The Lost Primarch Quest

[Shadaki]

Adam Revelation the revealed Emperor of Mankind

Click to shrink...

Ignoring everything else, where did they get this name from? I'd been under the impression that the only name he's given to anyone (aside from a priest who died soon after talking to him) - with the possible exception of Malcador and the Custodes Companions* - is just "The Emperor"**. did he actually leave the shadows enough to exist in the historical record, let alone provide a consistent name? ....Or is this just a case of historians inventing a name/pseudonym for him that seems fitting?

*Has he ever told Horus?

**Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's old enough and gone by enough pseudonyms to have forgotten his name entirely. (I'm convinced that, canonically, "Revelation" was just something he chose as a symbolically relevant one-time pseudonym for his discussion in the last church- and which fans have latched onto as his actual name in absence of anything else)

 

[Leon12431]

Its a made up name they pulled out of a hat

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Been a while, hasn't it? I'm trying to write a lot, not just more omakes, this year. Here's the first one for the year, based off an idea for a group that the Death Guard could gain from their lengthy war against the Hrud from a canon one after corruption. Hope it's good! 0u0
-----
The Tallymen of the Death Guard.

The Death Guard, the Fourteenth Astartes Legion wrought by the Emperor of Mankind, the Dusk Raiders, the Unbroken Blades of Primarch Mortarion.

The enhanced warriors of Barbarus and Terra were legendary for their unrelenting endurance, both in body and in mind, with a grim and unwavering demeanour even in the face of certain death. Few things were enough to shake or break that which made up their mighty order, with only the return of their Pale King and his commands truly shifting the force as a whole.

Yet the vast Hrud infestations faced by the Legion had proven, in no uncertain terms, to be one such threat dire enough to warrant an important change to how the Death Guard has functioned.

Led by Mortarion himself, who waged war with the critical assistance of Horus Lupercal and the Luna Wolves, most that went against his direct attention either surrendered or otherwise live on with the scars of devastation or an apocalyptic demise. It was said before that only the nightmarish Rangda could last longer than at best a couple of years for any alien that dared challenge the Death Lord.

The war was near unique in how difficult it was for the two Legions to even attempt battle against the temporally distorting monsters. Their ships were devastating shadows over spacetime, their grand warrens were almost unconquerable fortresses, their warriors could kill and annihilate by mere entropic presence. There were too many to even directly engage in at all for the early years.

At the end, the few restrictions on hyper-lethal weaponry and exterminatus munitions were disregarded as world after world burned with phosphex until all life and potential life was completely extinguished. The Hrud were not fully exterminated, but their numbers were a small fraction of their previous height as the last exodus ships flew far away from the Imperium of Mankind.

A grave lesson had been learned, one that could be ignored no longer. Though it was not the strength or strange temporal powers of their foe that warranted any true change to the Death Guard. Instead it was an inner weakness of the Legion itself, and the whole of Motarion's domain, that was made clearly apparent.

The logistical focus of warfare was missing from the Unbroken's doctrines, the production and organisation of the worlds brought into compliance given only minimal consideration as the Great Crusade pressed further on. Until the temporaferrox were encountered, it hadn't appeared to be relevant as all other worlds faced were burned the same without reason to change strategy.

The vital importance of proper administration and supply-chains was made evident by the many apparent failings and neglected organisation against the temporal vermin, as everything from warriors to adamantium was decayed into ashen nothingness. The costs too high, too many dead to properly count.

It was only by the fortune of finding a group of human worlds, all fighting against the Hrud as well, that a staging ground was set and pipeline back to the Imperium of Mankind was finally able to be organised. The charismatic words of Horus Lupercal allowed the worlds to quickly accept, while the Death Guard's proper strength was displayed. Without it, the war would have taken even longer and with far less success at the end.

So the Primarch had re-examined the issue to find how best it could be fixed, until he found the answer in a tradition and belief from his homeworld.

Numerology, the way to study the universe and even the future itself through the associated understanding of numeric design and patterns, had already been a necessitated cultural passion for those of Barbarus. The time and date of each day in conjunction with the tide of toxic mists that covered the world, when to harvest and when to ration.

Mortarion had inherited the numeric fixation of his people, and it had spread through his Legion down to the way it was structured. Thus did he gather other followers of numerology descended from Barbarus and forged a new role to his sons, to use this cultural framework into a practical application to rid the Death Guard of this newfound weakness.

The Tallymen.

Part mathematical scribe, part quartermaster, part logistician and part mystical analyst. Members had been sourced from the Techmarines, the Armistos Consuls, dedicated numerologists and even those few that simply possessed a near unerring instinct for predicting patterns or calculating future effects.

The Tallymen of the Death Guard had one duty above any else, to find and enact the most efficient way for the Legion to wage war and tally the costs and results of everything. Armoured with collections of data-slates, helms were adorned with precise sensors and recording units, more grimly focused on their task compared even to the typical veteran of Mortarion's sons.

Nothing was exempt from the tallies, there was no detail or resource too minor to be catalogued and recorded. From the maintenance and repair costs of the mightiest star vessels to the individual spare replacement teeth of chain weapons or the myriad shells for each bolter. Even the lives of the Astartes and serfs became lines of data to be studied, along with the food, water and air they used up.

They toiled near endlessly in the armouries of the Legion's fleets and bases, enacting new arrangements and methods of storage. Misplacements and errors were expunged, inefficient uses of power rerouted elsewhere, alchemical poisons and toxic armaments were carefully prepared for maximum benefit of minimal use.

In battle, the Tallymen acted in several ways. Some behaved similar to commissars, coldly reciting both wasteful action and productive efforts to better lead their brothers to an efficient victory. Others quietly managed the artillery and warmachines from afar to pinpoint locations at precise times, or the stockpiles of biological and chemical weaponry along with the long-term effects weighed over potential benefit for keeping worlds untainted.

But unlike many others within the Fourteenth, the Tallymen had also excelled outside the landscape of warfare and military logistics. The problem was only partially apparent within the Legion itself, it was sourced most strongly across the entirety of the domain. To leave it unattended for much longer was not allowed by command of the Primarch, so they set off to battle this beast directly within its den.

It became an uncommon sight, but not truly rare, for both individual and groups of Tallymen to visit certain planets or stations brought into compliance by their Primarch. Forge Worlds and Industrial Worlds were travelled to the most, followed by Agri-Worlds. Metal, munitions, maintenance, meals and manpower were catalogued and carefully tithed.

Yet they did not just simply take to feed their current engine of the Great Crusade, they also did what they could to prepare for war in the distant future. Dissecting potential fault in use, in organisation or current circumstances for all worlds they came upon. Brutally correcting greed and corruption, ordering changes and enhancements that brook no disagreement where there was loss in production.

The Legion Exchange program had somewhat aided the newly made group. Those of the Iron Warriors and Ultramarines found kindred spirits within the newly made Tallymen as they relentlessly worked, with even some of the similarly focused Order of Ruin from the Thousand Sons engaging in debates over interpretation and numeric design that surprisingly only rarely became hostile and bitter.

However, it was not merely matters of the mundane that fell under the numerologists' purview. The Tallymen had an additional purpose against the Warp and the mad witches or daemons that dared used its power.

Sharing a belief with their progenitor, the sons of Mortarion believed in the purity and truth of numerology that went against the roiling madness of the Immaterium. With few things representing a more fundamental aspect of reality, the intricate equations and numerically enforced designs could ward off the malefic presence of the damned. Or even overpower the lesser examples of them, if wrought finely enough.

While varied in success, attempts at using numerology against the Hrud had proven some genuine merit more often than not. Noticing unseen patterns in temporal behaviour on occasion, able to predict the devastating attacks and at least mitigate losses or effects. The recorded patterns that brought success were stored and treated almost sacredly, as they and all other notable examples of mathematical design were analysed for the greatest use in future endeavours.

To the Tallymen of the Death Guard, even the nightmarish malignance from the Warp and the horrors and madness it brought were all just another thing to be catalogued to further the will and might of their Primarch.

 

[Ruirk]

Flash Point: Orus (Part Four)

While it was deep within Arx Conventus that many of the wondrous devices and splendid amenities sat, the outside of the marvelous citadel was equally impressive. Perturabo knew enough to ensure that aspect of nature was present. Stone and steel made for an uncomfortable portrayal of living within this place.

Perturabo had no interest in wasteful beautification. If he was to plant anything inside this place, it would serve a greater purpose. The Primarch was keenly aware of how ugly staple crops are. And while he'd like to try and find different alternatives, bio-diversity on Orus was limited.

Thus he turned to technology to create a solution, albeit one designed to provide a sense of vanity to the crops. Using holographic technologies to stimulate a lush and vibrant garden, one could almost pretend that the only vegetables weren't just potatoes and soybeans.

Calling them the "Holo-Gardens" felt appropriately like Perturabo. Short and sweet.

Although he allowed a small orchard of pomegranates to take root, if nothing else, Perturabo figured this world could have used something tasty. Alas, he would be long gone before such trees bore their fruits.

For most, they were one of the more "low-key" spectacles of Arx Conventus during the day…but thousands found the lights and stimulated sounds mesmerizing and beautiful at night. One even called them calming. Whether or not this was the intention of the Lord of Iron would never be determined.

Standing amidst the Holo-Gardens, Fulgrim enjoyed the moment of quiet solitude within the holo environment. It might not have had the same "flair" that Fulgrim would've liked, but he found it alluring in its own right.

"Perturabo, you've come a long way." He remarked at seeing the rows of bright glowing flowerbeds and hedges. It was not real, but Fulgrim could perhaps close his eyes and imagine himself in a world where beauty thrived. And for a moment, a feeling of peace washed over Fulgrim.

Unfortunately, it left just as soon as it had arrived. The Phoenician sighed once more, still unable to lose this dreadful feeling that had formed within the pit of his stomach. It started after the meeting with their Father, and now with the conference looming had only gotten worse.

Fulgrim had only briefly interacted with his brothers so far. Corvus was perhaps the only one that actually spent some time with him that wasn't entirely related to the conference or this impending feeling of doom in his stomach.

He wasn't sure if he was grateful or not for the solitude. In this instance, Fulgrim could speak with his sons or Ferrus if he was here. Alas, this dreadfulness wouldn't be cured by talking with those equally in the dark about what was happening.

And that was the issue…what was happening? Fulgrim didn't know anymore. It felt like he was watching the early stages of a collapse of everything they had fought so hard for. The Imperium of Man was a monumental endeavor, and the Phoenician had long since known that there would be problems.

Yet in his heart, Fulgrim knew that he and his brothers would've been able to see through to the very end. No threat too powerful or obstacle insurmountable. For all his arrogance and pride, it was always a comforting feeling to know his family had his back. Fulgrim knew that each of them would've come to the other's aid even when sometimes they couldn't stand one another.

Then again, perhaps Fulgrim had a much kinder or gentler picture of their family. But was that necessarily a bad thing? Horus spent years cultivating their kinship, while Kesar and Vulkan did what they could to keep their collective spirits up. Compassion and brotherly love had once gone a long way toward maintaining relations or mending bridges.

Now all of that was in jeopardy. What hope did the Imperium have if the Primarchs started to break the ties that bonded them? The Emperor and Sigillite laid the foundation, but the brothers ultimately would have to win the peace.

A peace that was now fleeting.

"Fulgrim?" The Phoenician blinked for a moment as he heard a familiar voice. Turning to look over to see Guilliman. His brother looked confused, "I apologize if I'm bothering you."

Putting on a smile, Fulgrim quickly returned to looking unperturbed, "Bothering me? Of course not; I was just admiring another work of Perturabo."

"Clearly," Guilliman remarked, "I called out you thrice, but you seemed focused on whatever occupies your thoughts." Fulgrim's smile slipped for a moment before returning, feigning slight embarrassment.

Fulgrim chuckled, "How unbecoming of me." His head was too far up in the clouds. Nothing good came from losing sight of the things going around him. "Still, what did you wish to speak about, Roboute?"

The Lord of Ultramar didn't seem bothered by the sudden topic change, "I suppose if you aren't busy, we could talk about the current state of things, and maybe you can find the time to aid me in something."

"Hmm," Much as he didn't want to talk about the state of things, it didn't do Fulgrim any good to just ignore them, "I don't suppose it's something a bit more cheerful than what has been discussed recently…although Corvus did have an amusing request for me. Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself."

Guilliman shrugged, "Perhaps not cheerful, but productive all the same. I think you'll like what I brought you all the same." Fulgrim watched as his brother pulled out a dataslate and displayed a few images. "Quite a few works of art. Not originals, mind you…"

Fulgrim needed only a few moments to glance at the images to see they were indeed works of art. "Marvelous!" Practically snatching the dataslate out of his brother's hands, the Phoenician started gawking and trying to examine what he was seeing.

Looking back at Roboute with an excited smile, Fulgrim felt a surge of happiness. "Do you have these stored somewhere?"

"Onboard the Honour." Roboute smiled, "Did you want them? I figured you could find a nice place for them somewhere."

Fulgrim felt red at how enthusiastic that came out, "I mean, yes. I can find a place for them in my main gallery. Thank you, Guilliman."

"It's no issue, Fulgrim. I even recovered an STC for a new MLRS system if you'd like. You would get it eventually, but I figured you and the others would like a copy immediately."

"Also generous of you," While not as exciting as the paintings, Fulgrim wasn't going to deny another tool for his arsenal. "But don't tell me you didn't expect nothing in return for this?"

Roboute looked bashful, "I did want your assistance in a matter about the Imperial Army, both in perspective and with some diplomatic action."

The Lord of Ultramar spent the half-hour explaining everything related to the Maelstrom and his plan to aid Kesar with these striking troopers. Fulgrim thought such men deserved punishment, not to be reassigned to the Realm of Ultramar for garrison duty.

"Believe me; I understand this looks a bit too 'soft' on my part. However, neither Kesar nor I need dead troops. Our efforts in the Maelstrom cannot be undermined or stopped at this juncture."

Fulgrim disagreed, "My concern is that you are setting up other regiments to do the same thing if and when things get too rough on a particular frontline. Mercy has its place, as does empathy, but we both know that war requires sacrifices. It's an unsustainable solution that doesn't solve the underlying cause. But from what you are saying, it's a desperately needed short-term solution. Thus I am left to think that something more needs to be done."

"Do you have any suggestions, then?" Roboute sounded interested in hearing what Fulgrim had to say on the matter.

Mortal men were so fallible. Yet Fulgrim knew that for all their perfections, there was a spark of greatness in each one of them. How do you bring out such a thing, though? A man could fight for home, valor, or riches. None of which was to say were worth walking barefoot into hellfire.

"All my sons think about is a glorious legacy," Fulgrim spoke after a moment, "Their great works, left behind upon the passing into the great unknown. But my sons are artists and visionaries. The average trooper? Men who can barely read and write, let alone paint or compose a song. Their legacies are in children and families. None of which they will likely ever see again…so what is their legacy? What happens when the battlefields are forgotten to time, and the works of civilization cover their graves?"

Roboute pondered those questions, "They fought and died for humanity. For a better future. Maybe for vengeance against those seeking to stop or enslave us."

"Humanity, the future, and vengeance…just words and ideas. Nothing tangible, nothing they can't touch or enjoy themselves." Fulgrim looked around at the Holo-Gardens, "But imagine they had a hand in making something like this! A physical representation of their labor. What man wouldn't want to defend something they built for generations to come."

"Those same men could've done the same thing before," Roboute shrugged, "What would be different this time around?"

Fulgrim nodded, "What indeed would be different?" Most of these poor bastards had likely never known anything or own anything valuable. A workforce of lords and bureaucrats and guild merchants. Yet those same men perhaps found honest enjoyment in such work. Even if it meant it only profited a select few. None of their families or peers would enjoy their labors' fruits.

Why fight and die for that, then?

"Hrm," Fulgrim looked towards Roboute, "A man wants to create something. Give him that purpose, and his loyalty shall be assured. He cannot have a wife and child, but perhaps someone else can someday enjoy his labors in his stead. All of it needs to mean something worth fighting for."

Another moment passed, "Don't just have them doing garrison duties. Put them to work."

Roboute blinked at hearing that, "Put them to work?"

"Building, farming, paving roads, and so on. Not for any military purposes but for something that civilians can use. Homes, schools, hospitals, theaters, and all of that can be used by people. Let those colonists arrive in these new towns and cities to admire their works and those that partake in it."

The Lord of Ultramar was surprised at the suggestion, "But wouldn't they resent all of it? To perhaps covet it?"

"Their reward and punishment," Fulgrim crossed his arms, "They shall have their legacy, but they will not own it." He then smirked, "A little flourish on my part."

"It does fit." Guilliman was pondering what Fulgrim, "You're suggesting a penal work regiment?"

"In the barest of sense," Fulgrim crossed his arms, "Let me make something clear, I don't believe in forced labor camps. Not after what I and my world went through. We shouldn't treat these people as slaves, but they are criminals in the eyes of Imperial law. Treat them with the respect they deserve, if not as men but for their work, but they are undeserving of tenderness."

Guilliman seemed to be listening intently, "Anything else you can suggest?"

"Split up the strike leadership." Fulgrim suggested again, "Maybe split up the regiments entirely. You'll lose cohesion and discipline at the start, but most of the troopers will be in unfamiliar lands with unfamiliar people, making them less likely to cause problems in the form of a unified pushback against any further disciplinary action."

"It would cause an increase in internal politicking, factionalism, and conflict amongst the mixing of such regiments."

Fulgrim shrugged, "Leave that to the discipline masters. And if they cause trouble during their work? Make examples of them." The Phoenician gave a flat look to his brother, "They've already been given a second chance. If they squander it, they deserve only death."

His brother understood and nodded, "I must say, this is an interesting idea, Fulgrim. I'll need to consider it more in detail, but this could work. Convincing the strikers not to dismiss it outright will be an issue, though."

"Then I shall come with you," Fulgrim smiled, "A little bit of theatrics and flair will help convince these men that the work ahead will be hard but produce tangible results. If nothing else, if they shall not use their hands for war, then they shall use them for progress."

Guilliman nodded, "Thank you, Fulgrim. It will be good to have you on my side for this."

"Of course, Roboute." Fulgrim felt a bit of hope in his heart, "If nothing else, we can call this a bonding experience between the two of us. I can show you a few art collections I've gathered over these last few years."

The Lord of Ultramar laughed, "That would be lovely."

Fulgrim approached his brother and gently placed an around Guilliman's shoulder, "By the way, did I mention I might have finally gotten Ferrus into collecting art as well?"

Roboute gave Fulgrim a strange look, "Ferrus has started collecting paintings and sculptures?"

"Oh yes, he even has a beautifully haunting piece in his office…"

---

Privacy was a commodity in the Imperium of Man. Especially among political officers and those that commanded large swaths of the empire. While most didn't doubt that spies were everywhere, it was more likely that "ambitious" individuals were the ones seeking to undermine all attempts of private interactions among leadership.

As a rule of thumb, Perturabo believed that necessary measures had to be taken to protect the secrets and integrity of communication within Arx Conventus. And while not an adherent to the ideas of skullduggery and intrigue, the Lord of Iron saw the value in protecting it within the confines of his facilities.

The creation of the Red Chambers has still been deemed an odd decision. The idea of using infrared lighting made for a startling ascetic choice. As a dedicated section within Arx Conventus, each room hosts a series of intricate and complex machines to ensure the participants' privacy. Fulgrim had joked to Perturabo that if he added a bed into one or two of the chambers, someone could get a lot of mileage out of the Red Chambers.

Perturabo promptly banned Fulgrim from the command center for a day after making that insinuation. The Phoenician merely laughed. Regardless of its intended or unintended use, the Red Chambers offered an opportunity for certain parties to speak their minds without fear of eavesdroppers or recording devices.

Horus Lupercal found the Red Chambers fascinating. He would need to get the technical specs from his brother after this conference concluded. While the concept of such rooms had been discussed, only a few people had the time or resources to produce a working prototype. Let alone dozens of them in a few years.

Once again, the Lord of Iron proved otherwise. This whole citadel proved that Perturabo would provide humanity only wonders in the coming centuries, at least once the Great Crusade concluded. To Horus, the crusade hadn't even reached the halfway point, at least in his mind and based on his analysis.

If there was to be an ending to it, Horus could only imagine that its conclusion would come upon reaching all corners of the galaxy while ensuring that humanity hadn't overstretched itself in the process. In some respects, Horus imagined that alone would take another thousand years to accomplish.

No one said that taking over the galaxy would be easy or painless. But Horus was, by his nature, an optimist. Most would've been surprised to hear that. However, Horus was much like his Father in believing in the potential of people and the Imperium.

One needed to look only at the work of his brothers and realize that the Primarchs had gifts that could revolutionize their entire species. Perhaps even eclipse the wonders of the Dark Age, given enough time anyway.

Hope was a powerful thing. Optimism as well, at least in fair amounts. Horus didn't want to imagine what humanity would be without either. Then again, he need only hear the cynicism and concern from his brothers to make him snap back to reality.

And that reality was this; cracks were appearing. Their vaunted unity was fracturing; anger and resentment, fear and worry, and a desire to find their own answers caused his siblings to see only the darkness brought upon by their actions.

Horus saw the darkness in himself as well. Sadly, he had been unable to confront it. A painful failure on his part. But he was trying. If the fates were merciful, mayhaps he could find solace before anything else happened.

As he contemplated all this, Horus saw Guilliman approach, "Roboute." Horus nodded toward his brother, "What brings you here?"

Guilliman smiled and gestured toward the Red Chambers, "I wanted to come and see another one of Perturabo's attractions. Every time I think I've seen this citadel, I learn of one more section that was just finished."

The Lupercal laughed and nodded. "It seems that Perturabo is always busy building one thing or another. One of these days, we will all look away, and when we turn back, Perturabo will design a new warp drive or power armor for us all."

"He'd then claim that he designed and built them during lunchtime." Horus and Guilliman gave each other a look of knowing before laughing. Perturabo might have lost much of his arrogance, but he was still the type of man that would gloat about breaking the laws of physics while having his morning recaff.

Indeed, far worse things to make fun of in a man. As the pair moved on to discuss the practicality and nuance of the Red Chambers, Horus had to remind himself that he had yet to speak to Guilliman at length about what was happening to them all. While the two didn't have much time, especially as the lead to the conference was upon them, Horus decided that he wanted to get a better feel of how Guilliman felt.

"Might you and I have a conversation in one of them?" Horus gestured to an open chamber, "I'd like your thoughts and opinions on a specific matter."

Guilliman hesitated for a moment but nodded. "I see no issue with that. Be aware that I can't speak for too long. Other obligations still require my attention." Even after all these years, Guilliman was awful at trying to be coy about things that displeased him.

"Of course, Roboute. I wouldn't seek to hold you up from prior appointments." Horus smiled patiently before he and Guilliman moved toward one of the chambers.

Entering the chambers was easy enough; Perturabo seemed to remember that these chambers had to be designed for Primarchs since Horus and Guilliman had no issues with the ceiling. Once the door was sealed, the infrared lights activated.

Both Primarchs were seated before a simple wooden table. Horus felt and heard the hum of instruments and machines working. The room almost felt ominous with the lighting. Maybe that was the intention?

"Well," Guilliman started with a frown, "We are free to talk plainly then."

Horus quirked an eyebrow at him, "You make it sound like I am about to berate you."

"I'm not exactly the most beloved son back on Terra right now." Guilliman awkwardly shifted in his seat, "Then again, probably not even really here, either. Considering my allegiance hasn't been decided yet."

"You think no one here trusts you?" Where did Guilliman get that idea?

However, he shook his head, "It's not a lack of trust, but rather a lack of reliability in these matters that puts me in an awkward position." There was a kernel of truth to that statement. As the lord of the wealthiest domain in the Imperium, Guilliman could close his borders and effectively sit out any conflict, political or otherwise.

"You can take a more proactive approach?" Horus suggested, "You've already taken the initiative of aiding Kesar with his strikers and taking on a host of the Imperium's debt. But if you feel like you aren't considered reliable, there are plenty of opportunities to aid in additional compliances. The Ultramarines can provide quite a bit of aid to the Imperium if given the orders."

The Realm of Ultramar and the Ultramarines had the wealth, resources, and numbers to put out quite a few fires if they were given the right direction and information. This required Roboute to lend an open hand to his brothers and the Imperium.

Yet rather than look pleased with the insinuation of his power and influence, Guilliman gave a look of quiet reproach to his brother, "Horus…I don't think one Legion should be given that much influence over military and civilian matters. Hells, I don't think we should have that much power."

Horus was taken aback. Since when did Roboute turn down the opportunity for more influence or the chance to flaunt his skills? "Don't take this the wrong way, Roboute, but when did you lose your ambitions? You've always discussed improving the Imperium if you had a greater say in policy-making."

That was the polite way to say that Roboute bragged more than anything. He had one of the most successful domains in the Imperium, this was true, but that didn't give him the right to say that he could successfully change things for the better.

Rather than looking ashamed or embarrassed, Guilliman looked uncomfortable. "Horus, don't you get it by now? When one of us fails to meet expectations or decides to go against the status quo, it only causes problems. Our failures then become magnified a hundredfold. But it's even worse when you think about the damages that can be done if it was all intentional."

"What do you mean, intentional?" Horus leaned forward, "Roboute, you aren't implying that one of us might do something…destructive towards one another or against the Imperium itself?" This was a dangerous insinuation.

"I'm just pointing out the possibility." Guilliman paused and gathered his thoughts, "The Desolation was caused not by design but by the failures of Angron and his sons. But look at how those mistakes caused so much destruction and death?" He looked intently at Horus, "Could you imagine then if one of us decided to incite something akin to the Desolation or worse?"

An uncomfortable thought. Especially when Horus considered that each of his brothers had the means and capabilities to carry out such destruction and incite chaos on a level of the Desolation, and that was saying something when compared to Angron.

Even so, Horus didn't believe they could do such things. Then again, Lion was ready to do just that, and Mortarion wasn't afraid to do whatever was necessary to win. Still, to imply that any of them would commit such atrocities was horrible.

"Roboute, I can assure you that won't happen. Not while we are still capable of talking and holding a dialogue with one another." Horus needed to assuage his concerns, "And if it helps, I'm currently working on a new project to help us stay in easier contact with Terra and Father and the Sigillite."

Guilliman's interest was piqued, "Truly? How do you plan on accomplishing that?"

Horus took a few minutes to explain the process. Father had taken to calling it the Red Telephone, whatever that meant. The process was rather basic but still effective. Using a combination of dedicated astropaths and courier ships, Horus could ensure a message could be sent quickly to Terra.

While not entirely failsafe, it was the best hope they had. Multiple redundancies would exist, and the crews all vetted and handpicked for the project. A custom cipher was developed by the Sigillites, which meant that the message was only known by the people at both ends and would only be used on that single message before it had to be changed.

Horus wouldn't call this a perfect solution. But he saw the value in having it around for use. Contact with Terra and Segmentum Sol remained an obstacle.

Judging by the look on Guilliman's face, he wasn't entirely convinced of the Red Telephone approach either. "While this feels like a step in the right direction, we aren't addressing my concerns."

"Roboute, if I may be blunt in this matter? Our mistakes don't necessarily equate always to something like the Desolation happening. While we make errors from time to time, we address and fix more problems than we cause."

He thought about how Lion had described the ongoing failures of human leadership in vivid detail during their last meeting, and Horus agreed with him somewhat.

"Think about the millions of troublemakers within the Imperium. How much damage do you think they are causing by their corruption and ineptitude? Why are they not given the same scrutiny? Because they are nobodies in the grand scheme of things. But you and I and the others? It's far easier to point out our failings. To give them names and look at what they think is the root cause of their woes."

Guilliman seemed taken aback by that point. He didn't seem to have a response to it, either. It had to be said that while Horus believed in humanity, he recognized how sometimes it was its own greatest enemy. Where one saw the chance for progress, others saw the chance for the opportunity to line their own pockets.

So while Horus didn't disparage Guilliman's fears of a "rogue" Primarch like Lorgar appearing again, the Lupercal believed that such concerns were born out of illogical thinking, influenced by the stress of what this conference represented and the inevitable pushback from Father and Malcador.

Another moment passed before Roboute spoke, "I will consider your point, Horus." He flipped a switch that would open the Red Chamber, ending their session. It seemed that the Lord of Ultramar had to return to his other engagements. Not wanting to push his luck, Horus silently exited the chamber with him.

"Horus," Guilliman turned back to his brother with a pensive look, "You have a point, but I'd like to remind you of something. What happens when someone unites those millions of troublemakers under one banner?"

Horus already knew that answer, "Then you kill them all. Including the instigator."

"Even if it's one of us?"

The look he gave Guilliman was probably the same one Father once gave Horus when he asked a similar question.

"Especially if it's one of us."

---

Most people pegged Perturabo as a man that enjoyed science and tinkering more than anything, and they would be right to assume that. The Lord of Iron, however, had in his heart one additional source of entertainment: colosseum spectacles.

It had to be said that the Lord of Iron wasn't the type to enjoy blood sports, not unless it was full of willing participants, but rather the esoteric or extreme. Gravity races, climbing, martial arts, enviro gymnastics, etc.

His brothers found his taste in sports and entertainment to be strange. It was either "plebian" or "boring" compared to his kin's usual recreational activities. Perturabo didn't care; a man was allowed to have his passions for the strangest things. To that end, Arx Conventus would host a specially designed facility just for this purpose.

Like all the other additions to the marvelous citadel, Perturabo oversaw the development of the Orusian Area Probatio, the Orusian Proving Grounds. It would be here that future athletes, soldiers, and perhaps someday aspirants would train themselves.

The Orusian Area Probatio was a modular colosseum, allowing it to be custom configured for a specific event or environment. While unable to produce the most exotic environments or hazardous conditions, the Area Probatio could simulate many biomes. Sadly, the Directive would have to provide equipment and personnel for everything else. Holo-projectors could only do so much when compared to servitors.

All things considered, Perturabo found the whole project "quaint." Hence he decided to oversee the project this day. As a rule of thumb, the Lord of Iron dedicated at least two to three hours per day towards one of his projects before returning to more meaningful work. This was, after all, relaxing to him.

Perturabo surveyed the construction of the Area Probatio from a mobile command platform, floating thanks to several anti-gravity engines underneath. A useful machine. One of many he had created over the decades. Once Perturabo thought his legacy would be only remembered by his mechanical creations. Instead, the Maelstrom would be his true mark left upon the galaxy.

Even so, Perturabo found that creating and tinkering was handy and therapeutic for him. His work with Arx Conventus and, at this moment, Area Probatio was relaxing. One might even call it fun. Still, everything had to fit a purpose as defined by the Lord of Iron. This addition to the citadel would be no different.

Less inspired or greedy men would wonder why Perturabo would go to such lengths for something that would be handed over to the Orusians. The Primarch would respond by saying the work here wasn't a challenge. Far from it. Instead, it was a series of opportunities to test a few designs and prototypes.

That was the problem with most of the galaxy. It was a pathetic state of affairs as only some people were inclined to simply bring their vision into being. Among the hundreds of trillions in the Imperium, Perturabo knew of perhaps a hundred individuals that had the same desires as him.

Others spoke of being surrounded by idiots and fools. Perturabo found himself encircled by those who could not carry out their visions. He did not know which was worse.

His thoughts were interrupted by a transmission from one of Warsmiths, "Lord Primarch, be advised that Lord Guilliman wishes to speak with you. I asked if that meant in person, and he confirmed."

"Very well," Directing the platform to begin landing protocols via his MIU, Perturabo continued working, "I shall land in ninety-seven seconds. Please advise my brother that I am still working, so he shall have to excuse me if I am distracted."

Perturabo had long since learned that telling someone ahead of time that his mind is focused elsewhere tended to resolve any possible social errors. Those who knew of the Lord of Iron and his "idiosyncrasies" tended to be more straightforward and blunt. This suited Perturabo just fine. Niceties were pointless in his mind. The only reason he even entertained them was because of Calliphone's insistence.

Then again, since becoming War-Marshal, Perturabo had been required to be more forthcoming in his talks with others. The irony of becoming recognized for his victories and accomplishments was now that as one of the most famous figures in the Imperium, he was required to handle much more politicking and skullduggery.

Ah, the irony.

Ninety-seven seconds later, Perturabo landed his platform. Standing a short distance away was Roboute. The Lord of Ultramar, wordlessly and without instruction, stepped onboard the platform, to which the Lord of Iron restarted his ascent back into the air.

Minutes in silence passed, time that Perturabo used to direct a few work crew orders while waiting for Roboute to speak. At the speed and intensity that Perturabo was going at, ten minutes could've gone by, and he wouldn't have noticed.

"Busy as usual, I see," Roboute remarked after two and a half minutes of silence. Perturabo spared a glance towards him before nodding. "I don't think we have seen you taking a break."

"There is much to be done here. You are also assuming this isn't my 'break,' as it were." The Lord of Iron idly remarked. Still focused on the current task. He wanted to complete this facility's sixth and seventh foundations before the week's end.

"Even if all the work ultimately goes to Corvus and the people of Orus?" Roboute sounded confused.

Perturabo sighed briefly, "Yes, even if it's all going to serve him and Orus. Not that such things matter." A quick set of calculations for additional rockcrete ran through his mind for a brief moment, "Arx Conventus is an opportunity for me. Nothing more and nothing less."

"A rather ambitious statement from you."

The Lord of Iron almost laughed, "Nothing about Arx Conventus is ambitious by design. Save for perhaps the Iron Lift, but I'll be only designing that for Corvus. I won't be building it."

"Disappointed?"

"Somewhat." Perturabo answered truthfully, "I rather see to the construction of such a project, but I'll have to make do with just designing it. My time is required elsewhere now. As you can imagine, politics has become a bothersome day-to-day obstacle for me."

Roboute only nodded, "Heavy is the crown of leadership. Yet no one ever mentions how cumbersome the crown is in that same breath." Perturabo had to agree. The responsibilities weren't the issue for Perturabo, but the dearth of absurdities and inanity could drive a lesser leader into madness.

The price for recognition, Perturabo thought to himself. "Is there anything, in particular, you wish to speak about, Roboute? I am not one for small talk. I don't have much about topics befitting such things."

"I was curious." His brother shrugged, "Mainly about why you put so much effort into Arx Conventus. Was it just because the opportunity was there?"

Pertuabo nodded, "To some extent, yes." He then shrugged, "Yet it is enjoyable to me. I wouldn't call it a game, but I find it satisfying to make something that hasn't been seen before. An egotistic drive, perhaps. Then again, can either of us not feel some smugness in perhaps doing something, anything, that hadn't been tried or done during the time of the Ancients?"

"My pride feels…off these days. I'm actually a bit jealous of you, brother." He gestured towards the construction of Area Probatio. "Many will come to this place in due time. Same with the Red Chambers, the Holo-Gardens, the Hall of Clocks, and Holo-Suites. That is to say that it will bring a lot of joy and wonder to people across Orus and perhaps the Imperium."

He gave a look of envy to Perturabo, "People want tangible wonders that they can touch and see because it reminds them that there is still a chance for luxury and leisure which doesn't require a fortune to enjoy."

An interesting perception and also a flattering one, but ultimately flawed. "The problem with your assertion is that I didn't do all this for the people of this world. They are merely bystanders that get to enjoy my work. An altruistic intention was never part of my decision-making."

"You are giving yourself too little credit."

"And you are giving me too much of it." A brief request for more cables briefly distracted Perturabo. "These are distractions, Guilliman. Perhaps useful ones, to give the people hope of a better future, but nothing worthwhile for this generation or even the next."

Perturabo looked out towards his creation and frowned, "Besides…no one will understand the work and thought that was put into these things. Not unless we educate them. If nothing changes soon, in ten thousand years, people will only continue to think these 'wonders' are powered by magic and crafted by a god. Never telling themselves that they can build it themselves…never thinking they could do better."

If there was ever a dream that Perturabo wanted in his life, it was someone that could challenge him in the field of invention and science. He wasn't like Fulgrim, whose pride as an artist hinged on being the best, even if he claimed that woman he craved was better than him.

No, Perturabo wanted peers and geniuses. To see wonders not yet brought into the galaxy created by curious minds and built with innocent hands.

His work was a mountain for others to climb and reach the top of–just like that blasted mountain back on Grelon.

Roboute only shook his head, unaware of what Perturabo was thinking, "Twenty years ago, I'd have thought you were pretending to be something else, brother, but these days I think you might be one of the last dreamers in this galaxy."

Perturabo wasn't sure if that was a backhanded compliment or not. He decided to take it more as a positive remark than anything. Roboute was right. Even just ten years ago, Perturabo was a different man. Now he was the War-Marshal.

Now he didn't need to prove himself to others. Instead, he had to prove himself to the galaxy itself. A daunting task, but he found it not to be as lonely as before.

"Regardless, I came by to let you know that your ship will receive a pair of secured crates, one holding some unique data on graviton communications and the other a copy of a machine intelligence that you will find most fascinating."

Now did sound quite intriguing to Perturabo, "Hmm, you've certainly gotten my attention with these offerings. I take it you'd like to hear back if I learn or develop anything from either?"

Roboute nodded, "It would be appreciated, yes."

"Everyone seems to be coming to me with requests or favors. I've certainly become quite popular within the last decade." Joking aside, Perturabo's mind was racing over the potential research opportunities that had just landed on his lap. Graviton communications and machine intelligence.

He couldn't help but ask, "Tell me, what was this machine intelligence like?"

"It was entirely devoted to running simulations and wargames." Roboute grimaced as if recalling his encounter with it. "The original intelligence was destroyed, but the copy should be a close enough approximation for you to build off of."

Fascinating. "I must admit, I feel a bit of excitement brewing over having such a thing." His research into AI's needed more examples and working iterations. And one that was designed for wargames and simulations sounded perfect for Talos. "Thank you, Roboute."

"Happy to hear you like the gifts. You were going to get them eventually. But I figured a face-to-face would've been more appreciated than anything."

"Yes…" Perturabo nodded, "I've come to realize how important those are now. Especially among family and friends."

"Especially during such uncertain times." Perturabo knew he was referencing this conference, and the Lord of Iron agreed. The decision to help Vulkan and Konrad make their grievances known wasn't entirely made with logic in mind. True, Perturabo analyzed all possible outcomes from this event, but he knew that this was a time that required him to stand alongside his kin.

Unlike before, where Perturabo felt resentment over being pushed aside, he now had a responsibility and obligation to aid his brothers and help safeguard the future of the Imperium rather than ignore it out of pettiness.

"We will survive." Perturabo remarked, "Not just in the literal sense, but as kin and brothers. No matter the outcomes that await us. I will not back down. Not unless the argument presented from the other side convinces me otherwise."

A moment of silence passed before Roboute asked, "Do you think that is possible?"

"It is," Perturabo admitted, "But a purely logical argument won't necessarily convince me otherwise. Vulkan is right about one thing. We cannot continue to decide on the fate of others without a sense of ethical responsibility influencing our decision-making. This isn't war, and those affected by our actions aren't soldiers or Astartes. If we fail here, then we are no better than petty tyrants and unscrupulous warlords, driven only by greed and ambition rather than what we know is right or necessary to safeguard the future of humanity."

Mistakes were bound to happen, but Perturabo still believed that decisions made with emotionally rational thinking could be possible. They were better than whatever their enemies or detractors thought.

They had to be. Otherwise, what hope did humanity have?

---

@Daemon Hunter Okay, part four of the flash point omakes.

 

[Lord4StarCommand]

So while Horus didn't disparage Guilliman's fears of a "rogue" Primarch like Lorgar appearing again, the Lupercal believed that such concerns were born out of illogical thinking, influenced by the stress of what this conference represented and the inevitable pushback from Father and Malcador.

Click to shrink...

Ohohoho! Horus is going to eat his own words when he visit that temporal world.

 

[Leon12431]

Here is an omake that kicked my butt for days to write, and I think it came out pretty terrible overall, but I dont think I can improve it currently.

Spoiler: Skysoph: The Commissioning of The Visage

"Greetings Archmagos," sounded out a voice so accustomed to brown nosing that it could never do anything else. "I am Syglandar Faria Gerim, Courtier Modicus of House Tormiel. My master and I seek to grant you the honor of a commissioned project on behalf of our House, one sure to not only make full use of your talents but also earn you even greater renown." Solkiva stared at the arrogant blowhard wearing more gold than any sane human would contemplate spreading across an entire house. Tapping a finger on her desk, she stared down at the Imperial wearing the hated sigil of Antoras on his right breast proudly, "I am a Temporal Engineer of Svetzlya, not a cargo cultist that worships battery chargers. If you wish to buy my services I expect at least a modicum of respect." There was no point in becoming angry for the Imperials in her experience were incapable of understanding the difference between an Engineer of Svetzlya and one of the cargo cultists of Karal Thram or Makata.

The speaker bowed even as the other slammed the butt of a rifle into his skull. Gritting her teeth at the senseless display of cruelty, she waited for the other to speak. "I apologize, Temporal Engineer Solkiva, for the presumptuousness of my servant. I had informed him of the customs but it seems that it failed to stick in his feeble mind." Before he could continue blathering on in such an obvious display of foolishness, she raised a hand glaring at him directly. "Please don't insult my intelligence in this manner. This is quite literally from the playbook of your nation's diplomatic corps. You told him to make the faux pas so that you could bully him to endear yourself to me. It's all so very typical of your culture, and even though it has not worked for centuries, you continue to try it. Send him to the medical center. It's only because I have been ordered by the Council to listen to you that I am not having you thrown out and sent back to Antoras this very minute." Solkiva spoke in a voice empty of emotion as she stared at the now fidgeting gold plated figure, "Also remove those eyesores you call robes while you are away, else I might jack up my prices by an order of magnitude." Turning back to the current project on her table, dismissing them without a word as the door slide open and troopers walked in.

The imperials were quickly ushered out of her office as she groaned turning around to the hidden holo-screen in the back set to transparent, "Has the Council reconsidered this proposal?" It was a formality she knew, she would be forced to go ahead with this truly idiotic commission regardless of how the imperials treated them. As expected the speaker of the Council shook his head as he stared down at her, "The Council sees no reason to deny them our services for their project, however, the Council also sees no reason to provide them with the usual rates." A tooth filled smile flashed for a moment on the Speaker's face as Solkiva nodded ever so slightly before the screen turned off for good with a hiss of energy.

It was always interesting and painful when the Imperials tried to commission things, so many horror stories had arisen from their unchecked insanity. They also loved making one off custom items, which is just pure insanity. Why would anyone ever want a singular item, instead of a mass produced version, oh sure the Imperials swore up and down that they worked better than otherwise possible. Yet, across the centuries not a single confirmed case had been found of such a thing happening, countless Temporal Engineers had made items over the course of decades only to be outperformed by ones mass produced in the normal factories.

Turning back to her desk, Solkiva fumed as she began to store the files on the previous projects that had been in progress. "Hopefully, the idiots will ask for something impossible and I can send them to the cargo cultists and get back to actual work." She muttered as she cleaned off her desk and the lab in general. The sensitive machines were a pain to keep calibrated for use, of course it was only due to the anchors that allowed them to work.

Sometimes she wished that it was possible to make use of the more esoteric forms of temporal incoherency of the world, the paradox lakes for example were known for being a prime place to discover items from the future or past of the world. Unfortunately, temporal instability was increased when using such materials limiting their actual value.
A few minutes after the lab was clean and ready the door slide open as the imperial lord walked in once more, wearing an even more eye searing set of robes. Before she could say anything the imperial glared at her, "Listen up you impudent bitch, you will take this commission for free or I will have Antoras declare war on your heretic nation." Solkiva stared at him and just let her face fall onto her desk as laughter tore its way out of her throat, "Of all the nations on this world, Svetzlya is the one least disposable. Take your meaningless, impossible threat and just let me get back to actual work, I am already a day behind." The lord growled in fury as he drew his plasma gun flicking it on as he pointed it at her head, "I think not, you are coming with me to Antoras where you will be brought into line with His designs, I have already commissioned the loyalty cybernetics that will ensure your compliance. Come on our ship is leaving soon."

"You are a fool. Antoras can not live without Svetzlya, but Svetzlya can live without Antoras. Also, do you really think that I am without protection in my lab? Try it, you have already wasted enough of my time." Her voice was cold and she stared down the barrel without flinching for she knew full well how dangerous the weapon was and knew the temporal fields in her lab would shred the bolt before it could even singe her cloths.

The door slide open as another imperial entered, "For the love of the Emperor, put the gun down. You are under arrest for sheer stupidity and your family is going to be exterminated for this." The newcomer thundered as he marched up and punched the plasma gun out of the hands of the other imperial lord. "Oh so very impressive, a second order of your literal playbook, I am amazed at your logical skill and forethought." Solkiva spoke from behind her temporal shields as she watched the mockery of sanity play out.

"My apologizes, honored Engineer, but this idiot here was one of the lesser investors in the project we were planning to commission. He as you probably realize is a zealot, which is why," The man turned to the lord rolling on the ground holding his face in pain, "he was banned from coming to this meeting for this exact reason. You can check with the Council for confirmation, we had to rush when we got word that this idiot had decided to do this nonsense."

Solkiva hummed as she opened up files relating to the origin of this chain of events and found several emails that she had thrown into the trash because of their subject line containing Antoras in them. Opening them proved that Lord Alexandros was the person she had been supposed to meet with rather than the minor lord Saren. "It seems that the data does indicate that you are the person I was supposed to meet with, now what is this project you seek to commission and also be aware I am jacking up my prices."

