Yup. Permanently dead at that. Poochie is dead levels of dead.
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The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
Flashpoint: Compliances II
This was supposed to be a quick omake. It wasn't. It took me two weeks to do. Extraordinarily slow for me.
As always, these are slightly modified
Fulgrim 20: A world that possesses an 'artificial person' of a similar genetic augment tier to an Astartes, but focused on assassination and sabotage instead of combat. Individual is Astartes Hero tier, and is the last living member of their fellow augmented 'Anath'.
Konrad 19: A planet with a large antimatter reactor about to explode, in the middle of mass evacuation. Assisting in this will be easy, and boost local compliance due to saving a lot more people.
Corvus 19: An extremely talented sniper was paid to assassinate Corvus, took the money then surrendered to the Raven Guard after learning who he was actually going up against.
Flashpoint: Compliances II
Vita Supra Lucrum…
A job was a job. It didn't matter who or what the target was, only that they had to die. That was Assassination 101. A universally accepted arrangement among hired killers. It wasn't like it took much for any sentient to kill someone, especially when the stakes were high.
Most people in this line of work kill for profit, thrills, or glory. Rarely did anyone take on a contract for something as useless as it is for an "honorable" purpose or because it was their "duty." Such things mattered little in this line of work. Especially as such thinking could become detrimental.
However, some assassins killed not for themselves but for others. A job was a means to an end, a necessary sacrifice. To kill for oneself was selfish, but killing for family or nation was often seen, if not as heroic, at least understandable. One life for many was a small price to pay.
Justifications were easy to create, especially if the payout was exceedingly profitable and necessary. And even more so if a proverbial gun was aimed at the head of someone, you cared about. For one alien assassin in particular, all those things ran through their mind upon taking this job.
His name was Noius Malion, a soldier, champion, and now a "hired" killer. He was a Ruhhkh, a bipedal avian species from Yehat. His civilization, the Ruhhkh Gradation, was dying, but salvation was yet obtainable. The hopes of which rested in his talons.
Noius Malion was tasked with killing a Primarch.
Calling it suicidal was being generous. It was a death sentence and a fool's errand in one. Yet Noius accepted the contract all the same. The thought of failure outweighed the apprehension and uncertainty. Noius knew what would happen otherwise.
Destruction, death, and the extinction of the Ruhhkh. All at the hands of the same humans that wanted them to kill the Primarch. The price they paid for leaving their isolationism.
A few years after encountering the local elements of the Imperium of Man, a disease began to spread across Yehat and neighboring colonies. Their bodies became weak before ugly sores and shivering heralded an agonizing death. It didn't take them long to realize that this sickness wasn't natural but artificially created to attack their people. Try as the Ruhhkh might to produce a cure, it was impossible.
Until the humans approached and offered to help them. When the Gradation accused them directly of creating the plague ravaging their worlds, the plotters made no attempt to hide their involvement.
"It's nothing personal. Just simply business. You understand that, yes? To that end, we have a proposition for you. One that will not only save your people but we will even pay handsomely for your government's silence."
Such honorless curs. Noius wished them only cursed winds upon their wingless frames. Playing with the lives of his and their own people and for their own greed. The Ruhhkh thought humanity was better than this, especially after encountering the Rogue House of Kallaon.
A fleet of traders, pirates, and explorers under the banner of the Imperium of Man, and the first encounter with an alien species in almost 2,000 years. Not since the time of the Greenskin invasion had the Ruhhkh encountered another within their small empire.
The arrival of the Rogue Trader, Char Kallaon, was a feared encounter until the Lord-Captain exchanged knowledge and wisdom with the Ruhhkh, who he called the "Rooks." This strange and eccentric human gave the Ruhhkh cybernetic and warp-drive technologies in exchange for a hundred thousand anti-gravity engines. After that, the Kallaon Fleet left. Many thought it strange, but this arrival brought the winds of change.
It was a time of great hope within the Gradation. The belief was that a reordering was upon the galaxy. Understandably the Ruukh wanted to have a place in it. Noius knew that most would have a hard time understanding. The Ruukh Gradation is a complex and ancient system of governance. Each man, woman, and child fulfilled a purpose within it, all according to the strength of each individual's connection to the Grua'An, the Sacred Winds.
Every aspect of their society was carefully structured to ensure the ascension of their civilization. Not for power or wealth but to soar upon the galactic winds. At the heart of the Ruukh Gradation lies a strict hierarchy, with each individual occupying a specific place within the larger framework of their society.
Noius knew this intimately. His species valued order, discipline, and loyalty above all else, and their society is governed by strict rules and regulations enforced with absolute authority. Despite their rigid system of governance, however, his people were not without compassion. They took care of each other to ensure that everyone could achieve new and greater heights. Equitable and fair treatment, born of three centuries of adhering to a military hierarchy, had paid off.
At the top of this hierarchy are the Rukhs, the ruling class of the Ruukh people. They are the wisest and most powerful members of their society, possessing knowledge and skills beyond the comprehension of lesser beings. The Rukhs are tasked with guiding their people, making important decisions, and ensuring their species' continued survival and prosperity.
Then there were the Rukarii and Aeriks: the Priests and Scientists—the builders of the anti-gravity technologies and keepers of the Higher Secrets. Both understood the nature of the Sacred Winds.
Beneath them were the Grads, the skilled workers, and the artisans of the Ruukh Gradation. Those responsible for producing the goods and services necessary to sustain their society are highly respected for their expertise and craftsmanship.
Finally, at the bottom of the hierarchy are the Uks, the unskilled laborers and menial workers of the Ruukh Gradation. They perform the most basic and menial tasks but are still valued for their contributions to society. Many often served as soldiers when the call came, which allowed them to move upward into the Grads and sometimes even the Rukarii and Aeriks.
At its core, the Gradation wasn't about maintaining a hierarchical order. Their collective was based on the notion of unified survival and ascension. Their civilization embodied these principles because they were worth protecting. So that future generations could one day achieve greatness.
Noius believed in this dream. Especially as he was a Rukh. He was the champion of his people and one of the most capable. His fellow Rukh needed him to take this contract. The call to action was too great to ignore, even if Noius wanted to. One life for the lives of an entire civilization, his people.
If anyone could pull this off, it was him. Noius was a soldier with experience fighting the Greenskin pirates who became a hero of his own right after aiding the destruction of an Ork Kruiser 20 years ago. He could melt into the darkness and, thanks to his Aerik lineage, was considered a genius with most forms of technology.
There was simply no one else capable of pulling this off.
He accepted it. The nobles involved in the conspiracy then explained who exactly he had to kill, and his heart sank. This Primarch, Corvus Corax, wasn't just some random human warlord…but more akin to a force of nature. Who commanded great armies and fleets and whose sons helped bring down a thousand realms in a century.
Noius was but one Rukh. However, the nobles would allow him to kill the Primarch without facing him on the battlefield. All that was needed was for Noius to take the shot. Again, Noius felt a bubbling disgust and hatred. These conspirators had all the means to pull off the assassination, but they needed someone like him to carry this out and take the fall.
Was this a trap? Perhaps. The Gradation had no choice. Millions were dying, and this contract was the only means to survive and recover. The Ruhhkh had never killed someone for such greedy reasons but better the Primarch than them.
The conspirators put Noius on one of their ships and sent him deep into the realm of the "Raven" to a world called Falcia. A hive world that held tens of billions of humans and where Corvus Corax rallied for a great crusade. Noius was the first Ruhhkh to ever visit the Imperium of Man, and he brought the gift of death as its ambassador.
Noius had the location, time, and means to hide amongst the population. Not that the last part mattered, as the Ruhhkh anti-gravity technologies and material science allowed the flightless avian to soar across the vast buildings and skies without issue.
His target would be staying in the governor's palace, but the Primarch hadn't arrived yet. Noius decided to hide among the stone "gargoyles," and other strange beasts chiseled among this alien structure for a week. He wasn't idle, though.
This world had terrible security measures, which in turn allowed Noius to interface with the local "vox" network and start listening to the humans. The Sacred Winds had blessed Noius, and he could hear local communications within the governor's palace. A wealth of information was at this talon tips.
Information that Noius would use to kill this Corvus Corax. Noius had the entire spire layout, where and when the Primarch would arrive, the security measures in place, weather reports, sentry movement, and even a work schedule of the servants.
Noius had only a week to learn of his target in some form or capacity. So, he settled in and started to listen.
Humans spoke of this Primarch in particular with considerable reverence. The people of Falcia called this Corvus Corax the "Liberator," citing the Primarch's anti-slavery stances and his focus on uplifting newly accepted worlds. All things considered, it sounded more like a fluff piece.
But then Noius heard the political officers speak of him. They cursed the Primarch and all he stood for because Corvus Corax threatened to undo all they accomplished within the last two centuries by ending things like indentured servants and child labor and encouraging more open public elections. Humanity wasn't like the Gradation; the lack of empathy and compassion towards their fellow man was abysmal. Yet those that sought to maintain this status quo now seemed to want Noius to kill the only one that would seek to change things.
A curious dilemma grew in his mind, plagued by doubts and what-ifs. Such wickedness towards their fellows made Noius wonder if the conspirators would keep to their end of the bargain if even he carried out the assassination. Noius knew the possibility existed, but his people's desperation and hopes rested on his shoulders.
Sometimes you have to make a difficult choice. One life for many.
Before Noius knew it, a week had passed. The entire planet seemed to erupt in celebration as Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard, personally stepped foot upon their misbegotten world. The Ruukh-turned-Assassin had to be careful, as patrols were everywhere outside the governor's palace.
Preparing for the kill, Noius brought out the weapon that would kill the Primarch, the Aixon, a term originally used by the ancient Ruhhkh for a "Killing Gale." The Aixon was lightweight but sturdy, using Ruhhkh anti-grav technologies to launch an "Arrowhead" the size of a fist at nearly the speed of light.
It wouldn't matter if the Primarch was wearing the heaviest power armor. Not that it would matter, as Noius would be aiming for the man's head. Granted, the Aixon could only be fired once before another "Arrowhead" would be needed. Noius didn't know if he'd get the chance for a second shot. Whether he succeeded or not, the Ruukh was going to die. There was no way he could escape off-world.
"Hmph, two lives for the many then," Noius muttered to himself, his throat raw from not speaking to anyone after nearly two months since leaving Yehat. None of it mattered now as his datapad alerted him that the Primarch would be in sight soon enough, his hack on the pict-casters giving him a real-time display of the Imperial procession.
"Grua'An though you are far away, grant me keen sight and steady hands. Grant me and my target the peace of death and bring my people salvation." Noius chuckled, "And if all those fail, may you curse those that brought me upon this wretched world."
Corvus Corax was about to reach the kill zone, a stained glass window that would offer zero protection. The Axion hummed in Noius's hands, which felt almost uncomfortable. Death was in his hands. A heavy burden on his soul.
At the moment, as Corvus Corax came into view, time slowed down. Evolution might have taken away the Ruhhkh's ability to fly, but it let them keep their predatory eyesight, allowing them to see their targets at a great distance with limited technological aid. The Ruhhkh found that killing another creature was an intimate affair in this regard. Seeing the life leaving someone's eyes or when a bullet hit their bodies.
Noius would see the Primarch's death in almost perfect clarity. A small price to pay for this assassination. He knew this would feel different than killing Greenskins. In the time spent learning of Corvus Corax, Noius had gotten a glimpse into the man's life, and Noius found himself unable to hate the Primarch.
Snuffing out such a life felt like taking away something good in the galaxy. Nevertheless, Noius aimed and readied to fire.
Just as Noius was about to pull the trigger, unaware of how close he was to changing galactic history…Corvus Corax paused momentarily, turned his head, and glared at Noius. It lasted for only a few seconds…but the sight of it caused Noius to freeze, unable to pull the trigger or even move.
But then the Primarch moved out of view.
Noius missed his opportunity. It was over. He had failed. Worse yet, he knew his target was aware of him, but how?! Even an augmented human shouldn't be able to see Noius from such a distance. Yet every part of his mind screamed that the Primarch had been looking directly at him.
When a minute passed, and Noius heard and detected no alarms, he almost wondered if his mind had just imagined everything, but upon seeing the security recording, the event had actually played out. The Primarch had seen him.
But where did that leave Noius? He saw no hordes of Astartes of humans barreling towards his position or heard any alarms going off. When the hour mark passed and nothing else happened, Noius wondered what to do now. Could he make another attempt at trying to kill the Primarch?
Should he?
Noius hadn't failed yet. The salvation of his people was also still in jeopardy. What else was the Ruukh to do now? He wouldn't have another chance to use the Axion, the best means to complete the mission, and Noius doubted his compact assault rifle would be enough to kill Corvus Corax. His target was seemingly aware of him as well.
There was no hope of success. Noius would fail in all instances. What options did that leave him with?
"I could grovel for mercy…" Noius muttered to himself before realization struck him. "Or I can offer something in return for aid…" The Ruhhkh hawkish grin made Noius see the potential opportunity here. Perhaps the Grua'An had even shown him the way.
It took nine more hours before nightfall fell upon Falcia. The upper spires were spared from the pollution below, but a thick fog still covered the governor's palace, giving Noius sufficient cover as he snuck inside. Thanks to the lightweight materials of his species' technology and gear provided by the conspirators, Noius moved like a ghost across the dark and empty halls.
His access to the security network remained intact, and Noius knew where the Primarch was supposed to be resting. He wasn't too surprised at the lack of guards. Even more so when Noius felt a slight breeze flowing toward his destination.
The Grua'An was guiding him. At least, that was what Noius told himself.
Upon arriving outside a large set of doors to the office where the Primarch was last seen entering an hour ago, Noius held his rifle up and quietly slipped inside. The room, dimly lit by what looked to be hundreds of candles and a small fireplace off to the right side, seemed relatively devoid of creature comforts.
Inside was the Primarch, wearing what looked to be a dress robe and looking down at some documents. For a moment, Noius wondered if he got the drop on the super-human.
But then Corvus Corax spoke, "I was wondering when you'd show, assassin. If you've come to complete your mission, you are either very confident or foolish to do so here rather than by taking that shot earlier."
Noius hesitated for a moment before slowly speaking, "No. I rather not have a firefight this late in the evening."
If the bravado amused the Primarch, he didn't show it. "Tch," Corvus looked up and gestured toward the door, "Close that and let us speak plainly. This room has been scrubbed for listening devices and the like."
Noius felt strange as he closed the door before approaching the desk…and realized how large and intimidating the super-human was up close. "You looked a lot smaller on the transmissions."
Corvus Corax wrote something down before leaning back into his chair, "Deceptive visualization for the good of the people. Most people like their leaders to be tall and strong, but eventually, it becomes too unnatural in their minds. Not much of an issue during face-to-face meetings, though."
Noius couldn't help himself, "You aren't exactly natural, though."
The Primarch glared at him before changing the topic, "I want to know who hired you to kill me."
"Very well." Noius nodded, "I have no loyalty towards them. But unfortunately, they currently have the only means to cure my people of a disease they unleashed upon my world."
"Hmph," Corvus heard that and nodded, "Then I shall endeavor to help you and your people gain access to this cure in exchange for this and other information. Namely, the contact the Gradation had with the Char Kallaon."
So the Imperium was aware of the Gradation to some degree. Stranger still was that the Primarch wanted to help it.
"You just want some information, and will you aid my people?"
The Primarch nodded, "Shocking, I know. But I have my own reasons, both pragmatic and personal. You had the courage to try and kill me but the wisdom to not carry it out. A good first impression, to say the least. So to save the lives of tens of billions and our time, let us see about resolving this situation that benefits us both and in a timely manner."
Gesturing towards an empty seat, Noius figured he was in this deep that sitting down wouldn't get him killed any faster. So he hesitantly sat down across from the Primarch. The winds had brought him this far, but now it was up to Noius to land safely.
Boni pastoris est tondere pecus, non deglubere…
A world was about to die under his watch. This was nothing new for Konrad Kurze. What was different, though, was that it wasn't at his or anyone else's behest. Instead, a ticking time bomb that had been counting down for almost four millennia was about to explode. Unfortunately, an entire civilization of 250 billion souls had been built around this "bomb."
But calling it a bomb was a misnomer. Instead, it was a source of power. A device that had been used for over three thousand years to create a paradise that was now on a collision course for utter annihilation. The Imperium of Man was its only hope of salvation. Konrad Kurze and the Nightlords would be the instrument of this deliverance.
The irony had not been lost on Konrad.
Nevertheless, a trial lay ahead. This world, Enterraim, would have undoubtedly been an interesting case study for the Imperium of Man had it a future. Instead, this planet barely had a year before it, and its entire system was destroyed by the same device giving it its literal and proverbial power.
The Enterraimians called this device Yggdrasil. It was an antimatter reactor—an incredible piece of technology from the Dark Age. For three thousand years, Yggdrasil allowed Enteraim to grow to unprecedented influence within their sub-sector. Their pride and joy were now their world's executioner.
Yggdrasil itself wasn't just a reactor. It was an installation. A fortress. One that spanned the scope of an entire continent to house a device the size of a single hab-block. But that machine could've powered a hundred worlds for a thousand years.
The Mechanicum called it a wonder of the Machine God, yet Konrad had seen wonders and miracles in his lifetime to know that they often came with a cost. The Enterraimians had the foresight to not tinker with Yggdrasil for three millennia. A caste of techno-scholars and mechanics had passed down instructions for hundreds of generations to leave the "heart" of Yggdrasil alone and undisturbed.
In hindsight, this was also the worst decision. Konrad found humanity had a habit of ignoring problems thinking they would disappear. More often than not, such issues never did. He didn't blame the Enterraimians for not tampering with forces they couldn't control anymore, but to leave such things alone was a recipe for disaster.
Hence this situation.
Naturally, the Imperium arrived at a much auspicious time to render aid. Granted, Konrad didn't assume that someone had been aware of the crisis facing Enterraim beforehand, but sometimes he wondered. In either case, a significant cause for alarm erupted. The evacuation of an entire planet is an endeavor of considerable magnitude. Requests for aid had been sent by the 109th Expeditionary Fleet and were heard by the VIIIth Legion.
Konrad could imagine their shock and disappointment that the Night Lords came to their aid. Not that the Primarch could blame them. Fifty years ago, Konrad might have dismissed both the calls of the Imperial Army and the government of this world, calling it a futile gesture on the Imperium's part or that the hubris and greed of these people brought this catastrophe upon themselves.
But that wasn't almost an entire lifetime ago. Konrad was different, or at least he wanted to believe he was, and because of that, the Primarch had a moral obligation and duty to help. A part of him knew that this particular compliance wouldn't be easy, but at least Konrad wasn't alone in this.
While not bringing the full might of his auxiliary forces, Konrad called upon Field Director Caris Habart of the Nightingales and General Harold Adams of the Sun Guard to help the evacuation efforts. Konrad knew that his legion was ill-suited for this task but could quickly provide support to more capable hands.
The commanders of the 109th weren't happy at first until they realized the scope of this evacuation and gladly handed control over to Adams and Habart. Konrad was then left to make all of this work to ensure the Imperium could reliably pull off a miracle.
Naturally, complications abound. The first had been meeting with the Enterraimian's central government, the Caretakers. Enterraim was an elected Autocracy, but Konrad knew enough that those controlling the flow and distribution of power from Yggdrasil were the true masters. The first order of business was getting them to fall in line.
Which was easy enough. All those who encountered Konrad tended to be terrified of him. His aura of dread and melancholy had that effect on humans. Even after all this time spent with Vulkan, Konrad could not "fix" this part of himself. So he was left to make use of it in situations like this.
To the Caretaker's credit, they made no excuses or lied to him. They readily admitted that they had been vastly mistaken about how much time they had left before Yggdrasil went critical. They had theorized and planned for an "investigation" before the first quakes and discharges started happening worldwide.
Enterraim had spent the last three thousand years siphoning as much power as they could from the ancient machine, using it to create a paradise in their world and selling it to other worlds that needed energy. Rather than greed or arrogance, the Enterraimian's greatest sin was naivety. A foolish belief that their veritable well of life-giving power would never run out for them or everyone else.
"We are not cruel or greedy people. We sold willingly and fairly to our neighbors. Sometimes we even gave it away freely. Great Yggdrasil gave and gave and gave. All we wanted was to create a better world. Enterraim started as a desert world, you know? Our ancestors found the machine and realized you could do much with unlimited power. Obstacles could be overpowered, and trade opportunities came from all around. Our people never sought to conquer or destroy, only build and create. Yet the fates have seen fit to end our great work here and now. We have become the architects of our own destruction. Be that as it may, this is what shall come to pass. To that end, we fear what will happen to our people and others in this part of space."
Curious, Konrad asked why their concern was towards other neighboring worlds. The Caretakers explained that Enterraim had become something of a "bank" to these planets in the form of a quasi-currency known as an "Eco-Watt." Dozens of worlds had come to Enterraim to buy and sell goods as most agreed that Eco-Watts made for an excellent agreed-upon fiat currency.
Now Konrad was starting to get a good idea of the approaching troubles. Once Enterraim was destroyed, the local power supply and banking system would collapse on top of the impending refugee crisis.
Thankfully, the Caretakers knew their hopes lay with the Imperium of Man. Anything Konrad needed and could provide was now his. Konrad immediately asked for information about debts and those who routinely purchased from Enterraim. It seemed that he would need to start working out something fast.
But as soon as Korad left that meeting, a new problem immediately appeared. His auxiliaries were running into problems with the Imperial Armada. General Adams explained that the request for supplies and additional ships was being "dragged out" via internal debates among several commanders.
"The Imperial Armada told us that most supplies are being shipped towards other vital fronts. I can't necessarily blame them for this because most of these materials and goods are going towards resupply and civilian efforts. Most of the pushback is if we help the Enterraimians, another 500 billion souls will need to wait until next year before another major supply run. The ships are also in demand, but nothing new there."
Caught in the middle of two impending crises, Konrad admitted that this situation looked more complicated. Perhaps he should reach out to one of his brothers for aid. To his surprise, General Adams said that he and Director Habart would handle this situation with the Imperial Armada. All he needed was approval to carry out the Primarch's will.
"I don't think we will be winning any popularity contests with the lord-admirals or commanders here…but Caris and I are ready to take the blame to cover for you. If anyone asks, we did this while you handled the other governments."
"No." Konrad sounded annoyed, "I will not allow your work to be undone because of bureaucrats." That was all the Primarch said before he left to speak with the commanders of the 109th.
The Primarch, with considerable restraint and tact, used the carrot-and-stick approach. He made several real threats to all those that failed to render aid. Konrad reminded them that they had a duty to help humanity, appealing to their honor and citing that a failure here would only harm the Imperium's future compliances in this sub-sector.
However, Konrad reluctantly offered the Lord-Admirals a boon. Enterraim had been prosperous; most of those riches would soon be left behind and lost forever. To that end, the Primarch offered each man and woman the opportunity to each take a small fortune for themselves in exchange for promising to stay the course here.
Seeing the threat and opportunity, they all readily agreed. None were stupid or greedy enough to try for anymore. They knew better than to try. Konrad called this progress on his part. He didn't have to bring out knives to make a point.
One issue down, Konrad immediately left to gather more aid from the neighboring worlds. Right now, the Imperial Armada would only ensure that 60% of Enterraim's population would be saved, but Konrad would make 100%. To that end, he needed more ships, supplies, and locations to place the Enterraim diaspora.
Konrad's expectations were low. But he had to try.
It would take him four and half months to move about to sub-sector to each system and world to directly speak with the governments, guilds, and groups who had gone to Enterraim. Time, if wasted, would likely lead to a sub-par outcome in the evacuation. Konrad held out no hope, but again…he had to try.
When it was all said and done…Konrad would admit in his most private moments to Vulkan that perhaps, just maybe, he saw a miracle. For once, not fear or greed galvanized man but compassion and hope, at least to such a visible degree that even he didn't find much to criticize.
Dozens of worlds organized individual evacuation fleets, refugee aid, and military assistance to protect the Enterraims. However, Konrad found they weren't coordinating or even aware of the other. Some could also not organize more than a few ships, making them prey to any pirates or lost in the shuffle of trying to help. Many were just starting to rouse into action, only hearing about the crisis now.
As Konrad moved from each system and planet, he would directly speak with the governments and leaders before leaving an escort of ships and some of his sons to ensure a coordinated effort was established. Hundreds of Nightingales and Sun Guard were left to organize the civilian side of things, while the Night Lords confirmed that no one tried anything underhanded.
Yet all these worlds had pointed out a similar issue. They had been told to wait for a response from the Emergency Trade Akkria Coalition. A minor string of worlds that had been caught flatfooted and trying to organize these worlds into action…but had fallen into the danger of political infighting and confusion. The impending collapse of Eco-Watt-backed economies would spell doom after all.
Konrad took his fleet to the capital world of Akkria, forgoing all attempts of pleasant diplomacy, and promptly appeared before the ruling council. The Primarch wasted no time and formally declared that the Imperium of Man would be handling the evacuation and that ETAC was to fall in line.
This started a small debate over whether the Night Lords could handle this alone.
"No." Konrad spoke, "We cannot. But we are not alone. Trillions of souls have come together to aid your neighbor. The Imperium of Man shall ensure that this compassion will not be wasted. I shall promise you that much. Now, we have much to do and so little time."
History will recall that Konrad Curze appealed to the better nature of these people when he also promised further economic aid once they joined the Imperium of Man…but a good story doesn't focus on those little details.
When Konrad returned two months later with a veritable fleet of ten thousand ships of different makes, designs, and whose crews and captains hailed from a dozen worlds, it was a welcome sight for the evacuation. Thanks to Primarch, saving the remaining 40% from Enterraim and starting the relocation was easy.
Just in time, as one month and two weeks later…Yggdrasil finally succumbed and died. It destroyed all of Enterraim, shattered three moons, and caused gravitational fluctuations across the entire system. Any ship or station that might have stayed in-system would've been completely destroyed. Yet, no life was lost.
A staggering accomplishment, given the scope of things. Konrad Kurze and the VIIIth Legion had done their duty. He even felt a bit of pride. In himself, in his sons and auxiliaries, and even humanity. Because, for once, it wasn't fear or power that made this victory…but human decency and kindness.
The sub-sector would have many trials ahead, and the Imperium of Man must invest significant resources in its long-term sustainability. But this victory was theirs as well. Yet they would owe it all to the Primarch who once called himself the Nighthaunter.
humaniora quam humana…
Today was a glorious day for discovery. Fabius Bile wasn't a man easily impressed these days, but the galaxy always found some way to surprise him when he least expected it. Especially as the treatments for the Blight seemed to be working. Rare was it for Fabius to have any hope in something that he didn't have his hands in, but the recent discoveries had been vital.
Regardless, he enjoyed new discoveries these days if they offered opportunities. A case in point is the discovery of a world called Enoch. What should have been rather mundane and middling compliance turned into something more.
