involved in the Abrithian xenocide. This meant tens of millions of personnel and considerable resources had to be directed toward such an operation. Imagine not a single person, especially within the houses and family among military officers, not talking about an organized xeoncide.
Thakoa seemed unsure of answering, "My superiors were as shocked as you were…" The starlord scales started to shimmer, "They did, however, learn of a fleet build-up before the attack. But assumed it was in response to the Kiith militarization program."
Another development, "What militarization program?" Menethanil asked Koya this time. "And why would that result in a fleet build-up from the Hanrao?"
Before Koya could answer, Thakoa interjected, "Our spies learned that the Abrithians were creating secret armories and manufacturing centers inside their abandoned mines. Evidence showed that they were developing a vast assortment of atomics and Kinect-Kill Vehicles for use against neighboring worlds of the federation."
Neither Koya nor Menethanil had time to respond before the rest of the Abrithians started yelling or arguing that Thakoa was spouting lies to justify his people's xenocide against the Kiiths. Once more, Menethanil was getting frustrated over this new information. Just what exactly had he stumbled into now?
He needed more answers, but first, he had to restore order, "Quiet!" The Exarch roared out to the gathering. And just like that, it was dead silence once more. He exhaled once before looking back at Thakoa, "So your forces assumed that the execution fleets that attacked the Kiiths were initially part of either an attack fleet or designed to intimidate the Kiiths back into submission?"
"It was a disarmament fleet and one that would only be activated if we confirmed that the Kiiths were mounting an offensive before declaring secession from the federation." Thakoa seemed adamant that the Hanrao wasn't planning on trying to exterminate the Abrithians, "Why they sought to exterminate the Abrithians is a tragedy, but one that is only part of a greater situation that has developed within the Royal Federation."
Now there were getting somewhere, "And this caused you and your superiors to come and find us then? How did you even know where we were?"
That question surprised Thakoa, "Members of your own species directed us to you…the ones who called themselves the Leering Moons contacted Sea-Lord Eqadroh and her loyalists. After that, they gave us the coordinates of Ellax. I am part of a forward element sent to make diplomatic contact with the Kiiths. Although it seems like you, Aeldari, are in charge now…"
Hearing the grumbling from the Abrithians over such a comment, the Exarch swiftly changed the subject, "You are loyalists? Which implies there is another faction you are now fighting against."
Thakoa and the other Hanrao started to chatter and growl for a second, "I'm sure you've heard…but all contact with Honnêamarcyda was lost for quite some time. However, we recently heard that ships and missives have started to leave the system. They bring conspiracy and treason for each vessel or missive that has arrived. No less than nine Great Houses and dozens of minor ones, including my own and the Sea-Lords, were implicated in a plot to sow discord and commit regicide against Supreme-King Throthrausk. More than that, dozens of worlds have gone into open revolt now. I fear a civil war has begun across the Royal Federation. The attempted destruction of the Kiiths was likely just a part of this plan."
"Our entire species was almost wiped out as an afterthought?" The silent fury in Koya's voice was palpable. Menethanil, however, thought that wasn't the case and voiced it.
"No," The Exarch interjected, "The destruction brought upon the Kiiths was likely still part of this plot. One could imagine that during a civil war, whoever could court the aid of the Kiiths could likely turn the war in their favor. These traitors decided not to risk your forces going over to the loyalists' side."
Thakoa seemed to agree, "I can assure you that xenocide was never the intention of the Royal Navy, even in our worst-case scenarios."
That seemed to mull the Abrithians over, if just for a moment. Menethanil was about to ask Thakoa how his side came across this information…he then heard laughter from the back of the room. It grows and grows until it fills the room.
Menethanil growled as he watched his accomplice saunter in like a grynix that ate the Farseer's pet psy-bird, "Kefka." The Exarch's voice tightened. The Troupe Master of the Leering Sons cast a nasty visage on all those who witnessed it. Kefka's white makeup was smeared to mimic dripping, melting wax. His clothing was no better, colorful but utterly devoid of "life" and almost ragged, making him stand out more than any Harlequin Menethanil had seen in the Black Library.
"Hehehehe…" Kefka chortled as he approached, "And I thought my jokes were bad." Like his Troupes namesake, the leering visage unsettled those around him. "Unfortunately, I must pull away the curtain and reveal to you a grim truth."
The Exarch wasn't about to let him just take control of this meeting, "Kefka, whatever information you have isn't imperative-"
"Let him speak," Koya interjected, glaring at the Exarch, "Please, Urmholi Kefka."
Kefka smirked at Menethanil, "Gladly." He then focused on Thakoa, "Let's rewind the clock about a year ago, hmm? When Honnêamarcyda fell silent, there weren't any outbound orders that reached your empire's forces, yes? No one has heard anything. And I can attest to that. Nothing came from the, heh, traitors." Kefka leaned forward, "But the loyalists, you and yours, received plenty of outbound transmissions from elements that had escaped your capital world. Including the orders to destroy the Kiith worlds."
"What?! That is impossible!" Thakoa exclaimed in surprise. Menethanil could see his scales turning red and green, "Those ships have been attacking our forces! They destroyed nine colonies and two anchorage stations. None of them have responded to hails, and we've hardly taken any prisoners. Besides, who among us would give such an order?!"
Menethanil then realized, "Did you actually contact any ships or command elements fleeing from Honnêamarcyda?"
Kefka held up a hand, "Ah ta ta ta ta!" He stopped the Exarch, "You are getting ahead of the story, now."
That was the last straw. Menethanil practically slammed his fist through the metal table before him, "Enough posturing, Kefka!" The Exarch roared towards the Harlequin, "Just what in the name of the gods is even happening?! Who gave the order to attack the Abrithians, and just what is going on that caused what we can only call a civil war among the Hanrao?"
The Hanrao and Abrithians were interested in hearing this, but they felt the ire radiating off Menethanil. Kefka, either ignorant or unconcerned, gave an exaggerated shrug with both his hands, "Oh…I wanted to tell a good story."
As if bemoaning the turn of events, Kefka seemed almost disheartened. But then suddenly, the Troupe Master snapped his fingers and leered at the Exarch, his voice cracking with power and spite, "Oh, I suppose I can explain what happened by showing you what my dancers found!"
Neither Menethanil nor the orders had time to react before Kefka waved his left hand. The air around the room vibrated for a moment, and the Exarch felt his senses being beguiled by warp and holo-matter. They barely had a moment to grasp what happened before they realized a creature had appeared.
It was a disgusting, vile creature! A floating tick-like creature with white, bulbous flesh like a maggot. It looked like a mix between an insect and a jellyfish. Larger than any man but wide as an Ogryn. In the center of the body of this creature was a single large sensory organ colored a ruby red that seemed to stare directly into Menethanil's soul.
Although only from historical records, he knew what this was; an Enslaver.
The situation had indeed gotten a lot more complicated now.
Once the initial pandaemonium subsided, Menethanil opted for an extended recess of this discussion, promising to clarify this matter and the plan moving forward. Aryom was left trying to placate several confused and concerned Hanrao and Abrithian leaders over what exactly they were shown.
Right now, though, the Exarch needed to speak with Kefka privately. So through gritted teeth, the Exarch politely asked Kefka to follow Menethanil back to his office. Once the door was secured, the Exarch practically rounded on the grinning Harlequin, sitting in the Exarch's chair.
"Are you out of your gods' damn mind?!" Menethanil yelled towards the Troupe Master. Kefka looked ready to make a quip, but the Exarch cut him off, "What am I saying? Of course, you are!"
Kefka chuckled in the Exarch seat. He silently watched with mirth as Menethanil began to lose his cool. The tirade from the Dragon Lord lasted no longer than three minutes. Most of the rant revolved around operational security, withholding important mission details, and effectively turning the diplomatic overtures with the Hanrao into a circus. More than a few threats towards the Troupe Master, including a rather colorful description of what the Exarch would do with his sword if Kefka tried this again.
It was a rather poor showing on his part, but Menethanil was at least doing it behind closed doors and needed to vent his frustration. Kefka had also gone behind his back too many times, which was also a long time coming. What else was he to do? Mediation and training could only do so much. Nor was Menethanil about to fall sway to other carnal temptations to soothe his bruised ego.
When he finished, Menethanil did feel a bit better. Although Kefka still kept that amused smile on his face. Turning away to look out the window, the Exarch now needed to focus on this development.
Running a hand through his chestnut brown hair, he idly noted that it had gotten too long for his liking and made a mental note to get it cut. Typically, his sister would've performed the task, but it would fall to him now with her gone.
Menethanil spoke a moment later, "What exactly are we dealing with now?" He turned to look at Kefka now. "And how do we stop it?"
"Both good questions," Kefka nodded slowly, "Unfortunately, I might not have answers, but only considerations." Leaning back into the Exarch's chair, the smirk faded into a stoic grin, "As I revealed to you and the others, we have an infestation in our midst."
"An infestation." Menethanil chuckled dryly before looking out the window again, "Your jokes are bad. Because if one was to believe the legends, the Enslaver Plague could bring destruction and madness to hundreds of star systems before they were either destroyed or starved."
The Exarch wondered if the Great Seer knew this: "Have you advised the Black Library yet?"
"I did." Kefka nodded again, "And you will not like the response. 'We are stretched too thin. Reinforcements are en route, but use the locals as best you can. Retrieve the soul stones and eliminate the Enslaver threat' and so on."
"The Farseers expect us to take care of Enslavers with what? A single strike fleet, four to six thousand warriors, and a bunch of Mon'Keigh militia armies and repurposed civilian ships?! Gods, even with the aid of these loyalist Hanrao, we barely have anything capable of having force projection." The Exarch was trying to gauge how the Abrithians or Hanrao would even function against such a threat, especially if their enemies were the enslaved bodies of former kin.
That was another issue as well, "How much of the Royal Federation was subsumed by the Enslavers?"
Kefka paused to consider that, "Hmm…" He pondered that a little more before finally answering, "Half."
"Half." Menethanil repeated once before looking back at Kefka, "HALF?!" That meant at least dozens of worlds, including whole armies and fleets, were either under mind-control or following orders from someone who was. "And you aren't uneasy about that?!"
"Hmm…no." Kefka idly remarked as he pulled out what looked to be a small knife and twiddled it around his right hand, "Misdirection, confusion, and mayhem. Very useful when appropriately utilized against your enemies, especially when you have access to valuable pawns such as a secret ruling cabal of Hanrao psykers."
This bastard with his revealing secrets, "I'm going to hazard a guess and say that this cabal was responsible for the Enslavers returning to the materium? In which case, how and why are you communicating with them."
"They have what we came here searching for." Kefka answered plainly, "Unfortunately, my dancers and players could not secure the stones on Honnêamarcyda. The soul of the planet and its population have become husks of the Enslavers."
"Then our only option is to go there and secure the stones by force." Menethanil could now see why a military approach was necessary, "Eliminate the Enslavers and hopefully secure the objective."
Kefka looked pleased now, "Ah, there is that eagerness for a battle that Khaine was oh-so-famous for. Here I thought you'd put it aside for building homes and bio-domes for our new allies."
The Exarch didn't rise to the bait, "You mentioned that this cabal controls everything? Are they the same ones that ordered the xenocide and triggered this civil war among the Hanrao?"
"Yes," Kefka slowly stood up from the Exarch's chair, "Although I might have had a hand in the collapse of the Royal Federation. By the time we arrived, most of the Hanrao were paralyzed over what happened, and upon deeply examining the Enslaver threat…I advised the surviving sane cabalists to send orders to start eliminating worlds and fleets at risk of becoming dominated by our foes."
After hearing that, gods preserve Menethanil's sanity, "You told them to kill tens of billions of their own citizens?"
The Troupe Master laughed, "I also told them to increase the extermination campaign against the Abrithians before losing control of that fleet." Kefka sounded proud, "Most certainly, we couldn't allow the Kiiths to follow under the sway of the Enslavers, and I didn't have the time, ability, or inclination to adjust the plan set by the Great Seer."
"Gods…" Menethanil breathed out, "You just admitted to ordering the deaths of our own allies!"
Kefka gave him a sidelong glance, "And yet you didn't seem to care about their wellbeing, considering they are Mon'Keigh."
"We have our honor to consider." The Crystal Dragon retorted, "We do not betray the trust of our allies."
"Then don't." As he approached the Exarch, Kefka shrugged, "This will be our a little secret. Do not worry about this coming back to haunt either of us. The Great Seer saw this coming, and the decision wasn't an easy one…but it was necessary."
Menethanil had never shied away from war and destruction, but such underhanded tactics were antithetical to Khaine's philosophy and perhaps just common sense. Then again, maybe he should've remembered that Khaine demanded his enemies be destroyed by whatever means necessary, just as Kefka said. What's done was done.
"As you say…" Menethanil finally remarked before nodding, "And aye, this will remain between us."
That disturbing grin returned, "Splendid. Once again, the Great Seer has chosen the right warrior for the right job." The praise felt dirty to Menethanil. He was now an accomplice to something vile. The Exarch made a mental note to be wary that if it came time for this secret to be buried, he might be put in the ground along with it.
However, he had more important things to worry about. "Tell me everything you know…"
"Gladly."
The Hanrao and Abrithians had never produced psykers. At least, not in a capacity that would allow either race to recognize one as such. There were legends. Individuals who could see the future and past events that seemed to follow a specific hero or villain in a story. Yet like all things, they chalked it up to tall tales or misinterpreted events.
Yet the Aeldari knew better. The Harlequins had long since learned to identify the psychic Awakening within a species. Additionally, humanity's genetic manipulation and forced evolutionary practices on the Hanrao had likely played a role in this Awakening. Perhaps it hadn't been the intention of their former masters, but that didn't matter. Over the thousands of years since humanity experimented on the Hanrao, a select few had slowly evolved to develop the genetic requirements for warp usage.
At first, these "Scholars" numbered only a handful, perhaps less than a dozen. Originally just individuals engrossed in their own private activities. Yet someone gathered and organized the Scholars. They formed a pact, calling themselves the "Studium," a reference to their endless journey as students of history and architects of the future. A humble title to hide their machinations.
These psykers took to the shadows and began to influence the politics of Honnêamarcyda. Their intentions were benevolent. How else could they have used this power if not to help their homeworld? If it required the Studium to influence their people and government from the shadows, then so be it. A conspiracy was born.
Influencing a government, especially one as complicated as Honnêamarcyda's, required a skilled and elegant touch. Nonetheless, time would catch up on the Studium sooner or later. The Hanrao, even with psychically enhanced powers, could only live in this reality for so long before expiring, and there weren't too many new Hanrao psykers appearing. Their great endeavor would soon end without a miracle.
The Eldar provided that miracle. That was to say, Eldar ruins provided it. Kefka was short on the exact details, but the Studium had somehow discovered the location of a destroyed Craftworld, albeit one that likely hadn't survived the collapse of their nation. However, they find something deep within its hold…an intact Webway Portal.
How they learned its secrets, transported it, or even used it to siphon energy from the Webway to increase their lifespans had yet to be determined. The real crux of the issue was how the Studium had gained access to soul stones. Kefka suspected either daemons or Druhkari provided such a resource. The only explanation would be that the Hanrao had somehow found them. A completely absurd notion, though.
Although, Kefka had another theory…the Enslavers that soon came to dominate Honnêamarcyda might have had a hand in all of this. Another crackpot theory, but then again, there was limited information on the Enslaver's capabilities or history, let alone their sentience. A race that could mind-control others surely must be capable of mundane manipulation?
In any case, the Studium used the soul stones to store the energy of the Webway. The Scholars fed off the power to extend their lives. A rather startling and unheard-of use of the stones and one that the Eldar would not want other species to learn of. Not only did it behoove the Eldar to eliminate the potential galactic threat via an unchecked Enslaver infestation, but this information also had to be recovered, examined, and destroyed.
The stakes were undoubtedly more extensive than first anticipated…
"We are to receive allies, yes?" Menethanil figured it was time to go over how to win this impending war, "Did the Great Seer specify?"
Kefka's obnoxious grin returned, "Oh yes! Enough warriors and ships to allow for an offensive, but we shall also gain the help of our recent allies."
Menethanil remembered who counted as allies these days, "You mean humans! The one race that both the Abrithians and Hanrao hate. Not only that, I seem to recall we are allied with these Astartes?"
"Yes,." Kefka nodded, "I've been told that these Astartes are perfectly capable. You should be grateful, Exarch. Why run the chance of losing our people's lives when we can use Mon'Keighs?"
"You expect me to balance the politics of three separate species while trying to build the Gateway and lead a future offensive." It wasn't a question, just Menethanil observing how complicated this had all become, "Gods…my kin and I are not diplomats."
"Then don't act like ones." Kefka sounded almost honest, "If our allies refused to work together, it should be because they failed to reach a peaceful state with one another. You, Exarch, are ultimately tasked with building the fortress and recovering the soul stones, nothing more or less."
There was no lie in his words, but Menethanil could simply ignore problems. The Crystal Dragons were warriors, but much was expected of all Aeldari now. As much as Menethanil wanted to shove these problems away and focus on building, he was the leader of this entire endeavor.
Although he still wondered if Kefka was still pulling all the strings…
"How long until our reinforcements arrive?"
Kefka shrugged, "A few months at most. If no further delays are permitted, there is plenty of time to complete the Gateway." There was still much to finish and plenty of new problems. Still, the Crystal Dragons would be ready.
"And what will you do during this time, Troupe Master?" Menethanil needed to be kept in the loop as much as possible.
Kefka laughed, "Manipulation and destruction. The surviving members of the Studium are effectively desperate for any aid we can render, as are most of the nobility and leadership of the Hanrao. They will be begging us in due time to save their Royal Federation. Alas…it is already too late for their dreams of empire and glory."
"Unless we do something to prop them and the Abrithians up," Menethanil was starting to see where this was going, "I don't like this, Kefka. Too much deceit and skullduggery, especially against a foe like this, feel like we are taunting the fates."
"I know," A wicked smile graced his face, "Makes one feel alive."
Menethanil promised himself that if they survived and won this war, he'd request never to work with this insane Harlequin again.
Four Months Later…
Thakoa was a right; civil war had broken out among the Royal Federation. The attempt of xenocide, the claims of treason, and now open fighting amongst the federation navy and army resulted in chaos across their domain. Loyalists and Traitors. As if such things mattered. Especially when one considered the idea of a force from beyond the Materium controlling both sides to a certain degree.
Not that such discrepancies mattered at this point. There was. However, a growing threat coming out of Honnêamarcyda. Supreme-King Throthrausk announced that a great "cleanings" of the Royal Federation was necessary. It wasn't just traitors and conspirators, though. Alien forces from beyond their empire had arrived to subjugate their people, just like the humans had done in the past.
Menethanil could only imagine how things would go once they saw humans fighting alongside the "Traitors" and the Abrithians. Whatever the hell the Enslavers were up to, they were pulling all the right strings to make their puppets dance. Already several Sea-Lords and their fleets had been destroyed, including Sea-Lord Eqadroh. This resulted in the remaining Loyalists fracturing even further.
Thankfully for everyone involved, the alliance gathering at Ellax ensured a safe harbor for vessels seeking to flee the civil war. Completing the Ruby Gateway meant there was now a fully operational command center for the Aeldari in this part of space. More importantly, the Hanrao, Abritihans, and Aeldari directly could coordinate and train for the inevitable war of "liberation."
Liberation…most did not know there was no saving anyone under the Enslavers' thrall. Perhaps if one was saved after only a few days, maybe. But months passed, and Kefka reported that the enslaved Hanrao was too far gone. Things were looking desperate now.
When reinforcements from the Black Library finally did arrive, it was a welcome sight…that was until the Hanrao and Abrithians learned of the humans. That started a political and cultural firestorm, requiring Menethanil to spend sometimes days dealing with angry commanders or leaders over the return of their former masters. Things certainly didn't get any better when they learned that the Imperium of Man practiced outright xenocide or made aliens into protectorates under gunboat diplomacy. Not much else Menethanil could do about all of this, though.
The only good news was that these Thousand Sons were much more amicable and friendly humans. Praetor Karaz Loia of the Corvidae Cult had experience in joint Human-Eldar operations, leading and coordinating them. He had no qualms with Menethanil leading his forces, especially after hearing of their harrowing battle out of the warp.
Bizarrely enough, he was getting the most pushback from his own people! An Exarch no less, but what did he expect from a Howling Banshee? Gensela Ur'Dack had a dominant personality and, upon learning of the full extent of this situation, became convinced that Menethanil had been far too passive. Almost a year and no offensive operations? She didn't care that his initial mission was the establishment of the Ruby Gateway and training the locals.
As if that weren't enough problems, the Harlequin, Ricco, was already working alongside Kefka and his ilk. That certainly wasn't the headache that Menethanil needed to worry about. At the very least, his new allies and co-commanders were helping with the considerable workload thrown onto the Exarch's lap.
Things were proceeding quickly, and preparations for joint-combat operations were already in the works. At this point, things were starting to look up for the Exarch.
Menethanil must have cursed one of the gods, for they decided to throw an angry Banshee Exarch at him randomly one morning. He barely had time to enjoy his tea when Gensela practically slammed open the door to his finally completed office.
This wasn't the first time this had happened, "Ah, is it that time of the week for our usual bickering, Ur'Dack? I could fetch you something to eat if you'd like…" He wondered what the compliant today was going to be. Perhaps not enough weapons or materials for the Kiith Guard or Royal Troops? An odd complaint considering the hundreds of billions of guns, machines, and materials they brought with them. Most of which was Imperial, strangely enough. Although, it wasn't like the Aeldari were going to arm lessers with their weapons.
"To the warp with your glibs," Gensela voiced with considerable displeasure, "We have a serious situation developing here within the Gateway. I don't know what you were thinking when you allowed for a Khainite cult to gain a foothold here-" What?!
"What in the name of the gods are you blathering about now?" Menethanil almost knocked over his tea as he stood up, "There isn't any such thing here. Neither my dragons nor your banshees are directly tied to any such thing."
Gensela grit her teeth before pulling out a document from her person, "Did you not consider the possibility of the Abrithians turning towards Khaine?" She tossed the scroll onto his desk, "Their species has begun a collective cultural shift to worshipping the Bloody Handed."
Quickly unfurling the scroll, Menethanil saw what looked like a call to arms and part of some twisted gospel dedicated to the Lord of Murder. All were welcomed to participate in this "holy war" of survival for the Kiiths. The Exarch was about to dismiss this as some minor group…until he saw that Koya had authorized and endorsed this new worship of Khaine.
This was impossible…how could this have happened? Menethanil then remembered how strange it was that Koya and the other Kiith leaders became so accommodating to specific practices and the increase in military volunteers. Menethanil had made the mistake of taking this information at face value. He had no choice, considering what was expected of him.
"They are allowing children to become soldiers, Menethanil." Gensela stated, "The Abrithians are practicing a form of bloodletting and coating their hands with the blood of their families or other soldiers as appeasement for Khaine for sending his warriors in their hour of need."
Briefly working his jaw, Menethanil tried to defend himself, "I had…no idea that this was happening." That excuse sounded pretty hallow for him. "Koya mentioned that Kefka had explained certain elements of Khaine…"
"You weren't going to allow civilians inside the Gateway unless they were declared soldiers or adherents of Khaine." Gensela countered, "Menethanil, what possessed you to tell the Kiiths such a thing?"
He wasn't about to let sentimentality get in the way of tradition, "There has never been an exception to that rule, save to defend our own people from harm! This is a fortress, for which only warriors of the Craftworld and Khaine shall use to ensure our enemies are broken upon our walls," Menethanil wasn't about to back down, "To do so otherwise runs the risk of forsaking our honor and traditions, and I will not make further exceptions, especially for Mon'Keigh, even allied with us."
Gensela said nothing for a moment, then she scoffed, "Well, you got to keep your honor. All it took was turning the Abrithian's despair into zealotry."
"This is a war," Menethanil countered, "And one against beings such as the Enslavers. If they and the Hanrao wish to reclaim their place in the galaxy, it must be through blood, fire, and sacrifice."
Considering Menethanil was now an accomplice to keeping Kefka's secrets, this was a low price to pay to keep this alliance functional. "Unless you believe it will hinder our ability to wage this war or risk our partnership with the Kiiths and Loyalists, I fail to see how this is a serious problem for us. Unexpected, yes. But perhaps beneficial in the long run."
"Anything to keep you the master of your lair, Dragon?" Gensela spat before turning to leave his office, "Very well. This is your command, and I am instructed to follow it. But mark my words, the Grear Seer and the rest of the council will hear about this."
Something told Menethanil that Eldrad was already aware. He must have known that this would be a brutal campaign by sending Kefka and his troupe to bring down two entire civilizations. Unfortunately, Menethanil was now the one who was to reap such a terrible harvest. All for the good of their people.
As Gensela left his office, Menethanil wondered just how in control he was of this entire campaign. Kefka had his own plans; that much was obvious. But then what did the Great Seer have in plan here? The Enslavers had to be eliminated, and the soul stones recovered, but the Abrithians and Hanrao were the odd men in this grand design.
Were they simply pawns, allies, or something more? Eldrad put faith in Menethanil and the Crystal Dragons to keep them alive and fighting. He was not to waste them. But when this war ended, what would the Eldar, Abrithians, and Hanrao be left with then?
Questions that the Exarch had no answers to. And so, the Dragon pondered from inside his lair and worried for the future that awaited them all.
---
@Daemon Hunter When you get back.
I had started this one four months ago and finally got off my ass to finish it. I just wanted to finally finish it now.
---
Dragon Lair
Most soldiers would have been grateful to survive any campaign. Let alone survive through the nightmare that was fighting in the Warp. One could almost call it a miracle. Yet, for the Crystal Dragons, the survivors felt only lingering hatred and shame. Their enemies had not broken against their walls, not in body or spirit. When it came time to retreat, Exarch Menethanil cursed the fates at having his warriors abandon their position. Survival, however, superseded his desire to die in a last stand.
Victory never tasted so bitter. Even so, the final exodus from Citadel Wyrmsrest was a harrowing journey. Almost a third of his remaining forces nearly dealt the killing blow. But ultimately, the Crystal Dragons succeeded in their escape into the Webway. They spent weeks moving through the labyrinthine lanes before the Harlequins found them.
Calling their return a celebration was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more a laidback affair for the Eldar. Of course, their people had to work, so it was a tepid affair. Menethanil used the downtime to recruit more into their Shrine but had limited success.
Let alone hearing the state of things involving the Aeldari people. That Eldrad Ulthran had not only rallied what was left of their species, but he had also effectively co-opted the Druhkari and allied with several Mon'Keigh elements such as Astartes and human mercenaries.
To hear it from the other warriors was one thing, but when Menethanil inquired what hope there was for using primitives in their war against the Great Enemy, the Great Seer only vaguely remarked that "they would surprise him." The Exarch curbed his enthusiasm, though. He didn't think that most species were on-par with the Eldar. And just because the Aeldari military might have been severely hampered didn't mean they were out of the fight. The Crystal Dragons would not rest on their laurels, so Menethanil requested that their shrine be redeployed.