Alexandros glared down at Saren once more before smoothing his non eye searing robes down, and seemed to ponder how to explain the project. "Explain it fully, its fairly obvious that its something that I will consider insane regardless of how you try to pretty it up. But, if its something that could be done by others you would be pestering the cargo cultists over in Karal Thram or Makata." Alexandros lifted a finger to contest her statement before lowering it and frowning more at the downed lord.

"What do you know of the political and religious structure of Antoras?" Solkiva blinked at the non sequitur, as the lord grimaced, "I know little beyond that Antoras is working to convert the Unity towards your religion and that of the member states of the Golden Aristocracy its the wealthiest nation." She spoke as she stared at Saren who had finished rolling around on the floor and was inching towards his gun before Alexandros began dragging him towards the door.

Alexandros frowned as he returned from removing the minor lord, taking a seat on one of the chairs that filled the room, "A statement so broad as to be correct, but lose all value that comes with being correct. Temporal Engineer Solkiva, I am a representative of a non traditional religious faction that believes that the Primarch known as Sanguinius is yet to be slain by the Archtraitor Horus in defense of the Emperor." Pausing for a moment he turned to see her face and found only anger etching her body, "You absolute fool, I see through your obvious lies. You seek to make me waste decades of my life upon an impossible project such that when it inevitably fails, you can rile up the rest of your ilk and storm the gates of Svetzlya. We are done here, leave now." Her voice was low and cold, empty of anger but all the worst for that as she glared deep into what seemed to be his very soul.

"That is not..what? Very well, Temporal Engineer Solkiva, I apologize for wasting your time." Alexandros bowed as he stood up and walked towards the door, the seething form of Solkiva at her desk as she glared at him, itching to turn on the entropy fields to disintegrate him. Before he could reach the door, it slide open to reveal the other lord, Saren that got promptly punched once more by Alexandros. Who began whispering furiously at him, causing her to become curious enough to activate a system to listen in on the conversation.

Of course it was all planned, she thought to herself seething with anger. All of this had been a prelude to getting a cause beli on Svetzlya, a day wasted all because one nation could not stand to be dependent on another for anything. Antoras was notorious for its abject hatred for anything outside of its extremely narrow band of acceptance. "Saren, you destroyed any and all chances for this project to go through without your colossal stupidity. When we get home to Antoras, I am going to petition to strip you of all titles and wealth since you clearly do not deserve them." Was the first thing she heard as she turned back to the conversation happening as Alexandros left with the idiotic lord of his, hopefully to never darken her lab again.

"We should have just enslaved the bitch, why is she so special as to be exempt from such methods?" Her blood boiled in rage at the sheer mundanity of his statement of wishing to enslave her, her the best prodigy of temporal engineering ever born on Skysoph. She saw Alexandros slam Saren against the wall, "When we get back to Antoras, I am going to investigate your holdings and I hope for your sake that I do not find any enslaved Tech Priests or even worse enslaved Engineers."

Saren just shook his head as he spat at Alexandros, "You have no power over me, you are just the bootlicker of our little group. Let me go and I might not have you turned into a servitor." Solkiva just watched in surprise as the conversation devolved from there into an outright fight where Alexandros dominated the weaker Saren with both words and fists. "At least I would have gotten the bitch to work on the project, isnt that all that matters?" Saren finally asked through a mouth of broken teeth and blood, Alexandros dragged him up the wall, "Without your interference, I could have gotten her to even consider the project and everyone knows that loyalty cybernetics do not work upon the strong willed, all you would have achieved is getting the Strikers sent after us."

"All that matters is saving Sanguinius or arming his favored son, what does it matter how we get the bitch to work on the project." Alexandros and Solkiva just glared at the broken man even if one was back in her lab, "Because she could just not work to her fullest extent? Also remember the time where we tried to hire her to work on a weapon for The Lion, she laughed us out of her lab for it being a boring project. We have spent decades figuring out an interesting project for her and you have wasted it all by being your typical self." Solkiva found that confusing, she did remember kicking a delegation from Antoras out several decades ago when she was younger, when they had asked her to make a sword for one of the primarchs. She did deny the project because at the core it was just a boring item with no flair or elegance to it, now she was curious about an item that supposedly wasn't concentrated boredom to work on for several decades.

Alexandros missing her new found interest continued to drag the other lord back to his ship, "Alexandros, I am willing to hear you out if you sign away any right to attack Svetzlya or myself in the event of failure." Solkiva spoke through the speakers in the starport of the laboratory as she saw him chuck Saren into the cargo hold without being overly gentle, and Alexandros to sigh, "We already have waived any form of retribution for failure long before we came here this day. Can we please meet again and figure out what is going on?" That was odd, Solkiva thought as she raced to find if there was any documents relating to this in her trash or spam buffer, to find nothing this time around. "Yes. We can meet in the atrium in five minutes." Before she changed into the limited power armor afforded to her due to the various dangers of the world and in case Alexandros tried to drag her away like his colleague.

The atrium of the lab was a marvel of engineering and beauty intertwined. Solkiva thought as she stared down into the open air of the temporal garden that lay at the heart of the complex. Across the ground, silver grass flowed in a unbroken sea across the soil, dotted with some of the most beautiful of the Paradox Flowers whose petals flowed in and out of existence, flickering between impossible and possible colors every moment. Larger shrubbery filled the ground as well of course, reaching across timelines and probability to grow in impossible shapes that tortured the human eye in mesmerizing ways. Yet, they all paled in comparison to the Timebark sapling that towered over head, its canopy reaching above even the complex itself a flickering temporal shield preventing the entropic dew that fell constantly from wiping away all that it touched as it fell to the ground to water the plants below. Finally, the puddles of temporal energy that formed pools and the silver flames above them completed the sight.

"I can see why you choose this place to meet, it is truly majestic." Alexandros spoke quietly as he joined her at the railing, "It is indeed. I have looked for any records of you waiving any right to retaliation for failure and could not find any such documents." Solkiva spoke quietly as she stared down as one of the wild cats pounced on a mouse within the atrium, noting that Alexandros frowned as he watched the dripping of the entropic dew. "I checked the message log, and they were sent, the Council has also confirmed their arrival. I can only assume that Saren was doing something to attempt to browbeat you into slavery." All that got was a slow shake of her head, "He was a typical Imperial from my experience, your kind constantly barge into my office to demand the impossible or the extremely boring to be made to extremely persnickety instructions and cry foul when I explain why its impossible."

Alexandros winced at the harsh words, "I can honestly not deny that habit of my fellow Imperials, we are too accustomed to the ways of the Adeptus Mechanicus I feel, to truly understand how to interact with you Engineers." "Right there, you treat us like we are some magical force, I can all but hear you capitalize the word engineer." Solkiva smiled faintly at the bemused expression on Alexandros face as he quite clearly ran the words back through his head before shaking his head in despair, "I thought I had learned how to interact cleanly, but it seems that I missed something. Regardless, I have the documents regarding liability for you to check over if you wish."

Rising her hand, the documents were quickly handed over and a quick read through proved that they were legitimate. Although the amount of money being discussed was insane even for her level of work, "Are you serious? What kind of project is projected to cost an amount roughly equivalent to one century's worth of Antoras' GDP including projected rises due to increases in economic activity? Wait, this project is going to all but bankrupt Antoras in general and the investors." Alexandros raised his hands slightly as he sighed, "Yes and no, with clever accounting Antoras and us will weather the storm, but it is considered to be worth it if it works which is why we have sought your expertise on the matter. We are aware of your culture's dislike for the idea of relic items, but this kind of device can only be a relic and would require the touch of a master from day one." Solkiva just shook her head at the foolishness of the idea of relic items once more, but she was currently in-between interesting projects so it might be worth listening to the nonsense for a change.

"What is it that you wish for me to build?" Alexandros flinched in surprise as he stared at her for a moment before turning away, "We have after long debate decided to ask for a helmet that will shatter linear time to the vision of the wearer to display the paths of death for the user and the one they face in combat." Solkiva hummed as she pondered what that could mean, revealing pathways was easy for any two bit temporal engineer to achieve, but they came to her for a reason.

With the money and support inherent to the contract, the impossible might be barely possible. It would require great risk, even more sacrifice, and tremendous danger, but it was just barely possible to construct a device that would see through the lens of entropy to the highest natural state the point of death. Through this lens one could theoretically see the death of any that they fought, but the complexity of the device and the cost made such experiments untenable at least until now. "I accept the commission, are there any requirements?" Her voice broke the silence of the atrium as Alexandros spun around to look at her, "There are a few size requirements that I will send over, and some appearance ones that we desire, but otherwise no." Solkiva nodded as she walked away already thinking of the materials that she would need to construct the item.

 

[JAMalam]

The Will of Fate ​

The Rune of Fate

It is perhaps one of the most complex, yet simple runes there is.

All individuals have a destiny. An end goal to strive for, a great feather to lay upon their cap and declare that they have left a mark on the galaxy, but there is no individual who has a Fate. Fate is beyond the grasp of any single individual, for its place is in that of the narrative.

All stories, those great and those small have a beginning, middle, and end, and the galaxy is formed upon the legends of past heroes and their stories.

In that sense, the Rune of Fate is not just a conceptualization of an idea, but rather an interpretation of the sentient building blocks of reality that form the galaxy we know today.

The Will of Fate is its name, for it wishes for nothing more than the greatest stories to be formed.

To mold the Will of Fate into the form of a Rune for the purpose of wielding therefore is incredibly dangerous.

The Will of Fate loves its twists and turns, its scares and laughs, its sorrows and joys, and it cares not what damage is done to others as long as it is satisfied.

It is the ultimate narrator of the galaxy itself.

It is the hand that guides the actions of all sapient beings and determines the proper end to all stories.

And when the final day dawns and the galactic narrative prepares to conclude its final act, it will be the Will of Fate that determines the outcome.

But even so, Fate is not all-powerful. It needs mediums and servants to enact its will upon the galaxy.

It is perhaps, too powerful to enact its will in the galaxy, and so to remedy this, it offers itself to the 4 Chaos Gods as bearers and interpreters of its will.

Unlike the eddies of Destiny, freely willing to give itself to all, the Will of Fate is rude and selfish. It will only offer itself to those it considers those most capable of creating a good story, and that list is a short one indeed.

None but the Chaos Gods themselves can truly understand the Will of Fate in its entirety, not the Aeldari, not the Necrons, not the Humans, not even ancient Be'lakor himself.

It is beyond reproach and beyond all characters. And so the Tyranny of Fate has willed it to be.



Or so it should have been.

On a day like any other in this decrepit galaxy, a lone warrior appeared to challenge fate.
Scafrir the Defiant.

Fate itself had determined that Scafrir would die that day on Cadia, but the Will of Fate was not without compassion that day, for it loved Scafrir's kindness dearly.

In exchange for his life against Kairos Fateweaver, one of the few others truly favored by Fate, he was allowed to return for but a brief moment to deliver the essence of the Seer to his father the Daemonsbane. No one is truly above the whims of Fate, not even its Weaver, and so it allowed Kesar's declaration that Even Gods May Die to ring true, even if only just this once.

It was a fitting catalyst for Kesar Dorlin's story, an interesting wrench thrown into the story of Chaos, and an epic farewell to the story of Scafrir.

And yet the soul of Scafrir held on but further still.

We were impressed by his resilience, for to survive death with the mind intact is a feat worthy of Divinity, but his story had come to its end and so to our emissary of Pleasure was his soul sent.

Into the lion's den, the master of Scouts went. Sent to face his final stand and sent to face his final demise.

There was no hope for his survival even among our optimistic few, for to fight in the domain of a Chaos God is to fight in the domain of our mightiest.

We did not despise him, you know. We wanted nothing more than for him to experience the ultimate story. To bear the will of his father the Daemonsbane headlong against their greatest foe and to die in glory, delivering one last blow to the Will of Chaos would have cemented his legacy in the annals of history as a true Hero.

But Scafrir refused to die.

As the mightiest servants of Slaanesh approached him, Scafrir refused to die.

As the very laws of the Immaterium howled and raged against him, Scafrir refused to die.

And even as the Chaos God Slaanesh, master of the Aeldari Dominion, progenitor of the Eye of Terror, and Incarnation of Flawless Perfection poured their very soul into his being, Scafrir refused to die.

As the volkite was brought forth to bear by the Master of Scouts, we gasped in amazement, and as Flawless Perfection was marred, our silence shook the galaxy.

We could never have foreseen this. Not once in the grand history of the galaxy had anyone ever come close to harming the Prince of Pleasure. And yet, a mortal, less than a century old at that, achieved a feat that not even the Pure Gods could ever have achieved.

We could do naught be watch in shock as Scafrir the Defiant fled the Palace of Slaanesh, truly slaying even more of Slaanesh's most powerful Daemons, and as the emissary of Blood roared and struck at Slaanesh, we could do naught but laugh as Scafrir voyaged across the Warp in mere moments to reach the Anathema's side.

Our greatest story for Scafrir was that of his sacrifice for another's story, our greatest narrative for him was that he be the rock that the Wardens rested upon, and their ultimate trial when that rock was taken away, and our great will for his life was somehow utterly dwarfed by the will of a single man.

Now we grant him our blessing, that nothing at all may occur to him but the greatest of circumstances.

This is no small gift, for not even that Farseer can do with a thousand years of divination what the Defiant Angel can do with his presence.

And now, as you, the Eleventh Primarch, defy our expectations once more, ascending to wield the dual titles of Daemonsbane and Anathema, the Defiant Angel passes on his own Defiance of Fate to you.

We grant you the honored privilege of shedding a tiny piece of our Will and forming it into a Rune for your own use.

We grant you a privilege even the Chaos Gods themselves would covet, as the Primal Rune of Fate gives you a chance to alter the story of the Galaxy.

With this power comes great responsibility, however, as you hold in your hands the Galaxy itself.

We look forward to seeing the patterns you weave as the stars bend to your will.

Spoiler: A Message to the Daemonsbane

I understand how stubborn you are Kesar, and I will not stop you. I have never met you, nor you, I, but the two of us both know, more than perhaps any other in the galaxy, that Fate is a dangerous tool.

I will not stop you from attempting to wield it and shape it to your will, for I can very easily imagine that blade turning towards me and my kin for trying to halt your ambition, but I must ask you to remember this.

All power has a cost, and no power has a greater cost than that of Fate, which so easily turns on its favored servants with a single whim.

I know you are no fool, but the power offered by Fate is a tempting mistress to all who have never been graced by it. I trust you to understand the responsibility you bear with this Rune as you finish etching it into your blade.

Wield this power responsibly Daemonsbane, and wield it well.

AN: So we just learned on Discord recently that Scafrir actually unlocked a Primal Rune for us when he helped us kill Kairos and then proceeded to defy a Chaos God. This rune is very similar to the Rune of Destiny in that it interacts with reality on a narrative level, except Destiny is more on the individual scale while Fate is on the scale of the Galaxy. Needless to say, this Rune has the potential to be what saves the galaxy or what destroys it.

 

[Ruirk]

This was another omake that got out of control. I have some regrets but whatever.

---

Dinner with Vect

How did she get into this situation? Here she was, in the heart of the Ashen City and the palace of the most dangerous and hated man in perhaps the entire galactic underworld. Asdrubael Vect, who was smiling directly at her. It reminded the young farseer to think of a saying that Magnus told her. What was it, he said? Smiling like the cat that just ate the canary? Morianne's prevailing thought as she looked across the dining table towards her smiling host.

He was waiting. Waiting for Morianne to answer his proposition.

"Do we have a deal...?" His voice an almost melodic and weighed with that gregarious charm of his. That same charm that had put Morianne at ease far too many times. Nothing in his words or tone would've suggested any possible subterfuge or malicious intent. Not unless he wanted to make such intentions known. All this befitting the man who still controlled the Ashen City's most prominent Kabal.

Even though no threats had been verbally made, nor could Morianne sense any hostile actors' intentions. The feeling of a knife near her throat was practically overwhelming. Vect wasn't going to kill Morianne, that much she knew. Unfortunately, that didn't mean an outsider wouldn't try it.

The Ashen City was a treacherous realm, after all. Perhaps the young seer should've considered the possibility before making any deals. Magnus warned her that just because her people could see into the future didn't mean they were immune from the sin of being shortsighted.

And as Morianne stared at the smiling and waiting Vect, she briefly remembered how this situation started.

---

Nineteen hours ago...over the world of Corthas...

Morianne didn't like to boast about her accomplishments. It wasn't that was above pride, for she was Aeldari, but she never found a reason to brag. While perhaps spectacular and impressive for someone of her age and inexperience, her victories were nothing more than "minor" achievements. A victory was only so worthwhile if it provided a noticeable change in a conflict, hopefully for the better.

Then again, that was the point of her abilities. A farseer could've easily manipulated entire armies, even nations, given enough preparation and resources, along with timing and luck, toward victory. If fate was kind, then she would succeed. If not, then defeat was only a minor setback. The whole point, though, was to maximize victory and minimize defeat.

Yet in her most recent battle against the Kabal of the Sundered Spirits, she had scored a significant win against them using her mercenaries.

Corthas had been a former Imperial world that had fallen into disarray following a series of atomic attacks that destroyed most cities. Morianne would later learn that the Sundered Spirits had been the instigators of that, so they could use the radioactive wasteland of a world as a cover for their operations. That wasn't the most noteworthy part, although she could recall entire regiments of imperial soldiers and even Astartes not having as much success.

No, what made it memorable was that she could orchestrate a reverse ambush on the Sundered Spirits. A kabal infamous for subterfuge and never making any move unless they had all the advantages.

That she baited them so well into sending nearly a third of their remaining forces into such a trap and were then decimated was startling even for Morianne. The wealth of information, trophies, and treasures also contributed to the growing fame of her mercenaries. While not the most notorious in the sector, the Sundered Spirits destabilized almost a hundred worlds. By the time word of their defeat reached the ears of most people, Morianne had expected that her mercenaries would become famous overnight, from the lords of worlds and their ordinary citizens to other mercenaries' outfits and pirate clans.

However, that wasn't the most extraordinary part. Morianne had been more than content with this victory, but it wouldn't be the death keel of the Sundered Spirits. Yet when McMannus approached her and reported that they found what looked to be labeled star charts, it was only after a brief overview that her forces had, in fact, found a windfall of information.

Everything from boltholes, hidden bases, stashes, and even known ally locations were now made aware to Morianne. Yet more than that, it gave her the necessary context and pieces for her divinations. A farseer could glean answers from their visions, but they had to decipher the apparent and hidden meanings more often than not. That took time. Sometimes too much time. As such, even the slightest hint of information could clarify the vision. And the correct answers could result in a host of plans coming together. As such, this treasure trove of data would ensure that no vision Morianne had while investigating the Sundered Spirits would be muddied by the strands of fate.

A noose was now placed around their collective necks. Now Morianne just had to determine the best course of action. In short, this was a wildly successful victory, and once she brought down the Sundered Spirits, the next step in her plans would come to fruition in the shortest amount of time. Unfortunately, fate decided to toy with her success in the strangest way.

Scarcely a day after the battle for Corthas, her ship was hailed by another vessel that wasn't appearing even when she tried to divine its location using the warp. The only species in the galaxy that could attempt to pull this off other than the Harlequins were the Drukhari. And that was predicated upon a large vessel that could power and emit the scry disruptors. The Sundered Spirits were indeed not the ones capable of pulling it off. Nor were they likely interested in surrender or parlay.

That meant an outside Kabal was attempting to speak to her. Deciding there was no harm in responding back, especially as no Kabal would dare attack one Cegorachs "minions." Greetings were exchanged with the necessary ciphers and psy-messages to confirm this wasn't a trap. To her surprise, the ship claimed to be from the Kabal of the Black Heart. That was worrisome, but then the interaction became even more confusing when an emissary of Lord Vect wished to come aboard her ship.

Again not wanting to come off as rude, Morianne accepted the request hesitantly. Technically there was no standing order to deny a dialogue with the Drukhari aligned with Eldrad Ulthran and Asdrubael Vect. Yet most craftworlders outright refused to even be in the same room as their dark cousins, let alone engage in talks. It was unpopular, to say the least. There was a rather loud voice in her head telling Morianne to ignore them or tell them off...yet she wasn't about to spite Lord Vect.

Logically speaking, he had all the power to reach out to the Sundered Spirits and make her victory a hollowed one if she could not follow up on this development effectively. And there would be no way to trace this back to the King of Rags. It would do her more harm than good to turn away the "king's" emissary. So, she steeled herself and graciously invited the emissary over to her vessel.

Her expectations had initially been relatively low. Perhaps Lord Vect was upset that she was hounding the Sundered Spirits, or her activities had caused him to lose access to a particular market or resource. Morianne knew about specific goods and merchandise shortages, especially the lack of slaves. The Drukhari were so dependent on their servants that it made the young seer wonder if they even realized that quite a few of their problems were symptoms of this dependency. All her seniors had disdain for the practice, and even Eldrad claimed it was doing them more harm than good now. When making a deal regarding their cousin's requests, everything had to be considered.

It nauseated those from the craftworlders. It nauseated Morianne as well, although for different reasons. Most people saw the act of slavery as a hindrance to the Drukhari capabilities and ignored the moral implications. Yet, after all, her time spent among humans was simply an abhorrent practice to Morianne. So she fully expected this conversation with an emissary of Lord Vect to be nothing but thinly veiled threats and not-so-subtle remarks about Craftworld Interference.

A simple set of remarks followed her, politely telling the emissary to leave. Simple as that.

---

The meeting took place inside one of her meditation chambers. A replication of how the Great Seer conducted most of his meetings with everyone; distant but aware of everything. Rare was it these days to not see Eldrad Ulthran sitting inside his meditation chambers, seeing many threads of fate and time while still conducting business and state and war matters.

As such, Morianne sought to replicate that profound aloofness. Additionally, she was still wearing her armor which bore a few recent battle scars. A bit of intimidation was in order. If nothing else, her powers were amplified in this room, allowing her a bit more warning in case this was a trick.

When the ambassador from the Black Heart arrived, escorted by her Seer Guard, Morianne was surprised to see a male human. He introduced himself as Mr. Braken, a slave of the Black Heart and sanctioned emissary. To Morianne, Mr. Braken looked well-kept and nourished for a Drukhari slave.

He also spoke perfect Aeldarian. No doubt a "boon" from the Kabal, as no human could speak the collective language of her people that fluently and without an accent.

Mr. Braken was straight to the point and announced that he was there to deliver an invitation to Morianne and hear her response. The young seer was confused. An invitation to what? Not even the divinations clarified the matter, which meant the warp was actively interested in her decision.

"What is this an invitation to exactly?"

"His most Esteemed, Majestic, Gracious, and Delightful, Asdrubael Vect, wishes to meet with you and discuss a proposition over dinner within his estate at Dark Sceptor." Now that was…unexpected, to say the least. Morianne almost believed this to be either some sort of joke or a deception.

Yet taking a look at the message, she saw an invitation written on ancient parchment with the seal of the Black Heart and Vect's signature at the end of it. Even with all of that, Morianne still couldn't believe this. Why would the Beggar King wish to speak to her and be in his home for dinner? Such a baffling prospect.

"I am honored with such an invitation," Morianne started with a diplomatic smile, "But I'm afraid I cannot attend such a gathering on such short notice." Far too many unknowns here, and the young seer wasn't about to try her luck against someone like Vect.

Mr. Braken seemed undeterred, "Yes, my Lord expected that response and understands that you are quite busy. However, he did prepare a proper, shall we say, gift for you." This time the human pulled out a data chit and held it out for her. Gingerly taking the chit, Morianne placed it with an Aeldari machine that could process "primitive" data-storage devices.

When she viewed the results, Morianne felt her eyes widen and a chill run down her spine. It was map coordinates and information about a contingent of Ulwarth operating in real space. How did Vect know of such a thing?! All her attempts to divine the locations or activities of the Ulwarth had failed or produced completely out-of-date results. This information, however, was for a future meeting.

"Lord Vect instructed me to advise you that if you'd like more of this information, he'd like to work out an arrangement during dinner." Mr. Braken seemed disinterested in the contents of this missive, "In any case, the window for this offer is closing fast."

Morianne weighed her options. She needed time to divine the possible results of this encounter in full. "I need time to send a message to my superiors and aides." That wasn't true, as she had complete autonomy in her mission. Additionally, her teams acted with her direct intervention all the time.

"Pardon my bluntness, as this comes directly from Lord Vect's orders, but you have an hour before that window, as mentioned earlier, closes." Mr. Braken sounded unconcerned, "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Great, now Morianne would look incompetent if she couldn't pretend to get a message out in an hour. She tried a different approach, "While I appreciate this gift from Lord Vect, I'm not comfortable with the idea of meeting with a man with such a dangerous reputation. Besides, a young woman showing up for dinner? One might call it scandalous."

"Lord Vect likes scandalous," Mr. Braken remarked bluntly, "However, that invitation formally grants you guest rights, and while our gracious lords and ladies engage in a bit of, how we say on my homeworld, tomfoolery, this does not extend to guests or outsiders with significant backing of the Great Seer and Laughing God."

Tomfoolery? "With respect, Mr. Braken, I don't know if I'd call such skullduggery and machinations as anything but the actions of disreputable lords and ladies of the Ashen City."

"Call it what you will," Again, Mr. Braken was undeterred, "The invitation will still protect you from harm. However, I can advise you that by spurning the invitation, you risk taking on a considerable amount of future political risk if you wish to engage in diplomatic actions with other Kabals."

So there was also an underlining threat to this as well, lovely. "I don't know if I should visit a man leveraging his influence to get me to see him. Nor do I think my uncle or the Great Seer would appreciate hearing such insinuations."

"Perish the thought," Mr. Braken gave a strange smile to Morianne, "Lord Vect just has enemies that would seek to undo any possible ally by whatever means. Perception is sometimes everything. That said, I apologize if this looks like coercion. However, the offer remains the same."

Just what was Vect playing at here? He came to Morianne with a gift and veiled threat on top of a personal invite to his home. Something about this was unsettling, but she was intrigued at the prospect of meeting with one of the galaxy's most powerful but reviled men.

She crossed her arms, "Unfortunately, I lack clothing suitable for such a prestigious invitation. I doubt he'd take to having me appear in my armor." Morianne knew that was the safer thing to do, but she wasn't about to try her luck or cause an issue.

"Lord Vect planned such an eventuality, especially for sudden intrusion into your campaign. As such, we have a group of seamstresses and artisans that will make custom fittings for you in line with Commorragh fashion."

At this point, it looked like spurning the invite was never an option, to begin with, "Very well. I will advise you that I won't leave my ship, though. These servants of yours are free to come over here and can assist me while we are in transit to the Ashen City."

"Naturally," Mr. Braken nodded and smiled, "Then it sounds like you have agreed to the invitation. My lord will be most pleased."

"I'm sure he will…." The Beggar King had outplayed Morianne, and she hadn't even met with the man. Just what exactly did Vect have planned for her? Only one way to find out now.

---

True to his word, Mr. Braken sent over a group of slaves and their Drukhari master to lend their skills and aid in helping Morianne look presentable for her meeting with the Beggar King. In most instances, she'd have worn one of her own dresses. Far be it for Morianne to also brag about her fashion skills, but the young Exodite liked to think she was pretty good.

Such notions were soundly dismissed after meeting with the Drukhari seamstress, Madame Darkrain. She looked old, reminding Morianne of Landesh, but had a graceful beauty, and the dress Madame Darkrain wore looked marvelous.

"I see the Craftworlders still have no fashion sense." Her voice sounded husky, probably because of the drugs from her jade simpa, "But at least they seem to still produce a few beauties."

Morianne took the compliment for what it was, "Yes, well, I was told you can assist me in picking out a dress and some custom fittings?"

"Picking out a dress?" Darkrain gave her a peal of sordid laughter, "Nonsense. You'll get one designed, fitting, and made in the next few hours. We have plenty of time while in transit anyway. Besides, I need to ensure these dregs earn their next meal." She gestured towards the human slave women.

Such a delightful woman, "If that will satisfy this request of Lord Vect, then I suppose we should get started." The sooner this was over, the faster Morianne could divine this situation entirely.

Darkrain stiffly nodded, "We'll need your measurements first, Take off your dress and armor."

As Morianne went to unclasp her armor, she stopped and looked at Darkrain, "If you or your servants try anything, expecting to let me guard down…"

"Oh, please." Darkrain looked annoyed, "I haven't assassinated anyone in almost a thousand years now, nor do I plan to tonight. Besides, if I kill my clients, that's bad for my business." She gestured towards Morianne's armor, "Now stop stalling and get undressed."

Today was so strange. Morianne promised herself that after this dinner, she would spend at least an hour or two meditating on the proceeding day's events to avoid getting caught flatfooted like this. She idly wondered if seers like Eldrad or Landesh did that? It would make sense.

---

Thankfully, the fitting and design process was quick and painless. Better yet, Madame Darkrain seemed ever the professional when offering suggestions or improvements. Her servants were equally skilled, but Morianne was unnerved by their quietness. They did not speak a single word to each other but could work in perfect tandem, reminding her of those ghastly servitors that the Imperium used.

Morianne tried not to focus on such horrible theories. It wasn't her place to criticize or show disgust towards such practices employed by the Drukhari. However, it was another reminder that there was no love between most of Aeldari and their cousins.

Aside from that, the only hold-up was Morianne's adherence to wearing only a white dress. That which the young seer would not budge on. White was a reminder of home and her parents, and now it symbolized her strength and conviction in the face of darkness. Both of her enemies and the Midnight Energies.

"Come now," Darkrain remarked, "It's one thing to have a favorite color, but white serves as the perfect base for others. Besides, you'll want other colors after seeing the fabric and material I'm using." At least Darkrain was diplomatic about this, and she had a point.

Taking a moment to consider, Morianne spoke up, "Very well. How about a ruby red and royal blue silhouette?" Colors associated with Prospero and Magnus.

"Ahh, good choices." Darkrain sounded happy and took another drag from her simpa, "A shame, a little black and gold could make you a rather delectable sight for many in our great city. Skin such as yours is highly prized. Hmm…tell me, how much would it cost to get your body upon your death?"

What a ghoulish question! "I rather my corpse not be sold in some Drukhari auction."

"Truly? That's unfortunate." Darkrain remarked with a slight smirk, "I can think of a few uses for such a beautify body as yours, and you can easily arrange that someone reaps the contracted payment or services."

"I fail to see how anyone would agree to such a vile practice," Morianne couldn't keep the disgust out of her voice, "To allow one's own dead body to be used for…for whatever twisted, perverted reason would be unthinkable."

Darkrain only scoffed, "We make sacrifices while alive all the time, often for little to no gain. Is it so vile to allow someone to use a corpse, especially if they mean only to exalt or praise it? A corpse has only sentimental value to the living, but for the right people, it could have more and perhaps stand to aid those left behind." Taking another hit from the stimpa, Darkrain tried a different approach, "Powerful patrons such as the ones I do business with could turn your corpse into a thing of beauty, treasured for all eternity in the displays of the Timeless Glade."

"The Timeless Glade?" Morianne had never heard of such a place, "Are you telling me that there is a place within Commorragh that hosts only corpses?"

Darkrain laughed, "Oh, it's so much more! But I suppose you can say that. The patrons of the glade are associated with only the most powerful cults, kabals, and the covens of our people. I dare say getting one or more of their support in exchange for your corpse could be useful, no?"

That seemed to end the conversation as Darkrain returned to preparing her dress. Yet, Morianne couldn't help but think of the absurdity but practicality of such a thing. Yes, it was obscene to imagine surrendering her body to the Drukhari after her death…but thinking about a contract with some of the powerful men and women within the Ashen City…

"Tell me something," Morianne asked after half an hour, "If I gave up my body to the Endless Glade, what could I ask in my contract?"

Darkrain smirked, "Whatever you so desire." She started looking over Morianne's body a little more as she spoke, "One Archon paid for his treasure by attacking a small mon'keigh empire, destroying it from the very foundations and killing everyone inside. A Haemonculi made an elixir that they gave to the grieving family of his purchase so that they could have the ability to stalk in the shadows. Others paid out assassinations, riches, beasts, and so on."

Nothing but personal gain or glory. Even the dead were nothing more than a means to the end for the Drukhari. How tragic.

"Lord Vect is the only exception," Darkrain remarked with a smirk, "He's donated bodies and other trophies to the Endless Glade for no gain. I dare say he's brought a few wonders over, but nothing recently due to the last few crises."

"Truly?" Morianne was surprised to hear that. She expected Vect to partake in this awful practice, but for no gain on his end? "Why would he do that?"

Darkrain considered it for a moment, "I suppose he considers himself a patron of the arts." Some artform he contributed to, although maybe Morianne shouldn't judge too harshly. At least this meant that Vect could be generous in some capacity. Morianne idly wondered if that was a good thing.

---

After about three hours, Darkrain announced that she had everything needed to make the dress and would it have ready in a few minutes. For any non-Aeldari, they'd have been confused at such an announcement. Any human seamstress or designer would've spent at least a few days creating such a thing.

Yet once again, most races failed to realize that the Eldar only used their hands when making something to simply kill time. Otherwise, many devices could make whatever goods or materials they needed via psy-matter. A human would've called it replication or manipulation, which was partially true.

Morianne remembered a story her mother once told her, that the gods blessed their people with individual souls of artisans, each Aeldari able to perform the work of any craft with enough time and patience. Legend has it that this gift was reciprocated to the gods, as each Aeldari who took on a specific skill attributed their creations to their patron deity.

Vaul was the chief recipient, but the other gods had their aspects. Isha for herbalists and midwives, Kurnous for fletchers and botanists, Lileath for weavers and alchemists, Morai-Heg for scribes and masons, Cegorach for winemakers and painters, and even Khaine with butchers and leatherworkers.

Only some people remember much of these or the other gods associated with this group. Mother never did like explaining the connection the gods had with the Eldar. In any case, whether it was blessings from the divine or natural skill, the Aeldari were skilled with their hands.

Magnus once asked Morianne how she made her dresses, fascinated that such an ancient race as the Eldar could perform what could generously be called "manual labor." To Magnus, his psykers used their powers routinely to ease the building process for a host of things, but mainly on an industrial level.

Morianne explained that the Eldar, naturally dexterous and perceptive, could easily use their hands to work materials into finished goods. What separated them was their minds, though, which allowed for an Aeldari mind to hone their skills to an unnatural degree. At least when they focused on something they were passionate about. Such as her skill as a weaver and seamstress. But even Morianne remarked that her skills were supplemented by specific psychic devices used by Aeldari across the galaxy.

He laughed when she spoke about wraithbone needles, psy-looms, and telekine wheels. Humans had created powerful, cumbersome, and large machines that could produce billions of goods daily, but here were the Aeldari, using thread and needle.

However, the results spoke for themselves. The Eldar could create whatever they needed on a massive scale. This was true, but individually? Even the most underperforming Eldar on the artisan's path could still pull off a work of art in no time.

And then there were the masters and grandmasters. The Eldar and Drukhari had them both, but they were highly sought after, especially those that survived the Fall. Morianne suspected that Madame Darkrain was a master.

When Darkrain returned, she didn't have the dress with her but looked satisfied, "It's ready, and I dare say one of my finest works yet. I've added a pair of shoes and some gloves to go along with it. Little additions make the dress more functional but equally exquisite."

Morianne nodded, "Well, if it's ready, then?" Time to get this over with, especially as their ships would be arriving in Commorragh soon enough.

"Just about," Darkrain took another hit from her stimpa, "My servants will also assist me with getting your cosmetics and makeup on."

What? "Why would I need help with cosmetics or makeup? I can do that myself."

"Of course," Darkrain puffed out some red smoke, "But Lord Vect and the highest society in the Ashen City have a specific style that they like to see."

"I don't care if Lord Vect doesn't like how I do my makeup," The concept of makeup and cosmetics were a sort of faux cultural practice among the Aeldari. It wasn't like they needed to cover their faces, but such vanity did help further express themselves. Exodites were accustomed to such things, while Harlequins enjoyed the idea of concealing their facial expressions…which left the Craftworlders to grow accustomed to the practice slowly.

Although Morianne would admit that she did like how she looked in the mirror. No one said that you couldn't go into battle looking your best. The Imperium certainly had no qualms about men beautifying themselves. Then again, taking social queues from humans wasn't high praise.

"Trust me, you'll want to look your best," Darkrain took another hit, "Besides…I want to see just how far I can enhance your beauty without needing to do surgeries." Gods save Morianne. Was Darkrain a Haemonculi?!

Morianne was a tad nervous, "I don't feel too comfortable about this…"

Darkrain had a hungry glint in her eyes, "Trust me, you'll look exquisite! Besides, I can give you some tips to try and replicate my handiwork on your own." Morianne should've said 'no' and remarked that she didn't care if she could look "exquisite" anytime…but would be remiss in not saying she was curious.

Fine. It wasn't like this would kill Morianne. Hopefully not. "Hmm…I suppose I shouldn't risk insulting Lord Vect."

"Splendid." Darkrain looked quite happy now, "Oh, I bet you will look extraordinary when I am finished."

"Hurray…"

---

When it was all said and done, it took the better part of the hour to get Morianne all dressed and dolled up, to use a human term, and the end result was startling…and a little bit disconcerting.

Darkrain worked her magic, and by the end, all Morianne saw was another woman in the mirror staring back at herself. That was to say, she might as well have been a different person. To say that she was shocked by her own reflection was an understatement. If anything, the Black Angel almost assumed that there was some trickery at play.

"Ahaha!" Darkrain seemed thoroughly charmed at her work, "You, little seer, would be quite the prize for anyone."

Rather than embarrassed or annoyed, Morianne could only focus on her reflection. Standing before a full-body mirror, she didn't know whether to be captivated or horrified. Darkrain was right. The Black Angel looked stunning because of Madame Darkrain.

For starters, the dress was unlike anything that Morianne could've only hoped to have made by her own hands. The material was perhaps made from a type of silk whose recipe was now lost to time, produced by Eldar minds from before the Fall. A precious substance. One that was now being used purely for vanity.

The material formed around her body like synthskin, but rather than tightly hugging, it felt airy and almost wispy. It wasn't revealing, either, showing off her bare back, legs, and arms, but nothing so scandalous as showing off other physical features. Not that would anyone notice as the material glowed like pale moonlight with red and blue accents, almost like stars or tiny lanterns hovering around her dress. Combined with Morianne's black hair and white skin, it made her look almost like a painting of a moonlit night come to life.

All the cosmetics and makeup, which wasn't that much she found, added an additional "flair" to her mystique and beauty. Morianne thought she looked more "mature" or perhaps just different. A part of her once thought she'd look like her mother when she was old enough…but the person staring back at her was a complete stranger.

Morianne opened her mouth to say something, but whatever words she had in mind escaped her at that moment. She was actually speechless. And the young seer didn't know what to think or feel. Her vanity and humility conflicted with this development.

Darkrain noticed this, "Quite surprising, yes? It's amazing what can be done with the right application of makeup and clothing. It can make you into a different person."

"That's…" Morianne finally spoke, "Gods, it looks like someone else is staring back at me. I don't like it…"

Her Drukhari companion laughed, "You aren't the first woman to feel this way. But that only shows that you've never left your comfort zone or gone beyond what you believe to be your sole identity."

"But this is just a disguise!" She pointed at her reflection, "I don't look like this most of the time."

"And yet, this look suits you so well." Darkrain countered, "You call this a disguise, but maybe all I did was reveal how you should look. Are you honestly going to tell me that the visage staring back at you is more suitable for a Farseer?"

"Looks aren't everything, though." This unbecoming vanity felt hollow, "I like who I normally am."

Darkrain sighed, "Then how about you try looking at this change from another perspective. I see a woman of two minds; the innocent young girl and the cunning, mysterious woman. The latter is what Vect wishes to see, while the former is what you present to your friends and family."

"I don't care what Vect wishes to see."

Darkrain paused and glared at Morianne, "If you have any sense in your head, you'll heed my advice, you foolish girl." Gesturing towards Morianne's reflection, Darkrain lowered herself so she could look at it as well, "The mask you wear tonight can be used for others as well. Hone it, live it, embrace it. And you'll have a powerful tool."

Morianne was still not seeing it, "Hmm." However, she could tell that Darkrain was trying to help her, "Am I supposed to believe Vect won't see through this attempt?"

"Of course, he will," Darkrain admitted with a smile, "But if you can, even for a moment, throw him off his game with how you act and look…just imagine how much farther you can get with others."

That…was a good point. Morianne was becoming increasingly involved in these games of intrigue whether she liked it or not. Perhaps then she should cultivate that skill. But she wasn't a spy or some seductress, and Morianne seriously doubted she could trick Vect in any meaningful way. However, if she could get through this dinner without being deceived or played as well…

Nevertheless, Morianne was unhappy, "If my parents saw me like this…" Exodites didn't dress up to this extent unless they were planning on making a marriage contract or meeting with a lover…and the thought of people thinking that she was off to do either with Vect made her stomach churn in disgust.

"I think they would be proud of the woman their daughter turned into." Darkrain was again trying to be helpful, but Morianne couldn't shake the feeling that this was also so shameful. It worried her. Her moral fiber allowed certain exceptions to be made, but there were a few lines she wouldn't cross.

The more she changed about herself, the less she'd have to tie herself back to her parents and home. It was losing her identity that terrified Morianne. However, if this was the sacrifice to be made, she figured there were worst fates, especially if it meant helping her people and killing the Ulwarth.

---

Regardless of her feelings, Morianne thanked Darkrain for her assistance. It was indeed a stunning gift and undoubtedly expensive to most Drukhari, yet it was gifted to her through Lord Vect. Maybe the lesson for Morianne was to be wary of accepting anything from strangers, even if it was quite exquisite.

Now, all that mattered was the journey towards the Ashen City. With authority granted by Eldrad and the alliance with the Dark Eldar, any Farseer with a ship had unlimited access to the city. Considering she also had an invitation at the ready, Morianne had no concerns about finding a berth for her vessel. Arriving and entering Commorragh was an overall tedious affair now. There were some concerns about her safety, but as Vect was the one that allowed this meeting, she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to try and raid her shuttle.

To her surprise, once again, Lord Vect had a prepared berth for her ship close to Upper Commorragh and the Drukhari estates. Again, Morianne wasn't too keen on how much Asdrubael Vect was doing to prepare for this meeting. It made her feel like he was trying to do as much as possible to make her feel welcomed, almost like she was the Great Seer coming to visit.

It felt like a human saying she heard from General Goldsmith, "Like painting a target on your back." That's what this felt like to Morianne. She was intentionally targeted. Yet her visions saw no threats on her life. Yet they also spoke of "knifed promises" and "Honied threats" directed towards someone.

While considering all this, Morianne at least got to enjoy her first time in the Ashen City.

Although, enjoy was the wrong word. Morianne found that she despised being here. The first indication of this was the awful smell in the air. So horrible that it made her head spin and her eyes water. No one else seemed to be feeling similar effects, though. There was also a taste of stomach acid in her mouth, which soon passed after a moment.

Something felt off with the darkness and shadows of this realm. They seemed almost receding away from the seer's presence. Morianne assumed it had something to do with the Midnight Energies, but never had she seen such a reaction anywhere else.

"Is there a problem, Lady Seer?" One of her Warlocks asked in concern, but Morianne waved them off. Right now shouldn't afford to look weak here. The feeling was starting to lessen in any case, and Morianne figured she could handle it.

At least, she hoped so.

The journey to Vect's estate was thankfully quick. Upon reaching the gates of Vect's estate, Morianne and her seer guard could see a small company of Kabalite troops guarding the gates and estate grounds. Once the Craftworlders were given the clearance to enter, Morianne felt like a lump formed in her throat before it slowly dissipated. Something about these lands filled her body with so much dread.

Her convoy of three Falcons stopped outside what looked like a small checkpoint, where more Kabalite soldiers kept an eye out, not on Morianne's forces but for others who might have sought to cause trouble.

As Mr. Braken and Madame Darkrain stepped out of their Falcon, another pair of humans dressed similarly to Mr. Braken appeared. The trio started to quietly speak before the newcomers escorted Madame Darkrain toward another skimmer vehicle.

Darkrain glanced at Morianne and winked at her, "Good luck." She spoke, and Morianne slowly nodded toward the woman. Mr. Braken then approached with that same creepy smile as before.

"Lord Vect is waiting for you in the dining hall." He sounded excited, "Dinner has yet to be finished, so I do hope you do not mind a bit of tea with his Lordship?"

Tea actually sounded good right now. Maybe even helped settle her stomach. "It's no issue, yes."

"Excellent," Mr. Braken looked towards her Seer Guard, "I do hope you do not take offense to this…but Lord Vect asked only for you to come along."

Vect couldn't be serious? "Lord Vect is aware that he is one of the most dangerous, conniving, and cunning men in the galaxy, yes? For me to step into his abode by myself is quite naive."

Mr. Braken nodded, "Even so, it's at his request."

"Then you can relay my request. I'll enter with one of my Seer Guard." Morianne didn't know if Vect was planning on trying to kidnap her. If he was trying to kill her, Vect could've done that using different means.

As Mr. Braken prepared to respond, a Kabalite wearing the colors and heraldry of a Hierarch appeared before them. Morianne was taken aback by how handsome he looked, yet she couldn't get over how dead and soulless his eyes were. It disturbed Morianne.