Rumors have reached the ears of several Rogue Traders aligned with the IIIth Legion of a system that had become the battlefield of an increasingly deadly conflict. A coalition of planets calling themselves the Manticore Contingency made first contact with the Rogue Traders and were quite hostile.
Naturally, the Imperium of Man and, more specifically, the Emperor's Children did not take kindly to this. Fabius had been given command of a contingent of his brothers and ordered to recon and investigate the cause of the Contingency's hostility to outsiders.
It was easy enough to find leads. The Rogue Traders and other local elements had plenty to say about the Contingency. Additionally, it was easy to determine where they were funneling most of their resources and armies toward. A singular system, known only as Nod.
Finding the system was easy enough; one need only ask the local chartist captains, free captains, and pirate lords about it. Nod had only one thing of note; Enoch. Well, two things, really. But the other characteristic of Nod was also related to Enoch.
Legends called Nod the Ghost System and Enoch the Vanishing World. There were fantastical stories behind these names. First, finding the Nod system was difficult as stable warp passages seemed to open and close randomly. Treasure seekers, explorers, and invaders had routinely become lost, trying to find their way, and those that supposedly returned never wanted to go back.
Because if you were lucky enough to access Nod, you would have to find Enoch. A few captains with evidence to support some of the stories advised that something in the system caused scanners and augers to go haywire or even give false readings. Sometimes it was as innocuous as sending a ship in relative "circles" to waste their supplies and time.
Others flew straight into asteroids, minefields, and hulks of those ships that never made it out, and even one unlucky cruiser got caught in a gravitational anomaly. The more Fabius heard of this system, he wondered if it was less cursed and more just full of Dark Age defense systems.
However, those that were lucky, courageous, or stupid enough to find Enoch were greeted by a lovely green and blue world. By all rights, a prize worthy of colonization. Not that anyone ever had the chance. More than enough collaborated stories confirmed there was a human civilization upon Enoch.
Unfortunately, they were quite isolationist. Further inquiries pointed towards a theorized history regarding Enoch being at the center of several expansion empires for over five thousand years. A better understanding of the Contigency's motivations was suddenly made more apparent. The classic story of ancient grudges.
A relatively paltry set of affairs as far as Fabius Bile was concerned until one of the pirate lords he interrogated mentioned something that caught the Astarte's attention.
The Anath.
At first, Fabius assumed that name was attributed to an alien species; however, he soon learned they were local legends. A combination of wives' tales juxtaposed against exaggerated stories of others' past exploits. Yet when Fabius started asking more pointed questions, his efforts bore fascinating answers.
For one, the Anath were super-humans. A common trait shared among the tales was that the Anath seemed more like Astartes. Incredible feats of strength and agility mixed with impossible warfare accomplishments on the ground, tactical, and strategic layers. All were skilled fighters, saboteurs, and assassins without equal from any local group.
When Fabius finally found some images of the Anath, he saw a group of humans that otherwise seemed unimpressive. No visible mutations or cybernetics. None of the stories mentioned that they were psykers or aliens, either. Physically speaking, the Anath looked like ordinary people.
Further investigations did, however, start to paint a broader picture. The most significant piece of the puzzle was Enoch had been their homeworld. Past tense in that statement. It had been almost a thousand years since anyone had seen or heard about the Anath. Which was surprising as the Anath had been around for over four millennia.
Fabius could only guess what had happened to them. Undoubtedly, the Anath slowly died from war, disease, or old age. Constant wars and expansionism likely caused their decline and eventual end.
Regardless, Fabius knew that the Enoch civilization and the Anath were intricately connected to one another, making the prize of reaching this world all the more tantalizing.
It took Fabius another two months to get warp charts for the best possible route into the system of Nod, along with handing out a few custom rejuve treatments for details related to Enoch before he was confident with his chances of survival.
Besides, Fabius had something most of these worlds didn't have: Navigators. It was then easy enough to slip into the Nod System, and with the superior technology afforded to the Astartes Legions, child' splay to learn why this location was so dangerous.
"An automated space station," His tech-marines advised, "Clearly from the Dark Age. Though, it seems to have failed. Had we arrived earlier, it would've caused significant issues with our scanners. Not much to salvage, unfortunately. Looks to have been looted a long time ago."
Fabius didn't care. He didn't come here for the blasted station. As they moved through Nod, they saw the remains of hundreds of ships. Some were still generating signals. He ignored them as his fleet made its way toward Enoch.
Even with the old station out of commission, this system was hazardous. Full of debris fields, anomalies, and ancient minefields. Yet there was a clear "path" toward the planet full of destroyed ships. Several looked to have been part of the Manticore Contingency. Which meant that Fabius was on something like a schedule now.
Arriving over Enoch itself was a rather middling affair. The planet looked lovely from orbit, a blue and purple gemstone drifting in the void. The IIIth Legion ships detected numerous orbital satellites and a few defense stations, but barely a hundred and of relatively shoddy make and quality.
Fabius wasted no time. He broadcasted his introduction, reasoning for being here, and intentions for Enoch and all but demanded that their government representatives prepare for a meeting with an entourage of Imperial diplomats within the next solar day.
The Enoch government wisely decided not to fight against the fleet of a thousand ships and had likely been aware of the fleet's arrival for some time now. Preparations were made within the next two hours, and Fabius led the Imperial entourage.
Lord Fulgrim instilled in the notion of proper introductions and gifts for bringing worlds into Compliance, and thus Fabius brought with him an assortment of trinkets, goods, and other such things that humans loved. Upon sitting down upon the capital of Enoch, a series of transitionary events and protocols had to be handled, and before Fabius knew it, his entourage was deep underground in an emergency bunker.
A dialogue was established with the ruling council, the Sanhedrin of Enoch, who was quite apprehensive and nervous over Fabius's fleet but were at least reassured with the host of gifts given to them that the Imperium at least didn't want to kill them all. Rarely did men freely give away an entire treasure to a people that wished to exterminate.
Granted, they were less than happy upon hearing that Fabius Bile was here to bring their world into the Imperium of Man and was looking for information on the Anath. Unfortunately, while the Sanhedrin admitted that the Anath were real and had been buried in their world, they were long extinct.
"The last of the Anath died over 200 years ago during the last invasion of Enoch."
"Such a shame," Fabius remarked, "Then I shall have to settle for exhuming and examining their bodies." Such a remark did not sit well with the Sanhedrin. Usually, Fabius would be more tactful when making such demands, but he had already brought gifts and promises of defense at the cost of compliance and rummaging through dead Anath.
At least it didn't require him to "force" the issue. The Sanhedrin ultimately agreed to his terms and authorized him and his marines to exhume the bodies of the Anath under the supervision of government officials and with a promise not to desecrate the dead.
Fabius agreed, at least publically. But in reality, he simply got the tomb's location and waited for the right moment to go there himself. Fate was most generous to Fabius, for after only a week of arriving at Enoch, a large fleet of 2,500 ships had entered the System of Nod. It looked like the Manticore Contingency was making its move. How amusing then when Fabius would "miss" the greatest fleet battle this system would ever see to go suddenly coordinate ground-side defenses.
Was this a bit underhanded? Absolutely. Did Fabius care? No. As a scientist, Fabius wouldn't be stopped by petty moralities like the "sanctity of the dead." Especially when an opportunity to learn presented itself. Besides, it wasn't like the Anath would care. They were all dead. If anything, perhaps they would appreciate a genius like him trying to carry on their legacy.
Regardless, Fabius had a destination: the "Bet Olam Anath," Which translated to the Anath House of Eternity. Arriving at the tomb was trivial enough. Getting inside proved to be a bit of a challenge. The citizens of Enoch had gone so far as to install a micro-void shield around the tomb. One didn't simply walk into such a place.
A fine resting place for the heroes of an entire civilization. Unfortunately, this was proving to be a bit of an annoying obstacle. Fabius initially tried to access the tomb via an intrusion spirit to the command control system, but that failed. This failure was followed by another when he attempted to use a data-angel to replicate the passcode.
It seemed clear that subtle attempts to enter the tomb wouldn't work. Tragic. Best to use a more "uncivilized" method then. Fabius had a specific tool in mind for this…the Foehammer. A specially designed grav-hammer. Not of his own making, of course, but rather a gift given to him by one of the Iron Hands. Its properties were exotic, though.
Rather than use gravity distortions to attack flesh and matter, it produced a sort of pulse whenever it came into contact with specific energy fields. Helpful in shutting down things such as refractor fields or energy shields. Such as the one before him. Unfortunately, the Foehammer had a nasty effect of causing terrible vibrations, not to the wielder, of course, but to the opposition.
Undoubtedly, if Fabius used the Foehammer here, much of the tomb would be damaged. Well, he would surely get it fixed after examining the bodies. Without much preamble or windup, Fabius slammed Foehammer into the void shield of the tomb. The ground shook beneath his feet, and the shield shuddered!
But just as Fabius readied another swing, a female voice called out to him. "Stop!"
Oh dear, a witness? That complicated things quite a bit for Fabius because now he had to convince them to stay quiet or kill them. Lowering Foehammer with a grimace, Fabius turned to the intruder and was instantly delighted by the creature before him.
A staggeringly beautiful androgynous human was looking at him with daggers in their eyes. With short black hair, pale skin, and wearing what looked to be a modified suit of synth-leather armor, the figure almost looked like one of the Primarch's statues brought to life! Strangely enough, Fabius was having trouble telling if the individual was male or female, but their voice was undoubtedly that of a woman.
"Have you no respect for the dead?" She called out a short distance away. Wise, especially as getting close to an Astartes was generally bad if you planned on attacking them.
Fabius shrugged as he et the head of Foehammer down on the ground, "I have plenty of respect for the dead. But why pretend something is wrong for safely examining a group of bodies for scientific purposes?"
She(?) glared at him, "The Anath sacrificed much to save this world. They deserve their eternal rest."
"There is no such thing." Fabius lost any trace of jovialness in his voice, "The dead know only the quiet oblivion." Then his smugness returned, "But I digress. Who stands before me as guardian of this tomb?"
"I am no guardian, not a permanent one at least." The stranger kept her distance and seemed ready to strike immediately, "I am merely here to pay my respects."
"Judging by the lack of care around this temple, I don't think many citizens have visited it recently." There had been a lot of plant growth around. "So I doubt you are simply a citizen here to pay respect."
"You assume much for an outsider."
Fabius smirked, "I'm quite receptive. Now, unless you are a spy that could track me here, I have to believe you represent something else. Judging that you snuck up on me, which is no small feat, and you seem to care deeply about this location, I can put two and two together and assume you are an Anath."
Nothing the stranger did remotely gave aware that Fabius had correctly or incorrectly guessed this, but he knew enough to recognize that only the most highly trained humans could've gotten the drop on him. Then again, maybe Fabius was taking a shot in the dark? He had done that plenty of times before.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." The stranger refused to look him in the eyes, though, which made Fabius realize he was right. "And I refuse to entertain the notions of a grave robber."
Fabius laughed, "Grave robbing is a time-honored tradition among these stars now." He shifted Foehammer back onto his back, "But I suppose I shouldn't rob the graves of someone's relatives right in front of them."
"I'm not-"
He held up his hand to stop them, "You are an Anath. Let's not pretend otherwise. In the time we've spoken, my scanners have already noticed that your bio-metrics are on a whole different level." Fabius gave her a sardonic grin, "And believe me, I don't think anyone on this planet can naturally make anyone as beautiful as you. So let us cut through pretenses and just speak plainly."
The two stared at each for a moment, gauging if they would fight or talk. Finally, after a minute, the stranger spoke. "Fine. You are correct. I am an Anath. The last one, to be exact."
"Heh." He smirked. "So my guess was right then." Fabius smiled when he saw the stranger give him a shocked look, "Oh, it was an educated guess…but it was a guess all the same." Never let alone think you were more than you appeared. A lesson Fulgrim taught all his sons.
"You…" The Anath only glared at him before relaxing, "You are interesting. Frustrating, but interesting."
"Good." Fabius slowly approached the Anath. He was still a good head taller than her, and Fabius was sure now that it was a her, and figured this individual was dangerous enough for even an Astartes. That said, Fabius held out his hand to her.
"My name is Fabius Bile. Captain of the Third Legion."
The woman looked down at his offered hand before slowly reaching forward and shaking it, "My name is Lilith."
"Lilith," Fabius tested the name, "Lilith, Last of the Anath. An unfortunately weighty title for you."
Lilith nodded, "Yes. And one that holds quite a bit of meaning. Hence why your attempts to breach the final sanctum of my kin were not well received by me."
"A misunderstanding then," Fabius remarked with a smooth lie. He knew full well what he was doing here. "Perhaps then we can seek to find a solution to this issue? I wish to understand the Anath. Their history and capabilities. May we both assist each other in some way to accomplish this?"
"What is there for me in helping you, save stopping you from breaking into the Bet Olam?" She looked resigned. "The battle for Enoch is being waged, yet I am stuck here on the ground."
"Does that upset you?" Fabius latched onto this opening, "The fate of your people now rests in the hands of strangers. I can imagine that isn't how you wanted the story of the Anath to end."
The impeccable features of Lilith's face softened, "If this world survives, it shall be for the best. We can simply fade away after that."
"Nonsense." Fabius interjected, and this time he didn't need to hide his feelings, "What good does that serve you and your kin? Their legacy will either be distorted or forgotten. Your names and deeds would serve weak leaders as a rallying call to action for mundane wars or flaccid conquests." He leaned down to stare at her, "But my Primarch can offer you something more. A chance to perhaps revive the Anath."
To his surprise, Lilith shook her head, "I'm sorry, but…no, the Anath cannot be revived even if you tried. Nor should you. The Anath was an experiment to create something more than human, and all Kane did was create an army of killers."
Fabius couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he find the only surviving Anath, she knew more about their legacy. "Kane? Is this the man that created the Anath?"
"I suppose you can call him that. Kane is…was the Shalashaska. But all Anath were the Shalashaska."
"The Shalashaska?" The Anath, Kane, and now this Shalashaska. What did it all mean? Fabius had to find out. "Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself…you clearly have a rather exciting and extensive story to tell."
In a surprise move, Fabius kneeled to get a better look at Lilith, "Let me help you. I won't lie when I say that I am quite eager to hear more about your story and that of the Anath because I am looking for answers to important questions. Questions that pertain to my legacy and life as well. I believe in that sense; we are both individuals running out of time."
Lilith still looked at Fabius suspiciously, "And what could you do to remedy this for me?"
"No idea yet." He admitted, "But I like to think I am quite good at problem-solving. Let me study you and the history of the Anath more thoroughly, and perhaps I can produce some answers for the two of us."
"What are you proposing then?" Lilith seemed interested, "An alliance? Such a brazen thing to offer to someone you just met. I could be here to kill you after all. More likely, I can just say no to this."
Fabius nodded, "You could. But you should see that such a brazen offer has merit. An earnest and open desire is, beyond all else, a sign of sincerity. And I am, after all, a man who wears his heart's desires on his sleeve." While Fabius was a skilled liar, he never denied being a man who wanted more.
More knowledge, more insight into the nature of all things, and more about the unknown. These last few years had shown how limited his understanding of everything was. Thus it didn't hurt to be forthcoming with these ambitions.
He gave Lilith a beautiful smirk, "So why not take a chance with me?"
"Sounds dangerous."
"I dare say that is half the appeal for some." Fabius saw Lilith was thinking it over, "If nothing else, you can always come and find a new purpose alongside the Phoenician. My gene-father can always find a place for you."
She shook her head, "I'm not looking to become a mercenary or assassin for hire…but I will say that I have become stuck with the question of what I should do next. If your Imperium ensures Enoch is safe, I can at least leave with a clean conscience."
Fabius nodded, "The Sanhedrin agreed with the compliance. We shall defend this world like any other."
If the Anath had any other qualms, she did not voice them. "Then I shall entrust the fates and go with you. If for no other reason than to stop you from disturbing my kin." Lilith seemingly bowed before Fabius, "I am yours to command, Captain Bile."
"Excellent." He gently patted her right shoulder, "I welcome you then, Lilith, to the Emperor's Children. Now then…tell me all that you know about the Anath."
She was bemused at the request, "Anything in particular?"
"Everything. Their history, abilities, and what you know of this Kane and the Shalashaska." Fabius needed to know from the start, "After that, I want to start trying to understand your physiology."
"You can't dissect me, Captain." She crossed her arms, "Nor will I let you examine my kin…but I might have something better."
"Oh?" Now they were getting somewhere. "What did you have in mind?"
"Kane's lab. I know its location."
Fabius closed his eyes and enjoyed the sweet moment of victory. He trusted his gut and had been rewarded. "That would be…lovely." True to her word, Lilith began explaining all she knew about the Anath and their legacy. For thousands of years, they were the blades in the dark of Enoch, destroying opposition using genetically shared memories and skillsets. An extraordinary ability. The Anath were also long-lived creatures, although Lilith was barely 60 years. She had been the very last Anath to be born by their true master, Kane.
Lilith called Kane a genius. Fabius knew genius since he was one and assumed that this man was no more a genius but rather someone that just found Dark Age technology. That was what Fabius thought until he arrived at the remains of his laboratory.
While Lilith apologized for the state of it, citing that some unknown force attacked Kane, ultimately killing the Shalashaska almost a thousand years ago, some pieces of his knowledged remained. The details of which brought a disturbing amount of delight to Fabius.
Kane, the Shalashaska, and the Anath were all connected. Their very souls were copies of his own! Using Eldar technology and science, Kane sought to create an entire force of super-humans that could carry on the "Shalashaska's Legacy" for eternity. It was extraordinary! Fabius would've done anything to meet with Kane during his prime.
Alas, all that was left were a few notes, formulas, and a personal logs. Yet that was more than enough for Fabius. Lilith seemed surprised when he announced that he had more than enough information to learn about the Anath over time. Yet once again, time was the hurdle that needed to be overcomed.
Something that Kane had tried to do. Something that he had been close to succeeding at. Now Fabius would use that knowledge for his own mission. Fulgrim once said men like Fabius reached new heights because they stood on the shoulders of giants.
On the world of Enoch, Fabius found one.
---
@Daemon Hunter Omake time.
As always, these are slightly modified
Fulgrim 20: A world that possesses an 'artificial person' of a similar genetic augment tier to an Astartes, but focused on assassination and sabotage instead of combat. Individual is Astartes Hero tier, and is the last living member of their fellow augmented 'Anath'.
Konrad 19: A planet with a large antimatter reactor about to explode, in the middle of mass evacuation. Assisting in this will be easy, and boost local compliance due to saving a lot more people.
Corvus 19: An extremely talented sniper was paid to assassinate Corvus, took the money then surrendered to the Raven Guard after learning who he was actually going up against.
Flashpoint: Compliances II
Vita Supra Lucrum…
A job was a job. It didn't matter who or what the target was, only that they had to die. That was Assassination 101. A universally accepted arrangement among hired killers. It wasn't like it took much for any sentient to kill someone, especially when the stakes were high.
Most people in this line of work kill for profit, thrills, or glory. Rarely did anyone take on a contract for something as useless as it is for an "honorable" purpose or because it was their "duty." Such things mattered little in this line of work. Especially as such thinking could become detrimental.
However, some assassins killed not for themselves but for others. A job was a means to an end, a necessary sacrifice. To kill for oneself was selfish, but killing for family or nation was often seen, if not as heroic, at least understandable. One life for many was a small price to pay.
Justifications were easy to create, especially if the payout was exceedingly profitable and necessary. And even more so if a proverbial gun was aimed at the head of someone, you cared about. For one alien assassin in particular, all those things ran through their mind upon taking this job.
His name was Noius Malion, a soldier, champion, and now a "hired" killer. He was a Ruhhkh, a bipedal avian species from Yehat. His civilization, the Ruhhkh Gradation, was dying, but salvation was yet obtainable. The hopes of which rested in his talons.
Noius Malion was tasked with killing a Primarch.
Calling it suicidal was being generous. It was a death sentence and a fool's errand in one. Yet Noius accepted the contract all the same. The thought of failure outweighed the apprehension and uncertainty. Noius knew what would happen otherwise.
Destruction, death, and the extinction of the Ruhhkh. All at the hands of the same humans that wanted them to kill the Primarch. The price they paid for leaving their isolationism.
A few years after encountering the local elements of the Imperium of Man, a disease began to spread across Yehat and neighboring colonies. Their bodies became weak before ugly sores and shivering heralded an agonizing death. It didn't take them long to realize that this sickness wasn't natural but artificially created to attack their people. Try as the Ruhhkh might to produce a cure, it was impossible.
Until the humans approached and offered to help them. When the Gradation accused them directly of creating the plague ravaging their worlds, the plotters made no attempt to hide their involvement.
"It's nothing personal. Just simply business. You understand that, yes? To that end, we have a proposition for you. One that will not only save your people but we will even pay handsomely for your government's silence."
Such honorless curs. Noius wished them only cursed winds upon their wingless frames. Playing with the lives of his and their own people and for their own greed. The Ruhhkh thought humanity was better than this, especially after encountering the Rogue House of Kallaon.
A fleet of traders, pirates, and explorers under the banner of the Imperium of Man, and the first encounter with an alien species in almost 2,000 years. Not since the time of the Greenskin invasion had the Ruhhkh encountered another within their small empire.
The arrival of the Rogue Trader, Char Kallaon, was a feared encounter until the Lord-Captain exchanged knowledge and wisdom with the Ruhhkh, who he called the "Rooks." This strange and eccentric human gave the Ruhhkh cybernetic and warp-drive technologies in exchange for a hundred thousand anti-gravity engines. After that, the Kallaon Fleet left. Many thought it strange, but this arrival brought the winds of change.
It was a time of great hope within the Gradation. The belief was that a reordering was upon the galaxy. Understandably the Ruukh wanted to have a place in it. Noius knew that most would have a hard time understanding. The Ruukh Gradation is a complex and ancient system of governance. Each man, woman, and child fulfilled a purpose within it, all according to the strength of each individual's connection to the Grua'An, the Sacred Winds.
Every aspect of their society was carefully structured to ensure the ascension of their civilization. Not for power or wealth but to soar upon the galactic winds. At the heart of the Ruukh Gradation lies a strict hierarchy, with each individual occupying a specific place within the larger framework of their society.
Noius knew this intimately. His species valued order, discipline, and loyalty above all else, and their society is governed by strict rules and regulations enforced with absolute authority. Despite their rigid system of governance, however, his people were not without compassion. They took care of each other to ensure that everyone could achieve new and greater heights. Equitable and fair treatment, born of three centuries of adhering to a military hierarchy, had paid off.
At the top of this hierarchy are the Rukhs, the ruling class of the Ruukh people. They are the wisest and most powerful members of their society, possessing knowledge and skills beyond the comprehension of lesser beings. The Rukhs are tasked with guiding their people, making important decisions, and ensuring their species' continued survival and prosperity.
Then there were the Rukarii and Aeriks: the Priests and Scientists—the builders of the anti-gravity technologies and keepers of the Higher Secrets. Both understood the nature of the Sacred Winds.
Beneath them were the Grads, the skilled workers, and the artisans of the Ruukh Gradation. Those responsible for producing the goods and services necessary to sustain their society are highly respected for their expertise and craftsmanship.
Finally, at the bottom of the hierarchy are the Uks, the unskilled laborers and menial workers of the Ruukh Gradation. They perform the most basic and menial tasks but are still valued for their contributions to society. Many often served as soldiers when the call came, which allowed them to move upward into the Grads and sometimes even the Rukarii and Aeriks.
At its core, the Gradation wasn't about maintaining a hierarchical order. Their collective was based on the notion of unified survival and ascension. Their civilization embodied these principles because they were worth protecting. So that future generations could one day achieve greatness.
Noius believed in this dream. Especially as he was a Rukh. He was the champion of his people and one of the most capable. His fellow Rukh needed him to take this contract. The call to action was too great to ignore, even if Noius wanted to. One life for the lives of an entire civilization, his people.
If anyone could pull this off, it was him. Noius was a soldier with experience fighting the Greenskin pirates who became a hero of his own right after aiding the destruction of an Ork Kruiser 20 years ago. He could melt into the darkness and, thanks to his Aerik lineage, was considered a genius with most forms of technology.
There was simply no one else capable of pulling this off.
He accepted it. The nobles involved in the conspiracy then explained who exactly he had to kill, and his heart sank. This Primarch, Corvus Corax, wasn't just some random human warlord…but more akin to a force of nature. Who commanded great armies and fleets and whose sons helped bring down a thousand realms in a century.
Noius was but one Rukh. However, the nobles would allow him to kill the Primarch without facing him on the battlefield. All that was needed was for Noius to take the shot. Again, Noius felt a bubbling disgust and hatred. These conspirators had all the means to pull off the assassination, but they needed someone like him to carry this out and take the fall.
Was this a trap? Perhaps. The Gradation had no choice. Millions were dying, and this contract was the only means to survive and recover. The Ruhhkh had never killed someone for such greedy reasons but better the Primarch than them.
The conspirators put Noius on one of their ships and sent him deep into the realm of the "Raven" to a world called Falcia. A hive world that held tens of billions of humans and where Corvus Corax rallied for a great crusade. Noius was the first Ruhhkh to ever visit the Imperium of Man, and he brought the gift of death as its ambassador.
Noius had the location, time, and means to hide amongst the population. Not that the last part mattered, as the Ruhhkh anti-gravity technologies and material science allowed the flightless avian to soar across the vast buildings and skies without issue.
His target would be staying in the governor's palace, but the Primarch hadn't arrived yet. Noius decided to hide among the stone "gargoyles," and other strange beasts chiseled among this alien structure for a week. He wasn't idle, though.
This world had terrible security measures, which in turn allowed Noius to interface with the local "vox" network and start listening to the humans. The Sacred Winds had blessed Noius, and he could hear local communications within the governor's palace. A wealth of information was at this talon tips.
Information that Noius would use to kill this Corvus Corax. Noius had the entire spire layout, where and when the Primarch would arrive, the security measures in place, weather reports, sentry movement, and even a work schedule of the servants.
Noius had only a week to learn of his target in some form or capacity. So, he settled in and started to listen.
Humans spoke of this Primarch in particular with considerable reverence. The people of Falcia called this Corvus Corax the "Liberator," citing the Primarch's anti-slavery stances and his focus on uplifting newly accepted worlds. All things considered, it sounded more like a fluff piece.
But then Noius heard the political officers speak of him. They cursed the Primarch and all he stood for because Corvus Corax threatened to undo all they accomplished within the last two centuries by ending things like indentured servants and child labor and encouraging more open public elections. Humanity wasn't like the Gradation; the lack of empathy and compassion towards their fellow man was abysmal. Yet those that sought to maintain this status quo now seemed to want Noius to kill the only one that would seek to change things.