To their surprise, Eldrad agreed with the request. Even though the Crystal Dragons were severely undermanned and underequipped, all warriors capable of aiding Aeldari's efforts had to be sent out on missions. Menethanil was pleased, but only until the Great Seer explained their next assignment.
"Soul stone extraction…" Menethanil remarked under his breath. That wasn't what he expected for the Crystal Dragons' next assignment. They should be on the front lines with the other warriors, aiding the battle against the Great Enemy and the First Traitors. Menethanil admitted they needed new warriors, but the Aspect Shrines had taken to getting fresh aspirants and training them in the field. At least that was what he thought until Eldrad explained that wasn't exactly the case either.
"A critical function in such desperate times," The Great Seer explained, "And one that the Harlequins has requested your Shrine specifically to aid in, an accolade in its own right." Menethanil frown deepened. Why should he care for their praise?
Try as he might, Menethanil could not find such a task worthy of his Shrine, let alone befitting his or his warriors' skills, "Begging pardon, Lord Ulthran. However, is such an assignment not better suited for the Striking Scorpions or Warp Spiders?"
"Normally, yes." Eldrad admitted, "However, this assignment is more than securing soul stones. The Crystal Dragons are perhaps one of the few shrines that can build rather than just kill or destroy." Menethanil nodded in agreement. The Bloody-Handed might have resented that the Crystal Dragons were initially builders, but that lineage allowed them to survive even in the nightmare of the warp.
"You have something in mind, then?" Menethanil was willing to hear out the Great Seer. It wasn't like he had any other choice. And by his will, did the Aeldari survive now. Not only that, Eldrad and his seers were the ones who prioritized who got what. If Menethanil expected to rebuild the Crystal Dragons, he would first need Eldrad's support.
The Great Seer briefly nodded before using a few of his runestones to create an illusionary image. A parlor trick that any Warlock used when visually explaining something, but Menethanil could see that the Great Seer had outdone himself. Menethanil saw what looked to be a map of a sector of space, detailed to an absurd point. The Exarch could make individual stars and worlds, even tiny moons and asteroids.
"The Masque of the Leering Moon has recently uncovered a small alien empire that holds at least a hundred soul stones, give or take. My fellow Seers wish to make all efforts towards their recovery paramount. However, we also believe there is more to the situation that is taking place within this stretch of space. One that requires a more proactive approach on our apart. Leering Moon's leadership requested the Crystal Dragons specifically to build a military fortress to organize and centralize the command structure towards a faction that has become agreeable to our overtures."
"Overtures?" Menethanil looked away from the star map towards Eldrad, "What do you mean?"
"There are several species inside this stretch of space." With only a glance, the map changed to what looked to be a grouping of 100 worlds, "The dominant force is the Royal Federation of Honnêamarcyda; they are the ones that have the soul stones. Though their species have recently engaged in xenocide towards one of their former subjects, another group called the Abrithian Kiiths. They've recently begun a rebellion and are waging what could generously be called an insurgency against the Royal Federation. The Leering Moon's decision to aid the Abrithians and after reading initial reports, I have agreed to provide additional aid in the form of war materials, resources, and the expertise of your Shrine."
The more Menethanil heard the explanation, the deeper his frown became, "Lord Ulthran…why are we aiding these Mon'Keigh? I understand they might be useful pawns in some scheme of yours, but are we expecting to go to such lengths as to deploy the Crystal Dragons alongside an entire Masque?"
Unfortunately for Menethanil, Eldrad nodded, "That is exactly what we are doing here."
"But why?" Menethanil looked back down towards the star map, "The Royal Federation commands at least a few dozen worlds, which means they have significant military power, yes?"
"Quite so," Eldrad seemed amused at the observation, "They have at least 37 Battlegroups, numbering at least 100,000 ships in total, and an army that numbers in the hundreds of billions, most of which is highly trained and armed. The Hanrao, the race that controls the Royal Federation, is exceptionally dangerous and industrious. My seers agree that it would've taken one of the Astartes legions and the Imperial Army considerable resources to take care of this Royal Federation if it turned to war."
The more he heard, the more the Exarch started to worry, "And these Abrithians do they possess any relative military capabilities?"
"What they lack in war materials they have made up in spirit and zeal. The Leering Moons have access to hundreds of millions of furious individuals, ready to be directed towards the enemy once they are trained and equipped. But to answer your question? Nothing worth mentioning, otherwise."
"Begging pardon, Lord Ulthran, but we plan to use these Mon'Keigh to secure the soul stones?"
Eldrad shook his head, surprising Menethanil once more, "Only if it becomes necessary. Those soul stones must be retrieved at all costs if our plans fail in this section of space. That being said, the intention is to use the Abrithian Kiiths to help end the current situation that has taken place inside the Royal Federation."
"What situation is that?"
A quick flick of the fingers and the map narrowed its focus towards a singular world, and Menethanil could see an ugly green and brown planet. "Historically speaking, the Abrithian and Hanrao have been quite friendly towards one another for the millennia. Going even further back, both species kicked out their human oppressors during the start of the Long Night. The Abrithians were part of the Royal Federation of their own violation via a free association. So much so that the Kiiths depended on the federation for protection against Orks, pirates, and whatnot. And yet all of this changed recently. The attempted xenocide came out of nowhere. Certainly, the Abrithians did nothing to warrant such action, or so they claim."
Menethanil snorted, "Savage races will kill each other for no reason. One need only look toward the humans to see that. They kill each other by the trillions even now."
Eldrad agreed with the comment, "Be that as it may, the Leering Moon's and my own visions confirmed that this decision was not popular among the Royal Federation. There are many reports of open protest across their realm over the near-extinction of the Abrithians."
That was interesting to the Exarch, "Which means their leadership made the decision in a vacuum." As he looked down at the illusionary world, he frowned, "Let me guess, their reasoning is about as flimsy as an Ork Trukk?"
"Worse…there has been only silence."
He looked up again, "Silence? Surely someone has…" Menethanil watched as the Great Seer shook his head, "No one has heard anything from their homeworld?"
Eldrad frowned, "Or returned as of yet, or if they do, they seem to disappear after some time."
Now Menethanil was starting to better understand why the Aeldari were throwing resources into this situation. "So you want to organize a rebellion within this federation using the Abrithians as a pretext to rally the dissenting voices among the Hanrao?"
"We will direct the Kiiths and create a narrative that will paint them as victims of an insidious plot of a cabal on Honnêamarcyda. Once we get them into contact with other rebellious elements within the federation military, an organized liberation force will come into fruition. This will allow our forces to determine what happened on Honnêamarcyda, identify our foe, prepare the necessary steps, and once the royal federation has been liberated and secured, we shall take further steps to centralize power for our ends. "
Menethanil nodded; that was undoubtedly a tried and true Aeldari strategy, "But first, we need to organize the Abrithians?"
"Oh yes. The Kiiths really are just rabble at this point. Woefully unprepared for what is needed of them for our plans. Let me ease some of your concerns. Your mission will not be to train or equip them. That will be handled in the background and by other individuals. We do need the Abrithians to rally around a symbol, both a metaphorical and physical one."
"A fortress." Menethanil crossed his arms, "Something that can provide protection for their people and act as a staging ground, a supply depot, etc." There was certainly plenty of logic in this plan. It would've made them a target, but it was a place for their people to come for protection and guidance. "And you want the Crystal Dragons to make this fortress?"
"Of course," Eldrad sounded almost surprised at the question, "Only a handful of groups in the galaxy could consider themselves paragons of defense planning and strategies. Khaine himself honored your ancestor, even when he despised the concept of fighting defensively. Yet this time, the Crystal Dragons will not build a fortress to break the spirits of their foes, but to bolster those of our allies."
—
Menethanil was ultimately convinced to accept the mission. Not that he had much choice, but the Exarch refused to shame the Shrine by rejecting it. Maybe Menethanil disagreed with this plan, but he trusted the Great Seer. Besides, he couldn't argue against the logic of it either. If the Eldar were to survive, drastic measures had to be taken.
If that meant using Mon'Keigh, then so be it. At the very least, Menethanil could stomach such an affront. Better they die than one of his warriors. Unfortunately, the Exarch felt Eldrad was playing with fire to a certain degree. Perhaps the other Aspect Shrines likewise tolerated this new direction, but most would never consider Mon'Keigh as equals.
To do so otherwise would dishonor those that had taken the Path. Especially those that had become "lost" to fulfill their duty to their brothers and sisters. A Crystal Dragon was family, although not all were bonded by blood. The Paths might have been the means to enkindle a specific spark inside an Eldar's soul, but the Crystal Dragons did not separate easily.
Any the left their path was free to do so, more often than not with a celebration as they sought to expand their horizons. That was the difference, though. You never stopped being a dragon, nor did their shrine shun their "former" kin. The other Aspects pretended that wasn't the case with their own…, but Menethanil knew better. Those that refused to become lost on their particular path or simply left became ostracized. In some ways, the Aspect Shrines were tribes bound by honor and shared connection to Kaela Mensha Khaine. Yet past all of that, what were they otherwise? The only way to survive now was to find strength in ties beyond even the Paths.
Because of this, Menethanil had to balance out what was best for his kin and his people. The Farseers had guided all of them, especially the Great Seer. Trust was paramount. And so far, it was only because of the seers that they made it this far. And so that trust, along with his honor and duty, ensured that the Crystal Dragons would accomplish their mission.
Three months later, with new recruits and rested veterans, the Crystal Dragons returned to the Webway. They marched into the unknown with determination in their hearts and a song on their lips.
Nine weeks later…
Menethanil's father once told him and his siblings, "Every citadel began with a small stone, a single hammer, but rings with a squall of a hundred thousand voices." A sentiment that was shared among the Crystal Dragons. One that Exarch kept in mind whenever the building process began on a new world.
He tried to keep that in mind, here on this alien world. It was difficult, though. Not for want of trying, but Menethanil found himself a bit exasperated at the situation he and his kin faced on this misbegotten planet, that which would be the home of their first fortress since returning from the Warp and that which would become the mind, heart, and soul of an entire rebellion.
The Crystal Dragons called this new stronghold the "Ruby Gateway." The locals, however, had called it the Masosha Amakhanda, "Citadel of the Kiith Guard." An ugly and unflattering name for a work of art in the martial sense. Not that it was the Gateway/Amakhanda was completed, mind you.
Sadly, there were a few challenges to overcome, such as trying to build when the people and world were "difficult" to work with. Like an artist who struggled with unfinished painting, the builder also found issues with his "canvas," in this case, the construction site, and workers.
Any world could be considered either hell or paradise with the right mindset. Menethanil felt their current home-away-from-home, a dusty and near-barren rock of a planet called Ellax, more like "limbo" than either. Yet it was here on Ellax that the seeds for a rebellion had taken root.
Which sounded a lot more promising on paper and aloud, but the reality of their situation was anything but like all things. Not for lack of trying, at least on his Crystal Dragons' part, but Menethanil had come to believe that this new fortress would be completed, at the current rate of progress, before the end of time.
Frankly, there were many issues, from the mundane to the absurd. It didn't help that the Crystal Dragons were on a schedule, but their problems were only starting to pile up. It came back to the current relationship that the Eldar had with the Abrithians. Needless to say, it wasn't a productive one.
The Great Seer briefly explained to Menethanil the exact nature of the Kiiths. Although, this was somewhat limited. If Eldrad Ulthran had the time, he could've peered into the Abrithian's entire history and given a detailed recounting, perhaps even more so than Kiith scholars could've achieved in multiple lifetimes.
But Eldrad Ulthran wouldn't waste his time or energy on such a divining. Not when he had more important concerns to worry about. So instead, he provided just enough information gleaned from rudimentary augry and the Leering Moons. "It might be better for your forces to learn directly from the Abrithians in any case. We don't have much time to watch from the shadows like we normally do. You'll be fine, though. The Crystal Dragons can handle a few diplomatic obstacles." A vote of confidence, one that wouldn't be misplaced. Sadly, the Abrithians proved to be prickly and cantankerous people.
To explain, the Abrithians were a species that had evolved on their desert homeworld of Suva some 100,000 thousand years ago. Suva was a harsh planet that bred an even more resilient people. Abrithians were a muscular and robust race. Their four arms, combined with natural ambidexterity and lungs that could retain oxygen and water for an hour, allowed them to survive and slowly tame their world.
The early Abrithian civilizations grew in two places: the mountains and oases. Water was all-important in a desert world, but so were bronze, iron, and copper. Thus two distinct groups of early Abrithian cultures flourished and finally encountered one another. To these early Abrithians' credit, they did not go to war over wanting the other resources. Instead, they traded with one another for centuries before someone figured out they could accomplish much more by working together.
It worked. The Kiiths formed and spent the next two thousand years building their city-states and petty kingdoms into actual nations. They had just figured out combustion engines when visitors landed on their world from the sea of stars.
Humans.
Once more, the old human empires sought both riches and labor in the form of primitive species and promptly began to exploit them. The way the Abrithians explained it, they spent the next thousand years being used in human mining operations across a hundred worlds. Cheaper than the metal men, or so their long-dead masters once claimed.
Fortunately for the Abrithians, they had to only endure this treatment for another millennium before the Long Night began and the human empire collapsed. Their masters left one day, although some records from the few free Abrithian scholars at the time reported that the humans left with the "fear of the gods" in their hearts. No doubt the humans "Men of Iron" were after the former masters. By fleeing, the Abrithians were spared the fire and fury of the Long Night.
Free of their bondage, the Kiiths still spread out across almost a hundred worlds free of their bondage. Many were left to fend for themselves. They did not know how to traverse the warp but had learned enough from their former masters to use voidships. The Kiiths used courier vessels, often taking decades to move from one system to keep in touch. Inefficient, but it worked for the Kiiths.
It was almost…respectful in its own way. A species that knew that the vastness of space and whatever dangers lurked in it, taking the time and effort, albeit inefficiently, to stay within contact. Perhaps a feat worthy of admiration, even. However, this practice would only last for a millennia before the arrival of the Hanrao…
"Urmholi Menethanil." The Exarch's waxing thoughts were interrupted by a gruff and alien voice. "I have the reports from the Ebenzis." Urmholi was the title of "leader" while Ebenzis meant "worker" in their tongue. The Abrithian language was devoid of elegance or wit but serviceable. For the Aeldari, it was like speaking with a perpetually dry mouth.
Menethanil turned to look at the representative and perhaps sole remain Kiith-Urmholi, Koya of the Silver Rains. His "fellow" Urmholi was clad in what could've been generously called a workman enviro-suit, although enhanced with various colors and iconography to denote his position among his and other Kiiths.
The Exarch nodded, "And what do your men have to report?" It was best to be straightforward with the Abrithians. Usually, it would've been a game to "play" with the Mon'Keighs. To get inside their heads and make them think that the Aeldari was completely aware of everything and anything that had taken place.
A difficult feat, although that was because the Abrithians lacked the social queues needed to pick up things like sarcasm or even humor. Then again, Aeldari humor was difficult for primitives to grasp anyway. There was also one more issue.
"Progress has slowed," His voice rumbled behind his ceremonial scarf, covering the lower half of his face. This, combined with the equally annoying Ingasa, a wide-brim headdress, made it so that Menethanil could only make a pair of amber-colored eyes and red skin looking back at him. The Abrithians had long since developed a cultural practice of covering their faces, stemming from the thousands of years of living in a hostile environment. The males wore scarves and headdresses, while the women wore veils. To the Abrithians, it was just as important as wearing clothes. Quite taboo to be seen without your head-coverings.
"Although not for want of trying. But rather due to the confusing process of your Nezinzo and their strange engineering."
Menethanil clenched his right fist. More setbacks, all because the Abrithians didn't grasp the intricacies of building a fortress of this scale and grandeur. "Haillen should've explained the process." For the fifth time…
Koya nodded, "He has, for the fifth time even." The Kiith-Urmholi sighed wistfully, "Your science is beyond our understanding. This we readily admit. We seek only to do our part, for surely the act of moving dirt and stone, building the homes and warehouses for our people, could be accomplished without utilizing your peoples' technologies."
He wasn't wrong. The Abrithians workers were doing the brunt of the labor. However, they had to work around or with the Crystal Dragons during construction. It was difficult, like someone trying to build a stray hut alongside a skyscraper. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Otherwise, Menethanil and his warriors would spend months trying to complete the Gateway in time.
The Exarch was getting frustrated, "Just have your people listen to the instructions of my warriors."
"Yes, well, that might be another issue." Koya spoke carefully, "Many of your Impia haven't been forthcoming, save for a few like Iza Aymeric and Haurchefant." Ah yes, a pair of rising stars within the Crystal Dragons. They had undoubtedly become popular as of late. "But we dare not burden them with our issues."
Menethanil would've told Koya to do just that, but he needed to limit the number of communication issues right now, "My warriors are dedicated to their tasks, but I can see about having Aymeric and Haurchefant find time among their regular duties to assist your Ebenzis."
"Begging pardon," Koya sounded confused, "But mayhaps we can request the aid of Urmholi Kefka and his dancers to aid in this? Surely such figures could aid in establishing closer ties between our people."
It took all of Menethanil's restraint and will to not have his right eye start twitching at the mention of that man. "No." The Exarch answered in finality, "We shall endeavor without their aid."
Koya tilted his head in surprise before nodding once, "Very well. If there is nothing else, I shall take my leave." The Kiith-Urmholi made a strange gesture with all four hands, signally his intention to go. Menethanil barely paid the Abrithians any mind. Instead, the Exarch returned to look upon the great work stalling before his eyes.
He hated to think that he was running into problems. How could it be possible? The Crystal Dragons could build fortresses within the raging abyss that was the Warp. So why then were they not making progress?
It had been only nine weeks since his arrival. Most of the time was spent laying the foundations of the Gateway/Amakhanda, hollowing out the very earth to allow hundreds of millions to live safely, and creating a small eco-system. That which would've taken nature hundreds of millions of years was accomplished in such a short amount of time.
Yet it wasn't fast enough, not for Menethanil and certainly not for the approaching timetable, especially for the Abrithians. The survivors of an entire species were on their way toward Ellax, and while the Exarch showed no love for these aliens, he would not break the promise his people made.
Something had to change…and soon.
Five months later…
The space above Ellax had become crowded, with thousands of vessels in orbit of the dreary planet. Many voidships, from private pleasure transports to the famous hulking Abrithian "Earthshaper" dreadnaughts. Each vessel hailed from destroyed worlds, perhaps holding the last elements of their Kiiths. Tens of billions were fearful of a surprise attack by the Hanrao. Many captains and surviving military commanders argued about what must be done now. More importantly, what to do for the survivors. While millions had volunteered to join the Kiith Guard, there were still billions of civilians.
Most waited for the end to come, while others remained hopeful of the supposed salvation on Ellax. Thanks to the Leering Moons' efforts, that word spread of a safe haven for all Abrithians. As there was no alternative, most captains and surviving Kiith elders and seers opted to try their luck at Ellax. Most didn't believe that it would be in this forgotten colony world that a counter-attack was being organized. However, the prospect of striking back gave hope that there was a chance to avenge the fallen. Maybe even an opportunity to save their civilization.
There were, of course, issues that started to appear. Such as when the Abrithians finally learned who their new allies were and how similar they looked to humans. Most Abrithians hadn't seen or heard from their former masters in thousands of years.
However, the one Aeldari known as "Kefka" somehow calmed and assuaged any possible misgiving or confusion on the nature of this alliance. Menethanil wondered what that blasted clown had done or said to get the Abrithians to start readily working alongside the Eldar. The Exarch figured it was the chance to get revenge or maybe just the vast amount of free aid that won over the Kiiths. Yet even then, Menethanil marveled at now having billions of extra hands and mouths to feed in one go.
Sadly, more hands do not make an adequate replacement for skill. The Ruby Gateway was likely close to being halfway completed. It was an accomplished feat, considering it could comfortably house almost two billion souls. If only the Crystal Dragons were at full strength and under the guidance of Menethanil's father, they would have completed construction months ago.
Instead, he and his warriors were stuck looking at an unfinished work of art. Meanwhile, the Abrithians called the Masosha Amakhanda a wondrous composition of focusing construction and otherworldly engineering. They had already moved women, children, and their elders into it.
And that was when a rather significant problem started to take root.
Menethanil requested an emergency meeting with Koya, recently promoted to the Blessed Kiith-Urmholi. Perhaps if the Exarch cared enough to recognize that the alien before him had been blessed with an ancient title akin to War-King, he might have congratulated the alien. Instead, Menethanil had to temper his frustration as he spoke up. "Why are you moving civilians into the Gateway before it's completed?"
Koya seemed bemused at the question, "We don't wish for them to be stuck on the ships. It is not good for their mental health or spirits. Our civilians must feel the dirt under their feet and starlight upon their skins." That was all well and good, but Koya was ignorant of the problem facing the Crystal Dragons.
"Koya, while I respect that reasoning, the Gateway is intended to be a command and control center for your forces. It shall be where an army is raised, trained, and equipped. You should not be bringing children and seniors to a military encampment. It's not safe."
The Blessed Koya tilted his head again, "And the space above is?" He shook his head now, "We know that the Masosha Amakhanda can withstand orbital bombardments, and with the tunnels, we have carved out below, our citizens can survive below ground. The water and geothermal plants, which I will remind you that my Ebenzis built while still aiding your warriors in constructing this splendid fortress, can ensure that they have clean drinking water and energy to sustain themselves if this turns into a siege."
He couldn't exactly argue that logic. More than that, Koya and his workers saved the Crystal Dragons at least two weeks by getting those plants up and running, even if they were grossly ineffective compared to Aeldari variations. "Our original plan was to build several settlements for the civilians…"
"The elders and other Urmholi didn't agree with that when I explained it to them," Koya remarked flatly to the Exarch, "Right now, their chief concern is trying to protect the civilians and making sure our Nezinzo can go off to fight and die knowing they are safe."
Menethanil shook his head, "It would be safer to keep them on the ships. If the event that Ellax is swarmed by federation ships, I don't know if we will be able to protect everyone down on the ground." The Exarch didn't mention that he and his Crystal Dragons would abandon the world if the Gateway was lost. This planet wasn't worth dying for, especially since it wasn't even Eldar.
"And where would those ships go?" Koya's emotionless voice spoke again, "There is nothing else for our people. The last ships that have arrived told us that most of the colonies are gone now…there is nowhere else to run to now." He sighed once, "We shall make our stand here."
All of this was starting to make Menethanil realize that he needed to explain why he couldn't let civilians inside the Gateway, "Koya, I cannot allow civilians inside the Gateway; otherwise, it is an affront to the patron deity of the Crystal Dragons."
"Ahh!" He sounded surprised at hearing this, "Your war-god, yes? Urmholi Kefka explained this…Khaine was described as a mighty deity." Menethanil paused as he expected to hear something else entirely. "Your war shrines are dedicated to him, and he is regarded as a fierce and destructive god."
After a moment, the Exarch narrowed his eyes but nodded, "Yes…that is correct." Just what was that clown up to? "Was that all Kefka told you?"
"Yes," Koya nodded again, "Is that information inaccurate?"
"No…" The Exarch frown deepened as he pondered whatever ploy was at play here, "It's quite accurate." He grits his teeth, "Regardless, this fortress has yet to be appropriately blessed."
Koya considered that, "I see now. This is a very delicate matter, then." The Kiith-Urmholi assessed the situation, "Pray tell then, only those who call themselves Nezinzo are allowed to step foot inside the Amakhanda?"
"Ideally, it would be only Aeldari warriors." Menethanil knew exceptions could be made during a crisis or if specific tributes were made to Khaine. Although Menethanil refused to speak of such practices. Even the Crystal Dragons rarely practice the act of murdering prisoners or committing such gory acts. Especially after their prolonged fights against daemonkind. "There are exceptions. For starters, one needs to be allied with one of the shrines. Additionally, we cannot allow those who do not heed the warrior's call into the Gateway. Finally, blood must be given, either ours or the enemies, to Khaine."
Rather than be discouraged, Koya nodded along, "Fascinating. I must say, the Bloody-Handed One seems rather accommodating, all things considered." If Menethanil expected such an absurd response, he didn't show it. Just what was this alien talking about now? "If I could find an acceptable solution, along with the approval of the Kiiths and your own, would this resolve the issue of the non-combatants being here?"
Just what was Koya trying to get at? "If you could somehow achieve those requirements…you realize that it requires certain conditions to be met by the sum total of your people?"
Whatever Koya was about to say was interrupted by the sudden arrival of his second in command, Aryom. Menethanil's fellow dragon practically burst through the doors with a look of worry on his face, "Exarch, we have a situation developing. Hanrao ships have been spotted at the very edge of the system and our approach."
Menethanil noticed that Koya's body language changed in an instant. The Exarch, meanwhile, couldn't believe that they had been discovered already. He figured they'd at least have a year or two, especially as the Leering Moons were plugging any information leaks. This could only mean someone among the surviving Abrithians gave the Hanrao the system's coordinates. As if he didn't need another reason to not trust the mon'keigh, they can't even keep a bloody secret to save their own lives.
"They likely appeared only a few hours ago," Aryom continued, "It is a small battlegroup, numbering at least 100 ships. Our scouts believe the lead ship is a Royal Federation Kokra-class battleship."
Koya perked at hearing that, "A Kokra? Those are flagships of Honnêamarcyda noble kiiths."
"Wonderful." At least there was a valuable target for the Harlequins if they all survived, "It makes no difference, either way. We have the advantage in numbers, mobility, and skill. We shall prepare our forces accordingly."
What he heard next from Aryom surprised Koya and Menethanil, "That is just it, my Exarch. I don't think they are looking for a fight. They are transmitting that they wish to parlay with Kiith leadership under a banner of peace."
The Exarch felt his right eye twitch, "So…they wish to speak with us diplomatically?"
"Based on the current messages, yes." Aryom had an expected look now, "Shall we prepare for guests then?"
When the Royal Federation of Honnêamarcyda first introduced themselves to the Abrithians, they did so from an elevated positing. An expeditionary force of 4,000 vessels appeared in orbit over the Kiith world of Sadok, led by the Una-Kre the Moon-Princess and 86th Heir to the Throne of Ages. Home to barely a hundred million Abrithians, they were shocked when such a fleet appeared above them and, more importantly, wished to engage in diplomacy.
The Abrithians claimed that the Hanrao were just as surprised to hear that the Kiiths claimed to be part of a nation-state that spanned hundreds of systems without the knowledge of traversing the Warp.
And so, Una-Kre declared that the Abrithians would be brought into the Royal Federation and their people reconnected entirely by teaching them how to use Warp Engines. The Abrithians graciously accepted such a generous boon. Not that anyone made the decision to publicly say otherwise.
Better a rose than a knife, as the Eldar liked to say.
It did not take long for the Hanrao to reach the worlds of the Kiith, and Una-Kre gathered elders and Kiith-Urmholi from across the Abrithian diaspora. She gave them an ultimatum; join the Royal Federation in free association, or she would be forced to take drastic measures to ensure the safety of their race. Was there really any other choice for the Kiiths but to accept?