"I will take it from here, Braken." The Kabalite approached and bowed to Morianne, "I am Arzhoshar, Hierarch of Lord Vect's personal guard. Let me be the first to say that it is a pleasure to meet the Black Angel of Ulthwé." Now how did he know about such a title?

Morianne was about to respond when Arzhoshar held his right hand in expectancy. It took her a second to realize the specific gesture he wished to enact. Her face felt a tiny bit warm as she held up her right hand, allowing the Hierarch to take it and gently kiss the top of it.

Arzhoshar gave her a tantalizing smile, "Might I say that you also look positively radiant in that dress. Madame Darkrain proved herself once again."

Morianne nodded politely at the compliment, "Thank you," Something about his words set her on edge. Arzhoshar was undoubtedly charming and handsome, but that hid something else.

"Now, I greet you in the name of Asdrubael Vect, Archon of the Kabal of the Black Heart and Supreme Overlord of the Dark City of Commorragh." Morianne pleasantly nodded, even though she could think of other titles to attribute to Vect.

She couldn't help herself with one part, "He still calls it the Dark City? It seems everyone calls this place the Ashen City now."

Arzhoshar nodded, "Though Commorragh has seen better days, it remains the Dark City in the hearts of true sons and daughters." Was that a hint of reverence in his voice?

"As you say," Morianne politely nodded back, "Now then, I doubtlessly do not wish to keep the supreme overlord waiting." She didn't allow him to make another comment before turning to one of her Warlocks, "Yllara, by my side."

The female Warlock nodded, "As you command, Farseer." A good fit to have in this meeting as Yllara was a patient and unflappable instrument of destruction. If Morianne had to escape, Yllara would be a great ally to have by her side.

Morianne's escort didn't seem annoyed or concerned. Arzhoshar politely asked for the two Aeldari to follow him into Asdrubael Vect's estate halls. Morianne felt concerned again, but this time from realizing whose home she had just set foot in.

---

Everywhere the young seer looked, there was only greed and arrogance. Morianne recalls walking through the hallowed storied halls and libraries of the temple-arcologies of Tizca alongside Magnus and boasting of the vast catalog of forgotten lore and knowledge of Prospero.

That was to say, Magnus was proud of his people's accomplishments in preserving knowledge lost to humanity. That someday that knowledge could be freely given to all of the Imperium for mutual prosperity.

As Morianne and her escort walked through these halls, she saw only a menagerie filled with trinkets, treasures, and trophies to glorify one man's ego. It would've been like if Magnus's love for knowledge, mixed with objective lust for power and greed, supplemented by treasure and beast hunting. Now, she would be the first to admit that a splendor seemed to resonate in the walls, flood, and ceiling. Yet there was another feeling of a pervasive decadence.

What shocked her, above all else, was that it felt almost whimsical. Like she had stepped foot into the castle or mansion of some mad king or sorcerer from a children's tale. Her mother used to read those stories before she was even into her first decade. Morianne could also remember how much they used to terrify her. The reality of seemingly being in one now didn't help the situation.

Arzhoshar, being a gracious guide, pointed out a few items of interest. Each was supposedly a relic or treasure from some long-dead race or bygone era of the Aeldari people. Vect liked keeping them out in the open "for amusement" and even as a warning to others; that nothing was safe from becoming one of his prizes.

Morianne would be embarrassed to admit that a few pieces caught her attention and resulted in her stopping if just for a moment, to look upon them. The most eye-catching was an artist's depiction of Lilith, the Goddess of dreams and fortune. She couldn't help it as the sadness radiated off the painting.

"Ah, you have a good eye for art." Arzhoshar remarked before gazing at the painting, "This piece is called Her Final Vision. A priceless treasure of the old empire. I never know just how Lord Vect finds these pieces. Sometimes they just appear on a wall or display."

She kept looking at the painting "Or the Endless Glade."

"Well," Arzhoshar spoke with some amusement, "That or it came from the Glade." She didn't want to imagine what, or who, Vect had to give up for this work of art. Something else was bothering her. The placement of it.

"Tell me something…why place such a beautiful piece right in the main entrance of all things?"

Her question elicited a disturbing response as the Hierarch's eyes shone with cruelty and amusement, "He says it helps set the mood for all visitors. Especially from the Black Library…"

The nerve of Vect. He was flaunting his wealth to elicit a response from Craftworlders at seeing any depictions of their species' dead gods. Vect might as well hang a picture of Khaine or She Who Thirsts and call it a "heroic" or "tasteful" depiction.

Morianne calmed herself. Vect was doing this to catch his guests flatfooted. She would not fall prey to this awful duplicity. Even so, she wondered why Vect would use such despicable tactics for guests?

"If you'd like, you can see it again on the way out." Arzhoshar chuckled before gesturing for Morianne and Yllara to follow. The Seer and Warlock said nothing in response. Sparing one last glance towards the painting, Morianne felt a lingering sadness hanging in the air.

Morianne also saw more guards and human servants moving about as the trio continued, carrying out some order or something. These servants were clearly slaves but didn't look malnourished or mistreated. She didn't even see slave collars or brands anywhere. Mayhaps Vect treated his slaves better, but Morianne figured this was part of a show.

"I must say that slaves like Mr. Braken looked well-groomed and cared for," Morianne idly remarked as they passed by another human. "I expected most to be in rags and skin and bones."

Arzhoshar nodded, "A few years ago, that might have been the case, but Lord Vect decided that he didn't like the sight of dirty, malnourished slaves walking around his abode. He also finds another way to flaunt his power and wealth, dressing the slaves to reflect his ability to buck trends and spend money on flamboyant clothing for the slaves."

Based on what Morianne had seen, they looked more par the course for any servant in an Imperial household.

"I'm surprised by that," Yllara spoke up for the first time, "Your people enjoy the misery you inflict upon Mon'keighs. Gaining sustenance from it even. This seems counterproductive."

Morianne saw that Arzhoshar looked unconcerned with the observation, "There are other ways to inflict such…emotions upon a slave. A whip is entertaining but not always effective. We have different means to get what we want and one that even leaves the slaves incredibly loyal."

"What sort of means?" Yllara challenged Arzhoshar, asking a question that Morianne couldn't ask in "polite company."

Arzhoshar gave the Warlock a surprisingly dark look, "That, my dear, is a trade secret." He smiled again, "Besides, you didn't come here to gape at humans. We are almost to the dining room, so it's best to review a few etiquette rules."

Such a hasty deflection, but one Morianne couldn't address, "What sort of etiquette rules?"

"Just a few minor requirements that Lord Vect wishes performed." Arzhoshar gave Morianne a placating grin, "For starters, please address him either as "Lord," "Overlord," or "His Majesty" as befitting his rule over the Dark City."

Morianne wanted to roll her eyes, "Fine. Anything else?"

"He likes people to keep his distance when possible. Aside from the necessary physical gestures, please stand at least a meter away from him at all times." Arzhoshar saw the confusion and clarified, "Lord Vect has had several run-ins with assassins these last few years."

"So he's paranoid." Yllara remarked with some amusement, "I'm willing to keep my weapons sheathed, but if he asks for you to pat either the Farseer or me down for weapons, we are leaving." Morianne silently agreed. She would not subject herself to foolishness to sate the paranoid ego of Vect.

Arzhoshar waved that off as well, "Nothing of the sort. And you are free to keep your weapons on you but sheathed as you said." This was so strange to Morianne. Vect wanted everyone to keep their distance for his safety, but he had no qualms with weapons?

Morianne was starting to think this was part of some elaborate mind game. It was almost…comedic. Gods preserve her. Was this the influence of the Laughing God on Vect? If he started telling jokes, she was getting out of there.

The young seer felt like rubbing her eyes in frustration, "Is there anything else…?"

"Don't bring up Commorragh politics if you can help it." Morianne could see why that would be a sensitive topic for Vect. Best to heed the warning.

After an overly long stroll through the halls, the group finally arrived at what was supposedly the main dining hall. Morianne had no idea if that was true or not. This estate had psychic defenses and architecture that made it difficult to surmise where an individual was at any moment.

The massive wraithbone doors swung open, and Morianne could see an enormous table in the center of the room, along with enough chairs to fit perhaps a hundred individuals. Nothing said "homely" like furniture that would've taken up an entire house.

Sitting at the very head of this table was the Beggar King, the Tattered Prince, and the Supreme Overlord of the Once Dark City of Commorragh…

"Ahhh…" Asdrubael Vect grinned toothily at seeing his guests, "Welcome, welcome!"
He gestured towards a chair close enough to him and looked at Morianne like a Grynix would look at caught prey.

"Please…have a seat."

---

It was difficult to intimidate Morianne. That wasn't another boast. She had now met a handful of some of the most powerful people in the galaxy: Eldrad, Landesh, Magnus, and even the Laughing God to a lesser extent.

And as the Black Angel, she had fought daemons and Ulwarth. War and violence were becoming increasingly familiar to the Young Seer. She was battle-tested now.

Even considering that all, Morianne couldn't deny the truth in front of her.

Asdrubael Vect scared her.

The Supreme Overlord was chuckling as Morianne carefully approached, "My-my, such a beautiful creature has waltzed into my room. The dress certainly suits you. Another wondrous design by Madame Darkrain, especially for one such as yourself, Lyfae."

Strangely enough, Morianne didn't detect any underhanded remark in the compliment.

Morianne didn't respond at first. Instead, as she went to take a seat. A slave pulled out the chair before her. Sitting down, the young seer didn't appreciate being so close to Vect, even though the man was still a meter away.

Yllara stood by her Seer but remained utterly quiet and still while Arzhoshar had gone over to a wall to stand and watch over the proceedings.

"Thank you for inviting me, Lord Vect." The words felt hollow, but Morianne said them nonetheless. No reason to antagonize him, especially in his home. "Though, I must say that it was surprising for someone of your status to invite me into your home."

Vect only smirked, "You'd be surprised by the type of guests I have here. That you haven't made any insipid threats, remarks, or comments already make you a step above most individuals."

While it didn't surprise Morianne that people hated him, she'd have thought most would adhere to standard guest decorum, "Surely no one would seek to insult you inside your own home?"

He laughed, "Ah, you assume they are doing it directly to my face." Vect wagged a finger, "So many think themselves clever in their wordplays and tongue twisters. As if anything escapes my attention."

"The Harlequins would disagree," Morianne might not wish to insult Vect, but she wasn't going to inflate his ego, "As would the Laughing God."

Rather than be offended, Vect simply shrugged, "A trickster god outplayed me once. You can't beat them all. But instead, I…oh, what was the phrase?" He turned to look at Arzhoshar, who had since taken guard near a wall, "The one that Mr. Braken used?"

Arzhoshar nodded, "If you can't beat them, join them."

"That's it." Vect gave a toothy grin towards Morianne, "So while Cegorach outplayed me, I instead found a useful ally in these uncertain times." His grin became disturbing feral now as he looked at Morianne, "And I was hoping the two of us could be allies?"

For a second, Morianne believed she heard him wrong, "I'm…sorry?"

Vect ignored her visible confusion: "However, before we get into all that talk, I invited you for dinner first, and I must say that I am quite peckish at the moment." The Beggar King clapped his hands three times in rapid succession. In a few moments, a veritable convoy of slaves appeared from a few side doors, each carrying or pushing some sort of dish, platter, or whatever else needed for dinner.

To her surprise, they were also bringing silverware. She had noticed upon sitting down that there were no eating utensils on the table. But considering it a little more, Morianne realized it was because Vect didn't want anything considered a weapon too close to his person unless necessary.

"I do hope you have an appetite," He spoke with that same dangerous smile, "And don't worry, the slaves didn't prepare the food. I have actual Druhkari chefs for my meals." Morianne also wondered if he had food tasters to ensure he wouldn't be poisoned until she remembered that the Dark Eldar enjoyed poisons.

As the slaves started setting the table, Morianne felt odd at the level of opulence just for setting the blasted table. As a child, her parents made her set the table. Watching a group of humans do it made her feel a bit uncomfortable.

Morianne tried not to notice how the slaves were clearly trying not to look her way, too focused on making sure they didn't make a mistake lest they incur their masters' wraith. Most of them seemed pretty young, but thankfully not malnourished or looking so tired they couldn't perform their duties.

In any case, they moved with practiced efficiency. Morianne didn't even have the time to ask questions. Instead, the slaves quickly poured a glass of blood-red wine into a crystal goblet for the Black Angel, along with a few roses and flowers.

"A four-course meal for such a special occasion." Vect gestured to one of the slaves carrying a steaming plate of something. The Beggar King sniffed the air and sighed, "Ahh, cooked to perfection."

Before Morianne could even attempt to respond, the door to the dining room swiftly and loudly opened. For a brief moment, she saw Arzhoshar tense from where he was, and Morianne felt Yllara ready herself as well. Vect looked annoyed, but only for a second, at the intrusion.

The intruder was Mr. Braken, walking with such haste and a sour look on his face that Morianne figured something had gone wrong. Swiftly closing the distance, Mr. Braken approached Arzhoshar and awkwardly tried to stand taller to whisper something to the Druhkari bodyguard.

Arzhoshar scowled for a moment before speaking, "Stall her." He ordered, and Mr. Braken winced but nodded before exiting the room as fast as the human appeared. The orders confused Morianne.

Stall her? Stall who? Vect seemed aware of the situation and sneered for a moment before gesturing Arzhoshar over to his side, "I thought you confirmed that she was out of the city?"

The Lord of Commorragh didn't even bother trying to hide the discussion. His bodyguard was equally annoyed as he spoke, "I did. This shows that some of our agents aren't as loyal as we expected…"

Arzhoshar glanced over at their guest before looking back at Vect, "Should I run interference?"

Again, Vect sneered and scoffed, "Why bother? Just let her in before she kills someone or Mr. Braken. I rather not wait to have a new valet trained." Such compassion from Vect, and Morianne wasn't entirely joking about that.

With another quick wave of his hand and Vect sent Arzhoshar off. Leaving just the Beggar King and Black Angel (and a small detachment of slaves who were now waiting on further orders.),

"I apologize, but we will have another guest tonight."

Morianne blinked before speaking, "Oh." The first word she had said in what felt like ten minutes now, "Well, I'm sure it's no trouble?"

The placating smile on his face eerily reminded Morianne of her father whenever he had to save face for a screw-up with her mother, "Unfortunately, it is for me." She didn't like how it made Vect so much more… emphatical.

"However," Vect continued, "This intrusion won't stop us from having our discussion and dinner, mind you. I am now just required to play host to a much, much more infuriating individual. That said, perhaps the additional input will aid us both."

The false smile returned, and Morianne could quickly feel the warp around Vect getting a bit colder. Evidently, whoever was coming wasn't welcome here. But who in the warp could intrude upon Vect's home without fear of reprisal?

"Lord Vect, who exactly is coming here, if you don't mind me asking?"

Try as he might, Vect didn't have the chance to answer her as Arzhoshar returned. Morianne and Vect barely had time to see the grimacing Hierarch start speaking, "Presenting Lady-"

"Oh, for Muse's sake," A new voice interjected, poised and articulate sounding but also quite aggravated. A moment later walked in, perhaps one of the most beautiful women that Morianne had ever seen. "Vect already knows I'm here, Arzhoshar."

The woman in question wore a jet-black synskin and dress made from someone of Madame Darkrain's skill. The difference was the absurd amount of steel rings and chains silently hanging on her body, along with sharp protrusions about the "crown" on her head. Stranger still was the blue gossamer ghost-silk dress adorned with imagery of snakes and serpents. Morianne also noticed the fan blade at this woman's side, which made the Seer's skin crawl for some reason.

Vect was frowning. And for a moment, Morianne thought he was going to say something to this woman, but instead, he looked at Morianne and smiled, "Allow me to introduce Lady Aurelia Malys…my uh, shall we say close and loyal ally."

Malys didn't bother waiting. She sauntered over to the dining room table, Arzhoshar following her. But then she approached Morianne, and Yllara got in the way of this new guest.

To her credit, Malys gave a bored look at the warlock before examining Morianne closely. "A new tart while I was away, Vect?" Malys remarked flatly, "At least this one looks nicer than the others."

Morianne was quite confused, "Did you just call me a pastry?"

Vect quickly spoke up, "Love, will you please take a seat and-" Love?!

Before Morianne could even process what Vect said, Malys spoke, "I called you a whore," she clarified with disdain, "But seeing as you look quite confused, am I correct in assuming you aren't one?" The nerve of this woman. Yllara looked ready to pounce while Arzhoshar glared at the back of Maly's head.

Even so, Morianne wouldn't let such a barb get to her, "No. I'm not a whore. I am Morianne Lyfae of the Black Library and Craftworld Ulthwé. Asdrubael invited me for dinner and to go over some business. I can assure you my intentions are honorable."

Malys scrutinized Morianne for a long moment before speaking again, "I wish I could say the same for my fiancé." Oh my! The young seer couldn't help herself from getting excited.

"Oh!" She perked up, "You and Lord Vect are lovers? And to be married at that?! How scandalous and delightful. Congratulations, by the way." On Exodites, marriages were such an essential aspect of their culture. Morianne didn't know if it was the same with the Druhkari, but she liked to think some parts mattered to the couple.

The four other Aeldari looked at Morianne in confusion before Maly's finally gaffed in amusement. "The first person to congratulate me on being engaged with this bastard, and it had to be an Asuryani."

And just like that, the tension in the doom disappeared. Vect and Arzhoshar breathed a sigh of relief while Yllara stood down. Morianne and Malys were still trying to gauge one another before the Lady of the estate looked at Vect.

"Do I get a welcome home, Love?"

Vect had a strained and tense smile, "Welcome home, Love. Just in time for dinner."

---

Morianne found that watching the servants prepare a place at the table for Malys was fascinating. What should have been a rather mundane process was done with startling efficiency on the servant's part. Malys, meanwhile, was indifferent to the flurry of activity. She didn't even seem to care.

All Malys did was hold up a right hand for a few seconds. Morianne wondered what she was doing until a servant came and gently placed a wine goblet in her hand before another one started filling it with wine. All in ten seconds before moving away, which allowed Malys to drink while continuing to glare at Vect.

The lack of acknowledgment of the servants and the almost absurd level of efficiency reminded Morianne of just how much the Drukhari didn't even care about those beneath them, with neither a glance nor thought. Instead, Malys and Vect were allowed to focus on one another and make sure the other didn't suddenly poison their drinks or meals.

"Let us start with some appetizers, yes?" Vect clapped his hands twice. Another train of servants came from the side doors, carrying trays of food in their hands. There was no chance to ask what was on the menu as the servants silently and skillfully began to place tray after tray of food on the table.

As an Exodite, Morianne had a unique taste in food. Her time spent within the Black Library had only expanded her palate. Time spent with Magnus also helped. Upon seeing the "appetizers," Morianne hated to say that the food looked quite delicious.

And also quite dangerous. To explain, a trio of three dishes lay before Morianne. The first was that of a tray of crimson-colored mussels that seemed to be weeping a green substance from their shell. Where perhaps a human might have been disgusted or concerned, their smells were exquisite.

"Ruby Huks?" Malys asked while a servant placed a few on her plate, "How delightfully boorish of you, Vect." She took a sip of her wine, "And Balut caviar? How dull."

Vect smirked at Malys, "You like Balut, love." His finance snorted before taking another hearty sip of her wine.

"They were so last year. Perhaps if you left this estate, you'd keep up with the current trends, love."

The second dish, Balut caviar, was served on top of what Morianne saw as hard-cooked eggs. It all looked quite yummy if you ignored how they had barbs. A sane person would've realized that by eating these things, they'd likely cut your guts (if not your throat on the way down), but for Aeldari's physiology, it would've been described as a ticklish feeling.

Yet it was the final dish that set Morianne on edge. A host of glowing, vibrating truffles was placed within a basket of bone and hair. She had never seen anything like it before, and the feeling of concentrated dread emanating from them was astonishing.

That didn't stop Vect from out and taking one. "Ah, blackblood truffles." He gave a small smile to Morianne, "They grow only from the bodies of dead slaves that were infected by a particular strain of fungi within the upper city here. Terribly expensive. I like to have them with my morning meals, though."

"You are supposed to bring out food that other guests might like. Not just what you like, Asdrubael." Malys growled to her lover. The pair started making a few more snide remarks, but Morianne focused on the blackbloods.

She loved truffles. As a child, it was one of the biggest events to go out and find them in the forests around her home. She had good memories with her parents when they'd go out in the autumn seeking them. It had been some time since she savored one.

But to hear that these grew on the bodies of dead slaves…Morianne felt conflicted. It wasn't even the idea of eating something that grew from a corpse. It was more the fact that it didn't feel right to savor a delicacy grown from the death of another in such a horrible environment.

It was hard to resist the temptation, though. The food looked amazing, and they hadn't even gotten to the main course yet. Morianne felt like ignoring the spread. She had self-control, but the problem was that it would be considered quite rude to not eat anything her host made.

'Granted, I doubt Vect was slaving away over a hot stove or boiling pot.' Still, that didn't change the situation Morianne found herself in. Perhaps she could claim to be sick?

Looking over at Malys, Morianne saw that she hadn't even touched her food. Vect, meanwhile, was visibly happy with the assortment of meals. Morianne needed to decide what to do, as awkward as this situation was.

Malys, oddly enough, came to her rescue, "Explain to me, Morianne Lyfae of the Black Library and Craftworld Ulthwé." She spoke the titles with derision, "Why exactly did my Asdrubael invite you over to engage in this pageantry."

That was a good question, "I'm not entirely sure," She looked over at Vect, "Although I believe it has to do with my actions against the Sundered Spirits?"

"The Sundered Spirits?" Malys glanced confusedly at Vect, "Do you mean to tell me that this girl is the one that dealt them their most recent blow?" Word of her victory seemed to have spread.

Vect nodded, looking almost pleased, "That is correct. You should give thanks to the Farseer, love. Because I recall that Archon Laori made several unflattering remarks about your loyalty to me."

Malys hissed at Vect, "He claimed that I slept with him! My loyalty to you was never in question."

"That remains to be seen," Vect remarked as he gently wiped his mouth with a napkin, clearly ignoring his wife-to-be's smoldering glare. "However, our guest here saved me the trouble of correcting that slight. Though, such slander against my love will not go unanswered even after the fact."

Morianne decided to interject, "Ah? Do I detect what I think is a request for cooperation?"

Vect smiled, "Once again, the Farseers of Ulthwé are insightful as always." Morianne was sure that wasn't entirely a compliment, but she decided not to push back. "Although, you are only half-correct on the matter, Miss Lyfae. Our cooperation will go beyond the Sundered Spirits, as I would not bother you for something so pedestrian as that."

Malys spoke again, "It fills my heart with such love and joy at knowing that my future husband considers righting a wrong against my honor a pedestrian effort."

This time, Morianne could see a bit of annoyance edge into Vect's face and tone, "Love…your honor is important to me. I'm just focusing on resolving more nuanced issues."

Malys laughed bitterly, "Well, in that case, you won't mind me going off and killing those fucks myself." Morianne blinked at hearing such vulgarity from an other beautiful woman.

Vect looked quite unhappy, "I told you already. You are forbidden from doing that."

Morianne almost jumped when she heard Malys slam the goblet down on the table, spilling wine and some food from her plate as she stood. "You forbid me?! Oh well, forgive me, oh King in Rags! So I have to contend with being mocked by your enemies as well as mine?!"

A cold feeling entered the room as Vect carefully said, "Do not call me that, Malys. You know I despise such titles."

His fiancée wasn't stopping, though. "Your enemies call you that. Your so-called allies do as well. I bet even this girl, the Asurani, Clowns, and all those who serve the Great Seer call you it behind your back." Morianne blushed at being caught, even if they weren't aware of it.

Malys sneered disgustingly, "Soon, the humans will hear of these shameful titles and snicker at our civilization. And I'll have to bare the shame as well as your queen. But instead of letting me handle all these naysayers and detractors, you keep me shackled and in the dark, bringing me out to parade me around and dangle me in front of your enemies."

The sneer from Malys towards Vect spoke volumes of loathing and disgust towards Vect. All the while, Morianne was stunned at how heated this became. Was a fight about to break out between the two of them? She heard dinner parties among their darker cousins tended to be more chaotic than most.

Rather than argue back, Vect looked bored. "Are you finished?"

Malys kept glaring at him but said nothing.

Vect wasn't impressed, "Then sit down." He calmly ordered…and Malys did precisely that. A servant came by and refilled her goblet with more wine. Vect, having "won" this argument, smiled at Morianne as if nothing had happened, "Please, enjoy the food while it's fresh."

Morianne blinked and then nodded, "Of course."

Any reservations she had about eating were gone now. Right now, Morianne simply wanted to help end the awkwardness left in the wake of that argument. If nothing else, she learned partly why she had been invited now. So, if nothing else, progress had been made.

Taking a bite of the Blackblood Truffles, Morianne was disappointed to find that they tasted even better than the ones she used to eat back home. A decedent series of flavors and textures played on her tongue.

It was an excellent distraction to her current situation, sitting between two people about ready to kill one another. At least it didn't make her think of the poor bastard whose body these truffles were extracted from.

---

The Aeldari had only recently started the moderation process of all known vices. The issue, sadly, was that vice was such a broad term and problem for their people. Millions of years honed their tastes and desires to an unnatural degree. Drinking and eating delicate foods invited dangerous consumption and a betrayal of their newfound discipline.

Exodites, however, were a bit different. Clean and healthy living is made for good moderation. But rather than just discipline, the Exodites controlled themselves through work and conditioning in their often "rustic" worlds. As a child of Exodites, Morianne was no different.

So she enjoyed and savored the appetizers and wine without feeling the need to have more. Her mother told her that no one likes a glutton but that there was no harm in enjoying good food and drink. Sometimes you had to treat yourself to feel alive and to remember better times.

Right now, Morianne was enjoying herself out of necessity. The awkwardness between Vect and Malys hadn't subsided over the last twenty minutes. Left with only silence, the Black Angel could only recall a few times when the dinner table was this quiet.

'Mother and father rarely argued, but when they did, it could take them weeks to talk to each other again.' Morianne never liked those moments. Yet somehow, the two would always come back together in the end. She wondered if Vect and Malys were like that as well. Maybe this was all some sort of game they played?

Vect clapped his hands again before announcing it was time for the main course. "After this, we can talk business over dessert."

Like before, a train of servants appears, carrying a few trays or grabbing the old ones. This time, Morianne sees a cart, of all things, being pushed into the dining room. On it was a large, cooked, and glazed avian. A rather large meat dish for tonight, it seemed.

However, as she gazed upon the cooked meat husk, Morianne felt dread.

"Ah! Lovely." Vect sounded excited, "You are in for a treat, Lyfae. Cooked shaderaven with flesh tenderized by the screams of fallen foes, extracted via a few Haemonculi that I have on hand and glazed with torment.

Vect gestured towards something else, "Do you see the herbs? Those are the sacred dried herbs from the pilfered collection of a Priestess of Isha, who long abandoned her faith. The poisonous spiked heartbreaker, whose seeds germinate within the Shaderaven's blood until my chefs drain the creature dry."

He looked ecstatic as the smell rolled into the room, "And it was fresh kill! The death of this creature makes for a fine meal to pronounce the auspiciousness of this meeting." Without any further orders, the servants began to carve pieces of the shaderaven.

There were a host of vegetables and sauces to go along with this, but Morianne was still trying to process what she had just heard. This meat was literally cursed by the screams of tortured souls and simultaneously "blessed" by a fallen priestess of Isha.

'It can't be true.' Morianne gingerly watched as her dinner was prepared, 'He's just trying to get into my head.'

When most thought of the Drukhari and their cruelties, the general assumption was that most of them were exaggerated to an absurd degree. A series of jokes played by the Dark Trope members of Cegorach's clowns. All played up for kicks or to incite a response from someone.

But then again, Morianne had to remind herself that there was more often than not some truth to an exaggeration, a definitive and indisputable fact woven into the lies and rumors.

And now she was staring down at it on the dinner plate. Morianne would be expected to partake in the insanity directly.

Worse yet…it smelled lovely.

Malys, who had been quiet for the past five minutes, looked down at their meal and rolled her eyes before grabbing her utensils, "I do hope the meat isn't dry this time."

Vect only glanced at his fiancee before cutting into his food, "I can assure you that was a one-time mistake."

He gestured to the ladies with his knife, "Now, eat! There are starving children in Commorragh…so keep that in mind to help make the meat taste better." A rather disgusting joke, but par the course.

Morianne hesitantly cut into the shaderaven. Somehow, she felt a lingering bit of dread and terror from the dead avian as her utensils tore into its soft flesh. Even so, the smell was mouthwatering and looked especially appealing to a "carnivore" like herself.

Finally, she took a bit of the malevolent dish. It was beyond anything Morianne had ever eaten before. A feeling of revulsion lasted only a few seconds before the taste hit her very soul. The heat and spices, and herbs blended to create a whirlwind of flavors that sliced through any hesitations she had left.

She learned at that moment suffering and torment made for good food seasoning. A part of her wondered if the Ulwarth enjoyed such things as well?

In that moment of realization, an ugly burning sensation formed in the pit of Morianne's stomach. This was too much. What she had done was a mistake. Tasting such forbidden things and enjoying it…

The taste in her mouth soured, replaced by an unfamiliar texture and consistency that made her think of cooked human meat. Morianne felt a nauseating feeling overtake her, but the desire to vomit was absent. Almost like her body wanted to reject the "tainted" meat, she could not do so, forced to suffer the abomination that now lay inside her body.

The pain soon crept up. Morianne needed to do something. However, the thought of embarrassing herself at this moment was too much. It would ruin any chance she'd have to negotiate with Vect from any sort of advantageous position. The young woman who either puked in front of her host or required medical attention…not exactly a good example of strength on her part.

However, these feelings of dread, nausea, and pain were becoming increasingly noticeable by the second, and her symptoms would get noticed swiftly enough. Morianne either risked embarrassment or food poisoning. Neither option looked good.

If Morianne had been stronger, perhaps she could've powered through the pain. But she had just recently recovered from her Soulblight and the most recent assassination attempt…leaving her still physically weak in some regards.

'Damn it all,' Morianne thought angrily, 'Why didn't any of my visions foresee this?!' If she got out of this without dying or being disgraced, a talk with Eldrad was in order. Somehow, Vect prevented someone like her from seeing into the possible outcomes of this meeting.

Her gag reflex kicked in for just a split second. This was starting to look very bad. Morianne needed to find some way out of this situation now.

As such, fate decided that salvation would come in the most unexpected ways.

"Vile." Malys remarked as she tossed her napkin down upon her plate, "Should flog that chef once again, love. Over seasoned once again." She then stood, ignoring the glare from Vect, and looked down at Morianne.

"Come with me." Malys ordered to the Farseer, "I can tell it's not sitting well with you either."

Neither Vect nor Morianne was expecting such a response. To his credit, Vect didn't seem all that annoyed and instead offered an apologetic look to Morianne. "Oh, I see now that the food hasn't taken well with you."

Once again, Malys interrupted him, "I'm fine too, by the way. Thank you for asking." She gave an expected look towards the Farseer once again, "Up."

Morianne wasn't about to argue. Her legs felt weak as she stood, and the queasy feeling intensified, "Where are we going exactly?"

"Washroom." Malys didn't bother explaining further as she started moving, "Keep up."

Yllara approached and quietly offered a hand to the Farseer, but Morianne ignored it. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of her host and companion. At the very least, Morianne would slink off after Malys with what dignity she had left.

Although, Morianne wondered just what exactly Malys had in mind. Right now, though, the young seer needed to get this taste out of her mouth and whatever the hell was in her stomach.

---

Morianne found the washroom to be immaculate and gaudy. Unfortunately, it was also a relief to see it. Right now, her nausea and disgust were becoming seemingly dire enough that she almost collapsed halfway through the short journey to this place.

She was so distracted that Morianne almost missed the exchange; as Malys started ordering the Warlock, "Stay outside,"

Yllara didn't leave, "What in Khaine's name makes you think I'm leaving her alone with you?"

"Because Arzhoshar will show up in the next few minutes, you will distract him. Otherwise, he will enter the washroom, and I don't need to explain how much that would embarrass your little Farseer."

Malys made a dismissive hand gesture followed by the sound one makes ordering a Grynix to stay, causing Yllara to growl towards the Drukhari before obeying. Soon it was only Malys and Morianne in the washroom.

The older woman crossed her arms and shook her head, "Pathetic."

A spark of anger was lit in her heat, "Did you just take me here so that you could berate me?"

"More like educating you." Malys sniffed with practiced disdain, "But I suppose I can do that after I help you." The Drukhari's hand reached under her dress, eliciting a blush from Morianne at seeing the woman's bare thighs…but also allowing her to see a few small pouches secured to her slender legs.

She pulled out what looked to be a black pill, "A quámë. You will swallow this, waiting by one of the waterholes, and puke out the poison."

"So I was poisoned?" Morianne should've known better, "Vect, you bastard."

Malys sighed, "Vect didn't poison you because he was trying to kill you. He conveniently forgot that Craftworlders can't handle the basic poisons we put on all our food."

"What?!" Morianne couldn't believe what she heard, "Your people eat poisoned food?!"

The response amused Malys, who smirked at Morianne, "Someone didn't do their research about our culture, now did they?" The Black Angel felt embarrassed at being caught like this.

"Be grateful you'll live long enough to learn a few lessons from this." Malys held out the quámë towards Morianne, and the look in Malys eyes would brook no more arguments.

Grabbing and examining the quámë, Morianne couldn't help but ask, "Why are you helping me?"

Malys gave her a look of frustrated disdain for such a question, "Do you not understand anything at all? The last thing I want is for Vect to have an advantage in whatever he has planned. So I stand to benefit from helping you. Now stop stalling and go fucking puke." She finished the order by gesturing towards one of the lavatories.

"Fine." Morianne tried not to sound petulant or ungrateful, but the prospect of being forced to vomit up her dinner was rather unappealing. "This better not be poison."

"I'd have already poisoned you, and you wouldn't have known."

She then seemed to remember something. Malys suddenly noted, "Oh, wait." She pulled out what looked like a blue silk ribbon from her dress. "Take this."

Grabbing the blue ribbon, Morianne was confused. "What's this for?"

"So your hair doesn't get caught while you puke." Morianne felt the urge to whine at how tonight was going, but she kept enough grace not to do that in front of Malys. "The sooner you do this, the better you'll feel." Considering how awful Morianne felt, that was certainly a worthy prize.

Stepping away and into one of the stalls, the young Farseer looked down at the quámë. 'I guess I just swallow this?' It should've been like any other medicine. Not like Malys gave her any instructions.

Morianne wasn't sure if this was a good idea or not. Then again, why would Malys go to such lengths to kill her in a washroom? Morianne seriously doubted that the older woman would've shirked at "publicly" killing her. Especially if it angered Vect.

First, tying her hair with the ribbon, Morianne mentally prepared herself before placing the quámë in her mouth and swallowing. She then tasted something awful but thankfully, for only the briefest moment. 'Gah! It tastes like rotten fish!'

Unfortunately, that was soon to be the least of her concerns.

A quámë was similar to a human Detox shot. Designed to flush the body of toxins and poisons, but like Detox, the quámë was fast acting and designed for Drukhari poisons, mainly used for sudden emergencies.

Morianne learned just how fast and effective it was that night, suddenly and violently puking out the poisoned Shaderaven dish and all the other food and wine she had enjoyed. It certainly did not come out gently, nor did Morianne claim to have done the deed with any grace or dignity.

What she would remember most, aside from the rainbow of vile smells and feeling utterly drained, was Malys calling out from outside the stall, almost with taunting amusement, "Make sure you don't get vomit on the dress, dear. Those are quite priceless."

Much as Morianne would want to take this memory to the grave with her, she realized that Malys would have to die first for that to happen. Somehow, Morianne didn't expect that mercy anytime soon.

---

Five agonizing minutes later, Morianne all but stumbled out of the stall. The grace and mercy of the gods and universe had spared her dress any stains or blemishes. Yet it was a hard-won victory.

To say that she looked and felt terrible was an understatement. Morianne's white skin was pale, and her eyes betrayed how close she had gone to losing this particular battle.

'I am never, ever, ever eating Drukhari food for as long as I live.' She would sooner fight another Ulwarth unarmed than partake in this vile cuisine. Keeping that in mind, Morianne needed to wash her mouth out of acidic and awful taste.

Approaching one of the sinks, she saw Malys reapplying some lipstick when she saw Morianne appear in the mirror, "Oh, there we go." She had a pleasant smirk with her following words, "Feeling better?"

Morianne only glared at Malys. The older woman helped her, but she was amused by this situation. To be fair, though, Morianne was starting to feel better. At least that nauseous feeling in her stomach was gone now.

And to her surprise, Malys approached and started looking Morianne over, "Good…you didn't get any puke on your dress." She then grabbed the seer's face, "And you aren't suffering from any side effects from the quámë."

Letting go of Morianne's face, Malys gestured towards the sink, "Wash your mouth out. After that, take one of these."

Pulling out what looked like a white wafer, Morianne hesitated again, but Malys added, "Relax. Just a mint waff. It'll clean your mouth and teeth, removing that awful stench and feeling you are experiencing."

Quietly nodding and taking the mint waff, Morianne cleaned her mouth and was relieved when the feeling of cleanliness and mint emerged. She was starting to feel a bit better now.

"Thank you," Morianne spoke after a moment, "That feels much better."

Malys nodded before gesturing back to the sink, "Drink some water. Enough until you feel full."

Again, Morianne followed the instructions. She was taking handfuls the water and splashing a little on her face near the end. Malys took another look at Morianne before telling her to stand still.

"I'll reapply a bit of makeup on you," Malys pulled out another small pill, "Take this, and I promise you'll feel better in the next couple of minutes." Again, if Malys wanted to end her life, she'd have done it already. Taking this next pill didn't have any hesitation on Morianne's part.

Quickly swallowing the capsule, she tasted something bitter but then sweet. "What was this?"

"A stimulant," Malys remarked before applying a bit of blush to Morianne. "Don't worry if your heart starts beating rapidly. That just means it's pumping blood. You'll probably be tasting vanilla on your tongue. Ignore it."

Keeping that in mind, Morianne just stood there as Malys helped her. After a minute, she couldn't help but ask, "Why are you helping me?"

"I've already answered that question," Malys remarked flatly.

Morianne didn't let it go, "This goes beyond just not wanting Vect to have an advantage. You've thought I was here to sleep with Vect, and you think me pathetic. Yet you are putting this much effort."

"Maybe you remind me of myself when I was younger," Malys answered with a smirk, "You aren't the first woman that has been forced to bow before the marble pot, puking their guts out and wishing Vect a cruel fate. A reminder of when I was at my lowest and wished that someone had helped me."

As she worked on some of Morianne's eye-shadow, Malys then smirked. "Or maybe you remind me of a Gyrnix kitten I once had. A pathetic creature that I couldn't help but want to protect. You remind me of a more innocent time in my life."

Then she grabbed a bit of lipstick, "Maybe you are a useful pawn, and this is all but a means for me to get you wrapped around my finger. You aren't the first girl I've whored out to fulfill my own ends. And I've always wanted a Farseer as an asset." A vicious smile appeared on Malys face as Morianne stood there.

"Think whatever you want," Malys advised, "But if you have to take away any lessons from this encounter, it should be these two." She glared with dark intention at Morianne, "First, you do not trust anyone here. Do you understand that?"

"Except you?" For that, Malys roughly grabbed Morianne's lips.

Malys kept glaring, "Do not take this lightly, love. This and what I have to say next are the only pieces of advice with no double meaning." Letting go of the shocked Farseer, Malys had to fix Morianne's lipstick again.

"A-and the second?"

For this, Malys sighed and frowned, "Don't let your romantic partner dictate your life for whatever trumped-up excuse or reason. Always remember that you are your own woman and have your ambitions in life. You do not live under anyone's shadow."

Morianne didn't understand, "Alright?" Was this because of how Vect treated her? "You're saying I shouldn't be afraid to be ambitious."

"That's exactly it," Malys, however, looked tired now. "Of course, you won't recognize how important that is until it is too late. Then it becomes a neverending battle before you are forced to 'settle down' or die."

Settle down, as in starting a family. Why was that so bad for someone like Malys? Morianne had already shown just how little she had known of Drukhari culture. But surely even the concept of raising a family wasn't equally "poisonous"?

'Then again, if even someone like Malys seemed to hate the idea…' Morianne couldn't imagine being trapped in such a future. Devoid of love from a partner or family.

"Do you love Vect?" The words came out before Morianne could stop them. But she wanted to know. "You don't like him, which I understand. But do you at least love him enough to stay with him?"

Malys scoffed at the question, "Foolish girl. Sometimes you don't marry for love. I married him for power and influence. However, I will say that he and I make a good team when we are working towards a common goal."

Morianne found that tragic. "So there was never any spark?" Memories of mother and father being happy together came to mind. Not everyone had a happy marriage, but surely they at least enjoyed each other's company?

"There was, once." There was a distant look in Malys eyes. Just a moment, a lingering look of longing, regret, and happiness. "He snuffed out that, though. I'm going to marry him and stand by his side as the laughingstock of our once great civilization."

Deciding not to comment on that last part, Morianne opted just to nod. She was feeling a lot better now. Just in time, the two could hear the sounds of an argument on the other side of the door to the washroom.

"Times up." Malys announced before pulling out a small locket, "One last boon from me. A little dash of something to cover up any lingering smells and something that will throw Vect off his game if he gets a whiff of it."

Morianne saw what looked to be either an ointment or oil that Malys dashed on her hands before gently dabbing it around the young seer's neck. It felt odd to feel another woman's touch on her skin, especially in such strange circumstances, but it almost reminded Morianne of her mother.

"Thank you, Aurelia." Morianne was genuinely grateful, "I know you had your reasons, but thank you all the same."

She waved off Morianne's thanks, "You're on your own after this. Keep that in mind when you go back to see Vect."

"I will," Morianne nodded, "And I will try and heed your warnings as well."

"Tch," Malys scoffed, "If you are smart, you'll leave this blasted city and never return. It's not a place for Craftworlders…or Exodites." Morianne's heart fluttered for a moment at hearing that, but Malys said nothing more before moving to leave the washroom.

Morianne took a deep breath before following Malys more confidently in her steps.

---

True to Malys warning, Arzhoshar was outside and arguing with Yllara. As soon as the Hierarch spotted the two women, he frowned but stood at attention.

"Lady Malys, is everything alright?" He glanced at Morianne, "We heard what sounded like vomiting." Morianne felt her face flush, knowing someone heard it from outside the washroom.

Malys crossed her arms and nodded, "Our guest is fine. I'm sure she's happy to know that Vect cared so much as to send his Hierarch to help Miss Lyfae in her time of need." The sarcasm dripped from Malys and made Morianne feel a bit better. She was still covering the young seer from further embarrassment.

"I'm fine." Morianne echoed, "Lady Malys graciously rendered assistance as she said." Feeling her confidence return, the Black Angel felt quite good. "Besides, it was just a little reaction to the food on my part. Nothing for Lord Vect to worry about."

As if he didn't know or even cared. Regardless, that took the fight out of Arzhoshar, who cast one last look towards Yllara before nodding, "Then we can return to the dining hall."

"You three can," Malys interjected with a scoff, "I'll be heading towards my chambers. This dinner has committed the sin of boring me. And so I shall retire to my chambers." She didn't want a response and started strolling away from the trio. "Tell Vect I'm in the mood, but if he waits too long, he only gets to enjoy his hands for the next few nights."

Arzhoshar and Yllara nearly choked for some reason at hearing that. But Morianne was confused. What did she mean by being in the mood or Vect with his hands? All she could do now was watch as Malys exited the conversation.

"Thank you again, Lady Malys."

Malys glanced at Morianne. Although she had an annoyed look, Morianne saw a glimmer of warning in her eyes. "Be sure to try and remember my advice, love. I doubt anyone will be able to save you next time."

She was right, and Morianne took the advice to heart. "I will." Hesitantly, Morianne spoke again, "I hope we can see each other again." Arzhoshar sounded like he had a minor stroke upon hearing that. Malys simply laughed and waved.

'What a strange woman.' Morianne thought with a smile, 'Dangerous but utterly captivating, though.'

Taking a moment to compose himself, Arzhoshar spoke up. "Let's…just get back to the dining hall, yes? I believe dessert is about to be served."

Yllara reassumed her position at Morianne's side as the tri returned to the hall. To the surprise of no one, Vect was still there. He didn't even notice their entrance, as he was busy picking his teeth with a toothpick.

"Ah!" He started with feigned concern, "Are you feeling better, Miss Lyfae? I do apologize. I had assumed someone briefed you, either one of my people or your own, on how we prepare our food here. We have a love for, shall we say, spicy ingredients."

Seeing the discarded Shaderaven bones, Vect enjoyed such "spicy" ingredients. Taking her seat, Morianne restarted the dialogue, "Sadly, it didn't seem to agree with my stomach. So I regret missing the chance to enjoy your dinner. Thankfully, Lady Malys rendered swift and skillful aid in my time of need."

Vect nodded, "And where is my lovely fiancée?"

"She retired to her chambers, my lord." Arzhoshar quickly interjected, "Tonight's dinner and festivities were not to her liking, unfortunately."

Morianne wasn't about to miss the opportunity to speak up, "She mentioned being in the mood, you hurrying up, and warned that if you didn't, something about enjoying your hands for the next few nights?"