A curious dilemma grew in his mind, plagued by doubts and what-ifs. Such wickedness towards their fellows made Noius wonder if the conspirators would keep to their end of the bargain if even he carried out the assassination. Noius knew the possibility existed, but his people's desperation and hopes rested on his shoulders.
Sometimes you have to make a difficult choice. One life for many.
Before Noius knew it, a week had passed. The entire planet seemed to erupt in celebration as Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard, personally stepped foot upon their misbegotten world. The Ruukh-turned-Assassin had to be careful, as patrols were everywhere outside the governor's palace.
Preparing for the kill, Noius brought out the weapon that would kill the Primarch, the Aixon, a term originally used by the ancient Ruhhkh for a "Killing Gale." The Aixon was lightweight but sturdy, using Ruhhkh anti-grav technologies to launch an "Arrowhead" the size of a fist at nearly the speed of light.
It wouldn't matter if the Primarch was wearing the heaviest power armor. Not that it would matter, as Noius would be aiming for the man's head. Granted, the Aixon could only be fired once before another "Arrowhead" would be needed. Noius didn't know if he'd get the chance for a second shot. Whether he succeeded or not, the Ruukh was going to die. There was no way he could escape off-world.
"Hmph, two lives for the many then," Noius muttered to himself, his throat raw from not speaking to anyone after nearly two months since leaving Yehat. None of it mattered now as his datapad alerted him that the Primarch would be in sight soon enough, his hack on the pict-casters giving him a real-time display of the Imperial procession.
"Grua'An though you are far away, grant me keen sight and steady hands. Grant me and my target the peace of death and bring my people salvation." Noius chuckled, "And if all those fail, may you curse those that brought me upon this wretched world."
Corvus Corax was about to reach the kill zone, a stained glass window that would offer zero protection. The Axion hummed in Noius's hands, which felt almost uncomfortable. Death was in his hands. A heavy burden on his soul.
At the moment, as Corvus Corax came into view, time slowed down. Evolution might have taken away the Ruhhkh's ability to fly, but it let them keep their predatory eyesight, allowing them to see their targets at a great distance with limited technological aid. The Ruhhkh found that killing another creature was an intimate affair in this regard. Seeing the life leaving someone's eyes or when a bullet hit their bodies.
Noius would see the Primarch's death in almost perfect clarity. A small price to pay for this assassination. He knew this would feel different than killing Greenskins. In the time spent learning of Corvus Corax, Noius had gotten a glimpse into the man's life, and Noius found himself unable to hate the Primarch.
Snuffing out such a life felt like taking away something good in the galaxy. Nevertheless, Noius aimed and readied to fire.
Just as Noius was about to pull the trigger, unaware of how close he was to changing galactic history…Corvus Corax paused momentarily, turned his head, and glared at Noius. It lasted for only a few seconds…but the sight of it caused Noius to freeze, unable to pull the trigger or even move.
But then the Primarch moved out of view.
Noius missed his opportunity. It was over. He had failed. Worse yet, he knew his target was aware of him, but how?! Even an augmented human shouldn't be able to see Noius from such a distance. Yet every part of his mind screamed that the Primarch had been looking directly at him.
When a minute passed, and Noius heard and detected no alarms, he almost wondered if his mind had just imagined everything, but upon seeing the security recording, the event had actually played out. The Primarch had seen him.
But where did that leave Noius? He saw no hordes of Astartes of humans barreling towards his position or heard any alarms going off. When the hour mark passed and nothing else happened, Noius wondered what to do now. Could he make another attempt at trying to kill the Primarch?
Should he?
Noius hadn't failed yet. The salvation of his people was also still in jeopardy. What else was the Ruukh to do now? He wouldn't have another chance to use the Axion, the best means to complete the mission, and Noius doubted his compact assault rifle would be enough to kill Corvus Corax. His target was seemingly aware of him as well.
There was no hope of success. Noius would fail in all instances. What options did that leave him with?
"I could grovel for mercy…" Noius muttered to himself before realization struck him. "Or I can offer something in return for aid…" The Ruhhkh hawkish grin made Noius see the potential opportunity here. Perhaps the Grua'An had even shown him the way.
It took nine more hours before nightfall fell upon Falcia. The upper spires were spared from the pollution below, but a thick fog still covered the governor's palace, giving Noius sufficient cover as he snuck inside. Thanks to the lightweight materials of his species' technology and gear provided by the conspirators, Noius moved like a ghost across the dark and empty halls.
His access to the security network remained intact, and Noius knew where the Primarch was supposed to be resting. He wasn't too surprised at the lack of guards. Even more so when Noius felt a slight breeze flowing toward his destination.
The Grua'An was guiding him. At least, that was what Noius told himself.
Upon arriving outside a large set of doors to the office where the Primarch was last seen entering an hour ago, Noius held his rifle up and quietly slipped inside. The room, dimly lit by what looked to be hundreds of candles and a small fireplace off to the right side, seemed relatively devoid of creature comforts.
Inside was the Primarch, wearing what looked to be a dress robe and looking down at some documents. For a moment, Noius wondered if he got the drop on the super-human.
But then Corvus Corax spoke, "I was wondering when you'd show, assassin. If you've come to complete your mission, you are either very confident or foolish to do so here rather than by taking that shot earlier."
Noius hesitated for a moment before slowly speaking, "No. I rather not have a firefight this late in the evening."
If the bravado amused the Primarch, he didn't show it. "Tch," Corvus looked up and gestured toward the door, "Close that and let us speak plainly. This room has been scrubbed for listening devices and the like."
Noius felt strange as he closed the door before approaching the desk…and realized how large and intimidating the super-human was up close. "You looked a lot smaller on the transmissions."
Corvus Corax wrote something down before leaning back into his chair, "Deceptive visualization for the good of the people. Most people like their leaders to be tall and strong, but eventually, it becomes too unnatural in their minds. Not much of an issue during face-to-face meetings, though."
Noius couldn't help himself, "You aren't exactly natural, though."
The Primarch glared at him before changing the topic, "I want to know who hired you to kill me."
"Very well." Noius nodded, "I have no loyalty towards them. But unfortunately, they currently have the only means to cure my people of a disease they unleashed upon my world."
"Hmph," Corvus heard that and nodded, "Then I shall endeavor to help you and your people gain access to this cure in exchange for this and other information. Namely, the contact the Gradation had with the Char Kallaon."
So the Imperium was aware of the Gradation to some degree. Stranger still was that the Primarch wanted to help it.
"You just want some information, and will you aid my people?"
The Primarch nodded, "Shocking, I know. But I have my own reasons, both pragmatic and personal. You had the courage to try and kill me but the wisdom to not carry it out. A good first impression, to say the least. So to save the lives of tens of billions and our time, let us see about resolving this situation that benefits us both and in a timely manner."
Gesturing towards an empty seat, Noius figured he was in this deep that sitting down wouldn't get him killed any faster. So he hesitantly sat down across from the Primarch. The winds had brought him this far, but now it was up to Noius to land safely.
Boni pastoris est tondere pecus, non deglubere…
A world was about to die under his watch. This was nothing new for Konrad Kurze. What was different, though, was that it wasn't at his or anyone else's behest. Instead, a ticking time bomb that had been counting down for almost four millennia was about to explode. Unfortunately, an entire civilization of 250 billion souls had been built around this "bomb."
But calling it a bomb was a misnomer. Instead, it was a source of power. A device that had been used for over three thousand years to create a paradise that was now on a collision course for utter annihilation. The Imperium of Man was its only hope of salvation. Konrad Kurze and the Nightlords would be the instrument of this deliverance.
The irony had not been lost on Konrad.
Nevertheless, a trial lay ahead. This world, Enterraim, would have undoubtedly been an interesting case study for the Imperium of Man had it a future. Instead, this planet barely had a year before it, and its entire system was destroyed by the same device giving it its literal and proverbial power.
The Enterraimians called this device Yggdrasil. It was an antimatter reactor—an incredible piece of technology from the Dark Age. For three thousand years, Yggdrasil allowed Enteraim to grow to unprecedented influence within their sub-sector. Their pride and joy were now their world's executioner.
Yggdrasil itself wasn't just a reactor. It was an installation. A fortress. One that spanned the scope of an entire continent to house a device the size of a single hab-block. But that machine could've powered a hundred worlds for a thousand years.
The Mechanicum called it a wonder of the Machine God, yet Konrad had seen wonders and miracles in his lifetime to know that they often came with a cost. The Enterraimians had the foresight to not tinker with Yggdrasil for three millennia. A caste of techno-scholars and mechanics had passed down instructions for hundreds of generations to leave the "heart" of Yggdrasil alone and undisturbed.
In hindsight, this was also the worst decision. Konrad found humanity had a habit of ignoring problems thinking they would disappear. More often than not, such issues never did. He didn't blame the Enterraimians for not tampering with forces they couldn't control anymore, but to leave such things alone was a recipe for disaster.
Hence this situation.
Naturally, the Imperium arrived at a much auspicious time to render aid. Granted, Konrad didn't assume that someone had been aware of the crisis facing Enterraim beforehand, but sometimes he wondered. In either case, a significant cause for alarm erupted. The evacuation of an entire planet is an endeavor of considerable magnitude. Requests for aid had been sent by the 109th Expeditionary Fleet and were heard by the VIIIth Legion.
Konrad could imagine their shock and disappointment that the Night Lords came to their aid. Not that the Primarch could blame them. Fifty years ago, Konrad might have dismissed both the calls of the Imperial Army and the government of this world, calling it a futile gesture on the Imperium's part or that the hubris and greed of these people brought this catastrophe upon themselves.
But that wasn't almost an entire lifetime ago. Konrad was different, or at least he wanted to believe he was, and because of that, the Primarch had a moral obligation and duty to help. A part of him knew that this particular compliance wouldn't be easy, but at least Konrad wasn't alone in this.
While not bringing the full might of his auxiliary forces, Konrad called upon Field Director Caris Habart of the Nightingales and General Harold Adams of the Sun Guard to help the evacuation efforts. Konrad knew that his legion was ill-suited for this task but could quickly provide support to more capable hands.
The commanders of the 109th weren't happy at first until they realized the scope of this evacuation and gladly handed control over to Adams and Habart. Konrad was then left to make all of this work to ensure the Imperium could reliably pull off a miracle.
Naturally, complications abound. The first had been meeting with the Enterraimian's central government, the Caretakers. Enterraim was an elected Autocracy, but Konrad knew enough that those controlling the flow and distribution of power from Yggdrasil were the true masters. The first order of business was getting them to fall in line.
Which was easy enough. All those who encountered Konrad tended to be terrified of him. His aura of dread and melancholy had that effect on humans. Even after all this time spent with Vulkan, Konrad could not "fix" this part of himself. So he was left to make use of it in situations like this.
To the Caretaker's credit, they made no excuses or lied to him. They readily admitted that they had been vastly mistaken about how much time they had left before Yggdrasil went critical. They had theorized and planned for an "investigation" before the first quakes and discharges started happening worldwide.
Enterraim had spent the last three thousand years siphoning as much power as they could from the ancient machine, using it to create a paradise in their world and selling it to other worlds that needed energy. Rather than greed or arrogance, the Enterraimian's greatest sin was naivety. A foolish belief that their veritable well of life-giving power would never run out for them or everyone else.
"We are not cruel or greedy people. We sold willingly and fairly to our neighbors. Sometimes we even gave it away freely. Great Yggdrasil gave and gave and gave. All we wanted was to create a better world. Enterraim started as a desert world, you know? Our ancestors found the machine and realized you could do much with unlimited power. Obstacles could be overpowered, and trade opportunities came from all around. Our people never sought to conquer or destroy, only build and create. Yet the fates have seen fit to end our great work here and now. We have become the architects of our own destruction. Be that as it may, this is what shall come to pass. To that end, we fear what will happen to our people and others in this part of space."
Curious, Konrad asked why their concern was towards other neighboring worlds. The Caretakers explained that Enterraim had become something of a "bank" to these planets in the form of a quasi-currency known as an "Eco-Watt." Dozens of worlds had come to Enterraim to buy and sell goods as most agreed that Eco-Watts made for an excellent agreed-upon fiat currency.
Now Konrad was starting to get a good idea of the approaching troubles. Once Enterraim was destroyed, the local power supply and banking system would collapse on top of the impending refugee crisis.
Thankfully, the Caretakers knew their hopes lay with the Imperium of Man. Anything Konrad needed and could provide was now his. Konrad immediately asked for information about debts and those who routinely purchased from Enterraim. It seemed that he would need to start working out something fast.
But as soon as Korad left that meeting, a new problem immediately appeared. His auxiliaries were running into problems with the Imperial Armada. General Adams explained that the request for supplies and additional ships was being "dragged out" via internal debates among several commanders.
"The Imperial Armada told us that most supplies are being shipped towards other vital fronts. I can't necessarily blame them for this because most of these materials and goods are going towards resupply and civilian efforts. Most of the pushback is if we help the Enterraimians, another 500 billion souls will need to wait until next year before another major supply run. The ships are also in demand, but nothing new there."
Caught in the middle of two impending crises, Konrad admitted that this situation looked more complicated. Perhaps he should reach out to one of his brothers for aid. To his surprise, General Adams said that he and Director Habart would handle this situation with the Imperial Armada. All he needed was approval to carry out the Primarch's will.
"I don't think we will be winning any popularity contests with the lord-admirals or commanders here…but Caris and I are ready to take the blame to cover for you. If anyone asks, we did this while you handled the other governments."
"No." Konrad sounded annoyed, "I will not allow your work to be undone because of bureaucrats." That was all the Primarch said before he left to speak with the commanders of the 109th.
The Primarch, with considerable restraint and tact, used the carrot-and-stick approach. He made several real threats to all those that failed to render aid. Konrad reminded them that they had a duty to help humanity, appealing to their honor and citing that a failure here would only harm the Imperium's future compliances in this sub-sector.
However, Konrad reluctantly offered the Lord-Admirals a boon. Enterraim had been prosperous; most of those riches would soon be left behind and lost forever. To that end, the Primarch offered each man and woman the opportunity to each take a small fortune for themselves in exchange for promising to stay the course here.
Seeing the threat and opportunity, they all readily agreed. None were stupid or greedy enough to try for anymore. They knew better than to try. Konrad called this progress on his part. He didn't have to bring out knives to make a point.
One issue down, Konrad immediately left to gather more aid from the neighboring worlds. Right now, the Imperial Armada would only ensure that 60% of Enterraim's population would be saved, but Konrad would make 100%. To that end, he needed more ships, supplies, and locations to place the Enterraim diaspora.
Konrad's expectations were low. But he had to try.
It would take him four and half months to move about to sub-sector to each system and world to directly speak with the governments, guilds, and groups who had gone to Enterraim. Time, if wasted, would likely lead to a sub-par outcome in the evacuation. Konrad held out no hope, but again…he had to try.
When it was all said and done…Konrad would admit in his most private moments to Vulkan that perhaps, just maybe, he saw a miracle. For once, not fear or greed galvanized man but compassion and hope, at least to such a visible degree that even he didn't find much to criticize.
Dozens of worlds organized individual evacuation fleets, refugee aid, and military assistance to protect the Enterraims. However, Konrad found they weren't coordinating or even aware of the other. Some could also not organize more than a few ships, making them prey to any pirates or lost in the shuffle of trying to help. Many were just starting to rouse into action, only hearing about the crisis now.
As Konrad moved from each system and planet, he would directly speak with the governments and leaders before leaving an escort of ships and some of his sons to ensure a coordinated effort was established. Hundreds of Nightingales and Sun Guard were left to organize the civilian side of things, while the Night Lords confirmed that no one tried anything underhanded.
Yet all these worlds had pointed out a similar issue. They had been told to wait for a response from the Emergency Trade Akkria Coalition. A minor string of worlds that had been caught flatfooted and trying to organize these worlds into action…but had fallen into the danger of political infighting and confusion. The impending collapse of Eco-Watt-backed economies would spell doom after all.
Konrad took his fleet to the capital world of Akkria, forgoing all attempts of pleasant diplomacy, and promptly appeared before the ruling council. The Primarch wasted no time and formally declared that the Imperium of Man would be handling the evacuation and that ETAC was to fall in line.
This started a small debate over whether the Night Lords could handle this alone.
"No." Konrad spoke, "We cannot. But we are not alone. Trillions of souls have come together to aid your neighbor. The Imperium of Man shall ensure that this compassion will not be wasted. I shall promise you that much. Now, we have much to do and so little time."
History will recall that Konrad Curze appealed to the better nature of these people when he also promised further economic aid once they joined the Imperium of Man…but a good story doesn't focus on those little details.
When Konrad returned two months later with a veritable fleet of ten thousand ships of different makes, designs, and whose crews and captains hailed from a dozen worlds, it was a welcome sight for the evacuation. Thanks to Primarch, saving the remaining 40% from Enterraim and starting the relocation was easy.
Just in time, as one month and two weeks later…Yggdrasil finally succumbed and died. It destroyed all of Enterraim, shattered three moons, and caused gravitational fluctuations across the entire system. Any ship or station that might have stayed in-system would've been completely destroyed. Yet, no life was lost.
A staggering accomplishment, given the scope of things. Konrad Kurze and the VIIIth Legion had done their duty. He even felt a bit of pride. In himself, in his sons and auxiliaries, and even humanity. Because, for once, it wasn't fear or power that made this victory…but human decency and kindness.
The sub-sector would have many trials ahead, and the Imperium of Man must invest significant resources in its long-term sustainability. But this victory was theirs as well. Yet they would owe it all to the Primarch who once called himself the Nighthaunter.
humaniora quam humana…
Today was a glorious day for discovery. Fabius Bile wasn't a man easily impressed these days, but the galaxy always found some way to surprise him when he least expected it. Especially as the treatments for the Blight seemed to be working. Rare was it for Fabius to have any hope in something that he didn't have his hands in, but the recent discoveries had been vital.
Regardless, he enjoyed new discoveries these days if they offered opportunities. A case in point is the discovery of a world called Enoch. What should have been rather mundane and middling compliance turned into something more.
Rumors have reached the ears of several Rogue Traders aligned with the IIIth Legion of a system that had become the battlefield of an increasingly deadly conflict. A coalition of planets calling themselves the Manticore Contingency made first contact with the Rogue Traders and were quite hostile.
Naturally, the Imperium of Man and, more specifically, the Emperor's Children did not take kindly to this. Fabius had been given command of a contingent of his brothers and ordered to recon and investigate the cause of the Contingency's hostility to outsiders.
It was easy enough to find leads. The Rogue Traders and other local elements had plenty to say about the Contingency. Additionally, it was easy to determine where they were funneling most of their resources and armies toward. A singular system, known only as Nod.
Finding the system was easy enough; one need only ask the local chartist captains, free captains, and pirate lords about it. Nod had only one thing of note; Enoch. Well, two things, really. But the other characteristic of Nod was also related to Enoch.
Legends called Nod the Ghost System and Enoch the Vanishing World. There were fantastical stories behind these names. First, finding the Nod system was difficult as stable warp passages seemed to open and close randomly. Treasure seekers, explorers, and invaders had routinely become lost, trying to find their way, and those that supposedly returned never wanted to go back.
Because if you were lucky enough to access Nod, you would have to find Enoch. A few captains with evidence to support some of the stories advised that something in the system caused scanners and augers to go haywire or even give false readings. Sometimes it was as innocuous as sending a ship in relative "circles" to waste their supplies and time.
Others flew straight into asteroids, minefields, and hulks of those ships that never made it out, and even one unlucky cruiser got caught in a gravitational anomaly. The more Fabius heard of this system, he wondered if it was less cursed and more just full of Dark Age defense systems.
However, those that were lucky, courageous, or stupid enough to find Enoch were greeted by a lovely green and blue world. By all rights, a prize worthy of colonization. Not that anyone ever had the chance. More than enough collaborated stories confirmed there was a human civilization upon Enoch.
Unfortunately, they were quite isolationist. Further inquiries pointed towards a theorized history regarding Enoch being at the center of several expansion empires for over five thousand years. A better understanding of the Contigency's motivations was suddenly made more apparent. The classic story of ancient grudges.
A relatively paltry set of affairs as far as Fabius Bile was concerned until one of the pirate lords he interrogated mentioned something that caught the Astarte's attention.
The Anath.
At first, Fabius assumed that name was attributed to an alien species; however, he soon learned they were local legends. A combination of wives' tales juxtaposed against exaggerated stories of others' past exploits. Yet when Fabius started asking more pointed questions, his efforts bore fascinating answers.
For one, the Anath were super-humans. A common trait shared among the tales was that the Anath seemed more like Astartes. Incredible feats of strength and agility mixed with impossible warfare accomplishments on the ground, tactical, and strategic layers. All were skilled fighters, saboteurs, and assassins without equal from any local group.
When Fabius finally found some images of the Anath, he saw a group of humans that otherwise seemed unimpressive. No visible mutations or cybernetics. None of the stories mentioned that they were psykers or aliens, either. Physically speaking, the Anath looked like ordinary people.
Further investigations did, however, start to paint a broader picture. The most significant piece of the puzzle was Enoch had been their homeworld. Past tense in that statement. It had been almost a thousand years since anyone had seen or heard about the Anath. Which was surprising as the Anath had been around for over four millennia.
Fabius could only guess what had happened to them. Undoubtedly, the Anath slowly died from war, disease, or old age. Constant wars and expansionism likely caused their decline and eventual end.
Regardless, Fabius knew that the Enoch civilization and the Anath were intricately connected to one another, making the prize of reaching this world all the more tantalizing.
It took Fabius another two months to get warp charts for the best possible route into the system of Nod, along with handing out a few custom rejuve treatments for details related to Enoch before he was confident with his chances of survival.
Besides, Fabius had something most of these worlds didn't have: Navigators. It was then easy enough to slip into the Nod System, and with the superior technology afforded to the Astartes Legions, child' splay to learn why this location was so dangerous.
"An automated space station," His tech-marines advised, "Clearly from the Dark Age. Though, it seems to have failed. Had we arrived earlier, it would've caused significant issues with our scanners. Not much to salvage, unfortunately. Looks to have been looted a long time ago."
Fabius didn't care. He didn't come here for the blasted station. As they moved through Nod, they saw the remains of hundreds of ships. Some were still generating signals. He ignored them as his fleet made its way toward Enoch.
Even with the old station out of commission, this system was hazardous. Full of debris fields, anomalies, and ancient minefields. Yet there was a clear "path" toward the planet full of destroyed ships. Several looked to have been part of the Manticore Contingency. Which meant that Fabius was on something like a schedule now.
Arriving over Enoch itself was a rather middling affair. The planet looked lovely from orbit, a blue and purple gemstone drifting in the void. The IIIth Legion ships detected numerous orbital satellites and a few defense stations, but barely a hundred and of relatively shoddy make and quality.
Fabius wasted no time. He broadcasted his introduction, reasoning for being here, and intentions for Enoch and all but demanded that their government representatives prepare for a meeting with an entourage of Imperial diplomats within the next solar day.
The Enoch government wisely decided not to fight against the fleet of a thousand ships and had likely been aware of the fleet's arrival for some time now. Preparations were made within the next two hours, and Fabius led the Imperial entourage.
Lord Fulgrim instilled in the notion of proper introductions and gifts for bringing worlds into Compliance, and thus Fabius brought with him an assortment of trinkets, goods, and other such things that humans loved. Upon sitting down upon the capital of Enoch, a series of transitionary events and protocols had to be handled, and before Fabius knew it, his entourage was deep underground in an emergency bunker.
A dialogue was established with the ruling council, the Sanhedrin of Enoch, who was quite apprehensive and nervous over Fabius's fleet but were at least reassured with the host of gifts given to them that the Imperium at least didn't want to kill them all. Rarely did men freely give away an entire treasure to a people that wished to exterminate.
Granted, they were less than happy upon hearing that Fabius Bile was here to bring their world into the Imperium of Man and was looking for information on the Anath. Unfortunately, while the Sanhedrin admitted that the Anath were real and had been buried in their world, they were long extinct.
"The last of the Anath died over 200 years ago during the last invasion of Enoch."
"Such a shame," Fabius remarked, "Then I shall have to settle for exhuming and examining their bodies." Such a remark did not sit well with the Sanhedrin. Usually, Fabius would be more tactful when making such demands, but he had already brought gifts and promises of defense at the cost of compliance and rummaging through dead Anath.
At least it didn't require him to "force" the issue. The Sanhedrin ultimately agreed to his terms and authorized him and his marines to exhume the bodies of the Anath under the supervision of government officials and with a promise not to desecrate the dead.
Fabius agreed, at least publically. But in reality, he simply got the tomb's location and waited for the right moment to go there himself. Fate was most generous to Fabius, for after only a week of arriving at Enoch, a large fleet of 2,500 ships had entered the System of Nod. It looked like the Manticore Contingency was making its move. How amusing then when Fabius would "miss" the greatest fleet battle this system would ever see to go suddenly coordinate ground-side defenses.
Was this a bit underhanded? Absolutely. Did Fabius care? No. As a scientist, Fabius wouldn't be stopped by petty moralities like the "sanctity of the dead." Especially when an opportunity to learn presented itself. Besides, it wasn't like the Anath would care. They were all dead. If anything, perhaps they would appreciate a genius like him trying to carry on their legacy.
Regardless, Fabius had a destination: the "Bet Olam Anath," Which translated to the Anath House of Eternity. Arriving at the tomb was trivial enough. Getting inside proved to be a bit of a challenge. The citizens of Enoch had gone so far as to install a micro-void shield around the tomb. One didn't simply walk into such a place.
A fine resting place for the heroes of an entire civilization. Unfortunately, this was proving to be a bit of an annoying obstacle. Fabius initially tried to access the tomb via an intrusion spirit to the command control system, but that failed. This failure was followed by another when he attempted to use a data-angel to replicate the passcode.
It seemed clear that subtle attempts to enter the tomb wouldn't work. Tragic. Best to use a more "uncivilized" method then. Fabius had a specific tool in mind for this…the Foehammer. A specially designed grav-hammer. Not of his own making, of course, but rather a gift given to him by one of the Iron Hands. Its properties were exotic, though.
Rather than use gravity distortions to attack flesh and matter, it produced a sort of pulse whenever it came into contact with specific energy fields. Helpful in shutting down things such as refractor fields or energy shields. Such as the one before him. Unfortunately, the Foehammer had a nasty effect of causing terrible vibrations, not to the wielder, of course, but to the opposition.
Undoubtedly, if Fabius used the Foehammer here, much of the tomb would be damaged. Well, he would surely get it fixed after examining the bodies. Without much preamble or windup, Fabius slammed Foehammer into the void shield of the tomb. The ground shook beneath his feet, and the shield shuddered!
But just as Fabius readied another swing, a female voice called out to him. "Stop!"