There was, however, some common ground between the Hanrao and Abrithian. Namely their combined disdain or hatred towards humans. The Hanrao were also victims of human exploitation and imperialism. They were likewise forced to act as a cheap labor force for thousands of years, although, unlike the Abrithians, the Hanrao were used for more specialized work, producing baubles and objects that machine hands couldn't create.
Like most imperialist-inclined nations, everything they did or said showed power. Thankfully for the Abrithians, the Hanrao was a magnanimous empire; devoted to unity and prosperity for those under their banner. War was considered the last act of the desperate, and the gracious lords of Honnêamarcyda sought to incorporate those they encountered peacefully. Naturally, such sentiments were backed by superior firepower and industry.
Fortunately, the Abrithians were grateful and understood that they were better off working with the Hanrao than against them. It took little effort to convince the Kiiths, especially when the offer of trade and technological exchange would allow them to sail the Warp. A deal made and a friendship forged, the Kiiths became members of the Royal Federation within less than a decade of First Contact.
History followed. The Abrithians flourished, a quasi-Golden Age of culture and economic growth that lasted for two centuries gave the Kiiths a sense of renewed hope for the future, and their worlds were safeguarded by the Royal Void Navy. The perfidious games among the Hanrao courts were far away, and the mineral wealth from the Kiiths flowed into the coffers of the noble houses. Perhaps another species would've chafed at how the deals heavily favored the Hanrao, but it did not bother the Abrithians. They had found contentment, and even peace, in this arrangement.
Yet not all was well. The Abrithians witnessed a gradual decline in their resources across multiple colonies. For the first time in centuries, several Kiiths could not make payments to the Hanrao, who likewise began to make further demands to feed their own industries and expansion. When the time came for representatives of the Kiiths to ask for aid in expanding their own borders, the lords on Honnêamarcyda dragged their feet, bickering amongst themselves and complaining about the "costs" and "safety" of their ships.
Ultimately, the response from Supreme-King Throthrausk, 102th heir to the Throne of Ages, advised the Kiiths to "restrain themselves from engaging in unnecessary colonization efforts at this time" and to wait for Honnêamarcyda to decide on this. Yet months turned to years without an answer or declaration. Soon enough, a dozen Kiith colonies were on the brink of bankruptcy.
A decision had to be made. One that would call into question centuries of mutual prosperity and diplomacy. The Kiith-Urmholi quietly gathered upon their homeworld and began to plan out the future of their nation.
Menethanil didn't like hosting the Hanrao representatives inside the halfway completed Ruby Gateway, but it was necessary. He wasn't about to be caught onboard a Kiith ship for these proceedings. Those blasted vessels smelled like dry stones and oil, somehow. Nor was he about to step foot on a Hanrao ship. A comprise had to be made. The Exarch wasn't too happy about this development at all.
The realization that the location of Ellax was potentially out in the open made this situation all the worse. Where in the hells were the Leering Moons in all of this? They promised the Crystal Dragons that the Royal Federation wouldn't hear about their plans. Menethanil doubted that Hanrao learned of the location alone, meaning someone told them.
In any case, the damage was done, and now Menethanil had to clean this up, somehow.
As the Exarch waited inside the meeting room, an unfinished briefing chamber for officers, he idly noticed that the rest of the Abrithians seemed quite agitated. The Exarch had to remind himself that their entire race was on the brink of extinction and that they were about to host a member of the race committing xenocide against them.
Curiously, Koya seemed almost at ease in this situation. Although, Menethanil quickly noticed that two of the aliens' hands were resting on a pair of pistols. Isha save him if he was expected to maintain order here. An Exarch was more than holding diplomatic talks, but one must remember that Khaine abhorred fruitless negotiations or unnecessary chatter. "A blade to the throat is just as effective as a quill on parchment" was said among most Aspect Shrines.
Unfortunately, Menethanil had to be the voice of reason. There were now thousands of vessels within shooting range of one another and tens of billions of panicking refugees and vengeful soldiers looking to start a fight. Meanwhile, the Hanrao clearly had the edge in combat capabilities until the Eldar ships entered the equation. Even Menethanil could see that the Kokra-class battleship could probably rip apart a chunk of Ellax before it was destroyed,
Menethanil still had no idea where the Leering Moons were, another point of contention in these matters. He had no idea what was going on now, and if there was one thing that the Eldar hated, it was not having all the answers or an edge in the discussion.
In any case, the Exarch would have to make due. A single shuttle from the Kokra descended upon the Ruby Gateway after almost a week since the Hanrao's arrival, and upon the start of the 22nd hour, their meeting would finally commence.
All idle chattered stopped when a phalanx of Crystal Dragons entered with a trio of Hanrao in toe. Menethanil had more than enough information on the Hanrao, but standing before one in person finally put to rest a few lingering observations.
Naturally, the uneducated observer could make a few initial accurate assumptions. Recognizing, for starters, that the Hanrao were reptilian by nature, bipedal, dual-gendered, and each had glowing scaled skin. Oddly enough, they had similar facial features akin to humans or Aeldari, including colorful feathers adorned around the crowns of their heads.
That was where the similarities ended, though. The Hanrao had four fingers, eyes that seemed pupilless, stood taller than a fully grown human (but not as tall as an Astartes or Aeldari), and strangest of all were what looked to be webbed fingers of all things. Odd because there were no oceans on Honnêamarcyda, hinting to Menethanil that the Hanrao had been genetically modified by their previous masters. Perhaps the humans wanted to use them for aquatic purposes.
Such things aside, the Hanrao wore clothing and armor that showed off their considerable wealth and status. A rainbow of colors that matched their crown feathers. No doubt that Harlequins found this aspect of Hanrao culture quite enjoyable. Yet to Menethanil, it was another sign of the species' decadence and arrogance. A fanciful showing of power and strength, of laurels everlasting. But the Hanrao had not earned their glories. Not yet.
A Hanrao wearing the ceremonial armor of command, a mix of mechanical body armor, and something called a chola, known colloquially as Battle Scale Armor, approached the gathering of representatives. From what Menethanil could tell, it was a male Hanrao due to the rather broad shoulders the males of the species had. This one looked like a lord or officer within the Royal Navy, although the Exarch could see a house insignia on his right shoulder.
"Well-met," The Hanrao spoke, and Menethanil could already detect that this male was pretty young, "I am Thakoa, First Son of House Thanok and Second Starlord of the RFN Kokkine Petalouda, Ninth Wonder of the Opis Shipyards." A whole lot of nothing, at least to Menethanil, but at least Thakoa did not seem intimidated.
He spared a short glance towards the Exarch before looking at the Abrithians. "I come before you as an emissary of peace and representative of House Thanok and those aligned to its interest. For whom among your number is the leader of this world?"
The Abrithians did not answer. Instead, the council and Koya simply glared at Thakoa and his entourage. After thirty seconds of awkward silence, Thakoa looked almost expectantly toward Menethanil.
Instead, Menethanil glared back at him, "Don't expect me to offer any help," The Exarch remarked flatly, "You came here for a reason, yes? Then you best speak up now." He wasn't in the mood for any flowery words or excuses. If this was going to turn into a fight, it best starts sooner rather than later.
Thakoa seemed to consider his options briefly, "Very well…" The feathers on his head seem to ruffle, "As you are all keenly aware, elements of the Royal Navy carried out hundreds of orbital bombardment attacks against your worlds. I say elements as most of our naval command was unaware of this until it had already occurred."
That caused some clamor and provided more context for reporting discontent across the federation. Was this all some horrible isolated incident? A plot by a cabal of lords and military officers? None of this explained why such devastation was brought upon the Abrithians.
"And what good does this do for us?" Koya interjected over the growing conversation, "Are you saying that a rogue element decided to be destroyed? Did no one on Honnêamarcyda have any inkling about what was coming?"
Menethanil wondered about that as well. There were over a thousand ships involved in the Abrithian xenocide. This meant tens of millions of personnel and considerable resources had to be directed toward such an operation. Imagine not a single person, especially within the houses and family among military officers, not talking about an organized xeoncide.
Thakoa seemed unsure of answering, "My superiors were as shocked as you were…" The starlord scales started to shimmer, "They did, however, learn of a fleet build-up before the attack. But assumed it was in response to the Kiith militarization program."
Another development, "What militarization program?" Menethanil asked Koya this time. "And why would that result in a fleet build-up from the Hanrao?"
Before Koya could answer, Thakoa interjected, "Our spies learned that the Abrithians were creating secret armories and manufacturing centers inside their abandoned mines. Evidence showed that they were developing a vast assortment of atomics and Kinect-Kill Vehicles for use against neighboring worlds of the federation."
Neither Koya nor Menethanil had time to respond before the rest of the Abrithians started yelling or arguing that Thakoa was spouting lies to justify his people's xenocide against the Kiiths. Once more, Menethanil was getting frustrated over this new information. Just what exactly had he stumbled into now?
He needed more answers, but first, he had to restore order, "Quiet!" The Exarch roared out to the gathering. And just like that, it was dead silence once more. He exhaled once before looking back at Thakoa, "So your forces assumed that the execution fleets that attacked the Kiiths were initially part of either an attack fleet or designed to intimidate the Kiiths back into submission?"
"It was a disarmament fleet and one that would only be activated if we confirmed that the Kiiths were mounting an offensive before declaring secession from the federation." Thakoa seemed adamant that the Hanrao wasn't planning on trying to exterminate the Abrithians, "Why they sought to exterminate the Abrithians is a tragedy, but one that is only part of a greater situation that has developed within the Royal Federation."
Now there were getting somewhere, "And this caused you and your superiors to come and find us then? How did you even know where we were?"
That question surprised Thakoa, "Members of your own species directed us to you…the ones who called themselves the Leering Moons contacted Sea-Lord Eqadroh and her loyalists. After that, they gave us the coordinates of Ellax. I am part of a forward element sent to make diplomatic contact with the Kiiths. Although it seems like you, Aeldari, are in charge now…"
Hearing the grumbling from the Abrithians over such a comment, the Exarch swiftly changed the subject, "You are loyalists? Which implies there is another faction you are now fighting against."
Thakoa and the other Hanrao started to chatter and growl for a second, "I'm sure you've heard…but all contact with Honnêamarcyda was lost for quite some time. However, we recently heard that ships and missives have started to leave the system. They bring conspiracy and treason for each vessel or missive that has arrived. No less than nine Great Houses and dozens of minor ones, including my own and the Sea-Lords, were implicated in a plot to sow discord and commit regicide against Supreme-King Throthrausk. More than that, dozens of worlds have gone into open revolt now. I fear a civil war has begun across the Royal Federation. The attempted destruction of the Kiiths was likely just a part of this plan."
"Our entire species was almost wiped out as an afterthought?" The silent fury in Koya's voice was palpable. Menethanil, however, thought that wasn't the case and voiced it.
"No," The Exarch interjected, "The destruction brought upon the Kiiths was likely still part of this plot. One could imagine that during a civil war, whoever could court the aid of the Kiiths could likely turn the war in their favor. These traitors decided not to risk your forces going over to the loyalists' side."
Thakoa seemed to agree, "I can assure you that xenocide was never the intention of the Royal Navy, even in our worst-case scenarios."
That seemed to mull the Abrithians over, if just for a moment. Menethanil was about to ask Thakoa how his side came across this information…he then heard laughter from the back of the room. It grows and grows until it fills the room.
Menethanil growled as he watched his accomplice saunter in like a grynix that ate the Farseer's pet psy-bird, "Kefka." The Exarch's voice tightened. The Troupe Master of the Leering Sons cast a nasty visage on all those who witnessed it. Kefka's white makeup was smeared to mimic dripping, melting wax. His clothing was no better, colorful but utterly devoid of "life" and almost ragged, making him stand out more than any Harlequin Menethanil had seen in the Black Library.
"Hehehehe…" Kefka chortled as he approached, "And I thought my jokes were bad." Like his Troupes namesake, the leering visage unsettled those around him. "Unfortunately, I must pull away the curtain and reveal to you a grim truth."
The Exarch wasn't about to let him just take control of this meeting, "Kefka, whatever information you have isn't imperative-"
"Let him speak," Koya interjected, glaring at the Exarch, "Please, Urmholi Kefka."
Kefka smirked at Menethanil, "Gladly." He then focused on Thakoa, "Let's rewind the clock about a year ago, hmm? When Honnêamarcyda fell silent, there weren't any outbound orders that reached your empire's forces, yes? No one has heard anything. And I can attest to that. Nothing came from the, heh, traitors." Kefka leaned forward, "But the loyalists, you and yours, received plenty of outbound transmissions from elements that had escaped your capital world. Including the orders to destroy the Kiith worlds."
"What?! That is impossible!" Thakoa exclaimed in surprise. Menethanil could see his scales turning red and green, "Those ships have been attacking our forces! They destroyed nine colonies and two anchorage stations. None of them have responded to hails, and we've hardly taken any prisoners. Besides, who among us would give such an order?!"
Menethanil then realized, "Did you actually contact any ships or command elements fleeing from Honnêamarcyda?"
Kefka held up a hand, "Ah ta ta ta ta!" He stopped the Exarch, "You are getting ahead of the story, now."
That was the last straw. Menethanil practically slammed his fist through the metal table before him, "Enough posturing, Kefka!" The Exarch roared towards the Harlequin, "Just what in the name of the gods is even happening?! Who gave the order to attack the Abrithians, and just what is going on that caused what we can only call a civil war among the Hanrao?"
The Hanrao and Abrithians were interested in hearing this, but they felt the ire radiating off Menethanil. Kefka, either ignorant or unconcerned, gave an exaggerated shrug with both his hands, "Oh…I wanted to tell a good story."
As if bemoaning the turn of events, Kefka seemed almost disheartened. But then suddenly, the Troupe Master snapped his fingers and leered at the Exarch, his voice cracking with power and spite, "Oh, I suppose I can explain what happened by showing you what my dancers found!"
Neither Menethanil nor the orders had time to react before Kefka waved his left hand. The air around the room vibrated for a moment, and the Exarch felt his senses being beguiled by warp and holo-matter. They barely had a moment to grasp what happened before they realized a creature had appeared.
It was a disgusting, vile creature! A floating tick-like creature with white, bulbous flesh like a maggot. It looked like a mix between an insect and a jellyfish. Larger than any man but wide as an Ogryn. In the center of the body of this creature was a single large sensory organ colored a ruby red that seemed to stare directly into Menethanil's soul.
Although only from historical records, he knew what this was; an Enslaver.
The situation had indeed gotten a lot more complicated now.
Once the initial pandaemonium subsided, Menethanil opted for an extended recess of this discussion, promising to clarify this matter and the plan moving forward. Aryom was left trying to placate several confused and concerned Hanrao and Abrithian leaders over what exactly they were shown.
Right now, though, the Exarch needed to speak with Kefka privately. So through gritted teeth, the Exarch politely asked Kefka to follow Menethanil back to his office. Once the door was secured, the Exarch practically rounded on the grinning Harlequin, sitting in the Exarch's chair.
"Are you out of your gods' damn mind?!" Menethanil yelled towards the Troupe Master. Kefka looked ready to make a quip, but the Exarch cut him off, "What am I saying? Of course, you are!"
Kefka chuckled in the Exarch seat. He silently watched with mirth as Menethanil began to lose his cool. The tirade from the Dragon Lord lasted no longer than three minutes. Most of the rant revolved around operational security, withholding important mission details, and effectively turning the diplomatic overtures with the Hanrao into a circus. More than a few threats towards the Troupe Master, including a rather colorful description of what the Exarch would do with his sword if Kefka tried this again.
It was a rather poor showing on his part, but Menethanil was at least doing it behind closed doors and needed to vent his frustration. Kefka had also gone behind his back too many times, which was also a long time coming. What else was he to do? Mediation and training could only do so much. Nor was Menethanil about to fall sway to other carnal temptations to soothe his bruised ego.
When he finished, Menethanil did feel a bit better. Although Kefka still kept that amused smile on his face. Turning away to look out the window, the Exarch now needed to focus on this development.
Running a hand through his chestnut brown hair, he idly noted that it had gotten too long for his liking and made a mental note to get it cut. Typically, his sister would've performed the task, but it would fall to him now with her gone.
Menethanil spoke a moment later, "What exactly are we dealing with now?" He turned to look at Kefka now. "And how do we stop it?"
"Both good questions," Kefka nodded slowly, "Unfortunately, I might not have answers, but only considerations." Leaning back into the Exarch's chair, the smirk faded into a stoic grin, "As I revealed to you and the others, we have an infestation in our midst."
"An infestation." Menethanil chuckled dryly before looking out the window again, "Your jokes are bad. Because if one was to believe the legends, the Enslaver Plague could bring destruction and madness to hundreds of star systems before they were either destroyed or starved."
The Exarch wondered if the Great Seer knew this: "Have you advised the Black Library yet?"
"I did." Kefka nodded again, "And you will not like the response. 'We are stretched too thin. Reinforcements are en route, but use the locals as best you can. Retrieve the soul stones and eliminate the Enslaver threat' and so on."
"The Farseers expect us to take care of Enslavers with what? A single strike fleet, four to six thousand warriors, and a bunch of Mon'Keigh militia armies and repurposed civilian ships?! Gods, even with the aid of these loyalist Hanrao, we barely have anything capable of having force projection." The Exarch was trying to gauge how the Abrithians or Hanrao would even function against such a threat, especially if their enemies were the enslaved bodies of former kin.
That was another issue as well, "How much of the Royal Federation was subsumed by the Enslavers?"
Kefka paused to consider that, "Hmm…" He pondered that a little more before finally answering, "Half."
"Half." Menethanil repeated once before looking back at Kefka, "HALF?!" That meant at least dozens of worlds, including whole armies and fleets, were either under mind-control or following orders from someone who was. "And you aren't uneasy about that?!"
"Hmm…no." Kefka idly remarked as he pulled out what looked to be a small knife and twiddled it around his right hand, "Misdirection, confusion, and mayhem. Very useful when appropriately utilized against your enemies, especially when you have access to valuable pawns such as a secret ruling cabal of Hanrao psykers."
This bastard with his revealing secrets, "I'm going to hazard a guess and say that this cabal was responsible for the Enslavers returning to the materium? In which case, how and why are you communicating with them."
"They have what we came here searching for." Kefka answered plainly, "Unfortunately, my dancers and players could not secure the stones on Honnêamarcyda. The soul of the planet and its population have become husks of the Enslavers."
"Then our only option is to go there and secure the stones by force." Menethanil could now see why a military approach was necessary, "Eliminate the Enslavers and hopefully secure the objective."
Kefka looked pleased now, "Ah, there is that eagerness for a battle that Khaine was oh-so-famous for. Here I thought you'd put it aside for building homes and bio-domes for our new allies."
The Exarch didn't rise to the bait, "You mentioned that this cabal controls everything? Are they the same ones that ordered the xenocide and triggered this civil war among the Hanrao?"
"Yes," Kefka slowly stood up from the Exarch's chair, "Although I might have had a hand in the collapse of the Royal Federation. By the time we arrived, most of the Hanrao were paralyzed over what happened, and upon deeply examining the Enslaver threat…I advised the surviving sane cabalists to send orders to start eliminating worlds and fleets at risk of becoming dominated by our foes."
After hearing that, gods preserve Menethanil's sanity, "You told them to kill tens of billions of their own citizens?"
The Troupe Master laughed, "I also told them to increase the extermination campaign against the Abrithians before losing control of that fleet." Kefka sounded proud, "Most certainly, we couldn't allow the Kiiths to follow under the sway of the Enslavers, and I didn't have the time, ability, or inclination to adjust the plan set by the Great Seer."
"Gods…" Menethanil breathed out, "You just admitted to ordering the deaths of our own allies!"
Kefka gave him a sidelong glance, "And yet you didn't seem to care about their wellbeing, considering they are Mon'Keigh."
"We have our honor to consider." The Crystal Dragon retorted, "We do not betray the trust of our allies."
"Then don't." As he approached the Exarch, Kefka shrugged, "This will be our a little secret. Do not worry about this coming back to haunt either of us. The Great Seer saw this coming, and the decision wasn't an easy one…but it was necessary."
Menethanil had never shied away from war and destruction, but such underhanded tactics were antithetical to Khaine's philosophy and perhaps just common sense. Then again, maybe he should've remembered that Khaine demanded his enemies be destroyed by whatever means necessary, just as Kefka said. What's done was done.
"As you say…" Menethanil finally remarked before nodding, "And aye, this will remain between us."
That disturbing grin returned, "Splendid. Once again, the Great Seer has chosen the right warrior for the right job." The praise felt dirty to Menethanil. He was now an accomplice to something vile. The Exarch made a mental note to be wary that if it came time for this secret to be buried, he might be put in the ground along with it.
However, he had more important things to worry about. "Tell me everything you know…"
"Gladly."
The Hanrao and Abrithians had never produced psykers. At least, not in a capacity that would allow either race to recognize one as such. There were legends. Individuals who could see the future and past events that seemed to follow a specific hero or villain in a story. Yet like all things, they chalked it up to tall tales or misinterpreted events.
Yet the Aeldari knew better. The Harlequins had long since learned to identify the psychic Awakening within a species. Additionally, humanity's genetic manipulation and forced evolutionary practices on the Hanrao had likely played a role in this Awakening. Perhaps it hadn't been the intention of their former masters, but that didn't matter. Over the thousands of years since humanity experimented on the Hanrao, a select few had slowly evolved to develop the genetic requirements for warp usage.
At first, these "Scholars" numbered only a handful, perhaps less than a dozen. Originally just individuals engrossed in their own private activities. Yet someone gathered and organized the Scholars. They formed a pact, calling themselves the "Studium," a reference to their endless journey as students of history and architects of the future. A humble title to hide their machinations.
These psykers took to the shadows and began to influence the politics of Honnêamarcyda. Their intentions were benevolent. How else could they have used this power if not to help their homeworld? If it required the Studium to influence their people and government from the shadows, then so be it. A conspiracy was born.
Influencing a government, especially one as complicated as Honnêamarcyda's, required a skilled and elegant touch. Nonetheless, time would catch up on the Studium sooner or later. The Hanrao, even with psychically enhanced powers, could only live in this reality for so long before expiring, and there weren't too many new Hanrao psykers appearing. Their great endeavor would soon end without a miracle.
The Eldar provided that miracle. That was to say, Eldar ruins provided it. Kefka was short on the exact details, but the Studium had somehow discovered the location of a destroyed Craftworld, albeit one that likely hadn't survived the collapse of their nation. However, they find something deep within its hold…an intact Webway Portal.
How they learned its secrets, transported it, or even used it to siphon energy from the Webway to increase their lifespans had yet to be determined. The real crux of the issue was how the Studium had gained access to soul stones. Kefka suspected either daemons or Druhkari provided such a resource. The only explanation would be that the Hanrao had somehow found them. A completely absurd notion, though.
Although, Kefka had another theory…the Enslavers that soon came to dominate Honnêamarcyda might have had a hand in all of this. Another crackpot theory, but then again, there was limited information on the Enslaver's capabilities or history, let alone their sentience. A race that could mind-control others surely must be capable of mundane manipulation?
In any case, the Studium used the soul stones to store the energy of the Webway. The Scholars fed off the power to extend their lives. A rather startling and unheard-of use of the stones and one that the Eldar would not want other species to learn of. Not only did it behoove the Eldar to eliminate the potential galactic threat via an unchecked Enslaver infestation, but this information also had to be recovered, examined, and destroyed.
The stakes were undoubtedly more extensive than first anticipated…
"We are to receive allies, yes?" Menethanil figured it was time to go over how to win this impending war, "Did the Great Seer specify?"
Kefka's obnoxious grin returned, "Oh yes! Enough warriors and ships to allow for an offensive, but we shall also gain the help of our recent allies."
Menethanil remembered who counted as allies these days, "You mean humans! The one race that both the Abrithians and Hanrao hate. Not only that, I seem to recall we are allied with these Astartes?"
"Yes,." Kefka nodded, "I've been told that these Astartes are perfectly capable. You should be grateful, Exarch. Why run the chance of losing our people's lives when we can use Mon'Keighs?"
"You expect me to balance the politics of three separate species while trying to build the Gateway and lead a future offensive." It wasn't a question, just Menethanil observing how complicated this had all become, "Gods…my kin and I are not diplomats."
"Then don't act like ones." Kefka sounded almost honest, "If our allies refused to work together, it should be because they failed to reach a peaceful state with one another. You, Exarch, are ultimately tasked with building the fortress and recovering the soul stones, nothing more or less."
There was no lie in his words, but Menethanil could simply ignore problems. The Crystal Dragons were warriors, but much was expected of all Aeldari now. As much as Menethanil wanted to shove these problems away and focus on building, he was the leader of this entire endeavor.
Although he still wondered if Kefka was still pulling all the strings…
"How long until our reinforcements arrive?"
Kefka shrugged, "A few months at most. If no further delays are permitted, there is plenty of time to complete the Gateway." There was still much to finish and plenty of new problems. Still, the Crystal Dragons would be ready.
"And what will you do during this time, Troupe Master?" Menethanil needed to be kept in the loop as much as possible.
Kefka laughed, "Manipulation and destruction. The surviving members of the Studium are effectively desperate for any aid we can render, as are most of the nobility and leadership of the Hanrao. They will be begging us in due time to save their Royal Federation. Alas…it is already too late for their dreams of empire and glory."
"Unless we do something to prop them and the Abrithians up," Menethanil was starting to see where this was going, "I don't like this, Kefka. Too much deceit and skullduggery, especially against a foe like this, feel like we are taunting the fates."
"I know," A wicked smile graced his face, "Makes one feel alive."
Menethanil promised himself that if they survived and won this war, he'd request never to work with this insane Harlequin again.
Four Months Later…
Thakoa was a right; civil war had broken out among the Royal Federation. The attempt of xenocide, the claims of treason, and now open fighting amongst the federation navy and army resulted in chaos across their domain. Loyalists and Traitors. As if such things mattered. Especially when one considered the idea of a force from beyond the Materium controlling both sides to a certain degree.
Not that such discrepancies mattered at this point. There was. However, a growing threat coming out of Honnêamarcyda. Supreme-King Throthrausk announced that a great "cleanings" of the Royal Federation was necessary. It wasn't just traitors and conspirators, though. Alien forces from beyond their empire had arrived to subjugate their people, just like the humans had done in the past.
Menethanil could only imagine how things would go once they saw humans fighting alongside the "Traitors" and the Abrithians. Whatever the hell the Enslavers were up to, they were pulling all the right strings to make their puppets dance. Already several Sea-Lords and their fleets had been destroyed, including Sea-Lord Eqadroh. This resulted in the remaining Loyalists fracturing even further.
Thankfully for everyone involved, the alliance gathering at Ellax ensured a safe harbor for vessels seeking to flee the civil war. Completing the Ruby Gateway meant there was now a fully operational command center for the Aeldari in this part of space. More importantly, the Hanrao, Abritihans, and Aeldari directly could coordinate and train for the inevitable war of "liberation."