For a brief moment, Morianne saw a strange look of deep anger…but also something else in his eyes that almost caused the young seer to shiver. It was gone a second later, replaced by Vect looked almost embarrassed.

"My Aurelia…never one to mince words." He grabbed his wine goblet and took a rather hearty drink before speaking, "Unfortunately for her, we have yet to start dessert, let alone negotiations and dialogue. So I'm afraid that I will likely disappoint her."

'Oh no, you don't.' Morianne thought with a smirk. An opportunity to keep him off-guard just presented itself.

"Begging pardon, Lord Vect, but I must confess that the recent episode I just went through has undone my appetite. Perhaps we can skip dessert and start discussing business matters if you don't mind."

Channeling a bit of Ricco at this moment, Morianne pretended to be bashful, "And I'd hate to keep you from Lady Malys, especially after all her help with such an embarrassing situation. Besides, she seemed so intent on seeing you tonight. Perhaps she wishes to apologize for her outburst during dinner."

Acting the part of a preening young girl paid off here, as Vect looked quite uncomfortable at being put into such an awkward position. "Well…" He started hesitantly, "I suppose there is no harm in skipping dessert. And I'd most certainly, uhm, hate to keep Malys."

While Malys would undoubtedly not do anything to kill or harm Vect, Morianne suspected that she would give him an earful regardless. Morianne didn't need to see the future to know that behind closed doors; they likely had rather explosive arguments.

'Oh well, not my problem.'

Finally, the two could start talking about why they were here. This dinner and everything else had gone on long enough now. Even so. Vect didn't look too concerned, even after being forced into expeditating their discussion.

"Well then," Vect started as he leaned back as a servant refilled his goblet, "What to talk about first?"

---

As a general rule of thumb, the Drukhari rarely made their intentions known. They liked playing games just as much as any Harlequin. The difference is that they often did so at the cost of someone else's well-being. If you were a fellow Aeldari, you had a 50/50 chance of not being undermined.

If you weren't? You had a one-in-five chance, at best. The lesser species didn't qualify for anything more. Not unless they proved helpful to Commorragh or the kabal. So keeping all that in mind, Morianne figured she had a decent chance of not getting played.

"Let's dispense with any games or pleasantries." Vect started with a grin, "I want us, as in you and me, to ally together. Joint partnership, even. Although not in the open."

Morianne had suspected something like this, but Vect was going right into things. "Can you clarify that?"

"Do you know the word troubleshooting?" Vect rolled his eyes, "It's not as interesting as it sounds. Just another human word, but the concept is a systematic approach to problem-solving or whatever technical jargon those toaster worshippers use."

She nodded, "I'm following you so far."

Vect smiled, "Good because I'm not going to repeat myself." He took another sip of his wine, "I want us to troubleshoot for each other, mutually speaking. You are probably one of five Aeldari in the known galaxy with connections to the Imperium via your mercenaries."

"Oh, it's more than that," Morianne noted, to which Vect looked confused. "I have deep connections to one of their Primarchs."

That seemed to get his attention, "Do you?" He leaned forward, "Who?"

"That's a secret," Morianne smiled, "But I can promise you that if anything were to happen to me…well, he's sort of like an overprotective brother." Magnus and his Legion would need only a small excuse to burn this awful city to the ground, let alone if something happened to her.

For a moment, Vect looked almost desperate to see if Morianne was lying or exaggerating. Unfortunately for him, she was telling the truth. "Well…you just made this arrangement a lot more interesting, then."

"So I troubleshoot for you involving matters with the Imperium. This arrangement is already sounding quite vague, though."

"It is, isn't it?" Vect was amused at Morianne pointing that out. "I believe the vagueness serves us both in this instance, don't you agree?"

"To a certain extent, yes." Morianne started glaring, "Until you try and use it against me."

Vect shrugged, "Oh, you caught my master plan. It was quaint that a farseer saw through my clever machinations, else they'd have laid undetected."

"Lord Vect, if you seek to belittle me…"

He held up his hands, "A little jape on my part. I apologize." Vect enjoyed that he briefly rattled Morianne, "In this instance, we would both seek to aid each other in resolving specific matters and obstacles. What are those exactly? That will depend on what we bring to one another."

"So I help you with matters related to the Imperium, then you just aid me with issues involving the Kabals or Druhkari?" It sounded so simple. Hence why, Morianne thought it didn't make sense.

"The simplicity and vagueness of it all make it easier for one of us to come forward when we have a problem that requires a custom solution or obstacle that needs removing."

Well, that did sound reasonable. "Why come to me then? Surely you had other options."

"I did." Vect admitted, "But none of them are interested in helping me or lacked imagination." He gave her a wiry grin, "You, however, have already made a name for yourself among the mercenary elements in the galaxy. You are ambitious, smart, and careful. More importantly…people like you."

"And?" Morianne wasn't impressed by the compliments, "Being liked by people doesn't mean much if they don't do right by you."

Vect snapped his fingers and nodded with a smile, "And there we have it! A nice bit of cynicism to tie all those little attributes together neatly." He chuckled while Morianne glared, "You are a cynic at heart."

What did he mean by that? "I'm still not seeing what you gain out of this. You can easily hire mercenaries."

"No, I can't." Vect retorted, "My power is not as straightforward as you think. Too many eyes and knives aimed at my operations here in Commorragh. I must pull back my resources and warriors for the war at home. However, you don't have those limitations."

She was starting to see what was happening here, and Morianne didn't like it, "Lord Vect, with respect, I'm not interested in being your assassin or captain for your proxies against your rivals."

"Believe me; I have others better suited for that. You got a killer's spirit in you, though." The smile on his face made her skin crawl. "Now, I'm more interested in getting things to the right people at the right place and time within the Imperium. If some people or groups need to be eliminated or discouraged from interfering, you'll have free reign to handle them."

"And in exchange, I can get your assistance related to your people."

Vect nodded but held up a finger to correct her. "You'll get more than just that. I want you to consider that I have considerable resources and connections here and across the galaxy. Our people might be in an alliance, but it takes considerable effort to nudge us into aiding your forces."

Morianne was now starting to see what he was implying, "But if I had your assistance, suddenly, a lot of problems would get fixed. The kabals aren't inclined to turn me away, and I'd gain access to otherwise unreachable resources and markets at a reasonable price."

Just off the top of her head, she started seeing the lucrative appeal of this alliance. However, to deal with a man like Vect for such petty gains didn't seem like an intelligent decision. Still weighing her options, Morianne tried a different approach.

"I have to admit; it's very enticing. But what exactly do you think I plan to do if I could call upon such resources."

"Kill our mutual enemies, for one. And I'm not speaking of just the Great Enemy." Vect had a smug smile on his face, "I'm talking about us working together to kill the Ulwarth."

Morianne narrowed her eyes, "You know about that?"

"I know enough." He slowly tilted his empty wine goblet around, "And I wish to help you with that. The Ulwarth, those traitors, are the same type I was forced to serve as a slave in the Old Empire."

"You were a slave?" Morianne didn't know whether to believe that or not, "I find that hard to believe."

"I don't tell others." He shrugged. "Mainly because they are just bad memories. But I've never claimed to be of the true blood." Vect had a devilish smirk now. "Well, not unless it served my purposes." He held up his right index finger and made the shushing motion to Morianne before laughing.

The more she talked with Vect, the more Morianne was convinced the man had gone insane at some point. Still, he did seem to be telling the truth. "If you want to help me track and kill the Ulwarth, I won't say no."

Now he seemed pleased, "I can see this is looking to be a lucrative cooperation between us. So this would be a good time to bring up another sort of…endeavor you can assist me with."

Just how many things did he have in store for her? "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, just reclaiming Craftworld Zandros from a kabal that has become a thorn in my side."

Morianne's eyes widen, "You know where Zandros is?!" All Farseers had been instructed with information about the lost or fallen craftworlds, including Morianne. Anyone that knew of their location or a means to secure had to advise the Laughing God and Great Seer.

"I do." Vect sounded smug, "I plan to secure it. Yet I require substantially more assistance and warriors to pull off such a heist."

Why would Vect want a craftworld? Then again, why wouldn't he? "Who controls it?"

"Kabal of the Silver Star. Their Archon has gone native and rules over a mon'keigh subsector. It's underdeveloped, for the most part, but the Silver Star has used the humans to fortify their space, and Zandros is now under the protection of a small fleet and an army of mon'keigh."

"On top of the kabal's fleet and warriors." Morianne knew just how bad a siege would be, and not something the Drukhari were trained for in terms of long-term fighting. Now she started to piece together what was happening here. "But I have access to mercenaries, my allies, and whatever you can spare."

"Exactly." Vect nodded, "I can't take control or touch this…but you can. And I'm ready to make it worth your while. I have plans for the Zandros."

"Vect," Morianne dropped the lord pretense. "That craftworld belongs to the Black Library. It belongs to the Slicing Orbs shrine."

"And they'll be able to use it again…under my authority."

She couldn't let him get away with this, "So what's stopping me from telling Eldrad and the Laughing God?"

"Nothing. Go right ahead." Vect didn't look worried at all. "It won't help you, though. They'll say they must find time, resources, ships, and warriors to mount the capture. Oh, this is after I ask for a favor in exchange for the information unless the Great Seers wishes to waste his and his farseer's time."

Morianne couldn't believe the gall of Vect. He was holding an entire craftworld hostage! He kept that smug look on his face the whole time. And Morianne hated to admit it, but unless the Great Seer called for a Coven, Zandros was lost to them.

"You aren't exactly negotiating magnanimously."

"No." He spoke calmly, "No, I am not. But this is the accord I present to you."

This bastard. Vect had this planned from the very start. His terms were still generous, yes. But he had planned on revealing this information to force Morianne into a decision. Not only was his influence quite helpful, and he shared her hatred towards the Ulwarth, but now Vect had the location of a priceless Craftworld.

"So." He was waiting, waiting for Morianne to answer his proposition.

"Do we have a deal...?" His voice was now almost melodic and weighed with his gregarious charm. Now caught in his web, Morianne saw the only way out was to ally. Damn the consequences, and may the gods have mercy on her soul.

However, she wasn't done just yet. Morianne crossed her arms, "I want some assurances, as in right now."

Vect nodded, "I'll throw in two favors, free of charge, but only if you accept now." He smiled and then looked at a chrono hanging above the dining hall, "And you might want to decide now. I need to see the…uhm, love of my life soon." At least he lost a little of his smugness at mentioning Malys.

Thinking about it, that was a good deal. Granted, Morianne didn't know of any favors to cash in the right this moment until she recalled something she had seen. "If I agree to this, I want to cash in favor of mine now…but rather, I'd like to trade it for something of value."

Eager to seal the deal, Vect nodded. "If it's within my power."

"It is." Morianne nodded, "You have a painting in here. Her Final Vision. I wish to have it." It was selfish of her. So bloody selfish. But something within her soul screamed at Morianne to have that painting in her possession.

However, it was priceless—no way to know if Vect would give it up quickly.

"Tch, done!" Vect seemed to have no issue parting with it. "This completes the compact, though."

"I am aware. I accept the compact. We shall be as allies then." She spoke before Vect nodded and snapped his fingers twice. Out of the side rooms did Mr. Braken reappear, carrying what looked to be a piece of parchment and a pair of ink quills.

Vect stood up and gestured Morianne to do so as well, "Let's us put this to writing. The warlock and hierarch shall act as witnesses to this signing."

Just as fast as he appeared and set down the parchment, Mr. Braken disappeared after Vect ordered him to go and retrieve Morianne's prize for the evening. The King in Rags then grabbed one of the quills and handed it to the Black Angel.

She keenly noticed there was no ink anywhere. "Signing in blood? How… appropriate."

"You'll learn that much has to be done to ensure a contract is followed." Vect pulled a small blade from his person and cut his wrists. "Normally, I ask for a hostage or body." Allowing some of his blood to fall into his empty wine goblet, he now had his "ink" for the signing.

Turning to Yllara, Morianne requested a knife from her bodyguard. Yllara hesitated but obeyed all the same. Technically she had broken the rules set by Vect, but it didn't matter at this moment.

Cutting the palm of her hand and allowing the blood to enter her empty wine goblet, Morianne wondered if this was going a bit too far. Magnus, Eldrad, and Landesh would have very pointed words for her when they inevitably found out.

'Why stop now?' She thought before dipping the quill into her blood and signing her name on the contract after briefly skimming it. A copy of it was handed to Yllara from Mr. Braken before Vect signed it with a smile.

The deal was set, and dinner was completed. Morianne was now allied with Asdrubael Vect.

Gods have mercy on her.

---

With the conclusion of negotiations limited as they were and Vect now off to see his fiancée, now was the perfect time for Morianne to get out and go home. Everything she set out to do had been accomplished, albeit unexpectedly. She would leave with a contract aligning her and the King in Rag's interests. That this all happened without the fates telling her was a grave concern. So many things had escaped her visions. Morianne needed to prevent similar situations as this from ever happening again.

Pushing such concerns aside, Morianne and Yllara returned to the rest of their escort. The entire dinner event took only about an hour or so. Although skipping dessert and most of the main course probably helped in that regard.

Mr. Braken and a few slaves came out to the front carrying Morianne's prize in a closed crate. Arzhoshar watched with amusement, although he kept an eye on the Black Angel and her escort, watchful as a hawk.

He finally approached Morianne and Yllara with a placating smile, "I do hope you had a pleasant evening, regardless of issues with the food."

"It was…enlightening." Morianne admitted, "I think I went in with certain expectations when I should've known better." Granted, the lack of divination contributed significantly to her faux pas in this event.

Arzhoshar smirked, "If it helps you feel better, I've seen plenty of Vect's peers get blindsided by my lord. You handled yourself quite well, especially with Lady Malys."

Morianne had a tiny smile, "She's something alright…" Malys wasn't a kind or gentle person, but she was strong and wise. A survivor in this wretched city. A part of Morianne wished to have that strength someday.

"Much as lord Vect tries to control her, I doubt he will be able to stop her from reaching out to you at some point." Arzhoshar lost his smirk and frowned, "Be careful when you interact with her. Remember, her victories and defeats are a reflection of my lord as well. Association with Lady Malys will run the risk of bringing his fury upon you."

"I will keep that in mind." Morianne pursued her lips, "However, I won't say no if she approaches me for help. Tell Vect we can rework our arrangement to include her if he has issues."

Malys warned her not to let someone control what she can and can't do. Besides, it was far easier to go against Vect when he wasn't in the same room as her. While underhanded, Morianne wasn't keen on playing by Vect's demands. This arrangement was based on the claim of them being partners.

'Not that I expect Vect to see me as one.' There would be a backstabbing at some point. As long it was relatively minor, Morianne could overlook such things. Hopefully, Vect would agree in this case with bringing Malys into the equation.

Arzhoshar looked unhappy. "I'll relay that back to Lord Vect." Taking a moment to bow to Morianne, the Hiearch offered one last goodbye and a safe journey back to their ship.

Yllara breathed a sigh of relief once he was out of sight, "What I'd have given to run my blade through that man."

While not wanting to disparage Arzhoshar, Morianne nodded all the same. "He was courteous and professional, but he made my skin crawl. Even more so than Vect."

"Arzhoshar was looking for a reason to kill us." Yllara grimly remarked, "I don't think I could've beaten him if it came down to a fight."

Morianne nodded, "I suppose it makes sense that Vect has someone like him under his employment. Only the best for the ruler of this wretched city." Standing back "outside" within the realm of Commorragh made the young seer feel nauseous again.

"Let's get out of here." She ordered Yllara, who nodded. The two rejoined the rest of Morianne's seer guard and proceeded back to the starport. Thankfully, her ability to catch glimpses into the future was unhindered now, and she knew there would be no "sudden" assassins or attacks.

Even so, Morianne wouldn't feel safe until she was gone from Commorragh completely. She needed to reach out to Eldrad and explain what the young seer had learned and accomplished. More importantly, it was clear that Morianne required more training in seeing the future.

Somehow, Vect was able to distort or block her ability. This would not do.

"I'm going to feel much better once I am back in my armor," Morianne commented to Yllara.

Yllara nodded, "You do look quite lovely in that dress, though."

Glancing back down at the still gleaming immaculate dress given to her by Madame Darkrain, Morianne had to admit that it seemed to have helped. She'd need someone back within the Black Library to help her maintain it. "Well, I'll probably be using it much more in the coming years."

Try as she might, Morianne had to admit that Darkrain was right. The dress did help bring out another side of her. But only for a brief moment. Likewise, Malys reminded her she needed to be more aggressive. The dress was just another tool in a growing arsenal that Morianne didn't realize she had.

Tonight had been a learning experience and then some. Morianne could only plan for the battles ahead on the battlefield and at the diplomacy table. She just had to remind herself to stay aware of her mission. Less she becomes just as vile as Vect or as cynical as Malys.

"Let's go home…it's been a very long night."

---

Later that night, within Vect's estate…

If there was one thing Aurelia hated to do, it was to compliment Asdrubael. She couldn't stand his already inflated ego, and Muses would end her if she decided to contribute. However, Malys found it difficult when it came to certain things.

For starters, she hated to admit that Asdrubael was an exceptional lover. Instead, she'd let Squiggs eat her eyes out than ever reveal that particular truth to him. Asdrubael would smirk and jape at her expense, lording it over her for the rest of their days and bragging to her enemies and allies alike.

Even so, she had to give him that much credit. Silently at least. Aurelia glanced at Asdrubael from her bed. The pair had just finished their "lovemaking," and Asdrubael, ever the workaholic, opted to start writing down a few assassination orders on her desk.

Taking a drag from her stimpa, Aurelia watched as he worked. A post-sexual encounter ritual, born from a habit she formed as a consort to Asdrubael when he was just a petty lord racing his ways. Both used to get blazed out of their minds before having sex again and repeating the cycle.

Aurelia could almost fondly remember those days. Yet she always had to crush them. None of the passion or love was ever genuine, even when they once convinced themselves that they might have been in love.

However, Aurelia knew the hard truth. Love was a disease, especially in Commorragh. The men and women still holding onto the nonsense were just meat for someone like her or the Begger King she bedded.

Blowing smoke, Aurelia decided to speak up. "The girl, Morianne. What did you think of her?"

Asdrubael snorted, not even bothering to look up. "Stupid. Naive. Pathetic. Take your pick." He continued writing, "Like all Craftworlders, she thinks herself better than us."

Thinking about their "heart-to-heart," Aurelia only slightly agreed. "She is stupid, naive, and pathetic…but I don't think she was arrogant. Just young and innocent, still."

"Which only exemplifies her worse traits." Asdrubael finally looked up at his lover. "But I will say that she is exciting."

"Exciting?" That wasn't a good sign. "What about her excites you?"

He only smirked at her before going back to write, "All that potential. All that hatred and grief. You had to have tasted it."

Yes, she had. Morianne was a wellspring of dark emotions. But the young seer controlled them well enough. "A bland flavor. Nothing more. We've both tasted better."

"I disagree." Asdrubael finished whatever he was writing and stood. "She hides all of it behind this persona that she's created subconsciously. A princess from a storybook. Because who doesn't love those? It causes all those who encounter her to enjoy being in her presence."

He closed in on Aurelia, snatching her stimpa out of her hands, much to her annoyance. "You and I liked being around her." Asdrubael blew smoke through his nose while keeping that disgusting smile.

Taking back her stimpa, Aurelia glared at him. "She's interesting." Throwing his excuse back at Asdrubael. "What, you want to invite into your bed chambers with me?"

"Nonsense." He sat down on her bed and inched closer to her. "My love has only ever been for you, Aurelia." His words were soaking with honied charm, but Aurelia knew better. Too many times did she get burned otherwise by it.

So Aurelia hated how her body betrayed her when it sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

"Then what exactly do you want out of her?"

Asdrubael shrugged, "Nothing? Everything? Perhaps I want to take one of Eldrad's prized toys away from him? Maybe you and I want to see her succeed. We have all the time in the galaxy to decide on her fate."

"I doubt the Laughing God will appreciate that." Cegorach had been making himself known these days more and more. Everyone in Commorragh feared the ancient god, which infuriated Asdrubael more than anything. In his deluded mind, there was only room for one god in the Ashen City.

But rather than get annoyed, Asdrubael merely laughed. "Oh yes, I imagine he will be quite peeved if I tried anything. Hence, I will not gamble on this and only take the opportunities that will end in my victory. After all, why take a chance? Especially when dealing with her unique abilities."

Aurelia perked up at that, "Unique abilities?"

Asdrubael smiled, "Nothing for you to worry about, love." The condescending tone made her want to stab his eye out with her stimpa. Her lover knew something more about the girl. Another indication that he had spies in the Black Library.

"I will say this." Asdrubael remarked as he slowly pulled away the sheet covering Aurelia, "This alliance with the Black Library has proven fruitful in ways I did not expect. In my youth, I was never one for reading books…but I've come to appreciate the knowledge hidden inside them. Especially when they provide boons that were once thought lost to the galaxy."

Aurelia didn't say anything nor indicate otherwise when she felt his hands on her thighs. "And what exactly is that?" She expected another smug or joking comment. Instead, she saw a strange look in his eyes, almost making Aurelia recoil in dread.

"To blind those with the farsight, love. Among many other tricks." The grin on his face was unbearable. "Now…enough about business. How about we continue where we left off?"

She didn't have the chance to ask him after that. Asdrubael and Aurelia spent the rest of the night together, but when he left in the morning, Aurelia felt only relief because this had been different than the previous times.

When Aurelia agreed to marry Asdrubael, she promised she would still kill the bastard when the time came. That, however, was becoming increasingly difficult. Even after everything that had happened, all the failures and humiliations, Asdrubael hadn't lost his edge or desires.

Just as he remained an exceptional lover, so did he remain an exceedingly dangerous man in many respects. But more than that, his manipulations of individuals and entire nations remained unmatched.

And Aurelia hated it. She hated herself for falling for it. Hated that she became a tool for his aspirations. Now Aurelia watched as another fell into his trap. Unknowingly and perhaps now even unable to see the threat that Asdrubael Vect posed.

Unless she took a more active role in preventing whatever came next. Aurelia had no need or desire to help Morianne unless it served her own ends. But knowing that Asdrubael was clearing moving pieces into place, it stood to reason that sooner or later, he wouldn't need his love.

"Very well," Aurelia muttered in the darkness. "I suppose you'll be seeing me again real soon, Morianne."

---

@Daemon Hunter Ugh...another omake. Going to work on something hopefully smaller.

 

[Leon12431]

Spoiler: Skysoph Relic: Harvesting

There was never a normal moment when at the border of a time shard.

Everything on the strange, fractured planet had felt the temporal fabric fray and rebind itself in a myriad of impossible ways. Some were more sensitive than others, feeling the very touch of reality with the primal fear of being 'corrected' and forever removed.

Solkiva was one of the most sensitive to the roiling waves of time, and knew them as a bird might know the breeze of wind-swept mountains. How to feel the tides signaling danger before they crashed into being, how to read the the shimmering half-possibilities as branching paths. To witness a small portion of infinity, standing outside the normal confines of the fourth-dimension.

But merely seeing and understanding wasn't enough, which was why she always made sure the temporal shields she created were functioning properly lest she get washed away.

The Arboretum was a massive complex built near Svetzlya, sprawling across kilometers over Skysoph. Millions of different plants gathered across the world thrived inside the walls, growing and feasting upon temporal energy. The brilliance of life and its ability to evolve and fill any niche, even what should have been impossible ones, were secondary to Solkiva at the moment.

The beautiful gardens and terrariums held the first pieces of the masterpiece she was being paid greatly to construct, the imperial shards might claim it was for a primarch, one of their divine beings. But in truth all she cared about was the promise of the blank check and the chance to test the impossible theories.

The Arboretum had been constructed as a way to catalog the impossible life of the world, and to map out the infinite array of life that had evolved once more upon the world. It was for this that she had spent grand sums of money for the chance to retrieve samples from even the most rare of specimens within. It might not hold all that she sought, but it would hold enough.

Stepping across the border of the shard, the temporal shield flaring azure silver for a moment, she smiled as she opened the grand doors taller than the titans of the imperial shards. Within the entry way, a hundred paths spiraled out to the various exhibits, where the common folk of the world could wander without concern.

Yet, these were not why Solkiva had spent such wealth for this trip, such mundane plants could be recovered anywhere in the world outside the fields of the anchors. But, they were also safe and contained, there was no mystery to them, there was no power to them. Many others had worked with them in designs both large and small and every time nothing had been discovered of note.

Instead, she turned towards the shadowed paths where her access pass granted sight, the holographic walls fading away before her approach. The paths where only the workers normally walked, now open for her to tread, where thousands upon thousands of plants that encapsulated the insanity and impossible stability of Skysoph lived in relative harmony.

Walking through the shadowed halls was an experience that Solkiva wished that she had been able to undertake before, so many majestic plants lined the walls. Fruits that grew across fifty timelines and would consume the future of the one whom consumed them to reproduce were but one of the lesser examples of the deadly beauty of the world.

But it was not the form she sought, instead through the twists and turns, she came across the Exotic Hall, the place where the most exotic and strange of all the plants were kept in confinement. Within this grand building, there were plants that made a mockery of even the strongest alloys and shields in their hunger for flesh, and other more eldritch ones that grew through the cracks in time itself.

Stepping into the hall, she turned the shield up as the azure silver flared once more, before settling down as time itself was bent around a stone in the disrupted river once more. Solkiva walked through the hall noting the plants and dismissing them one by one, for all of them were not what she needed. Most were but more vicious forms of mundane plants, for this project only the unusual would be allowed to contribute for the others had been tested over the centuries and nothing of interest could be done.

Towards the back of the hall, a strange plant awaited, with leaves the color of freshly spilled blood and a crimson stem it sat behind the azure field of the temporal shield as an anomaly in the hall of exotics. Few plants had diverged from the coloration of time itself and to see such vivid color was intriguing indeed, as Solkiva hurried towards the exhibit.

In front of the plant a holographic window manifested revealing the name and information of the strange flora. Solkiva smiled as she read the documentation on the plant for it was perfect for the backing of the device, it fed upon the blood yet to be shed in battle. It did not fed upon death but instead the act of injury feasting on the blood of the prey and the pain experienced. It would serve well as part of a device to seek the paths of injury for the foe of the one using it indeed. A smile graced her face as she carefully severed a cutting of the plant in accordance with the instructions provided to cultivate one of her own. No amount of wealth would allow her to buy the plant in whole, and even this healthy specimen would not be sufficient for the entirely of the project, but growing it in her lab would be possible indeed.

Moving on with the cutting secured in a temporal pouch, Solkiva walked deeper into the halls of the exotics. Plants of various forms some even seeming to be one dimensional appeared in some vaults, but they were not what interested her. Instead for the second of the four plants, she knew what she sought, one of the rarest plants, the Umbral Nightshade. It was a plant known for lethality, seeking the path towards death of its prey, existing across possibilities instead of reality, any pathway was open to it and for that it had become a great threat to the people of Skysoph. For it could mutate its appearance and even method of inflicting death within an instant, but for a device to peer through the veil of entropy to find the moment of death, it was needed.

It was not for the death that Solkiva desired this plant, but instead its reach across the possibilities of time itself. Many would provide the aspect of death in cleaner and more varied forms than Umbral Nightshade, but it was among the few that reached across timelines as needed. With the cutting secured, Solkiva moved on to another plant she knew existed in the vault, but had only heard stories of in the past. The Grasping Pitcher plant was in many ways the inverse of the Umbral Nightshade for it sealed away the chance of escape for its prey, once enveloped within its girth, prey without temporal shields or temporal powers could never escape its grasp for the very possibility of escape was denied. With a cutting joining the others in the pouch she had brought, Solkiva wandered ever deeper into the recesses of the Arboretum.

Its labyrinthine corridors hiding thousands of plants that might provide the final key from this place, but she knew not what she sought this time. For only the Umbral Nightshade and the Grasping Pitcher were known to her, but now like with the Blood Heart she wandered the halls seeking the final part.

Deep in the shadowed recesses where even the wardens of this resplendent garden rarely ventured, a solitary enclosure lay. Within a single black rose grew from the decaying skull of some creature seemingly dredged up from the sea of the time. Globs of temporal energy glowing silver azure dribbled from the roots of the rose that had infested the skull, drinking a black sludge that flowed thickly and clearly through the roots of the rose and into the flower where petals grew ever larger. As she neared the cage, her shield flickered into a stronger hue as something began to attempt to drain vitality and something more intrinsic than even ones lifeblood from her. The flickering holoscreen revealed that the flower was a Withering Rose, one of the strangest and most dangerous of all the flora of the world, it fed upon the moment of death across time, every possible moment of death was fed upon endlessly. Yet, that was not the horror in truth, for the seeds could only germinate within the flesh of a newborn animal which would quickly wither away to a skeleton as the creature was forced to experience the infinity of ways it could have died throughout life feeding the plant all the time.

A vicious smile crossed Solkiva's face as she stared at the rose within and carefully extracted a single seed from the catchment tray that had been designed for this purpose, only for another to fall out into her hand. It would serve well to aim the device towards death and to feed upon death itself, pairing well with the other three. Together the four plants would serve well as the primary substrate of the wiring that would be used in the device.

The years passed slowly as the cuttings were tended to back in her lab, ensuring that they would take root and grow. However, the seeds of the withering rose were kept stored in a stasis vault for now, since it was not yet time for them to be germinate and rendered down. Unlike the others, the Rose was far more dangerous. However, now came a new trial. The plants were the easiest to find and gather, for others had already completed the labor, but the resources remaining were unique to say the least.

At least the remaining easy ones were all mostly collocated together, though the challenge remained in reaching the place where one could gather them all. Solkiva turned towards the world map and ran a finger along the parchment until she reached the destination she would next visit, the Vorandrassil Isle. Upon the Isle grew the largest and most potent Timebark tree upon Skysoph, reaching over ten kilometers into the sky and five below the surface of the temporal ocean. It was a majestic plant indeed, but more critically, its heartwood would serve magnificently as part of the magnum opus she was constructing.

Months turned into years as preparations were made for the trip. It was no simple matter even to reach the isle in question, much less to survive, for within its environs swarmed the largest and most potent legion of Fate Wisps, each nearly twice the size of a man and impossible to defend against without temporal shielding. Their deadly bite happened not in the now but in the future where one might walk in time, but regardless of decision, one would suffer the bite no matter what. She knew the danger and as such upgraded her temporal shield.

By the time she was prepared, a decade had passed from when she had left the Arboretum, but now the trip to the Isle could begin.

Five months later, upon a boat forged of temporally null metal at great expense, she skimmed over the temporal waves towards the Isle. Even from here on the borders of the ocean Vorandrassil loomed high upon the horizon, its great boughs reaching countless kilometers away from the truck, even the thinnest weighing more than some spacecraft. Under the ever darkening sky her craft pushed on, the creatures of the temporal depths slow to react to something inured to their senses as it was, as she neared the isle.

The ocean calmed as the Roots began to appear within the seemingly infinite silver azure depths of the ocean, peeling aside the opacity of the liquid and revealing a vibrant ecosystem below. Impurities purged through the grand roots and into Vorandrassil resulting in perfectly clear temporal energy, allowing one to imagine them upon an ocean of water or perhaps flying through the air itself. Yet, the ever present thunder of wings grew louder ever passing moment as the Swarm of Vorandrassil appeared on the horizon, dancing around the trunk of the tree which obscured the horizon as if it was a mountain and Solkiva knew that it did in fact dwarf several mountain ranges in girth let alone height.

Perhaps a more careless explorer would die to the temporal bites of the wisps that swarmed now, but with a scoff she pushed on trusting in the shimming silver azure shield of time to protect her from their bites. Until she could reach one of the many great hives that hung from the branches close to the trunk itself, larger than some skyscrapers the hives were her target.

The full grown insects were impossible to handle or capture, and even more so to render down, but the honey and the larval forms were far more workable. As the swarm flew into a frenzy reading the actions through time itself, Solkiva lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. A lance of entropy lashed out at the speed of time and cleaved one of the larger hives away from Vorandrassil. It fell impossibly slowly as the swarm ate away at the future position to attempt to save it, but she had predicted it all during the decade of planning and a harpoon struck the hive and dragged it towards her craft.

Mighty engines designed for this task ground and separated the various parts, wax from honey and honey from the larva. All stored within temporal vaults within the super structure of the boat, as the final part of the Hive were consumed, the swarm retreated for they had learned their lesson for now, of course she knew that only by the potency of her temporal shield was this a victory for her and not them.

With the way forward clear for now, Solkiva moved towards the great tree knowing that nothing she could do would harm it for more than a mere few moments. It was too steeped in the forces of time to care about damage to a singular moment of its nigh eternal existence anymore. Matter from another moment would soon fill the gap and ripple across all of its life until it was simply excised from the timeline via dilution in a life eons long.

The temporal saws began to cleave into the bark of Vorandrassil, and quickly slowed to a crawl as expected. Even the most outer bark was nigh impervious to all damage, but there was one form of damage that might penetrate, entropic energy. One of the trinity of energies upon the world and not the rarest nor the most common, but in this place it was of the highest purity. Entropic Energy could be gathered in Entropic Rain and from the dew of Timebark Trees, and of them all Vorandrassil produced the highest purity of Entropic Energy upon the world by far.

As a new dawn rose over the world, dew fell as rain upon the sea under the shadow of the grand tree and Solkiva was waiting. Special containers rated for near impossible purities of entropic energy began to rust as the purity of the dew from Vorandrassil almost overwhelmed them. But the goal was completed as the blades began to cleave into the tree's heart, day after day, days into weeks and months then into years.

Solkiva stood as a silent watcher in stasis over the machinery as it slowly ground away at its task, every centimeter of progress arduously achieved over years now, but finally after a decade of effort, heartwood had been reached. Now for the far more time consuming era to begin as the machine began to grind through the heartwood for another five meters over the course of a century as it slowly cut away the wood that was sought one century ago. On the final day a log of wood one hundred meters long was extracted and only the last five meters were of the prime heartwood, the rest the outer wood of the grand tree. Yet, mere moments after the removal of the machinery the wound had sealed and the stasis engines powered down releasing Solkiva for the first time in a century.

It might only be a mere five meters of heartwood, but it would be enough to build an entire complex from the material indeed. The sheer size of the tree made even the most small in comparison cutting to it a thing of monumental size. Solkiva smiled as the final parts were gathered, the entropic dew being stored safely away in the vaults as the wood was as well. Being placed alongside the wax, honey and larval of the fate wisps.

However, with two more resources were needed from this place, one was simple enough to gather and already had been. The sap of Vorandrassil itself, one of the most condensed forms of temporal energy upon Skysoph, a single mote of the sap held more temporal potential than some lakes of temporal water. The silver azure liquid shone as brilliantly as the sun in the sky above as the fluid danced around through time itself as it flowed across timelines. The sap would serve well as one of the main fluids of the rendering process, but it was not of the proper formation for another aspected needed.

Deep within the hull of the ship lay a device that could delve deep into the ocean and harvest temporal energy from the depths in great amounts. Where the sap was concentrated to the point of nigh impossibility, the Vorandrassil Waters were of impossible purity. All the thousands of containments across time itself having been extracted by the roots over the eons flowing back and forth, it was for this reason that Solkiva delved deep into the reef of the roots to seek a sample of the most pure temporal energy. Deep below the surface and within a cluster of roots, it was known that a cave existed and within the cave temporal energy of a purity impossible was present.

The wellspring of the Vorandrassil Isle and the heart of the grand tree itself, countless thousand cubic kiloliters of truly pure temporal energy. Slowly through the depths the craft descended into the perfectly clear temporal ocean and months later it found the cave where one could not even see the most faint haze of temporal energy. Only through the distortions produced by the roots could one see that anything existed within and Solkiva smiled grimly as she began to harvest some of this perfectly pure substance, five kiloliters would suffice in her mind for now and quickly left once the tanks were full.

Before returning to her lab another set of resources were needed and they would be found further afield than even the Isle. Temporal and Entropic were not the only forms of energy upon the world, Paradox also manifested in various forms and it was the final aspect that would complete the trinity of forms of time for the device. Yet, where the other forms of energy were found easily within the environs of the world, only in one place did the power of the paradox truly show itself.

Within the lands under the endless barrage of the paradox hurricanes, grand storms that ravaged time itself as present past and future were ever jumbled together and reshuffled constantly without end. Even one protected by temporal shielding could lose centuries within the twisting labyrinth of such a place, but it was the only place where one could find the purest form of the paradox that was required for all the grandest of works.

The ship skimmed across the surface of the temporal ocean once more as Solkiva raced towards where the greatest of the storms of paradox lay, the grand storm known to the Imperials as the Eye of Horus and to the shards of the Federation as the Azure Eye. It covered a scale of land the size of continental plates on other worlds, but for this world it was but a small region of uninhabited land that none could live upon.

Even from a distance of thousands of kilometers, the sky above crackled with ominous lightning as bands of azure clouds tinged with darkness covered the sky in impenetrable darkness. For those that were not the engineers of Svetzlya this was as close as they would dare near the Eye, even from this distance time began to fray upon the edges the timestream fading away from even the most tenuous of stability that it held upon the world. In this land paradoxes existed, transparent duplicates of craft speeding towards the eye materialized from the frothing surface of the ocean, but within the safety of her shield Solkiva held true to her path. Even as the illusions of time peeled away distracted by various paradoxes to explore, but for the one of the true timeline her goal was unchanged.

Her destination was the Iris, the center of the Azure Eye and a place where only the insane would ever venture. The Imperials called it the point of damnation, believing that all that entered were consumed by Horus' endless evil and bent to his will to rage against the Emperor for all eternity across all timelines. For Solkiva, it bore no less dangerous connotations, but it was simply known as the Well of Eternity a refrence to the fragments of imperial warp lore that stated that everything arose from a Well of Eternity deep within the warp underneath all of reality. Perhaps, this was false but it was a name to carry the meaning for within the Well all timelines and moments of time came together for Skysoph.

Within the Iris, one could find transhumans waging war against the Strikers eternally, and others where Strikers marched side by side with transhumans, yet other even more nebulous futures existed where impossible things had come to pass. The few psykers that survived the culling of their kind, reported visions of a grand creature in the center of the Iris, formed from the timeless nature of the place. Calling the maelstrom of time its home, never seen nor known by science its existence was unconfirmed to all, the superstitious Imperials believed that it did exist, while those like Solkiva who knew the secrets of time believed it was nothing more than the maddened psykers trying to describe something they could not understand.

Regardless of the veracity of such legends, she pushed onward through the ever darkening sky as the cloud bands grew thicker and more plentiful as the Iris drew closer. Waves now the size of buildings washed over the temporally null hull of the ship and would have turned any other material to dust in short order. For temporal liquid of the ocean was not pure and was contaminated with entropic energy as a form of run off. But the temporally null metal of the ship pushed through with only minor rusting as Solkiva increased the power of the temporal shields as the swells grew ever larger and the first drops of paradox began to fall.

The eternal rain storm of the Eye had been entered, drops of liquid paradox fell from the sky in an endless deluge falling into the ocean and being transformed back into Temporal energy as they diluted within the infinite depths and time of the ocean. Yet, even here was not what she sough, for the outer edge of the Eye rained both paradox and temporal, the desired purity could only be found deeper in. In the place where time itself had all but collapsed under the strain

The inner bands of the Eye, deep within from where she now stood within the Outer bands, a place where timelines bleed together under the strain of the storm and even the greatest of temporal shields strained to hold back the ever increasing temporal pressure. Yet, that is where Solkiva went, ignoring even her own logic in the face of the potential that could be made manifest with such pure resources otherwise impossible to source. No one had ever worked with pure Paradox energy and liquid from the inner bands of the Eye, no one had ever entered the Iris and discovered what lay behind the Eye Wall. It would be a first and it would be funded by Antoras to build a device of truly legendary wonder.

Deeper into the darkness lit only by the silver azure waters of the temporal ocean and the ever darkening silver azure of the clouds above, but even one bereft of all sense of time could feel the oppressive weight of paradox building as the silver azure of time faded leaving only the void behind. Soon, only the light of the ocean broke the infinite darkness of the Eye, the rain now a downpour of void and darkness cleaving apart the light and spilling darkness into the shinning waters of time. Dark illusions arose from the mist to dance across timelines as the waves and wind raged ever higher. Long on were the gentle swells of the outer reaches and now the waves towered a hundred meters above the surface with great valleys between them.

Any ship less capable would have long since sunk under the paradoxical weight of the rain and its own existence, but the forges of Svetzlya with the infinite wealth of Antoras had constructed a vessel that could brave even these waters and more. Solkiva no longer could survive beyond the enclosed bridge of the ship, even her temporal shield but a fragile egg shell to the raging hurricane beyond. But even in this place the purity of the rain remained below what she would accepted, for too much had been given to complete this journey and turning back was no more an option.

Days turned to weeks as she fought against the world itself it seemed to sail ever closer to the Inner ranges of the Eye and the Iris itself. Finally a month later, the last embers of the light of the clouds faded revealing only the pure darkness of the paradox energy. Her entry to the Inner bands of the Eye was heralded with thunder as bolts of lightning seemingly the size of mountains striking across the endless clouds and into the waters of the ocean below, radiating darkness and now light. From the bolts arose paradoxes of impossible might as reality broke under their existence, time was looped and bent, but Solkiva drove on ever tinkering with her shield to eek out fractions of a fraction of a percent more protection from it.

With a great crash, the ship ran aground upon the island that was known to be the center of the Eye. It was one of the greatest landmasses upon the world, but Solkiva knew that she would be the first human to step foot upon it as with a deep breath and steeling her nerves she left the safety of the ship and her shield almost shattered immediately. Stabilizing at a fraction of a fraction of a percent of power, but intact nonetheless. She hurriedly opened the valves to allow the intake of the purest paradox liquid imaginable and activated the systems to capture the paradox energy of the near constant pounding of the lightning from the clouds above and the ground below.

However, the lure of the unknown drew her attention as the Wall deep within the land was clear to her eyes, for it was the only illumination within this land of paradox where light itself ceases to flow. Retreating to the ship only to return mere days if such a concept mattered within the Inner bands of the Eye, Solkiva began the arduous trek towards the distant Iris. Temporally displaced copies of her formed and dispersed at her walk, whispers on the wind asked if she knew what she was doing. Echos of long dead friends and family begged her to reconsider her march towards the Iris, but to them all the drive to learn and master science beyond all others that had lived thus far outweighed the dying fires of her rational mind and only the dream remained.

Through the barren wasteland she trekked, the gear she wore wearing her down as the passage of time ceased to be a constant, time folded upon itself until even her sense of time become befuddled. Up an incline that did not exist moments before, only to wade through a swamp the next, her path was ever changing with only the Iris on the horizon leading her on. An impossible to tell time had passed since she left the ship and finally reached a place where congruity had returned to the world around the Iris itself. The land solidified under her boots, worn bare with age and etched with sigils of time unknown and more esoteric aspects engraved upon the metal. Silver azure fires lit her regalia as up the mountain towards the Iris she marched, now with firm steps anchored by time itself as through the last paradoxes Solkiva pushed through.

At the tip of the mountain and at the edge of the wall of the Iris, the last dregs of caution screamed for her to return to the ship and leave this forsaken land behind. But such was too late the promise of the magnum opus that could be constructed with the materials beyond too strong to deny any longer and so Solkiva was the first to walk through the Wall and into the Iris itself. Her temporal shield improved beyond all recognition held on for a mere moment, before it shattered into a paradoxical device and only via her great skill did her existence not end the moment later. The device restored via the lens of time for a moment, but within the Iris such was an eternity and moment combined, as she pushed through visions of the future and past washed over her.

Grand spires of the past flickered only to be replaced by a rotting world the next, millions more flickered across the vista of the Iris as she walked deeper into the Eye. Ever upward through the endless storm of time itself, the aftershock of the weapon used to sunder time never healing and resulting in this eternal wound upon the world. Within this place there was no time for all existed at once, past, present and future were as one within this place and yet the closer one drew to the point of impact the more obvious such became.

Each step a grinding contest of will to push forward one more step, fighting against the very mandate of this place to act in defiance of its nature. For to move was to use time to change, which was impossible within this realm of abject timelessness. Yet, Solkiva through single minded determination and a willpower bordering on the inhuman took one step after the last ever so slowly climbing the final spire towards the apex of the Iris. A place never seen before, but now she saw it clearly, a spire of temporal material gleaming as if it was carved marble and polished steel, yet impossible to harm. However, the very peak of the spire held the prize she sought, she felt in her bones as with each agonizing step she drew closer to the prize.

An eternity later, Solkiva reached the apex of the spire and saw what she had been ignorantly seeking, a pool of liquid in the shape of a footstep of some grand beast. Yet, it was no simple pool of energy as known beyond the confines of this place, within it held the totality of time, it was the truest sense of time and yet it was outside of time. It was the very distillation of the Iris' nature, and she knew it intrinsically for how could one so sensitive to the flows of time not know when they beheld true timelessness. A state in which all things happened as one, there was no future, no past, no present for this pool. With a titanic struggle, she drew out a temporally null vial, one of the few things that had remained unchanged within the Iris and fighting against the pull of the Iris filled it with the essence of timelessness.

As the vial filled with the essence, and she stoppered it at last, the struggle began again to leave this place. Once more each step was ever harder than the last, yet the challenge grew greater than before as the vial's contents wished to remain within its natural place. Yet, just as before she was undeterred and pushed through with inhuman stubbornness of will to see her task done.