Oh dear, a witness? That complicated things quite a bit for Fabius because now he had to convince them to stay quiet or kill them. Lowering Foehammer with a grimace, Fabius turned to the intruder and was instantly delighted by the creature before him.
A staggeringly beautiful androgynous human was looking at him with daggers in their eyes. With short black hair, pale skin, and wearing what looked to be a modified suit of synth-leather armor, the figure almost looked like one of the Primarch's statues brought to life! Strangely enough, Fabius was having trouble telling if the individual was male or female, but their voice was undoubtedly that of a woman.
"Have you no respect for the dead?" She called out a short distance away. Wise, especially as getting close to an Astartes was generally bad if you planned on attacking them.
Fabius shrugged as he et the head of Foehammer down on the ground, "I have plenty of respect for the dead. But why pretend something is wrong for safely examining a group of bodies for scientific purposes?"
She(?) glared at him, "The Anath sacrificed much to save this world. They deserve their eternal rest."
"There is no such thing." Fabius lost any trace of jovialness in his voice, "The dead know only the quiet oblivion." Then his smugness returned, "But I digress. Who stands before me as guardian of this tomb?"
"I am no guardian, not a permanent one at least." The stranger kept her distance and seemed ready to strike immediately, "I am merely here to pay my respects."
"Judging by the lack of care around this temple, I don't think many citizens have visited it recently." There had been a lot of plant growth around. "So I doubt you are simply a citizen here to pay respect."
"You assume much for an outsider."
Fabius smirked, "I'm quite receptive. Now, unless you are a spy that could track me here, I have to believe you represent something else. Judging that you snuck up on me, which is no small feat, and you seem to care deeply about this location, I can put two and two together and assume you are an Anath."
Nothing the stranger did remotely gave aware that Fabius had correctly or incorrectly guessed this, but he knew enough to recognize that only the most highly trained humans could've gotten the drop on him. Then again, maybe Fabius was taking a shot in the dark? He had done that plenty of times before.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." The stranger refused to look him in the eyes, though, which made Fabius realize he was right. "And I refuse to entertain the notions of a grave robber."
Fabius laughed, "Grave robbing is a time-honored tradition among these stars now." He shifted Foehammer back onto his back, "But I suppose I shouldn't rob the graves of someone's relatives right in front of them."
"I'm not-"
He held up his hand to stop them, "You are an Anath. Let's not pretend otherwise. In the time we've spoken, my scanners have already noticed that your bio-metrics are on a whole different level." Fabius gave her a sardonic grin, "And believe me, I don't think anyone on this planet can naturally make anyone as beautiful as you. So let us cut through pretenses and just speak plainly."
The two stared at each for a moment, gauging if they would fight or talk. Finally, after a minute, the stranger spoke. "Fine. You are correct. I am an Anath. The last one, to be exact."
"Heh." He smirked. "So my guess was right then." Fabius smiled when he saw the stranger give him a shocked look, "Oh, it was an educated guess…but it was a guess all the same." Never let alone think you were more than you appeared. A lesson Fulgrim taught all his sons.
"You…" The Anath only glared at him before relaxing, "You are interesting. Frustrating, but interesting."
"Good." Fabius slowly approached the Anath. He was still a good head taller than her, and Fabius was sure now that it was a her, and figured this individual was dangerous enough for even an Astartes. That said, Fabius held out his hand to her.
"My name is Fabius Bile. Captain of the Third Legion."
The woman looked down at his offered hand before slowly reaching forward and shaking it, "My name is Lilith."
"Lilith," Fabius tested the name, "Lilith, Last of the Anath. An unfortunately weighty title for you."
Lilith nodded, "Yes. And one that holds quite a bit of meaning. Hence why your attempts to breach the final sanctum of my kin were not well received by me."
"A misunderstanding then," Fabius remarked with a smooth lie. He knew full well what he was doing here. "Perhaps then we can seek to find a solution to this issue? I wish to understand the Anath. Their history and capabilities. May we both assist each other in some way to accomplish this?"
"What is there for me in helping you, save stopping you from breaking into the Bet Olam?" She looked resigned. "The battle for Enoch is being waged, yet I am stuck here on the ground."
"Does that upset you?" Fabius latched onto this opening, "The fate of your people now rests in the hands of strangers. I can imagine that isn't how you wanted the story of the Anath to end."
The impeccable features of Lilith's face softened, "If this world survives, it shall be for the best. We can simply fade away after that."
"Nonsense." Fabius interjected, and this time he didn't need to hide his feelings, "What good does that serve you and your kin? Their legacy will either be distorted or forgotten. Your names and deeds would serve weak leaders as a rallying call to action for mundane wars or flaccid conquests." He leaned down to stare at her, "But my Primarch can offer you something more. A chance to perhaps revive the Anath."
To his surprise, Lilith shook her head, "I'm sorry, but…no, the Anath cannot be revived even if you tried. Nor should you. The Anath was an experiment to create something more than human, and all Kane did was create an army of killers."
Fabius couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he find the only surviving Anath, she knew more about their legacy. "Kane? Is this the man that created the Anath?"
"I suppose you can call him that. Kane is…was the Shalashaska. But all Anath were the Shalashaska."
"The Shalashaska?" The Anath, Kane, and now this Shalashaska. What did it all mean? Fabius had to find out. "Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself…you clearly have a rather exciting and extensive story to tell."
In a surprise move, Fabius kneeled to get a better look at Lilith, "Let me help you. I won't lie when I say that I am quite eager to hear more about your story and that of the Anath because I am looking for answers to important questions. Questions that pertain to my legacy and life as well. I believe in that sense; we are both individuals running out of time."
Lilith still looked at Fabius suspiciously, "And what could you do to remedy this for me?"
"No idea yet." He admitted, "But I like to think I am quite good at problem-solving. Let me study you and the history of the Anath more thoroughly, and perhaps I can produce some answers for the two of us."
"What are you proposing then?" Lilith seemed interested, "An alliance? Such a brazen thing to offer to someone you just met. I could be here to kill you after all. More likely, I can just say no to this."
Fabius nodded, "You could. But you should see that such a brazen offer has merit. An earnest and open desire is, beyond all else, a sign of sincerity. And I am, after all, a man who wears his heart's desires on his sleeve." While Fabius was a skilled liar, he never denied being a man who wanted more.
More knowledge, more insight into the nature of all things, and more about the unknown. These last few years had shown how limited his understanding of everything was. Thus it didn't hurt to be forthcoming with these ambitions.
He gave Lilith a beautiful smirk, "So why not take a chance with me?"
"Sounds dangerous."
"I dare say that is half the appeal for some." Fabius saw Lilith was thinking it over, "If nothing else, you can always come and find a new purpose alongside the Phoenician. My gene-father can always find a place for you."
She shook her head, "I'm not looking to become a mercenary or assassin for hire…but I will say that I have become stuck with the question of what I should do next. If your Imperium ensures Enoch is safe, I can at least leave with a clean conscience."
Fabius nodded, "The Sanhedrin agreed with the compliance. We shall defend this world like any other."
If the Anath had any other qualms, she did not voice them. "Then I shall entrust the fates and go with you. If for no other reason than to stop you from disturbing my kin." Lilith seemingly bowed before Fabius, "I am yours to command, Captain Bile."
"Excellent." He gently patted her right shoulder, "I welcome you then, Lilith, to the Emperor's Children. Now then…tell me all that you know about the Anath."
She was bemused at the request, "Anything in particular?"
"Everything. Their history, abilities, and what you know of this Kane and the Shalashaska." Fabius needed to know from the start, "After that, I want to start trying to understand your physiology."
"You can't dissect me, Captain." She crossed her arms, "Nor will I let you examine my kin…but I might have something better."
"Oh?" Now they were getting somewhere. "What did you have in mind?"
"Kane's lab. I know its location."
Fabius closed his eyes and enjoyed the sweet moment of victory. He trusted his gut and had been rewarded. "That would be…lovely." True to her word, Lilith began explaining all she knew about the Anath and their legacy. For thousands of years, they were the blades in the dark of Enoch, destroying opposition using genetically shared memories and skillsets. An extraordinary ability. The Anath were also long-lived creatures, although Lilith was barely 60 years. She had been the very last Anath to be born by their true master, Kane.
Lilith called Kane a genius. Fabius knew genius since he was one and assumed that this man was no more a genius but rather someone that just found Dark Age technology. That was what Fabius thought until he arrived at the remains of his laboratory.
While Lilith apologized for the state of it, citing that some unknown force attacked Kane, ultimately killing the Shalashaska almost a thousand years ago, some pieces of his knowledged remained. The details of which brought a disturbing amount of delight to Fabius.
Kane, the Shalashaska, and the Anath were all connected. Their very souls were copies of his own! Using Eldar technology and science, Kane sought to create an entire force of super-humans that could carry on the "Shalashaska's Legacy" for eternity. It was extraordinary! Fabius would've done anything to meet with Kane during his prime.
Alas, all that was left were a few notes, formulas, and a personal logs. Yet that was more than enough for Fabius. Lilith seemed surprised when he announced that he had more than enough information to learn about the Anath over time. Yet once again, time was the hurdle that needed to be overcomed.
Something that Kane had tried to do. Something that he had been close to succeeding at. Now Fabius would use that knowledge for his own mission. Fulgrim once said men like Fabius reached new heights because they stood on the shoulders of giants.
On the world of Enoch, Fabius found one.
---
@Daemon Hunter Omake time.
His soul is in internal torment in the warp by the archdaemons due to his sheer incompetence.
Where is the cult of kesar dorlin Omake i cannot find it?
Hmm, are you referencing the Golden Path omakes or the Shades omake?
all and thank you.
What happened to the golden path
It's around and is considered to be slowly expanding. Just doesn't get mentioned too much.
Aka its entirely possible for Lorgar to pop back up...but chances are its only so he can be sent right back as part of some scheme to snag a bigger prize.
And to torture Lorgar.
I imagine his slanneshi tormentors are the most disappointed in him: The guy could have gone with one hell of a hairdo. But no, shaven bald and tattoos everywhere.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh, on the recent omakes? Yeah, been trying something different with the flashpoint format but I'm still running into the same issues of actually sitting down and writing stuff.
Kesar Receiving Auro's Work
- Location
- USA
Kesar frowned as the door to his office slid open to admit a serf carrying a box, no packages were on the docket for the day, nor did he request anything. The serf without a word placed the box down on his desk and quickly left as soon as possible, a somewhat common occurrence these days. Kesar sighed as he poked the strange box noting it to be made of metal that resisted his strength slightly, indicating a rather expensive package or one being sent by a person that desired to ensure that it would reach him intact.
Keeping an eye on the box, sine it would not be impossible if very unlikely for it to be some form of trap or ambush for him, he tapped a code into a data slate that quickly pinged softly. With gentle fingers he slowly pushed the box off of his desk such that if it did hold something unpleasant there would be more than his bare flesh against it.
As the minutes grounded onward, he stared resolutely at the box focusing all of his senses on it, finding nothing. It made no sound, there was no smell, there was not even the slightest hint of any form of duplicity in its construction, which ironically made him more concerned. There were people in the galaxy that could fool even a primarch's senses afterall and this box could originate from them.
The door slid open as Oriacarius entered as expected, "What is the situation?" Kesar simply pointed towards the strange box at the base of his desk, "A serf brought this package to me several minutes ago, I called you since I have not requested any packages nor are any on the schedule for the day." His words were calm, but both of them could hear the slight undercurrent of unease within his tone. Oriacarius frowned minutely as he stared at the box, turning his head slightly as he kneeled towards one of the corners.
A soft sigh came from him as Kesar quirked an eyebrow at the actions of his son regarding the box, "I think it originates from Crescum Aiuro, it bears similarities to other creations of his that he provided me in the past." Kesar lifted another eyebrow as he picked up the box for the first time placing it back on his desk trusting in the skills of his son regarding this matter.
Peering closer at the box he noted that the welds were strange almost more melded than truly welded, "Is that the sign you were looking for?" His son shrugged slightly at the question, "Crescum Auro routinely returned stolen and broken codes to me in similar containers. I asked him about it once and he stated that he used the artificial gravity and plasma heat of the ship to fuse the containers closed to ensure structural integrity. The markings are similar enough that I do believe that this to come from him, although I do admit to being curious about why he is reaching out to use after vanishing for most of a decade." The last words were irritated as Kesar's other eyebrow joined the other one in surprise at the knowledge that one of his sons had somehow vanished.
With a sigh, and wondering if any other Wardens were missing in action, Kesar drew his power dagger and carefully pieced the weld line and slowly cut away the top of the box. The caution was soon rewarded as inside was a mountain of paper, reminding Kesar of the report he had been given on the rune of true light before the maelstrom, back when thins were so much simpler and clearer.
Noting that the paper was upside-down, Kesar quickly flipped the box over and removed it from the mountain. Leaving behind a stack of paper nearly six foot tall and each page covered in nearly microscopic text. Kesar and Oriacarius blinked at the mountain of files and work before them before sighing, "This is definitely Crescum Auro. I recognize the style of writing and the degree of minutia." Oriacarius stated as he picked up the front sheet and began to parse through the exceptionally dense writing from the missing Warden.
Kesar waited for his son to finish reading the page before he took his turn, since it would be interesting to know what the most paranoid of his legion would make of what this wayward son of his would have to write. Several minutes passed before Oriacarius lowered the page with confusion evident on his expression, "According to this page, Crescum Auro has recently had a breakthrough with regards to warp theory. I am sadly unable to understand what the implications are and personally believe that we should bring in the Triquetra to examine and confirm the data to be without major flaws."
Kesar smiled slightly at the admission of lacking skill, but gently pulled the page from his son's hands before beginning to read it. The first thing was that it was written in font that was almost small enough to trouble even his eyes to make out individual letters, the second was that it was written in an exceptionally stilted manner. Once more his eyebrows raised slightly as he parsed through the writing that was at times efficient to the point where his brother Perturabo would be impressed and strangely redundant at other points.
Narrowing his eyes, it became clear as he progressed that the writing was shifting between the two styles as dictated by the warp to a degree. The efficient and cold hand was that of his son based on what he could recall from previous reports received from him, while the other style reminded him of his brother Magnus' letters and the nature of the Librarians. Yet, both were clearly intermixed in a way that gave a strange amount of order to the warp based aspects that was beyond what he expected an Astartes to be able to achieve.
Finishing the first page, Kesar placed it gently back onto the table before looking up at Oriacarius once more. "I do believe that this does come from a warden, there are certain idiosyncrasies in the style that are common among the legion, furthermore it does conform to the style of writing I saw with Crescum the last time we examined a report from him. However, there is no way that an Astartes could have achieved this work without a notable and wealthy backer, considering the current state of the imperial budget, Crescum is probably working closely or inside a hidden department of the higher echelons of the Imperium. As for the data itself, as far as I can tell it is sound if of a limited scope which does make sense." Oriacarius blinked slightly as he processed the information, Kesar's lips thinned as he began to read more of his wayward son's work, even as his first captain clearly began to contemplate things.
Parsing through the mountain of information that his son had so kindly provided and broken down into thousands of chapters, Kesar slowly began to understand just how much there was to this windfall. Entirely new theories on how the warp worked, how warp energy could be solidified being given as a suggestion, even new theories on how the runes worked. It brought to mind more of his father's notes than anything else in sheer comprehensiveness of the work. Even if it was clear that the focus of the work was closely tied to Death and Time as the fundamental core of the work, it bleed off into hundreds or possibly thousands of adjacent concepts that were poorly explained at best to merely hinted at.
It was both insane and genius in a way that Kesar had truly not expected any of his sons to achieve, the Wardens for all their skills simply weren't inclined towards research. He knew himself well enough to know that of his brothers, he was far away from being a truly notable researcher. Perturabo easily dwarfed him in every single field, and Magnus did the same with regards to the warp, he was only passable with the mundane science that all of his brothers could easily comprehend and some aspects of warp technology. The work before him was something he would have expected to come from a group of thousand sons and iron warriors than a singular warden, it gave rise to a large amount of details that he knew would help teach other people how to make runes.
Runes were difficult to teach as there was nothing for humans to grasp onto, but now perhaps with this he would be able to advance that cause, yet moving on towards the deepest parts of the mountain of paper, he found what his son had declared to be a Nechronal Engine. A device designed to infuse warp concepts into materials, currently designed for time and death energies, but Kesar could tell that it was more flexible than his son had intended, but he could not blame his son for assuming those limitations.
It would be cheap enough to build without straining the legion's budget even in this time of budget limitations, yet he was unsure if it was worth building since the legion did not make use of high end psychic materials often. A final note from his son indicated that he did not care if Kesar shared or did not share his work with the other primarchs, only stating that he had also sent a copy of this work to Magnus in repayment of a debt incurred prior.
Keeping an eye on the box, sine it would not be impossible if very unlikely for it to be some form of trap or ambush for him, he tapped a code into a data slate that quickly pinged softly. With gentle fingers he slowly pushed the box off of his desk such that if it did hold something unpleasant there would be more than his bare flesh against it.
As the minutes grounded onward, he stared resolutely at the box focusing all of his senses on it, finding nothing. It made no sound, there was no smell, there was not even the slightest hint of any form of duplicity in its construction, which ironically made him more concerned. There were people in the galaxy that could fool even a primarch's senses afterall and this box could originate from them.
The door slid open as Oriacarius entered as expected, "What is the situation?" Kesar simply pointed towards the strange box at the base of his desk, "A serf brought this package to me several minutes ago, I called you since I have not requested any packages nor are any on the schedule for the day." His words were calm, but both of them could hear the slight undercurrent of unease within his tone. Oriacarius frowned minutely as he stared at the box, turning his head slightly as he kneeled towards one of the corners.
A soft sigh came from him as Kesar quirked an eyebrow at the actions of his son regarding the box, "I think it originates from Crescum Aiuro, it bears similarities to other creations of his that he provided me in the past." Kesar lifted another eyebrow as he picked up the box for the first time placing it back on his desk trusting in the skills of his son regarding this matter.
Peering closer at the box he noted that the welds were strange almost more melded than truly welded, "Is that the sign you were looking for?" His son shrugged slightly at the question, "Crescum Auro routinely returned stolen and broken codes to me in similar containers. I asked him about it once and he stated that he used the artificial gravity and plasma heat of the ship to fuse the containers closed to ensure structural integrity. The markings are similar enough that I do believe that this to come from him, although I do admit to being curious about why he is reaching out to use after vanishing for most of a decade." The last words were irritated as Kesar's other eyebrow joined the other one in surprise at the knowledge that one of his sons had somehow vanished.
With a sigh, and wondering if any other Wardens were missing in action, Kesar drew his power dagger and carefully pieced the weld line and slowly cut away the top of the box. The caution was soon rewarded as inside was a mountain of paper, reminding Kesar of the report he had been given on the rune of true light before the maelstrom, back when thins were so much simpler and clearer.
Noting that the paper was upside-down, Kesar quickly flipped the box over and removed it from the mountain. Leaving behind a stack of paper nearly six foot tall and each page covered in nearly microscopic text. Kesar and Oriacarius blinked at the mountain of files and work before them before sighing, "This is definitely Crescum Auro. I recognize the style of writing and the degree of minutia." Oriacarius stated as he picked up the front sheet and began to parse through the exceptionally dense writing from the missing Warden.
Kesar waited for his son to finish reading the page before he took his turn, since it would be interesting to know what the most paranoid of his legion would make of what this wayward son of his would have to write. Several minutes passed before Oriacarius lowered the page with confusion evident on his expression, "According to this page, Crescum Auro has recently had a breakthrough with regards to warp theory. I am sadly unable to understand what the implications are and personally believe that we should bring in the Triquetra to examine and confirm the data to be without major flaws."
Kesar smiled slightly at the admission of lacking skill, but gently pulled the page from his son's hands before beginning to read it. The first thing was that it was written in font that was almost small enough to trouble even his eyes to make out individual letters, the second was that it was written in an exceptionally stilted manner. Once more his eyebrows raised slightly as he parsed through the writing that was at times efficient to the point where his brother Perturabo would be impressed and strangely redundant at other points.
Narrowing his eyes, it became clear as he progressed that the writing was shifting between the two styles as dictated by the warp to a degree. The efficient and cold hand was that of his son based on what he could recall from previous reports received from him, while the other style reminded him of his brother Magnus' letters and the nature of the Librarians. Yet, both were clearly intermixed in a way that gave a strange amount of order to the warp based aspects that was beyond what he expected an Astartes to be able to achieve.
Finishing the first page, Kesar placed it gently back onto the table before looking up at Oriacarius once more. "I do believe that this does come from a warden, there are certain idiosyncrasies in the style that are common among the legion, furthermore it does conform to the style of writing I saw with Crescum the last time we examined a report from him. However, there is no way that an Astartes could have achieved this work without a notable and wealthy backer, considering the current state of the imperial budget, Crescum is probably working closely or inside a hidden department of the higher echelons of the Imperium. As for the data itself, as far as I can tell it is sound if of a limited scope which does make sense." Oriacarius blinked slightly as he processed the information, Kesar's lips thinned as he began to read more of his wayward son's work, even as his first captain clearly began to contemplate things.
Parsing through the mountain of information that his son had so kindly provided and broken down into thousands of chapters, Kesar slowly began to understand just how much there was to this windfall. Entirely new theories on how the warp worked, how warp energy could be solidified being given as a suggestion, even new theories on how the runes worked. It brought to mind more of his father's notes than anything else in sheer comprehensiveness of the work. Even if it was clear that the focus of the work was closely tied to Death and Time as the fundamental core of the work, it bleed off into hundreds or possibly thousands of adjacent concepts that were poorly explained at best to merely hinted at.
It was both insane and genius in a way that Kesar had truly not expected any of his sons to achieve, the Wardens for all their skills simply weren't inclined towards research. He knew himself well enough to know that of his brothers, he was far away from being a truly notable researcher. Perturabo easily dwarfed him in every single field, and Magnus did the same with regards to the warp, he was only passable with the mundane science that all of his brothers could easily comprehend and some aspects of warp technology. The work before him was something he would have expected to come from a group of thousand sons and iron warriors than a singular warden, it gave rise to a large amount of details that he knew would help teach other people how to make runes.
Runes were difficult to teach as there was nothing for humans to grasp onto, but now perhaps with this he would be able to advance that cause, yet moving on towards the deepest parts of the mountain of paper, he found what his son had declared to be a Nechronal Engine. A device designed to infuse warp concepts into materials, currently designed for time and death energies, but Kesar could tell that it was more flexible than his son had intended, but he could not blame his son for assuming those limitations.
It would be cheap enough to build without straining the legion's budget even in this time of budget limitations, yet he was unsure if it was worth building since the legion did not make use of high end psychic materials often. A final note from his son indicated that he did not care if Kesar shared or did not share his work with the other primarchs, only stating that he had also sent a copy of this work to Magnus in repayment of a debt incurred prior.
Flashpoints: Ravenloft
Flashpoints: Ravenloft
Getting in Deep…
Only a few knew this, but Ratlings made for excellent miners. Not in the sense of doing any actual manual labor. Oh no, that was better suited for the tall folk. Instead, their affinity was towards surveying and acquiring, especially in mines or caves that had hazardous environments.
There was money to be made then. The third most important thing in life to a Ratling, at least next to some good food and a good fuck. Money allowed those first two to be achieved without resorting to unscrupulous means. Not that having cash would've stopped any honest Ratling from doing just that.
Still, having money meant not getting conscripted. This was doubly important for abhumans within the Imperium of Man. One could get away with bribing an official or recruiter with food, but cash always made them look the other way. Additionally, having wealth gave the Ratlings a chance to have the opportunity to be more than a sniper, thief, or cook.
In this era of new beginnings and glory, such an opportunity was just around the corner for those that grabbed it with their hands. Such was the thinking of Mokako Amajina, a ratling from the world of Vespar. His story was no different from the millions of others of his kind. He had grown up in poverty and survived by stealing and shooting. Mokako's only positive quality was his eye for quality and detail, which allowed him to loot only the best from his targets.
At 17, he was arrested by Planetary Enforcers with possession of a deadly weapon and was sentenced to ten years of hard labor. Mokako's fate was sealed. He would be sent to the Vespar Mines. Ratlings didn't do well in such environments. Primarily as the mines were known for their unsafe work conditions.
Yet the fates had been merciful and even generous. Mokako only spent a day during hard labor before his talents for appraising good quality minerals landed him in the good graces of his group foreman, who instead assigned Mokako to the more dangerous exploring and surveying new tunnel networks. Ratlings technically had been doing this for years, but Mokako handled this differently.
It took two years and a few close calls, but he developed a system for exploring the caves of Vespar and used that knowledge to train other ratlings to survive and succeed at whatever tasks the foremen gave them. Even when their jobs became increasingly deadly, Mokako adapted accordingly.
More importantly, Mokako enriched the local lord by finding the best possible veins and dugouts. So much so that this lord commuted his sentence in exchange for this abhuman joining his mining guild full-time. Mokako took the offer, and within two years, he was a free ratling.
His only request was that the other ratling prisoners that helped him be free. Again, no one cared about abhumans being released, so it was an easy sell to the local government after a few bribes. Mokako was now "free" and even somewhat rich. The local lord put him to work.
Twenty years later, Mokako Amajina gained his freedom once more. He went from aiding the local lords to becoming part of the mining conglomerate of Vespar. An outrageous development for the world as he was the first abhuman to become part of the board of directors. In only five years, Mokako increased mining productivity by almost two-fold.
Mokako had more than earned his freedom. So when it came time to leave Vespar, Mokako sold all his holdings and equipment to his allies and bought himself and his kin a mining ship, and left the misbegotten world forever. He then created Amajina Mining Incorporated, a mobile mining, surveying, and exploration company.
That was thirty years ago. Mokako's company grew into a small fleet of highly sought-after miners and surveyors with a history of successful contracts. His family flourished. Sixteen sons and twelve daughters with four wives.
Unfortunately, due to previous medical complications, Mokako Amajina died at the age of 71 years. He died with a belly full of wine, good food, and laughing at how his children constantly bickered over who would get his fortune. Dying at this point seemed almost preferable. Less of a headache to deal with.
But not before Mokako made one final arrangement. A year before his passing, a representative from a prospective client, one Miss Taturu, purchased the services of Amajina Mining Incorporated for an "extended contract, open for renewal" and paid not in cash or ships…but in favors.
Namely, a favor from a Primarch. Albeit not in any public fashion. He was even offered a position on the Shrike Commission, but Mokako turned it down as he sensed his end was near. He had enough of politics and intrigue anyway. Nevertheless, he agreed to Miss Taturu's terms and signed the contract. It would keep his children focused and not at each other's throats.
Barely two months after his death, the Shrike Commission already had the job for the Amajina family. It was easy enough on paper. They aimed to extract a precious mineral substance from a world called Orus deep inside an intricate cave network. It had to be done quietly, though. No questions asked, either.