Liberation…most did not know there was no saving anyone under the Enslavers' thrall. Perhaps if one was saved after only a few days, maybe. But months passed, and Kefka reported that the enslaved Hanrao was too far gone. Things were looking desperate now.
When reinforcements from the Black Library finally did arrive, it was a welcome sight…that was until the Hanrao and Abrithians learned of the humans. That started a political and cultural firestorm, requiring Menethanil to spend sometimes days dealing with angry commanders or leaders over the return of their former masters. Things certainly didn't get any better when they learned that the Imperium of Man practiced outright xenocide or made aliens into protectorates under gunboat diplomacy. Not much else Menethanil could do about all of this, though.
The only good news was that these Thousand Sons were much more amicable and friendly humans. Praetor Karaz Loia of the Corvidae Cult had experience in joint Human-Eldar operations, leading and coordinating them. He had no qualms with Menethanil leading his forces, especially after hearing of their harrowing battle out of the warp.
Bizarrely enough, he was getting the most pushback from his own people! An Exarch no less, but what did he expect from a Howling Banshee? Gensela Ur'Dack had a dominant personality and, upon learning of the full extent of this situation, became convinced that Menethanil had been far too passive. Almost a year and no offensive operations? She didn't care that his initial mission was the establishment of the Ruby Gateway and training the locals.
As if that weren't enough problems, the Harlequin, Ricco, was already working alongside Kefka and his ilk. That certainly wasn't the headache that Menethanil needed to worry about. At the very least, his new allies and co-commanders were helping with the considerable workload thrown onto the Exarch's lap.
Things were proceeding quickly, and preparations for joint-combat operations were already in the works. At this point, things were starting to look up for the Exarch.
Menethanil must have cursed one of the gods, for they decided to throw an angry Banshee Exarch at him randomly one morning. He barely had time to enjoy his tea when Gensela practically slammed open the door to his finally completed office.
This wasn't the first time this had happened, "Ah, is it that time of the week for our usual bickering, Ur'Dack? I could fetch you something to eat if you'd like…" He wondered what the compliant today was going to be. Perhaps not enough weapons or materials for the Kiith Guard or Royal Troops? An odd complaint considering the hundreds of billions of guns, machines, and materials they brought with them. Most of which was Imperial, strangely enough. Although, it wasn't like the Aeldari were going to arm lessers with their weapons.
"To the warp with your glibs," Gensela voiced with considerable displeasure, "We have a serious situation developing here within the Gateway. I don't know what you were thinking when you allowed for a Khainite cult to gain a foothold here-" What?!
"What in the name of the gods are you blathering about now?" Menethanil almost knocked over his tea as he stood up, "There isn't any such thing here. Neither my dragons nor your banshees are directly tied to any such thing."
Gensela grit her teeth before pulling out a document from her person, "Did you not consider the possibility of the Abrithians turning towards Khaine?" She tossed the scroll onto his desk, "Their species has begun a collective cultural shift to worshipping the Bloody Handed."
Quickly unfurling the scroll, Menethanil saw what looked like a call to arms and part of some twisted gospel dedicated to the Lord of Murder. All were welcomed to participate in this "holy war" of survival for the Kiiths. The Exarch was about to dismiss this as some minor group…until he saw that Koya had authorized and endorsed this new worship of Khaine.
This was impossible…how could this have happened? Menethanil then remembered how strange it was that Koya and the other Kiith leaders became so accommodating to specific practices and the increase in military volunteers. Menethanil had made the mistake of taking this information at face value. He had no choice, considering what was expected of him.
"They are allowing children to become soldiers, Menethanil." Gensela stated, "The Abrithians are practicing a form of bloodletting and coating their hands with the blood of their families or other soldiers as appeasement for Khaine for sending his warriors in their hour of need."
Briefly working his jaw, Menethanil tried to defend himself, "I had…no idea that this was happening." That excuse sounded pretty hallow for him. "Koya mentioned that Kefka had explained certain elements of Khaine…"
"You weren't going to allow civilians inside the Gateway unless they were declared soldiers or adherents of Khaine." Gensela countered, "Menethanil, what possessed you to tell the Kiiths such a thing?"
He wasn't about to let sentimentality get in the way of tradition, "There has never been an exception to that rule, save to defend our own people from harm! This is a fortress, for which only warriors of the Craftworld and Khaine shall use to ensure our enemies are broken upon our walls," Menethanil wasn't about to back down, "To do so otherwise runs the risk of forsaking our honor and traditions, and I will not make further exceptions, especially for Mon'Keigh, even allied with us."
Gensela said nothing for a moment, then she scoffed, "Well, you got to keep your honor. All it took was turning the Abrithian's despair into zealotry."
"This is a war," Menethanil countered, "And one against beings such as the Enslavers. If they and the Hanrao wish to reclaim their place in the galaxy, it must be through blood, fire, and sacrifice."
Considering Menethanil was now an accomplice to keeping Kefka's secrets, this was a low price to pay to keep this alliance functional. "Unless you believe it will hinder our ability to wage this war or risk our partnership with the Kiiths and Loyalists, I fail to see how this is a serious problem for us. Unexpected, yes. But perhaps beneficial in the long run."
"Anything to keep you the master of your lair, Dragon?" Gensela spat before turning to leave his office, "Very well. This is your command, and I am instructed to follow it. But mark my words, the Grear Seer and the rest of the council will hear about this."
Something told Menethanil that Eldrad was already aware. He must have known that this would be a brutal campaign by sending Kefka and his troupe to bring down two entire civilizations. Unfortunately, Menethanil was now the one who was to reap such a terrible harvest. All for the good of their people.
As Gensela left his office, Menethanil wondered just how in control he was of this entire campaign. Kefka had his own plans; that much was obvious. But then what did the Great Seer have in plan here? The Enslavers had to be eliminated, and the soul stones recovered, but the Abrithians and Hanrao were the odd men in this grand design.
Were they simply pawns, allies, or something more? Eldrad put faith in Menethanil and the Crystal Dragons to keep them alive and fighting. He was not to waste them. But when this war ended, what would the Eldar, Abrithians, and Hanrao be left with then?
Questions that the Exarch had no answers to. And so, the Dragon pondered from inside his lair and worried for the future that awaited them all.
---
@Daemon Hunter When you get back.
Malice in Wonderland.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Hiya! It's been far too long, but here's another omake! Malal has been up to cult creation of a world 'targetted' by the Dark Eldar, even maybe finding a way to reach into Commorragh. Or, uh, they were doing that until something interrupted them. Heavily interrupted.
-----
Malice in Wonderland.
I am Malal, Outcast of Chaos and Hierarch of Anarchy.
Adrift within the expanse of the Warp, I am… faint. Dispersed. Weakened. My godhood remains, but my power has not. The infinite energy, the countless souls, the armies that burned all in sight.
Lost. I am lost again. Dead. Dying. The other deities all reach out and tear at my essence, my core. There is an endless-
No. Awareness floods back, a barred gate now left unlocked. Attention dragged away. I remember.
This is a dream, an illusion of memory. Time flows across my perception as a sea. I have been cast away to the deep depths, an anchor that binds me. I know not to be lost into pure nothing, into death. That fate shall not be my end again.
I claw towards the present and it ignites. I witness a red-green coated horror.
Apocalypse. Pure devastation. The power to shake the foundations of all existence.
A war that could end everything. A divine epoch of roaring blood. A final conflict.
What had happened? I remember…
My vision fades to the recent past.
-----
There was a world.
Its worthless name I cannot recall, but I remember the shape of its miserable existence. The mortals there felt nothing but suffering, obedience and only few motes of any joy. Taken as soldiers for the Anathema's service, and then slaves to the vermin of Commorragh.
They had called out to me without realising it at first. The hatred for themselves, for others, festering in the naked unfair reality that made up their lives. I reached out and spread myself across their minds.
A cult formed. Hidden, nascent but developing. The environment of the overlooked populace had been a vector of corruption that was perfectly suited for me.
My name bubbled up to the front of a hundred minds. Then a thousand. Ten-thousand. My words and orders carved into bodies as well as thought, portions of my power granted to them as I fed on life and the corpses. The shadows growing deeper.
It was already a world of ruin by my sight, the history of its people forming a quagmire of filth. I would make that into reality. Break the walls. Topple towers. Burn cities and settlements.
I could even imagine, distantly, the ability to sink my essence into where the slaves would be taken. The port within the Webway, right next to the heart of the Thirsting One. To build my forces, armies within a perfect fortress. Eventually able to breach a doorway for me to challenge and butcher another divine parasite.
That fleeting dream, that idiotic fantasy, did not come to pass. Something else happened first. If I had only a few more years able to grow, a decade to root my way through this cult as it attained strength, I could have…
No, it doesn't matter anymore.
There had been a sound that echoed deep from within the Warp, growing greater and greater with every moment. Something distant and quiet, but with enough power behind it that it would be heard even beyond the galaxy. Blades against blades, fists to claws, death unleashed Roaring beasts. Quaking gunfire.
The Blood and Thunder War.
I paid it little attention at first. I knew the worth behind it, the weight of such slaughter. Even the potential for divine death. It would have been an opportunity later once I possessed greater strength, devoured what this small world could have granted me.
One day, the whole of the Immaterium pulsed. Like a heart loudly beating. An explosion of force billowing out. Something unstoppable
First there was confusion. I had no idea what I was feeling. A wave of red filled my vision.
And then…
Fear.
The beginning of rain, of a storm. Scratching lightning across metal. Blades crashing against mountains. Crumbling walls and towers. Shaking the foundations of souls.
It rushed forward. Surging, growing, echoing. A sound that deafened all else.
Laughter.
The rage of Khorne, the might of Gork, the guile of Mork. The boundless desire for blood and the unceasing potential for battle. Gods, daemons and mortals united fully in mind and purpose.
Armies that are beyond mere physical strength, delving into the basal concepts of power and conflict. Cutting through reality. Excising weakness wherever it could be found.
This visceral joy, coated with infinite slaughter, was too much to be denied. My voice was quiet compared to the loud, expanding wave that dominated all. Yet my laughter sparked with the tide as death crashed into my cult, joining its mass.
Was this what it was like to be a mortal, tainted by sudden corruption? To have a mind, even briefly, torn asunder by an outer force? Falling into something great and terrible?
Perhaps more of my followers could have survived if I hadn't focused on attaining psychic members, those more attuned to the Warp's power. All too tempting to resist.
But without defended minds or any thought to care about protecting themselves or other members, they became torn holes of fire and lightning. Screaming into madness, flooded with the power behind this great wave. Most detonated into horrific stars, the rest transforming into malformed berserkers.
It cascaded back to me. Beset by both the rippling tide and the backlash from my rapidly destroyed cult, my essence became frayed. My blood boiled. My mind lost all lucidity.
I fell to a deep dream, my last thoughts wondering if this was the beginning of the the end.
-----
I drift back to the 'now', the prison of incorporeal existence. Diffused back into a half-life of being. My body's connections lost.
There is little more that is annoying than being forced back in this purgatory, without ability to act until I reform. At this rate, I won't be back until a century passes by the mortal realm.
Trapped once more, this time my mind wanders and only few moments of awareness can occur. Sluggish frames of introspection my cell, my shattered husk the lock.
Yet, strangely, I do not feel so resentful of my circumstance as I should be. Not raging at my fate, not bemoaning my loss. Was there still some remnant of that horrific joy that was worming within me, that apocalypse laughter?
Distantly I can still hear it. The melody of roaring thunder and blades against blades in this war.
A lullaby, a muse. Such devastation, to find such brilliant joy in this blood-soaked finality. I shall meditate on it, remember it when I wake up and carve its shape onto my flesh.
But for now… I fall back into my dreams.
-----
Malice in Wonderland.
I am Malal, Outcast of Chaos and Hierarch of Anarchy.
Adrift within the expanse of the Warp, I am… faint. Dispersed. Weakened. My godhood remains, but my power has not. The infinite energy, the countless souls, the armies that burned all in sight.
Lost. I am lost again. Dead. Dying. The other deities all reach out and tear at my essence, my core. There is an endless-
No. Awareness floods back, a barred gate now left unlocked. Attention dragged away. I remember.
This is a dream, an illusion of memory. Time flows across my perception as a sea. I have been cast away to the deep depths, an anchor that binds me. I know not to be lost into pure nothing, into death. That fate shall not be my end again.
I claw towards the present and it ignites. I witness a red-green coated horror.
Apocalypse. Pure devastation. The power to shake the foundations of all existence.
A war that could end everything. A divine epoch of roaring blood. A final conflict.
What had happened? I remember…
My vision fades to the recent past.
-----
There was a world.
Its worthless name I cannot recall, but I remember the shape of its miserable existence. The mortals there felt nothing but suffering, obedience and only few motes of any joy. Taken as soldiers for the Anathema's service, and then slaves to the vermin of Commorragh.
They had called out to me without realising it at first. The hatred for themselves, for others, festering in the naked unfair reality that made up their lives. I reached out and spread myself across their minds.
A cult formed. Hidden, nascent but developing. The environment of the overlooked populace had been a vector of corruption that was perfectly suited for me.
My name bubbled up to the front of a hundred minds. Then a thousand. Ten-thousand. My words and orders carved into bodies as well as thought, portions of my power granted to them as I fed on life and the corpses. The shadows growing deeper.
It was already a world of ruin by my sight, the history of its people forming a quagmire of filth. I would make that into reality. Break the walls. Topple towers. Burn cities and settlements.
I could even imagine, distantly, the ability to sink my essence into where the slaves would be taken. The port within the Webway, right next to the heart of the Thirsting One. To build my forces, armies within a perfect fortress. Eventually able to breach a doorway for me to challenge and butcher another divine parasite.
That fleeting dream, that idiotic fantasy, did not come to pass. Something else happened first. If I had only a few more years able to grow, a decade to root my way through this cult as it attained strength, I could have…
No, it doesn't matter anymore.
There had been a sound that echoed deep from within the Warp, growing greater and greater with every moment. Something distant and quiet, but with enough power behind it that it would be heard even beyond the galaxy. Blades against blades, fists to claws, death unleashed Roaring beasts. Quaking gunfire.
The Blood and Thunder War.
I paid it little attention at first. I knew the worth behind it, the weight of such slaughter. Even the potential for divine death. It would have been an opportunity later once I possessed greater strength, devoured what this small world could have granted me.
One day, the whole of the Immaterium pulsed. Like a heart loudly beating. An explosion of force billowing out. Something unstoppable
First there was confusion. I had no idea what I was feeling. A wave of red filled my vision.
And then…
Fear.
The beginning of rain, of a storm. Scratching lightning across metal. Blades crashing against mountains. Crumbling walls and towers. Shaking the foundations of souls.
It rushed forward. Surging, growing, echoing. A sound that deafened all else.
Laughter.
The rage of Khorne, the might of Gork, the guile of Mork. The boundless desire for blood and the unceasing potential for battle. Gods, daemons and mortals united fully in mind and purpose.
Armies that are beyond mere physical strength, delving into the basal concepts of power and conflict. Cutting through reality. Excising weakness wherever it could be found.
This visceral joy, coated with infinite slaughter, was too much to be denied. My voice was quiet compared to the loud, expanding wave that dominated all. Yet my laughter sparked with the tide as death crashed into my cult, joining its mass.
Was this what it was like to be a mortal, tainted by sudden corruption? To have a mind, even briefly, torn asunder by an outer force? Falling into something great and terrible?
Perhaps more of my followers could have survived if I hadn't focused on attaining psychic members, those more attuned to the Warp's power. All too tempting to resist.
But without defended minds or any thought to care about protecting themselves or other members, they became torn holes of fire and lightning. Screaming into madness, flooded with the power behind this great wave. Most detonated into horrific stars, the rest transforming into malformed berserkers.
It cascaded back to me. Beset by both the rippling tide and the backlash from my rapidly destroyed cult, my essence became frayed. My blood boiled. My mind lost all lucidity.
I fell to a deep dream, my last thoughts wondering if this was the beginning of the the end.
-----
I drift back to the 'now', the prison of incorporeal existence. Diffused back into a half-life of being. My body's connections lost.
There is little more that is annoying than being forced back in this purgatory, without ability to act until I reform. At this rate, I won't be back until a century passes by the mortal realm.
Trapped once more, this time my mind wanders and only few moments of awareness can occur. Sluggish frames of introspection my cell, my shattered husk the lock.
Yet, strangely, I do not feel so resentful of my circumstance as I should be. Not raging at my fate, not bemoaning my loss. Was there still some remnant of that horrific joy that was worming within me, that apocalypse laughter?
Distantly I can still hear it. The melody of roaring thunder and blades against blades in this war.
A lullaby, a muse. Such devastation, to find such brilliant joy in this blood-soaked finality. I shall meditate on it, remember it when I wake up and carve its shape onto my flesh.
But for now… I fall back into my dreams.
The Temptation
The Temptation
—
It disturbed Vulkan how a lack of sleep didn't bother him now. And yet the thought of it hadn't left his mind in months. Strange as it was to dwell on such a thing, especially after coming to terms with it not being a problem.
He attributed sleep as being vital to his mental health. A chance to take stock of things after a busy day. Humans put so much stock in it, sometimes going so far as to declare days of rest each month. A universal cultural trait shared among thousands of worlds.
A funny thing, that. Water and food were just as vital, if not more so, to humans. A Primarch could go weeks or months without either, though. It made it difficult to empathize with most people, at least in that aspect. Resting, however, was something desired even by a creature such as himself.
Sleep was something to prioritize and savor. Vulkan's brothers would call it a waste of time, and maybe they were right. Even on Nocturne, another problem always needed solving before the day concluded. Yet those quiet moments of contemplations and review before turning in for the night helped prepare for the next day just as much as making the morning to-do list.
Perturabo once remarked that it was an excellent way to pass the time. His brothers must have chuckled at hearing that, believing Perturabo was running simulations in his dreams. No one ever said the Lord of Iron was wasting time. Some of his brothers had taken to deep mediation, forgoing the "biological" necessity of having to slumber. Vulkan could never see the appeal of such a thing, however.
The lack of dreaming stopped him from trying it. Such a silly thing, really. Yet, if Vulkan could not experience such things, it would reflect another part of his humanity eroding into the darkness. To dream was one of the few acts of defiance a slave could keep for themselves. To imagine a better life or of better times.
Vulkan found his dreams were one of the few comforts left to him. Considering how much the waking world required of him now, the realm of dreams was a distant memory to him.
Now he understood why this stuck out in his mind…he was tired.
Onboard the Flamewrought…
"Not exactly the best situation we find ourselves in," That was how Colonel Fury started the conversation with Vulkan. "My contacts and benefactors back in Sol confirmed that there was another stalling of talks. Once again, Terra and Mars can only agree that your reforms aren't viable. At least not now."
Vulkan almost laughed, "At least the bureaucrats were talking." That didn't mean much, unfortunately. There had been discussions and debates about some of his reforms. Yet most of the time, they were brought up in passing more often than not. An idle topic, or one used to generate some heated conversations among enemies. No doubt, more than a few mocked the idea of his reforms. At least, he assumed so. No one was going to be stupid enough to say that publically.
That was the situation for Vulkan. Disdain, apathy, or mockery. Every year it seemed as if more and more didn't even want to hear about the reforms. When had humanity become so jaded or bitter? The Great Crusade was an attempt to reset or fix the horrors done by the Age of Strife and the millennia of darkness. Perhaps humanity was unable to look past their own trauma or unwilling to empathize with another's plight.
"You won't like this next part either," Fury looked grim now, "Our attempts to reach out to progressive elements on Ryza are being met with silence. Another Wall of Iron has gone up, it seems."
A "wall of iron" described a censoring on a Forge World. Another sign of how much power Kelbor had amassed now. A century ago, the concept of Mars having the ability to do such a thing to another player like Ryza would be unheard of, but Kelbor-Hal was soundly centralizing power across the Mechanicum. Then again, Ryza just didn't like progressives. There were still hundreds of hold-outs, which Vulkan was attempting to reach and align with, but he and Konrad agreed that they would not take aid from anyone who wanted to help them purely out of spite. Even if it was warranted.
"No word back from Agripinaa or Lucius either?" Vulkan asked, trying to weigh his options.
"None yet," Fury shrugged, "But that might be due to distance and time. Their Magi are probably trying to decide if working alongside us in this coalition of ours." They were waiting to see if Vulkan got shut down again by the Emperor or the Mechanicum. Frustrating didn't describe how the Primarch felt about these delays or absent responses. A stark contrast to how things usually went when responding to a son of the Emperor of Mankind.
"They are afraid." Vulkan's smoldering remark caused Fury to pause, "Afraid to associate with a man who seems destined to fail in his endeavor." He couldn't stop the brief pang of anger in his heart. "What happened to all those brave souls that sought to change the galaxy? That hunger to make a difference and leave a mark?"
Fury considered those questions for a brief moment, "I don't know if I'd call it a lack of bravery or ambition, but I suppose the issue of remaining dutiful comes to mind." He took a drag of a cigar, "Whether that is because they believe or simply obtained their position via nepotism, most will not step out of line or whatever is comfortable for themselves."
Vulkan grimaced, "I'd honestly prefer it then it was abject fear. Fear doesn't mean the absence of courage."
"Courage to do what, though?" Fury tapped off some of the ash from his cigar, "To ask a man to fight and die for his nation is easy, for it is ultimately a simple and gruesome task of fighting and killing the enemy. Except we aren't trying to destroy but create something. The joys and the accomplishments of rebuilding have long since left the minds of the most powerful. All those individuals are now content with their place in the new galactic order. To potentially upend all that for the common folk, the downtrodden, and the undesirables?"
Fury shook his head, "If you asked these worlds to kill all those people, you'd have a much easier time getting them on your side."
Vulkan felt so tired now. "You continue to have a much more dour look on things, Colonel."
"Someone has to. Your Brother-Primarch believes in justice and that specific steps have to be taken to achieve such things, but some injustices are more deeply rooted than others, nor can they be spotted. I assume every person I met has skeletons in their closet, to use an old Terran saying, and that when they might run the risk of them being exposed, or stars forbid, having to confront them, they will cower behind what is familiar and safe."
He finished the cigar and put it out, "People are weak. That's not necessarily a condemnation, though. Because people can also change, sometimes for the better. So, I just like to set myself up to be pleasantly surprised whenever someone subverts my dour expectations, Primarch."
Such a glib but hopeful response made the Primarch smile. "Giving them the benefit of the doubt? A risky maneuver in most instances."
"Better to give someone the opportunity than not." He then smirked, "Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat."
Vulkan found that rather insightful, "Another speech given by your benefactor to you?" Fury had long since admitted that he was neither that wise nor insightful when giving such little pep talks like that, "That one seems a bit more directed towards me than anything."
"Perhaps?" The smirk on his face said, "I'll let you muse on that all the same. Such as it is, I should report back to my office and write a few letters. Need to follow up on a few requests for material aid for us."
As he got up from his seat and turned to leave, he paused, "Oh, I almost forgot. We got an urgent request from a nearby system. A ship hailing from Mars. Someone wanted to speak to you.
"Did the message say who?"
Fury shook his head, "That's the strange thing. It was a coded message, but it didn't use any available cipher we could crack until we received a secondary component via Astropath, a machinist chant."
"Transmitted via Astropath?" That would require a substantial amount of technologies and a particular type of trained Astropath. "Curious. Was the message decoded then?"
The Colonel nodded, "Strangest thing, it was just a set of coordinates, a date and time, and instructions to confirm that we want to speak with the Red Prince." A strange and entirely off-the-cuff title for the Mechanicum.
"Peculiar, but nothing out of the ordinary. No doubt an element from Mars that wishes to speak with us in private. Certainly no harm in meeting with them."
"As you will, Lord Primarch." Fury nodded and saluted the Primarch before exiting. Vulkan wondered who was trying to have such a clandestine meeting in the middle of nowhere? No doubt someone hoping to gain more political traction or power against Kelbor-Hal and his ilk.
Even so, no reason to not hear them out. More often than not, a simple meeting could produce unexpected results. A slip of the tongue or a not-so-subtle reference to the state of things could go a long way in helping his cause.
A clandestine meeting for Vulkan had long since become an old hat trick, to use a turn of phrase, since he started attempting to curry favor for his reforms. People wanted to help, but they could not do it publicly. This resulted in more and more meetings away from prying eyes. Konrad was quite helpful in stopping anyone from trying to investigate.
It all felt so scummy to Vulkan. Why should he be forced to conduct business in the shadows as if doing something wrong? Konrad explained that sometimes you had to work in the darkness to serve the light, yet Vulkan countered that their mission needed to be seen and heard by all.
Vulkan didn't like that his backers had to come to him via such skullduggery. Middlemen, secret missives, coded transmissions, and sometimes even using criminal elements to act as messengers infuriated Konrad. It did not help that their allies came from all walks of life, but Vulkan didn't begrudge a man for his past or current affiliations.
For example, if a Pirate Lord hated slavery with a passion, was it inherently wrong to turn down their aid? A criminal could have some moral fiber in that they recognize some lines should not be crossed. Certainly, Konrad and Vulkan had a few disagreements over this sentiment, but that was a discussion for another day.
Right now, the meeting was in the middle of nowhere. A star system that was designated as SP-09a. Calling it mundane would be generous. There was an Armada patrol station, a promethium refinery hub, and a research station examining the nearby gas giants. That was all SP-09a had to its name.
Its greatest historical moment would be the arrival of a fleet commanded by the Lord of Drakes. After that, it would fall into obscurity once more. To Vulkan's annoyance, the ship that was supposed to meet them didn't seem to be here. They could only detect a few freighters and transports hovering close by the massive fleet of ships.
Vulkan decided there was more to this than he saw here: "Have Auspex scans picked up anything?" The question was directed to the Flamewroughts commanding officer, an aged man sitting upon the command throne with a look of attentive indifference. Out of all the officers that Saturn sent to the Primarchs, Admiral Aleksy Bartek was a fascinating and frustrating man. It was easy to describe Aleksy as a "crabby" individual.
He gave the Primarch an annoyed stare, "Not since the sixth time you asked, Lord Primarch. The Flame is a good ship, her sensors top of the line like the rest of her sisters, but it takes her time to get the proper readings, especially when we don't know what type of ship we are looking for."
Aleksy went back to checking scan reports. Vulkan knew Aleksy was somewhat a divisive individual among the Salamanders and Night Lords. How exactly the man developed a friendship with Konrad confused the hell out of Vulkan. Some of his sons hated the man, while those who took the time to speak with Aleksy found him to be a treasure trove of amusing stories and anecdotes.
However, Vulkan had never seen the man crack a smile or utter one joke. Perhaps his humor was just that dry? Nevertheless, he was handpicked to command the Flamewrought and came highly recommended. The report described Aleksy as a very "fluidic" commander, often coming up with strategies that ensure the flow and tempo of battle only goes in his favor. Although, Vulkan had yet to see the man perform in any actual combat action.