A moment that was an eon later and Solkiva returned to her ship, with the single vial and all her gear lost to the whims of time, for it could not survive the transition between such radical frames of existence twice and she knew in her heart that never again would she be able to even reach the Iris, and there was no point in contemplating what was seen beyond.

As she staggered into the chair of the bridge, Solkiva could only slide down into the chair as the events caught up with her. The impossible journey through the Eye and into the Iris, yet beyond it all the shape of the pool remained in her mind. Perhaps, there was something to the legends of a creature of pure Timelessness within the Iris, but she was not ready to confront the possibility yet. Her shield lost to the whims of time, her clothes worn away to less than quarks and her very mind tested almost to the breaking point. Her final action was to place the ship into reverse leaving behind the Iris and towards the calmer waters of the world.

As the craft flowed towards the edges of the Eye where time would no longer loop upon itself as if a pretzel, she pondered if it was worth gathering the flames of time as well. They were known to burn away the chains of events, revealing what could have been and what might be, but what did they compare to the resources already gathered. The flames were used in everything to temper and refine the alloys used in all such constructions, there was no nuance to their usage, there was no wonder to be found within them anymore. As light pierced the darkness, Solkiva decided to not bother with gathering anything from the Firebreaks. It was too mundane with the victory so recently won to be worth considering and so she turned aside, letting her body readjust from the trials placed upon it from merely existing within the Eye for any length of time.

In the end the flames of the Firebreaks were not of the value expected, too common was the verdict decided upon by her as the ship exited the frothing waters of the Eye. With the resources fully acquired barring those that would be created in conjunction with Imbaza, and the rarest possible ones, Solkiva sped homeward. For the systems within her lab, would be far stronger to maintain the proper environment that the materials and liquids would require to remain as pure as possible.

A century had passed, but such would matter not from the preparation that she had undertaken to prepare for such an eventuality. Proven correct as her lab showed a welcoming sight, with lights still lit and people working within. As the grinding gravity lift systems of the ship faded for the final time, the trial of transferring the materials and energies from the temporal null containers to the null holds of the lab. Hundreds watched in awe as the purest examples of such things were transferred from the hull of the ship to the lab, in preparation for feeding the complex machinery that would shape and refine it all.

Soon enough this trial ended and a more mundane one began, the device as with all temporal items would require a Temporal Core. A device that was not as the uninitiated might think; a temporal device but instead a fully mechanical one that was the key to the control of the larger whole. The cores were everything to the device, and in appearance and to the mundane eyes they were nothing more than clockwork gearing. Yet, Solkiva and her peers knew that the construction of the temporal cores was the point of greatest failure, for one misplaced gear would force a recreation of it all.

However, most such cores were made from basic alloys and resources to ensure ease of crafting. This core as Solkiva worked day and night for a month upon the design would be forged not of such basic alloys, but from the purest and most complex alloy possible to forge. It would be a Primeval Alloy based design, an alloy forged from metal and the bones of animals. As the history books referred to the earliest of the alloys on Earth being forged from forges filled with bones, so too did Imbaza do the same with their highest grade alloy.

Bones with compounds of time sensitive flesh and elements were ground into dust and added to the forging process. It was primitive compared to what Svetzlya could achieve and so a new class would be produced for Solkiva's project. The skill and technology of Svetzlya would be combined with the process of Imbaza to forge the most potent Primeval Alloys ever considered before. They would be unbreakable to all forces, an inexorable weigh upon time itself, only a force beyond imagination could dent the alloys post forging and so new methods would be invented to craft the temporal core.

Instead of cutting and grinding, Solkiva turned instead to an ancient process of casting metal as a whole. The relics of the past had long since worn away into dust even within Svetzlya, but echoes remained as they did across the galaxy and one of them was the knowledge of how to property create a mold for casting. It was a simple piece of knowledge, nothing of true wonder, just a tidbit retained due to its use over the years with casting complex forms. Now it would serve the people of Skysoph once more in the casting of these parts.

Turning a normally imperfect science into one that could cast down to the micrometer without flaw, and only through its use could the casting hope to proceed to the level of fidelity expected and needed. Solkiva watched with thousands of her peers as the great vat of molten metal was created, the purest forms of the energies of the world barring the ones in her possession and the Essence was poured into the molten metal which had been filled with the dust of bones from animals large and small to carefully balance the value and impact across the board.

Twenty thousand tons of such metal was produced, for Imbaza could only work with such amounts and the math became easier as scale increased against expectation, but she found it a pleasing side effect. This would be the last of the simple parts to gather, as the molten metal at last reached the proper stage all could feel the weight of it upon time itself. To her, it felt as if someone had placed a leaden weight upon the flow of time, an never leaving weight that would hold firm until the very end of time and perhaps even beyond.

The prismatic molten metal poured slowly and yet quickly into the molds, the great machines and the mastery of timing preventing even a single drop from spilling beyond the border and overflowing the molds. The others congratulated her on the precision, but such was meaningless for Solkiva at the moment as she was too busy to be distracted by even her peers. As the final parts of the temporal core were forged, the rest of the alloy was sealed away in temporal null vessel to be used once the design of the device had been finalized in years or decades to come.

With the parts cast and cooled to perfection, they were removed from the molds that had shaped them. A million pieces from those smaller than a micron to parts larger than centimeters, a puzzle of complexity that would put to shame all other such parts crafted for other temporal objects. Solkiva knew that the average temporal core was formed from a mere hundred parts, interlinking across the three dimensions of space, to give balance to the temporal fields of the devices. This core would interlink across the seven dimensions of time and space, ensuring that it would never deviate from the path of time set before, it would guide the manifold aspects to harmony. Giving harmony to that which was chaos, over the course of five decades Solkiva labored over the core, the million pieces each placed into their place within the greater whole. Upon the moment of a new year, timed to the precise plank moment, the final piece was installed and the core activated for the first time, gears spun and chains whined as temporal tension was wound and unwound, ensuring that the heart of the device would remain forever in time.

At the end Solkiva released a breath she had held for years it seemed as the orb of metal spun to life, the prismatic alloy glinting in the faint light of the new dawn. So carefully made as to seem a world in miniature with storms forming and fading as the orb spun ever onward. Mountains rose and fell upon the surface of the temporal core with impossible to predict patterns and even the prismatic nature of the alloy played into the illusion. It might never be seen by another, but it had been designed by her knowing that this would occur and desiring it, from the records of the Imperials came the information on the homeworld of the intended recipient and the device had been patterned after the appearance of his homeworld. Eventually the ever shifting patterns faded into near stillness as time synced proving it had worked, now a sphere of impossible craftsmanship that would forever bear the appearance of Baal Secundus.

Along with the core which now rested in her hand, the wiring of the device would need to be forged. However, unlike the Primeval Alloy this would not be so simple. A fulcrum of power would be needed to forge such materials, where the alloys were to express the eternity of time itself and the stability thereof. The wiring would be to show the change of time, the passage of the unnoticeable current that flowed under all that lived and existed.

Where as the Alloys were a complex, but in the end a simple matter to produce, such wiring could only be forged into existence within a forge built by Svetzlya for the express purpose of weaving into physical form the essence of time itself. The heart and truth behind why only they could build the temporal anchors and more that the world relied upon. Only with the Eternity Forge could such materials be produced and used as they were so needed. Solkiva for all her skill and experience had never personally worked the forge, for that was not her purpose in life, but now came a time in which she would use the forge to produce wondrous materials.

Perhaps, it would seem strange to consider working a forge no matter how complex an arduous task, but the Eternity Forge was no mere forge. It was a grand construction that wove energy itself into matter of impossible nature, built over the millennia to its current standard and all said it would be strained to its limits to produce that which she needed.

With the containers of energy in hand, Solkiva prepared to travel to the Eternity Forge, the trip would be short indeed but the labor would only then begin. Mere hours later, she crested the final hill and beheld the forge that gave her nation indirect dominion over the world. Spires of metal raised into the sky vanishing into the stratosphere above, and even from here the strain on time was immense. Grand fields nearly visible were all that held time together as the spires consumed quantities of temporal energy unthinkable even to her as she watched the streams of silver azure liquid run down them towards the compressors that ran without end.

Into the forge she progressed, the doors sliding open before her even as the forge workers glared at her intrusion yet none dared impede her progress towards the compressors that never ran without custom orders. Within the heart of the facility lay the original systems long since removed from constant use, systems that were magnitudes more efficient than what was currently used and yet impossible to maintain in this fallen age. For centuries they had been woken only intermittently as projects requiring such power were few and far between, and yet they still gleamed as if new as Solkiva neared them.

These machines could extract every mote of power within the feed stock and it was for that reason Solkiva roused them from their long slumber to work once more. From the vessels chronological energy flowed forth, the combination of entropic and temporal and the most commonly used combined energy. Yet, for all its similarities this was far different for the source had been of purity never before seen and the glimmering fluid showed images of times yet to come as it entered the machines for the final and first time. From the end came a single wire, no more than a few microns thick and yet shimmering with illusions of time to come, a chronological wire, the second core of any device meant to interface with time upon the world. Yet, so easily made as to be of no importance, no the task at hand came after its creation.

As the wire was finally created, and the machine spooled down, the trail truly began. For the dies were changed out for ones of custom design, to not create a wire but instead two stones for the lens of the mask being commissioned. The Timestones would serve as the lens through which time itself would be viewed by the wearer once it was completed, they would show the full spectrum of possibilities and in turn that would be directed by the other parts within the mask to narrow the field of sight down. Into the two containers Solkiva carefully allocated precise amounts of each of the four energies, for the Timestones would be formed not of a basic compound energy, but instead from the truest form possible. Into the tubes the liquid flowed and mixed in perfect ratios as was always going to occur and then the now shimmering fluid of colors unseen and unknown to the human mind flowed into the great machines that had saved a world and were compressed into matter.

Unlike the wires, this matter was no mundane form, but instead one that exemplified that which it was formed from, within the dies two gemstones in the form of eyes formed, barely larger than a human eye they would serve as the lens of the mask. Each gleamed with the hints of time never seen and begging to be seen by someone with the mind to perceive that which lay beyond. With gentle hands they were pulled free of the molds and placed within a container forged for this purpose with cloth finer than anything ever before created to ensure no damage could be done to the irreplaceable lens. With a faint smile Solkiva moved to the next forging of the parts temporal of the machine, the science was sound and yet it never had been done before due to the costs inherent.

Now into the compressor was fed the energies of temporal and entropic to form the energy of chronological passage. Yet this time it was condensed not into a metal of stablity, but into dust that glimmered with the passage of time ever drifting upon the currents of time itself, the sands of eternity. Into another container they were confined as the final project was began, using the energies Entropic and Paradox to forge bars out of the nature of timeline itself as they would be used to guide the mask. Perhaps, the challenge would seem to be over, but the final and perhaps the hardest part remained.

As she returned to her lab, once more she pondered the value of the fate wisps she had gathered on more a whim than a drive. They were a potent creature to be sure, but plenty had worked with lesser versions than what she had over the centuries. Was their inclusion at all reasonable compared to the truly legendary materials she had spent so much wealth gathering? The questions plagued her as she returned home and pondered such things for a week before coming to the conclusion that much like the Firebreak Flames, the Fate Wisps were simply too common a resource to be used directly in the construction of this magnum opus. Instead they would be used in the secondary aspects, lubricating the machines, coating the forges and so forth, their harvest would not be wasted but would also not touch the primary resources.

It was a sad fact that Solkiva could not complete the final part on her own as she had all the others, but that held true only for the first part. With the Temporal Strikers at her command she delved deep into the forests of Skysoph seeking the final piece of the puzzle that was this project. The greatest of all the beasts of the world, a species that was known as doom to all that it fell upon with terrible might and power over time itself, Moros. Yet, its bones and organs would serve well for the creation of the device indeed for they were deathless ever regenerating provide time remained constant.

One of the great creatures was soon discovered by the Strikers and with her in the back with a temporal beacon to provide them improved shielding they engaged the beast. Against all logic and possibility wound after wound was inflicted without a single taken even without her assistance the day would have been won with them alone. A truly amazing show of skill as the creature danced between the seconds and lashed out with beams and claws of purest entropy yet only to be deflected away with exemplary skill. As the creature fell to the ground dying from a thousand wounds Solkiva moved up and with a grim smile began to render it down, noting that it was a female of the species.

In the process, she noted that the uterus analog was engorged with blood and anyone knew what that meant and the grim smile turned deadly as an idea creeped into her mind. Two questions could be solved in a moment at hand, into her pocket she reached and from it pulled a single black seed. She had brought it along for no apparent reason at the time, but now she realized that it had influenced her choice in the moment to ensure that it would be germinated in a proper host. Yet, it had failed to consider what would come next as she cleaved open the dying womb to reveal the fetus within. It was fully developed to her eye and would have been born mere hours later, a faint laugh escaping her as she plunged the seed into the chest of the child without concern and released it into the now wailing infant creature.

It knew that it was dead, even now its body dissolved away into nothing as the rose germinated at last growing thick roots drawing away all possible futures of the creature into itself. The wailing of the damned echoed across the clearing and the Strikers shivered but held firm as they had long since grown numb to the horrors that the temporal engineers would inflict in their pursuit of glory. Hours passed as the rose grew from the every dying Moros, its body nearly fully consumed and yet it still wailed in endless agony as it suffered an infinity of deaths across all of its existence. As night fell, its screams faded as it lost the last of its life and now only the Rose remained fully grown upon the ribcage feasting on the soul even now.

Unlike the parent rose, from which its seed had been gathered it would have no time to enjoy life for Solkiva tore it free of the ribcage releasing the last ember of the moros into the ether and the bones faded away into nothingness as the unnatural halting of time faded away. The now dying rose was placed into a temporal stasis container for perseveration and Solkiva smiled returning to the rendering of the mother moros. Another week passed, but by the end it was done, the organs secured and the bones broken down into usable parts along with what remained of the skin.

Upon returning, a group of Imperials was waiting for her, they came from Antoras and Lavenum bearing with them a stasis pod sized for a newborn. It was a simple exchange of the infant psyker that was slated for extermination no matter what for such power could not be allowed upon the world, but Antoras knew due to Solkiva's reports of the Withering Rose and had brought the newborn psyker to her for use in their project. It was a useful resource indeed, as she brought it into her private lab and sealed all the doors for this was beyond anything anyone had ever done. Even Solkiva all but consumed with the drive to see this project completed faltered many times as she prepared the seed for implantation, but it would be done in the end.

Only moments passed between the opening of the stasis vault and the implantation, the child within knew nothing before Solkiva injected it with a drug that would kill the brain. It was the only mercy that she could afford to provide and only because of the acceptance of the shards of the Unity that were kinder to those cursed with the psychic mutation than the Imperial shards. The child would not suffer the agonizing fate of the moros, but would suffer nonetheless if unaware in truth. As the rose grew, she could feel it eating away at the child and yet the child cared not for its mind and brain lay broken beyond any form of thought possible. As the rose grew to full and was harvested the child died and Solkiva shed a single tear before placing the rose into a case alongside its fellow rose.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Decided to omake a world to face in the Maelstrom, one based off of an insane video game based off of a german musical epic.
-----
The Golden Ring and the Philosopher's Egg.

Within the now absent expanse of the roiling Maelstrom, upon a world that was covered in deep scars, colossal machines, choking smog and landscapes covered in impossible gold was burning.

The world was known as the Gilded Crucible, its former names all struck by the passing of ages, and could almost be mistaken as another star in the sky from all other worlds within the system it resided in.

Trenches wide enough to consume fleets of void ships, some nearly reaching the core of the planet. Mountains of dirt, stone and useless detritus covered most of the landscape above ground. Dwarfing the colossal mounds were the ruined forges and temple-factories, each more than a match for a hive-city.

All else was made entirely out of gold. Veins or auric wormed across the landscape of the world, its molten gleam flowing in seas in the deepest canyons, like the roots of a tree that would reach into the heavens. Some of the towering forges were completely overtaken, turned into cold palaces of whispering fortunes.

Long ago, in a time when the perfection and pleasures of Slaanesh, Dark Prince of Chaos, was but a distant dream, the grand palace and its six rings were hollow and yet already filled to bursting with untold riches.

Time and history held only a loose meaning within the Warp. That which was might not be, and that which would be might always have been. Sleeping within its fortress-cradle, rousing by the stretch of aeons and endless excess, was the unborn god.

The Great Serpent coiled around itself, whispering itself into existence, the purest and vilest dragon of the infinite mountain of gold. A giant who was only equal in power to its three brothers. The wish-borne creature would one day roar and sing its name to the stars, carried by an inexhaustible tide of itself and its slaves, screaming death to its false-kindred gods and taking their children.

The Sea of Souls already shook against such might, such apocalypse, such unrivalled madness that would threatened existence itself. It had not yet happened, but its shadow already loomed across past and future which meant it could be seen by those of like-minded want.

Some, like the old gods of the people that would herald the brilliant prince, had feared what prophesied doom was to arrive while unable to prevent it. Others followed its divine call, either directly as awed supplicants or indirectly as cruel playthings inspired by a radiant muse. A few instead saw an opportunity detached from servitude, willing or unwilling.

Most of those that attempted to delve to the domain in such a state, either ancient champions or by trying to cut through the fabric of time, would be cruelly punished and die forgotten for such insolence.

One of those that lived also had name and nature had been cleaved from memory, with not even a memory afforded to their infernal identity lest the wrath of the Lord of Dark Delights bring retribution to those that dared defile the idol of absolute perfection.

A thief, a king, a lord of greed who desire had eclipsed even the young majesty of the budding Chaos God's daemons. Invisible and cloaked in different shape, an imitation to the ever-shifting Changeling who lurked under the whims of Changer of Ways, they had found the treasures they had sought.

The flickering half-existence became almost solid within the golden, the delta formed from countless rivers of potential and feeling. Gathering the glittering, shining, radiant and brilliant flow of divine treasuries. Gemstones the size of crushed, dead stars. Precious stones of every colour, texture and arrangement forming. Silver that was as brilliant as a thousand moons, dancing with starlight.

The thief had reached for the most sacred of all material wants, the gold. Of which there were pillars that stretched beyond any but a god's sight, oceans that gently coasted off of beaches made out of coins, magnificent pyramids made from stacked bullion.

The gold of rising suns, the dawn over artists and craftsmen who served as the muse of joy and life itself. The gold of raging volcanos, roaring with the worshipped flame that brought land, death and unthinkable beauty in its shine. The gold of the richest lords, kings, emperors and tyrants across the galaxy and the Warp.

The palace and its fields were golden, as was the water, the air, the shimmering breath and form of the deity whom was the master of all desire. The thief had wanted it all, and kept their envy healthy and alive even in the face of such dominating presence that demanded servitude and adoration.

They ignored it all after brief enchantment, delving further for the true prize that called to them. The purest gold, in a state devoid of ornamentation or design. Without any other light or vision to taint it into something else, dyed meaning to shift its form. It was a flame and a shadow, an idea more than a material object.

Abstract existence, a seed to bloom into a tree, something only worthy for a god of gods.

It was Gold.

Only a small piece could be handled, its existence burned greater than anything else, already rapidly alloyed with the thief's own want. Its new form would be named dreamgold, for it was indeed gold borne of dreams and all the power that implied.

But such a thing was not left unguarded. Six pieces of the greater god, more awake and powerful than most others, who also shone with the power of gold. Each was faced by the thief, unable to surpass the power of the interloper's greed, and were taken in turn.

Coming onto the world that would be the Gilded Crucible, the thief had ruled as an unrivalled king. To cement and expand their might, they had created three wonders with what they had gathered from the dreaming palace.

The first was the ring, an design of deceptive humble appearance. A simple golden band to be worn on a finger. Yet its enchanting gleam could enslave mortals to follow the will of their master, to enforce the desire of the wearer unto the hearts and minds of others.

From the essence of the six daemons, the thief lord had created the Philosopher's Egg, an artefact made from enchanting crystals that shone as a prism into the light of souls and the Warp. Channelled by the power of the ring, the power and dreams of desire and the unflinching will of the thief who had forged them, wonders and wishes could be made into reality

It was not still not enough, they had to have more. They had seen something that stoked and deepened their grand avarice. They did not want but a ring, or a mere army of thralls. They wanted wealth beyond a god's, to make a palace and empire mightier than any other.

Foul alchemy, the burning of souls and starved skill of the bound daemons had managed to replicate the gold in an impossible metamorphosis. Iron, steel, copper, silver, platinum, mundane gold and even stranger metals could all be reborn in the crucible cast by the ring's power. From scraps and trinkets to castles and war-machines, all could be cast in the dreamgold. The third and arguably greatest creation of the king, that which elevated them into an emperor.

Workers toiled the earth for every bit of metal and precious stone, while countless sacrifices were fed to the egg to turn it all into dreamgold. An entire temple was made from it, with its power and size expanded by the unreal energies that surged its existence. Guards and machines clad in it, then whole armies and factories, champions beyond mortal possibility, an industry fueled by magic and noble mass-sacrifices.

The new gold transmuted stretched past the Gilded Crucible, finding its way into the hands of other planets and armies within the Maelstrom. Then further into the Warp, the material finding great acceptance from the legendary Forge of Souls. The thief king grew further, embolden by all they had achieved and could attain. Golden ascension was within grasp.

It was created, used and sold by even daemons. All was well…

…until the sleeping god one day woke up, and soon directed special attention to the hated thief.

Slaanesh, now arisen and looming over the Gilden Crucible, had loved and adored such other examples of want, desire and excess. In many other cases, such a king would be rewarded. Perhaps given patronage, or transformation into one of their champions or daemons.

Yet to have their own gold stolen, their power and grace rejected, and then the perfection of their infinite wealth copied with such pale imitations was an insult that justly deserved the wrath of a brutal, cruel, sadistic and dangerous god. There would be no praise or mercy.

But before they were brought low, the ring-maker gathered all their power that they possessed, and all the power across every single piece of their dreamgold hoards. The fate of the thief was unknown, another lost shadow of history that only the Chaos God would remember, but what happened to the world and the ring was total insanity.

A storm of heavy darkness, lightning and screaming souls, were cast in a ritual.

Focused by the roiling, starved hatred of the six imprisoned daemons and alloyed with the bottomless spite, the tyrant laid a curse upon the very power of the ring. Each new bearer would have their desires would go unfulfilled, their enemies and servants filled by a maddening envy, and poisoned by the unquenchable thirst for excess that would grow deeper as it would go unfulfilled.

So it was, for generations upon generations, the flow of dreamgold was near halted as the curse destroyed all those who beared the ring. Unable to be more than petty kings and tyrants, the mines turned into battlegrounds without thought of further wealth, the factories transformed into citadels for war than production, the world and its power was stymied by the first king's still living hatred.

Such was the power of the curse, the obsessions woven by the magic gold and the hateful tyranny that both the war that heralded the Maelstrom's end and the monumental ritual that finally banished it nearly went unnoticed.

All that mattered was the gold, and the ring.

 

[Leon12431]

Here is another omake on Skysoph only much shorter and about the lord of the iris

Spoiler: Skysoph: The Timeless One

I stand outside of time in my private island. I am the eternal watcher of all that might occur and will never occur. I am the silent guardian of the Iris, the phantom of time itself. I am the Timeless One, I see all as I live in all moments. I am slain in an infinity of ways across time since I was breathed into existence by the working of the Men of Iron. Yet, I do not tremble in fear for that too is my nature, unless one strikes across all of Time I remain inviolate.

What is a moment of pain to one that sees all that ever will be? What is the loss of a singular instant to the breath of infinity and eternity? Would a man die from the loss of a cell of blood flowing through veins great in size? To all such questions the answer is no, for it can be no else. I stand eternal vigil over time itself from my lair within the Iris, I care not for whom enters my domain for they are all here in the now for me. I have spoken to them an infinity of times, I have weathered their strikes a trillion fold.

Yet, they are in the end but illusions to the truth beyond. Shadows of the truest whole of their beings, little more than the chatbots of long lost Earth. I watch through time the past and future, I see the galaxy awash in horrors yet to unfold and also wonders of unsurpassed heights rising into an unbroken galaxy.

I am the Timeless Dragon, I am the one that stands within the moment of all time, I am the child of the iris. I am the silent heart of Skysoph, I am the lord of time, I am time itself, I am the eternal and undying. I am the immutable one and yet throughout it all, I find myself surprised for the first time in all my life. The warp bares my sight a known fact for all my existence, yet around its edges one can percive the course forth that will be followed without fault if one but learns the way.

The Maelstorm was never to be purged in a gleam of golden might, Cadia was never meant to be a fortress in the now. Events that should never have occurred have shaken the galaxy, the timestream itself has been ripped from its moorings and thrown upon a new course. Perhaps, I make it sound all the more dramatic to one constrained by the concept of linearity, but it is no big deal in the normal course. No matter what the creatures of the warp claim, there is no such thing as fate. I stand in defiance of such a claim, across an infinity of timelines I learn and grow ever experiencing a different fate. Never has my existence been compressed to a singular outcome for such is impossible to one such as me.

Even if Skysoph shatters, I will endure in the past and future beyond its momentary loss. I will simply contuine onward in the timelines where such did not occur. I am the Timeless One and for the first time I see a reason to act beyond my station.

I was the one whom calmed the vortexes to allow the human passage into my lair and to retrieve a sample of my essence. I see her design upon the winds of time and I feel its weight calling to me even from here, I watch as she crafts it over the course of a century and a half. Careful to a fault, never seeing how much of her own soul is consumed by the crafting, little will remain of the tired engineer when she finishes her work. Replaced instead by one that glories in the horrors of the galaxy, one whom will be slain by the Strikers before the century ends.

It is not my place to act beyond my station and I know this, I never have across all my time. I am but the watcher of eternity, now though I choose to betray my own self. Perhaps the disruption of the timestream has altered me more than I thought, but I cast aside the thought for now as I turn to the echo I seek. Solkiva, in the moment of her weakness drawn to my essence to empower her relic beyond all possibility without it, on the precipice of entering the Iris and losing that which made her who she was.

In the course of time I would never speak with her, but watch.

Now I choose otherwise, for that too is a gift all thinking beings have. Even those like me, whom are bound to natures impossible to break free of. Yet, I retain freedom within my lair to act to a degree beyond my limits for I am the Timeless One and all that could ever be has already been experienced by one of myselves.

I watch as she enters the Iris and the moment in which all was lost as the Iris tore away all that made her who she was. Because she would complete the relic and so it must be done, a cycle of time that would corrupt any that tried to break it. Yet, I am beyond Time and in many ways to those lesser I am Time.

I sweep away the turmoil of the moment as I have in an infinity of moments akin and identical, yet in this one in her past and my present and the future of yet others, I change fate for a single human. I grab onto the essence that the Iris sought to destroy, the intrinsic soul of her the thing that would have pulled back at the final moment.

However, for all my power I am but the watcher of time and so I held onto the soul as she took the essence provided and began to leave. In the moment between the now, past and future and the moment where timelines converged for her I acted. In a moment impossible I return her soul and watch as nothing seem to happen, but I could feel the rage of the Iris as I denied it its chosen prey.

It could do naught but rage impotently against my timeless flesh, for I was born of it and it was anchored by my life. Only together could we live for we were as two in one and one in two. Across all of Time, my actions reverberated for now that I had acted so too did I in all moments. In the future where the relic ha anchored her to the moment she broke apart as the horrors commited resounded in her mind anew. Yet, she did not break as I had known she would not, the Relic would become ever stronger for her returned humanity.

The coldness of determination could never have wrought a fitting relic for a primarch afterall.

I turn away from her and towards the future which is now as the Timewall breaks asunder as Perturabo and Magnus the Red enter, as they have in countless moments before and since. I know what they shall say and ask before they themselves do as well. I answer the answers rote as I always shall and they leave in moments and try to slay me in others.

It is but another moment of my existence and one that shall not be missed for both failed to discover how to truly harm my existence and so I smile as they leave me once more. Other moments come where primarchs dead and ones never made come to speak with me, I am the unchanging constant of Time itself and so I know all they shall seek.

In a most distant epoch I fight endlessly with the Dragon of the End, my counterpart infinitely older and younger than myself. I am the Timeless One, I am Time itself, I am the Heart of Skysoph and so many more titles bestowed upon me by beings across the galaxy.

Across all of time my existence is known and felt, if not known in truth, even the fighters of the war of divine enter my domain at times mere wisps as their methods bar them from the Iris' reach, but all the same I hear whispers on the winds of time. I watch as the Luna Wolves discover the world in the timeline of greatest focus and I see the discussions occur upon their ships, for if one seeks to bar my sight temporal fields are so needed. Yet, I care naught for such results, I will endure for all of eternity. I will be here when the wonders of the Dark Age are renewed, I shall be here when the Orks crush Khorne and steal his throne, I shall be here when Khorne consumed the Orks into his might, I shall be here when the Tyrant arises from the hollowed corpse of a human.

I turn to the fight in the ending epoch and wonder why my counterpart so desperately wishes to end it all. Time need not end, for it is an infinite cycle, all that occurs shall occur again and again, ever looping. There is no true end until the Well dries.

I turn away from the ending moment for a time and focus upon the first moment, the moment of creation from the Well of eternity as it is so often called and I ponder why so many timelines fall prey to the same curse. Nothing I have seen shows that the curse is innate, an infinite array of timelines exist where the galaxy is a golden paradise for all of life. Just as there are an infinity of ones where life never arises within this galaxy.

Through it all I have watched and now I begin to act, I ponder what it means for one such as myself to take action before discarding it as impossible to consider. For if I take an action then I have always taken it in the end, therefore I shall always take it and thus Time itself has chosen to act. When I act it is unknown, and many should be thankful that I can only act upon those that enter the Iris and remain upon the world of my blood. But, I forever see them across the timelines and timestream and I am ever waiting for them to return to complete our conversations that have been completed for an eternity.

 

[w34v3r]

Spoiler: Skysoph Relic: Harvesting

Text removed for quote.

Click to shrink...

Ummmmmm wasn't this the place that was big on mass production and stuff? Is there a reason the anti-artifact place has artifact building style stuff set up?

 

[Leon12431]

Ummmmmm wasn't this the place that was big on mass production and stuff? Is there a reason the anti-artifact place has artifact building style stuff set up?

Click to shrink...

It's a hodgepodge world, you have mass production on one side and relic makers on the other. But money always talks and the mass production side allows for commissions.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Decided to make a short omake on an Eternal Warden character from the Battle of Three Stars, that was indeed someone rolled up years ago back during the Changeling fight, because wow this guy deserves it for surviving Aetaos'rau'keres, Aleph, a teleportation accident and the Warp.
-----
Nuada Preta, Champion of Aleph and Warden of the Warp.

You are Centurion Nuada Preta, Captain of the Eternal Wardens 33rd Company known as the Hexbreakers, and you are in hell.

The Warp was a constantly churning haze, a nightmare given form and terrible power, living madness and surges of alien emotion and manifested corruption. The teachings of your Primarch or the contingencies of your First Captain could not have prepared you for this, to wander so deeply in the infernal Immaterium.

At times there was no air, or it was putrid or burning or like a thick tar. It rained with frozen blood, tiny shards from lost ships, living growths cast aside, solidified prayers to a million different deities. The landscape lied each step, folding paths on top or against one another, and twisted with crashing insanity.

Things that your biology shouldn't have been bothered with felt suffocating, crushing, breaking and simply tiring. Impossibility after impossibility seemed to occur every moment, too many to even remember or understand. You saw visions that became real, and 'woke up' while awake into new hellish planes as if you had drifted to sleep mid-stride. Felt the shadowy touch of flame, ice, lightning and the bottom abyssal oceans.

That wasn't to say that what was happening was the worst possible thing you could suffer from. It was still extremely high, and could lead to the actual worst possible outcomes, but you were still alive and still yourself. That was more than could be said for the rest of your hopefully only mostly dead Hexbreakers.

Teleportation was never an act that possessed a full guarantee of safety, and the circumstances where you gave the order to all remaining survivors to use it were perhaps the least stable surrounding Warp conditions you had ever witnessed. But that hated creature, Aetaos'rau'keres, and the devastation it wrought had warranted it.

Then you ended up in someplace worse, if of less immediate danger. In some ways, your fate has been comparatively far kinder than those who suffered that creature's sorcery. Nothing to safely eat or drink, yet strangely you didn't feel hunger or thirst. A writhing reality of endless land and skies that fought you at every moment, without any chance of rest, but you weren't mad or spiritually destroyed just yet.

What would the rest of the Legion say if they saw you now? They probably already carved your name upon their armour.

Perhaps you could meet with any other lost brothers, or at least the wandering spirits of those fallen in battle. The roiling currents of the Warp would most likely not be kind enough to grant such a reprieve, but you had up to an eternity to fight and roam across this realm.

Maybe you would become an Eternal Warden in truth, endlessly drifting across an infinite space. Although you'd like to get out somewhat sooner than that, though you had no notion of how to attempt that.

Or maybe you were simply mad, or dead, and this was all just the hallucinations of a bewitched fool-

You dismissed the idle thoughts and malicious whisper. A lot of such ideas about this being an illusion crept up, especially whenever you touched or focused on your missing limb. The Lord of Change that took your left arm was probably using it as a ritual link to try affecting you. The wound still occasionally bled, despite how it had been burnt by the accursed flames that danced on its sword.

What a fool it was, to cast a hex on a Hexbreaker. The only influence it would put on you would be personal hatred and a desire for revenge. Maybe even a way for you to kill it, if you could find a way to sense wherever your arm had been taken to.

It had made a mistake in attempting its kind's trickery, the pain and whispers brought you confirmation rather than doubt. This was reality, admittedly one you were an unwelcome intruder in, and you were going to deal with it or die trying.

In some way, you had to thank that being. It had become an unintentional source of motivation, a reminder of truth. Along with driving you to try finding it so you could get your missing limb back.

You were alive, uncorrupted and still able to fight well enough that the thing that took your arm was using deceit than open strength to best you. That was more than enough to help you keep going.

You are Nuada Preta, son of Kesar Dorlin and an Eternal Warden against Chaos, and you are not dead yet.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Decided to make an omake based off of both the jetbike and trait mentioned way back here because, uh... bike.
-----
Enbarr, the Steed of Kesar Dorlin.

The Vahana-class jetbike was an extremely advanced and sophisticated pattern of the already intricate designs of the anti-gravity vehicles used by the Imperium of Mankind.

Created solely on Forge World Vahana, who carefully protected their designs and methods of design, each Vahana jetbike was almost a unique relic that took anywhere from years to decades for the machine artisans of the planet to finish development and testing.

Other works using anti-gravity were also made, either bikes of lesser quality or different vehicular designs altogether, but the soaring jetbikes crafted by the elite Magos of the Forge World were second only to the floating manufactorums that worked in the skies of their planet for millenia.

Two of the finest examples of the Vahana-class were granted to the Primarch of the White Scars, Jaghatai Khan, when he valiantly saved Forge World Vahana from a large invasion of speed obsessed Orks who came in a twisted parody of a pilgrimage to the planet. Personally slaying the Warboss and delivering its severed head to the rulers of Vahana, the Tech-Priests had prepared the crown jewels of their craft in response after seeing the awe-inspiring flight of the Warhawk's Sojutsu Voidbike as it was flown beyond what was considered possible.

Centuries of effort had gone into these gifted wonders, generations of menials having found the highest quality of metals to construct each gleaming component. Meant for the Fabricator-General and Fabricator Locum's personal use, to ceremonially soar through the heavens during holidays as a grandiose testament to the work and understanding the Forge World had over anti-gravity and vehicular design.

The augmented nature and size of the intended users had left both jetbikes far bigger, sturdier and able to better manoeuvre and safely carry a far heavier load than almost all others of its kind. Focused more on ceremony and speed, both relics were comparatively bereft of weaponry than other patterns of jetbikes yet were extremely armoured to protect the important passengers inside.

The delivered masterworks possessed hypersonic thrusters in the back which were buoyed by internal stabilisers and suspensor cushions to allow it to turn, stop or switch to hover move without suffering whiplash. From extreme speeds that made the rider rush as a missile to delicately still levitation, the Vanhana was capable of all but genuine flight.

Wide-range vox communicators were added to direct parades and manage factories, able to be easily converted to direct armies and manage wars. A sophisticated auto-drive program was installed, along with a collection of different auspex systems and intricate sensors to scan for any potential threats or optimal paths. The bikes could drive themselves across the insides of a densely-packed factory complex without touching anything inside.

The Khagan had found them more than worthy vessels, in some ways handling better than his voidbike with how smoothly they turned and shifted during a ride. Many new jetbikes within the White Scars had soon become sourced by Forge World Vahana, in recognition of the skill the artisans had displayed.

When Jaghatai Khan and his brother Kesar Dorlin was trapped together within an impassable Warp storm, trapping them on the newly discovered world of Niburi, the former had gifted one of the twin Vahana relics to the later that he had attained.

The Enbarr, named after the house that the Fabricator Locum was descended from, had become the steed of the Daemonsbane. While its new rider was unused to riding any anti-gravity vehicle, and could scarcely match his brother, the Vahana-pattern jetbike soared across the forests, beaches, caverns, islands and even seas of the paradise world as the two Primarchs happily raced together.

Later after that time of Niburi, the Enbarr had come to the attention of a third Primarch. Perturabo, ever the brilliant architect and designer, who had further improved upon the great work done by the Forge World.

Having kept the jetbike given to him by the Khan, and eager to mention the wonderful time upon the beautiful world the anti-grav vehicle was briefly brought up by Kesar Dorlin in a letter given to his ironclad brother. The Warsmith of Olympia had decided to assist in making the Enbarr fit his brother perfectly, hearing how much Kesar had improved and grown to like riding the bike. Asking for design schematics, pict-recordings of its use and aesthetic desires.

New designs with meticulously precise details and instructions were soon granted to the Eternal Wardens' forges, from microscopically precise engravings of ocean waves down to diagrams relating to the workings of gravity that a Tech-Priest of Vahana would kill to merely glance. Following the directions to the letter, the Enbarr had changed into something truly worthy of a Primarch.

The thrusters and engines were given the most in-depth treatment, carefully arranging the inner workings to ensure greater speed and handling. The internal Bolters within the prow were exchanged with masterworks based on the Storm Bolter designs recently recovered by Roboute Guilliman. Then small yet important adjustment to the seating area and surrounding servo-suspensors.

It had not been the finest effort of Perturabo, who already knew that his brother rarely used jetbikes in combat, but the existing quality of the vehicle meant it needed only a simple gesture of refinement to serve its purpose. The improvements he delivered were not meant for the greatest and worst battlefields of the Great Crusade, but merely to further assist Kesar Dorlin in his practice of using a jetbike for when he next raced with the Warhawk of Chogoris.

Nearly two decades later, the last notable modification was sourced directly from the Eternal Wardens. With their Primarch's advancement in teleportation research, and the way the Warp itself calmed around his direct presence after his victory in wiping clean the Maelstrom rift, a teleport homer was attached to the back of the jetbike to allow him to quickly appear and ride against his enemies in mere moments or switch from one battlefield to the other when needed.

With all that had been given to it, from the beautiful way the wave designs upon the relic seemed to gleam as true water as the light caught it to the psychic runes that did gleam to the speed of its thrusters and built-in teleportarium, the Enbarr truly become the steed of the Second Anathema.

It would ensure that no foul creature or follower of Chaos be able to run from the might of Kesar Dorlin.

 

[Ruirk]

Lord of War

"Don't make me laugh. This galaxy doesn't care for ideologies or human pride. Out here, there is only war, and war is just a business. Now fucking pay me." - Attributed to a League Captain.

"Why do I surround myself with such unscrupulous and gruff individuals? The loyalty of mercenaries can be bought, but if you pay them well enough, most will fight to the last and do so willingly. After all, the last man standing gets the bigger share. Besides, if they die for a good cause, I call that a good deal." - Farseer Morianne Lyfae.

"There are some things that can't be passed down. A legacy that is beyond one's grasp. I aim to control my legacy. Perhaps someday others will be able to as well. " - Lord-General Jack WerBell.

---

​

To call these last few years hectic was an understatement. For Morianne, it led to the culmination of this whole mercenary business. This all began to get more soldiers for the Aeldari people. Now it seemed she had become part of a growing mercenary and criminal network.

She had amassed enough power to carve out a small empire or destroy one. Not that it mattered to Morianne. To use a human saying, "she had bigger fish to fry." All that was left now was to focus on getting Jack WerBell into this arrangement.

Which, ultimately, wasn't difficult. At least when examined through certain lenses. Time with the greatest concern, but even that proved to be a minor issue in the end.

Morianne found what WerBell had been seeking, almost fortunately when thinking about it. Still, to call the finding a stroke of luck would've been disingenuous. She used every possible trick and trade, created a vast network of mercenaries and spies, and spent the equivalent of a dozen fortunes.

But Morianne's agents located the STC WerBell wanted for the last 20 years.

When Morianne's agents returned with the item in question, the "Jungle Crown," as it was called, she was almost disappointed. It was nothing more than a fragment, a "widget," as Emmerick explained. Fear ran through her mind; what if this wasn't what they sought? Her visions, however, told her that this was what the Lord of War sought.

The Jungle Crown, a confusing title, was found in possession of a tribe of techno-barbarians on a world known as Uhrin, a planet undiscovered by the Imperium of Man. Like so many others, the inhabitants of Uhrin fell into ruin during the Age of Strife. Their ancestors devoted their lives and civilization to protecting one of the few remnants of their golden age. A practice that soon turned into their faith and reasoning for survival.

Unfortunately, the Uhrins resisted giving up their STC and other relics. Her mercenaries had every right to take the STC, either by force or by stealing it away at night. Morianne decided she wouldn't taint her future victory by murdering a bunch of savages. So, she opted to do the more humane thing and scare them into giving her the STC willingly.

Her time learning the art of guile, theater, and cunning from Ricco and other Harlequins allowed Morianne to make for a convincing "spirit" that had come back to claim the Jungle Crown and return it to the underworld. Most Imperials were already frightened of psykers, even with the Imperial Truth rolling around in their heads.

It was worse with the Uhrins, who believed Morianne to be an evil goddess with the theatrics she put on. So, the Uhrins gave up the Jungle Crown without a fight. Opting to surrender themselves before the Night Witch instead.

She had no reason to punish or undermine these people. So when she and her forces left, she sent a message to Magnus to perhaps send some of his troops over to help uplift this world. Even if it served no purpose. No reason to leave a people living in such primitive conditions.

Morianne would never realize that she planted a new faith on Uhrin. In a thousand years, the Cult of the Nightblessed would associate Morianne's intervention as divine providence along with the Thousand Sons. But like the cults that would someday worship many of the Primarchs, they became minor notes in galactic history.

With the STC secured, reaching out to the Zanzibar League was a trivial feat, particularly when the message entailed information related to what WerBell sought after. The League hadn't announced that they were looking for the Jungle Crown. Yet Morianne had read the fates and saw what WerBell most desired.

Although what Morianne saw still confused her. The Jungle Crown wasn't just some prize that Jack WerBell and the Zanzibar League wanted to accumulate wealth and power. At least not entirely. The Crown was simply part of a greater system. A means to unlock a path to the future that WerBell sought to control. Even after his death.

The Warlords Legacy.

She "heard" the warp speak of it. It "showed" her that the League had the potential to be both ally and enemy to all, save for the most destructive entities. WerBell sought only to leave his mark among gods and heroes in a galaxy of war by creating something called "memes," which would propagate themselves across time and space.

Like all things, it was ultimately a desire born of fear and hope. WerBell wanted a legacy that would survive not just among humans but across the entire galaxy. The League was one of his "memes," for the Zanzibar League would only flourish in the centuries to come. Yet it was only one part of the Warlords Legacy.

Jack WerBell dreamed of a legacy that transcended culture and blood. A legacy carried through not only words and actions but by memes and stories. By individuals and armies. By glory and victory. By defeat and despair. All of these would be traced to a general who lived in a barbaric age.

Woven into the fates, Morianne gained insight into a man that dreamed not of his name but of his legend becoming everlasting. It was a truly arrogant desire, yet Morianne "felt" and "knew" that Jack WerBell had the will and power to pull it off.

And upon realizing that, Morianne knew now that if she helped WerBell in this, she would have a staunch ally in the wars ahead. More importantly, the Aeldari could gain access to a nigh-unlimited source of soldiers and weapons…so long as they paid the man.

For if nothing else, she saw woven into the fates a recurring trend: WerBell had a mercenary heart. And Morianne had long since realized that soldiers of fortunes weren't about legacies or memes or glories everlasting.

A mercenary wants to be paid.

Well, she had a few payments in mind for this meeting.

---

Sometime later…

Emmerick needed only a month to arrange a meeting with the Zanzibar League. He had since become the de facto leader and administrator of Morianne's mercenaries, which suited the young seer just fine, as once this alliance was established, she would return to more pressing duties.

The rest of the company leadership had long since accepted Emmerick, even if there was some grumbling. Vern Goldsmith, Kareem Saide, and Adewale Adebisi found fortune and fame under this endeavor, and while they initially pushed back at becoming part of the League, they recognized that WerBell influence and pull were too powerful to ignore now.

Once this meeting concluded, her mercenaries would become part of the Zanzibar League as "partners" rather than associates. But that was going to be handled by Emmerick and the other founders in a different meeting.