You see, while the Amajinas ran a reputable business and trade, they were, on some levels, what Old Earth would call "Wildcat Miners." The type of professional who engaged in certainly less than reputable ventures. Nevertheless, Amajina Mining Incorporated could keep a secret and be subtle. Perfect for what the Shrike Commission had in mind.
Getting a team on Orus without anyone noticing was easy, even with the literal armies of Astartes and half a dozen Primarchs on the planet. No one cared about one freighter out of a fleet of ten thousand vessels in orbit. Even then, the Amajina team had to pay only a few bribes. Mokako had taught his kin that most people overlook abhumans in general, much less any working odd jobs. Greasing a few palms just made a lot of problems go away.
The Shrike Commission was making this whole thing a cakewalk, though. They had the initial section of the caves mapped and even gave the Amajina team plenty of supplies and materials, along with a coverup story to keep the locals off their backs. Only when the team discovered military-grade explosives and instructions to seal off the caves in case anything went wrong did they start thinking that maybe something was a little off about this job?
Greed won out. Besides, the Amajinas had taken worse contractors and beaten the odds before; they could do the same here. All they had to do was think of the money and the favors owed to them. So they got to work and started their deep dive.
They aimed to reach a specific location, retrieve the material, and then leave. Their destination was supposedly about 10 kilometers below the surface and past sea level at one point. How the Commission got this information wasn't the sort of question the Amajinas were paid to ask.
Work started. Expectations for completion were around four weeks. Just another job for Amajina Mining Incorporated and the first without Mokako. They all had something to prove to themselves and to honor their former patriarch. After all, someone would need to control the company as the new leader.
During the first two weeks, things went smoothly. Progress was slow but steady. Few people realized that safely moving through even just a kilometer of a cave was incredibly dangerous and required meticulous planning and preparation for the next kilo. The challenges the Amajinas faced were nothing new or unexpected. A sprained ankles and bumps on the head, maybe a cut or two.
Everyone returned topside to rest and recuperate. No one was going to risk trying to camp down below. While no one expected a cave-in, a sudden earthquake or rockslide could trap or kill anyone of them.
By their fifth kilometer, the Amajinas were making progress. Their scanners found all sorts of mineral wealth and geological data that they could easily sell to one of the local governments to help pay for a nice victory feast after this contract. Everything was coming up well from their point of view.
At the beginning of the third week, something changed in the caves. A wind could be heard blowing in the caves. This was at kilometer six. Initially, the Amajinas attributed this to an underground river or stream, maybe an aquifer. That was until they heard wind chimes.
When they tried to locate the origins, they found strange formations of moss and algae. A biological growth, if anything. How these things survived wasn't a mystery but a flat impossibility. There was no water, sunlight, or even enough air! Even weirder was when they seemed to vibrate whenever torchlight was shown on them.
That's when the bio-growth started singing. A strange, undefined, harmoniously calming melody swam through the caves. Low enough that it sounded like someone singing softly to themselves, yet it originated from no human lips. Sometimes it was a hum; other times, a whistle. In any case, the ratlings were sufficiently disturbed. Amajina Mining Incorporated had seen and recorded a lot of strange phenomena in their time, but this was something else.
Unfortunately, removing the singing moss was impossible. Not only did they not want to waste any more time, but they couldn't use flamers or anything inside a cave system, as that was just suicidal because of the carbon monoxide poisoning. The decision was made to just "ignore" the moss. It didn't seem to present any threat. If nothing else, it provided an almost "calming" effect on the Amajinas whenever they worked close by the singing moss.
All of this was to say that this abnormality wasn't an isolated incident but rather the start of them. Five days after first encountering the singing moss, the Amajinas started finding rock formations that equally defied any natural reasoning, like the singing moss.
First, the formation was clearly defined shapes; cubes, spheres, and triangles. Then animals and planets, before finally, what looked like poorly constructed humanoids. Once again, the Amajinas thought about leaving this place, believing it cursed, but greed won out once more, and nothing terrible had befallen them.
If anything, they were making incredible progress as the caves became exceedingly simple to navigate. Although, that in itself would soon change. Regardless, the Amajinas were at the seventh kilometer. Their augury scanners were also starting to pick up a strange energy reading, unlike anything detected within the caves prior.
Yet at the start of the fourth week, things took a drastic turn for the bizarre. The Amajinas had gone so deep now that they started noticing that the cave tunnels and caverns were becoming "distorted." That is to say, geometry and physics started turning on its head. The angles and distances became messed up. Parallel lines stopped being parallel, and passages that look like they're going one way, but then they curve back around and lead the Amajinas in circles.
Soon the caves began playing tricks on them. Light and moisture came and went. Rain and fog suddenly appeared and disappeared. Shadows started playing tricks on them, and after a few more days, the Amajinas felt like they were being watched.
Yet even with these strange occurrences, their greed still won out, and they continued searching and moving. The Amajinas took additional steps to ensure they couldn't become lost and even started using servo-skulls and trackers to map out this increasingly twisting labyrinth. Staying down below longer than seven or eight hours also made them loopy and start seeing things that weren't there.
By the start of the sixth week and upon entering the ninth kilometer, things took a turn for the unbelievable. The Amajinas found a cavern that defied space and reality, as it was massive and expansive, to the point that a Titan could've been housed inside it. Above, a raging thunderstorm threw water and wind up on the ratlings as if trying to stop them.
Still, the diminutive explorers pressed onward. Their scanners detected the same signature as before, which had gone from faint to all but shining upon their readouts. Whatever the hell they were searching for, it had to be this. It took them another day to figure out that the storm had intermittent periods of calm that could exploit to reach what they believed to be the other side.
Luck and skill won out, and the Amajinas reached the exit of the titan-storm cavern to encounter one final challenge. They came upon a dark and dank canyon similar to Orus's topside environment, but this place felt like walking on top of a petrified corpse.
As the Amajinas descended deeper into this unsettling realm, the walls began to warp and twist around them as if made of some sort of malleable material. It was disorienting and surreal, almost like they were walking through a mirror maze.
It was increasingly difficult for the ratlings to keep their bearings, but it was getting harder and harder as the walls seemed to move in unison, almost like they were some trees or flowers swaying in the wind. Then, as if things couldn't get any stranger, gravity began to behave erratically too. At times, they felt almost weightless, as if the very laws of physics were breaking down in this place.
The Amajinas looked up at the canyon walls, which now seemed to be pulling away from them as if trying to escape. It was dizzying and disorienting, and they struggled to keep their footing as they stumbled forward.
Despite the overwhelming strangeness of their surroundings, they pressed on. No matter what they saw or felt, nothing attacked or lept from the shadows. Just as the Amajinas thought, this was a realm of something that had died a long time ago. Their scanners were still giving bad readings but were positive that the end was in sight.
Lo and behold, they reached the end. Ten and a half kilometers down, or wherever the hell time and space were in this place, the Amajinas reached their destination. In the center of an impressively ornate room of bone and petrified roots was the body of a creature long since dead.
A vaguely humanoid shape, easily the size of a Warhound Titan, seemingly turned to glittering stone and obsidian as it sat in its final resting place. The aura of death it radiated was overpowering, but rather than dread, it gave off a feeling of peace. This construct or creature died accomplishing its mission.
Not that the Amajinas cared about that. What did matter were the stones embedded in its body. A few had a faint glow, and most were devoid of light. Save for one that stood out. It glowed an eerily green light. In another time and place, one might have called it the light of fireflies or the spirit of autumn encapsulated in this crystal.
This had to be their target. So the Amajinas got to work extracting. Perhaps one might have called this grave robbing or disturbing the final resting place of this creature, but the ratlings had a job to do, and the dead had no need for such things. Mokako had told his children and kin that nothing in this galaxy belonged to the dead, or if nothing else, those that made no attempts to stop the living from doing so.
When no vengeance from beyond the grave rose against the Amajinas as they extracted what would later be known as the Luxstone, the ratlings figured that they were in the clear. Whatever this thing had once been in life, it was now just another decoration in this strange place, forgotten by time.
It took another day to extract their precious material safely and another to plant the explosives around the core entrances of the cavern. For all their greed, the Amajinas had enough honor to ensure no one else came upon this place. They would seal this tomb once and for all.
Barely a few hours after sealing off the entrances, a Thunderhawk gunship appeared around their campsite. To the Amajina's shock, a group of space marines and humans arrived to retrieve the Luxstone and all data that the ratlings accrued during their operation. After that, the Amajinas were debriefed on what they saw below and given clear instructions to keep their mouths shut.
After that, the ratlings got their payment and were told that the Commission would contact them again for future endeavors, seemingly impressed with their success here. Just like that, the job was over. A deep dive into the unknown. None of the surveyors or miners wanted to talk about everything they saw.
Just as Mokako told them all, time and time again, the best policy was to just keep your mouth shut sometimes.
An Explosive Discovery…
Today, Solarus was going to finish another masterpiece. After nearly seven months, the Warden had completed the development of the ODW-19. Not the fanciest name, but it'll do. It was the 19th design that he and the Raven Guard tech-marines had worked on, and Solarus was feeling confident about this version.
Explosives were tricky business. Any idiot can make them, but it took a genius to make one into something extraordinary. Solarus spent months perfecting the triggering mechanism alone for the ODW series. That wasn't saying much, though. He could make an atomic with a tiny bit of fissionable material and scrap if he felt uninspired.
Come to think of it, Solarus sometimes wondered if he was channeling the Orks. Of course, not even he understood how their ramshackle technology worked. Besides, while their explosives were entertaining, they lacked refinement and innovation.
That separated Solarus from all the madmen, artists, and scientists in this field. He fits somewhere perfectly between all three. His explosives served a purpose but also had a unique identity in their design and application. If Solarus was completely honest, he enjoyed the looks of confusion or shock from his brothers and cousins whenever they tried to grasp where the insanity began or ended in his work.
Solarus still hadn't met anyone that could see the "magic" in his work. He once remembered hearing a similar issue from Fabius Bile of the Emperor's Children. The name of one master or another becomes lost to history, with only their work as the only proof they ever existed.
However, that was the difference between Solarus and all those masters. He didn't care if people forgot his name or deeds. If anything, the Mad Bomber would rather worry more about producing the next big boom than worry if his legacy could be etched into the stars.
Besides, who says such things were mutually exclusive? When the Lord of Ravens specifically asked for his aid in developing a new prototype bomb, Solarus was on the first shuttle to join his cousins. Not only would he be allowed to work in a different environment and with resources unavailable to the Wardens, but Solarus could also take the finished design back to his legion.
And more importantly, Primarch Corax had given him a considerable conundrum: Create a bomb that could be stealth deployed from orbit towards a planetary surface—a novel concept, if not an absurd one. But Solarus liked these types of challenges.
So he got to work.
The first 12 designs failed for various reasons. Too many to list for Solarus to care about. Some simply didn't work, didn't perform well enough, or didn't have enough "boom" for the Mad Bomber to call it a good start. Unlike missiles and fragmentation devices, bombs required a delicate approach to their layout.
Iterations 13, 14, and 15 were when Solarus and the other tech-marines encountered real problems with this device. Mainly the precision needed for some components required precise customization and development. He was literally rebuilding from the ground up. So, Solarus and his team agreed to restart from scratch.
ODW-16 was, to put it bluntly, a good idea with disastrous results. Thankfully no one got hurt, and the Astartes had been testing on asteroids. When ODW-16 released far more energy than initially testing predicted, the destruction of Sigma-0991's ninth planetoid unintentionally reminded them of the raw power they were handling here.
Naturally, Solarus made the decision to make ODW-17 even stronger. He was successful, and the completion of its design led to a startling discovery on the nature of orbital munitions deployment, specifically regarding the issue regarding electromagnetic interference with targeting systems. That in itself wasn't the discovery.
Instead, it was the idea that popped into his head regarding it. Primarch Corax wanted to create a stealth bomb? Well, why not employ similar principles of a blind grenade into the bomb? Not exactly an easy thing, but Solarus found the concept amusing.
ODW-18 took another four months to design and fabricate. Piggybacking off the successes and failures of its predecessor, Solarus determined that applied technologies could replicate the effect of chaff upon entry into the deployment zone and before triggering. Uninspired but effective.
Still, the idea had merit. ODW-18-A through E turned into a series of other experimental designs and configurations focused on using counter-measure technologies to create the necessary spread and saturation to work on a strategic level. Results were considerably underwhelming, at least to Solarus.
When he considered weaving in the principles of vortex weaponry, Solarus made a small attempt before becoming distracted after seeing a report about a phosphex core for a bomb. Which gave him the inspiration for ODW-19…
ODW-19 took another two months, but Solarus worked like a man possessed (he made sure he wasn't after making that claim to himself) and finalized the design before unveiling his finest creation.
He gave it a name as well, the Ashfire Bomb. An unholy marriage of weapons theory, specifically built to cause a firestorm that intentionally released chaff particles into the air and carried by the explosion's smoke, dust, and ash. Deployed from orbit and once triggered, the destructive output eliminates most surface targets and then saturates the area with flame and metalized glass particles caused by the firestorm, causing communication, visibility, and electronic interference.
By all accounts, ODW-19 was what the Lord Primarch had been looking for. Corvus Corax thanked Solarus for his aid in developing the Ashfire Bomb and told Solarus that he was free to return to his kin with the completed design. The Mad Bomber was eager to return with his new toy, so he left soon after that.
It never occurred to Solarus that there might have been another route that could've been taken with the Ashfire. He was on the cusp of discovering something unbelievable if ODW-19 had been made using vortex munitions. Corvus saw it, though, but decided to keep the information within the Raven Guard.
ODW-20 would continue where Solarus left off—culminating in creating the Shroud Device…which would soon use over Venus.
Upon Fields of Giants…
Something about Venus felt odd to Lockcraft. Even upon landing at the Topkapi Orbital, which was hundreds of kilometers up in the air, the aura of this world felt odd. A part of him wondered that after everything he had seen and heard, Lockcraft's senses became acutely aware of the strange and old in the galaxy.
Considering the reason Lockcraft had come to Venus, perhaps that was the point. Ravenloft had only recently arrived in Sol under cover of a Chartist contract to salvage archeotech. No one would ever know this captain, and the contract didn't exist; instead, it was a proxy created by the Shrike Commission.
Everything had been going according to plan, but Lockcraft knew better. Mortals were always victims of one thing or another. Fate or luck playing them for fools. However, he still felt strange. That said, he tried not to focus on it.
Fools would call this feeling predetermination, in other words, "destiny," but he refused to believe such farcical things, even knowing greater truths. If man was to survive and adapt to such chaotic times, he must first think there was even the slight possibility that he still had free will.
The irony, of course, was that he was here to convince a group of exiles and outcasts that it was the will of their goddess to come and aid the Primarch and Ravenloft. It made him uncomfortable, one of the few things Lockcraft mused. Desperation and hope mixed with faith and zealotry made for a potent, if not terrible, force in the galaxy.
Especially if it was for a group known only as War Witches. The locals only spoke of them in whispers, sometimes refusing to acknowledge they still existed. The Iron Warriors destroyed them during the Unification Wars, or so most wanted to believe. But those few elders speaking to Lockcraft admitted that not all the psykers had died.
"They congregate among the graveyards of their golems. Turning the bones of their ancient creations into bunkers and vaults, soon to be their tombs. Seek them out among The Witch's Forest if you so dare. Be warned, though. Ancient horrors still lurk among the ruins and corpses of the last war. There is no silence among the Sultanas."
Arranging the resources and supplies for the ground-side expedition was easy enough. Lockcraft had enough money to get what he needed and ensure no one asked any questions. Even then, he used third parties and proxies to get everything arranged. Ravenloft sent only 500 men and women for this, half of which had only rudimentary military training. The other half were highly trained and modified soldiers of Ravenloft.
The Lycans. Project Werewolf was already producing results after the recent changes towards using more non-Astartes forces as part of the militant arm of Ravenloft. The Chairman was right in making this change. So far, the Lycans had already proven effective in training simulations but hadn't been tested in actual combat.
No matter. They had more than enough firepower to deal with anything along the way. Lockcraft was more concerned with encountering the psykers and convincing them to follow this plan.
Arriving upon the surface was easy enough. The trade and port city of Bosphorion allowed for easy cover as the expedition made its way out of it.
Legends spoke of Venus being a lush world once. As Lockcraft gazed upon the dry and cracked plains of the Kawelu Planitia, he somehow doubted such tales had ever been a kernel of truth. The surface of this world reminded him too much of home. It was hot, humid, and foggy. He missed being up in the orbital hives.
What unsettled him, though, was when they started seeing the strange stones littered across the planitia. Unnaturally grey and looking entirely out of place. One of the locals Ravenloft hired as a guide called them Verdigris Alloy.
"Worthless alloy, or at least something that can't be reproduced anymore. Made up of obsidian, volcanic glass, and something called Venerianite. All the golem husks you'll see were made using Verdigris."
The Imperium rarely cleaned up a battlefield. That was best left to the local government or the Mechanicum if they felt generous. Wars left behind garbage, ruin, junk…and munitions. You could find a report for any world brought into compliance a century ago and still hear of people dying to an unexploded shell or mine.
Lockcraft doubted the Iron Warriors cleaned up after they defeated the Venusians. None of the loyalists up in the orbitals would do it, either. Such waste was commonplace in the Imperium, and no one but those that suffered in it cared.
The first leg of their journey was approaching what Lockcraft thought to be a series of jagged hills. "Vekra's Folly." One of the first sites of a battle between the psykers and the Astartes, and it showed. Because these weren't hills.
They were the remains of golems. Hundreds of them. Each was as tall as a Warhound Titan. Their twisted, crystalized remains had been shattered by all weapons during the Unification Wars.
As the expedition approached, swerving and moving through what clear paths they could find to reach the other side of Vekra's Folly, Lockcraft felt a hum of energy in the air, making his teeth rattle, and ears ring. His guide claimed that whatever warp energies powered the damn things lingered even after two centuries.
It took them almost six hours to get through this graveyard. Once reaching the other side, Lockcraft and the rest of the expedition saw flatlands ahead of them. From the onset, their journey seemed lengthy, but otherwise painless and obstacle free.
After a day and night of travel, stopping only to rest occasionally, the expedition was now on the path of conquest, that being the route the Iron Warriors took to break the cities of Hagia Sophia and Galata Reach. What were once gleaming cities of Verdigris and Venerianite were now just crushed and burnt ruins slowly being reclaimed by nature.
The more scholarly and academic-minded elements of the expedition found enough information to identify that these cities once belonged to the "Venüs Sultanlığı," which was likely the name of the Venusian government. It spoke volumes that even with his connections, Lockcraft hadn't even known the name of the nation whose ruins he was now sifting through and whose survivors he meant to contact.
Information was scarce. Not just about Venus, but most of Sol. The Imperium of Man routinely destroyed or redacted information about the Unification Wars that weren't publicly recorded or simply propaganda from the Remembrancer Order. History was, or had, been rewritten so many times now.
Lockcraft had learned this truth long before he became the director of Ravenloft, before even meeting the Primarch or joining the Remembrancer Order. The truth was subjective. Nothing was real, and everything was a lie. But people accepted lies every day. Who anywhere else in Sol cared about what happened on Venus after compliance?
Even those living right above these ruins didn't care. Maybe Ravenloft were the only ones who did now, and even then, it was just to serve their own ends. Nothing more than animals sifting through the bones of another, trying to find food or warmth.
Whenever the expedition left these cities, Lockcraft spared not a single glance back at any of them. Just burning memories and whispered echoes. Besides, he needed to find a living descendent of the Sultanlığı. Which was proving to be a lot more complicated.
It took the expedition another week to reach the outer edge of the Ishtari Salt Plains, which was full of dead golems and what Lockcraft thought were ships. They came across another ruined city, which appeared to be a harbor of all things. The Golden Horn. A map was found in what was a government building. Venus once had oceans, it seemed.
Now there were only the endless plains and stone corpses. Although the latter wasn't accurate, the expedition was attacked in the Golden Horn. But not by any living creature but by hundreds of Sentinel-sized golems that looked to have rusted and rotted for the better of two centuries.
Lycan soldiers took care of them quickly enough. "They had no weapons. Only tools. Nothing more than what you'd see on a mono-task servitor." Nevertheless, the damn things ate bullets and las like they were nothing. It took plasma and melta to take them down, thankfully with only one or two hits.
Why the golems attacked them was strange, but Lockcraft suspected it was just an automated response more than anything. He wondered how many of these things had tried and failed to take down Astartes? Granted, facing any combat version wasn't sitting well with him either.
Their local guides were also starting to panic but confirmed that they were heading in the supposed right direction to Forest. Lockcraft was beginning to doubt they'd find an actual forest now. Then again, perhaps he would be proven wrong.
However, the first evidence of worshipping the Goddess Venus here in the Golden Horn was startling. A temple was located and identified but also severely damaged. It took the expedition two days to fully decipher the remains and confirm that Venus was known as Venus Hurrem, "Most Beloved."
So, the worship was clearly a positive one. Still, it was only a slight clue to a more extensive series of questions. These people were not Deorums. If anything, they seemed more akin to a sect of Buddislamics, at least from a cultural standpoint. Cross-culture contamination, perhaps?
A series of questions for later. The expedition needed to continue. The Forest was at least another week or so away. Fates blessed them; they weren't required to cross the salt plains. Instead, the expedition must drive across the "hills" towards the Jasmine Coast.
Once again, these hills were dilapidated and destroyed golems. Although Lockcraft and a few others would swear, they saw movement among the junked remains. They had a secondary encounter on the third day of their travels.
While attempting to move through one of the graveyards, they came across a path blocked by what looked to be a loose "hand" of stone and crystal by one of the giants. Moving the offending appendage would require time and precise application of melta weapons. It only occurred to the expedition that they had fallen into a trap after what happened next.
Lockcraft had spent enough time among the Astartes to recognize their signature power armor, so he was pretty confused when he saw a trio of them hobbling toward their base camp and quickly ordered the Lycans to open fire on them.
This started a chain reaction as other rusted and old golems soon appeared from among the bodies of their fallen brethren, engaging the Imperials in a firefight. The first real battle Lockcraft had ever been in, and thankfully it was one he would walk away from. Sadly the same couldn't have been said about the 19 others that perished.
Casualties had been expected. The bodies were carefully placed in bodybags and inside one of their vehicles. At the very least, they wouldn't be buried here on Venus if Lockcraft had anything to say about it.
The three "Astartes" that attacked them were golems wearing recovered power armor; the damn things somehow incorporated the technology into their very being. As if Lockcraft didn't need another reason why the Imperium should clean up their battlefields. The other golems were no less impressive. Constructs of purple and silver crystal, each larger than an ogyrn and capable of withstanding plasma and lasfire.
Unlike the golems from the Golden Horn, these were military. Their weapons were integrated las and electro-pulse based. The type of thing Skitarii might have once used. Venusian technology was almost like the Eldar, yet still lightyears behind even what an Exodite might have had access to.
Regardless, this proved the expedition was heading in the right direction. Briefly licking their wounds, Lockcraft ordered them to continue onward. As they moved further along the Jasmine Coast, they spotted more signs of what Venus might have been like in its prime.
This world had once been lush and vibrant; Lockcraft knew that much now. The landscape was dotted with the grand ruins of a civilization that was perhaps one of splendor. Yet all he could see now was the remnants of countless ships lay strewn about like discarded toys, while empty towns and shattered golems spoke to a time of prosperity and innovation long since vanished. It was as if the memory of a lost paradise hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of what had been and was now lost. Perhaps in the distant past, before the Age of Strife had descended upon Venus, the planet's people had known a time of peace and plenty, but now only the broken and shattered remains stood to tell their story.
But Lockcraft couldn't ignore that the planet's downfall had been its own doing. The Venusians launched a brutal attack on Mercury and Terra a thousand years ago, leaving millions dead and billions enslaved. The Venusians had sold their fellow humans to aliens and traded in forbidden technologies with pirates and madmen. It was a legacy that undoubtedly echoed among the forgotten battlefields on Terra. No one earns the title of "War Witches" without getting their hands bloodied.
Not that it mattered. In their efforts to reclaim their perfect world, they sealed their fate when they refused to surrender to the Emperor and his armies. The Iron Warriors had been through; that much was certain. And the goddess Venus likely did not answer their prayers. Enough of the Venusians survived to not cause a Death Scream effect on whatever godseed lay in Sol.
One more tragedy to pile on top of the thousand others. Yet Corvus sought to bring back their goddess. A cosmic joke, but played on who? Lockcraft tried not to overthink if humanity was the one on receiving end.
As the expedition periodically stopped to rest and get their bearings, Lockcraft found himself coming to appreciate the strange beauty of this place. Venus at night was cold and muggy, but he saw lights dancing in the sky and the occasional starship in orbit. Among all these ruins and tombs, he saw instances of life in the form of rodents, birds, and what he thought were isopods.
Not the most extraordinary menagerie of beasts, but it was something. Not all things that walked upon this surface were dead or artificial. And these brief glimpses of life hinted that their destination wouldn't be another graveyard or ruin.
Five days after the battle, the expedition saw what appeared to be fields of grass and moss growing among and across golems who likely stood as tall as a hive spire now buried beneath the very earth. Their heads and hands peeked out of the ground, glowing purple and silver in the sunlight.
Pillars of pure Venerianite were arranged to remind Lockcraft of a forest. This was the Witch's Forest. Now where would the expedition find the illusive Sultanas? Another basecamp was constructed at the base of the largest golem. If the psykers were watching them, they would ultimately attempt something soon.
Lockcraft was hoping for peaceful contact. Then again, he doubted these people wanted to talk to any Imperials. Regardless, the expedition waited. The Lycans reported feeling like someone was watching their camp, which didn't surprise Lockcraft.
It took a little while for someone to approach them. What came was highly unexpected.
On the second night of their stay, the sentries spotted what they initially thought to be a child. Upon closer look, they saw that it was, in fact, a golem. It stood twenty yards from the defensive line of the camp and simply stared at the Imperials with purple eyes. Attempts to communicate with it at a distance failed. It neither moved nor said anything.
Deciding that if this was an ambush by the Venusians, they were doing a pisspoor job at hiding their intentions. Lockcrafted opted to confront this golem directly. He took five Lycans with him and approached it.
This seemed to be the correct response, as the tiny golem chirped, turned around, and slowly waddled in the direction of one of the more enormous kin. His guard questioned if it was wise to follow this thing, but some instinct in Lockcraft's mind told him to follow. He ordered additional guards and some scholars, leaving orders to only stage a rescue if he activated his emergency transceiver.
Following the small golem took time, mainly because their guide was slow. It took the better half an hour before the team arrived at the "chest" of one of the fallen Titan-Golems. To their surprise, the tiny guide proceeds to phase through the material. Although Lockcraft thought it was more like the damn thing was reabsorbed.