At the very least, the man kept himself busy. Aleksy was typing away on a command console and looking over real-time scanner data. Even though a small army of tech-adepts and personnel was doing just that, Aleksy wanted to look over this information when he wasn't preoccupied with battle or issuing orders.
Keeping this in mind, Vulkan was half-tempted to issue a system-wide order for all civilian ship captains to present themselves onboard the Flamewrought. Sadly that would probably scare off anyone looking to hold a clandestine meeting.
"Hmm…interesting." Aleksy suddenly declared, "One of the freighters out there is giving off strange readings." A quick command from him brought the data up on a nearby holo-projector for the Primarch to review. The ship in question was listed as the "Velvet Carriage," a Vagabound-class freighter.
Vulkan quickly noticed a few things; the first was the below-average power-out on the Carriage, yet all its external devices ran beyond optimal parameters. It was effectively running silent yet completely capable of performing all standard ship actions without any power-related issues.
Its void shields were also somehow causing electromagnetic interference passively, which hinted that it had an ECM or jamming system installed inside. A costly and otherwise illegal device to have onboard a vessel in Imperial space. Furthermore, its guns appeared to be bog-standard but scans also detected radiological matter on the cannons. Which were also illegal arms for most ships not in the Imperial Armada. Hideously expensive as well.
A Mechanicum ship, no question now. Hiding in plain sight.
"This is our contact." Vulkan turned to Aleksy, "Send the challenge command with coded instructions."
"Aye, Lord-Primarch."
It became a waiting game after that. Vulkan was quite miffed that it took two hours to respond to a hail that should've taken ten minutes at most. Someone trying to make a Primarch wait was either suicidal or knew they had some imagined power over them. Vulkan could tolerate a lot in people, sometimes even genuinely deplorable tendencies, as long as there was a modicum of respect in the conversation. Still, this was supercilious, especially for whoever invited him.
Aleksy seemed quite annoyed at this situation as well. The admiral was tapping his fingers, waiting for the response. A quick set of chirps from his console, and the man rolled his eyes, "Nice of them to get back to us. Further instructions have been received, and they request a meeting on Rockspite Station."
Vulkan found that a rather peculiar request "The system station?" Was this all just some trap to try and kill him? Blowing up a void station with him on it would certainly not end the Lord of Drakes.
"Correct. We just got a data package with further details. No entourage or anything of the sort, just you and the Red Prince." Aleksy frowned and shook his head, "If this is a trap, it's pretty amateur hour."
"Do you believe it to be a trap, Admiral?"
Pondering that question for a moment, Aleksy didn't seem to think so, "I think whoever wants to meet with you simply wants to get this over with. It's almost refreshingly innocuous."
Vulkan wondered if this was a point in favor or against this Red Prince. Suspicious didn't begin to describe how this looked, but his instincts told him to give this a chance. Worse case meant that he'd need to fight his way out.
"Send a response back; we shall agree to meet."
A few hours later, on Rockspire Station…
Vulkan found it strangely easy to slip onto Rockspire Station. All he had to do was get on one of the Flamewroughts many shuttles currently tasked with getting fuel from the station, cover himself up in a decent disguise, and effectively just walk among humanity. Most people were focused on any event regarding his fleet, anyway. Either glue to a pict-screen or listen to a vox transmission, not wanting to miss out on the chance to hear a Primarch speak. The irony was not lost on Vulkan.
Once upon a time, Vulkan would've gladly walked in the open among the crowds. He liked people coming up to him, speaking about their lives, and sharing their experiences. Vulkan did not fear criticism or outrage, nor did he worry about any threats to his life (although he was worried about civilians getting caught in such events.)
He still did this. However, Konrad had taught him that whenever a Primarch appeared, all that was vile and criminal disappeared, hidden away by authorities to not embarrass themselves before a son of the Emperor. The homeless were kept out of sight, those in poverty threatened to remain silent, and the criminals gave leeway to do what they wanted, just as long as no official saw or heard their activities.
"Sometimes, a shining beacon can distort or hide those in the darkness," Vulkan learned this lesson after he quietly "infiltrated" a few worlds and saw instances of what Konrad warned him would happen. Although Vulkan would observe that a few planets, more often than not, simply tried to readdress the issues of poverty, homelessness, and crime, but to various degrees of success in some instances.
In any case, Konrad's point stuck. Vulkan knew to keep these things in mind whenever he arrived on a world to promote his reforms. No matter how peaceful or prosperous a plant was or how benevolently the government acted, far too many lived in squalor or without hope of a better future, simply out of sight.
Sadly, Rockspire Station was not spared from these issues. Vulkan saw many sick or destitute individuals loitering around decks. Most seemed to be in a drug-like haze. These poor souls likely weren't slaves, at least not officially. But Vulkan doubted many would be able to escape the confines of their reality or station. A slave could be bound by societal chains rather than just physical ones.
Pushing such thoughts aside from now, Vulkan was still on a mission. The instructions received to the Flamewrought listed a "hidden" facility onboard the station where this meeting would be held. It was, unsurprisingly, closer to the Mechanicum-controlled section of Rockspire.
The rest of the journey was a boring one. Only a few people spared glances towards the giant of a man that was Vulkan, but most assumed him either an Ogryn or an Astartes that did not want to be seen. People tended to not try and get themselves killed, especially when hearing all the rumors and tall tales about Space Marines.
No one wanted to learn if Astartes actually ate the flesh of humans. An absurd and almost insulting notion, but humans believe many such things. If nothing else because it was entertaining or used as a tool to scare children into doing their chores.
Some people had strange imaginations, but Vulkan and his kin lived in such fantastical times. It shouldn't have surprised him. The Primarch did wonder…what stories would be told after the Great Crusade concluded? Would they be kind or critical to the Astartes? Vulkan asked himself if he simply would live that long to see.
Another reminder that the reforms had to succeed. If not for the future of Vulkan and his sons, but for all of mankind.
Finally, he arrived at his destination. It was a chapel dedicated to the Machine God. Small, only capable of fitting maybe 500 people at minimum, and lacking all the grandiose iconography found in tech-cathedrals or forge-churches. Did Father not realize how absurd the Imperial Truth sounded whenever anyone had to explain the Mechancium? No gods or masters in His Imperium, save for the machine men worshiping their god in their massive temples. Just ignore them.
Stepping inside the chapel, the first thing Vulkan saw was. The great icon of the Machine God is hanging up above a large altar. The altar was connected to an equally large machine. There Vulkan could see the "Cog" of the Omnissiah. Staring down upon the faithful at the back of the nave. The smell of oil, incense, soot, smoke, and fire was hanging in the air. It almost reminded Vulkan of home.
It was empty as well. Indicated by the dozens of metal pews devoid of devotees. Save for one individual sitting on the closet pew to the altar. They wore red robes, but Vulkan couldn't see much else as their back was turned to him. Perhaps he could've attempted to sneak further inside, but no amount of stealth would allow for Vulkan to approach without his footsteps echoing inside the chapel. He might have learned how to disguise himself, but sneaking wasn't an option.
As he stomped towards the front of the chapel, Vulkan kept an eye out for anything that could pose a threat to him. Perhaps there were dozens of assassins cloaked all around him, or maybe the room would soon be filled with a devastating toxin. A bomb could've also gone off at this point.
Nevertheless, no point in putting this all off.
"Excuse me," He quietly asked when he was close enough, "I apologize if I am interrupting your prayer, but I'm looking for someone for a meeting here…" The figure didn't seem to respond to his inquiry. Strangely enough, Vulkan could see their arms spread out and resting on the top of the back support. A relatively relaxed position. One could even call it disrespectful.
A male voice spoke up, "Take a seat." The figure gestured to the pew opposite him, "It'll handle your weight." A relatively "young" voice, but Vulkan could hear the power and weight behind it, along with slight distortion from what could only be an integrated vox-grill inside their throat.
Sparing a glance towards the uncomfortable-looking metal pew, Vulkan was wondering if this was a setup, "Hmm…might you first assist with my question?"
"You seek the Red Prince." The figure kept looking towards the altar, "You've found him."
Vulkan figured this was his contact, but he didn't want to just assume. "Very well…" The Primarch took an awkward seat on the metal pew. The Red Prince was correct, the bench held up, but it was still small and uncomfortable for the Primarch. "I do say, I think I might have better luck standing."
"I don't wish to stand and do business before a shrine to the Omnissiah." He kept looking at the Cog above, "But sadly, this was the only place on this blasted station that I know can't be bugged or wired. So, please, bear with me." The Red Prince slowly stood up, smoothing his robes of any wrinkles, and made his way towards the altar.
He glanced over at the Primarch, "It's always humbling to come across these little spaces of worship." Even though the man was facing Vulkan, the robe's hood distorted his face. The Red Prince gestured towards the Cog above with his right hand, "Even out here, in the forgotten spaces of a great empire, this small house-of-worship can be made to serve a greater purpose. A reminder that all the little things in life, be it tools, machines, and people, can have a role in the shake-up of galactic order."
And here, Vulkan thought he was the one that would need any speeches. "That is a very novel way to look at things." A diplomatic response. "Although I'm not sure I would equate people to tools in this instance, I will agree that even the smallest voice could reach across the vastness of time and space if passionate enough." Human history has shown that even a single individual can start a chain reaction of events that echoed throughout time.
That individuals such as the Emperor or the Primarchs like himself existed in such a turbulent period of galactic history meant their actions would echo throughout the millennia. Hence the need to accomplish the reforms.
"A person is only as strong as the foundation of the society they serve. For only the cunning or strong can use it to achieve their aims." The Red Prince turned and gestured towards the Cog in reverence, "Or…they seek the wisdom of a god that knows the path forward. It is why the Mechanicum has survived for so long. Why it has prospered in this untamed galaxy. Yet we still struggle with finding our future. However, through the Omnissiah Warnings and Mysteries, we are filled with determination and purpose. Tomorrow is still in our hands."
He lowered his hands and turned to Vulkan, "Nevertheless, we are still plagued by the same errors of yesteryear. How far we've come, only to look upon the teeming masses and see a seemingly endless sea of hopelessness and despair. The future that is promised is in jeopardy."
Vulkan nodded, "While the Omnissiah does not warn of the dangers of human bondage, you seem to be aware of the malaise it creates in the hearts of men and the institutions of the Imperium. It is weakening us from the inside. Creating real or imagined problems that eat away at whatever materials could be used to create a fair and just society."
The Red Prince seemed to ponder the Primarch's words, "Slavery is abhorrent…that much is true." He turned back to the Cog and gazed upon it. Vulkan heard the chapel doors beginning to close, and while he sensed no danger, it was clear to him that the Red Prince was interested in letting no one else hear this conversation.
"However," the Red Prince started, "It is necessary. A cruel sentiment, but not one spoken with disdain or malice. Yet it means so little to those who have no future. Who sees only a horror that has become a disease passed onto their children. A disease that had become fuel for the greatest industrial and technological renaissance since before the discovery of Warp Travel or when the first Thinking Machine came online."
Pausing for a moment, the Red Prince shook his head, "To stop now, at this most crucial era, would be a far crueler gesture. To undo the sacrifices and allow chaos and uncertainty to spread across the Imperium and Mechanicum. To deny those poor souls the only purpose they've ever known for freedoms they will not embrace or enjoy or use to their fullest. To leave a cage and wander into these wicked stars…"
Vulkan hadn't expected the conversation to start this poorly. It looked like this had been a waste of his time. He also expected this to turn into a fight, considering he was "trapped" inside this chapel now.
He stood up from the pew and shook his head, "If that is how you feel, I'm afraid we don't have much to discuss. I didn't come here to argue with some Magi over the supposed accolades of keeping a man in chains or its gilded virtues. Though I wish I had the time to convince you otherwise."
The Red Prince chuckled, "You would deny yourself the opportunity to engage in debate over such things?"
"If only I had the time to do so," Vulkan commented with a slight shrug, "Yet the galaxy only punishes those that seek to adjust the minds of those that see only the reality they wish to see, even if the desire to do so burns strongly in my heart. Unfortunately, I believe my time would be better suited elsewhere. Much as I'd enjoy the debate, changing the will of one man at this juncture will only aid me in so much as the opportunity allows."
"Hmm…" The Red Prince hummed, "Not even for the chance to let my voice echo across the stars? To aid in your endeavors?"
Such a strange opinion of himself, "If you desire to help me, then help me. You need not lie or convince yourself that slavery, which I would remind you is but one of many crimes perpetuated across this Imperium, is abhorrent. If in any moment of decision after this meeting, the best thing you can do is the right thing. The worst thing you can do is nothing."
Mayhaps his words reached the Magi, for the Red Prince slowly nodded, "I can see why so many have sought out your aid and why so many of my brothers and sisters have become so divided when they speak of your blasted reforms. All the wisdom and logic of the Omnissiah seem to fall to the wayside. And now my kin bicker and debate because of a few Primarch's personal crusades."
Reaching to pull back the hood, Vulkan was quite surprised to see a face he had only seen in pics and vid files. Standing before was the Fabricator-General of Mars, the political and spiritual leader of the Mechanicum.
Kelbor-Hal stood before the Lord of Drakes. Stranger still, he did not look entirely displeased.
How strange a turn of events for Vulkan. To meet with one of the most powerful men in the Imperium in such a "humble" local. One might even call it something out of a storybook; a hero meeting with a villain in an otherwise quaint location. Yet who was playing which role?
"Kelbor-Hal," Vulkan spoke with some disdain crossed his arms, "You are a long way from your seat of power…" This certainly made for an interesting first meeting between the individual who hampered his and Konrad's reform attempts.
All the pictures showed Kelbor-Hal as heavily augmented. Yet he looked pretty human. However, Vulkan could see the signs of heavy cyber-augmentation. Kelbor-Hal had molded himself to look human for this meeting.
The now revealed Fabricator-General of Mars gave a very human snort of derision, "My power is centralized on Mars, yet my influence and reach goes far beyond it. Much as my rivals and enemies like to believe they are not safe from my authority. Those fools on Ryza and others think they are safe from me. The Mechanicum is full of men and women who live out their delusions inside their forge-temples or strongholds just like any Imperial lord."
"Hoarding knowledge and technologies as opposed to wealth and treasures." Vulkan heard this before. He was almost shocked when Kelbor-Hal started nodding.
"All those that desire to learn and grow, to actually understand the teachings and warnings of the Omnissiah, are the ones seeking lost knowledge and pushing boundaries, rather than just hoarding relics from the Golden Age. I won't deny them their rights to keep such things in their possessions, but if they think that gives them authority over an entire Forge World, then I will gleefully remind them that Mars is the most powerful for a reason."
If Vulkan expected Kelbor-Hal to act in a certain way, this wasn't it. The Primarch could make out the zealotry in his words but also the very human tone of exasperation, frustration, and incredulity over the actions of his peers. To hear him openly complain was strange but almost refreshing.
"It's humbling to know that one of the most powerful men in the galaxy can voice his frustrations so easily."
Kelbor-Hal rolled his cybernetic eyes, "I'm allowing my emotional cortex matrix to run wild right now for the point of this interaction. Actively choosing to embrace all of this nonsense for your convince, Primarch."
"How magnanimous of you."
He glared at Vulkan, "I took considerable effort to come and meet you, ensuring no one would bother us. Do keep in mind that every minute I waste here is costing the Imperium an entire Titan Legion or battlefleet being in the right place."
Arrogant bastard. It was no wonder Father never got along with him; they were probably too much alike. "Then am I to assume there is a point to all of this that wasn't just you coming here to flaunt your power or wax ideological rhetoric?"
Kelbor's body seems to simmer for only a second, "You call it waxing; I call it a counter-argument to your ideological rhetoric." The Fabricator-General then started to hover slightly off the ground. "And so far, it has neither moved, convinced, or made me reconsider my stance on your reformation ideas."
"Then, by all means, let me have this opportunity to convince, move, or make you reconsider them. For if this clandestine meeting was important enough for the great and powerful Kelbor-Hal of the Mechancium to take a day out of his busy schedule, surely he is here for a most auspicious of reasons."
Vulkan wasn't sure what Kelbor-Hal was up to, but the Primarch seriously doubted he was here for just a "polite" debate. If nothing else, the Magi was perhaps just here to taunt or analyze a potential threat to his power base. Kelbor-Hal let slip that Vulkan and Konrad were starting to make too many waves within the Mechanicum.
"As I mentioned before, I took considerable effort to come here without anyone noticing or trying to undermine this meeting. I have only a brief window to have this conversation and accomplish its goals, nothing more than that." Hovering towards the Primarch, Vulkan realized with some amusement that Kelbor-Hal was trying to make himself appear a bit taller to the giant of a man.
"I will, however, make a few inquires to determine the validity of whether my reason for being here was worth the time and effort." He floated back towards the Cog, "I must ascertain if you are what I seek for what I have planned."
What was he up to now? "Beg pardon?"
Kelbor-Hal ignored the question and instead asked his own, "Inquiry one; you postulate that a slave upon gaining his freedom shall be capable of self-improvement, self-determination, and remain an efficient contributor to the good of the nation, correct?"
"Yes." Vulkan nodded, "Individuals will be driven to do and be better on the value of maintaining their new freedoms granted to them by the collective good and state actors, thus resulting in an overall positive and productive trend for their community, nation, planet, and ultimately the Imperium of Man."
The hovering Magi briefly considered, "Inconclusive evidence to support such an outcome. Most freedmen will ultimately return to the comfort of what is familiar to them due to generations of servitude. They will come to fear their freedoms, Primarch. An estimated 89% will remain static until they expire. The best possible outcome will require the creation of one to two generations of individuals that have been born free to even begin producing a viable return value at the sudden loss of majority workforce."
"Only if we, the people in charge, allow for this to happen. You act as if we are going to treat them like animals being released into the wild! The people will yearn for new undertakings and the means to explore their potential as long as the state provides the necessary aid and opportunity."
Once again, Kelbor-Hal paused, and Vulkan realized he was trying to process the Primarch's responses as data input and cross-referencing his own data, "Inquiry two; based on the previously provided data, the best possible outcome would require decades of education, training, re-specialization, re-tooling, and rehabilitation for most slaves to fit into the new production paradigm. Do you agree?"
"There are many more variables to consider in this instance, but I will agree with the surface level analysis." All those requirements will have to be met, along with better food, healthcare, and restructuring of primary institutions to cater to the needs of the Freedmen.
Vulkan noticed that Kelbor-Hal's eyes briefly glowed, "Before all other instances can be achieved, the fundamental issue remains unresolved. Production rates necessary to maintain the Imperium of Man and its efforts in the Great Crusade would become impossible to achieve, and the crusade would grind to a halt. It would take at least seven generations for the Imperium to return to Late-Crusade Levels of Production. Do you agree?"
"Hard disagree." Vulkan frowned, "And I refuse to believe that my brothers and I couldn't cut that down to three generations, maybe even two. You know our domains are starting to reach levels of industrial efficiency that would've taken most millennia to achieve and maintain. We'd be able to reconfigure for the lack of slavery easily enough."
"Hmmm…" Kelbor seemed to consider this response, "I will not deny you that your counter-argument has some truth to it. However, the production loss versus gain would still be astronomical against your reformations."
Only if one looked at this from a purely logical and numbers standpoint. Vulkan hated that so many had reduced trillions of people onto a spreadsheet and called it "fair and impartial." There was nothing of the sort in this thinking.
"Inquiry three; this shall be the last one. Does the Primarch believe that if given the resources, opportunity, political backing, and military support can prove that their reformations can be successfully implemented and achieve parameters successfully within a given timeframe?"
Vulkan would've loved to prove his point, "Yes."
"Are you aware that you are trying to undermine raw evidence in favor of some speculative utopian ideal? Something that seems impossible on paper?" Did Vulkan hear genuine curiosity from Kelbor?
Vulkan shrugged, "Impossible things happen every day. I've done the impossible and can do it again with this." What else was there really to say on the matter? Either he pulled it off, or he wouldn't, simple as that. Perhaps he expected a different sort of remark from Kelbor-Hal as he slowly floated. Maybe a snort of disdain or a snide comment.
"Hmph. My cortex is screaming at me how wrong you are, but my instincts are telling me otherwise. While I loathe believing in something so primal and unquantifiable, I would not have gotten this far in the Mechanicum without occasionally listening to it. So instead, I shall weigh your deeds and those of your brothers against the data I have access to. In doing so, this should fit into the necessary parameters, albeit with substantial misgivings and recommendations against taking the next course of action."
What? Had Vulkan somehow gotten through to Kelbor-Hall in some manner? "And this next course of action would be what exactly?"
"I'd like to make a deal with you…and a wager."
The Mechanicum never did anything without assessing if the odds were in their favor. Every calculation was made to ensure maximum efficiency and a positive overall outcome. It stood to reason that Kelbor-Hal wasn't the type of man to make a bet without knowing that he would win in the end. Hence when the Fabricator-General spoke of a wager, Vulkan instantly felt on edge.
"Dare I ask when you mean by a wager?" Vulkan was trying to scrutinize the true intention of the floating Magi. "And since when has the Mechanicum been in the habit of doing such things?"
What sounded like an amused electronic hum echoed from the man, "Extraordinary times require similar solutions. I believe this is also what the Terrans call a leap of faith? The irony of that maxim. But yes, I'm going to take what could generously be called a leap of faith. However, you can also call it an investment opportunity."
A wave of his hands and the omnipresent Cog began to hum with power. A single red "eye" shined brightly before projecting an image above the Primarch and Fabricator-General. It was a holo-projector built into the icon.
Vulkan could easily make out what looked to be a small sector-wide map, although one he hadn't seen before. "I take it this is the investment opportunity?"
Kelbor-Hal shook his head, "Our investment opportunity." He corrected, "Really yours more than anything. Nevertheless, let it not be said that I won't be one of your partners in all this."
Looking up Vulkan could dozens of named systems, "And what exactly is 'all this' that would require us to be partners?" He glanced back at Kelbor-Hal, "What are you planning here…?"
"As I said, an investment opportunity." Kelbor-Hal quipped before gesturing with his hand, causing the projection to distort, "This is the Anagnorisis Sector. You won't find it on any current galactic maps, as the Mechanicum has kept its location relatively hidden."
"You kept an entire sector hidden?"
Kelbor-Hal seemed almost embarrassed as he spoke, "To an extent. Your Sigillite isn't the only one that is good at keeping secrets. Although I will admit that the resources and effort we've taken to keep Anagnorisis a secret has been a considerable waste of time. I will be blunt when I say that this sector is a disaster for many reasons. Which, sadly, undermines all the potential it holds."
He gestured toward several systems, "The sector is beyond rich in resources. It doesn't have much in the way of sacred STCs, but if one was to build an empire from these systems, you could produce one of the most influential sectors in the entire segmentum. Everything needed is there, including hundreds of trillions of people, hundreds of high imperial worlds, and over a dozen forge worlds."
"But this is somehow a disaster?" Vulkan was wondering what exactly Kelbor-Hal had planned to do with a hidden sector. Indeed Father and Malcador would've learned of it eventually. Was that perhaps the plan? Everything about this situation seemed suspicious. "It seems that all the ingredients for an empire are here, just as you said."
The Fabricator-General vox seemed to growl as he looked up, "It is plagued by all the same issues facing this blasted Imperium. Shortsightedness, ineptitude, corruption, and a dazzling display of pettiness would make the lords and ladies of Sol look almost civilized compared to the factions operating inside Anagnorisis. Not even the Mechanicum elements have been spared from this disease. All this has resulted in almost a decade of little to no progress!"
Hearing such fury in his voice almost surprised Vulkan, but he could also see why it would cause the Fabricator-General so much anger. A decade of no progress for an entire sector? Even the worlds caught in the Desolation were starting to send back their tithes. Those that weren't wholly destroyed anyway.
"How does an entire sector that has all the potential, with your own backing, fail to develop and grow?"
Kelbor-Hal seemed to huff for a moment, "Omnissiah only knows. Mayhaps you'd call it a curse rather than a disease, for no other reason, could explain such disastrous results. My peers and detractors are starting to question my decision to keep it around. Going so far as to mock me by calling it "The Playground," as it might as well be run by children playing by their own rules."
Vulkan couldn't help himself; he started to gently laugh, "That is…amusing." He could only imagine what Roboute, Kesar, or Horus would say about this sector. "Sounds like it requires a lot of work to fix it."
"Hence why I want you to do it for me." The response was sudden that Vulkan almost thought someone else had said it. Turning to the Fabricator-General, he could see that Kelbor-Hal was being quite serious.
Narrowing his eyes, Vulkan realized what was going on here, "I get it now…it's all clear to me. You are going to have me fix this place for you; in exchange, I get to test out my reforms."
Kelbor-Hal smiled sardonically, "Praise the Omnissiah! He understands what the wager is without me having to explain! Such wisdom from the Warlords sons!" The smile left his face in an instant. "Now that you see the intention, you can determine that we both stand to benefit here. This is as much an attempt for me to save face as it is yours to gain some."
Vulkan glared at Kelbor-Hal, "I don't need to save face."
"Don't be dismissive or delusional," Kelbor-Hal snapped back at him, "You are flaying around, hoping that your Father would heed your pleas or that you could find enough allies to make this a worthwhile endeavor. You have neither. I was originally planning on just trying to buy your cooperation, to hopefully end this farce."
Kelbor started to hover around the Primarch, almost as if to taunt him, "Can you truly tell me that you could've achieved your reforms without constantly hearing 'just a few more decades, it'll happen, we promise' without going a bit mad?"
The Primarch wasn't taking the bait, "If you are implying that my resolve has been tested, you would be right to say that." Vulkan turned to face the Fabricator-General, "However, if you think a few setbacks would make me question my loyalty to the Imperium or humanity, I would advise you to cease such accusations." He would not tolerate such remarks.
Rather than be deterred, Kelbor-Hal seemed more amused, "I don't question your loyalty, but a man's spirit can be ground down given enough pressure and weight. How else can you hope to help the slaves of the galaxy, those who have their spirits broken, if you cannot understand what it feels like to have experienced such hopelessness?"
"There are other ways to empathize with someone that is suffering. Some more constructive than others." Besides, Vulkan had learned this lesson from Konrad. "However, I will give you this; my attempts at reformation have opened my eyes to certain realities. Yet even though I feel some hopelessness, I will not succumb to it. Even if it must take me millennia to achieve my goals…I will leave behind a better galaxy than the one I arrived in."
A brief bit of electric chatter could be heard from Kelbor-Hal, "Hmm, we shall see if you can maintain such determination. Certainly, the Mechanicum stands to benefit from it if you can fix this mess."
"If I fix it." Vulkan gave a wary glare towards the Fabricator-General, "For what makes you think I wish to assist you in this?"
Kelbor-Hal looked quite baffled at the question, "Surely you recognize the potential rewards you gain from this undertaking. Not only from the possible material outcome but the political gain as well. That's not even taking into account how no one will be able to deny that your reforms are possible to successfully implement without any net loss in productivity."
The Primarch glared at Kelbor-Hal for a moment, "And you see why I am suspicious of why you'd want to tangentially support this."