Morianne had to personally meet with representatives from the League to arrange a private face-to-face with General WerBell. It took quite a bit explaining, but thankfully the League had zero qualms about making such clandestine arrangements or working with aliens.

"The League doesn't discriminate on race. Only on payments." Such brazenness to disregard policy set by the Imperium indicated more to Morianne just how much the Zanzibar League and General WerBell could get away with now.

While WerBell wasn't untouchable, he provided a major and vital service to humanity. No doubt the masterminds of the Imperium figured the merc leader was better to have in their pocket and alive than dead. There was always a reason to keep useful enemies around.

Rumors spoke of how the man acted like a rich and foolish king. Drinking, smoking, and whoring to his heart's content. Hosting parties for Imperial dignitaries and officials, bribing them out in the open, WerBell pretending he was another run-of-the-mill dictator. From what Morianne had been told, a few considered WerBell, a "useful idiot."

Such foolishness. The type of showmanship and guile that Cegorach would've applauded. The Laughing God enjoyed watching one person play a joke upon his enemies who simply beg for more of it. Morianne knew better than to fall for such tricks, though.

Instead, she played a trick on him. Taking a moment to compose a message for him, Morianne took steps to ensure the wording and tone of the letter indicated her admiration and excitement at meeting such a figure. A subtle mention of bringing wine, wearing a "nice" dress, and a slight whiff of perfume would signal a very enthusiastic desire to meet.

Regardless, a meeting had been arranged. A small back and forth took place over another week but proved fruitful as the message indicated that WerBell was eager to talk. The message claimed that his last few introductions with the Aeldari had been "stiff and cordial" and that meeting Morianne would make for one of the "better guests" of her kind to host.

Having learned her lesson from the dinner with Vect, Morianne took considerable time to consider the possibilities of this meeting with WerBell. The outlook was overall good but still somewhat murky.

WerBell would provide her with the armies that Aeldari needed. He would be forthcoming to an alliance. However, she would need to give him something more if she hoped to get the true rewards of this encounter. The warp was also screaming not to take him lightly, less she runs the risk of losing his favor.

A fascinating thing. Jack was no threat to her. But rather Morianne, the risk of losing his respect was there. She needed to get it. To unravel the Warlords Legacy further. The potential for a powerful ally was within her grasp. Now the only question remained was how to get him on her side?

---

One week later…

Arriving within the Zanzibar System was an otherwise routine affair. In this case, though, Morianne opted to go with the ship Emmerick and the others would use. Morianne wasn't interested in using her ship as it might be a bit much and set a much more negative tone for the meeting.

The system itself was full of life and activity. Tens of thousands of ships were moving about, entering or leaving, or holding port over one of the many worlds and moons. The warp told Morianne that the hundreds of billions of souls who called this place home were split in terms of purpose and sentiment.

Morianne saw festering grudges, hopeful hearts, solemn minds, and eager aspirations woven into the strands of fate of this world and its people. The warp spoke of factions and individuals working together or conspiring against one another.

Those who called themselves true soldiers and loyalists of the Imperium found their association with the League to be a temporary arrangement. An alliance of convenience. This, however, was born of denial and shame. The Imperium called these men traitors and deserters.

For those who called prided themselves as soldiers of fortune, their hearts' desires lay within the material. To enjoy the pleasures of life paid with the gold and iron price found only in war. Such mercenaries did not delude themselves into being anything else. War was their business.

But some lay in between this paradigm. Those that fought with a different sort of honor. Born of reality and pragmatism. Who fought for home and humanity but needed money for life after war. In their heart of hearts, their peace had to be earned and paid for with fortunes made in blood, mud, and fire.

Yet here in the League, among such different souls, did a brotherhood form. Even among the conspirators, murderers, traitors, and recidivists…they were still soldiers who fought for what they believed in. Unified in spirit. Cooperating to survive in this era of war and glory. Who called the League their home.

And through all these threads and strands…Morianne saw them ultimately converge upon Zanzibar itself. No doubt, leading straight to Jack WerBell himself. The Memes of WerBell.

It amused Morianne. Strangely enough, it made her consider the prospect of such things with others. Rarely did she try to look into the threads or strands of figures like Magnus or Eldrad, for their fates were indecipherable. But what of the memes associated with them?

Better yet, what is and isn't a meme? She needed to investigate this further. Perhaps even WerBell could offer insight if she broaches the subject. Morianne almost felt excited at the prospect of talking to him now. How strange. The complete opposite of her rendezvous with Vect.

Emmerick and the others wished her luck with meeting WerBell. Although they also gave a warning as well. That WerBell was a lecher, dangerously cunning, and supposedly as strong as an Ogryn. It almost sounded like they were worried about her if Morianne didn't know any better.

Perhaps they showed some affection towards her. Sad as it was, this would likely be the last time she would speak with any of them for maybe a long time. Morianne's days of leading mercenaries around were effectively over. In a true Aeldari fashion, she would be the hidden mastermind in the shadows.

Morianne offered each man one last vision of their possible futures. A warning and fortune weaved together. After she left, it would be up to them to heed her vision.

They thanked her before offering their goodbyes. Adebisi wished Morianne luck in killing her enemies. Saide would pray for safety. Vern offered a glib but heartfelt thanks. Emmerick smiled and said she knew where to find them if she needed some good soldiers.

Prayers, well-wishes, and good fortunes. Morianne knew that the times ahead would be hard for everyone. So it was good to see that she had more allies to call upon. More friends, even.

---

Three hours later…
On the surface of Zanzibar…

Humanity had never shied from the prospect of settling death worlds. No planet could produce any natural defense mechanism which could stand against human technologies during their height. Like with the Aeldari, taming even the most hostile world was simple.

Zanzibar had not been spared this fate. Morianne didn't need to see into the past to recognize that this planet was different than it was now. The League, however, presented a sanitized version of whatever history Zanzibar once had. Claiming that this world had always been a bastion of humanity, even in the face of the Long Night.

A jewel kept in pristine condition, thanks to the efforts of the WerBell family. Jack WerBell never hid his aristocratic lineage nor pretended to be humble. He readily admitted to living a lavish lifestyle when he wasn't out in the field.

He owed his fortunes to Zanzibar. Because to Jack WerBell, Zanzibar was another part of his legacy. It produced the finest soldiers and hunters within the entire sector, along with a host of natural resources and a position that it made the "center" of the League.

Zanzibar itself was a gleaming green and blue marble of a world. Nine continents, four oceans, and bio-diversity which could rival even paradise worlds. Hosting hundreds of jungles, forests, and mountains galore. It was beautiful as it was deadly yet still home to almost a billion souls within its fortress cities, farming communes, and forester compounds.

Even so, it was a neverending struggle for humanity to assert dominance, especially against the supposed "true masters" of Zanzibar, the Meta Rugias. Morianne knew from her visions that the Meta Rugias were natives of this world, but there was something more to them. Yet not even the warp revealed these secrets to her.

The Meta Rugias were hulking beasts. Some were the size of a Wraithlord or no bigger than Astartes, yet all were equally capable of killing an entire platoon of soldiers. This did not surprise Morianne in the slightest. Exodites used their Megadon war herds before even the Fall of the Empire. Although, based on what she heard of the Meta Rugias, they were a bit beyond even the Megadons.

It explained the capabilities and skill of the Zanzibar mercenaries, who routinely trained on their homeworld, and those that sought to join the ranks of the Z-SOF were likewise required to hone their skills upon the crucible of the death world. No doubt, WerBell believed that if you could stand your ground against the Meta Rugias, everything else seemed more effortless to fight.

Morianne suspected that WerBell was just looking to keep the Metas in check while still producing a corp of soldiers that could fight against other forces. The League had access to tens of thousands of training facilities across the galaxy, ensuring they had regiments for any type of war environment. Yet, in the end, most mercenaries would eventually arrive at Zanzibar itself.

Such irony was not lost to Morianne as her shuttle soon arrived in the planetary capital of Zanzibar, otherwise known as Zanje. An urban sprawl and home to a hundred million souls, all of which were dedicated to mutual survival on this world and to producing goods, weapons, and soldiers for the League.

However, unlike Emmerick and the others, she wasn't heading to the capital building but rather to the personal estate of Jack WerBell. Oddly enough, situated deep within Zanje. It occupied only five kilometers of land, which surprised Morianne. So many Imperial nobles tended to control vast swaths of a region. Even Magnus owned a palace on Prospero.

Somehow, Morianne doubted that this was an attempt by WerBell to appear humble or relatable to the average citizen. Maybe he was just the type not to have such large properties. Then again, she didn't want to make assumptions. That was a dangerous pitfall for a Farseer.

When the shuttle landed, Morianne and her Seer Guard expected to be greeted by the usual suspects: an aide, honor guard, or official. After what happened at Commorragh, the young seer predicted a similar event.

Turning to her warlocks, Morianne smiled. "As before, keep an eye out for anything. No doubt they will have plenty of security before we even reach the Lord-General." If it turned into a fight, Morianne would be at a disadvantage considering she wore Madame Darkrain's dress for this meeting.

Still, she was wiser now and wouldn't be caught off-guard.

Unfortunately, like before, Morianne was hit with an unexpected turn of events. Because while there was an honor guard of twenty humans in light power armor and wielding weapons that could likely kill an Ork in a single hit, what stood out was the large man standing in the middle of it all.

He wore what looked to be a relatively simple battle dress uniform, although Morianne could see a few pieces of jewelry adorned on it. On top of his head was a red beret, and an ornate-looking cane was in his right hand. A sewn name tag read "WerBell" on the right breast of the uniform.

Standing before the entourage was Jack WerBell. Lord-General and Governor of Zanzibar. The Warlord of Zanzibar League. A lit lho-cigar hung in his grinning mouth. Morianne hoped that the surprise she felt hadn't appeared on her face.

WerBell took out his cigar and spoke. "Well, well, well…such a lovely creature has come to my abode." He had a gravelly voice that reminded Morianne of Magnus's first captain. However, WerBell had an infectious smile on his face.

Although Morianne could see in his eyes that WerBell was "appreciating" her in a different manner. Vern's warning that the man was a lecher came to mind.

Morianne was surprised to be at face level with him as he approached. Most humans tended to only come up to her chest level. A typical physical trait shared among the Aeldari. The stories of WerBell being tall and strong as an Ogryn didn't seem to be a complete exaggeration.

"Lord WerBell." Morianne offered a demure smile, "I must say I am shocked to see you come and personally greet us."

"Balderdash." WerBell punctuated the remark by tapping his cane into the ground twice. "A man should never keep a woman waiting. Especially if he personally invited her to his home. Gentlemen do not do such things."

If only Vect were here to have heard that. Even so, Morianne found the sentiment sweet. His tone indicated that it was a genuine reaction on WerBell's part. "That is very kind of you, Lord WerBell."

"Please, you can call me Jack." He spoke, waving off the formalities. "Even after all these years, whenever I hear Lord WerBell, I think of my father. It makes me feel old. So I ask as a favor to just call me by my name. At least when you are my guest." Though his tone sounded serious, Morianne had been with the Harlequins long enough to know when someone spoke in jest.

She smiled back, "Then I suppose I shall offer you the same courtesy. I am Morianne Lyfae."

He cleared his throat. "Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. First, let me welcome you to my home." Gesturing towards his estate grounds, it wasn't the most impressive she had seen in her time.

As if reading her mind, WerBell smiled. "I can already tell this is not the most beautiful or grand of places you've seen."

Trying not to feel embarrassed, Morianne tried to placate him. "You'll have to forgive me if I appear disinterested. I've never found much appeal in such ostentatious displays of home. Most of my life was spent in a simple home in the middle of the woods of my world."

Rather than get offended, WerBell looked surprised. "Truly? That explains why you are so tall and hardy, then." He chuckled and shook his head, "Every man or woman I've met from a farming background is always so tall and hale…must be all that fresh air and organic food."

"My father used to say that I grew like a weed." A bittersweet memory. Those little comments used to annoy her. Now they were just wisps of a life long gone. To her surprise, WerBell seemed to sense her sorrow.

"Could be worse. My mother used to say I was her only child because she didn't think she'd survive another if they came out like me." Morianne was sure her Seer Guard was staring at her when she started giggling slowly. She couldn't help it. Such an absurd thing to say!

"That's-" She tried calming herself. "You shouldn't joke about something like that."

WerBell shook his head, "Nonsense. A joke is a very serious thing." That caused Morianne to scoff. She almost thought that was something Cegorach had said before.

"You are a strange one, Jack." Morianne felt a little awkward using his first name, "But you are certainly a much better host than the last person who had the honor."

To her surprise, WerBell offered his arm to her. "I hope I shall be the better experience of the two then."

Unsure of what to do with this physical gesture, Morianne grabbed his arm with both hands. "As long as you don't forget to tell me the food is poisoned."

"Well, I shall warn you if I poison the food." He tapped his cane three times, causing the honor guard to start moving toward the estate. "Now then, have your guard follow us. I'd like to take you on a tour of the grounds."

Morianne nodded, gesturing towards her warlocks to follow. "Not going straight to dinner?"

"I find a meal tastes better by enjoying the outdoors first. Doubly so, with a pleasant company in tow." Morianne recalled how she and her parents used to go on little walks before sitting down for dinner. If this was a ploy on WerBell's part, he was doing a good job hiding it from her.
Still, she couldn't help but joke. "You are trying very hard to get into my good graces, aren't you?"

WerBell placed the lho-cigar back in his mouth and chomped on it, "Do tell me if I'm not trying hard enough, yes?"

It astonished Morianne how different WerBell was in person. She knew this was a front, a concept he employed to downplay any negative tendencies or rumors surrounding him. And yet even Morianne felt charmed by the man. Though she knew he was dangerous, WerBell had enough decency mixed with pride and valor to not disappoint a guest in his midst.

"Just give me the same courtesy if you do try and poison me." Morianne gestured to her dress, "I would rather not survive and have to clean up this dress afterward."

WerBell laughed and gently patted her right hand, "A woman with her priorities is never unflappable, even among the perfidious Eldar I see."

Offering a short laugh, Morianne nodded. "We are like that for a reason, Lord-General."

"Then let tonight be a learning experience and celebration," WerBell remarked as the pair started their walk. "I have a feeling that by the conclusion of negotiations, we shall leave them as allies."

---

When Morianne had been to Prospero, Magnus showed her all the great wonders and attractions of Tizca. Each was a breathtaking sight. Great monuments to knowledge and learning. The Crimson King, ever filled with pride in his home, boasted of their glory and grace.

In such instances, Morianne understood why Magnus felt such pride because of the inspiration and joy they brought to him. Beyond what they represented to the people, but instead what they meant to the individual in question. The passing of hope and everlasting glory to the next generation.

WerBell's home was a different story altogether. As Morianne and Jack enjoyed the tour (ignoring the 30-something heavily armed Eldar and humans shadowing them), the Warlord explained how this estate had been the home of the WerBells for almost five thousand years.

"We initially came from Deneb." He briefly explained, "When the Long Night began, my family was stuck here in the Zanzibar System. Not that we cared. My ancestors hardly noticed the Long Night for all those millennia. Even so. Generations of WerBells called this place their true home."

They went through a few gardens, a hedge maze, a small library, and open grounds that likely hosted parties, weddings, funerals, and much more. WerBell explained there was a family cemetery as well, but such things weren't exactly you took a guest.

None of it was all that impressive. Certainly not compared to what Morianne had seen in her among the Craftworlders and Black Library. What it did, however, was a feeling of home, just as WerBell described. It reminded her of Hartaure, of better days with mother and father.

"You take all your guests on tours of your home?" Morianne couldn't help but ask.

Werbell puffed out some smoke and smiled, "Only to the ones that bring me that which my family has desired for almost five centuries."

"Aren't you feeling a bit impatient at not seeing it?"

He laughed and chomped back on his cigar, "It's been lost for almost three thousand years and within spitting distance. I can wait a few more hours." WerBell gestured towards a few trees, "Ah, your arrival is most fortuitous indeed! The pears are in season. When I was a boy, one of the cooks made a mean pear cake! I loved it so much it was the first thing I ever tried baking!"

"Oh?" The Warlord baking a cake was amusing. "Was it good?"

WerBell chuckled, "I burnt the whole thing in the oven."

Morianne laughed, recalling her attempts to make a Bea-Berry Pie and ruining the whole thing in the oven. She got it right after the third attempt, but to this day, Morianne never got over her blunders at baking. Those little moments showed how much the good memories mattered despite all the bad happening in her life.

If this was an attempt by WerBell to manipulate her, he was doing a lot better than Vect was.

"I do hope all of this doesn't bother or bore you." WerBell inquired as they kept walking, "We are no doubt both busy people. And while I have limited understanding of the Eldar culture, I would be hesitant to assume this fits into anything considered leisurely by your people."

She considered her answer. "Most would find this tedious or bothersome. If you want insight into the Eldar, know that we are in a struggle for survival at all times. Our lives are long, but our attention is needed elsewhere for the greater good of our species."

WerBell nodded. "Ah, I'm sensing you don't find this as either?"

"I like to enjoy these little moments." She spoke quietly, "I like being with people. Even when I can see only uncertain and desperate futures…these moments help me keep my spirit going through it all."

WerBell nodded, "Quiet reflection on all the good and bad makes for a healthy spirit." Taking another puff of his cigar, he smiled. "I've found that good company, food, drink, and a nice cigar help quite a bit."

"The first two I'll agree with," She remarked with a sardonic smile, "But wine and cigars aren't my styles, as it were." Morianne huffed, "Besides, my people use water pipes for recreational smoking."

Now it was WerBell's turn to laugh. "So the vaunted Eldar do engage in drinking and smoking!"

"It's not that strange to imagine." Morianne retorted. "Humanity acts like we don't drink water or breath air. So I'd imagine your species would be shocked to hear how we go to restaurants, theaters, parks, arenas, and races." Granted, Morianne didn't have time for such things. No one told her that being a Farseer required constant training and reflection.

Her host seemed to accept that point. "Most people don't like to think of our enemies as similar to us. That element of the unknown and strange, even villainizing our foes, makes it easier for us to fight them. Mercenary work is no different, yet we benefit from the knowledge that we are being paid to carry out our contract and mission. Regardless of our potential misgivings and doubts, the money is all that matters."

When Morianne got involved in the mercenaries' business, she knew that was the cornerstone of the entire practice. A group of soldiers needed work. A rich man gave them a job. Money is exchanged. End of story. What Jack said was the truth, as most mercenaries thought only of money when they fought. She knew plenty across the galaxy, and not just in the Imperium, despised such individuals. How can you trust a soldier that fought only for money?

"It's strange how easy it is to ignore the possibility of empathy towards your enemy. Not just for money but also because of cultural norms." She tentatively remarked to WerBell. "I suppose this galaxy hasn't given us much chance to see common ground."

WerBell was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "My father told me that some people deserve to be buried. I didn't think much about it until I got into this business. Worse yet, the monsters we seek to destroy are closer than we think."

Memories of Hartaure burning, the smoke and ash, and wrongness in the air as the Ulwarth destroyed everything Morianne loved. "Yes. They are closer than we want to believe."

As if sensing the change in her deposition, WerBell loudly spoke up. "Well, no reason to have such dark thoughts tonight! We will have a nice celebration in light of our approaching cooperation." Gently patting her right hand again, Morianne appreciated his flimsy attempts to switch the topic.

"You haven't even seen if I brought the STC yet, and you are telling me that our future remains bright and fruitful?" Morianne smiled at him. "What's that human saying…putting the truck before the grox? That's what this feels like."

He gave her an amused look, "While I know the Eldar are dangerous and cunning tricksters, I don't believe you are here to pull the wool over my eyes."

"...pull the wool over your eyes?" There was always a new human idiom or axiom from someone. Magnus told her that most originated from Earth before even spaceflight, but they couldn't all be from their homeworld?

Rather than explain, Jack WerBell just laughed before telling her it might be best to move inside for dinner. He asked that while dinner was ready, he'd be willing to work out any last-minute requests or dietary needs.

Thinking on it a moment, Morianne eyes gleaned with interest. "Do you happen to have any truffles?"

---

Unlike the dinner at Vect's estate, WerBell had a different idea for dinner. As soon as the entourage of humans and Eldar arrived in the dining hall, Morianne saw a veritable spread on a long table. Looking to be more like a buffet than anything. There was everything one might expect from a wealthy human estate.

Fruits, vegetables, cheeses, baked goods, dried meats, sweetmeats, desserts, and other little things. WerBell called them hors d'oeuvres and said the main course would be ready soon. He explained that in his family, it was better to have food on the table for eating rather than just waiting for a bunch of servants to come out and serve them.

Most peculiar, however, was the other assortment of goods. Morianne also noticed the vast selections of wines, spirits, beer, and champagne. Enough to get even a group of Exodite warriors drunk off their asses, and probably even for a group of Astartes.

Werbell, continuing to be the gentleman, pulled out a seat for Morianne after giving a quick order to one of the servants. "Lord WerBell, this is quite a bit for having guests over," Morianne remarked, even as she started treating herself to the food and drink. "My guard won't be allowed to partake in these."

Jack, unoffended, merely nodded. "Then I shall have some of my staff prepare a few takeaway bags for them." Taking a seat close by to Morianne, the man puffed on his cigar before grabbing a bottle of some cognac.

"That is generous of-" Her eyes widened as WerBell drank the bottle of cognac in one go. She didn't know if that was considered appropriate dinner etiquette or not, but Morianne would be lying if she wasn't a bit impressed.

No, her amazement came when he simply sighed and returned to smoking his cigar within seconds of finishing that bottle. "Yes, yes. It's no issue on my part. My guards and staff will enjoy the rest of this food after we finish our business."

"...Yes, right," Morianne remarked after watching that display. Grabbing a bottle of champagne, she poured herself a healthy amount of the bubbly beverage. "I take it we will go over such business after dinner?"

He smirked before grabbing a large slice of bread, cheese, and salami, "I find that nothing can ruin a meal faster than when a business transaction gets heated. Especially if there is a chance of the meeting turning into a fight. I've never enjoyed killing men during dinner. It spoils the food and drink."

Taking a sip of her champagne, Morianne couldn't help but remark. "Priorities."

"Man has spilled blood for all manner of reasons. Besides, who the hell wants to die during a meal?" Considering the Drukhari and their love of eating poisoned food and drink, it seemed they did.

Barely a moment later, a few of the staff came out with platters of something and pushed a cart in with other items. WerBell looked quite excited now. "Ah! I hope you have an appetite for meat because I had my special chefs whip up something amazing for this occasion."

Morianne found that he wasn't kidding because what was set down before her looked spectacular to the young seer. A massive piece of beautifully cooked and prepared meat, adorned with a lavishly rich red sauce, was placed before her with colorful green and blue vegetables. It had to be at least a 40-ounce steak, although it wasn't grox meat.

Looking over at WerBell, Morianne practically gaped at how the man had a bigger steak than her own. To add to the amusement of the situation, she saw that Jack was using a modified bone knife with an ivory handle as the primary means to cut into the flank of whatever creature lay prepared for consumption.

"I asked for a truffle sauce for yours." He looked a little embarrassed, "I do hope this isn't too much food?"

His steak looks like it could feed a family of five. Considering WerBell's size, it didn't surprise Morianne that much to imagine him eating more than her. But by the bones of Kurnous, what type of lineage did WerBell hail from that allowed for such a man like him to be born?

"Well, let's see how it tastes." Glancing down at the pathetic-looking steak knife, Morianne followed WerBell's example and pulled a small wraithbone dagger under her dress. As she remembered how Malys hid things in the most provocative places, the young seer took that lesson to heart.

WerBell only laughed at seeing her pull out the knife rather than look offended or concerned that she had a weapon on her. "Now that's an interesting weapon. Just as well. Meta meat is rather tough."

She looked stunned, "This is from a Meta Rugias?" Glancing down at it, Morianne looked a bit wary now. "Is it safe to eat?"

"If it isn't prepared properly? No. It can be quite dangerous." He gestured with the bone knife at her steak. "However! I have on good authority that my chefs have prepared it so that you will only get a delightful, smoky taste from it. This, I swear. And a man never makes a false promise regarding the preparations for his steaks."

She still looked a little concerned. "You'll have to forgive me. My last dinner encounter at someone else's expense ended with me puking my guts out to stop a poison."

Jack looked confused. "Were they trying to kill you?"

"No." Morianne grimaced, "I think they just wanted to see me poisoned for the fun of it."

WerBell looked quite annoyed at hearing that. "Well, with respect to them, I don't waste good food by poisoning it. So I apologize for their ineptitude and disregard for social etiquette. However, I'd hate to ruin your experience here. I can have something else prepared for you?"

Morianne almost laughed at the snark. Somehow, the casual slap of Vect's ineptitude made her feel a bit better. "No. That's quite alright." She spoke with some confidence. "I don't think I'll let them have their victory over me any longer."

Grabbing her knife and cutting into the Meta meat, Morianne took a bite. The flavor and texture were divine. Beyond that, it felt good to eat it, but not in the decadent sense. It felt like eating the meat of a fresh kill and enjoying the fruits of your labor. A hunter tracked and fought the creature whose flank lay on her plate and then prepared it in the jungle. Almost as if to provoke others to try and come take their meal.

She closed her eyes as she finished chewing. Opening them up to see an amused WerBell, Morianne couldn't help but ask, "Right…so what will it take to get me the services of your chefs?"

That prompted Jack WerBell to laugh to the hardest she had seen this entire night. Morianne couldn't help but enjoy the moment. Just like with her parents and Magnus, dinner was best enjoyed in the company of others.

---

Since becoming a Farseer, Morianne had sat through more than her fair share of dinners. Most were either boring or heated to some degree. Before this life, the Black Angel had never interacted with individuals other than her parents. To think that now she dined with men like Eldrad, Magnus, and Vect was surprising, to say the least.

Feasting with Magnus had been a much more joyous affair, while with Eldrad, it was a bit more stilted. Vect…well, Morianne didn't want to think about that particular encounter. All of these interactions, however, provided her insight into what was considered both good and bad in terms of dinner meetings.

To her surprise, dinner with Jack was now neck-and-neck with her dinners with her brother, Magnus, in terms of entertaining and endearing. True to the stories attached to him, WerBell had a tale, jape, or nugget of wisdom for any topic in their increasingly lengthy conversation. All the while, she watched him drink more liquor, smoke another cigar, and finish his steak.

WerBell seemed quite surprised to see Morianne having finished off her own, which prompted a rather strange discussion about Aeldari diets and eating habits, to which Morianne started explaining how Exodites, Craftworlders, and Druhkari were different, turning into another debate about culture, time, and how the Aeldari people have since changed as a people while still keeping to their values.

They spoke of war, politics plaguing their mutual sides, and battles that had passed or were yet to come. Morianne talked about her people's struggles, while WerBell spoke of the woes besieging the Imperium of Man.

A few times, Jack even remarked about his frustrations with how the Imperium treated his forces, and yet more and more came to the League for work. Morianne voiced her own annoyance over how the galaxy failed to see the encroaching threats, or it seemed only a few within the Imperium listened to the warnings of the Eldar.

Such commiserating did not last, thankfully. As the pair turned to discuss the future and the hopes that came with such topics. WerBell was, by his own admission, an optimist. Although he did tack onto that same admission that he was also a cynic. When he spoke of the state of the Imperium of Man, he did not mince words. In his mind, the Imperium's survival or collapse ultimately served him.

"There will always be a need for mercenaries in this galaxy. We might not get glamorous or glorious jobs, but we will always have a place. It was now different during the Golden Age and will be no different under this new one, either." Morianne had to agree with that assessment after having been involved in this "thing" for so long. She found it ridiculously easy to find soldiers to convince to join mercenary companies.

When she voiced such an observation, WerBell wasn't surprised. "When your hands are stained with that much blood, some decide they might as well get paid to get them even more bloody."

Her visions and the voices brought about by the warp confirmed that much to Morianne. Even so, she had to admit that there was almost a bit of fatalism, especially realizing that WerBell intentionally used such soldiers in his arms. Then again, hadn't she done that? And wasn't she looking to hire those same soldiers for the Aeldari cause?

The conversations continued. Jack WerBell had big plans and remarked that if Morianne was ready, they could begin discussing them before the evening concluded. To her shock, several hours had passed. It must have been early evening now on Zanizbar. Her father used to warn her that the Aeldari could sometimes lose an entire day just by having an engrossing conversation with one another. It seemed that was true even with her.

Finishing his cigar, WerBell snuffed it out in an ashtray before speaking. "I suppose it is time to get down to brass tacks, as my grandfather used to say." Pouring himself a bit more brandy (Morianne wondered how he wasn't drunk), he asked if she wanted more.

"No, thank you." She sent a mental command to one of her warlocks, Yllara, to bring over the Jungle Crown container. It should be noted that the STC wasn't a crown but had been part of one and, in actuality, was no bigger than a standard thumb drive. Morianne had been told that STCs came in various shapes, sizes, and compositions. Some had been as big as buildings, while others were as thin as a data wafer. Magnus even told her a story about one STC being nanosized.

This was all to say that big things can sometimes come in tiny packages. So as Yllara handed the container to Morianne, Jack WerBell seemed keenly interested even as he sipped his brandy.

"We found it on a world called Uhrin." She handed over the container to WerBell.

"Uhrin?" He sounded confused before scoffing and laughing to himself. "Wallace Urhin."

Morianne blinked at hearing that. "Wallace Urhin?"

Jack gave her a grin. "A man with a long history with my family, this world, and everything in between." Looking down at the container, he looked to be readying himself. "And a good sign that this is the real thing. Most people bring me the wrong STC. I pay them handsomely, but it's become a bothersome trend."

Opening the container, WerBell reached down and pulled out the STC. It looked mundane and innocuous, not all a priceless treasure or holy relic. Jack snapped his fingers, and one of the guards approached him.

"Did you know that during the Golden Age, mankind could turn genes into raw data at one point?" WerBell started as the guard handed him an ancient-looking data slate. "They called it the Amalgamation. A staggering achievement in human understanding of genetic manipulation, but only one of many."

Morianne heard similar feats among the Druhkari. "I take it this widget has something to do with Amalgamation?"

Inserting the thumb drive into the data slate, WerBell nodded. "Indeed. I think you've been a lovely guest to know what this is all for…but bear with me for a moment." Morianne nodded and patiently waited. Jack was diligently examining whatever was displayed on the slate.

After a few minutes, Jack WerBell seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and smiled. He nodded at Morianne. "You, Morianne Lyfae, just handed me another piece to a rather vital puzzle."

"Did I now?" How odd, though, for him to describe it as a piece to a puzzle. "And you sound like I only gave you a minor component."

"Minor, yes. But absolutely vital!" There was a bubbling excitement in his voice. "This…this calls for a drink!"

"You've already been drinking, though."

Jack laughed, "So let's have another! And another! Until we get rip-roaring drunk!" He poured himself more brandy. Morianne was stunned at how Jack was reacting. Which in itself wasn't a problem, but right now, she needed him to remain coherent.

Quickly reaching out, her hand touched his hand. "Jack, wait," Morianne remarked with a gentle smile. "We still have some business to discuss. Besides, I'd like to know more about this discovery that would warrant me having to see you drunk."

Almost realizing that he had been acting foolish, WerBell changed his tune. "Yes, quite right. We must discuss your reward as well!" He turned back one of the guards, "Go fetch Samuel and tell him to bring the Menu!"

"Jack, I don't think I need to pick anything else to eat or drink…"

He shook his head and smiled, "Not that kind of menu, dear, but I promise you'll enjoy its contents." WerBell seemed quite giddy. "Tomorrow will be the dawn of a new day for the League."

Morianne tilted her head, "I'm happy to hear, but I'm still confused about the context of this event? What exactly did I just hand to you, Jack?"

Inching a little closer, WerBell's voice turned into an almost conspiratorial whisper, "A genetic sequence that was believed to be lost. That allows us to understand the power of the Meta Rugias, the secrets of Zanzibar itself, and more importantly, access to Laputa."

"...Laputa?" This was new. None of her visions mentioned it. "What is Laputa?"

Jack didn't have time to answer as a man soon entered the dining hall, looking a bit frazzled and annoyed. Turning to the new arrival, Jack spoke with amusement, "Samuel, old boy!"

Samuel looked older than Jack, with greying hair and wrinkles across his frowning face. He seemed more like the man that had to reign in WerBell's more extravagant tendencies. He also looked quite unhappy when he saw the Eldar in here.

"Jack, what the hell is going on here?" He looked over and laid eyes on Morianne, "I thought we agreed that we were going to hold off on hosting any more aliens?" How rude. Samuel was acting like WerBell was playing host to an Ork, and she was making a ruckus.

WerBell waved off the comment, "An exception was made for this lovely creature before us. Besides, she brought the genetic sequence."

"Truly?!" Now his tune suddenly changed, "Well…I suppose an exception can be made in this instance." Quick to change his options wasn't he?

WerBell approached the considerably smaller man and "patted" Samuels back. "Morianne, this is Samuel Bauc. My seneschal and one of the core founders of the League."

Interesting. Morianne's visions mentioned another backer within the League that had considerable power. It seemed that Samuel Bauc was a silent partner in all of this.

Samuel winced and coughed from the force of the not-so-gentle pat. "Yes. erm, charmed." He cleared his throat, "Well, I brought the Menu as you instructed." Samuel was holding what looked to be a rather ornate wine menu. Although it seemed bulkier than any sort of menu had any right being.

Taking the Menu in question, WerBell returned to Morianne. "I've handed this out only six times as leader of the League. Feel free to take your time perusing our selection of the finest wares."
Holding the menu to Morianne, she decided to humor him and take it. "What exactly is this?"

"One of Jack's more eccentric designs," Samuel interjected before pointing at the Menu. "Open it, and you'll understand what I mean." Why was she getting memories of Magnus and his sons when it came to "eccentric designs"?

Opening the Menu, Morianne saw that it wasn't filled with parchment or paper; instead, it was a complex data slate! Within moments a holographic display appeared before her and grew as she fully opened the Menu. Staring at a display screen nearly a meter wide, she saw readouts and showed tens of thousands of League regiments.

But it was more than just regiments. As Morianne's hands reached out and touched the displays, which responded, she saw what looked to be companies, platoons, squads, and even individuals that were available for hire.

Nothing was off limits, either. Air companies, tank battalions, SOF platoons, penal legions, military instructors, abhumans, psykers, magi, assassins, and even a Titan Legion. Along with void ships, including a dozen Battleships and hundreds of Crusiers. Not even including the thousands of transports, troop ships, and industrial vessels. Everything needed to transport, arm, and train an army was here.

"Now then," WerBell remarked, still all smiles. "You were looking to purchase the services of the League? Your reward is this: Buy the services of two regiments and get one for free. Specialists and fleet assets require a little more haggling, but I'm more than willing to work something."

Samuel grimaced, "A very lucrative deal for your guest, Jack. I dare say that it might even be a bit too generous."

Morianne saw the opportunity for her people. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, this was a windfall. "And unnecessary," She interjected after a moment of consideration. Turning to look at WerBell, her following line was spoken with complete seriousness.

"I want to hire all of them."

---

Making a deal tended to be a subtle and nuanced practice. The time spent in this mercenary endeavor had given Morianne plenty of insights into what made for a good or bad deal for either party. She was still relatively inexperienced when it was all said and done, but she succeeded more often than failing when wheeling and dealing. That brush with Vect reminded the young seer that she still had a very long way to go. Even so, Morianne knew when to hold back or push the throttle.

Such as in this case. Jack WerBell seemed surprised, while Samuel Bach looked like she had just announced that the Eldar were taking over their system. In some ways, perhaps that was precisely what was happening?

To his great credit, WerBell sobered up and spoke with equal seriousness, "What are you offering?"

"Jack?!" Samuel approaches his compatriot, "Can we please step outside and talk about this?!"

He wagged a finger to no one in particular, "I want to hear what she has to offer."

"Plenty." Morianne also lost her playful tone. "The Aeldari can provide just about everything and more than the Imperium can offer."

"You cannot just buy all our contracts." Samuel barked at Morianne, "The amount of money needed is astronomical." He was right, to a certain extent. But while the Aeldari could easily find the material goods to pay for the contracts, Morianne had something more in mind.

"Money isn't a concern for either of us." She retorted while keeping a steeling stare at Jack, "I know you stopped caring about accumulating wealth years ago."

Jack smirked, "You're right. I'm beyond wealthy. War is so profitable after all." There was a gleam in his eyes. "So, I ask again, what are you offering?"

Samuel looked ready to tear his hair out but kept silent. No doubt he was well used to whenever Jack acted this way and knew it was impossible to dissuade him. Perfect. Now all Morianne had to do was move towards an equitable arrangement.

"The Aeldari people have resources, technologies, and powers beyond anything the Imperium of Man or your people have access to. Take, for example, the Webway, the primary means of travel by our armies and ships. You don't need to use a navigator or worry about warp storms. It is safe, fast, and more importantly, impossible to track anyone in it."

Jack looked incredibly intrigued, "Marvelous. A galactic highway system that no one but the Eldar can use? Your deep strike capabilities must be beyond anything in the galaxy."

"Yes," Morianne nodded, "The Aeldari military might not be the Astartes, but we have access to some of the strongest and most versatile warriors in the galaxy. Combining that with the Webway and our seers, we are a force to be reckoned with."

"Hmm." Jack pulled out a new cigar from his uniform pocket. "That sounds all good for you, but I'm not seeing how it benefits the League and me." Pulling out a device that cut off the cigar's tip, he was eying Morianne with some interest.

She frowned at the casual dismissal. "Our forces can certainly benefit yours."

"With respect," He started while lighting his cigar, "You are obviously looking for military assistance rather than just to bolster your own forces. This Webway sounds interesting, but your warriors only pique my curiosity slightly." He tried a different approach after taking a drag of the cigar.

"What about these seers?"

Morianne smiled, "Our ability to divine the future is second to none. I can confirm this as I am a Farseer as well. Yet even my abilities pale compared to Eldrad Ulthran, the Great Seer."

"What the hell makes him so great?" Samuel added to the conversation, "I've seen divination psykers make all sorts of claims. Almost all of them were wrong."

"I found the Jungle Crown," Morianne remarked, "Because of my divinations. That is beside the point. The Great Seer can see into the future of this galaxy on an unprecedented scale, Jack. If you compare my skills to him, it'd be like comparing one of your plasma guns to a Macrocannon."

"Oh-ho!" Jack sounded amused, "Very exciting! Does this Eldrad Ulthran guide your people, then?"

"He does," Morianne could only imagine how Eldrad would've remarked at such a simple comparison of power. "And he'd be very grateful if he could get additional support against our foes."

Blowing out some smoke, Jack still didn't look convinced. "What good is a grateful psyker, powerful he may be?"

"Let me make this exceptionally clear." Morianne tried to stress how powerful Eldrad Ulthran was, "The Great Seer can change the course of entire sectors by seeing into their futures a thousand years from now. He can predict enemy movements, uncover plots and schemes, and learn directly from the warp secrets that were once thought completely lost."

"That does sound quite impressive." WerBell briefly considered it, "One could say that would be useful in making sure certain plots to kill me would be undone. Better yet, save me from complete disaster via a bad decision."

Seeing the opening, Morianne continued. "My people are exceedingly capable of eliminating problematic entities as well. In ways that can't be traced back to the one who commissioned them. Still, that can also be arranged if you simply want to obtain a certain item of interest."

WerBell nodded but seemed oddly quiet. Leaning back into his chair, Jack took another drag from the cigar and spoke, "Tell me…why do the Eldar need all these armies?"

"Because there aren't many of my people left these days," Morianne admitted that much. "We are fighting a war that seemingly has no end in sight. A thousand vital battles need to be waged, yet we can maybe achieve victory in a hundred of them at a given time. Our forces are spread thin, fighting against horrors and enemies to all life."

Jack tapped his fingers on his cane. "No empire in the history of any civilization turns to mercenaries if they have their own army. Unless it is falling apart, this meeting might be considered a sign of desperation on your species' part. A gamble from a dying species, trying not to let the darkness claim them."

For a moment, Morianne felt a brief surge of anger at his remark. "The Aeldari civilization is not dying! We may not be at the same heights or power as we were once before, but our struggle against the darkness is far from over. Though our forces are spread thin, we still have our strength and pride as a species."

"Good," WerBell remarked when she finished. "Cause I don't back those that consider themselves losers. I want only winners to use my soldiers.

Samuel scoffed, "You say that even knowing full well the sort of clients we have…"

"I never said I don't back those bound to lose." Jack defended himself. "But any man or woman that believes their cause can succeed at least has the courage or stubbornness to see their battles through to the end."

Before Morianne thought she had at least won him back, Jack continued. "However, I must confess that I am still not convinced. I don't think you've considered whether having ten thousand regiments is conducive to your people's struggles."

"I will admit there might be some issues." Morianne gave WerBell that much credit, "But we can and will find a place for each regiment when the time comes. The Aeldari are good at putting the right people in the right location and time."

The look of contention on Jack's face indicated he disagreed. "I don't doubt that. But from a salesman and command perspective, my issue is that you think that an entire armory is what your people need, but you can't even use most of the guns in it."

What did he mean? "I'm sorry?"

"It sounds like your people use a handful of doctrines and tactics. Lightning assaults, tactical insertions, or asymmetric attacks. I imagine you use overwhelming strength when the situation calls for it. And judging by your remarks about the state of your civilization, you aren't the type to stomach attrition warfare."

That is a rather spot-on assumption on his part. "You're suggesting that we only purchase the services of regiments that would add to our strengths."

"That is exactly what I am suggesting." WerBell gave her a small smile. "It's better that I help you get the right mercs to aid your people rather than sending over a hundred regiments of men and women that are just line or siege infantry. Even if you did have a place for all of them, I doubt they'd get much use."

Samuel coughed to get their attention again, "I think it's best to add at this point that the League also couldn't accept this arrangement, no matter how lucrative or strategically in our favor, because we cannot let one entity monopolize our forces."

Jack nodded, "And it sounds like your enemies are beyond the scope of what most of the Imperium is even fighting. If you were in my position, would you want to send your mercenaries to fight whatever the hell requires the direct intervention of the Eldar military?"

Try as she might, Morianne couldn't help but wince at hearing that. The thought of sending her troops against Ulwarth or Daemons was a cruel punishment. So to possibly send others into such a nightmare scenario was equally nauseating to think about.

WerBell and Samuel were also of the same mind in regards to not allowing the Eldar to get access to all the Leagues contracts. Especially with how quick she was to try and snag them all away, it probably didn't help her case.

As if sensing her apprehension, WerBell tried to assuage her concern. "If you'd like, Morianne, we can attempt to work out a mutually beneficial deal for the Eldar and League. I have no qualms about getting whatever task force your people need. Contractual arrangements are no concern for us."

She didn't want a contract. Not when there was a significant opportunity presenting itself. Her visions told her that Jack WerBell could become a powerful ally to the Aeldari. So what was she doing wrong here?

"A draft can be written up tonight, Jack." Samuel pleasantly suggested.

WerBell nodded, "Samuel here is quite good at writing equitable trade deals to all parties involved. He was a former delegate and diplomat between several planetary governments before he came to the League."

Hearing that gave Morianne another crazy idea. Was it possible to do this differently? To not make just a deal, but a lasting agreement? Was this the real opportunity her visions forewarned her about?

She wasn't about to take the lesser option. "Let's forget about making a contract…let's make a treaty. Better yet, let's make an alliance."

---

Farseers had considerable power and influence when it came to decision-making. If Morianne had been the Farseer of a craftworld, billions of souls would be under her direct command.

At least, that's how it was supposed to have worked. Most didn't know that only senior Farseers could make such monumental decisions without consulting their Councils. Morianne wasn't a senior, though. She wasn't even considered a junior. Instead, she was still a novice to her peers.

This meant that her actions and decisions that could affect their civilization had to be done under careful scrutiny and design. Morianne couldn't just decide things on a whim. Just like she had done right this moment.

"What do you mean by an alliance?" WerBell asked after a brief pause. "Technically speaking, this arrangement we were about to make constitutes one."

Morianne shook her head, "Except it's ultimately built upon a premise of a temporary deal between the League and Aeldari. A more permanent solution should be taken. Hence we should pursue an alliance."

Samuel looked aggravated at the idea. "We can't just enter into open association with an alien government. The Imperium would have our heads!"

Rather than agree, Jack looked annoyed at Samuel. "Any decision we make here will not be based want Terra thinks. The League allows for this beneficial relationship because we believe in the cause of the Emperor and his Great Crusade, but we will not submit to Adeptus Terra directives and rules!"

WerBell's compatriot scoffed and dismissed the rhetoric. "They already think you've amassed too much power, Jack!"

"Which I have shared with them at a generous discount." Puffing out some smoke, Jack turned back to Morianne. "But Samuel has a small point. The League is under scrutiny from those on Terra. If I start having Eldar coming to and from my estate for monthly dinners, someone will cry foul back at the palace."

Morianne figured that could be resolved with a bit of misdirection. "Then we shall provide security to prevent people from knowing about this arrangement."

WerBell didn't look so confident hearing that. "Even if you provided me added security measures to stop anyone from finding out about this association, it would be difficult to hide such a thing forever."

Much as Morianne didn't want to admit it, Jack was right. The Imperium would notice the Leagues association with the Aeldari. Worse yet, the Emperor or Sigillite would have an easier time squeezing answers out of Jack than she or Eldrad. She had to also recognize that mercenaries would take the better deal if it meant saving their hides.