A few seconds later, an opening appeared, showing a hallway leading down. Taking the hint, the Ravenloft team begins their descent. Scans show that everything around them was a combination of Verdigris and Venerianite but empowered by some unknown energy. Considering the number of otherworldly instances of energy and matter readings Ravenloft had on record, that was saying something.
It took only a few more minutes of walking when they came upon an exit. Stepping out, the Imperials soon found what appeared to be the actual Witch's Forest. Granted, it was like an underground cave network of shining crystal trees.
"Well, I'll be." One of the scholars remarked, scanning a crystal tree, "I believe we've discovered the origin of Venerianite. These things have the same organic compounds within the alloy and golems." This explained a few things, such as how the Imperium failed to find the damn things or how the Venusians could produce the materials for Verdigris. Growing psy-reactive materials. Now why did the Imperium not want this for itself? Lockcraft could imagine the Thousand Sons wanting this.
"Director," One of the Lycans spoke up, "Contacts hiding among the shadows of the trees, six of them. No weapons, but I can smell something off about them. Their humans, though." Finally, a chance to contact the Venusians!
Lockcraft nodded, "Then we best introduce ourselves in the best way possible. Just as we planned. I will signal you if there is any trouble. Otherwise, keep watch." His Lycans nodded before the director slowly and carefully moved towards an open spot within the forest.
Standing alone now, Lockcraft cleared his throat before speaking loudly, "My expedition comes in peace! We have come to talk with the Sultanas!" Carefully reaching his vest pocket, he pulled out what looked to be a talisman.
The recent incursion to Pagoda had proven incredibly useful for this particular expedition, as Lockcraft now held up an amulet with the visage of the Sea-Shell. "I call upon the Old Sea traditions and invoke a guest's right under the Goddess's hearth and song."
Either this worked, or Lockcraft was about to die looking like a complete fool.
A female voice called out from the shadows, "You cannot invoke the guest's right! Enemies and scavengers of the Viridian Lands are not welcomed!" Lockcraft saw the crystal trees start to glow and a growing rumble as he could see what appeared to be golems taking shape.
But Lockcraft had an answer for that, "Enemies are allowed to invoke if they come under a flag of an emissary or general!"
The voices clamored more, "You are not one of the Golden Sentients! You do not bear the Light of the Terran Lord!"
"I am an emissary of his son!" Lockcraft countered, "By which his blood ties him to the Terran Lord, and thus I am speaking for him." Just a casual bit of treason and fraud. However, he knew this was enough as long as these sentries allowed him to live.
After another moment, the glowing and rumbling stopped. A minute later, a Venusian appeared from the crystal trees. In her hands was a scepter or staff of Verdigris. She looked unnaturally pale but also beautiful. Probably would've looked quite nice if she wasn't scowling at him.
"You wish to speak to the Sultana?" The Venusian looked at him suspiciously, "If you are an assassin, you are quite bad at this."
Lockcraft held out the amulet for her, "Hardly. As I said, I invoke guests right under a flag of truce and as an emissary for the Lord of Ravens, Corvus Corax."
"So you say," The Venusian examines the amulet, "Where did you get this…?"
"From a priest of Venus on a world far from Sol. Lord Corax saved him, his followers, and billions of others from death. The Lord Primarch seeks to understand the goddess Venus among the many other old deities."
Pocketing the amulet, the Venusian shakes her head at Lockcraft, "While I am skeptical of your words, you have come here in vain. The Goddess is dead, even if the Sultanas say otherwise. Nothing left of her lands and her people will soon fade away."
So, they weren't totally unaware of the situation, but the average Venusian didn't know or care. Apathy had likely set in long ago. Lockcraft almost wondered if, by delivering this news, he would inspire either fear or dread in the Venusians. Some people just didn't want hope.
Well, it wasn't their choice now. Venus would return to the galaxy: one way or another.
"So you say," Lockcraft remarked grimly, "But I bring a message for her and the other Sultanas. A time of great upheaval and change is upon you all. Fates willing, it shall be for the best."
---
Alright, I am going just to end this one here. @Daemon Hunter
Getting in Deep…
Only a few knew this, but Ratlings made for excellent miners. Not in the sense of doing any actual manual labor. Oh no, that was better suited for the tall folk. Instead, their affinity was towards surveying and acquiring, especially in mines or caves that had hazardous environments.
There was money to be made then. The third most important thing in life to a Ratling, at least next to some good food and a good fuck. Money allowed those first two to be achieved without resorting to unscrupulous means. Not that having cash would've stopped any honest Ratling from doing just that.
Still, having money meant not getting conscripted. This was doubly important for abhumans within the Imperium of Man. One could get away with bribing an official or recruiter with food, but cash always made them look the other way. Additionally, having wealth gave the Ratlings a chance to have the opportunity to be more than a sniper, thief, or cook.
In this era of new beginnings and glory, such an opportunity was just around the corner for those that grabbed it with their hands. Such was the thinking of Mokako Amajina, a ratling from the world of Vespar. His story was no different from the millions of others of his kind. He had grown up in poverty and survived by stealing and shooting. Mokako's only positive quality was his eye for quality and detail, which allowed him to loot only the best from his targets.
At 17, he was arrested by Planetary Enforcers with possession of a deadly weapon and was sentenced to ten years of hard labor. Mokako's fate was sealed. He would be sent to the Vespar Mines. Ratlings didn't do well in such environments. Primarily as the mines were known for their unsafe work conditions.
Yet the fates had been merciful and even generous. Mokako only spent a day during hard labor before his talents for appraising good quality minerals landed him in the good graces of his group foreman, who instead assigned Mokako to the more dangerous exploring and surveying new tunnel networks. Ratlings technically had been doing this for years, but Mokako handled this differently.
It took two years and a few close calls, but he developed a system for exploring the caves of Vespar and used that knowledge to train other ratlings to survive and succeed at whatever tasks the foremen gave them. Even when their jobs became increasingly deadly, Mokako adapted accordingly.
More importantly, Mokako enriched the local lord by finding the best possible veins and dugouts. So much so that this lord commuted his sentence in exchange for this abhuman joining his mining guild full-time. Mokako took the offer, and within two years, he was a free ratling.
His only request was that the other ratling prisoners that helped him be free. Again, no one cared about abhumans being released, so it was an easy sell to the local government after a few bribes. Mokako was now "free" and even somewhat rich. The local lord put him to work.
Twenty years later, Mokako Amajina gained his freedom once more. He went from aiding the local lords to becoming part of the mining conglomerate of Vespar. An outrageous development for the world as he was the first abhuman to become part of the board of directors. In only five years, Mokako increased mining productivity by almost two-fold.
Mokako had more than earned his freedom. So when it came time to leave Vespar, Mokako sold all his holdings and equipment to his allies and bought himself and his kin a mining ship, and left the misbegotten world forever. He then created Amajina Mining Incorporated, a mobile mining, surveying, and exploration company.
That was thirty years ago. Mokako's company grew into a small fleet of highly sought-after miners and surveyors with a history of successful contracts. His family flourished. Sixteen sons and twelve daughters with four wives.
Unfortunately, due to previous medical complications, Mokako Amajina died at the age of 71 years. He died with a belly full of wine, good food, and laughing at how his children constantly bickered over who would get his fortune. Dying at this point seemed almost preferable. Less of a headache to deal with.
But not before Mokako made one final arrangement. A year before his passing, a representative from a prospective client, one Miss Taturu, purchased the services of Amajina Mining Incorporated for an "extended contract, open for renewal" and paid not in cash or ships…but in favors.
Namely, a favor from a Primarch. Albeit not in any public fashion. He was even offered a position on the Shrike Commission, but Mokako turned it down as he sensed his end was near. He had enough of politics and intrigue anyway. Nevertheless, he agreed to Miss Taturu's terms and signed the contract. It would keep his children focused and not at each other's throats.
Barely two months after his death, the Shrike Commission already had the job for the Amajina family. It was easy enough on paper. They aimed to extract a precious mineral substance from a world called Orus deep inside an intricate cave network. It had to be done quietly, though. No questions asked, either.
You see, while the Amajinas ran a reputable business and trade, they were, on some levels, what Old Earth would call "Wildcat Miners." The type of professional who engaged in certainly less than reputable ventures. Nevertheless, Amajina Mining Incorporated could keep a secret and be subtle. Perfect for what the Shrike Commission had in mind.
Getting a team on Orus without anyone noticing was easy, even with the literal armies of Astartes and half a dozen Primarchs on the planet. No one cared about one freighter out of a fleet of ten thousand vessels in orbit. Even then, the Amajina team had to pay only a few bribes. Mokako had taught his kin that most people overlook abhumans in general, much less any working odd jobs. Greasing a few palms just made a lot of problems go away.
The Shrike Commission was making this whole thing a cakewalk, though. They had the initial section of the caves mapped and even gave the Amajina team plenty of supplies and materials, along with a coverup story to keep the locals off their backs. Only when the team discovered military-grade explosives and instructions to seal off the caves in case anything went wrong did they start thinking that maybe something was a little off about this job?
Greed won out. Besides, the Amajinas had taken worse contractors and beaten the odds before; they could do the same here. All they had to do was think of the money and the favors owed to them. So they got to work and started their deep dive.
They aimed to reach a specific location, retrieve the material, and then leave. Their destination was supposedly about 10 kilometers below the surface and past sea level at one point. How the Commission got this information wasn't the sort of question the Amajinas were paid to ask.
Work started. Expectations for completion were around four weeks. Just another job for Amajina Mining Incorporated and the first without Mokako. They all had something to prove to themselves and to honor their former patriarch. After all, someone would need to control the company as the new leader.
During the first two weeks, things went smoothly. Progress was slow but steady. Few people realized that safely moving through even just a kilometer of a cave was incredibly dangerous and required meticulous planning and preparation for the next kilo. The challenges the Amajinas faced were nothing new or unexpected. A sprained ankles and bumps on the head, maybe a cut or two.
Everyone returned topside to rest and recuperate. No one was going to risk trying to camp down below. While no one expected a cave-in, a sudden earthquake or rockslide could trap or kill anyone of them.
By their fifth kilometer, the Amajinas were making progress. Their scanners found all sorts of mineral wealth and geological data that they could easily sell to one of the local governments to help pay for a nice victory feast after this contract. Everything was coming up well from their point of view.
At the beginning of the third week, something changed in the caves. A wind could be heard blowing in the caves. This was at kilometer six. Initially, the Amajinas attributed this to an underground river or stream, maybe an aquifer. That was until they heard wind chimes.
When they tried to locate the origins, they found strange formations of moss and algae. A biological growth, if anything. How these things survived wasn't a mystery but a flat impossibility. There was no water, sunlight, or even enough air! Even weirder was when they seemed to vibrate whenever torchlight was shown on them.
That's when the bio-growth started singing. A strange, undefined, harmoniously calming melody swam through the caves. Low enough that it sounded like someone singing softly to themselves, yet it originated from no human lips. Sometimes it was a hum; other times, a whistle. In any case, the ratlings were sufficiently disturbed. Amajina Mining Incorporated had seen and recorded a lot of strange phenomena in their time, but this was something else.
Unfortunately, removing the singing moss was impossible. Not only did they not want to waste any more time, but they couldn't use flamers or anything inside a cave system, as that was just suicidal because of the carbon monoxide poisoning. The decision was made to just "ignore" the moss. It didn't seem to present any threat. If nothing else, it provided an almost "calming" effect on the Amajinas whenever they worked close by the singing moss.
All of this was to say that this abnormality wasn't an isolated incident but rather the start of them. Five days after first encountering the singing moss, the Amajinas started finding rock formations that equally defied any natural reasoning, like the singing moss.
First, the formation was clearly defined shapes; cubes, spheres, and triangles. Then animals and planets, before finally, what looked like poorly constructed humanoids. Once again, the Amajinas thought about leaving this place, believing it cursed, but greed won out once more, and nothing terrible had befallen them.
If anything, they were making incredible progress as the caves became exceedingly simple to navigate. Although, that in itself would soon change. Regardless, the Amajinas were at the seventh kilometer. Their augury scanners were also starting to pick up a strange energy reading, unlike anything detected within the caves prior.
Yet at the start of the fourth week, things took a drastic turn for the bizarre. The Amajinas had gone so deep now that they started noticing that the cave tunnels and caverns were becoming "distorted." That is to say, geometry and physics started turning on its head. The angles and distances became messed up. Parallel lines stopped being parallel, and passages that look like they're going one way, but then they curve back around and lead the Amajinas in circles.
Soon the caves began playing tricks on them. Light and moisture came and went. Rain and fog suddenly appeared and disappeared. Shadows started playing tricks on them, and after a few more days, the Amajinas felt like they were being watched.
Yet even with these strange occurrences, their greed still won out, and they continued searching and moving. The Amajinas took additional steps to ensure they couldn't become lost and even started using servo-skulls and trackers to map out this increasingly twisting labyrinth. Staying down below longer than seven or eight hours also made them loopy and start seeing things that weren't there.
By the start of the sixth week and upon entering the ninth kilometer, things took a turn for the unbelievable. The Amajinas found a cavern that defied space and reality, as it was massive and expansive, to the point that a Titan could've been housed inside it. Above, a raging thunderstorm threw water and wind up on the ratlings as if trying to stop them.
Still, the diminutive explorers pressed onward. Their scanners detected the same signature as before, which had gone from faint to all but shining upon their readouts. Whatever the hell they were searching for, it had to be this. It took them another day to figure out that the storm had intermittent periods of calm that could exploit to reach what they believed to be the other side.
Luck and skill won out, and the Amajinas reached the exit of the titan-storm cavern to encounter one final challenge. They came upon a dark and dank canyon similar to Orus's topside environment, but this place felt like walking on top of a petrified corpse.
As the Amajinas descended deeper into this unsettling realm, the walls began to warp and twist around them as if made of some sort of malleable material. It was disorienting and surreal, almost like they were walking through a mirror maze.
It was increasingly difficult for the ratlings to keep their bearings, but it was getting harder and harder as the walls seemed to move in unison, almost like they were some trees or flowers swaying in the wind. Then, as if things couldn't get any stranger, gravity began to behave erratically too. At times, they felt almost weightless, as if the very laws of physics were breaking down in this place.
The Amajinas looked up at the canyon walls, which now seemed to be pulling away from them as if trying to escape. It was dizzying and disorienting, and they struggled to keep their footing as they stumbled forward.
Despite the overwhelming strangeness of their surroundings, they pressed on. No matter what they saw or felt, nothing attacked or lept from the shadows. Just as the Amajinas thought, this was a realm of something that had died a long time ago. Their scanners were still giving bad readings but were positive that the end was in sight.
Lo and behold, they reached the end. Ten and a half kilometers down, or wherever the hell time and space were in this place, the Amajinas reached their destination. In the center of an impressively ornate room of bone and petrified roots was the body of a creature long since dead.
A vaguely humanoid shape, easily the size of a Warhound Titan, seemingly turned to glittering stone and obsidian as it sat in its final resting place. The aura of death it radiated was overpowering, but rather than dread, it gave off a feeling of peace. This construct or creature died accomplishing its mission.
Not that the Amajinas cared about that. What did matter were the stones embedded in its body. A few had a faint glow, and most were devoid of light. Save for one that stood out. It glowed an eerily green light. In another time and place, one might have called it the light of fireflies or the spirit of autumn encapsulated in this crystal.
This had to be their target. So the Amajinas got to work extracting. Perhaps one might have called this grave robbing or disturbing the final resting place of this creature, but the ratlings had a job to do, and the dead had no need for such things. Mokako had told his children and kin that nothing in this galaxy belonged to the dead, or if nothing else, those that made no attempts to stop the living from doing so.
When no vengeance from beyond the grave rose against the Amajinas as they extracted what would later be known as the Luxstone, the ratlings figured that they were in the clear. Whatever this thing had once been in life, it was now just another decoration in this strange place, forgotten by time.
It took another day to extract their precious material safely and another to plant the explosives around the core entrances of the cavern. For all their greed, the Amajinas had enough honor to ensure no one else came upon this place. They would seal this tomb once and for all.
Barely a few hours after sealing off the entrances, a Thunderhawk gunship appeared around their campsite. To the Amajina's shock, a group of space marines and humans arrived to retrieve the Luxstone and all data that the ratlings accrued during their operation. After that, the Amajinas were debriefed on what they saw below and given clear instructions to keep their mouths shut.
After that, the ratlings got their payment and were told that the Commission would contact them again for future endeavors, seemingly impressed with their success here. Just like that, the job was over. A deep dive into the unknown. None of the surveyors or miners wanted to talk about everything they saw.
Just as Mokako told them all, time and time again, the best policy was to just keep your mouth shut sometimes.
An Explosive Discovery…
Today, Solarus was going to finish another masterpiece. After nearly seven months, the Warden had completed the development of the ODW-19. Not the fanciest name, but it'll do. It was the 19th design that he and the Raven Guard tech-marines had worked on, and Solarus was feeling confident about this version.
Explosives were tricky business. Any idiot can make them, but it took a genius to make one into something extraordinary. Solarus spent months perfecting the triggering mechanism alone for the ODW series. That wasn't saying much, though. He could make an atomic with a tiny bit of fissionable material and scrap if he felt uninspired.
Come to think of it, Solarus sometimes wondered if he was channeling the Orks. Of course, not even he understood how their ramshackle technology worked. Besides, while their explosives were entertaining, they lacked refinement and innovation.
That separated Solarus from all the madmen, artists, and scientists in this field. He fits somewhere perfectly between all three. His explosives served a purpose but also had a unique identity in their design and application. If Solarus was completely honest, he enjoyed the looks of confusion or shock from his brothers and cousins whenever they tried to grasp where the insanity began or ended in his work.
Solarus still hadn't met anyone that could see the "magic" in his work. He once remembered hearing a similar issue from Fabius Bile of the Emperor's Children. The name of one master or another becomes lost to history, with only their work as the only proof they ever existed.
However, that was the difference between Solarus and all those masters. He didn't care if people forgot his name or deeds. If anything, the Mad Bomber would rather worry more about producing the next big boom than worry if his legacy could be etched into the stars.
Besides, who says such things were mutually exclusive? When the Lord of Ravens specifically asked for his aid in developing a new prototype bomb, Solarus was on the first shuttle to join his cousins. Not only would he be allowed to work in a different environment and with resources unavailable to the Wardens, but Solarus could also take the finished design back to his legion.
And more importantly, Primarch Corax had given him a considerable conundrum: Create a bomb that could be stealth deployed from orbit towards a planetary surface—a novel concept, if not an absurd one. But Solarus liked these types of challenges.
So he got to work.
The first 12 designs failed for various reasons. Too many to list for Solarus to care about. Some simply didn't work, didn't perform well enough, or didn't have enough "boom" for the Mad Bomber to call it a good start. Unlike missiles and fragmentation devices, bombs required a delicate approach to their layout.
Iterations 13, 14, and 15 were when Solarus and the other tech-marines encountered real problems with this device. Mainly the precision needed for some components required precise customization and development. He was literally rebuilding from the ground up. So, Solarus and his team agreed to restart from scratch.
ODW-16 was, to put it bluntly, a good idea with disastrous results. Thankfully no one got hurt, and the Astartes had been testing on asteroids. When ODW-16 released far more energy than initially testing predicted, the destruction of Sigma-0991's ninth planetoid unintentionally reminded them of the raw power they were handling here.
Naturally, Solarus made the decision to make ODW-17 even stronger. He was successful, and the completion of its design led to a startling discovery on the nature of orbital munitions deployment, specifically regarding the issue regarding electromagnetic interference with targeting systems. That in itself wasn't the discovery.
Instead, it was the idea that popped into his head regarding it. Primarch Corax wanted to create a stealth bomb? Well, why not employ similar principles of a blind grenade into the bomb? Not exactly an easy thing, but Solarus found the concept amusing.
ODW-18 took another four months to design and fabricate. Piggybacking off the successes and failures of its predecessor, Solarus determined that applied technologies could replicate the effect of chaff upon entry into the deployment zone and before triggering. Uninspired but effective.
Still, the idea had merit. ODW-18-A through E turned into a series of other experimental designs and configurations focused on using counter-measure technologies to create the necessary spread and saturation to work on a strategic level. Results were considerably underwhelming, at least to Solarus.
When he considered weaving in the principles of vortex weaponry, Solarus made a small attempt before becoming distracted after seeing a report about a phosphex core for a bomb. Which gave him the inspiration for ODW-19…
ODW-19 took another two months, but Solarus worked like a man possessed (he made sure he wasn't after making that claim to himself) and finalized the design before unveiling his finest creation.
He gave it a name as well, the Ashfire Bomb. An unholy marriage of weapons theory, specifically built to cause a firestorm that intentionally released chaff particles into the air and carried by the explosion's smoke, dust, and ash. Deployed from orbit and once triggered, the destructive output eliminates most surface targets and then saturates the area with flame and metalized glass particles caused by the firestorm, causing communication, visibility, and electronic interference.
By all accounts, ODW-19 was what the Lord Primarch had been looking for. Corvus Corax thanked Solarus for his aid in developing the Ashfire Bomb and told Solarus that he was free to return to his kin with the completed design. The Mad Bomber was eager to return with his new toy, so he left soon after that.
It never occurred to Solarus that there might have been another route that could've been taken with the Ashfire. He was on the cusp of discovering something unbelievable if ODW-19 had been made using vortex munitions. Corvus saw it, though, but decided to keep the information within the Raven Guard.
ODW-20 would continue where Solarus left off—culminating in creating the Shroud Device…which would soon use over Venus.
Upon Fields of Giants…
Something about Venus felt odd to Lockcraft. Even upon landing at the Topkapi Orbital, which was hundreds of kilometers up in the air, the aura of this world felt odd. A part of him wondered that after everything he had seen and heard, Lockcraft's senses became acutely aware of the strange and old in the galaxy.
Considering the reason Lockcraft had come to Venus, perhaps that was the point. Ravenloft had only recently arrived in Sol under cover of a Chartist contract to salvage archeotech. No one would ever know this captain, and the contract didn't exist; instead, it was a proxy created by the Shrike Commission.
Everything had been going according to plan, but Lockcraft knew better. Mortals were always victims of one thing or another. Fate or luck playing them for fools. However, he still felt strange. That said, he tried not to focus on it.
Fools would call this feeling predetermination, in other words, "destiny," but he refused to believe such farcical things, even knowing greater truths. If man was to survive and adapt to such chaotic times, he must first think there was even the slight possibility that he still had free will.
The irony, of course, was that he was here to convince a group of exiles and outcasts that it was the will of their goddess to come and aid the Primarch and Ravenloft. It made him uncomfortable, one of the few things Lockcraft mused. Desperation and hope mixed with faith and zealotry made for a potent, if not terrible, force in the galaxy.
Especially if it was for a group known only as War Witches. The locals only spoke of them in whispers, sometimes refusing to acknowledge they still existed. The Iron Warriors destroyed them during the Unification Wars, or so most wanted to believe. But those few elders speaking to Lockcraft admitted that not all the psykers had died.
"They congregate among the graveyards of their golems. Turning the bones of their ancient creations into bunkers and vaults, soon to be their tombs. Seek them out among The Witch's Forest if you so dare. Be warned, though. Ancient horrors still lurk among the ruins and corpses of the last war. There is no silence among the Sultanas."
Arranging the resources and supplies for the ground-side expedition was easy enough. Lockcraft had enough money to get what he needed and ensure no one asked any questions. Even then, he used third parties and proxies to get everything arranged. Ravenloft sent only 500 men and women for this, half of which had only rudimentary military training. The other half were highly trained and modified soldiers of Ravenloft.
The Lycans. Project Werewolf was already producing results after the recent changes towards using more non-Astartes forces as part of the militant arm of Ravenloft. The Chairman was right in making this change. So far, the Lycans had already proven effective in training simulations but hadn't been tested in actual combat.
No matter. They had more than enough firepower to deal with anything along the way. Lockcraft was more concerned with encountering the psykers and convincing them to follow this plan.
Arriving upon the surface was easy enough. The trade and port city of Bosphorion allowed for easy cover as the expedition made its way out of it.
Legends spoke of Venus being a lush world once. As Lockcraft gazed upon the dry and cracked plains of the Kawelu Planitia, he somehow doubted such tales had ever been a kernel of truth. The surface of this world reminded him too much of home. It was hot, humid, and foggy. He missed being up in the orbital hives.
What unsettled him, though, was when they started seeing the strange stones littered across the planitia. Unnaturally grey and looking entirely out of place. One of the locals Ravenloft hired as a guide called them Verdigris Alloy.
"Worthless alloy, or at least something that can't be reproduced anymore. Made up of obsidian, volcanic glass, and something called Venerianite. All the golem husks you'll see were made using Verdigris."
The Imperium rarely cleaned up a battlefield. That was best left to the local government or the Mechanicum if they felt generous. Wars left behind garbage, ruin, junk…and munitions. You could find a report for any world brought into compliance a century ago and still hear of people dying to an unexploded shell or mine.
Lockcraft doubted the Iron Warriors cleaned up after they defeated the Venusians. None of the loyalists up in the orbitals would do it, either. Such waste was commonplace in the Imperium, and no one but those that suffered in it cared.
The first leg of their journey was approaching what Lockcraft thought to be a series of jagged hills. "Vekra's Folly." One of the first sites of a battle between the psykers and the Astartes, and it showed. Because these weren't hills.
They were the remains of golems. Hundreds of them. Each was as tall as a Warhound Titan. Their twisted, crystalized remains had been shattered by all weapons during the Unification Wars.
As the expedition approached, swerving and moving through what clear paths they could find to reach the other side of Vekra's Folly, Lockcraft felt a hum of energy in the air, making his teeth rattle, and ears ring. His guide claimed that whatever warp energies powered the damn things lingered even after two centuries.
It took them almost six hours to get through this graveyard. Once reaching the other side, Lockcraft and the rest of the expedition saw flatlands ahead of them. From the onset, their journey seemed lengthy, but otherwise painless and obstacle free.
After a day and night of travel, stopping only to rest occasionally, the expedition was now on the path of conquest, that being the route the Iron Warriors took to break the cities of Hagia Sophia and Galata Reach. What were once gleaming cities of Verdigris and Venerianite were now just crushed and burnt ruins slowly being reclaimed by nature.
The more scholarly and academic-minded elements of the expedition found enough information to identify that these cities once belonged to the "Venüs Sultanlığı," which was likely the name of the Venusian government. It spoke volumes that even with his connections, Lockcraft hadn't even known the name of the nation whose ruins he was now sifting through and whose survivors he meant to contact.
Information was scarce. Not just about Venus, but most of Sol. The Imperium of Man routinely destroyed or redacted information about the Unification Wars that weren't publicly recorded or simply propaganda from the Remembrancer Order. History was, or had, been rewritten so many times now.