"Tangentially?" Kelbor laughed, which sounded like static, "You think I'm going to set you up to fail here, don't you? Far from it, Lord of Drakes! You will not have my personal backing, but the Mechanicum will support and fund your operation!"
Without a doubt now, Vulkan knew this had to be a trap, "Why in the name of your god would you want to ensure that any attempt to showcase my reforms are successful?"
"Because I have no qualm against them on a moral level, only on purely utilitarian and logic-based observations. That said…" Kelbor hovered closer to Vulkan, "I would stand to benefit quite a bit if you and yours turned Anagnorisis from a disaster into a shining beacon of progress. Because what do you think I stand to gain…?"
He had already been doing so since he heard the proposal, "The Mechanicum would reap the benefits of my edicts and changes, especially once I am successful. Productivity will go, resources will flow from Anagnorisis, and the forges will craft an endless amount of goods for your peers, handpicked, I imagined, to use or sell back to the Imperium."
Kelbor-Hal laughed and clapped his hands together in mock prayer, "Finally, someone that can see the beauty of this design!"
Vulkan had to admit it; this was a good idea. Kelbor-Hal could reveal the existence of the Anagnorisis Sector if Vulkan and Konrad decided to take control of it. This would reduce any pushback from Father or Malcador while at the same time giving Kelbor another platform to lord over his rivals and peers. Additionally, all the goods and resources would still end up back in the Mechanicum hands, allowing the Fabricator-General to recoup any losses.
It was insidious. If Vulkan did fail, then Kelbor-Hal can claim that he gave the Primarch a chance and came out as the man that tried to help (especially when Father failed to act.) And if Konrad and Vulkan succeeded, then Kelbor-Hal was both a visionary and progressive, serving as the catalyst for positive change…even though the Primarchs would've done most of the heavy lifting.
Even just thinking about it, Vulkan saw that all paths ended in Kelbor-Hal being the real victor.
He was trying to use Vulkan. The audacity of it all. To use his humanity and empathy, and compassion for his own gains. Vulkan should've been angry, but at the same time, Kelbor-Hal had no inclination to see him fail. The Primarch could tell that Kelbor-Hal was at least honest in that regard. Nonetheless, that didn't mean Vulkan trusted him.
Yet the temptation to take this offer was…palpable. This was a golden opportunity. It wouldn't be easy, but Vulkan had long since learned nothing was easy. Especially when there are far more critics and pessimists than dreamers and optimists. No one else was given him a chance, even if, in this instance, it came in a potentially poisoned chalice.
"I understand now why you are so in favor of this plan and supporting me in it." Vulkan still had a few questions, "But I'm still not sure I'd want to help you gain more power at the cost of my efforts. Your enemies would become mine."
"Most assuredly." Kelbor-Hal admitted, "Especially since we'd be public partners in this endeavor, not silent ones. Another boon in this endeavor, I say. Even if you believe that it would cause you issues. A trade-off if nothing. Yet as one door closes, another shall open."
Vulkan scoffed, "So long as the door that closed didn't close in my face…" He couldn't help but shake his head. "All of this to cement some type of wager between us?"
"You haven't proven your point in words," Kelbor-Hal remarked flatly, "So that leaves only actions now. And rather than let you attempt to bring more of my peers to a lost cause, I would instead have them take part in a glorious crusade to save an entire sector from incompetence and error. And who better to be at the helm than a Primarch, especially one with such provocative notoriety attached."
"Another part of this that benefits you," Vulkan noticed after a moment of thinking, "Those that followed me will either be stigmatized for failing-"
"Or exalted because I allowed for them to aid you." Kelbor-Hal seemed to glow in amusement, "Either way, the problem gets taken care of."
With all of these machinations and plots, Vulkan couldn't stop his right hand from tightening at the thought. "Is everyone in this wager just a tool to assist your own goals?"
"Yes." He answered honestly, "I seek to gain power so I can change the Mechanicum for the better. You seek power to change humanity for the better. Our methods are radically different, but they coincide in the end. We want what is best for all of us."
"But not enough to end the vilest of practices that the Machine Cult uses?"
Kelbor-Hal shook his head, "If I could but snap my fingers and end slavery across the Imperium, I'd have done so decades ago. Sadly, the numbers and calculus tell me that would be disastrous, so I must tolerate it if I have any hopes of saving the Mechanicum from its enemies. My priority remains with the followers of the Omnissiah. For I am their leader, and it is a burden I readily accept."
Vulkan glanced over at the Cog and altar. "I feel as if you are taking steps to protect those of your faith than the rest of humanity." The Mechanicum was a separate empire within the Imperium, so it stood to reason that they would do whatever it took to protect their interests.
"And yet I am giving you the chance to help out almost a hundred trillion souls within Anagnorisis. Those people need help. Based on our initial consensus, we know that almost 84% of the human population are mostly slaves in some capacity." He hovered closer to the altar and looked up at the Cog, "No one is coming to help them. Not in the way you and your allies want to anyway. But I can give you the tools and means to do what you believe is right, and in turn, the Mechanicum will profit. Nothing can stop either of us from getting what we want. For all the calculus in the galaxy, this is not binary."
Kelbor-Hal sounded like he actually cared. Vulkan wondered how often he acted this part to convince so many others. "This all seems too good to be true." Vulkan knew there would be strings attached to whatever deal or wager was made between the two of them. But could he really turn this down?
"Then don't take the deal." Kelbor-Hal whirled around, "For I don't want someone that isn't prepared to go all the way for this. If you don't dare to take this plunge, don't expect this offer to appear again."
Such an insult, "I am not a coward. But I am no fool or desperate enough to jump at the first opportunity presented by one of my detractors." Glaring at the Magi, Vulkan knew that if such an accusation had been thrown at Konrad, the results would've been devastating for the other party."
Kelbor-Hal laughed, "You make it sound like I am an enemy…we are all on the same side, Vulkan."
The look Vulkan gave him said otherwise, "Are we? This entire plot of yours only seeks to aid the Mechanicum at the end, not humanity."
"The Mechanicum is humanity. We might be the only ones left in this galaxy, save for you Primarchs and Astartes, that are free to lead the masses out of the encroaching madness. In time, the teeming masses will beg for us to save them. Yet I am already saved…"
Standing before the altar and the Cog made Kelbor-Hal certainly look the part of a priest. It stood to reason that he had to live up to his position as spiritual leader of the Mechanicum. The glow surrounding his body and hovering made the image all the more beatific. Yet Vulkan had met more than enough men that called themselves saints and prophets to take much value from the act.
Regardless, Vulkan had a lot to think about. He wasn't ready to say no to this offer, but he would need Konrad to get on board with this plan. Along with most of his allies. This would take time and a lot of convincing.
"If you are done with the theatrics," Vulkan uttered aloud, "I shall need more information and then time to consider this proposal."
Kelbor-Hal nodded once before reaching into one of the robe's pockets and pulling out a data crystal, "Here. A basic overview of the Anagnorisis Sector. I trust that you will not reveal this information to anyone else. Regarding time, the sooner you make a decision, the better. As such, I'd rather you get back to me within five years. Time is of the essence."
The data crystal flew from the Fabricator-Generals hands, propelled by some unseen force. Vulkan deftly caught the crystal, noticed just how strong it had been launched towards him, and wondered what Kelbor-Hal had under that robe.
"Some of the initial concepts of the deal are on there as well." Kelbor-Hal smiled, "Subject to change, of course."
Vulkan noticed that he slowly lowered himself back onto the deck of the chapel, "Naturally, there will be a very significant period of going over what this entails if you agree."
"Naturally." Vulkan echoed the sentiment. "I must warn you, but five years will be cutting it close. It will take time to rally my allies, especially given the extent of the Great Crusade and my obligation and duty towards it."
"Hmm…" Kelbor-Hal didn't sound amused, "I cannot ask you to rush anything, especially as it might tip off certain parties that something is in the works. Do keep in mind that whomever you talk to about this will not reveal its contents to anyone that doesn't need to know."
"I know how operational security works," Vulkan was starting to get an idea that working with Kelbor-Hal would be like working with Perturabo, a genius but also a micro-manager. "Be patient, particularly if you wish to prevent the aura that you will allow me time to do what is necessary."
The first point of any agreement in this dealing would be that Vulkan would not allow Kelbor-Hal to have direct control over what he was doing or who he interacted with. This was a partnership, and just like the one that Vulkan had with Konrad, he didn't get nosy about what his brother was up to.
Kelbor-Hal looked a tad annoyed, but then he looked distracted for a moment, "Blast it all. We will need to end this meeting now. I just received word from my ship that a new vessel has entered the system and might recognize it. Damn Sigillites."
After another brief moment, the doors to the chapel slowly opened, "I eagerly await to hear your response. You know where to find me."
To Vulkan's surprise, Kelbor-Hal started to walk away. "Five years!" He reminded Vulkan, and while the Primarch wished to respond, he was unable to as he saw a shimmering field surround the Fabricator-General. A few moments later, he vanished in a blinding light and a crack of thunder.
"He had a teleporter beacon on him?" Vulkan wondered aloud. It must have been small enough to fit on his person without him noticing. The damn Mechanicum and their hidden tools and gadgets. Regardless, the meeting had now concluded.
Time to get back on his ship.
Returning to the Flamewrought was easy enough. Certainly a lot more of a pedestrian effort compared to Kelbor-Hal's exit. Once back aboard, his sons and command staff reported that the Velvet Carriage had taken off rather abruptly. Aleksy remarked this occurred only an hour after the arrival of another ship, albeit one with no IFF. That ship stayed on scanners for only a few moments before it disappeared.
Vulkan announced that it wasn't an issue and had more important matters to attend to. The Primarch started issuing orders to contact all members of his and Konrad's coalition and that he would hold a meeting within the year.
When he ordered all his officers and advisers to attend a meeting, he made them all swear to secrecy to not repeat what the Primarch said, remarking that no one was allowed to learn of this event until he was ready. Most had assumed that he met with a relatively influential member of the Mechanicum. They were right, to an extent.
Upon revealing that Kelbor-Hal had not only met with Vulkan but offered both deal and wager for his coalition's assistance in this Anagnorisis Sector caused a fierce debate that lasted for six hours. This had to be a trap designed to ruin the reputation of the Primarch. Colonel Fury lived up to his name, looking furious the further this discussion went.
Vulkan assumed that he would report this back to his "benefactors," but Vulkan knew that they were too invested in aiding the Lord of Drakes to do anything to sabotage this chance for him. It concerned him nonetheless that this would cause a small ripple effect, but one that could be contained.
Konrad and his Night Lords would need to be briefed on this development, along with his other principal backers and allies. Just like with this meeting, there would be significant backlash and debate over the validity and necessity of this deal. Everyone knew that Vulkan was thinking this over, primarily as he remained quiet through the initial meeting.
Finally, he spoke up and said the strangest thing, "I do believe we shall use a most appropriate Terran idiom here; let us all sleep on this, yes? We shall return in the morning to discuss it further." He didn't bother staying even though his sons and allies were confused, but all agreed to adjourn for the "night."
All were wondering…what was going through Vulkan's mind now?
Stepping inside his chambers felt odd. Vulkan wasn't sure if suddenly ending the meeting was a good idea, but for some reason, he felt exhaustion like never before. It was odd…because while there was significant apprehension and confusion in his heart, there was also a feeling of hope.
It was like a good day's work was coming to an end, and now was the time to enjoy his time, rest, and reflect. Such an odd feeling. Vulkan had been tempted by a man that no doubt sought to undermine him but also aid the Primarch. Kelbor-Hal was a dangerous individual, but Vulkan could still detect a hint of humanity behind his cold logic and dismissive nature.
Mayhaps he did care about something. He clearly loved his people, his Omnissiah, and wanted what was best for humanity. Yet how many oppressors and slave-masters had said the same thing, time and time again? Could a man who kept countless people in chains have a good heart?
When Vulkan thought about it, he wondered if the issue was that he had to confront the idea that if Kelbor-Hal had the best interests in mind for the Imperium and if Vulkan did as well…why was it so hard to see past all the ugliness?
Empathy allowed Vulkan to understand the suffering of a slave. So why did it not let him figure out the good in Kelbor-Hal?
A terrifying thought came to mind: maybe there was no good in him for Vulkan to connect to. No, he refused to believe that. Kelbor-Hal was wrong and a bit of a bastard, but he still "loved" some aspect of humanity. Enough that he was willing to work with someone that was working against the Mechanicums interests.
Yet Konrad had warned Vulkan, "Evil can mimic good in more ways than you'd wish to know…"
The temptation to see Kelbor-Hal as purely evil was there, but Vulkan refused to embrace it. Not yet. Not until he saw how this endeavor ended. Kelbor-Hal was right; this was a golden opportunity in more ways than one. The chance to prove his reforms could work, to show the galaxy, and not be ignored in the same vein.
Vulkan sat behind his desk and leaned back into his chair. As he pondered the possibility and dangers of this potential alliance, the Primarch recognized one truth after this meeting with the Fabricator-General…the time for words was coming to an end. It was time for deeds, for action.
As Vulkan closed his eyes, he thought about what awaited him and Konrad and all those that would fall him. When sleep finally took him, he saw only an opportunity for all.
@Daemon Hunter Okay, completed.
"Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life." - James 1:12, Christian Bible.
"The most powerful colors in the galaxy are gold and red. Sadly, they are also at odds with one another. An amusing visualization for the state of things, is it not?" - Primarch Fulgrim, Personal Musings.
"The most powerful colors in the galaxy are gold and red. Sadly, they are also at odds with one another. An amusing visualization for the state of things, is it not?" - Primarch Fulgrim, Personal Musings.
—
It disturbed Vulkan how a lack of sleep didn't bother him now. And yet the thought of it hadn't left his mind in months. Strange as it was to dwell on such a thing, especially after coming to terms with it not being a problem.
He attributed sleep as being vital to his mental health. A chance to take stock of things after a busy day. Humans put so much stock in it, sometimes going so far as to declare days of rest each month. A universal cultural trait shared among thousands of worlds.
A funny thing, that. Water and food were just as vital, if not more so, to humans. A Primarch could go weeks or months without either, though. It made it difficult to empathize with most people, at least in that aspect. Resting, however, was something desired even by a creature such as himself.
Sleep was something to prioritize and savor. Vulkan's brothers would call it a waste of time, and maybe they were right. Even on Nocturne, another problem always needed solving before the day concluded. Yet those quiet moments of contemplations and review before turning in for the night helped prepare for the next day just as much as making the morning to-do list.
Perturabo once remarked that it was an excellent way to pass the time. His brothers must have chuckled at hearing that, believing Perturabo was running simulations in his dreams. No one ever said the Lord of Iron was wasting time. Some of his brothers had taken to deep mediation, forgoing the "biological" necessity of having to slumber. Vulkan could never see the appeal of such a thing, however.
The lack of dreaming stopped him from trying it. Such a silly thing, really. Yet, if Vulkan could not experience such things, it would reflect another part of his humanity eroding into the darkness. To dream was one of the few acts of defiance a slave could keep for themselves. To imagine a better life or of better times.
Vulkan found his dreams were one of the few comforts left to him. Considering how much the waking world required of him now, the realm of dreams was a distant memory to him.
Now he understood why this stuck out in his mind…he was tired.
Onboard the Flamewrought…
"Not exactly the best situation we find ourselves in," That was how Colonel Fury started the conversation with Vulkan. "My contacts and benefactors back in Sol confirmed that there was another stalling of talks. Once again, Terra and Mars can only agree that your reforms aren't viable. At least not now."
Vulkan almost laughed, "At least the bureaucrats were talking." That didn't mean much, unfortunately. There had been discussions and debates about some of his reforms. Yet most of the time, they were brought up in passing more often than not. An idle topic, or one used to generate some heated conversations among enemies. No doubt, more than a few mocked the idea of his reforms. At least, he assumed so. No one was going to be stupid enough to say that publically.
That was the situation for Vulkan. Disdain, apathy, or mockery. Every year it seemed as if more and more didn't even want to hear about the reforms. When had humanity become so jaded or bitter? The Great Crusade was an attempt to reset or fix the horrors done by the Age of Strife and the millennia of darkness. Perhaps humanity was unable to look past their own trauma or unwilling to empathize with another's plight.
"You won't like this next part either," Fury looked grim now, "Our attempts to reach out to progressive elements on Ryza are being met with silence. Another Wall of Iron has gone up, it seems."
A "wall of iron" described a censoring on a Forge World. Another sign of how much power Kelbor had amassed now. A century ago, the concept of Mars having the ability to do such a thing to another player like Ryza would be unheard of, but Kelbor-Hal was soundly centralizing power across the Mechanicum. Then again, Ryza just didn't like progressives. There were still hundreds of hold-outs, which Vulkan was attempting to reach and align with, but he and Konrad agreed that they would not take aid from anyone who wanted to help them purely out of spite. Even if it was warranted.
"No word back from Agripinaa or Lucius either?" Vulkan asked, trying to weigh his options.
"None yet," Fury shrugged, "But that might be due to distance and time. Their Magi are probably trying to decide if working alongside us in this coalition of ours." They were waiting to see if Vulkan got shut down again by the Emperor or the Mechanicum. Frustrating didn't describe how the Primarch felt about these delays or absent responses. A stark contrast to how things usually went when responding to a son of the Emperor of Mankind.
"They are afraid." Vulkan's smoldering remark caused Fury to pause, "Afraid to associate with a man who seems destined to fail in his endeavor." He couldn't stop the brief pang of anger in his heart. "What happened to all those brave souls that sought to change the galaxy? That hunger to make a difference and leave a mark?"
Fury considered those questions for a brief moment, "I don't know if I'd call it a lack of bravery or ambition, but I suppose the issue of remaining dutiful comes to mind." He took a drag of a cigar, "Whether that is because they believe or simply obtained their position via nepotism, most will not step out of line or whatever is comfortable for themselves."
Vulkan grimaced, "I'd honestly prefer it then it was abject fear. Fear doesn't mean the absence of courage."
"Courage to do what, though?" Fury tapped off some of the ash from his cigar, "To ask a man to fight and die for his nation is easy, for it is ultimately a simple and gruesome task of fighting and killing the enemy. Except we aren't trying to destroy but create something. The joys and the accomplishments of rebuilding have long since left the minds of the most powerful. All those individuals are now content with their place in the new galactic order. To potentially upend all that for the common folk, the downtrodden, and the undesirables?"
Fury shook his head, "If you asked these worlds to kill all those people, you'd have a much easier time getting them on your side."
Vulkan felt so tired now. "You continue to have a much more dour look on things, Colonel."
"Someone has to. Your Brother-Primarch believes in justice and that specific steps have to be taken to achieve such things, but some injustices are more deeply rooted than others, nor can they be spotted. I assume every person I met has skeletons in their closet, to use an old Terran saying, and that when they might run the risk of them being exposed, or stars forbid, having to confront them, they will cower behind what is familiar and safe."
He finished the cigar and put it out, "People are weak. That's not necessarily a condemnation, though. Because people can also change, sometimes for the better. So, I just like to set myself up to be pleasantly surprised whenever someone subverts my dour expectations, Primarch."
Such a glib but hopeful response made the Primarch smile. "Giving them the benefit of the doubt? A risky maneuver in most instances."
"Better to give someone the opportunity than not." He then smirked, "Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat."
Vulkan found that rather insightful, "Another speech given by your benefactor to you?" Fury had long since admitted that he was neither that wise nor insightful when giving such little pep talks like that, "That one seems a bit more directed towards me than anything."
"Perhaps?" The smirk on his face said, "I'll let you muse on that all the same. Such as it is, I should report back to my office and write a few letters. Need to follow up on a few requests for material aid for us."
As he got up from his seat and turned to leave, he paused, "Oh, I almost forgot. We got an urgent request from a nearby system. A ship hailing from Mars. Someone wanted to speak to you.
"Did the message say who?"
Fury shook his head, "That's the strange thing. It was a coded message, but it didn't use any available cipher we could crack until we received a secondary component via Astropath, a machinist chant."
"Transmitted via Astropath?" That would require a substantial amount of technologies and a particular type of trained Astropath. "Curious. Was the message decoded then?"
The Colonel nodded, "Strangest thing, it was just a set of coordinates, a date and time, and instructions to confirm that we want to speak with the Red Prince." A strange and entirely off-the-cuff title for the Mechanicum.
"Peculiar, but nothing out of the ordinary. No doubt an element from Mars that wishes to speak with us in private. Certainly no harm in meeting with them."
"As you will, Lord Primarch." Fury nodded and saluted the Primarch before exiting. Vulkan wondered who was trying to have such a clandestine meeting in the middle of nowhere? No doubt someone hoping to gain more political traction or power against Kelbor-Hal and his ilk.
Even so, no reason to not hear them out. More often than not, a simple meeting could produce unexpected results. A slip of the tongue or a not-so-subtle reference to the state of things could go a long way in helping his cause.
A clandestine meeting for Vulkan had long since become an old hat trick, to use a turn of phrase, since he started attempting to curry favor for his reforms. People wanted to help, but they could not do it publicly. This resulted in more and more meetings away from prying eyes. Konrad was quite helpful in stopping anyone from trying to investigate.
It all felt so scummy to Vulkan. Why should he be forced to conduct business in the shadows as if doing something wrong? Konrad explained that sometimes you had to work in the darkness to serve the light, yet Vulkan countered that their mission needed to be seen and heard by all.
Vulkan didn't like that his backers had to come to him via such skullduggery. Middlemen, secret missives, coded transmissions, and sometimes even using criminal elements to act as messengers infuriated Konrad. It did not help that their allies came from all walks of life, but Vulkan didn't begrudge a man for his past or current affiliations.
For example, if a Pirate Lord hated slavery with a passion, was it inherently wrong to turn down their aid? A criminal could have some moral fiber in that they recognize some lines should not be crossed. Certainly, Konrad and Vulkan had a few disagreements over this sentiment, but that was a discussion for another day.
Right now, the meeting was in the middle of nowhere. A star system that was designated as SP-09a. Calling it mundane would be generous. There was an Armada patrol station, a promethium refinery hub, and a research station examining the nearby gas giants. That was all SP-09a had to its name.
Its greatest historical moment would be the arrival of a fleet commanded by the Lord of Drakes. After that, it would fall into obscurity once more. To Vulkan's annoyance, the ship that was supposed to meet them didn't seem to be here. They could only detect a few freighters and transports hovering close by the massive fleet of ships.
Vulkan decided there was more to this than he saw here: "Have Auspex scans picked up anything?" The question was directed to the Flamewroughts commanding officer, an aged man sitting upon the command throne with a look of attentive indifference. Out of all the officers that Saturn sent to the Primarchs, Admiral Aleksy Bartek was a fascinating and frustrating man. It was easy to describe Aleksy as a "crabby" individual.
He gave the Primarch an annoyed stare, "Not since the sixth time you asked, Lord Primarch. The Flame is a good ship, her sensors top of the line like the rest of her sisters, but it takes her time to get the proper readings, especially when we don't know what type of ship we are looking for."
Aleksy went back to checking scan reports. Vulkan knew Aleksy was somewhat a divisive individual among the Salamanders and Night Lords. How exactly the man developed a friendship with Konrad confused the hell out of Vulkan. Some of his sons hated the man, while those who took the time to speak with Aleksy found him to be a treasure trove of amusing stories and anecdotes.
However, Vulkan had never seen the man crack a smile or utter one joke. Perhaps his humor was just that dry? Nevertheless, he was handpicked to command the Flamewrought and came highly recommended. The report described Aleksy as a very "fluidic" commander, often coming up with strategies that ensure the flow and tempo of battle only goes in his favor. Although, Vulkan had yet to see the man perform in any actual combat action.
At the very least, the man kept himself busy. Aleksy was typing away on a command console and looking over real-time scanner data. Even though a small army of tech-adepts and personnel was doing just that, Aleksy wanted to look over this information when he wasn't preoccupied with battle or issuing orders.
Keeping this in mind, Vulkan was half-tempted to issue a system-wide order for all civilian ship captains to present themselves onboard the Flamewrought. Sadly that would probably scare off anyone looking to hold a clandestine meeting.
"Hmm…interesting." Aleksy suddenly declared, "One of the freighters out there is giving off strange readings." A quick command from him brought the data up on a nearby holo-projector for the Primarch to review. The ship in question was listed as the "Velvet Carriage," a Vagabound-class freighter.
Vulkan quickly noticed a few things; the first was the below-average power-out on the Carriage, yet all its external devices ran beyond optimal parameters. It was effectively running silent yet completely capable of performing all standard ship actions without any power-related issues.
Its void shields were also somehow causing electromagnetic interference passively, which hinted that it had an ECM or jamming system installed inside. A costly and otherwise illegal device to have onboard a vessel in Imperial space. Furthermore, its guns appeared to be bog-standard but scans also detected radiological matter on the cannons. Which were also illegal arms for most ships not in the Imperial Armada. Hideously expensive as well.
A Mechanicum ship, no question now. Hiding in plain sight.
"This is our contact." Vulkan turned to Aleksy, "Send the challenge command with coded instructions."
"Aye, Lord-Primarch."
It became a waiting game after that. Vulkan was quite miffed that it took two hours to respond to a hail that should've taken ten minutes at most. Someone trying to make a Primarch wait was either suicidal or knew they had some imagined power over them. Vulkan could tolerate a lot in people, sometimes even genuinely deplorable tendencies, as long as there was a modicum of respect in the conversation. Still, this was supercilious, especially for whoever invited him.
Aleksy seemed quite annoyed at this situation as well. The admiral was tapping his fingers, waiting for the response. A quick set of chirps from his console, and the man rolled his eyes, "Nice of them to get back to us. Further instructions have been received, and they request a meeting on Rockspite Station."
Vulkan found that a rather peculiar request "The system station?" Was this all just some trap to try and kill him? Blowing up a void station with him on it would certainly not end the Lord of Drakes.
"Correct. We just got a data package with further details. No entourage or anything of the sort, just you and the Red Prince." Aleksy frowned and shook his head, "If this is a trap, it's pretty amateur hour."
"Do you believe it to be a trap, Admiral?"
Pondering that question for a moment, Aleksy didn't seem to think so, "I think whoever wants to meet with you simply wants to get this over with. It's almost refreshingly innocuous."
Vulkan wondered if this was a point in favor or against this Red Prince. Suspicious didn't begin to describe how this looked, but his instincts told him to give this a chance. Worse case meant that he'd need to fight his way out.
"Send a response back; we shall agree to meet."
A few hours later, on Rockspire Station…
Vulkan found it strangely easy to slip onto Rockspire Station. All he had to do was get on one of the Flamewroughts many shuttles currently tasked with getting fuel from the station, cover himself up in a decent disguise, and effectively just walk among humanity. Most people were focused on any event regarding his fleet, anyway. Either glue to a pict-screen or listen to a vox transmission, not wanting to miss out on the chance to hear a Primarch speak. The irony was not lost on Vulkan.