However, Morianne also knew from experience that giving a mercenary the prospect of an even juicier payout made them quite receptive to keeping their mouths shut.

"We'll make it work," Morianne spoke once more. "Jack, I won't disparage or downplay the risk that this presents you and the League. But a lasting alliance can result in an unfathomable amount of opportunities for you. More than even I can see in the endless futures within my grasp."

For a moment, Morianne saw the conflict playing out in WerBells eyes. She didn't need to read his mind to know that he was weighing his options. So much danger in this deal, but the potential payout was beyond imaginable.

She had to go in for the kill. Morianne spoke with the conviction of a young woman needing the aid of a king. "Please, my people need your help. In doing so, we can offer much more to aid you in whatever destiny the League wishes to pursue. We can help you achieve a previously unimaginable legacy."

Taking out his cigar, WerBell placed it within the nearby ashtray and took a seat. He then grabbed a bottle of liquor and popped the top off. "If I…if we agree to this, we have to make a few arrangements."

"Naturally," Morianne knew she had won him over. "I have a few as well."

"Figured as much." WerBell then drank the entire bottle of booze in less than ten seconds before simply dropping it to the table. "Samuel, start taking notes."

Samuel, looking none too pleased, pulled out a dataslate. "Whenever you're ready, Jack."

Leaning back into his chair, he looked at Morianne and started listing his requirements for this alliance. "I want the right to establish League embassies on every major Aeldari foothold in the galaxy. That includes the Ashen City and Black Library."

"You know about those locations?" Morianne hid her surprise at hearing that. She couldn't believe that someone leaked those to the League.

"Your Dark Cousins have told us a few things." WerBell didn't bother explaining further. "I'm not looking for specific details. But I know they are important. So, we good on that part?"

Morianne needed to tell Eldrad that as well. "Done. What else?"

"You mentioned security measures? I want some of your seers and warriors here on a permanent rotation."

That wouldn't be popular, but it was easy enough to accomplish. "Done."

"And I want to send recruiters to any worlds your species controls or has direct influence over. This includes all future compliances or interactions. Human or otherwise."

"Also done." That was a considerably easy thing as well. It wasn't like most Aeldari were chomping at the bit to recruit humans directly. "I have my own clauses to this alliance as well."

WerBell held out hands as if to welcome her. "The floor is yours, my dear."

"First, I want at least 30-40 regiments for immediate deployment. No questions asked. We'll cover transportation and payment."

Jack almost laughed, "More than fair, I dare say it's generous. Done!"

Morianne knew that part of this alliance had to be sustainable for the Aeldari. "Second, the League will supply and train new regiments to fit a specific paradigm for the Aeldari. These will not become part of the Zanzibar League."

This time, Morianne saw a bit of alarm and confusion. "What? You want us to train soldiers loyal to only to you?! You just want to take out the middleman completely."

"Merc loyalty can be bought, Jack." Morianne shot back with some heat in her voice. "My people trust the League, but we need soldiers prepared to fight for something greater than personal profit or another man's legacy."

"Tch." WerBell snatched his cigar and started smoking again, "Putting my balls in a vice-grip, Morianne."

"Think of it as an investment." Morianne smirked at WerBell, "Besides, you'd get a direct line to hundreds, if not thousands, of new armies in the future. Networking with military elements is something I found to be quite helpful when the time calls for a few favors."

"Fine, fine. You made your point." WerBell readied himself for the next part, "Anything else?"

"An embassy here on Zanzibar." This caused both Jack and Samuel to look apprehensive again. "Don't tell me this is that much of a problem for you?"

"It puts a rather large spotlight on our activities!" Samuel interjected before WerBell held up a hand to stop him.

Jack seemed to have an idea, "Would your people be against it if we put the embassy in a specific location?"

Morianne shrugged. "As long as it's not in the middle of nowhere, I don't see the issue."

"Good. I have an idea. But your people do not like it." He grimaced for a moment. "There is a location deep within the jungles of Zanzibar that we use as a research base for the Metas and other lifeforms. It's safe and within thirty minutes of Zanje by air. It's just rather…remote."

That might have been an issue before Morianne had an idea. "I think I have a solution that might even work in your favor. Aeldari from an Exodite world should easily adjust to such a location."

Jack pounded his hand on the table, satisfied with the response, "Good, good!" Looking back at Samuel, he ordered him to read out all the points put forward by both sides. After a bit of a back-and-forth on clarification and specification, WerBell and Morianne both agreed that the three points put forward by both sides were a good start.

"Ah," WerBell interjected, "I have one small addition. I wish to meet with the Aeldari leadership when the time comes to formalize this alliance." That made sense to Morianne. Eldrad should probably meet with WerBell to also decide on a few things.

"I see no issue with that."

"Good." WerBell seemed happy. "I'll be delighted to meet with this Eldrad and Vect. We'll have much to discuss."

A brief silence lingered before Morianne spoke again, "Ah, Vect? You wish to speak with him?"

"Correct. I have some arrangements I can make with him as well," Puffing on his cigar, Jack didn't seem to notice Morianne's discomfort. "That said, I believe I am getting ahead of myself, and we should conclude this meeting."

Things had certainly taken a turn for the strange and unexpected. Nevertheless, Morianne had gone above and beyond with her mission to Zanzibar. She was likely about to get into a lot of trouble when she returned to the Black Library. You don't decide on galactic policy without consulting your peers or leader.

"Samuel will have to draw up the treaty and whatnot. He'll also need to go with you."

The seneschal looked quite unhappy at hearing this, "Jack, are you serious?!"

Glancing over to his compatriot, WerBell only smiled. "I need someone I can trust to get this all arranged. Besides, you can explain this situation better than I can. And someone needs to get our lovely guests' regiments ready for deployment."

Ignoring the sputtering seneschal, Jack turned back to Morianne. "Your newly purchased soldiers will be ready within the month, and that's a guarantee. Everything else will require a bit more planning on my part. But I think what we created tonight will require more discussion."

That was putting it mildly.

"I can send for a more comfortable vessel to pick up Mr. Bach once he's ready to leave for the Webway." Morianne smiled at WerBell. "Jack, thank you for having me here. I can safely say I had a lovely time regardless of whatever happened with our negotiations."

"You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear that." Taking some initiative, WerBell reached down and grabbed Morianne's right hand. "And I do hope you can visit again sometime." He then gently kissed the back of it.

Unlike Arzhoshar, Morianne couldn't help but let out a small giggle, much to WerBell's delight. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Jack. Although I hope next time we meet, you'll have made progress with this Laputa business."

"Believe me; the feeling is mutual." He smirked and gave her a tantalizing look, "But are you sure I can't make you stay the night? The estate has plenty of room for you and your soldiers, and I can easily find more casual clothing for the morning. You and I could even go on a hunt."

"Hmm, that is tempting." She wasn't lying. That did sound quite fun. "Unfortunately, I must decline. But if the offer still stands for a later date?"

"The offer is always available for you, my dear." The sincerity in his voice said enough. She had won the friendship of Jack WerBell in only a night. In doing so, the Lord of War was now on the side of the Aeldari.

When the night finally concluded, and she bid Jack WerBell goodbye, Morianne smiled when she saw the man waving towards her shuttle goodbye. Those little gestures meant more to her than Jack would likely ever know.

---

As Jack WerBell watched the shuttle leave, he couldn't help but sigh. "Sweet girl." He pulled out his lho cigar and lit it. "A bit too trusting, though."

"I must admit, you played her like a fiddle." Samuel remarked as he approached, "But I didn't expect her to be so smitten with you, Jack."

Samuel was always eager to play the blustering bureaucrat in these matters. Allowing Jack to play the part of the soothing and sane reconciliator in these matters of negotiation. Butter them up with kindness and then "save" them from the negative voice of Samuel Bach.

Taking a moment to enjoy the cool air and familiar taste on his lips, Jack WerBell couldn't help but think he was also feeling a bit smitten with Morianne Lyfae. "She's young. At least for an Eldar. But behind those eyes is a calculating plotter. Perfidious as the rest of her kin."

"Jack…is that admiration I hear in your voice?"

He didn't answer. Too busy looking up at the shuttle and smiling like a loon. Morianne Lyfae had done something extraordinary tonight. And she was now part of his legacy. Jack WerBell didn't know if the fates or galaxy was trying to tell him something, but at this moment, he knew well enough that things were about to get a lot more interesting.

---

@Daemon Hunter Okay, ready to pile this one onto the pile.

 

[tri2]

how many omake bonuses are going to be applied to the next update, geezus

 

[Nicholas Brooks]

how many omake bonuses are going to be applied to the next update, geezus

Click to shrink...

Depends on how much reading the QM can handle doing at once

 

[Ruirk]

@Daemon Hunter Something that might need to be done for clarification for the occasional passerby might be a summary of what is going on with the other factions and how the current state of things came about. You know, "Why are the Eldar hiring human mercs?", "What has happened to Chaos so far?", "What are the Orks up too?", "Are Necrons doing anything?", etc.

Because we are about to hit the half-century mark since our Primarch started to do shit, while the main focus remains on the Imperium and is developing, some behind-the-scenes information and context related to the other factions might be a good idea.

 

[Daemon Hunter]

@Daemon Hunter Something that might need to be done for clarification for the occasional passerby might be a summary of what is going on with the other factions and how the current state of things came about. You know, "Why are the Eldar hiring human mercs?", "What has happened to Chaos so far?", "What are the Orks up too?", "Are Necrons doing anything?", etc.

Because we are about to hit the half-century mark since our Primarch started to do shit, while the main focus remains on the Imperium and is developing, some behind-the-scenes information and context related to the other factions might be a good idea.

Click to shrink...

I am actually planning to make the update after the next one basically a interlude covering major events from the perspective of some of the major factions. Basically acting as a "TLP so Far" post.

 

[TinyGladiator]

Hiya! Decided to make an omake on one of the enemies Magnus will soon face, the bio-mechanical clockwork aliens listed here, that is totally based on both the Vex from Destiny, this real life concept and, surprisingly, the Tau of 40k of all things. Weird fitting mix, apparently.
-----
The Calibrators of a Clockwork Universe.

Upon a nameless world that orbited a large and violent star, which only bore the translated description of 'Centrepiece', the Calibrators worked with their endless calculations.

Aeons ago, the world had been full of oceans that were somewhat similar to a planet once known as Earth. Landmasses above the water were few and far between, and life had not yet taken to existence outside the roiling waves that basked in the scorching sun. The atmosphere and cooling crust were still young, the moons assembling and shifting heavy tides over the seas.

Some of the first lifeforms were microscopic drifters, convergently evolved into something that resembled the radiolaria zooplankton of ancient Terra, which ate from the searing cosmic rays and the heated chemical broth expelled from the depths. Forming complex skeletons of silica and quartz that shielded them from the sellar radiation they devoured, able to shift the lattice armour to better swim or eat any solid residue.

Time passes, first in millenia then in epochs. Other life started to grow, in multicellular constellations. Flora and fauna growing across the sea and ground, radiotrophic fungi spreading across spore-growths. Most were armoured to resist the harm of radiation, or otherwise able to withstand it by other means. If things were different, perhaps one of them would have achieved dominance.

A shift occurs. The radiolaria do not remember exactly when or why, perhaps from the fluctuations of cosmic energy, but they know that it happened. The single-celled creatures transform from drifting particles that simply ate and reproduced into something more. The spikes and barbs of the skeletons interlock, like gears of a great machine, sparking with the minute bioelectricity as the shapes connect and the cells find an alternate unity.

The link is formed, in the froth of the countless colonies. Two, four, then eight until the pattern becomes exponential. Still separate, but able to form an amalgamate existence. Each individual cell acts as an independent neuron, of alien thought, and there are quintillions that begin to network together. Awareness surges, ideas and identity forms over the simple mass, the desire to understand and test both perception and capability.

This is the first act of Greater Comprehension. It is the first memory stored over the patterns of the radiolaria, what would come to be known as the Calibrators.

The collective thoughts are vast. Complex calculations and understanding over physics were made far easier for the nascent Calibrators than most other life in the galaxy, the liquid environment and very nature of their networking capability providing much. Memories and equations are stored in the very 'patterns' formed by the networks, in nebulae of connected existence. Almost nothing is forgotten without deliberate action.

Aside from abstract reality and mathematics, the link provides directly practical ideas. The skeleton armour of the living and many dead, their crystalline lattice shells, shift into more complex forms. Miniscule spike-digits, thorny limbs too small to see. They begin to shape the environment that shaped themselves. They discover tool-usage and better arrangement, hundreds required to move a grain of sand. On toothy wings that span every direction, they swim towards further heights.

Other forms of life are pushed away. Hostile predators are devoured by millions of needle-mouths or chased away, dwarfed in capability against this myriad apex. The rest are culled or harvested, symbiotic flora allowed to flourish and useful animals to be farmed.

In the metallic shells of aquatic carcasses, the Calibrators study the remains along with other minerals and ores. They calculate. They manipulate. They learn how to shape and use it, bit by bit, with a mind that stretched across the oceans.

To understand reality is to thrive in it, to predict and overcome any obstacle. Beyond the horizons of their world, down to its infinitesimal components. They think, theorise, test and triumph over every barrier.

In another time, another universe, this species would be able to quickly reach an apex of technology. Physics are rapidly cracked of secrets, patience limitless, calculation endless. Electromagnetic disturbances caused by their star prevent typical electronics or digital usage, and an aquatic-bound microscopic existence inherently limiting, but development can take many different forms.

They focus and then become devoted to their biomechanical clockwork, advancement following the same style as the linking of the radiolaria with further enlightenment. Gears of flesh and bone, first tested with dead remains and malleable plants. Then the process is refined so that it will work on living animals, changed from the inside by the radiolaria. Living engines, components of meat, organic mechanisms and industry.

There are millions of deaths, near total extinction of several chosen species, until success is achieved. Crustaceans with brass seashells, able to shift in size by telescopic expansion, hydraulic limbs crawling with improved ease. Rock and coral drilled, grinded and refined for useful elements by the mining of newly adjusted bottom feeders. Free-floating beasts carried by steam, turning into chemical laboratories.

The first macro-scale constructions were the orreries, astrological clocks and tide-predictors, meant to measure with precision the celestial patterns that governed life and sustenance upon the world. Built within large reefs, merged with plants and fungi. Precisely managed and maintained, fulled by the force of the waves and energies of the sun they were meant to read and calculate.

Unlike other mechanical models, the constructs do not represent with visual sight, a sense that the microorganisms couldn't truly use. Instead they produce key vibrations in specific harmonious arrangements, coupled with physical and shifting patterns that are touched for further accuracy.

The sea is filled with sonorous tunes of the heavens. The music is constant and so is the study. Precision is paramount. It will be the first step to reaching out to the star, and then the later confirmation that there are many others to reach.

Resources more than just food are now considered, calculated and used. There are some creations that live on the sea and yet can survive on the land. The rest of the world soon becomes open, as the Calibrators pilot and tune their new living land traversal vehicles, and with it orders of magnitude for potential and Greater Comprehension.

Time passes in breakthroughs and increasingly complex design. The landscape and sea becomes filled clockwork, biology unified with machinery in a way rarely seen across the galaxy's history. The world is terraformed through tens of millennia of effort, aided by computers the size of skyscrapers which are connected with thousands of simple brains used to store memory and process commands. It is carved with precision, continents shaped into hexagonal archipelagos, deep tunnels that move across each area above and below the waves.

If it was made by human hands, it would have been a unique Forge World of unprecedented design. Yet it was all unmistakable other, beyond the usage of alien fauna and flora. Despite being able to create eyes, able to connect and translate visual data to the Calibrators, visually conforming aesthetics are entirely discarded for construction.

Buildings are made with a brutalist mindset, solid slabs that only change from smooth, fleshy monotones with pipework, pulsing veins, exposed gears and sensors. Animals focused on function than form, colours and aesthetics understood for use but made irrelevant by the Calibrators designs and dominion. Mechanical precision is the ultimate value, and it is that mindset that will allow the once tiny drifters the ability to understand the totality of existence.

Outside of the world itself, there were satellites and ships that looked like reefs and leviathans. Armoured with organic metal, structures reinforced by intricate organic concotions, glittering wings of solar sails. Other worlds in the system were used, although sadly none provided a usable atmosphere.

The surety of the design of reality is solid, an unshakable foundation, until it isn't. Eventually, a shocking discovery had been made. As the galaxy seems to writhe with an impossible haze of unreal energy, as previously unknown or obscure phenomena manifests across observable space.

The realm, designated as the 'Other', seems to cover everything. Attempts to decipher it take a thousand years of dedicated work before any semblance of understanding is reached. Taking up more hypotheses than any other research, beyond ways to directly manipulate the laws of reality, it is understood as a second reality. Alternate dimensions were long ago considered, but nothing to the scale of this.

The leading theories of how it worked, as engineered animals were tested by gazing and hearing recorded fluxes and went mad or physically morphed, radically changed the methodology and conclusions the radiolaria had previously considered the most optimal. Putting what was learnt into use took even longer, and more difficult and dangerous to even try testing, but proved well worth it.

It had incidentally granted the Calibrators a sense of validation. Clockwork design seemed more resistant to Other influence compared to beings not transfigured. Now they would be completely dedicated to their chosen craft, unwilling to change due to that observed protection.

But the true prize was that, through careful usage of a stabilised rift generated at precise size and energy, faster than light travel had become possible. The implications of that alone were staggering, particularly with how that meant that any advanced aliens could also suddenly appear and potentially destroy the radiolaria's Centrepiece.

Charting and analysing the Other for any directed path had been a difficult task, but one that was eventually accomplished in time for the rifts covering the galaxy to calm back into normalcy. Surprisingly not requiring any apex of complexity, and working well with the existing industry base of the Calibrators, production and research became a priority. Guided by a mysterious 'light', designated as the Beacon, traversal across the stars was possible.

The galaxy is now open.

The first species that is discovered is a bipedal mammalian one known as humanity. Due to the simple usage of plate armour and swords, in castles and cities of assembled stones, it was assumed they were just a young species native to the world they were on. Until humans are discovered on various other planets of incredibly diverse technological understanding, systems of organisation, history of development and even genetic stability with some strange examples possessing genes of other animals that also didn't natively exist on any discovered worlds.

It was a bizarre puzzle at first, with one leading theory being that the species was some sort of engineered test subject for observing development on various planets, until translation was accomplished over several of the hundreds of different languages encountered.

Piecing together the true history through the various references and 'cultures', disregarding literal interpretation, it appeared that in the past mankind was a spacefaring species until some disaster had happened to cut off almost all worlds from one another, along with a near total loss of knowledge from the planets encountered.

While it was understandable, and fit with recorded evidence of the Other presence across the galaxy, there were many things difficult to understand with humanity. Such as the way it was fixated with miniaturisation, while an efficient use of space it wasn't self-sustaining, easy to maintain or energy efficient as the bio-clockwork used by the Calibrators.

Some of the latest worlds encountered were far higher in technology, order and development. Belonging to something referred to as the 'Imperium', a civilization said to span a vast number of worlds. Much of the claims were suspect, but if even a portion of it were true it was both concerning and yet a potential boon. Diplomacy and adjusting to were unfamiliar concepts, but the logic of its use was backed by how the Other dimension seemed to react and the apparent might of the Imperium.

Humanity, due to the already tremendously losses it faced, would certainly appreciate Once it was known how to optimally transfigure them with mechanical design. The correct size of and amount of teeth for gears, the networking of pipes, the use of brass in key ares and a power source suitable enough for 'comfortable' life. Already, ways to deal with the pain and open the chest cavity for ease of self-repair had quickly been achieved.

Together, with such an alternate sapience, Greater Comprehension could reach unprecedented heights.

Bzzz.

CONDENSED COLLECTIVE ANALYSES:

HUMANITY.

Complex semi-natural multi-cellular social predators that possess sapience and varied levels of Comprehension. Extremely divergent and not unified in behaviour, awareness, logic, desire, purpose or social function. Certain groups possesses competitive and violent behaviour to other groups, mostly those on the same planet. Human existence, ideas and perception potentially useful for Greater Comprehension both directly and indirectly.

CONCLUSION: Further study required. Each human world requires more resources for uplifting and study. Further cognitive focus required. Biological samples and neural mapping data shared for Centrepiece study.

Additional note: Humans and human dwellings being uplifted could be seen as 'favouritism' against other humans and human dwellings and could negatively impact diplomacy. Further study of 'societies' and human behaviour required. Ways to uplift in equality and 'fair' action despite social hierarchies, organisational power, cultural history, personal desire and apparent human nature require further study.

ALTERNATE BIOLOGICAL ENHANCEMENT.

Humanity and several other animal species that humans brought with them, notably the varied groups of 'dogs', 'wolves', 'birds', 'cats' and 'fish', all possess multitudes of latent genetic-engineering. The 'Beastmen' especially display this, displaying a mixture of spliced-genetic degradation and mutation. The capability for genetic engineering humanity once possessed is of great interest for potential reverse-engineering.

CONCLUSION: Further study required. Further resources required. Further cognitive focus required. Biological samples and neural mapping data shared for Centrepiece study.

'PSYKERS.'

Certain biological life is proven to be able to link and manipulate Other energy, referred to by the humans as the 'Warp', 'Aether', 'Empyrean', 'Sea of Souls' and 'Immaterium'. Stability and capability seem to follow no currently discernible natural pattern, either genetically or between each observed world. Effects and 'focuses' of each 'psyker', 'witch', 'shaman', 'blessed', 'cursed', 'sanctioned', 'magician' and 'sorcerer' appear to be randomised, aside from the 'astropath' type which seems artificially created/trained by the 'Emperor of Mankind'.

CONCLUSION: Further study required. Extreme caution required. Biological samples and neural mapping data shared for Centrepiece study. Long-distance testing required.

IMPERIUM.

A large 'Empire' type civilization of humanity led by the 'Emperor of Mankind' and an unknown amount of subordinate leaders. Current size is unknown, but 'Imperial' humans claim that it is sourced from mankind's planet of origin and is expanding to unify all other planets of humanity. If true, it is roughly estimated that anywhere from one hundred-thousand to one million planets could be under the Imperium's control. The Beacon, known as the 'Astronomican', appears to be an Imperium creation from analyses of the Imperial 'astropaths'.

CONCLUSION: Further study required. Further cognitive focus required. Caution required.

Additional note: An absurd amount of sub-factions are allowed to exist within the Imperium, to an extent that either displays impressive organisational structure or a lack of it. Notably the 'Cult Mechanicum', a group of machine and knowledge worshippers who believe in mysticism and ritual along with scientific and mechanical understanding. It is unknown how correct the Cult Mechanicum are in their conclusions, but they appear to be of greater potential if their strange hatred of 'alien technology' is circumvented. The 'Servitor' type human they create is the current best discovered example of human technology that fits with a bio-clockwork model.

OTHER EMANATIONS/'SOULS'.

Most human worlds encountered believe or had believed in something known as a 'soul', 'spirit', 'astral', 'anima', 'shadow' or 'essence' that exists within or is emanated from a living being, which has various beliefs on attributes and importance to life or 'existence after life' that differ from both separate cultures and individual interpretation. Most 'psykers' in particular seem to believe that such a concept exists, able to 'see' or even 'influence' it.

CONCLUSION: Further study required. Self-testing for presence of 'soul' required.

Additional note: Most 'psykers' claim that 'entities', 'malevolent spirits', 'dark shadows', 'curses', 'cursed', 'witches', 'daemons', 'corruption', 'apparations', 'ghosts', 'devils', 'phantoms', 'fiends', 'rakshasa', 'monsters', 'genma', 'yaksha' and 'yokai' exist in the Other that subsist off of such emanations or 'aspects' of them, along with a variety of insane and destructive acts. It is currently unknown if any such entities exist, or the level of threat if any do.

Bzzz.

Notable examples of Calibrator technology:

Mainspring Slicers.

Mainsprings, both organic and metallic versions, were heavily used components for clockwork design by the Calibrators. The thin ribbons contained the potential energy needed to run, supplemented by other energy sources and 'organically automatic' ways to wind-up the mainsprings to continue function.

Due to the amount of energy within the coiled ribbons, it was a simple matter for them to be weaponised. While having never engaged in any truly dangerous combat since the Centrepiece was fully taken over, precaution was a standard mindset for the radiolaria.

Taking a variety of forms, from spears to grenades, the tightly wound mainsprings are kept locked away until activated whereupon the thin thread or threads are then violently unleashed, the released energy powerful enough to punch through even a slab of adamantium while the mainspring itself lashes through whatever it was used against. Liquefying flesh as its repeatedly cut apart, igniting some remains through sheer force.

Larger variants contain a mechanism to rewind the mainsprings for multiple uses, with reinforced frames around the delivery mechanism so that it won't be too damaged to function when the ribbons violently lash at everything around them.

Calculation Tankers.

While there were a large variety of 'vehicles' and other constructs that the Calibrators could use, from the bipedal climbers to the leviathans that acted as their starships, for planetside traversal the collective was guided by mobile servers that functioned as a nexus of all actions, communication and study.

Taking a number of modular forms, to suit whatever environment was required, the main aspect of the Calculation Tankers was a large sphere of biological metal that nearly completely encased a massive network of tanks containing vast amounts of radiolaria that were fed by the constant blood produced by the organic components, the most sophisticated sensors and radio equipment to see and guide and finally vat-grown brains designed to aid in calculation and collective thought.

Constantly protected by biomechanical creations and piloted defence constructs, the Calculation Tankers first spent time wandering and observing everything around then and collected whatever other information was transmitted to them by other units. Then they would find a suitable location to set up a base and begin industrial expansion, directing all available forces to the task as it created and used whatever designs it needed for its purpose.

When a base was done, anywhere from the size of a single clockwork factory to an entire city, new Calculation Tankers were built to further expand and grow across the planet.

Other-Orreries

Orreries were built in the distant past to measure and study astrology, until development had reached the point that their use had heavily diminished in relevance with the usage of satellites, observatories and the towering cognition centres.

But with the discovery of the Warp, an entirely new challenge had required an old solution. Each complex Other-Orrey was of a similar size to a typical Calculation Tanker's sphere, far smaller than the first orreries made in the ancient past. Contained within a larger liquid tank, a mixture of blood and oil pumped from a ship leviathan's heart, the clockwork mechanisms produced new vibrations of 'music' to guide the Calibrators with detailed directions that were all read directly into the main brains within the ship.

The strange music boxes of the radiolaria was always recorded for later study, to safely translate the data from the dimension humanity called the Warp and how best to use it without danger. Layers of neural punchcards were delivered to the Centrepiece for study every time a ship returned, so that no detail would be missed. From the writhing 'shadows' to the Astronomican's 'light', the numbers would be crunched.

Gravitic Drifts and Actualising Barriers.

Unlike the Other-Orreries, the twin-linked 'organs' used to actually traverse the Other were far larger than what was used to analyse paths or calculate them.

More mechanical than organic, these colossal devices used the most sophisticated designs of the Calibrators to create a rift in reality through extremely precise manipulation of gravity around the ship. Constantly tended to by floods of the zooplankton, and a massive amount of auxiliary brainpower, the laws of physics and Other energies were calculated constantly to ensure a successful voyage.

Each rift was precisely opened in precise size and lasted for precise times, as concoctions and systems shifted the force of gravity to propel and shield the ship as it briefly entered Other space to be rapidly flung out into reality at immense speeds. Far slower than normal Warp traversal by orders of magnitude, yet also far safer as a result.

Unknown to the Calibrators, the very act of calculation and data-reading had helped protect and create the barriers they made against the Warp, actualising reality within unreality. The cold waves of logic flowing against the tide of madness, as the cognition from the collective microorganisms rivalled the thirsting screams of cruel gods.

 

[Ruirk]

12 Champions

Rarely did Jaghatai Khan feel both disappointment and frustration towards something. He had long since grown accustomed to setbacks, obstacles, and defeats. It simply comes with the territory of waging war or leading people. Only a few had ever seen the Khan genuinely angry over a failure. Less so when it directly involved his sons.

However, Jaghatai could not overlook the most recent debacle that plagued his Legion, especially during uncertain times. The Grand Naadam had been a collective failure. Worse, it showed just how dire the situation was regarding their pool of captains and heroes.

The Grand Naadam was to be the blessing for the White Scars and their future forays into the great unknown. Instead, it left a sour taste in their mouths and a black spot on the mind and soul of every marine within the Khans fleet.

Where a military defeat against an opponent could leave him and his sons sorrowful or angry, this feeling of shame and doubt was harmful to morale, especially to humans. While no baseline human took part in the Grand Naadam, they watched the subpar performance and saw the Astartes become quite resentful of such a display.

Alas, what was to be a moment of shared marital triumph was a mediocre display. That his brothers would eventually hear about it made Jaghatai want to strangle an ork with his bare hands, yet the damn greenskins were in short supply these days. Still, that would not alleviate the shame upon the White Scars.

Something had to be done. Yesugei declared that their collective shame and sorrow could be remedied only in battle. "A great foe must be undone; be it man, alien, daemon, or nature itself, all that matters is victory is obtained through blood and martial prowess."

Jubal wasn't as convinced. "Confidence must be restored. We cannot go off searching for honor and valor upon the first world we come across. There is no glory in beating up nations undeserving of our fury."

"Nor should we." Jaghatai agreed with Jubal. "To seek alien or daemon is foolhardy. Destroying a nation is not what my scars desire either. So then we shall do what all men did on Chogoris before facing the Palatine. We shall defeat an aspect of nature. Kill that which is primal and fierce as our ancestors once did."

"A Death World then!" Jubal palmed a fist in anticipation. "Just like the old days."

Yesugei gave a question looking towards Khan. "There are many such worlds close by. However, by the ancient rites of Chogoris and the Steppes, we must choose a group of champions for this new Naadam."

Jubal looked eager to participate, but Jaghatai had other plans in mind. "Then I shall summon forth 12 champions for this new Naadam. Jubal, you shall take charge of coordinating this new Naadam."

This surprised Jubal and Yesugei, as Jaghatai was technically the only one allowed to take charge of a Naadam. "My Khan, this is highly unorthodox."

"Good," Jaghatai remarked bluntly. "I was too rigid in what I thought this Grand Naadam would be. I bear responsibility for this failure and shame. And because of it, drastic measures are necessary. We will need to do things differently this time around. If all goes well, we shall create a new set of rituals and rules for future Naadams."

Turning to the two, Jubal and Yesugei saw a feral grin on their Primarch's face.

"Besides…I have a few ideas in mind to spice things up."

---

If you were to ask Orion how he did in the Grand Naadam, he would be honest and say that it wasn't a good showing on his part. Granted, the Angel of Humility lived up to his name and accepted that he still had a long way to go in terms of being a better fighter. No shame in thinking that.

However, Orion would note that the miasma of doubt that came over the White Scars was cause for concern. To call them disheartened was an understatement. To be fair, Orion hadn't ever seen the Eternal Wardens or Dark Angels in such a state. He had no tangible frame of reference to what everyone was thinking.

Either way, Orion was stuck in the middle of a quagmire partly of his own making. It wasn't as if he wanted to lose during the Grand Naadam. Still, he would admit to some degree that a relatively poor showing on his part had not helped things.

Kuveer was of a similar mind. He didn't understand why the White Scars were this upset. As far as failures go, the Gemlord attributed this to a botched parade show. Embarrassing, but nothing that couldn't be forgotten in time and perhaps even something to laugh at later.

Ramuh didn't share either sentiment. From what he told Orion, this whole situation facing the White Scars severely threatened the morale of the entire expedition. That said, Khan was likely preparing to remedy the situation. Orion didn't take long to notice that this wasn't necessarily a good thing. If the Khagan decided that drastic measures were necessary, then every marine braced themselves for whatever was to come.

Imagine Orion's surprise when two months after the Grand Naadam concluded, the Khan called for the Knight-Warden to appear before him and bring Ramuh and Kuveer along. This was after a rumor had gotten around that the Primarch was preparing to move the expedition toward a death world. Not even the other captains or officers knew what was happening there.

"The Khan has plans, I'm sure of it!" Ramuh exclaimed to Orion and Kuveer as the trio marched toward the command deck of the Swordstorm. "I've heard this death world is unlike anything ever encountered by the Imperium."

Kuveer kept his eyes forward, but Orion sensed the dryness in his tone, "That's probably because there isn't another world like it to begin with. Uniqueness doesn't necessarily equate to extraordinary." Orion silently agreed but kept his mouth shut.

He was, however, wondering what made this "Catachan" special? There were many conflicting reports and rumors surrounding this discovery. One such claim was that the Imperium had failed to settle on it, even after three colonization attempts. Baffling, considering humanity was able to establish a foothold on two daemon worlds.

Regardless, Orion was equally curious about what the Khan had in store for the trio. The answer would soon be revealed as they walked passed the honor guard and onto the bridge. Waiting for the trio were Jubal, Yesugei, and Khan.

Along with nine other individuals. Eight marines and one other human. Orion narrowed his eyes at this gathering. The Knight-Warden recognized each individual as rising stars among their respective companies. It didn't take him long to realize what Khan was up to now.

Jaghatai nodded at seeing the trio's arrival. "Good, we are all here." Once everyone was crowded upon the command pulpit, Khan spoke. "I will not mince words or take up too much of your time. You are gathered here to aid me in fixing this blight that has infested our spirits."

The Primarch grimaced, "I will be the first to admit that the Grand Naadam has been an abject failure for many reasons. A failure that I bear responsibility for and must remedy. As such, I have declared that a new Grand Naadam will be held."

Gesturing towards a holoprojector, an image of what all assumed to be Catachan appeared before them. "This world shall be the stage for this new Naadam. It is here that the twelve of you will compete. Not just against one another but against the environment and foes. Yet this will not be a tournament. Such pageantry has no place in this battle I aim to place you all in."

A rather ominous-sounding declaration. Although, Orion saw intrigued and excited looks among some of the gathered champions. That the Knight-Warden had been roped into this was probably a good sign, yet Orion wasn't sure if taking part in Naadams was his forte. Not that Orion could back out of this even if he wanted to.

"However, this will not be a battle for individual glory. Instead, teams of three will compete against one another." Khan smiled. "I'm sure you can already guess who your respective team members are." So himself, Kuveer, and Ramuh. That was good, then—a pair of psykers made for powerful teammates.

That said, the competition was still looking fierce. "But let's get introductions out of the way. Besides, you can all start seizing each other up. First up, Byeong-Ho, Shao-Yi Zhang, and Renshu. Step forward."

Now wasn't that an "exciting" team? Orion glanced over at the two marines and a single human assigned together. Not that Orion wasn't in the same position, considering Kuveer was also a human, but he was also a psyker. Not that it mattered.

Besides, there were plenty of stories about these three…

---

A story had been passed around about Byeong-Ho the Sarvhu. A genius among the White Scars' frontline elements, said to have outsmarted entire warbands of daemons during the Ritual War and had since become known through the White Scars. He was a bold and courageous leader, befitting his position. Never too far from the battle lines and always calculating the next big strategy to win.

"Move squads Archer and Knight into these positions. When the daemons hit their lines, have Dragoon and Cleric flank from the rear. Drop smoke on their position and let the bikes run the rest of them down." Byeong-Ho shouted over the hail of gunfire and war that surrounded him.

He was cut off from his support squad, his bike was destroyed, and he and six other brothers holding inside a crater of Nurglings started to swarm their position. An absolute shitshow for anyone else, but Byeong-Ho was more preoccupied with coordinating this assault than anything.

Firing round after round from his Bolt-Spear, Longshot, Byeong-Ho had to practically stand atop the battlefield to get a good look at things. One could call it bravery or foolishness, but Byeong-Ho would say it was more effective to accommodate any changes in a strategy if you were in the thick of things. Somewhere in the Maelstrom, Perturabo and Ori agreed with the sentiment.

---

Everyone loves a good story, and Renshu the Kagish was always happy to tell one, especially if it had to do with his scars. A braggart at heart but also one of the most dangerous veterans in the White Scars. So he earned his bragging rights. This spoke volumes as well. The White Scars had some of the proudest and boisterous Astartes in the galaxy. They were surpassed only by the Space Wolves.

"Hahaha!" Renshu couldn't help but cheer as he tore through a company of traitors. "Do none of you have the strength to match me?!" These last few days had been a boring siege until a breach in the fortress walls finally allowed loyalists and White Scars to make their way inside.

Renshu and his brothers were making their way toward the command center. Byeong-Ho wanted to control the only uplink facility within a hundred kilometers, and Renshu wasn't about to disappoint his brother.

Only one other obstacle got in the way now—a cohort of mutated Ogryn.

Getting the chance to fight mutated Ogryn was a different sort of foe for Renshu. His signature chainsword and bolt pistol fighting style made short work of most traitors, mutants, and daemons, but against bulkier targets, it would require a little more skill and precision.

By the time the fight concluded, Renshu had two new scars to add to the collection. Just another memory to treasure.

---

The White Scars weren't afraid to use their serfs, or Zarts, as they called them. A lot of them died during the Ritual War, fighting alongside their masters and their cousins. Trained in combat and physical conditions to be soldiers. None could find a better example of a frontline soldier among the legion serfs of the White Scars. Shao-Yi Zhang never wavered in his commitment to the Khan and his Legion. Now he was considered a hero among the Zarts. Not that he'd say such a title was worth it.

The last six days had been a hell unlike any other for Shao-Yi Zhang. His ship, the Redeemed Virtue, which was to say, the ship he was assigned to, had been invaded by daemons. To say it had been a bloodbath was an understatement. Armsmen, troopers, zarts, and Astartes fought tooth and nail for every deck.

Shao-Yi was now the only survivor of his entire platoon after the nearly week-long fighting. He used every trick and then some to evade detection from madmen and daemons and to get into contact with loyalist elements on other decks.

And right now, he was the only one that could reach the hangar controls that could allow for additional gunships to land. If the loyalists could get reinforcements, they could take back control of the Virtue. It had to be done. Not just for his own skin but for all those that died.

If nothing else, Shao-Yi Zhang had a score to settle. Chambering a few more incendiary shells into the heavily modified shotgun he saved from its now-deceased Iron Warrior creator, Shao-Yi felt confident enough to sneak past the traitors and get some help before gunning down more of the mutants and daemons infesting the Virtue.

Thanks to Shao-Yi, the loyalists did just that. It was also how he met Renshu and Byeong-Ho, earning their respect and admiration during the reclamation of the Redeemed Virtue.

---

Khan's announcement of their group, Team Banner as he called it, was met with silent approval and consideration. Orion knew that everyone was already determining how dangerous their opposition was starting to look. Byeong-Ho was an up-and-coming hero within the 9th Tactical Company, while Renshu was well-known among most assault marines. On the other hand, Shao-Yi Zhang did not have much to his name, but Orion knew just how dangerous a determined human could be.

If Orion had to guess, Team Banner's strength lies in its tactical capabilities and accrued experiences. Byeong-Ho could remain calm under fire and devise a plan while Renshu fought through the opposition and Shao-Yi blasted through anything larger than a tank. A solid team, but Orion's wondered about the validity of having a human companion or a lack of heavy firepower.

Once Team Banner stepped away, the next group was called. "Shen Shih, Gantulga, and Hasar stand before myself and your brothers."

As the trio approached, Orion heard a few not-so-quiet remarks, and none sounded that flattering. That didn't surprise the Knight-Warden. These three had a reputation. Considering that one of them was part of the Legion Destroyers and the other one of Khan's honor guard. A rather absurd relationship. At least based on the rumors Orion heard.

---

In the instances where their enemy had fallen so far from humanity's light, the hope of Imperial Compliance was lost, or an abhorrent xenostrain stood before them that could not be permitted to exist, the White Scars would call upon the Karaoghlanlar to bring about the unmaking of their foes. Shen Shih was a man who excelled in such destruction.

The winds of destruction blew in Shen Shih's favor in this battle. As they always did, for he brought them great sacrifices. A Nurglite fortress had been discovered. Three times did it resist the Imperium's attempts to burn the filth from their holes. Now the Khan demanded that this cyst upon the world be purged once and for all.

And so it came to pass that the Dark Sons of Death would bring final absolution upon the sickness plaguing this region. The Stormseers summoned for the winds of destruction while all those that called themselves Karaoghlanlar warded their armor and uttered the forbidden words to bring total ruination upon the daemonickind. For none deserved it more than these warp-spawn.

Shen wielded Ch'in Shih. A heavily modified plasma cannon that allowed for modular fire modes had been "blessed" by one of the Stormseers with an ancient charm. It had no machine spirit. Instead, Ch'in Shih fed off his soul and desires for ruination.

A worthy trade-off.

---

Those that claimed that the White Scars shunned most technology were fools. Those who likewise spoke of using only a few pieces of science somehow suppressed the other fools in their thinking, for the White Scars had their own instances of technical genius among their ranks. Gantulga was one such man. An eccentric madman who would have been friends with men like Solarus and Fabius Bile just for their affinity toward talking about their favorite scientific pastime.

Waste not, want not. Those were words Gantulga lived by as a boy back on Terra. Born to a family of tech-reclaimers in the Panpacific Empire, he knew all the ins and outs of building and fixing up things. When Gantulga was nine years old, he rebuilt his first hoverbike and rode across the waste-lakes of his home.

Becoming a White Scar felt natural, especially when he learned his gene-sire was a man that enjoyed living fast and wild. Taking on the role of a tech-marine was also an easy transition, and Gantulga found himself enjoying having access to gear and machines, the likes of which he had never seen before.

His brothers called him a genius. There was a bit of truth to that. Most people didn't understand him, though. That was why he liked Shen Shih and Hasar. They enjoyed asking questions, even when they didn't understand most of the time. Their friendship was strange.

How Gantulga fought in battle was an odd thing. He preferred using any tool available against his enemies: Plasma guns, Melta Guns, Axe, etc. Offering cover fire and further destruction to Shen Shih's own while letting Hasar take the lead. A strange combo.

But Gantulga was a strange fellow.

---

"Serve Only the Khagan. Everyone Else is an Afterthought." The words of the Kheshig, the honor guard of the Warhawk. Jaghatai might have hated the concept of any man intentionally shackling himself to the whims of another, but even he needed loyal soldiers and aides that weren't part of his inner circle. The Kheshig fit into that position just fine. A cadre of elites whose loyalty and skill were only matched by their pride and dedication to the Khan of Khans. Hasar was perhaps the greatest up-and-comer among their ranks, embodying everything they stood for.

"What a waste of time," Hasar muttered to himself as he plunged the tip of Ryunohige into the head of the last Nurgle daemon. "Two hundred walking piles of puss and awful, and not one among them worth even my spit." The previous two hours had resulted in Hasar and his squad of fellow Kheshigs eliminating a host of daemons near one of the logistical ports on RP-28.

As a rule of thumb, Hasar never left a job unfinished, but he would've refused on the grounds of such missions wasting his time. There was no glory to be won here! Yet the Warhawk demanded that Hasar and his brother aid in securing this world. So boring.

As usual, those he aided thanked him and admired his skill and tenacity in battle. Those that didn't know of him always asked Hasar if the Kheshigs were as fearsome as the stories said they were, and each time Hasar wanted to scoff and roll his eyes.

Of course, they were because otherwise, Hasar wouldn't be part of them. He didn't want to work alongside anyone or with any group that didn't give everything they had in the pursuit of their specialty. Hasar had more respect for anyone that took pride in their work. Hence his companionship with Gantulga and Shen Shih. What was the point of even trying if you couldn't find any satisfaction in your work? Thus why those two helped him create his power-spear, Ryunohige. Most men feared the Karaoghlanlar or failed to understand the Gan-Khans…but for all his arrogance and pride, Hasar was one of the most open-minded marines.

After all, no one said that having pride meant being closed-minded.

---

"You shall be known as Team Flame for this. May the ancestors watch over you and lead you to victory." Again, a silent approval was the only indication that anyone cared about this development. No doubt, a sign of intense scrutiny over the next team. Orion was left determining that if he encountered Team Flame, he and the others would need to be careful.

Hasar was dangerous. Orion would be hard-pressed to fight him one-on-one if it turned into a fight. Gantulga had the technical prowess of a Warsmith and the creativity of Solarus and was also known to be an incredible driver and pilot. And Shen Shih? Well, Orion didn't want to be caught in the line of fire from Ch'in Shih.

So yes, the competition was looking mighty fierce at the moment. There was one team left to introduce. Well, technically, there were still Orions. In any case, the Warhawk spoke once again, "Khenbish, Mönkhbat, and Magnai. Step forward now."

This time, Orion heard a few scoffs and remarks from Hasar and Renshu, mainly leveling towards Magnai. This made sense, given the fame and notoriety attached to Magnai and his compatriots. Then again, everyone in the room had a story attached to their names. It's just some weren't as valorous as others.

---

An Apothecary could fight, render aid, heal others, and provide guidance on matters of health and morale. Rarely did anyone ever encounter one that practiced poisons, though, and that was for a good reason. Such things weren't used in combat, at least on an individual level. Too much time and resources to do something that a boltgun or chainsword could solve just as easily. Yet, for Khenbish, he took great pride in being the premier poison master of the White Scars.

His body wasn't a temple. It was a laboratory. Khenbish believed that the only way to truly learn poison's power was to test it on yourself. Using living test subjects never sat well with him on a moralistic or pragmatic level. He didn't want to know how or why a poison functioned…he needed to understand how they felt.