Lockcraft had learned this truth long before he became the director of Ravenloft, before even meeting the Primarch or joining the Remembrancer Order. The truth was subjective. Nothing was real, and everything was a lie. But people accepted lies every day. Who anywhere else in Sol cared about what happened on Venus after compliance?
Even those living right above these ruins didn't care. Maybe Ravenloft were the only ones who did now, and even then, it was just to serve their own ends. Nothing more than animals sifting through the bones of another, trying to find food or warmth.
Whenever the expedition left these cities, Lockcraft spared not a single glance back at any of them. Just burning memories and whispered echoes. Besides, he needed to find a living descendent of the Sultanlığı. Which was proving to be a lot more complicated.
It took the expedition another week to reach the outer edge of the Ishtari Salt Plains, which was full of dead golems and what Lockcraft thought were ships. They came across another ruined city, which appeared to be a harbor of all things. The Golden Horn. A map was found in what was a government building. Venus once had oceans, it seemed.
Now there were only the endless plains and stone corpses. Although the latter wasn't accurate, the expedition was attacked in the Golden Horn. But not by any living creature but by hundreds of Sentinel-sized golems that looked to have rusted and rotted for the better of two centuries.
Lycan soldiers took care of them quickly enough. "They had no weapons. Only tools. Nothing more than what you'd see on a mono-task servitor." Nevertheless, the damn things ate bullets and las like they were nothing. It took plasma and melta to take them down, thankfully with only one or two hits.
Why the golems attacked them was strange, but Lockcraft suspected it was just an automated response more than anything. He wondered how many of these things had tried and failed to take down Astartes? Granted, facing any combat version wasn't sitting well with him either.
Their local guides were also starting to panic but confirmed that they were heading in the supposed right direction to Forest. Lockcraft was beginning to doubt they'd find an actual forest now. Then again, perhaps he would be proven wrong.
However, the first evidence of worshipping the Goddess Venus here in the Golden Horn was startling. A temple was located and identified but also severely damaged. It took the expedition two days to fully decipher the remains and confirm that Venus was known as Venus Hurrem, "Most Beloved."
So, the worship was clearly a positive one. Still, it was only a slight clue to a more extensive series of questions. These people were not Deorums. If anything, they seemed more akin to a sect of Buddislamics, at least from a cultural standpoint. Cross-culture contamination, perhaps?
A series of questions for later. The expedition needed to continue. The Forest was at least another week or so away. Fates blessed them; they weren't required to cross the salt plains. Instead, the expedition must drive across the "hills" towards the Jasmine Coast.
Once again, these hills were dilapidated and destroyed golems. Although Lockcraft and a few others would swear, they saw movement among the junked remains. They had a secondary encounter on the third day of their travels.
While attempting to move through one of the graveyards, they came across a path blocked by what looked to be a loose "hand" of stone and crystal by one of the giants. Moving the offending appendage would require time and precise application of melta weapons. It only occurred to the expedition that they had fallen into a trap after what happened next.
Lockcraft had spent enough time among the Astartes to recognize their signature power armor, so he was pretty confused when he saw a trio of them hobbling toward their base camp and quickly ordered the Lycans to open fire on them.
This started a chain reaction as other rusted and old golems soon appeared from among the bodies of their fallen brethren, engaging the Imperials in a firefight. The first real battle Lockcraft had ever been in, and thankfully it was one he would walk away from. Sadly the same couldn't have been said about the 19 others that perished.
Casualties had been expected. The bodies were carefully placed in bodybags and inside one of their vehicles. At the very least, they wouldn't be buried here on Venus if Lockcraft had anything to say about it.
The three "Astartes" that attacked them were golems wearing recovered power armor; the damn things somehow incorporated the technology into their very being. As if Lockcraft didn't need another reason why the Imperium should clean up their battlefields. The other golems were no less impressive. Constructs of purple and silver crystal, each larger than an ogyrn and capable of withstanding plasma and lasfire.
Unlike the golems from the Golden Horn, these were military. Their weapons were integrated las and electro-pulse based. The type of thing Skitarii might have once used. Venusian technology was almost like the Eldar, yet still lightyears behind even what an Exodite might have had access to.
Regardless, this proved the expedition was heading in the right direction. Briefly licking their wounds, Lockcraft ordered them to continue onward. As they moved further along the Jasmine Coast, they spotted more signs of what Venus might have been like in its prime.
This world had once been lush and vibrant; Lockcraft knew that much now. The landscape was dotted with the grand ruins of a civilization that was perhaps one of splendor. Yet all he could see now was the remnants of countless ships lay strewn about like discarded toys, while empty towns and shattered golems spoke to a time of prosperity and innovation long since vanished. It was as if the memory of a lost paradise hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of what had been and was now lost. Perhaps in the distant past, before the Age of Strife had descended upon Venus, the planet's people had known a time of peace and plenty, but now only the broken and shattered remains stood to tell their story.
But Lockcraft couldn't ignore that the planet's downfall had been its own doing. The Venusians launched a brutal attack on Mercury and Terra a thousand years ago, leaving millions dead and billions enslaved. The Venusians had sold their fellow humans to aliens and traded in forbidden technologies with pirates and madmen. It was a legacy that undoubtedly echoed among the forgotten battlefields on Terra. No one earns the title of "War Witches" without getting their hands bloodied.
Not that it mattered. In their efforts to reclaim their perfect world, they sealed their fate when they refused to surrender to the Emperor and his armies. The Iron Warriors had been through; that much was certain. And the goddess Venus likely did not answer their prayers. Enough of the Venusians survived to not cause a Death Scream effect on whatever godseed lay in Sol.
One more tragedy to pile on top of the thousand others. Yet Corvus sought to bring back their goddess. A cosmic joke, but played on who? Lockcraft tried not to overthink if humanity was the one on receiving end.
As the expedition periodically stopped to rest and get their bearings, Lockcraft found himself coming to appreciate the strange beauty of this place. Venus at night was cold and muggy, but he saw lights dancing in the sky and the occasional starship in orbit. Among all these ruins and tombs, he saw instances of life in the form of rodents, birds, and what he thought were isopods.
Not the most extraordinary menagerie of beasts, but it was something. Not all things that walked upon this surface were dead or artificial. And these brief glimpses of life hinted that their destination wouldn't be another graveyard or ruin.
Five days after the battle, the expedition saw what appeared to be fields of grass and moss growing among and across golems who likely stood as tall as a hive spire now buried beneath the very earth. Their heads and hands peeked out of the ground, glowing purple and silver in the sunlight.
Pillars of pure Venerianite were arranged to remind Lockcraft of a forest. This was the Witch's Forest. Now where would the expedition find the illusive Sultanas? Another basecamp was constructed at the base of the largest golem. If the psykers were watching them, they would ultimately attempt something soon.
Lockcraft was hoping for peaceful contact. Then again, he doubted these people wanted to talk to any Imperials. Regardless, the expedition waited. The Lycans reported feeling like someone was watching their camp, which didn't surprise Lockcraft.
It took a little while for someone to approach them. What came was highly unexpected.
On the second night of their stay, the sentries spotted what they initially thought to be a child. Upon closer look, they saw that it was, in fact, a golem. It stood twenty yards from the defensive line of the camp and simply stared at the Imperials with purple eyes. Attempts to communicate with it at a distance failed. It neither moved nor said anything.
Deciding that if this was an ambush by the Venusians, they were doing a pisspoor job at hiding their intentions. Lockcrafted opted to confront this golem directly. He took five Lycans with him and approached it.
This seemed to be the correct response, as the tiny golem chirped, turned around, and slowly waddled in the direction of one of the more enormous kin. His guard questioned if it was wise to follow this thing, but some instinct in Lockcraft's mind told him to follow. He ordered additional guards and some scholars, leaving orders to only stage a rescue if he activated his emergency transceiver.
Following the small golem took time, mainly because their guide was slow. It took the better half an hour before the team arrived at the "chest" of one of the fallen Titan-Golems. To their surprise, the tiny guide proceeds to phase through the material. Although Lockcraft thought it was more like the damn thing was reabsorbed.
A few seconds later, an opening appeared, showing a hallway leading down. Taking the hint, the Ravenloft team begins their descent. Scans show that everything around them was a combination of Verdigris and Venerianite but empowered by some unknown energy. Considering the number of otherworldly instances of energy and matter readings Ravenloft had on record, that was saying something.
It took only a few more minutes of walking when they came upon an exit. Stepping out, the Imperials soon found what appeared to be the actual Witch's Forest. Granted, it was like an underground cave network of shining crystal trees.
"Well, I'll be." One of the scholars remarked, scanning a crystal tree, "I believe we've discovered the origin of Venerianite. These things have the same organic compounds within the alloy and golems." This explained a few things, such as how the Imperium failed to find the damn things or how the Venusians could produce the materials for Verdigris. Growing psy-reactive materials. Now why did the Imperium not want this for itself? Lockcraft could imagine the Thousand Sons wanting this.
"Director," One of the Lycans spoke up, "Contacts hiding among the shadows of the trees, six of them. No weapons, but I can smell something off about them. Their humans, though." Finally, a chance to contact the Venusians!
Lockcraft nodded, "Then we best introduce ourselves in the best way possible. Just as we planned. I will signal you if there is any trouble. Otherwise, keep watch." His Lycans nodded before the director slowly and carefully moved towards an open spot within the forest.
Standing alone now, Lockcraft cleared his throat before speaking loudly, "My expedition comes in peace! We have come to talk with the Sultanas!" Carefully reaching his vest pocket, he pulled out what looked to be a talisman.
The recent incursion to Pagoda had proven incredibly useful for this particular expedition, as Lockcraft now held up an amulet with the visage of the Sea-Shell. "I call upon the Old Sea traditions and invoke a guest's right under the Goddess's hearth and song."
Either this worked, or Lockcraft was about to die looking like a complete fool.
A female voice called out from the shadows, "You cannot invoke the guest's right! Enemies and scavengers of the Viridian Lands are not welcomed!" Lockcraft saw the crystal trees start to glow and a growing rumble as he could see what appeared to be golems taking shape.
But Lockcraft had an answer for that, "Enemies are allowed to invoke if they come under a flag of an emissary or general!"
The voices clamored more, "You are not one of the Golden Sentients! You do not bear the Light of the Terran Lord!"
"I am an emissary of his son!" Lockcraft countered, "By which his blood ties him to the Terran Lord, and thus I am speaking for him." Just a casual bit of treason and fraud. However, he knew this was enough as long as these sentries allowed him to live.
After another moment, the glowing and rumbling stopped. A minute later, a Venusian appeared from the crystal trees. In her hands was a scepter or staff of Verdigris. She looked unnaturally pale but also beautiful. Probably would've looked quite nice if she wasn't scowling at him.
"You wish to speak to the Sultana?" The Venusian looked at him suspiciously, "If you are an assassin, you are quite bad at this."
Lockcraft held out the amulet for her, "Hardly. As I said, I invoke guests right under a flag of truce and as an emissary for the Lord of Ravens, Corvus Corax."
"So you say," The Venusian examines the amulet, "Where did you get this…?"
"From a priest of Venus on a world far from Sol. Lord Corax saved him, his followers, and billions of others from death. The Lord Primarch seeks to understand the goddess Venus among the many other old deities."
Pocketing the amulet, the Venusian shakes her head at Lockcraft, "While I am skeptical of your words, you have come here in vain. The Goddess is dead, even if the Sultanas say otherwise. Nothing left of her lands and her people will soon fade away."
So, they weren't totally unaware of the situation, but the average Venusian didn't know or care. Apathy had likely set in long ago. Lockcraft almost wondered if, by delivering this news, he would inspire either fear or dread in the Venusians. Some people just didn't want hope.
Well, it wasn't their choice now. Venus would return to the galaxy: one way or another.
"So you say," Lockcraft remarked grimly, "But I bring a message for her and the other Sultanas. A time of great upheaval and change is upon you all. Fates willing, it shall be for the best."
---
Alright, I am going just to end this one here. @Daemon Hunter
I'd like to point out much of a fucking genius Solarus is from this omek and also how he has flights of fancy.
The man almost came up with a strategic-grade warp chaff bomb. But it didn't have a big boom, so he was like, "Nah, I want the boom."
Corvus, however, picked up the idea and finished it.
The man almost came up with a strategic-grade warp chaff bomb. But it didn't have a big boom, so he was like, "Nah, I want the boom."
Corvus, however, picked up the idea and finished it.
You know I can respect that
The Construction of the Nechronal Engine
- Location
- USA
Here is the first omake regarding Auro building and using the Nechronal Engine which he sent a design for to Kesar and Magnus in the last omake.
The mind of my former teacher is intriguing with my new view of existence, the manifold thoughts interweave as he peers into the world beyond the mundane and bring forth new understanding beyond my perception. His eyes peer through the chaos of the world beyond with an ease that is beyond my nature, once I would have found such an annoyance and a sign of my failure, but now I am content with my understanding of what it truly means.
I am never to be one that would see so clearly through the ripples of the immaterial reflection of reality, yet that is fitting for to me the ripples and twisting paradoxes of the other realm are not to be born but anchored to order and understood. Through the lens of study and logic do I anchor my understanding in a bedrock beyond the reach of the one whom taught me much in the past. Through the secrets of temporal alteration and the lens of time within the endless atemporal ripples of the warp, he gave unto me the secrets that gave me years of added time.
For every second I gained a tenth of a second, compounded over decades has given rise to entire years of gained time to work within. Now I return the favor as all must be done, all debts must in the end be payed and so has this debt come full circle. He gave unto me the secrets I asked and now I pay back that which I borrowed those decades ago to both him and Magnus.
Perhaps another would be surprised by the willingness that Magnus has exhibited towards me and my requests, perhaps they would wonder why the greatest of all the primarchs when it comes to the immaterial would bother with the ramblings of one of the steel legions. In so doing they do all a disservice, for Magnus is many things but a fool he is not and I know myself enough to understand the worth of my work to one such as him.
I gave all I knew to him and he saw value enough in my work to send my old teacher to work with me once more and to support my endeavors with his own resources. A debt incurred that I shall repay in kind, to Magnus I have given all I have discovered and all of my new theories and such shall be the case until either I complete the work of eternity or he declares my debt payed in full. I do not count the tokens of his favor as I do the others, for the favor of one of the silver realm is beyond any value that I can so easily contemplate and so I simply assign a value beyond approach to his support.
Yet, he is the not the only one of the silver I have extended the details of my work to, Kesar the one whose blood and immaterial legacy flows within my veins also carries the record of my work forth. I do not know what he shall do with the details nor the plans and I do not truly care, his actions are beyond my ability to understand and that is as it should be. I turn now once more to the endless array of theories that I have created to elucidate the nature of the device I seek to build and have began to plan forth.
Throth my old teacher was able to ill contain his surprise when he saw my work, which I admit that I found amusing as much as such an emotion can be felt by me. Yet, it was logical and easily predicted for last he knew me, I was a shadow of myself, barely sane more likely than not truly insane clinging only to the illusion of sanity. Now, I have healed the wounds of my mind and travel the depths of the reflection at will, the primal and shattered structures a known state to me these days.
The ever existent mists have since faded from my sight unless I seek them forth and I am glad for that, for it has increased my efficiency across the sum of all actions by one point three two percent. A notable increase and a burden no longer carried, ensuring my skills are ever the better to work on my own projects and to further the work Majestic gives unto me. As with all things, the debt must be payed and so I grow large upon the largess of the group I work within, their seemingly infinite funds supporting my personal work and in turn I provide all that I learn to them and work upon the projects requested.
It is a fair and equal exchange when all is said and done, an odd turn of phrase when one thinks upon it, but one that fits well for this situation. I draw myself free of the musings upon the matters far from hand as I turn towards Throth once more, my focus realigning to the here and now. The temporal eddies falling away from my form as I let go of the temporal echoes that dance within the reflection ever around my astral form, their nature known and called forth ever eager to be chronicled into the blade that rests ever contently at my hip.
The logical matrix realigned and altered over time as the purity of the mathematics that have composed it for all but the first decade of my long life changed with the inclusion of warp principles and sigils. Reformed with my new understanding ever better to protect my soul and control my power, yet to bring ever more flexibility to my existence. For the inflexible are but ever the inferior to that of the flexible. I will never bend with the current, that is beyond me, and I accept that, I am not one to bend and shift with the changing tides of time, I stride forth with my destination in mind and the journey mapped forth without concern for what will stand in my way.
I fought mind against mind with the first captain of the legion of my blood for decades and found victory and defeat in plentitude, yet never did I change my path. Yet, such does not give my cause to ignore the gain of flexibility to the inflexible, even if I shall never reach the flexility of one such as him, that is no excuse to limit my abilities to an unacceptable degree when such is no longer needed.
My mind dances within the shallows of the primal structure as I rise up from the depths to take in material light once more, the words of my old teacher coming to me clearly once more. His questions predicted and answered in verse clear and sound within the papers to his right. I gently shift the gravitational curve of spacetime to bring them to him, before letting go of the power once it is completed. I step around his form to look upon the holographic image of the device that I have spent two years of work to design and find myself content with it.
The design was of a form that had been difficult to build and complete, but the stability that it would provide is without question. The interlocking baseline fractal designs that give rise to the stabilizing factors of the five and six base wards underlaying the fractals of seven and nine, the numbers of those that would be closest to the nature of death and time. Perhaps, others of my legion would be confused as to my use of those sigils and numerology, it is well known that I despise all that originates from Chaos and that has not changed. However, it is also known that such numbers do not call them always, the odds are in my favor to the point I estimate only a value below that of five percent that either would notice my work with their values.
The Aspect Divider is forever running in circles, seeking to backstab itself more than anything else and that nature leads itself well to allowing others to exploit the value that the reflection has assigned unto the notations of the number nine. Throth questioned my use of a sigil from another language, another species for these baseline values, he wondered why I made use of alien notations gleamed from one of the many xenocides that the imperium orchestrated in the past. His confusion was surprising to me, for I would have thought it clear and obvious to any of the Thousand Sons that the sigil of nine has no inherent value to the warp, there is nothing unique about the shape of the sigil that humanity declares to be nine or any other number. Instead the value originates in the concept of the ninth of a group, and from that many options are risen in turn.
He asks about the purpose of the hologram and I turn to him speaking softly and yet absolutely, detailing the percentages and notations that are so needed. The details of why everything is in its place as I have written, why the bulkheads are organized as they are. Light traces across the design as I bend gravity once more, expanding time to gleam fractions of a second to better explain my work. It is pleasing in a way to work with another that is willing to work with me in truth, instead of placing undue expectations upon me. However, I do admit that Throth for all his boons is of limited value for this event, his knowledge veers away from the particulars that are needed, but another set of eyes has increased the efficiency of my work by three point two percent and as such it is acceptable to take the time to explain my work.
To the credit of Magnus and his legion, Throth understood the work and the intention with impressive speed, taking only twenty five days and seven hours to understand the principles behind my work. I had expected and calculated a probable average of seventy eight days and nine hours for such understanding, but it remains true that he is not yet to the level that is needed to directly support my work. I lead him forward towards the hologram that I have built over the course of twenty three hours seven minutes and eight seconds, to carefully explain why everything is as it is.
The design harkens to the olden designs of hourglasses with the point of meeting between the bulbs the point where the infusion will occur. I trace over the design showing how the electrum is shaped into fractal designs to a degree that would be beyond most worlds of the imperium. The metal nearly the width of a human hair and yet that was as it was needed for this purpose, I gently teach my old teacher what the purpose of the system is and how it shall work. I can see the expression on his face change as he begins to understand.
As he understands, the true work can begin. I have already prepared the metal as needed, the electrum produced to the highest quality possible for Majestic and now all that remains is to construct the device. I am unsure why Alexander has taken to calling it as the Nechronal Engine when it is not an engine but instead an infusion device of immaterial essence. A more proper name would by the flow of logic and sensibility be to name it as a Energetic Infuser, to better capture the nature of the device. However, I admit that Alexander for being of a human tends towards a better understanding of the immaterial than even I possess and Throth has taken his name as verbatim, thus I content myself with the understanding that those my better in the details of the warp will not have lead me astray in this regard.
My place is not to confront them upon the nature of the name of such a thing, I doubt that the name changes much in the end, perhaps a few deviances from the expected or the assumed, but such will quickly be understood and learned from. I move onward shaking my mind clear of this as I begin to shape the metal into the parts so needed. The electrum unraveling under the influence of shift as I take heat, pressure and more from the very core of the earth to shape the metal into place. My control exceeds that of all but the foundries of Mars on this small of scale, my mind able to easily comprehend even the deviances of mere microns and time bends around me providing ever more time to react to failure on my part.
The metal flowing into the bands of light that guide the construction of the project, even for my skill this would not be something doable in one moment. I forge part after part, layer by layer does the device take shape, the electrum flowing under the influence of gravity and pressure in liquid form to mesh with perfect bonds at the previous layer. I do not accept any deviance within this design, each layer is mixed with the new to ensure a continuance without flaw. I can see within the warp as the device begins to gleam as the crystals from the world of Aegis are added into the design at the points so decreed. The energy of the warp begins to flow around and through the metal, becoming ever so slightly purified of the taint of Chaos as the ward layers and crystals along with the electrum itself proves its value.
At last the device is completed to my eyes, the shinning design replaced by metal forged into place by the eternal heart of the world below. The ripples of the immaterial flowing as I had predicted, all now stood in readiness for the tests to begin. First shall be the simple tests, the ones to calibrate and discover the flaws that without doubt slipped into the design. I step back to examine it in full and perhaps another would feel pride, all I feel is content as the first step is completed and the work in truth can begin. I rise up from the froth of the warp towards the solidity of reality once more as the logical matrix shifts and flows into new alignment with the ease of a century of practice. Throth questions my surety and I reply in kind acknowledging his fears and explaining why they have been solved. I step away from the infuser or the engine to gather the material and the paper to record all that shall be discovered.
I am never to be one that would see so clearly through the ripples of the immaterial reflection of reality, yet that is fitting for to me the ripples and twisting paradoxes of the other realm are not to be born but anchored to order and understood. Through the lens of study and logic do I anchor my understanding in a bedrock beyond the reach of the one whom taught me much in the past. Through the secrets of temporal alteration and the lens of time within the endless atemporal ripples of the warp, he gave unto me the secrets that gave me years of added time.
For every second I gained a tenth of a second, compounded over decades has given rise to entire years of gained time to work within. Now I return the favor as all must be done, all debts must in the end be payed and so has this debt come full circle. He gave unto me the secrets I asked and now I pay back that which I borrowed those decades ago to both him and Magnus.
Perhaps another would be surprised by the willingness that Magnus has exhibited towards me and my requests, perhaps they would wonder why the greatest of all the primarchs when it comes to the immaterial would bother with the ramblings of one of the steel legions. In so doing they do all a disservice, for Magnus is many things but a fool he is not and I know myself enough to understand the worth of my work to one such as him.
I gave all I knew to him and he saw value enough in my work to send my old teacher to work with me once more and to support my endeavors with his own resources. A debt incurred that I shall repay in kind, to Magnus I have given all I have discovered and all of my new theories and such shall be the case until either I complete the work of eternity or he declares my debt payed in full. I do not count the tokens of his favor as I do the others, for the favor of one of the silver realm is beyond any value that I can so easily contemplate and so I simply assign a value beyond approach to his support.
Yet, he is the not the only one of the silver I have extended the details of my work to, Kesar the one whose blood and immaterial legacy flows within my veins also carries the record of my work forth. I do not know what he shall do with the details nor the plans and I do not truly care, his actions are beyond my ability to understand and that is as it should be. I turn now once more to the endless array of theories that I have created to elucidate the nature of the device I seek to build and have began to plan forth.
Throth my old teacher was able to ill contain his surprise when he saw my work, which I admit that I found amusing as much as such an emotion can be felt by me. Yet, it was logical and easily predicted for last he knew me, I was a shadow of myself, barely sane more likely than not truly insane clinging only to the illusion of sanity. Now, I have healed the wounds of my mind and travel the depths of the reflection at will, the primal and shattered structures a known state to me these days.
The ever existent mists have since faded from my sight unless I seek them forth and I am glad for that, for it has increased my efficiency across the sum of all actions by one point three two percent. A notable increase and a burden no longer carried, ensuring my skills are ever the better to work on my own projects and to further the work Majestic gives unto me. As with all things, the debt must be payed and so I grow large upon the largess of the group I work within, their seemingly infinite funds supporting my personal work and in turn I provide all that I learn to them and work upon the projects requested.
It is a fair and equal exchange when all is said and done, an odd turn of phrase when one thinks upon it, but one that fits well for this situation. I draw myself free of the musings upon the matters far from hand as I turn towards Throth once more, my focus realigning to the here and now. The temporal eddies falling away from my form as I let go of the temporal echoes that dance within the reflection ever around my astral form, their nature known and called forth ever eager to be chronicled into the blade that rests ever contently at my hip.
The logical matrix realigned and altered over time as the purity of the mathematics that have composed it for all but the first decade of my long life changed with the inclusion of warp principles and sigils. Reformed with my new understanding ever better to protect my soul and control my power, yet to bring ever more flexibility to my existence. For the inflexible are but ever the inferior to that of the flexible. I will never bend with the current, that is beyond me, and I accept that, I am not one to bend and shift with the changing tides of time, I stride forth with my destination in mind and the journey mapped forth without concern for what will stand in my way.
I fought mind against mind with the first captain of the legion of my blood for decades and found victory and defeat in plentitude, yet never did I change my path. Yet, such does not give my cause to ignore the gain of flexibility to the inflexible, even if I shall never reach the flexility of one such as him, that is no excuse to limit my abilities to an unacceptable degree when such is no longer needed.
My mind dances within the shallows of the primal structure as I rise up from the depths to take in material light once more, the words of my old teacher coming to me clearly once more. His questions predicted and answered in verse clear and sound within the papers to his right. I gently shift the gravitational curve of spacetime to bring them to him, before letting go of the power once it is completed. I step around his form to look upon the holographic image of the device that I have spent two years of work to design and find myself content with it.
The design was of a form that had been difficult to build and complete, but the stability that it would provide is without question. The interlocking baseline fractal designs that give rise to the stabilizing factors of the five and six base wards underlaying the fractals of seven and nine, the numbers of those that would be closest to the nature of death and time. Perhaps, others of my legion would be confused as to my use of those sigils and numerology, it is well known that I despise all that originates from Chaos and that has not changed. However, it is also known that such numbers do not call them always, the odds are in my favor to the point I estimate only a value below that of five percent that either would notice my work with their values.