Once upon a time, Vulkan would've gladly walked in the open among the crowds. He liked people coming up to him, speaking about their lives, and sharing their experiences. Vulkan did not fear criticism or outrage, nor did he worry about any threats to his life (although he was worried about civilians getting caught in such events.)
He still did this. However, Konrad had taught him that whenever a Primarch appeared, all that was vile and criminal disappeared, hidden away by authorities to not embarrass themselves before a son of the Emperor. The homeless were kept out of sight, those in poverty threatened to remain silent, and the criminals gave leeway to do what they wanted, just as long as no official saw or heard their activities.
"Sometimes, a shining beacon can distort or hide those in the darkness," Vulkan learned this lesson after he quietly "infiltrated" a few worlds and saw instances of what Konrad warned him would happen. Although Vulkan would observe that a few planets, more often than not, simply tried to readdress the issues of poverty, homelessness, and crime, but to various degrees of success in some instances.
In any case, Konrad's point stuck. Vulkan knew to keep these things in mind whenever he arrived on a world to promote his reforms. No matter how peaceful or prosperous a plant was or how benevolently the government acted, far too many lived in squalor or without hope of a better future, simply out of sight.
Sadly, Rockspire Station was not spared from these issues. Vulkan saw many sick or destitute individuals loitering around decks. Most seemed to be in a drug-like haze. These poor souls likely weren't slaves, at least not officially. But Vulkan doubted many would be able to escape the confines of their reality or station. A slave could be bound by societal chains rather than just physical ones.
Pushing such thoughts aside from now, Vulkan was still on a mission. The instructions received to the Flamewrought listed a "hidden" facility onboard the station where this meeting would be held. It was, unsurprisingly, closer to the Mechanicum-controlled section of Rockspire.
The rest of the journey was a boring one. Only a few people spared glances towards the giant of a man that was Vulkan, but most assumed him either an Ogryn or an Astartes that did not want to be seen. People tended to not try and get themselves killed, especially when hearing all the rumors and tall tales about Space Marines.
No one wanted to learn if Astartes actually ate the flesh of humans. An absurd and almost insulting notion, but humans believe many such things. If nothing else because it was entertaining or used as a tool to scare children into doing their chores.
Some people had strange imaginations, but Vulkan and his kin lived in such fantastical times. It shouldn't have surprised him. The Primarch did wonder…what stories would be told after the Great Crusade concluded? Would they be kind or critical to the Astartes? Vulkan asked himself if he simply would live that long to see.
Another reminder that the reforms had to succeed. If not for the future of Vulkan and his sons, but for all of mankind.
Finally, he arrived at his destination. It was a chapel dedicated to the Machine God. Small, only capable of fitting maybe 500 people at minimum, and lacking all the grandiose iconography found in tech-cathedrals or forge-churches. Did Father not realize how absurd the Imperial Truth sounded whenever anyone had to explain the Mechancium? No gods or masters in His Imperium, save for the machine men worshiping their god in their massive temples. Just ignore them.
Stepping inside the chapel, the first thing Vulkan saw was. The great icon of the Machine God is hanging up above a large altar. The altar was connected to an equally large machine. There Vulkan could see the "Cog" of the Omnissiah. Staring down upon the faithful at the back of the nave. The smell of oil, incense, soot, smoke, and fire was hanging in the air. It almost reminded Vulkan of home.
It was empty as well. Indicated by the dozens of metal pews devoid of devotees. Save for one individual sitting on the closet pew to the altar. They wore red robes, but Vulkan couldn't see much else as their back was turned to him. Perhaps he could've attempted to sneak further inside, but no amount of stealth would allow for Vulkan to approach without his footsteps echoing inside the chapel. He might have learned how to disguise himself, but sneaking wasn't an option.
As he stomped towards the front of the chapel, Vulkan kept an eye out for anything that could pose a threat to him. Perhaps there were dozens of assassins cloaked all around him, or maybe the room would soon be filled with a devastating toxin. A bomb could've also gone off at this point.
Nevertheless, no point in putting this all off.
"Excuse me," He quietly asked when he was close enough, "I apologize if I am interrupting your prayer, but I'm looking for someone for a meeting here…" The figure didn't seem to respond to his inquiry. Strangely enough, Vulkan could see their arms spread out and resting on the top of the back support. A relatively relaxed position. One could even call it disrespectful.
A male voice spoke up, "Take a seat." The figure gestured to the pew opposite him, "It'll handle your weight." A relatively "young" voice, but Vulkan could hear the power and weight behind it, along with slight distortion from what could only be an integrated vox-grill inside their throat.
Sparing a glance towards the uncomfortable-looking metal pew, Vulkan was wondering if this was a setup, "Hmm…might you first assist with my question?"
"You seek the Red Prince." The figure kept looking towards the altar, "You've found him."
Vulkan figured this was his contact, but he didn't want to just assume. "Very well…" The Primarch took an awkward seat on the metal pew. The Red Prince was correct, the bench held up, but it was still small and uncomfortable for the Primarch. "I do say, I think I might have better luck standing."
"I don't wish to stand and do business before a shrine to the Omnissiah." He kept looking at the Cog above, "But sadly, this was the only place on this blasted station that I know can't be bugged or wired. So, please, bear with me." The Red Prince slowly stood up, smoothing his robes of any wrinkles, and made his way towards the altar.
He glanced over at the Primarch, "It's always humbling to come across these little spaces of worship." Even though the man was facing Vulkan, the robe's hood distorted his face. The Red Prince gestured towards the Cog above with his right hand, "Even out here, in the forgotten spaces of a great empire, this small house-of-worship can be made to serve a greater purpose. A reminder that all the little things in life, be it tools, machines, and people, can have a role in the shake-up of galactic order."
And here, Vulkan thought he was the one that would need any speeches. "That is a very novel way to look at things." A diplomatic response. "Although I'm not sure I would equate people to tools in this instance, I will agree that even the smallest voice could reach across the vastness of time and space if passionate enough." Human history has shown that even a single individual can start a chain reaction of events that echoed throughout time.
That individuals such as the Emperor or the Primarchs like himself existed in such a turbulent period of galactic history meant their actions would echo throughout the millennia. Hence the need to accomplish the reforms.
"A person is only as strong as the foundation of the society they serve. For only the cunning or strong can use it to achieve their aims." The Red Prince turned and gestured towards the Cog in reverence, "Or…they seek the wisdom of a god that knows the path forward. It is why the Mechanicum has survived for so long. Why it has prospered in this untamed galaxy. Yet we still struggle with finding our future. However, through the Omnissiah Warnings and Mysteries, we are filled with determination and purpose. Tomorrow is still in our hands."
He lowered his hands and turned to Vulkan, "Nevertheless, we are still plagued by the same errors of yesteryear. How far we've come, only to look upon the teeming masses and see a seemingly endless sea of hopelessness and despair. The future that is promised is in jeopardy."
Vulkan nodded, "While the Omnissiah does not warn of the dangers of human bondage, you seem to be aware of the malaise it creates in the hearts of men and the institutions of the Imperium. It is weakening us from the inside. Creating real or imagined problems that eat away at whatever materials could be used to create a fair and just society."
The Red Prince seemed to ponder the Primarch's words, "Slavery is abhorrent…that much is true." He turned back to the Cog and gazed upon it. Vulkan heard the chapel doors beginning to close, and while he sensed no danger, it was clear to him that the Red Prince was interested in letting no one else hear this conversation.
"However," the Red Prince started, "It is necessary. A cruel sentiment, but not one spoken with disdain or malice. Yet it means so little to those who have no future. Who sees only a horror that has become a disease passed onto their children. A disease that had become fuel for the greatest industrial and technological renaissance since before the discovery of Warp Travel or when the first Thinking Machine came online."
Pausing for a moment, the Red Prince shook his head, "To stop now, at this most crucial era, would be a far crueler gesture. To undo the sacrifices and allow chaos and uncertainty to spread across the Imperium and Mechanicum. To deny those poor souls the only purpose they've ever known for freedoms they will not embrace or enjoy or use to their fullest. To leave a cage and wander into these wicked stars…"
Vulkan hadn't expected the conversation to start this poorly. It looked like this had been a waste of his time. He also expected this to turn into a fight, considering he was "trapped" inside this chapel now.
He stood up from the pew and shook his head, "If that is how you feel, I'm afraid we don't have much to discuss. I didn't come here to argue with some Magi over the supposed accolades of keeping a man in chains or its gilded virtues. Though I wish I had the time to convince you otherwise."
The Red Prince chuckled, "You would deny yourself the opportunity to engage in debate over such things?"
"If only I had the time to do so," Vulkan commented with a slight shrug, "Yet the galaxy only punishes those that seek to adjust the minds of those that see only the reality they wish to see, even if the desire to do so burns strongly in my heart. Unfortunately, I believe my time would be better suited elsewhere. Much as I'd enjoy the debate, changing the will of one man at this juncture will only aid me in so much as the opportunity allows."
"Hmm…" The Red Prince hummed, "Not even for the chance to let my voice echo across the stars? To aid in your endeavors?"
Such a strange opinion of himself, "If you desire to help me, then help me. You need not lie or convince yourself that slavery, which I would remind you is but one of many crimes perpetuated across this Imperium, is abhorrent. If in any moment of decision after this meeting, the best thing you can do is the right thing. The worst thing you can do is nothing."
Mayhaps his words reached the Magi, for the Red Prince slowly nodded, "I can see why so many have sought out your aid and why so many of my brothers and sisters have become so divided when they speak of your blasted reforms. All the wisdom and logic of the Omnissiah seem to fall to the wayside. And now my kin bicker and debate because of a few Primarch's personal crusades."
Reaching to pull back the hood, Vulkan was quite surprised to see a face he had only seen in pics and vid files. Standing before was the Fabricator-General of Mars, the political and spiritual leader of the Mechanicum.
Kelbor-Hal stood before the Lord of Drakes. Stranger still, he did not look entirely displeased.
How strange a turn of events for Vulkan. To meet with one of the most powerful men in the Imperium in such a "humble" local. One might even call it something out of a storybook; a hero meeting with a villain in an otherwise quaint location. Yet who was playing which role?
"Kelbor-Hal," Vulkan spoke with some disdain crossed his arms, "You are a long way from your seat of power…" This certainly made for an interesting first meeting between the individual who hampered his and Konrad's reform attempts.
All the pictures showed Kelbor-Hal as heavily augmented. Yet he looked pretty human. However, Vulkan could see the signs of heavy cyber-augmentation. Kelbor-Hal had molded himself to look human for this meeting.
The now revealed Fabricator-General of Mars gave a very human snort of derision, "My power is centralized on Mars, yet my influence and reach goes far beyond it. Much as my rivals and enemies like to believe they are not safe from my authority. Those fools on Ryza and others think they are safe from me. The Mechanicum is full of men and women who live out their delusions inside their forge-temples or strongholds just like any Imperial lord."
"Hoarding knowledge and technologies as opposed to wealth and treasures." Vulkan heard this before. He was almost shocked when Kelbor-Hal started nodding.
"All those that desire to learn and grow, to actually understand the teachings and warnings of the Omnissiah, are the ones seeking lost knowledge and pushing boundaries, rather than just hoarding relics from the Golden Age. I won't deny them their rights to keep such things in their possessions, but if they think that gives them authority over an entire Forge World, then I will gleefully remind them that Mars is the most powerful for a reason."
If Vulkan expected Kelbor-Hal to act in a certain way, this wasn't it. The Primarch could make out the zealotry in his words but also the very human tone of exasperation, frustration, and incredulity over the actions of his peers. To hear him openly complain was strange but almost refreshing.
"It's humbling to know that one of the most powerful men in the galaxy can voice his frustrations so easily."
Kelbor-Hal rolled his cybernetic eyes, "I'm allowing my emotional cortex matrix to run wild right now for the point of this interaction. Actively choosing to embrace all of this nonsense for your convince, Primarch."
"How magnanimous of you."
He glared at Vulkan, "I took considerable effort to come and meet you, ensuring no one would bother us. Do keep in mind that every minute I waste here is costing the Imperium an entire Titan Legion or battlefleet being in the right place."
Arrogant bastard. It was no wonder Father never got along with him; they were probably too much alike. "Then am I to assume there is a point to all of this that wasn't just you coming here to flaunt your power or wax ideological rhetoric?"
Kelbor's body seems to simmer for only a second, "You call it waxing; I call it a counter-argument to your ideological rhetoric." The Fabricator-General then started to hover slightly off the ground. "And so far, it has neither moved, convinced, or made me reconsider my stance on your reformation ideas."
"Then, by all means, let me have this opportunity to convince, move, or make you reconsider them. For if this clandestine meeting was important enough for the great and powerful Kelbor-Hal of the Mechancium to take a day out of his busy schedule, surely he is here for a most auspicious of reasons."
Vulkan wasn't sure what Kelbor-Hal was up to, but the Primarch seriously doubted he was here for just a "polite" debate. If nothing else, the Magi was perhaps just here to taunt or analyze a potential threat to his power base. Kelbor-Hal let slip that Vulkan and Konrad were starting to make too many waves within the Mechanicum.
"As I mentioned before, I took considerable effort to come here without anyone noticing or trying to undermine this meeting. I have only a brief window to have this conversation and accomplish its goals, nothing more than that." Hovering towards the Primarch, Vulkan realized with some amusement that Kelbor-Hal was trying to make himself appear a bit taller to the giant of a man.
"I will, however, make a few inquires to determine the validity of whether my reason for being here was worth the time and effort." He floated back towards the Cog, "I must ascertain if you are what I seek for what I have planned."
What was he up to now? "Beg pardon?"
Kelbor-Hal ignored the question and instead asked his own, "Inquiry one; you postulate that a slave upon gaining his freedom shall be capable of self-improvement, self-determination, and remain an efficient contributor to the good of the nation, correct?"
"Yes." Vulkan nodded, "Individuals will be driven to do and be better on the value of maintaining their new freedoms granted to them by the collective good and state actors, thus resulting in an overall positive and productive trend for their community, nation, planet, and ultimately the Imperium of Man."
The hovering Magi briefly considered, "Inconclusive evidence to support such an outcome. Most freedmen will ultimately return to the comfort of what is familiar to them due to generations of servitude. They will come to fear their freedoms, Primarch. An estimated 89% will remain static until they expire. The best possible outcome will require the creation of one to two generations of individuals that have been born free to even begin producing a viable return value at the sudden loss of majority workforce."
"Only if we, the people in charge, allow for this to happen. You act as if we are going to treat them like animals being released into the wild! The people will yearn for new undertakings and the means to explore their potential as long as the state provides the necessary aid and opportunity."
Once again, Kelbor-Hal paused, and Vulkan realized he was trying to process the Primarch's responses as data input and cross-referencing his own data, "Inquiry two; based on the previously provided data, the best possible outcome would require decades of education, training, re-specialization, re-tooling, and rehabilitation for most slaves to fit into the new production paradigm. Do you agree?"
"There are many more variables to consider in this instance, but I will agree with the surface level analysis." All those requirements will have to be met, along with better food, healthcare, and restructuring of primary institutions to cater to the needs of the Freedmen.
Vulkan noticed that Kelbor-Hal's eyes briefly glowed, "Before all other instances can be achieved, the fundamental issue remains unresolved. Production rates necessary to maintain the Imperium of Man and its efforts in the Great Crusade would become impossible to achieve, and the crusade would grind to a halt. It would take at least seven generations for the Imperium to return to Late-Crusade Levels of Production. Do you agree?"
"Hard disagree." Vulkan frowned, "And I refuse to believe that my brothers and I couldn't cut that down to three generations, maybe even two. You know our domains are starting to reach levels of industrial efficiency that would've taken most millennia to achieve and maintain. We'd be able to reconfigure for the lack of slavery easily enough."
"Hmmm…" Kelbor seemed to consider this response, "I will not deny you that your counter-argument has some truth to it. However, the production loss versus gain would still be astronomical against your reformations."
Only if one looked at this from a purely logical and numbers standpoint. Vulkan hated that so many had reduced trillions of people onto a spreadsheet and called it "fair and impartial." There was nothing of the sort in this thinking.
"Inquiry three; this shall be the last one. Does the Primarch believe that if given the resources, opportunity, political backing, and military support can prove that their reformations can be successfully implemented and achieve parameters successfully within a given timeframe?"
Vulkan would've loved to prove his point, "Yes."
"Are you aware that you are trying to undermine raw evidence in favor of some speculative utopian ideal? Something that seems impossible on paper?" Did Vulkan hear genuine curiosity from Kelbor?
Vulkan shrugged, "Impossible things happen every day. I've done the impossible and can do it again with this." What else was there really to say on the matter? Either he pulled it off, or he wouldn't, simple as that. Perhaps he expected a different sort of remark from Kelbor-Hal as he slowly floated. Maybe a snort of disdain or a snide comment.
"Hmph. My cortex is screaming at me how wrong you are, but my instincts are telling me otherwise. While I loathe believing in something so primal and unquantifiable, I would not have gotten this far in the Mechanicum without occasionally listening to it. So instead, I shall weigh your deeds and those of your brothers against the data I have access to. In doing so, this should fit into the necessary parameters, albeit with substantial misgivings and recommendations against taking the next course of action."
What? Had Vulkan somehow gotten through to Kelbor-Hall in some manner? "And this next course of action would be what exactly?"
"I'd like to make a deal with you…and a wager."
The Mechanicum never did anything without assessing if the odds were in their favor. Every calculation was made to ensure maximum efficiency and a positive overall outcome. It stood to reason that Kelbor-Hal wasn't the type of man to make a bet without knowing that he would win in the end. Hence when the Fabricator-General spoke of a wager, Vulkan instantly felt on edge.
"Dare I ask when you mean by a wager?" Vulkan was trying to scrutinize the true intention of the floating Magi. "And since when has the Mechanicum been in the habit of doing such things?"
What sounded like an amused electronic hum echoed from the man, "Extraordinary times require similar solutions. I believe this is also what the Terrans call a leap of faith? The irony of that maxim. But yes, I'm going to take what could generously be called a leap of faith. However, you can also call it an investment opportunity."
A wave of his hands and the omnipresent Cog began to hum with power. A single red "eye" shined brightly before projecting an image above the Primarch and Fabricator-General. It was a holo-projector built into the icon.
Vulkan could easily make out what looked to be a small sector-wide map, although one he hadn't seen before. "I take it this is the investment opportunity?"
Kelbor-Hal shook his head, "Our investment opportunity." He corrected, "Really yours more than anything. Nevertheless, let it not be said that I won't be one of your partners in all this."
Looking up Vulkan could dozens of named systems, "And what exactly is 'all this' that would require us to be partners?" He glanced back at Kelbor-Hal, "What are you planning here…?"
"As I said, an investment opportunity." Kelbor-Hal quipped before gesturing with his hand, causing the projection to distort, "This is the Anagnorisis Sector. You won't find it on any current galactic maps, as the Mechanicum has kept its location relatively hidden."
"You kept an entire sector hidden?"
Kelbor-Hal seemed almost embarrassed as he spoke, "To an extent. Your Sigillite isn't the only one that is good at keeping secrets. Although I will admit that the resources and effort we've taken to keep Anagnorisis a secret has been a considerable waste of time. I will be blunt when I say that this sector is a disaster for many reasons. Which, sadly, undermines all the potential it holds."
He gestured toward several systems, "The sector is beyond rich in resources. It doesn't have much in the way of sacred STCs, but if one was to build an empire from these systems, you could produce one of the most influential sectors in the entire segmentum. Everything needed is there, including hundreds of trillions of people, hundreds of high imperial worlds, and over a dozen forge worlds."
"But this is somehow a disaster?" Vulkan was wondering what exactly Kelbor-Hal had planned to do with a hidden sector. Indeed Father and Malcador would've learned of it eventually. Was that perhaps the plan? Everything about this situation seemed suspicious. "It seems that all the ingredients for an empire are here, just as you said."
The Fabricator-General vox seemed to growl as he looked up, "It is plagued by all the same issues facing this blasted Imperium. Shortsightedness, ineptitude, corruption, and a dazzling display of pettiness would make the lords and ladies of Sol look almost civilized compared to the factions operating inside Anagnorisis. Not even the Mechanicum elements have been spared from this disease. All this has resulted in almost a decade of little to no progress!"
Hearing such fury in his voice almost surprised Vulkan, but he could also see why it would cause the Fabricator-General so much anger. A decade of no progress for an entire sector? Even the worlds caught in the Desolation were starting to send back their tithes. Those that weren't wholly destroyed anyway.
"How does an entire sector that has all the potential, with your own backing, fail to develop and grow?"
Kelbor-Hal seemed to huff for a moment, "Omnissiah only knows. Mayhaps you'd call it a curse rather than a disease, for no other reason, could explain such disastrous results. My peers and detractors are starting to question my decision to keep it around. Going so far as to mock me by calling it "The Playground," as it might as well be run by children playing by their own rules."
Vulkan couldn't help himself; he started to gently laugh, "That is…amusing." He could only imagine what Roboute, Kesar, or Horus would say about this sector. "Sounds like it requires a lot of work to fix it."
"Hence why I want you to do it for me." The response was sudden that Vulkan almost thought someone else had said it. Turning to the Fabricator-General, he could see that Kelbor-Hal was being quite serious.
Narrowing his eyes, Vulkan realized what was going on here, "I get it now…it's all clear to me. You are going to have me fix this place for you; in exchange, I get to test out my reforms."
Kelbor-Hal smiled sardonically, "Praise the Omnissiah! He understands what the wager is without me having to explain! Such wisdom from the Warlords sons!" The smile left his face in an instant. "Now that you see the intention, you can determine that we both stand to benefit here. This is as much an attempt for me to save face as it is yours to gain some."
Vulkan glared at Kelbor-Hal, "I don't need to save face."
"Don't be dismissive or delusional," Kelbor-Hal snapped back at him, "You are flaying around, hoping that your Father would heed your pleas or that you could find enough allies to make this a worthwhile endeavor. You have neither. I was originally planning on just trying to buy your cooperation, to hopefully end this farce."
Kelbor started to hover around the Primarch, almost as if to taunt him, "Can you truly tell me that you could've achieved your reforms without constantly hearing 'just a few more decades, it'll happen, we promise' without going a bit mad?"
The Primarch wasn't taking the bait, "If you are implying that my resolve has been tested, you would be right to say that." Vulkan turned to face the Fabricator-General, "However, if you think a few setbacks would make me question my loyalty to the Imperium or humanity, I would advise you to cease such accusations." He would not tolerate such remarks.
Rather than be deterred, Kelbor-Hal seemed more amused, "I don't question your loyalty, but a man's spirit can be ground down given enough pressure and weight. How else can you hope to help the slaves of the galaxy, those who have their spirits broken, if you cannot understand what it feels like to have experienced such hopelessness?"
"There are other ways to empathize with someone that is suffering. Some more constructive than others." Besides, Vulkan had learned this lesson from Konrad. "However, I will give you this; my attempts at reformation have opened my eyes to certain realities. Yet even though I feel some hopelessness, I will not succumb to it. Even if it must take me millennia to achieve my goals…I will leave behind a better galaxy than the one I arrived in."
A brief bit of electric chatter could be heard from Kelbor-Hal, "Hmm, we shall see if you can maintain such determination. Certainly, the Mechanicum stands to benefit from it if you can fix this mess."
"If I fix it." Vulkan gave a wary glare towards the Fabricator-General, "For what makes you think I wish to assist you in this?"
Kelbor-Hal looked quite baffled at the question, "Surely you recognize the potential rewards you gain from this undertaking. Not only from the possible material outcome but the political gain as well. That's not even taking into account how no one will be able to deny that your reforms are possible to successfully implement without any net loss in productivity."
The Primarch glared at Kelbor-Hal for a moment, "And you see why I am suspicious of why you'd want to tangentially support this."
"Tangentially?" Kelbor laughed, which sounded like static, "You think I'm going to set you up to fail here, don't you? Far from it, Lord of Drakes! You will not have my personal backing, but the Mechanicum will support and fund your operation!"
Without a doubt now, Vulkan knew this had to be a trap, "Why in the name of your god would you want to ensure that any attempt to showcase my reforms are successful?"
"Because I have no qualm against them on a moral level, only on purely utilitarian and logic-based observations. That said…" Kelbor hovered closer to Vulkan, "I would stand to benefit quite a bit if you and yours turned Anagnorisis from a disaster into a shining beacon of progress. Because what do you think I stand to gain…?"
He had already been doing so since he heard the proposal, "The Mechanicum would reap the benefits of my edicts and changes, especially once I am successful. Productivity will go, resources will flow from Anagnorisis, and the forges will craft an endless amount of goods for your peers, handpicked, I imagined, to use or sell back to the Imperium."
Kelbor-Hal laughed and clapped his hands together in mock prayer, "Finally, someone that can see the beauty of this design!"
Vulkan had to admit it; this was a good idea. Kelbor-Hal could reveal the existence of the Anagnorisis Sector if Vulkan and Konrad decided to take control of it. This would reduce any pushback from Father or Malcador while at the same time giving Kelbor another platform to lord over his rivals and peers. Additionally, all the goods and resources would still end up back in the Mechanicum hands, allowing the Fabricator-General to recoup any losses.
It was insidious. If Vulkan did fail, then Kelbor-Hal can claim that he gave the Primarch a chance and came out as the man that tried to help (especially when Father failed to act.) And if Konrad and Vulkan succeeded, then Kelbor-Hal was both a visionary and progressive, serving as the catalyst for positive change…even though the Primarchs would've done most of the heavy lifting.
Even just thinking about it, Vulkan saw that all paths ended in Kelbor-Hal being the real victor.
He was trying to use Vulkan. The audacity of it all. To use his humanity and empathy, and compassion for his own gains. Vulkan should've been angry, but at the same time, Kelbor-Hal had no inclination to see him fail. The Primarch could tell that Kelbor-Hal was at least honest in that regard. Nonetheless, that didn't mean Vulkan trusted him.
Yet the temptation to take this offer was…palpable. This was a golden opportunity. It wouldn't be easy, but Vulkan had long since learned nothing was easy. Especially when there are far more critics and pessimists than dreamers and optimists. No one else was given him a chance, even if, in this instance, it came in a potentially poisoned chalice.
"I understand now why you are so in favor of this plan and supporting me in it." Vulkan still had a few questions, "But I'm still not sure I'd want to help you gain more power at the cost of my efforts. Your enemies would become mine."
"Most assuredly." Kelbor-Hal admitted, "Especially since we'd be public partners in this endeavor, not silent ones. Another boon in this endeavor, I say. Even if you believe that it would cause you issues. A trade-off if nothing. Yet as one door closes, another shall open."
Vulkan scoffed, "So long as the door that closed didn't close in my face…" He couldn't help but shake his head. "All of this to cement some type of wager between us?"
"You haven't proven your point in words," Kelbor-Hal remarked flatly, "So that leaves only actions now. And rather than let you attempt to bring more of my peers to a lost cause, I would instead have them take part in a glorious crusade to save an entire sector from incompetence and error. And who better to be at the helm than a Primarch, especially one with such provocative notoriety attached."