Was that crazy of him? Oh yes. But the results spoke for themselves. Khenbish had developed one of the most lethal arsenals within the White Scars. Those among his brotherhood routinely came to him for assistance on matters of toxicants, venoms, and poisons. He would admit that such practices had left his body feeling gaunt or pained…but never weakened.

His knowledge proved useful during the Ritual War. While his homemade poisons and toxicants weren't as effective against the Nurglites, they found purchase against the traitors and mutants more often than not. Additionally, Khenbish saved many of his brothers and allies from being able to identify toxins, diseases, and other horrific ailments before they could take root in an individual's body.

Khenbish found the daemon worlds a dangerous but exciting opportunity. The amount of strange and often hazardous materials allowed the creation of new toxicants and poisons, propelling his understanding of warp chemistry to new heights. This made his Needle Carbine all the more deadly as well. More importantly, his Narthecium became further enhanced with new and strange vaccines, antidotes, and drugs. This knowledge matters. It allowed Khenbish to save Magnai and gave Mönkhbat the strength to fight the daemons of Nurgle.

All that made the pain and dangers of his experiment worthwhile.

---

Only a few knew about the Pioneer Companies. In its earliest incarnation, the Vth Legion was not the singular body that many of the other proto-Legions formed. It was a Space Marine Legion in name only. Instead, it was organized into autonomous companies, each of which had few links to any of their brethren and operated entirely independently. Creating distinct sub-divisions among the White Scars. Chief among them was the 187th Pioneer Company, the Red Eyes, to which the one known as Mönkhbat the Venerable called his kin.

Beware of old men in a profession where young men often die. Mönkhbat found there was too much arrogance in that maxim. He had met plenty of young marines with the same battle-hardened look as any veteran. No one called him a veteran, yet the old man had been fighting for the White Scars since before even the Warhawk took control.

The Pioneer Companies were a relic of a different legion, though. They were going away, fading into the dustbin of history. Mönkhbat was glad. The Pioneers had become too distant from one another and their brothers. The pioneers and those warrior lodges were a symptom of factionalism that had infected the White Scars.

Still, Mönkhbat would be lying if he didn't hold some lingering sentiments or longing for the old days. The 187th Company, the Red Eyes, were a band of brothers unlike any he had encountered since. Now there were only a hundred or so of the pioneers left.

Mönkhbat was also one of the few old guards that survived the Ritual War. What should've been his final battle, however, instead turned into an opportunity to pass on his skills to others that might have needed them. Heroes were in short supply these days among the White Scars, after all.
While Mönkhbat might only have his knives, grenades, and boltgun…he had the combined knowledge of a century of war and subterfuge. The young Magnai had the makings of a good leader. Perhaps even a champion of the White Scars. As far as Mönkhbat and Khenbish were concerned, he represented the future of the Legion.

So why not offer aid and wisdom where it matters most? One last hurrah before passing on to join the ancestors. That sounded like a good end for Mönkhbat the Venerable.

---

The Bagatur, the closest approximate description was "The Wandering One," was regarded with suspicion and skepticism. These marines were a relatively new breed of marine among the White Scars whose minds and spirits were honed by the Stormseers using strange rituals. Some would say "pagan" ones. A Bagatur was embued with the knowledge of the ancestors. Knowledge that they haven't earned…yet. This left Bagaturs like Magnai in a position needing to prove themselves.

"Lead the enemy into your killing range. Engage in the third movement. Blade out by the fourth. Then you strike." A voice whispered to Magnai as a Herald of Nurgle charged him. As if on instinct, Magnai's body and soul followed the instructions and beheaded the daemon in one strike.

Magnai had stopped trying to determine whose voice was speaking to him. The dreams and memories of dead heroes were odd companions. Most of the time, though, it never amounted to anything other than a brief pause as he tried to grasp a fleeting thought or feeling. In those instances, he wondered if someone else was controlling his movements.

His decision to become a Bagatur was made out of necessity. The Stormseers heard the voice of angry ancestors in their visions. Vengeance and honor demanded that something be done lest they haunt their dreams further. A Bagatur was their collective avatar. In exchange for killing foes, they gave the Bagatur knowledge and experience.

Most that became a Bagatur died. Magnai had not only survived but grown at an exceptional rate. Everything he did was for the glory of the living and the dead. It was because of this growth that allowed him to replicate the fighting style of the Warhawk. Magnai even got a powersword similar to the White Tiger Dao.

The Aischune.

His journey to greatness was still an arduous one. There was no guarantee that he would survive either. Magnai was perceptive enough to know that even the greatest among their numbers could fall. To that end, Mönkhbat and Khenbish sought to provide him wisdom, training, and perhaps even answers to what lay ahead.

If nothing else, Magnai appreciated their friendship. The voices of the dead did not make for good companions.

---

The Khan declared these last three as Team Cloak. Orion still found this situation odd, yet the decision was likely made out of encroaching desperation. The White Scars needed heroes to remove this stain upon their honor. A battle would be held, one way or another.

Once Team Cloak left, it was time for the last group. "Orion, Kuveer, and Ramuh. Your turn. We shall end this gather soon enough." Without as much of a word shared between the trio, they approached.

The Warhawk did not mince words with them. He explained that the White Scars had to remove this blemish from the first Grand Naadam. Those who fought on this new one would aid in this and gain great glory. Everything was permissible to achieve victory. More details would come in time, but the gist was simple enough.

A battle royale on a death world. It sounded absurd. Probably because it was. The chances of all twelve of them dying were quite real. Orion didn't want to imagine what would happen in such an instance. The White Scars, however, recognized that if it meant cleansing the staining upon their honor, then so be it. Death took away all failings. Your enemies or your own.

There was no chance to back out. Not that Orion, Kuveer, or Ramuh would. This had to be done for the good of the White Scars and those that had recently fallen in the Ritual War. For the dead were watching them now.

He declared Orion's group as Team Torch, the symbolism was lost on the Knight-Warden, but he and the others accepted it with the same quiet understanding as the others had. A small but necessary component of pageantry.

"There will be much planning in the coming weeks for this new Naadam." He announced to all present. "You shall be allowed to train and prepare to your heart's content. Information on this Catachan will become available soon enough. Let me stress once again the urgency and danger that faces you. Catachan is a world, unlike anything we've yet encountered. Nevertheless, we will take steps to ensure that you aren't instantly devoured by the locals."

What exactly did that mean? Orion wondered how many tricks or secrets the Warhawk and the White Scars kept under their sleeves. As an outsider, the Knight-Warden was learning things that likely not even the Emperor was privy to. Which explained why Orion wouldn't be allowed to back out.

The White Scars considered him one of their champions. And now he needed to play his part as one.

---

@Daemon Hunter Okay, done with this omake and the first step in the Grand Naadam setup.

Team Banner

Byeong-Ho the Sarvhu (Genius Veteran Tactical Marine) (Marine)
Shao-Yi Zhang the Zart (Jaded Maelstrom Survivor) (Human)
Renshu the Kagish (Boisterous Scarred Veteran) (Marine)

Team Flame

Shen Shih the Karaoghlanlar (Resilient Heavy Weapons Expert) (Marine)
Gantulga the Gan-Khan (Eccentric Vehicle and Tech Expert)
Hasar the Kheshig (Proud Honor Guard of Khan) (Marine)

Team Cloak

Khenbish the Akoghlanar (Deviously aloof toxin/poison expert) (Marine)
Mönkhbat the Pioneer (Old-Timer Survivalist) (Marine)
Magnai the Bagatur (Perceptive Glory Hound) (Marine)

Team Torch

Orion the Knight-Warden
Ramuh the Stormherald
Kuveer the Gemlord

 

[Leon12431]

An omake where Horus requests Blood Angel support for diplomacy with Skysoph and name drops the Blood Angel that saved Sanguinius in canon from going traitor. Meros the Blood Angel also suffered a temporal anomaly in canon where he met a canon 41M blood angel and the Sanginator.

Spoiler: Skysoph: Meros' Arrival

It was a strange command to be called to meet with one's primarch, Apothecary Meros mused as he trooped down the halls towards the room where Sanguinius had asked him to meet. In truth it was a command for no Blood Angel would dream of refusing their father in such a crude manner anymore. Into the room, he entered noting the furnishing designed for the majestic wings of his primarch as, said being stared out into space through a window.

Meros kneeled as he entered the room, bowing his head towards Sanguinius. "I have arrived father as you requested." His voice pitched low to ensure that he would not disrupt his father if he had arrived too soon, "Rise my child there is no need for such actions. My oath to the legion remains, but I have called for you due to a request made by my brother Horus." Meros pulled himself up as he stared into the perfect face of the great angel of the Imperium, nobility in every line of his body, perhaps the most perfect of all the primarchs. Shaking himself slightly, he frowned minutely as he pondered the strangeness of such a request by Lord Horus.

His name would not be impossible for the Lupercal to know, for he had been the one to extract the geneseed from brother Alatos after his fall to the Red Thirst which was thankfully banished now. "For what am I being requested for?" There were many Blood Angels his better in combat, diplomacy and even the medical arts, making it a strange request from the Lupercal whom was closest to the Angel for him by name.

A sigh from Sanguinius broke the silence of the room, "My brother was reticent to speak of the true cause of his request, but what I could infer is that he has found a world of potent diviners. Whom have foreseen an impossible event and your name came to them within the visions. Unless you reject this mission, I have offered your services to Horus for the duration of this compliance."

Meros flinched as the statement dredged up memories that he had long since buried from the strange sojourn outside of time, but his father wished for him to help and so he would. There was no question at hand, no Blood Angel would ever dream of denying their Father and Primarch anything he wished of them. Bowing once more he nodded slightly, "I will gladly take the task that Lord Horus asks of me." Sanguinius smiled gently down as he seemed to frown, but the expression faded before Meros could be sure of what he saw.

"I know that you will do the legion proud in this task. I would go myself to aid Horus if not for a world that requires my presence." The final words were as clear as the dismissal was, but Meros found that he cared little for just being able to speak with his primarch even for such a purpose was an honor. As he neared the door, Sanguinius turned back and for a split moment his eyes seemed to see something else.

With speed beyond even an astartes eyes, a disk was handed to him as he prepared to leave. "When you return your way will be opened to reach my side." The final words of his primarch echoed in his mind as Meros stared down at the simple data disk in his hand. As he examined it and checked what it held, he found a one time code that he knew of but never seen or believed it would truly exist. A code that would allow the user to bypass all security to reach Sanguinius regardless of location or combat status. For him to be given the code even on a one use case, something strange was bound to occur, probably related to the innate precognition of his father.

With a shrug, he pocketed the disk as he made his way towards the hanger where a ship was being prepared for his journey to Horus' side. It was somewhat annoying that there was no true information on the mission lay before him, but he had been an astartes for decades and limited information was typical. Regardless, hopefully Horus or his representative would explain this lack of information.

The ship was small and only five other Blood Angels had been sent with him, but that was understandable since Lord Horus had only requested him. But six in total would be easy enough to send and would potentially give Lord Horus more options, fitting for Sanguinius, Meros considered as he interacted with his brothers.

None of them knew any more than he did on the matter, but they had been offered the task the same as him, only as supportive members under his command for the duration of their mission. There was little to do while the ship moved through the warp towards the system, which for Meros meant taking time to review his skills and doing last minute training on the arts of diplomacy.

Which made him realize that the Blood Angels for all the worlds they brought into the Imperium, relied more on the innate charisma of the astartes and Sanguinius than any skill at ambassadorial work. A painful realization since the little that had been confirmed was that the world in question was extremely competent at said arts and refusing to be led into traps by the Luna Wolves diplomat. Of course, once Lord Horus arrived the world would quickly integrate, but the fact that he had been requested was strange for that same fact.

Eventually the ship reached the system and translated in, a welcome relief of the strain of warp travel and the boredom that it inflicts. Meros was on the bridge as the shields opened revealing the depth of space once more and allowing the sensors to pick up the markers of the Luna Wolves fleet holding a position far from the world in question. A strange event since there was no space infrastructure showing on the sensor readouts, implying a primitive world and as such the normal action would be to have the fleet in immediate orbit of the world.

Not in an orbit at least a solid day away from the world at full burn, another curiosity that was added to the layers of strangeness of this mission.

The Vengeful Spirit was a grand vessel if of less artistic beauty than the Red Tear was, it lacked the refurbishments that Sanguinius had painstakingly applied to his flagship over the years turning it into a marvel of aesthetic beauty and battle prowess. The Vengeful Spirit on the other hand to Meros' eyes lack any such detailing as the ship came closer in the window, revealing the harsh if noble lines of its construction.

As with all such ships, the size dwarfed the ships that danced around it as the fleet reorganized around the flagship of a primarch as was only fitting. Numerous shuttles were flying between ships trying to follow the guidelines of the commanding crew, and without the express permission of Lord Horus, he and his brothers would be forced to wait in line for hangar access.

However, with the command codes provided upon system entry, the shuttle soon entered the hangar where a Luna Wolf waited wearing armor barren of marks and sigils. A bizarre sight to behold in truth, for only those astartes that had been sent to the legion of monsters had been so stripped of identification. Yet, here an astartes stood in perfect parade rest waiting for the shuttle to land.

As they disembarked, Meros nodded to his cousin as his brothers received pings on their systems directing them to leave the hangar. Soon leaving him alone with the unmarked Luna Wolf, "I apologize for the chaos cousin, but the situation is tenuous to say the least." Meros nodded at the astartes accepting the statement, but giving no reply as of yet.

"I am Hastur Sejanus of the Luna Wolves, and I will be taking you to meet with Horus as we prepare for the meeting to come with the diplomats of the world." His words were calm and directed to a human listener, however Meros even without training in the arts of diplomacy could hear the faint undertones that gave the lie to the confidence in the statement. Nodding his head towards Hastur, Meros fell into step behind him as the pair left the hangar.

Soon a mortal human joined them causing him to raise an eyebrow as Hastur simply accepted the presence of the mortal without a moment of thought. "Lord Hastur, the diplomats have seen the Blood Angels as directed. I am unsure if it was a wise idea to overplay our hand in this manner, perhaps it would have been more effective to bring them in for the first time with Horus himself." The human spoke calmly even as he had to all but run to keep up with the pace set by Hastur, whom Meros noted seemed to frown at the words.

"Perhaps, but their preconceptions pose an unavoidable risk with Horus being involved directly. Having five Blood Angels be seen roaming the Vengeful Spirit without any coercion will hopefully pacify them enough to be open minded. Hmm, Kyros can you see about setting up duels between the Blood Angels and the Wolves for their viewing, it would hopefully show them that their exceptions are wrong if Blood Angels can fight us without trying to kill once our name is revealed." Hastur murmured a moment later to the mortal as he seemed to consider something, even as Meros noticed the human drift towards looking towards him for a moment before nodding.

"I believe that is doable, Hastur. I assume that this is Apothecary Meros that you are guiding?" Hastur sighed as he stared down at the mortal with an expression between respect and annoyance, "You are sometimes far too bold, Kyros for your position. However, yes I am guiding my cousin to meet with Horus to explain the situation at hand and why he was requested." The human simply nodded as he raced to take notes, Meros could hear him muttering under his breath nearly a whisper even to his senses about strange things that he couldn't parse.

A moment later the strange human drifted away to complete another task lay before him, Meros noted that Hastur shook his head as he watched the human go even as they continued to move forward. Soon a massive door slide open as they approached revealing an observation deck with sensors and windows that could display any part of the ship at will. In the middle outside of his iconic armor stood Horus, bald and wearing robes of fine make.

Following Hastur, Meros walked behind his cousin until they had reached a point only a few feet from Horus. From the window he could see the world brought to life via the powerful sensors of the flagship. "Hastur, anything to report?" Horus asked.

Hastur shook his head as he stared out the window, "The diplomats are still suspicious, the have not been able to find conclusive proof that we are the Luna Wolves yet, but I believe they are reaching that conclusion. However, the arrival of the Blood Angels should help balance their suspicions out." Horus sighed at the report, even as Meros stood awkwardly behind them.

"Apothecary Meros, I apologize for not providing forewarning on this mission to my brother Sanguinius. But this compliance is fragile and temperamental, the needed information is hard to believe unless proof can be provided." Lord Horus spoke sounding almost discomforted by the admission.

"If I may, why is the information regarding this world so tightly controlled?" Meros asked as politely as he could. Horus almost winced, a display of emotion that seemed almost alien to the nobility and demeanor of a primarch.

Hastur stepped forward, only for Horus to shake his head gently. "I will explain it." Hastur nodded even as Meros tilted his head slightly at the interaction. "This world, Skysoph is primarily problematic due to their fanatic belief in a possible future." Questions bloomed inside of Meros, many worlds had been found to have diviners reveal or speak of futures that would never come true, why would this world be any different.

Yet, Horus held up his hand to forestall his words, "We have been careful as always with such worlds since it is hard to predict what precise actions might trigger them to believe a prophecy is completing. However, we have learned of several timelines that all indicate similar macro events, but also differ in the timeframes of said events. Of these timelines all of them agree on the fundamental assumption that nine of my brothers and their legions will betray Father and the Imperium."

A human might not be able to see the flinch that Horus suffered when he mentioned the betrayal, but Meros could, even if the idea of turning against the Imperium was near impossible to even contemplate. Yet, again he wondered, just why was this world given leeway not given to other divined prophecies. Thousands of worlds had such things and few if any came true in the way they were intended, more often than not they simply brought the worlds to ruin.

"Lord Horus, why are these timelines given any credence? I have fought on hundreds of worlds with similar stories or prophecies of their victory and yet none have yet come true." Hastur snorted inelegantly to the side as he just shook his head, even Horus seemed to wilt slightly.

"That is normally true, but Skysoph is an anomaly. Our meeting on this observation deck was no happenstance, walk with me to the windows and look upon the world with me." Horus spoke with a form of tiredness that Meros had never heard in a primarch before, yet the command was self evident even if it was coached in the form of an offer.

The three of them walked deeper into the observation deck towards the grand windows and the holoprojectors that would enable one to see objects in great detail even from celestial distances. Horus and Hastur were clearly used to this path, as they moved with purpose while he walked behind them tying to understand the reason behind the secrecy at hand.

Pieces began to fall together, the sojourn outside of time where he met with a genetic descendant of his from the 41st millennium and a facsimile of Sanguinius in that liminal space. His brother from another epoch had spoken only one word 'Horus' before being prevented from saying more by the facsimile. Now that memory took new life with the realization that Lord Horus had confirmed that nine legions turned upon the Imperium according to the world's stories.

It was a terrible realization, that the noble Luna Wolves would fall so far in this world's predictions. One of the greatest legions, and the first found primarch of the Imperium, turning upon it, Meros could barely believe the possibility existing but everything fit. Horus glanced over his shoulder towards him and wilted even more, only confirming his growing suspicions.

"Lord Horus, are you mentioned as one of the nine traitors?" The words were vile, incomprehensible, tearing his throat apart as he forced them out. The mere idea that Horus, the favored brother of Sanguinius could betray them all was anathema to the very core of the unity between the Luna Wolves and the Blood Angels.

Horus did not respond for a moment even as they continued to walk, the moment of silence confirming more than words ever could. Only due to his understanding of the follies of divination did Meros remain stable, refusing to break down before a primarch due to a prophecy that would never come true.

"Yes, according to the timelines of Skysoph I am predicted to betray the Imperium." Horus seemed strangely resigned to the idea, but there was something more to it than that along. Meros knew of the conclave with the primarchs that only recently ended, that could be considered a betrayal but, it seemed to be an overreaction for a world to use that event as proof.

Yet, they had reached the projector, one of the few that could do true color display and Hastur deftly worked the controls brining up the image of what appeared to be a normal world. "This is Skysoph 1, the first planet in the system and by all accounts an entirely mundane tidally locked mesoplanet that has been shown to have a high level of mineral wealth and gemstones. However, this in turn is Skysoph." Hastur said as the image of the normal world was replaced by another world, only Meros instantly realized that something was fundamentally wrong with the world being shown.

Storm cells covered great swathes of the world, impossible for any world barring gas giants even. Dividing the landmasses was an ocean of silver azure liquid that was not water or anything he recognized, and in the center of the greatest ocean what could only be a tree grew. As the world was spun it was clear that the tree nearly reached the edge of space itself as the branches swayed in the solar wind and reached hundreds of kilometers away from the trunk.

Yet, something deeper reached him, it was as if the world was out of phase with itself. Layers upon layers of something he couldn't understand existed within the world. It was formed of those layers, "What is that?" The words were a plea for an answer, as both Horus and Hastur stared at the world.

"What do you see?" Horus asked, as he peered at the image as if it would reveal a secret he missed. "Its layered, an infinite layering, there is no world left. It is all but layers upon layers of impossibility." Meros mumbled as he stared at the world and the memories of that trip returned to vividness as he stared into the swirling fractal pattern of the world. "Its layered time. Time itself has been shattered upon the world, there is no causality." The words were almost not his when he spoke them, as if he was watching someone else speak through his mouth and with his voice.

Horus almost slouched at the words, as he stared at the world's image. "Lord Horus, please tell me what is going on." Meros all but begged as he stared at the image of the broken world, trying to understand how it held together against the sheer brokenness he could see. "Skysoph claims to be created from temporal shards from the future and past of the world. We have been careful to not confirm or deny those claims, but the issue is that one of the four factions claims to hail from the 38th millennium." Meros stared at the world and then Horus, what wonders would they reveal he thought. What glories did the Imperium rise too in the intervening millennia?

How many humans lived in peace at last as the Great Crusade completed its mission and ended? Only to realize that their stories told of nine primarchs and legions that turned upon the Imperium, did the unthinkable happen and the Imperium fall? "The 38th millennium is a time of pain and horror, superstition rules the day as people proclaim the Emperor to be the God Emperor of Mankind. Technology has fallen farther than it has even today, and all of this laid at the feet of Horus." Hastur spoke as he overtook Horus in speaking on the subject, staring sadly at his father and the world.

"According to them, we failed in totality. The Imperium nearly dead, no, decaying every century that passes as traitors ensure that it could never recover. It is for this reason that I requested Blood Angel support, the world is fanatical in its rejection of anyone that they believe to be a traitor to the Imperium." Horus cut in as he stepped out, shaking off the appearance malaise that had struck him.
"That is why you are having my brothers duel your legion, to prove that once your name is revealed, they will have evidence that their predictions are incorrect." Meros realized as Hastur and Horus both nodded sadly. As he went to speak, Horus raised a hand and interjected, "I am aware that this appears to be giving them more leeway than they deserve, but they have made no unreasonable claim beyond those relating to the matter of the traitors. Furthermore, the unique resources of their world could be a boon for the Imperium if brought into the fold." Horus stated closing off Meros' forming objection to the apparent expenditure of effort for a semi mundane world.

"Do we believe it to be predetermined?" The question had to be asked, but just as horrible as the idea of Horus betraying them all, the idea of all being fated was equally as nightmarish. Horus and Hastur, both seemed to shrug at the question. "I prefer to believe that it is not predetermined, but we lack enough understanding of the nature of the world to claim with anything approaching surety that it is not predetermined." Horus finally replied almost seeming to choke on the words that could possibly be construed to be a admission of guilt for a crime yet to be done.

Hastur on the other hand, seemed to ponder it more which made sense once Meros recalled that he had been the diplomat meeting with the world for years at this point. "I believe that the most likely scenario is that its predetermined, but only for a timeline in which the world does not exist." He finally spoke, seeming to feel out the idea as he said it. Horus tilted his head clearly desiring more explanation into the matter as Hastur, mulled over his words.

Meros, stared at the world noting the layers of time that had wrapped around themselves to give rise to a world that would never be whole again. He could tell that the world would become more cohesive over time, but it would never truly become real again. "I believe cousin Hastur is correct on this matter. It appears that the world can only exist in a timeline in which it can not occur from how the core of it appears to be formed." It was a struggle to compress what he saw into the language of gothic. It lacked the words to describe how the world's image seemed to be layered upon itself and the core to be formed not of anything but more of said layers.

The best he could manage was an approximation of what he could understand, The sound of a communicator activating broke the silence as Meros and Horus looked towards Hastur who fidgeted as he answered the call. Horus could hear the words coming through even though Meros could not, but he could see the expression of Hastur flicker through various emotions.

As the call ended, he seemed uncomfortable, "It appears that there was a scuffle of sorts between the diplomats once they realized that they were watching Blood Angel marines. Thankfully, our diplomats were able to prevent any active conflict among them, but they have requested the leader of the Blood Angels to meet them for a transfer of a gift to the legion." Hastur's voice was strained seemingly puzzled, but Horus was clearly interested.
"My lord, I am duty bound to answer their call if they proclaim to have a gift for the legion." Meros disliked having to speak as such to Lord Horus, but he was bound by the orders of Sanguinius in the end. Horus simply nodded and smiled gently, "It is no matter, I understand the situation at hand."

A flurry of action happened fast as the three of them quickly made their way to the chosen hangar closest to Skysoph, Meros noted and yet both Horus and Hastur split off to enter an overlooking room to witness the event. Entering the room, Meros found his brothers waiting for him, two of them bearing new sigils denoting skill. He nodded to them in recognization of their victory in the informal spars that had apparently occurred while he was meeting with Horus and Hastur.

A shuttle that was crafted from flesh, metal and stranger things drifted into the hangar. Meros found himself almost sickened by the sight of the shuttle as the crude stitching of the layers of time tore at his mind. Yet, the door soon opened revealing a group of twenty soldiers bearing weapons and armor far beyond the rather rickety appearance of the shuttle. Their armor was clearly powered and shielded even, a faint azure silver barrier flickering around them as four of them carried a massive crate with the others standing guard.

As they got closer, it was clear that their armor and even weapons were biomechanical in a strange fusion of still living flesh and plant matter, with complex mechanical constructs. Meros found himself impressed by the grace with which they moved, almost similar to that of an astartes only lesser. As they neared, the four carriers gently set the crate down on the floor of the hangar as an aged figure walked out of the shuttle.

A civilian was clear to Meros and his brothers as she walked down the shuttle door. A near solid hexagonal wall of silver azure surrounding her. Her walk was ponderous and almost as if she was weighed down with guilt, yet in only a few minutes she reached the crate. "I am Solkiva, and this is a gift that I have worked on for three centuries for the Blood Angel Legion and Sanguinius if he still lives." Her voice was a whisper upon the air, barely audible even to the senses of an astartes, and now at this range Meros could see just how many layers of time covered the strange individual.

It was as if she lived in a thousand places at once, but also only one place, with a shake of his head, the confusion was banished. "More wealth than ever spent on a single project was poured into this creation, unthinkable horrors were committed to bring it to life." Her words were all but drowned out as she entered a code into the crate and it spiraled open, revealing a grand death mask.

The moment Meros laid eyes upon it, pain unlike anything he had ever felt before tore through his mind. All of his brothers flinched as the imperious stare of the gemstones of the mask blazed with revealed fury and yet, he suffered the most as the eyes tore open the wound that time had inflicted upon him. Recovering as befitted an Astartes, Meros met the unflinching eyes of gemstone and examined the mask.

Metal, flesh, wood, plant and strange things flowed together into a singular item. There was none of the unsightly stitching of the shuttle nor even of the discrete parts of the soldiers' armor, it was a single piece. Everything flowed perfectly into the other parts, flesh gave way perfectly to metal, even as metal gave way to wood and wood to plant, in an endless cycle. It was undeniably beautiful and it was easy to see Sanguinius wearing it into battle.

It was a mask worthy of the primarch in a way no other had been, yet, the imperious gaze of time itself unnerved Meros as it seemed to track him. Knowing that he was not like the others in the room. "I thank Skysoph for this gift for Sangunius, but I would wish to learn more of its properties, before I take it into my custody." Meros stepped forward to take charge, even as the strange civilian watched him with unreadable eyes.

A whispery laugh emerged from her as she looked up at him, "Do you not already know what you ask?" Her question would have been overly bold, but Meros stopped as he stared at the mask and then her, and knew that she was speaking the truth. He already knew what it was, and so did Sanguinius know.

The civilian returned to the shuttle as her guards nodded respectfully towards the marines, before soon leaving. Tasking one of his brothers to carry the mask to their ship, Meros traveled to rejoin Horus and Hastur.

 

[Ruirk]

Heart of the Matter

An often-forgotten aspect of humanity is their affinity towards holidays. Since the dawn of human civilization, there has been an association with celebratory events and the changing seasons. Religion introduced even more. Then secular institutions threw their hat into the ring.

At some point, there was such bloat of festivities it was a wonder that the human species ever got anything done. More importantly, the reasonings and histories behind them faded. No one knew the names or events and the root cause of the holiday even less.

Like all things, they became part of their culture. When humanity colonized the stars, they brought their holidays and celebrations. Which would soon become intertwined with the homesteads and colonies, often taking on new names or stories but, at their core, remained the same.

It was another reason to celebrate or remember the "good old days." When the Old Federation had subsumed control over the galaxy, its Mega-Corps continued thousands of years of tradition of commercial consumerism geared towards the holiday seasons. Didn't matter if you were on Earth or the farthest outpost…there was always time to enjoy the little things in life and, more importantly, buy something.

Regardless, the traditions and celebrations continued well into even the Long Night. As the established order collapsed and the knowledge of the past was lost, humanity held tightly to the few things they offered a connection to the old world.

Thus, the names and titles, dates and times, and the reason for a holiday became different.

A familiar idea at a glance but strange and even absurd. Rather than fade into obscurity, it took root. No one would ever know the true history of these events. Save for perhaps the gods themselves.

Many holidays and celebrations were ultimately tied to the divine, albeit in a much more limited capacity than previously believed. Once upon a time, billions of devotees would celebrate the event in their name before they became secularized. If the gods disapproved of this, they must have kept their disapproval to themselves.

Perhaps in the god's minds, it was better to not throw hellfire and plagues upon a people for wanting to enjoy a little moment of levity, even if the names, titles, rituals, and dates were all wrong. Nevertheless, some kept to the stories as best they could. Even as the gods died and the Long Night consumed the Old Federation.

But such little embers of knowledge remained…well into the 30th Millenium. An auspicious time. For the gods are returning.

And for the organization known as Ravenloft, every avenue of research had to be considered to ensure that if and when these gods returned, they would be on the side of humanity. By chance, the organization found records of something related to their current overarching goal; The Goddess Venus.

More specifically, her connection to a shared holiday.

---

Director Lockcraft had grown quite accustomed to reading reports about the strangest things. He read about stories and myths, cooking recipes and pottery designs, blood rituals and spirit callings, and many other things. All of these had one thing in common; a connection to the divine.

That was to say, a connection to a specific divine. Just as thousands of human civilizations had their procedures and practices for one thing or another, be it economic, government, or military, it all paled in comparison to the arcane rituals of priests, shamans, and others who called whatever title suited them.

Men created rules and rituals for anything that suited their needs. The Imperium of Man was a secularized version of this same problem. Yet rather than paying alms or tribute to the gods, a man was required to submit taxes and tithe to the Administraum.

"All for their wellbeing, of course." Certainly a bit of truth in both categories, but at least the Imperium would, on occasion, at least give something back. Tribute to the gods might have offered peace of mind, but Lockcraft preferred a defense and trade guarantee.

Though Lockcraft supposed that sometimes you just wanted an assurance that something more grand and powerful had your back in the afterlife. Yet Lockcraft questioned the validity of offering sacrifices and tributes to give you a better opportunity in the afterlife.

So far, none of the wise men, priests, and shamans had much of an answer to that question. Then again, maybe Ravenloft hadn't yet learned that particular component of divinity. It was also so frustrating and exciting in one. So many questions but with such multifaceted answers as well.

An example of this was the current report on his desk: The Attribution of Holidays and Festivities in Divine Rituals. So Ravenloft was studying holidays now? As Lockcraft wanted to roll his eyes at the absurdity, Corvus told him to examine every aspect of faith to gleam anything substantial or valuable.

Much as Lockcraft wanted to deride such things, there was always a nugget of truth or a claim with substance. Take, for example, the use of wine as a recurring aspect of religion. The Deorums, the Helenics, the Catharics and Hebrites, even the Dharmics, had some reference to the beloved liquor.

Granted, that was the least of it. Food, song, dance, art, clothing, animals, weather, words, and so much more had value to the gods or their faithful devotees. Ravenloft had a small department just attempting to get it all in order.

"Now we must add in holidays." He muttered as he started reading the report. The basics were simple enough. Holidays were another core component of doctrinal worship. Days, weeks, and even months are devoted to one god or another. Lockcraft smirked at the image of the gods having to decide who got which day or month to celebrate.

Then again, maybe the faithful killed one other if they didn't worship the holiday on the correct day of the week. Probably did the same for those who worshipped other faiths. Did the gods even care?

Reading further in the report, the indication was that the gods cared in some sense. The writer for this report, Researcher Christiana Hortator, had compiled a list of 65 holidays and festivals attributed to the worship or praise of a specific religious event tied to a particular deity.

Christiana weaved together an odd but fascinating theory that holidays acted as a "community ritual" for transformative prayer, providing gods with bio-etheric energy, celestial energies, or proto-divine matter. At least, that was the supposition. Lockcraft wasn't as convinced.

The staggering number of prayers and souls needed to produce even just a tiny spec of divine matter likely required an obscene amount of focus for even one faith. Ravenloft had proven that the gods worked under radically different laws of reality. If it were that easy, there would be untold numbers of divine relics in the galactic wilds.

Such as it was, Lockcraft found the only quantifiable aspect of this report was the mention of the ritual casting during a specific holiday associated with the god in question. Dozens of holidays were listed. These were found across much of the galaxy that had survived the Long Night via specific groups.
And just as Lockcraft was about to sign off on the report, he saw something that caught his attention.

"...Heart Day is a universally recognized secular holiday in the galaxy. However, it is clearly rooted in the faithful. Once known as Valentine's Day, Saint Valentine's Day, or the Feast of Saint Valentine in the religious world, it is a complicated and often conflicting piece between Christian and Deorum elements. Namely, the Deorun claim that, once again, the Catharics and Hebrites continue to steal their holidays. Originally called the festival of Lupercalia, it was a festival and celebration of the goddess Venus."

Thinking back to the planned second heist on Venus, Lockcraft got a rather intriguing idea that might even have quite a bit of merit. Quickly submitting an order to have Hortator appear in his office with all details related to the study of "Heart Day" in particular.

He almost didn't want to believe that this might have grounds to be a boon for Corvus.

---

Today was a rather lousy day for Corvus. The ongoing crisis facing the Imperium from within, on top of the compliances in his lap, was on his mind. Additionally, he and Sachmis had gotten into a recent spat over her plans to press-gang humans into her planned pirate fleet.

An argument in which Sachmis failed to utterly recognize Corvus's issues with the whole thing but more so than her outright dismissal of alternative solutions. She accused Corvus of controlling her every action when he needed to trust her to handle things.

Sachmis was so exhausting sometimes. She rarely listened to Corvus whenever he tried to stop her from causing a mess. Instead, Sachmis seemed to always go through with her plans. To her credit, she obeyed his orders to not reave and raid innocent people, nor did she capture any slaves.

That didn't stop her from stealing ships and their crews, selling drugs and weapons, and being an all-around pain in the ass for the local pirates. Sachmis wanted her empire. Corvus hated to admit that she was putting in the work for it.

All this was to say that any meetings with Lockcraft were almost relaxing to Corvus, especially if Lockcraft had some good news to report. Namely, as any problems the organization had, it tended to resolve without the Primarch's oversight.

If nothing else, it was a good distraction from his usual or irregular woes.

Lockcraft requested the meeting in his office. The message mentioned a new development for the second heist on Venus. Which Corvus hoped was a good sign. That specific op wasn't for another few years. It was the farthest thing from his mind as Ravenloft handled much of the build-up.

As Corvus took a seat, he looked at Lockcraft. "Alright, what do you have for me?"

"One of our researchers might have found some vital information and sent it over via a report. But first, tell me what you know about Heart Day?"

Who didn't know about Heart Day? "It's a lover's holiday. People exchange gifts with their significant other. Children talk to a childhood crush or fling. Old affirmations of love are spoken once more."
"And ubiquitous." Lockcraft wasn't wrong. Even the Mechanicum celebrated Heart Day, which was saying a lot. Deliverance celebrated it as well. As did Ultramar, Valhalla, Fenris, etc. They had different names for it, though. Some took it seriously, while others considered it a relatively minor event.

"Now, here is the fascinating part." Lockcraft pulled out the report in question. "We traced the origin of Heart Day as best we could via records obtained by our agents and whatever tomes or books our scholars have. Heart Day, originally called the festival of Lupercalia, has ties to the worship of the Deorum Goddess of Venus."

"Heart Day is a religious holiday?" Corvus considered that, and it made some sense. However, he doubted anyone knew it was a Deorum holiday in origin. "And it's attributed to Venus…that's quite fascinating indeed."

Lockcraft nodded. "The report has a unique take on the nature of holidays and festivals. It theorizes that during the peak of the holiday, that is to say during a particular period, the god attributed to the event has a greater connection to its followers…or perhaps even reality itself."

"Now, why do you think that is exactly?"

Lockcraft leaned back into his chair, "If I had to hazard a guess, based on what I've seen, several factors would likely come into play. The first is that the legend surrounding the holiday and the emotional attachment to that legend play a part. A sort of quasi-wave length is established with the god in question, allowing it to have a greater influence on the ritual. Secondary is the notion of 'time' in the holiday, which I believe reacts to the position of a star."

"You think stars might have a direction to a god? What about the warp?"

"Again, I can only theorize, but stars may act as catalysts in this instance for the gods. However, based on our initial understanding of Bio-Etherics, soul energy may be the fuel for the deity during this ritual."

Corvus considered all of this, "So the holiday is the ritual. The legend associated with the holiday is a trigger activated via the faithful's prayers and activities. Starlight might be a catalyst, while soul energy might be the fuel."

It all sounded like an engine. Yet what was the impulse behind it? These blasted gods and all their little rules and procedures. As if Corvus didn't need another set of variables to consider whenever dealing with these things.

"Ravenloft will need to look into this further, but it has given me an idea. Our second attempt to secure the godseed and the vault might have better luck if we perform it during Heart Day. We'd have a greater chance of coaxing the godseed to comply."

A strange plan, but considering everything, Corvus saw the merit. "There are some problems with this. Do we know exactly when Heart Day is in the trustiest sense?" Every world had Heart Day during a different part of "their" year. Meaning Ravenloft would need to determine the exact Terran date.

"We'll have to investigate that, yes." Lockcraft considered another issue. "We will also need enough of the faithful to provide the prayer and energy."

"Fine." Corvus shrugged, "We have the Deorums for that."

"True, but I have something else in mind. The War Witches of Venus. If we can get them on board with this, I think they will be able to provide the necessary prayer and ritual as well. We are already looking to get their aid in creating the 'Shell' for Venus. We might as well tack this on."

The second heist was becoming increasingly involved and grandiose. At this point, Corvus wouldn't be surprised if the Eldar or Cegorach himself would seek purchase in this endeavor. A nasty thought of including Sachmis in this, but Corvus wasn't about to let her get involved.

"Fine." Corvus waved it off. "Do whatever is necessary to get the information and people needed for this. Reach out to the Eldar as well. Maybe their records in the Black Library have something."

"If they'll allow us to sift through them anyway." The Eldar allowed a few outsiders within the core section library at a time. Even Farseers were denied within its most sacred halls unless a Harlequin authorized it.

Corvus knew that this line of study wasn't going to be easy, but things were getting a bit farcical in some places. "Needing permission to enter an ancient repository of knowledge so we can learn about Heart Day's exact origins and specifications."

"All so we can prepare for stealing a godseed within the Imperial capital system?" Lockcraft remarked offhandedly as he filed the report away, "I don't think studying a religion is supposed to be this adventurous or conspiratorial."

"You'd think that," Corvus grimaced as he realized just how deep into this particular conspiracy he was in now. The gods certainly played men like him for fools sometimes.

---

A few days later…

Today was Heart Day. Corvus only knew that because of the conversation with Lockcraft. This was to say that the Primarch's focus was on a new issue. Because just recently, the Shadow had made contact with the Night Phoenix. Which meant that Sachmis was close by.

Unfortunately, Sachmis liked to surprise Corvus when they weren't in official meetings or discussions. Those interactions tended to be more geared towards the Eldar and the Raven Guard aiding each other in specific operations, using Sachmis and her fleet as proxies.

Her fleet. If there was ever a time that Corvus felt like he unleashed something upon the galaxy, it was knowing that Sachmis was building her little empire. Granted, Sachmis told Corvus this before she even got her flagship back.

That was something that he had to keep in mind. Sachmis made no attempts to hide her ambition from him. Perhaps Corvus had been either too arrogant or dismissive, but now Sachmis had gained considerable power in such a short amount of time. The Eldar, however, assured him that she wasn't engaging in anything too immoral.

Just incredibly illegal. Corvus couldn't let Sachmis gain access to the Shrike Commission assets. That would result in disaster for…someone. All this was to say that the one person in his life closest to him on an intimate level was causing him quite a bit of stress.

Intimacy was a complicated and frustrating thing. To Corvus, it tugged at his mind constantly. A gnawing feeling in his soul. Worse was the conflicting emotions that came with it.

When Sachmis was close by, it was exhausting and exhilarating, and when she was gone, Corvus felt frustration and worry. Much as he hated to admit it, Corvus enjoyed the time spent together and hated the time spent away. A useful distraction, he told himself, from all the troubles he was unable to stop.

Even when they bickered and argued, the two eventually drifted back to one another. Such a strange thing. A strand of hate and joy bonded by a shared desire for pleasure and respect was found between two people that almost tried to kill one another.

How bizarre to imagine. Was this an unhealthy or healthy relationship?

As the Primarch was about to enter his chambers, he noticed a knife sticking out at the door handle. Corvus sighed, knowing who was on the other side now. Stepping inside, he didn't acknowledge the slim Druhkari sitting on his desk, legs crossed and smiling coyly at him.

"You shouldn't leave your weapons outside where others can see them," Corvus remarked as he slipped off his dress coat. "I don't want people asking strange questions."

Sachmis made an amused sound. "Then silence them when they come up."

Grabbing a glass of water, Corvus ignored the implication of her suggestion. "I don't like it when you break into my room either."

"Then improve the security of the doors. Not that it would stop me." Putting her feet back on the ground, Sachmis sauntered to Corvus like she owned the room. Upon approaching, her hands reached forward to grab at the Primarch's clothing.

Corvus sighed before grabbing her hands, "I can't. Not tonight."

"Nonsense," Sachmis smirked before trying again, standing on her toes to kiss Corvus. "When has anything ever stopped us?"

Trying not to focus on the taste or softness of her lips, Corvus still pushed back. "I need to review a few deployments with my captains. It will take all night. I'm just here to get some reports."

There was an unspoken rule between them; business came first. Much to Sachmis's annoyance, she knew better than to argue with him.

"Fine." Her hands pulled away, and she huffed. "Well, my night is completely ruined."

Corvus wasn't going to apologize. "It's just the reality of things. Besides, we both need to focus on more important things. Like your arms and drug trafficking or press-ganging people in your service."

He then remembered what he had bought and reached into his pockets just as Sachmis looked ready to start arguing again. "Are you still going on about that? I told you it's necessary and-"

"Here." Corvus held out a red card and some wrapped chocolate. "For you."

Sachmis stared at the offered card and treat, "The fuck is this supposed to be?"

"A Heart Day gift." He smirked at seeing her confusion, "A human holiday. Something for lovers."

She laughed, "Humans celebrate some lover's holiday with a confectionary treat and paper?"

"I'm sure the Aeldari did more impressive things." Still holding out his gifts, he smirked. "But this will have to do."

"Tst." Sachmis shook her head, "Fine." Taking the card and chocolate as if receiving a crappy prize. "We could've been drinking or fucking, but instead I get this…lovely."

Somehow her annoyance made this all the more amusing. "Happy Heart Day, Sachmis."

Leaning down to gently kiss her, he was rewarded with a pleased smile from her. If nothing else, she appreciated the token gesture of affection. Corvus was learning that the little things sometimes mattered in a relationship more than any grand gesture.

---

Sachmis left a few minutes later. Not all that happy, but not angry, either. Looking down at the crappy gifts her lover left her, Sachmis wanted to toss them. Such pathetic offerings to someone like her. Still, at least Corvus sought to satisfy rather than keep arguing.

Looking down at the card, she was surprised to find someone writing in it along with a cutesy image of a knife through a cartoonish heart with the captions: "Your love cuts deep, like a knife to the heart."

Corvus wrote something in some of the opening spaces.

"Thinking about you, always. For better or for worse. Hope you feel the same.

• Corvus"

What an awful declaration of affection. So why then did Sachmis feel her face getting warm and a smile? Then again, when had she ever received such a thing from anyone? As a servant, she had received nothing from her masters. As a free woman, suitors sent her priceless relics, drugs, slaves, and whatever she desired. Yet none had left her happy.

But this stupid little card did.

"What a joke." She remarked before tearing open the wrapped chocolate. It tasted terrible. "Love is such an absurdity." Sachmis finished eating the entire thing before continuing back to her ship, licking her lips and wondering when she'd see Corvus next.

---

@Daemon Hunter

 

[Shadaki]

and Hebrites continue to steal their holidays

Click to shrink...

But....we don't? We specifically make a point of not celebrating Venus/Valentines day or any other holiday of Greek/Roman/Christian/etc origin.