"Another part of this that benefits you," Vulkan noticed after a moment of thinking, "Those that followed me will either be stigmatized for failing-"
"Or exalted because I allowed for them to aid you." Kelbor-Hal seemed to glow in amusement, "Either way, the problem gets taken care of."
With all of these machinations and plots, Vulkan couldn't stop his right hand from tightening at the thought. "Is everyone in this wager just a tool to assist your own goals?"
"Yes." He answered honestly, "I seek to gain power so I can change the Mechanicum for the better. You seek power to change humanity for the better. Our methods are radically different, but they coincide in the end. We want what is best for all of us."
"But not enough to end the vilest of practices that the Machine Cult uses?"
Kelbor-Hal shook his head, "If I could but snap my fingers and end slavery across the Imperium, I'd have done so decades ago. Sadly, the numbers and calculus tell me that would be disastrous, so I must tolerate it if I have any hopes of saving the Mechanicum from its enemies. My priority remains with the followers of the Omnissiah. For I am their leader, and it is a burden I readily accept."
Vulkan glanced over at the Cog and altar. "I feel as if you are taking steps to protect those of your faith than the rest of humanity." The Mechanicum was a separate empire within the Imperium, so it stood to reason that they would do whatever it took to protect their interests.
"And yet I am giving you the chance to help out almost a hundred trillion souls within Anagnorisis. Those people need help. Based on our initial consensus, we know that almost 84% of the human population are mostly slaves in some capacity." He hovered closer to the altar and looked up at the Cog, "No one is coming to help them. Not in the way you and your allies want to anyway. But I can give you the tools and means to do what you believe is right, and in turn, the Mechanicum will profit. Nothing can stop either of us from getting what we want. For all the calculus in the galaxy, this is not binary."
Kelbor-Hal sounded like he actually cared. Vulkan wondered how often he acted this part to convince so many others. "This all seems too good to be true." Vulkan knew there would be strings attached to whatever deal or wager was made between the two of them. But could he really turn this down?
"Then don't take the deal." Kelbor-Hal whirled around, "For I don't want someone that isn't prepared to go all the way for this. If you don't dare to take this plunge, don't expect this offer to appear again."
Such an insult, "I am not a coward. But I am no fool or desperate enough to jump at the first opportunity presented by one of my detractors." Glaring at the Magi, Vulkan knew that if such an accusation had been thrown at Konrad, the results would've been devastating for the other party."
Kelbor-Hal laughed, "You make it sound like I am an enemy…we are all on the same side, Vulkan."
The look Vulkan gave him said otherwise, "Are we? This entire plot of yours only seeks to aid the Mechanicum at the end, not humanity."
"The Mechanicum is humanity. We might be the only ones left in this galaxy, save for you Primarchs and Astartes, that are free to lead the masses out of the encroaching madness. In time, the teeming masses will beg for us to save them. Yet I am already saved…"
Standing before the altar and the Cog made Kelbor-Hal certainly look the part of a priest. It stood to reason that he had to live up to his position as spiritual leader of the Mechanicum. The glow surrounding his body and hovering made the image all the more beatific. Yet Vulkan had met more than enough men that called themselves saints and prophets to take much value from the act.
Regardless, Vulkan had a lot to think about. He wasn't ready to say no to this offer, but he would need Konrad to get on board with this plan. Along with most of his allies. This would take time and a lot of convincing.
"If you are done with the theatrics," Vulkan uttered aloud, "I shall need more information and then time to consider this proposal."
Kelbor-Hal nodded once before reaching into one of the robe's pockets and pulling out a data crystal, "Here. A basic overview of the Anagnorisis Sector. I trust that you will not reveal this information to anyone else. Regarding time, the sooner you make a decision, the better. As such, I'd rather you get back to me within five years. Time is of the essence."
The data crystal flew from the Fabricator-Generals hands, propelled by some unseen force. Vulkan deftly caught the crystal, noticed just how strong it had been launched towards him, and wondered what Kelbor-Hal had under that robe.
"Some of the initial concepts of the deal are on there as well." Kelbor-Hal smiled, "Subject to change, of course."
Vulkan noticed that he slowly lowered himself back onto the deck of the chapel, "Naturally, there will be a very significant period of going over what this entails if you agree."
"Naturally." Vulkan echoed the sentiment. "I must warn you, but five years will be cutting it close. It will take time to rally my allies, especially given the extent of the Great Crusade and my obligation and duty towards it."
"Hmm…" Kelbor-Hal didn't sound amused, "I cannot ask you to rush anything, especially as it might tip off certain parties that something is in the works. Do keep in mind that whomever you talk to about this will not reveal its contents to anyone that doesn't need to know."
"I know how operational security works," Vulkan was starting to get an idea that working with Kelbor-Hal would be like working with Perturabo, a genius but also a micro-manager. "Be patient, particularly if you wish to prevent the aura that you will allow me time to do what is necessary."
The first point of any agreement in this dealing would be that Vulkan would not allow Kelbor-Hal to have direct control over what he was doing or who he interacted with. This was a partnership, and just like the one that Vulkan had with Konrad, he didn't get nosy about what his brother was up to.
Kelbor-Hal looked a tad annoyed, but then he looked distracted for a moment, "Blast it all. We will need to end this meeting now. I just received word from my ship that a new vessel has entered the system and might recognize it. Damn Sigillites."
After another brief moment, the doors to the chapel slowly opened, "I eagerly await to hear your response. You know where to find me."
To Vulkan's surprise, Kelbor-Hal started to walk away. "Five years!" He reminded Vulkan, and while the Primarch wished to respond, he was unable to as he saw a shimmering field surround the Fabricator-General. A few moments later, he vanished in a blinding light and a crack of thunder.
"He had a teleporter beacon on him?" Vulkan wondered aloud. It must have been small enough to fit on his person without him noticing. The damn Mechanicum and their hidden tools and gadgets. Regardless, the meeting had now concluded.
Time to get back on his ship.
Returning to the Flamewrought was easy enough. Certainly a lot more of a pedestrian effort compared to Kelbor-Hal's exit. Once back aboard, his sons and command staff reported that the Velvet Carriage had taken off rather abruptly. Aleksy remarked this occurred only an hour after the arrival of another ship, albeit one with no IFF. That ship stayed on scanners for only a few moments before it disappeared.
Vulkan announced that it wasn't an issue and had more important matters to attend to. The Primarch started issuing orders to contact all members of his and Konrad's coalition and that he would hold a meeting within the year.
When he ordered all his officers and advisers to attend a meeting, he made them all swear to secrecy to not repeat what the Primarch said, remarking that no one was allowed to learn of this event until he was ready. Most had assumed that he met with a relatively influential member of the Mechanicum. They were right, to an extent.
Upon revealing that Kelbor-Hal had not only met with Vulkan but offered both deal and wager for his coalition's assistance in this Anagnorisis Sector caused a fierce debate that lasted for six hours. This had to be a trap designed to ruin the reputation of the Primarch. Colonel Fury lived up to his name, looking furious the further this discussion went.
Vulkan assumed that he would report this back to his "benefactors," but Vulkan knew that they were too invested in aiding the Lord of Drakes to do anything to sabotage this chance for him. It concerned him nonetheless that this would cause a small ripple effect, but one that could be contained.
Konrad and his Night Lords would need to be briefed on this development, along with his other principal backers and allies. Just like with this meeting, there would be significant backlash and debate over the validity and necessity of this deal. Everyone knew that Vulkan was thinking this over, primarily as he remained quiet through the initial meeting.
Finally, he spoke up and said the strangest thing, "I do believe we shall use a most appropriate Terran idiom here; let us all sleep on this, yes? We shall return in the morning to discuss it further." He didn't bother staying even though his sons and allies were confused, but all agreed to adjourn for the "night."
All were wondering…what was going through Vulkan's mind now?
Stepping inside his chambers felt odd. Vulkan wasn't sure if suddenly ending the meeting was a good idea, but for some reason, he felt exhaustion like never before. It was odd…because while there was significant apprehension and confusion in his heart, there was also a feeling of hope.
It was like a good day's work was coming to an end, and now was the time to enjoy his time, rest, and reflect. Such an odd feeling. Vulkan had been tempted by a man that no doubt sought to undermine him but also aid the Primarch. Kelbor-Hal was a dangerous individual, but Vulkan could still detect a hint of humanity behind his cold logic and dismissive nature.
Mayhaps he did care about something. He clearly loved his people, his Omnissiah, and wanted what was best for humanity. Yet how many oppressors and slave-masters had said the same thing, time and time again? Could a man who kept countless people in chains have a good heart?
When Vulkan thought about it, he wondered if the issue was that he had to confront the idea that if Kelbor-Hal had the best interests in mind for the Imperium and if Vulkan did as well…why was it so hard to see past all the ugliness?
Empathy allowed Vulkan to understand the suffering of a slave. So why did it not let him figure out the good in Kelbor-Hal?
A terrifying thought came to mind: maybe there was no good in him for Vulkan to connect to. No, he refused to believe that. Kelbor-Hal was wrong and a bit of a bastard, but he still "loved" some aspect of humanity. Enough that he was willing to work with someone that was working against the Mechanicums interests.
Yet Konrad had warned Vulkan, "Evil can mimic good in more ways than you'd wish to know…"
The temptation to see Kelbor-Hal as purely evil was there, but Vulkan refused to embrace it. Not yet. Not until he saw how this endeavor ended. Kelbor-Hal was right; this was a golden opportunity in more ways than one. The chance to prove his reforms could work, to show the galaxy, and not be ignored in the same vein.
Vulkan sat behind his desk and leaned back into his chair. As he pondered the possibility and dangers of this potential alliance, the Primarch recognized one truth after this meeting with the Fabricator-General…the time for words was coming to an end. It was time for deeds, for action.
As Vulkan closed his eyes, he thought about what awaited him and Konrad and all those that would fall him. When sleep finally took him, he saw only an opportunity for all.
@Daemon Hunter Okay, completed.
Which Kelbor-Hal will gladly allow, especially since Kesar is going to recommend that Vulkan goes through with this deal. Additionally, Kelbor-Hal will literally not care whatever steps Vulkan takes to fix this sector, short of using AI and forbidden technology. If anything, the more heroes and Primarchs get involved in this, the better it makes Kelbor-Hal look because it shows that he was able to make this happen by helping Vulkan and his brothers achieve such a "humanitarian" effort in Anagnorisis.
If anyone cares or wonders what exactly this all means, it's effectively still a WIP and one of those things that Daemon will develop off-screen for the most part. It should be noted that Kelbor-Hal will have explicitly difficult tasks for Vulkan. This isn't going to be him and Konrad just going in and fixing up the Anagnorisis Sector, but rather a series of tests and mandates that will take place over a period of 70-100 years.
Vulkan and Konrad still need to do their compliances and aid in the Great Crusade. So this isn't going to be either them or their Legions basically taking a hike for potentially a dozen turns. They are just certainly going to be a lot busier than expected now.
Vulkan and Konrad still need to do their compliances and aid in the Great Crusade. So this isn't going to be either them or their Legions basically taking a hike for potentially a dozen turns. They are just certainly going to be a lot busier than expected now.
Kamangr
Stella!!
Yeah..... You have no idea, dear Hal.
Year 36-40 Part 9 Advising the Lord of Drakes
- Location
- Elsewhere
[x] Write-in: Have a Trial period of not only using the Black Brigades and the Sun Guard in conjunction, but using the Shades as a barrier between the two. It won't be easy, and there will be tensions, but the Shades are loyal to you and your sons, and if you say that there must be peace and civility between these two post compliance forces, then peace they will ensure there will be, even if they must keep the respective forces in their respective corners. If you are going to have tools in your belt, best to have both because as much as you might wish the Sun Guard is all you need, there is a reason the Black Brigades are both useful and feared.
[X] Write-in: Oricarius, as he is won't to do, has considered the short and long term consequences of the situation in Tironia, and has written the details to Kesar. The Primarch has considered that not only should the financing be shared by the Generals and Lord Commander Lasmin in a 65/35 split, due to the main onus being with the generals on the ground having performed the action but the Lord Commander's lax discipline allowing the opportunity, but that there should be the creation of the Imperial Restitution Fund out of a similar split to be used for future incidents such as this.
[X] Write-in: Oricarius, as he is won't to do, has considered the short and long term consequences of the situation in Tironia, and has written the details to Kesar. The Primarch has considered that not only should the financing be shared by the Generals and Lord Commander Lasmin in a 65/35 split, due to the main onus being with the generals on the ground having performed the action but the Lord Commander's lax discipline allowing the opportunity, but that there should be the creation of the Imperial Restitution Fund out of a similar split to be used for future incidents such as this.
Setting up some of his current plans was proving to be trickier than Kesar expected. The trial for the Sun Guard and Black Brigades was already complicated, but adding the Shades to that complicated it further. It was a slightly challenging task to perform, and one he thought he would have to spend weeks on. However, it was here that having good subordinates came in handy. Handing over the project to Bader, Aurelian, with some oversight from Oriacarius, allowed Kesar to reduce the workload down to something he could do on the side.
The only thing Kesar had to do himself was a short meeting with the Shade that would be in charge of the program. It felt a bit awkward to do so, especially regarding his own feelings on them. Thankfully he had already had a briefing on who Aretia was. Discovering she was formally decently high up in the Fractured Conclave did bring him some concern. He expected that the execution of her son by the monstrous government likely ensured any remaining anti-psyker views were dead, but it'd likely be good to verify just in case. The last thing he wanted was for her to encourage such sentiments.
The Shade arrived a few minutes later and was ushered into the meeting room by two of the Khalsa. Both of whom she simply looked at with respect, and a bit of awe, a good sign. She kneeled and waited for Kesar to speak. Perhaps if he was a crueler man, or wanted to make a show, this was where he would spend several minutes pretending to review her proposal. Instead, Kesar gestured for her to stand even as he spoke. "Aretia, it's good to meet you, you come highly recommended for this."
The informal use of her name signaled what he wanted out of the meeting. While there was a time for formality, Kesar admitted he always did have a taste for open and clear communication. "Thank you, Lord Primarch." She spoke respectfully and hopefully, already invested in the task Kesar wanted. "I look forward to the great work ahead of us."
Oddly optimistic, Kesar thought, for someone that had lost everything they'd worked for. He respected that ability to bounce back, even if he was curious as to what she thought of the Salvation Device. Although poking fading wounds wasn't kind, needed, or wise. "Have you been briefed on what your next assignment will be?"
Aretia nodded, now quite attentive upon hearing the inquiry. "Your missive was informative, as was Madsten's. Although I must confess that this will certainly be a different challenge than what I am used to, at least based on what the Black Brigades and these Sun Guard are like as organizations."
"Like water and oil." Kesar remarked with a grimace, "I don't expect you to make them turn the other cheek in all matters, but establishing clear lines of what will not be tolerated on or off the battlefield is a hopeful prospect of mine in this matter."
"And so enter the Shades, an independent third party, armed with the wisdom of the Golden Path," Aretia commented. Kesar pursed his lips briefly, before letting it subside, while it might be an issue when dealing with formally religious worlds, he had no worries about Aretia's religious beliefs and the like. "Do you wish us to settle conflicts or merely prevent them from boiling over?"
"The latter," Kesar said swiftly. "There will either be not enough conflicts to bother or too many for the Shades to deal with."
"Understandable," Aretia nodded but didn't elaborate. Kesar could tell she wanted to ensure deeper issues would be resolved, but the Primarch knew attempting to do so would be a doomed endeavor. "Would I be able to choose the deployment for the trial?"
Now that was unexpected, albeit encouraging. A stress test in more adverse conditions would be revealing. "Where would you send them?" Kesar asked, awaiting the correct answer.
"A world with both active rebels and an untrusting but not hostile populace." Kesar nodded in agreement to the response. Such a world would have niches for both the Sun Guard and Black Brigades. In actual operation, Kesar expected it to be somewhat rare for the two to be deployed to the same world. But as a trial, it was an excellent source of information on any conflicts that would cause issues.
"Good, I look forward to your report." For a moment, Kesar debated attaching one or two of his worse-performing sons but thought better of it, he doubted they would be of more use with her than with the Legion itself. Dismissing her, Kesar turned his attention to a slightly irritating letter from the Lord Commander of Obscurus.
The letter was better than Kesar expected. Based on his admittedly brief interaction with the Lord Commander of Ultima, he was expecting someone blatantly hostile. Instead, he got someone that was logical about matters, breaking down their concerns as to Kesar's recent decision to make an Imperial Restitution Fund. The Lord Commander's main concerns stemmed from morale issues that would hit due to having to pay for the mistakes of the worst of the Imperial Army. Primarily because not every general had the ability to give recompense.
Another matter was how making mistakes able to be fixed by payment would disincentivize those without wealth from attaining positions of power. There did seem to be some concern that this would lead to those soldiers leaving to join other domains or even mercenary groups in the Imperium. Admittedly, it was something Kesar hadn't thought about. All he was asking was to not make malicious mistakes. To think that would scare people off …
The end of the letter was essentially a request for a meeting when Kesar was available, to discuss both the Imperial Restitution Fund as well as a number of other issues the Lord Commander was curious about. Marking it on his calendar, Kesar decided to
[] Meet him after the party on Olympia - Locks out replacement social and ensures Kesar skips the Tribunal.
[] Meet him in a handful of years - Allows replacement social to be picked, allows for the Tribunal to be attended if desired. Locks one social next turn.
[] Meet at the tribunal - Allows Kesar to walk out of the tribunal, an extremely powerful statement
[] Don't meet them - No effect
[] Write-in
GM Note: The majority of the following section was written by @argenten
Meeting with Vulkan was far more complicated than Kesar initially thought. Rather than meeting on the Flamewrought as he thought, Kesar was instead led to a vessel that reminded him oddly of one of the Raven Guard's stealthier craft. As he was brought deeper, he recognized a few runes here and there, along with advanced devices that he thought must have taken Vulkan's personal hand to forge. As he walked, he noticed that his armored feet made no sounds, as if the very walls dampened them. Experimentally, Kesar listened, only mildly surprised to hear nothing, not even the sound of breathing from the Astartes near him.
Being led into a small room, the Salamander turned, taking out some sort of device. Making a scanning motion on his own armor, the Astartes handed it to Kesar. Eyeing it for a moment, the Primarch glanced at some of the sensors, noting a complicated scanner along with some sort of warp-based scanner. He expected there was a detection rune inside somewhere, but Kesar didn't think Vulkan would approve of him dismantling this device. Waving it over himself, he felt a slight tingling, as he realized there was a mild haywire effect. Not enough to affect his armor, but enough to affect any listening devices he may have on himself.
When he was done, the Salamander motioned towards the door in silence, before beginning to walk away. The XIth Primarch waited until he was out of sight, before opening the door, which did so with a loud grinding noise. When he stepped into the room, the first person he expected was Vulkan, but he was surprised. "Konrad?" He exclaimed, "what are you doing here?"
"I met with our void-skinned brother to advise and when he mentioned that you would be doing the same, I thought it best to stay." Kesar smiled at the idea of getting to spend more time with Konrad as well as Vulkan, something that made the future tormented Primarch smile in turn.
"Wonderful! I can speak to you both about several things then, in addition to what I planned to speak to Vulkan about...presumably." Kesar had long since given up on formally telling all his brothers about the Archdaemons at least beyond maybe a formal clarification on the notes that the Emperor had given him, so this seemed to Kesar's opportunistic nature a perfect chance t-
"You will find Vulkan and I less unaware of those...things than you expect little brother."
Kesar blinked, processing Konrad's interruption of his own train of thought. A frown of concern began to spread before Kesar shook his head, "We will just say that I told you now and unless anyone says otherwise, we should be safe."
Konrad gave a sepulcher laugh as Kesar began to mutter about 'everyone trying to get into trouble' 'first Horus, then Khan, now Konrad...' and other such moments of pique. The former night haunter appreciated the irony in the first grumble especially.
"He was quite concerned for you little brother, I would recommend bracing your spine and having your apothecary on standby." Konrad gave a vicious-looking grin as Kesar looked up in confusion, "Why?"
Konrad shrugged 'innocently' "He said something about 'catching up on all the hugs he missed'..."
Kesar's face began to pale and he turned towards the now opening door with trepidation as a booming voice echoed, "KESAR!"
The strongest Primarch wrapped him up in a hug, and for a moment Kesar couldn't breathe. Then that moment ended, and Vulkan placed him back on the floor. "Kesar! It's so good to see you again, I do wish it was in a more pleasant environment and we had time for other matters, but I'm glad you made the time for me."
The Second Anathema debated pulling Vulkan into a hug of his own but decided that it would be best not to enter a contest of strength with the Lord of Drakes of all people. Instead, Kesar just patted Vulkan's shoulder. "Please Vulkan, I enjoy spending time with you, it's just a shame there's so little of that to spare."
"Yes, yes," the Primarch of the Salamanders said with an aggrieved sigh, "at times it feels like if I had 48 hours in a day that still wouldn't be enough."
"That it wouldn't," Kesar chuckled in agreement, "knowing us, even if it would leave us with free time we'd find more things worthy of our attention."
Konrad smirked, a tap of a lightning claw on another drawing Vulkan's attention to him. "Ah, Kesar, I hope you don't mind - "
Before he could finish, Kesar waved him off, "think nothing of it, Konrad explained to me why he's here, and I'm always happy to meet with him."
The Night Haunter nodded his head in thanks, even as Vulkan refocused on what he asked Kesar here for. "I'm glad to hear that, the decision I'm faced with has some hefty consequences regardless of what I choose." The Lord of Drakes paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "before we begin, I wish to ask, how would you describe Kelbor-Hal's character?"
Kesar pondered the question for a moment, "He is a politician that genuinely cares for his people's well-being but also sees himself as the best hope for that well-being. He is the ally of the Imperium but is very much aware that he is not subordinate to the Imperium. When he makes a deal or offers a bargain, he will not try to cheat you, but you will be wasting time if you seek the angle he is playing because no matter your choice, he has won. He is a dangerous thing in an enemy and a rare thing in an ally: A person that can find a way to win no matter the circumstances. He is a friend but his priority is to his people first and then his friends and allies. If you can keep that in mind, you can trust and deal with him, but if you are expecting altruism or duplicity you are not going to be getting anywhere."
Kesar took a breath, thinking of a way to describe him further. "He is a man much like us, much like father, and like Malcador. He is someone who directly has access to the numbers that underlie our Great Crusade. Every cost and expense, out of his people into ours and vice versa. To a man who sees all such matters, everything becomes... a calculation. A cold view many a time, but also one that's necessary to keep such 'machinery' running. Yet he is a man, not heartless. He's a man of passion to his craft, to his views, to even the Imperium. Although, I think we all know what he is most passionate about."
Vulkan gave a sigh both relieved...and yet weighed all the more by an unseen burden, as if Kesar's answer had allayed Vulkan's worst fears...but opened his mind to things that were far more troubling to the green-clad giant. "Then I had best explain to you why I asked you here." And as Vulkan explained the visit he had had with the Fabricator General, Kesar watched both his brothers.
Konrad was like unto a gargoyle, a foreboding guardian neither moving nor speaking. He only waited as Vulkan explained the wager that Kesar's friend and political ally had brought to the Fire Lord, of the weight of temptation that such an experiment held for the pair. Vulkan seemed almost like a man searching for excuses not to take the deal, his gaze and expression near pleading for Kesar to have some insight as to why Vulkan should deny this, some...unseen motive on the part of Kelbor that could justify turning it away.
In the end, as Vulkan wrapped up his tale, the gargantuan Primarch looked to Kesar once more and said, "You have heard everything that transpired, you know him better than we do...should I take this deal? Should I risk this wager?"
Kesar took a deep breath and sighed, "Are you asking me as a leader? A Primarch?...or as a Brother?"
Vulkan gave him a wry half smile, "Yes."
Kesar mock glowered for a moment before giving a hum of contemplation
"Imprimis, as a leader I would say that the wager is a double-edged sword. It will require one or both of you to split your focus to deal with this...mire of a realm. However, as a leader, there are few things more potent than a region and populace that you have helped out of such mire when it comes to gaining resources, loyalty, and support. As a leader I would say that if you feel the extra drain on your attention and resources in the short term is worth it, do so. If you are too stretched thin already, then admit it and let this go."
Vulkan nodded, so far what Kesar said was meshing well with his own musings, "As a Primarch?"
Kesar's face grew slightly troubled at that, "You will risk further alienating the Emperor, and even though some...disturbing information has come to light to myself and several of our brothers, which I will tell you later if you wish...by taking this wager you will be trying yourself publicly in alliance with Kelbor which will have effects on your own domain and the Imperium at large. Even some of our other brothers who are wary of Kelbor will be concerned by this move. As a Primarch, this is a sacrifice of prestige and no small amount of influence which you are already running through."
Konrad snorted at the mention of the Emperor, but Vulkan merely gave a shrug, which Kesar could empathize with. It hurt to admit, but the Emperor was growing more distant to them all, and if alienating him was the cost, Kesar could see Vulkan making it willingly
Vulkan's voice grew ever so tremulous, though only a Primarch could pick it up, "And as a brother?"
Kesar gave Vulkan a heartfelt clasp on the shoulder, "As a brother, I tell you to trust yourselves. If you doubted that you could make this work, and truly believed it beyond you, then you would have refused Kelbor outright...if this is what you need to do, then do it. Hesitation gives them room to maneuver, and drains the hope of those that believe in you."
The words seemed to give Vulkan's emotions a boost, as the Primarch of the Salamanders made a noise that sounded like agreement. Then he asked one last question, "and as Kesar?"
[] "Kelbor is a friend, and I understand him more than most. For this, he has a vested interest in your success, without which your reforms would never come to pass. But … allying yourself like this will displease the Emperor. Even if now may be the best time to do so."
[] "Vulkan, I love you for your belief, for your passion. And I agree with it. But now is not the time, the Maelstrom must be fully cleansed and it will take all of our efforts to do so. If you do this now, you jeopardize much. And if the Emperor demands you clear the Maelstrom, then what?"
[] "If you take the wager, then you have no choice but to succeed. If you fail here, then it will remove any chance of them ever being implemented. If you stay the course, then one day you will succeed. It is up to you to decide if you trust yourself enough. I believe you can do this, but do you?"
[] "What happens if you succeed on this wager? The costs to fix four sectors would be orders of magnitude below what it would take to fix the Imperium. Kelbor might remain helpful, but the Emperor will remain as he is. And nothing will change."
[] Write-in
GM Note: For this vote, Vulkan's decision is already around 80-90% made. This isn't to say this vote means nothing though, this will influence Vulkan quite a bit. But it is far from the only factor Vulkan is considering when he makes this decision. Another thing is that you're not exactly voting on whether to advice Vulkan to accept or refuse. You're more voting on Kesar's commentary on the situation. Overall he's hesitant, but trusts Vulkan. So write-ins can't be to advice Vulkan to go all in for instance.[/hr]
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This will not have consequences, no sir.