The Aspect Divider is forever running in circles, seeking to backstab itself more than anything else and that nature leads itself well to allowing others to exploit the value that the reflection has assigned unto the notations of the number nine. Throth questioned my use of a sigil from another language, another species for these baseline values, he wondered why I made use of alien notations gleamed from one of the many xenocides that the imperium orchestrated in the past. His confusion was surprising to me, for I would have thought it clear and obvious to any of the Thousand Sons that the sigil of nine has no inherent value to the warp, there is nothing unique about the shape of the sigil that humanity declares to be nine or any other number. Instead the value originates in the concept of the ninth of a group, and from that many options are risen in turn.
He asks about the purpose of the hologram and I turn to him speaking softly and yet absolutely, detailing the percentages and notations that are so needed. The details of why everything is in its place as I have written, why the bulkheads are organized as they are. Light traces across the design as I bend gravity once more, expanding time to gleam fractions of a second to better explain my work. It is pleasing in a way to work with another that is willing to work with me in truth, instead of placing undue expectations upon me. However, I do admit that Throth for all his boons is of limited value for this event, his knowledge veers away from the particulars that are needed, but another set of eyes has increased the efficiency of my work by three point two percent and as such it is acceptable to take the time to explain my work.
To the credit of Magnus and his legion, Throth understood the work and the intention with impressive speed, taking only twenty five days and seven hours to understand the principles behind my work. I had expected and calculated a probable average of seventy eight days and nine hours for such understanding, but it remains true that he is not yet to the level that is needed to directly support my work. I lead him forward towards the hologram that I have built over the course of twenty three hours seven minutes and eight seconds, to carefully explain why everything is as it is.
The design harkens to the olden designs of hourglasses with the point of meeting between the bulbs the point where the infusion will occur. I trace over the design showing how the electrum is shaped into fractal designs to a degree that would be beyond most worlds of the imperium. The metal nearly the width of a human hair and yet that was as it was needed for this purpose, I gently teach my old teacher what the purpose of the system is and how it shall work. I can see the expression on his face change as he begins to understand.
As he understands, the true work can begin. I have already prepared the metal as needed, the electrum produced to the highest quality possible for Majestic and now all that remains is to construct the device. I am unsure why Alexander has taken to calling it as the Nechronal Engine when it is not an engine but instead an infusion device of immaterial essence. A more proper name would by the flow of logic and sensibility be to name it as a Energetic Infuser, to better capture the nature of the device. However, I admit that Alexander for being of a human tends towards a better understanding of the immaterial than even I possess and Throth has taken his name as verbatim, thus I content myself with the understanding that those my better in the details of the warp will not have lead me astray in this regard.
My place is not to confront them upon the nature of the name of such a thing, I doubt that the name changes much in the end, perhaps a few deviances from the expected or the assumed, but such will quickly be understood and learned from. I move onward shaking my mind clear of this as I begin to shape the metal into the parts so needed. The electrum unraveling under the influence of shift as I take heat, pressure and more from the very core of the earth to shape the metal into place. My control exceeds that of all but the foundries of Mars on this small of scale, my mind able to easily comprehend even the deviances of mere microns and time bends around me providing ever more time to react to failure on my part.
The metal flowing into the bands of light that guide the construction of the project, even for my skill this would not be something doable in one moment. I forge part after part, layer by layer does the device take shape, the electrum flowing under the influence of gravity and pressure in liquid form to mesh with perfect bonds at the previous layer. I do not accept any deviance within this design, each layer is mixed with the new to ensure a continuance without flaw. I can see within the warp as the device begins to gleam as the crystals from the world of Aegis are added into the design at the points so decreed. The energy of the warp begins to flow around and through the metal, becoming ever so slightly purified of the taint of Chaos as the ward layers and crystals along with the electrum itself proves its value.
At last the device is completed to my eyes, the shinning design replaced by metal forged into place by the eternal heart of the world below. The ripples of the immaterial flowing as I had predicted, all now stood in readiness for the tests to begin. First shall be the simple tests, the ones to calibrate and discover the flaws that without doubt slipped into the design. I step back to examine it in full and perhaps another would feel pride, all I feel is content as the first step is completed and the work in truth can begin. I rise up from the froth of the warp towards the solidity of reality once more as the logical matrix shifts and flows into new alignment with the ease of a century of practice. Throth questions my surety and I reply in kind acknowledging his fears and explaining why they have been solved. I step away from the infuser or the engine to gather the material and the paper to record all that shall be discovered.
Years 41 - 45 Part 6 Primarch Interlude: Previously on TLP
- Location
- Elsewhere
GM Note: Special thanks to @Ruirk, @argenten, @TinyGladiator for writing some of this update. Sorry that it took so long.
Some of his brothers were fucking disappointments, to steal a term used by a guardsman, Lion mused. Fulgrim, he expected, would find the shift in the First's beliefs to be somewhat ironic. He had thought it would be mortals that disappointed him most, considering the Desolation, that belief had only strengthened.
Then his brothers went and did … that. It was a flagrant spit in the face of the Emperor and Imperium. If anyone but a Primarch had done it, they would be executed without hesitation. And it was that fact that recontextualized the actions of mortals. Those men and women, they had a point.
A select group of his brothers still remained loyal, however, but the list was far shorter than he would have ever expected. Fulgrim, Dorn, Leman, Sanguinius, Ferrus, and himself were all that remained. Then if he compared it to the list of loyal guardsmen, he found the numbers to be impressive. "We will have to rely on the Imperial Army," he commented to the war council he had convened.
At the four corners of the round table stood himself, Dorn, Ferrus, and Leman. Each of them had been called to this meeting because he knew that they would play key roles in the decades to come. He could hear the grinding of Ferrus' teeth, he knew just how much his brother disliked it, but his argument had been logical and thorough. "Aye," Leman's own voice added, a clear hint of distaste within, "it seems we will."
"They will not approve." Ferrus remarked from his seat, "The Imperial Army." He further clarified. "How do you explain to them that they are expected to go and fight Astartes?"
"You tell them they are in open rebellion." Lion retorted to his brother with a frown. "The prospect will be daunting, this I am well aware of, but the Imperial Army will stand and fight when the time comes."
"Bold of you to assume that." Ferrus sneered at the idea, "The Imperial Army has been whining and bickering for years now over being sent into campaigns where they lose trillions without so much as seeing anything worthwhile for their troubles."
"You should appeal to more than their loyalty, Lion," Leman interjected as he drank from a tankard. "What are these men fighting for otherwise?"
"The Imperium and humanity." Lion countered, "Isn't that more than enough?" The First Son frowned, "I recognize that times have been difficult for all, but there are more challenges ahead of us before we see the light ahead."
Leman laughed, a bitter and cold sound, "Fight before the situation gets even worse? You have to give these mortals something more, Jonson. Plenty of ways to make a man walk barefoot through Hel."
"Fine," Lion grudgingly accepted, "Ferrus, we'll need Fulgrim's support in this." He turned back to Leman, "And yours as well." Truthfully, he doubted it was necessary, but arguing that would be difficult.
When the council ended, only Dorn stayed behind. "We'll need another fifty years before the next stage of Terra's defenses finish," his stoic brother reported. "I'm unsure if that is enough time."
"I am unsure as well," Lion added his own thoughts, "it depends how reasonable Kesar and Vulkan prove to be, and how well they can sway Mortarion." By now he knew who the three heads of the movement were, and he knew one of them was beyond hope. "The Wispers, how have they done so far?"
"Slowly," Dorn grunted, "those nobles are insistent on being methodical. They're effective at what they do, but they could be doing it twice as fast."
"I'll send them a letter," Lion promised, "we need to minimize disloyal actors where we can. And removing unproductive members of society is the best way to do so."
He expected Vulkan would be horrified at what he was doing, but the Lord of Drakes often failed to look at the larger picture. Improving conditions in the underhives was expensive and time-consuming. Remanding residents into servitude was cheap and made nobles happy. Some would consider it monstrous, but the Emperor allowed it, and Lion took advantage of it.
It had all been going so well. He had Aleph, he got to witness Leman trying to figure out what romance was, and he got to tease Ferrus to the point of a mental overload.
Now? Now he was in his fifth bottle of wine wondering how he wasn't drunk. "Did one of you swap out my alcohol?" He asked the servants aboard his ship.
They looked at each other as if wondering who would be foolish enough to attempt such a thing. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice for another two bottles." The Callidus truthfully spoke, "Your brother asked me a favor."
"Leave us," Fulgrim ordered his servants, directing his ire at Zeta. "It was a brave choice, but also foolish. I would have found out eventually, and what stops me from throwing you in the brig and drinking as much as I want?"
"You've had time to think," the Callidus answered, only a minor waver in her voice betraying her unease. "And you're now far enough away that you won't do something foolish on Orus."
"Oh, if only I was allowed to do something foolish." Fulgrim lamented with the same theatrics he used to bother Ferrus. "A jape or two at someone else's expense would not be remiss."
"That's not necessarily what I meant, but I suppose if that is what you were thinking of..." Zeta tried to be diplomatic about this situation, "Would you like me to perhaps bring something to eat? Maybe see if one of your sons is available to talk too?"
"I would rather fight the Unbound again," he groused, "my sons are excellent, but they would spend their time with platitudes on a problem they do not understand." He glared at the non-alcoholic wine as if it had personally offended him, which in this case it had, "I just attended a moment that will one day be referred to as the beginning of the end of the Imperium, so forgive me for being irrational."
There was silence for several seconds, Zeta trying to avoid quaking at the intensity of the Primarch's gaze. "Would …" she hesitated, "would you like me to turn into Aleph?" It was a risk, but a comfortable one. Brazen seduction was a technique all Callidus knew well.
The glare from Fulgrim almost made Zeta recoil in fear, before Fulgrim waved away at the suggestion. "No...it just wouldn't be the same. Besides, my Aleph isn't the type to engage in risqué behavior. She's far too refined for that."
"Duly noted." Zeta made a mental note to not ever pretend to be Aleph while onboard this ship. "But my lord, we really need to do something...perhaps a stroll through Aleph's art gallery would be preferable then?"
"Very well," Fulgrim accepted, "but I will expect you to pay attention to what I say."
Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, Zeta accepted, "I will think of it as a briefing."
"Nothing so serious," Fulgrim dismissed, "analyzing art for the sake of analysis is trivial. What you need to do is find your own inner voice and see how it comments upon truly excellent artwork."
That made her hesitate, "with all due respect my lord, but as a Callidus, my 'inner voice' has been well refined."
"Nonsense," Fulgrim waved off her concerns, "you're playing the role of my devoted servant right now, but someday you'll not be playing a role at all."
"Unlikely," Zeta dryly responded.
"Oh, hush now, I'm in mourning don't you see?" The Primarch quipped, the distraction from what plagued him easing his own burden. "And you give yourself far less credit than you should, you're quite the interesting individual."
"As interesting as Aleph?" Zeta seductively asked, redirecting the topic.
"Perhaps a fifth, no, a sixth as interesting," Zeta blinked, not expecting an actual answer. "You have a charm to you, and you have impressed me at times, but I have not been awed by your work."
"You have … given it more thought than I expected."
"You witnessed a part of me that only a handful ever have," Fulgrim honestly said. "A part of me wishes to go back to Orus and directly voice my fears, but that would be foolish in the extreme." He paused, "alright, you may have been wise to switch out the wine."
Zeta giggled, "Well, I'm glad to have outmaneuvered a Primarch, a shame I can never brag about it."
"Oh, such precarious thoughts plague my mind! To think I have fallen so low that a mortal can outplay me." Again, Fulgrim played up the part of the disparaging lord. It was amusing, somewhat, to Zeta, but it didn't help address the problem.
Zeta tried a different approach, "My lord...perhaps putting these thoughts to canvas might help?" Then she got a brilliant idea, "Or better yet...perhaps Aleph could?"
That seemed to have gotten a very animated response from the Primarch, "Oh! Ohhhh! Now isn't that a wondrous idea!" For a moment Zeta saw an instance of a smile on his face. "Surely Aleph could capture this feeling better than anyone!"
These had been an interesting series of months. Perturabo was truly proud of his creation, Arx Coventus, but he certainly wished it had been made in less tense times. As a piece of architecture, it pleased him, as a fortress, far less so. A hall for discussion should not need to be this fortified, but the galaxy had proven to him that defenses were needed.
Now he was even designing defenses to be used against the Imperium. If it hadn't been for Kesar, he wouldn't have ever considered the idea. If Vulkan hadn't spent the last two decades championing his cause, Perturabo would have spent time trying to convince Kesar of the foolishness of his ideals. But now, now he found himself supporting it as much as he could.
He had yet to discuss it with his sons. His decision had not been made logically, it was an emotional choice, something that had been growing more common for him lately. His discussions with Kelbor-Hal were of little substance, yet he enjoyed them and would continue those discussions in the future. But this entire council was something he thought was unlikely to succeed.
It was certain to end with a series of proposals that would undoubtedly be good for the Imperium. But by now, he understood that the Emperor and Malcador were relics of an older age. They were set in their ways, and at their core, they had a plan that was in motion that they were unwilling to change. The comparison to himself was … uncomfortable. There were more similarities than he liked, and he wondered if he could fall into the very same trap.
He wished he could know. Perhaps in a century, he would.
He shook his head, distracting himself from the current situation with Project Talos. In five years' time, he'd have the next prototypes ready. The Iron Circle was a step in the right direction, but the additional development time that had gone into the next model was sure to be helpful. It had been a rewarding project thus far, and while artificial intelligence would never be widespread, having a few models to help with logistics and local battlefield awareness would be helpful.
He just wasn't sure if the consequences of a civil war would allow them to help humanity.
Khan never thought that his expedition would start off this way. Rather than the constant danger of combat, he was instead faced with worlds that had already been broken and cowed by Astartes. At first, he had been confused, but then he learned who it was and his confusion lessened. Meeting his brother's exiled sons was not how he expected the expedition to begin, and he honestly could say that it was unplanned in its entirety.
A lot of his recent adventures had been unplanned, the Primarch found himself thinking. The arrival of Orion, an Eternal Warden that had proven himself time and time, a nephew he could truly thank for his exemplary work. The discovery of Kuveer the Gemlord, a powerful psyker that had proven capable of slowing him, albeit not for long. The meeting between the two that changed how deck claims worked in parts of his domain … He half wondered if there was a part of Kesar's geneseed that caused interesting moments to occur. The entire story behind Clear Skies and Elegia showed as much.
The uses for Ambrosia were plentiful, but it would take years before any such use could bear fruit. Yesugei had cautioned him of the dangers, not that he had any intention of rushing into matters. Instead, he would ensure Elegia developed safely under his protection, only then would he worry about what their unique resources could do for him. Even with such a mindset, he had already begun to see benefits. Elegians volunteered to join his expedition. Khan allowed a brief smile to cross his lips, Orion's reaction to that had been amusing.
And yet, the Grand Nadaam had almost ensured a foul mood. The tournament had been a disaster on all levels. Poor showings from the underdogs, a true fight that had to be cut short, and a finale that flopped. He'd almost given up when the opportunity that was Catachan was presented. Twelve Champions were dropped upon the dangerous world, and all of them had an interesting tale to tell. A few may have been forced to conduct medical evacuations, but that was just a single team. Khan himself loved his adventures upon the jungle world, and he looked forward to gathering a few thousand soldiers from the world when he could. Orion had also impressed him as usual, but Kuveer had truly excelled, earning the right to call himself a true pillar of the White Scars. He should probably make that official for both the psyker and the Angel of Humility. The latter certainly deserved it.
But now in the present, he half wondered if this expedition would turn out like the Grand Nadaam. Five years later, he still hadn't seen combat. The closest he got was Admiral Yang, an excellent pericognitive, with skills on par with Yesugei. But she proved … reasonable. By the spirits was that disappointing, he wanted a fight at that point, and yet he was denied. Instead, all that he had to do was provide a dozen Ambrosia injections and she freely gave him passage and information. Letting her attempt to court him caused her to bend the knee to the Imperium, and he found himself in rather enjoyable company on some nights. And she knew where a few dangerous foes were located, at least in the past.
There was always the possibility the Shadow Queen's empire had destroyed those threats which brought him far more worry than it should. Yesugei was certain there was something more to it, which Khan agreed with. An empire of ten thousand worlds, each developed well and loyal … Yesugei should have seen it before during his periodic divinations for sane empires beyond Imperial space. And yet it had been shrouded from his sight. The shroud seemed to fade by the day, but Yesugei swore there was also the lingering scent of vileness to the empire. As if it was meant to be defiled and warped, but fate never claimed its due. Then there was the Shadow Queen, the dictator of ten thousand worlds. The description of her almost seemed identical to Malcador.
As such, he knew she could never be trusted.
"How did ye deal with this?" Leman asked out loud, knowing Zunia wouldn't have the answers he wanted, but maybe she had ideas he didn't.
"I never was in this situation," she replied, her voice strangely unsure. "I doubt you think of your brothers like you do nobles."
"Maybe Fulgrim at times," he jested with a laugh, "he certainly has the obsession of some."
"I still don't understand him," Zunia hummed in thought, "he's interested in me, not romantically," she interrupted before Leman could cut in. "Nor is he interested in my work."
"With that dinner of his, there's certainly something about ye and romance that interests him," Leman said seriously. "But I will grant that it's more complicated than I once thought."
"I once thought you were the strangest of the Primarchs," Zunia sighed, "you've given me far more power than anyone ever would. All because you claim you're not good at it."
"Compared to ye I'm not," Leman bluntly explained, which made Zunia nod her head in acknowledgment. "Oi, at least pretend to argue in my favor."
She giggled, making Leman smile at the sound. "But Leman," she fluttered her eyelashes, "don't you detest such meaningless flattery?"
"Meaningless flattery yes," he began, "but meaningful flattery is different. I've done things ye can flatter me for."
Zunia rolled her eyes, "I presented a list of your good features to Fulgrim already, would you like me to expand on them further?"
"Ah," he blushed, an action that had become more common the more time he spent with her, "perhaps another time, I don't think my heart could take that."
She looked at him oddly, as if there was a puzzle she had yet to unlock. It'd taken Leman over a decade to do so himself, maybe he'd share the solution to that puzzle with her one day. "Are you doing alright Leman?" She leaned over, resting a hand on his leg. "You're acting a bit like me when I overwork myself."
Was he alright? If it was someone else, he'd smile and nod. But now he actually thought about it. "There's … room for improvement," he began. He didn't speak for a few seconds, and thankfully neither did Zunia, leaving him alone with his own thoughts for those crucial moments. "There's just so much to do. So much that needs doing. So much I don't know what or how to do." He looked at her, and she looked back at him with kind eyes. "It feels like I'm in a blizzard sometimes. I can't see what's in front of me no matter how hard I try or want to."
"And the thought of getting lost in it doesn't sit well with you." Zunia saw where he was going with this. "Uncertainty is one of the greatest obstacles everyone faces in life."
"There's more to it than that," Leman began, "I dealt with uncertainty in the past. The uncertainty if a battle would be won or lost, uncertainty if a war could be won, uncertainty if I would survive. This …" he swallowed, "I'm … I'm used to knowing what's right and what's wrong. I'm used to the uncertainty being related to my skills." He gestured at himself. "Now I have to question myself, and ask, am I choosing the right side? By the white snow of Fenris, why are there even sides to begin with?"
"People congregate to those that have similar ideals," Zunia began, "when they believe in those ideals strongly enough and think people without those ideals are not listening, then sides begin to form." It was rhetorical at this point, a leadup to something that might help him. "Maybe you could act as a mediator?"
"The Great Wolf, the voice of peace," strangely that statement didn't cause him to bark in laughter. "Truly the Imperium is in a desperate state …"
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Zunia interrupted. She stood to her full height while he remained seated, "you, Leman Russ, are not a professional diplomat, you're not the person anyone should call to negotiate a treaty." She stepped towards him, gently tapping his chest with her finger. "But you're not making a treaty, are you? You have Guilliman for that."
"I'm not going to dismiss the idea," Leman slowly began, "but you're underestimating how stubborn my brothers and I can be." After this, he was definitely going to drink mjold. "Trying to get them to sit down and talk could end with a war beginning then and there."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Zunia remarked after a moment. "All I can say is just do what you believe is right and stick to it."
"I'm having trouble figuring out what exactly is the right move to make."
Zunia shook her head, "Sometimes you just have to act on instinct. Granted, always take the time to weigh your options...but you've never been the type to overthink things."
"...I feel like that was a backhanded compliment." Leman gave one of his wolfish grins. "Still, just do the right thing is what ye are saying?"
"Do whatever you believe to be right." She corrected him, "And do it with purpose and confidence. Two things that you have in spades."
That made him genuinely happy. He smiled lightly, a strange but not unknown series of emotions flying within him. "Zunia," he gently reached out, cupping her hands in his. "Thank you for this."
Her blush made him wonder if she felt the same way about him as he felt about her. "It's … the least I can do." She hesitated, and he wisely let the words hang in the air for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. "You're a good person, Leman, the other Primarchs would do well to learn from you."
He swallowed, alright, purpose and confidence, two things he had in spades. He could do this, "Zunia," he began breathlessly, "could I … court you?"
Every millisecond afterward was an eternity to him. Time seemed to pause, and his enhanced senses seemed as sharp as they were in battle. "Uh," Surprise and shock were the first emotions Zunia felt, the instinctive part of her mind kicked in, "Sure." Embarrassment took over as she realized how casual that sounded. Her face turned a lovely shade of red. "Wait," ruthlessly surprised pleasure appeared briefly before being suppressed by her iron will, "are you being serious?"
"I wouldn't joke about this," maybe a few years ago he would have, but he genuinely cared for her, to make a mockery of this would just be cruel. This moment was important to him on a personal level, and he expected it was for her as well. "You are … an amazing woman, brilliant, confident, shrewd, and sharper than anyone I've ever met."
"Well, then I am being serious as well here," Zunia answered once more, standing up as rigidly as she could, "I accept," she declared as formally as she could.
He knelt down, holding out a hand for Zunia. She placed her hand upon his, and he pulled it closer, his lips gently brushing across her skin. "I hope this proposal was to your liking." He was proud of it, noble diplomacy wasn't his favorite, but he knew Zunia, and she was steeped in it.
"Well, err..." Zunia's face pinkened a touch. "I figured you'd be a lot more blunt or straightforward in asking me out. Because I've heard more than enough stories from the Huskarls."
Leman blushed slightly at what she was talking about, "I can assure you that I wasn't going to 'kidnap' you as a form of committing to a relationship. That's an old tale shared among young boys when talking about finding maidens to court."
"Too bad..." Leman blinked at hearing that and then almost smiled at seeing the blush on her face. "Would've made the first date a lot more exciting."
He thought about it for less than a second, before grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry before running out the door, her laughter trailing behind the entire time.
Dorn didn't like the Tyrant of Terra. It was an opinion he generally kept to himself, with only Lion having realized it during one of their many conversations. He didn't dislike the man, the Lord Commander Militant was given a thankless position and told to do the impossible. While Dorn disagreed with the methods used and Aldritch failed in his task, he did better than the Primarch had expected. Moreover, he was now holding the position even after attempting to resign, an admirable quality.
"There are no other options available at this point," Dorn said bluntly around an hour into their discussion on what the Imperial Army could afford to cut in its budget, "the Legions have proven unwilling to accept budget cuts and you have no means to enforce them."
"I hope you're not suggesting cuts to the Imperial Army," Aldritch gave him a wary look, perhaps considering what he could do if the Primarchs demanded it. "It's already shrinking by 2% annually and as it grows smaller it will grow more strained."
"I would be a fool to suggest that," Dorn commented, "you have three choices. One, increase taxes." The Primarch glared at him, "which as we both know would be extremely unpopular. Two, reduce garrisons which the Desolation showed is not possible. Three, eliminate pensions for service."
Dorn relaxed as Aldritch ground his teeth. It was a cold solution, but at this point, it was the only one available. A large expense needed to be cut, and of them, pensions for guardsmen were the only acceptable choice. "It'd start a damn civil war is what it'd do," the Unyielding One frowned, but Aldritch kept speaking. "I've told your brothers this, but if you take away a soldier's pay, you don't get a pissed-off soldier that continues fighting, you get a damn rebel."
"They will not rebel if we announce it properly," the Primarch rumbled, "if we just make the declaration in High Gothic, it will be decades before it's even noticed by the average soldier." For once the communication issues in the Imperium would help them.
"That's not happening." Dorn sighed, it seemed like this meeting would prove to be nothing but a waste of time.
Five more hours were spent in that meeting, Dorn trying to get Aldritch to see reason, while Aldritch tried to find a nonexistent issue in the Primarch's argument. It was rather clear to him that Lion was correct as usual. His brother might have great difficulties connecting to humans, and even Astartes at times, but the First was rational and intelligent enough to find a solution to an impossible problem. It was just no one was willing to make the sacrifices needed.
He tried to probe the Imperial Army for those willing to make that choice, but he had turned up nothing. There was Eli, one of the Lord Commanders, but he seemed unwilling to try and oust Aldritch. However, he was at least next in line and willing to listen to Primarchs. "Perhaps it is for the best that the Tyrant resigns," he wrote in his missive to Malcador.
The Primarch returned to his own inventory of letters. The usual annual letter from Kesar, the one from Lion, two from Sanguinius, one from Fulgrim, one from Guilliman, and one from Magnus. Most of the letters were different than normal, Kesar's was far more worrying than normal, Lion's was far more factual, Sanguinius was clearly distraught, Fulgrim was being Fulgrim which was a nice return to normalcy, and Guilliman was explaining why he wasn't willing to attend any meetings with the loyal Primarchs. Magnus' was the most interesting, asking if he could take control of the compliance with the Xeno-human hybrids. He had no reason to refuse it, so he allowed it.
Magnus was sure to come out of it having learned something about the relationship between psykers and genetics, but that was something for his brother. Dorn himself didn't care too much as long as Magnus didn't do anything foolish.
Konrad … wasn't entirely sure what his life was anymore. It was good, better than it ever had been, and now he was helping to start a revolution. And somehow that wasn't the strangest thing he'd done.
The Night Haunter had an understanding of who he was. He was a sadist, torture and murder rather appealed to him, in part. It was how he directed those impulses that made him good. The need to punish those that harmed others. The stick to the carrot that was Vulkan. The Lord of Drakes was a good man, but the two of them knew that kindness alone could never change things. Change needed force, it needed threats, it needed death.
And for that reason, he let Fabius Bile research him in exchange for help setting up a medical organization.
Then followed that up by making a deal with Kesar to introduce a more hands-off post-compliance system meant to reduce civilian deaths and insurgent numbers.
And just before arriving on Orus, helped organize an evacuation of a planet.
"It's quite a strange tale." He whispered to himself.
"A throne for your thoughts?" Whispered Sevatar, his most trusted son? Astartes? Subordinate? He wasn't entirely sure yet what their relationship was.
None within the room saw Sevatar, so focused was everyone on politics. "The largest monsters save the most lives these days." He said referring to so many people all at once. Himself, Malcador, the Emperor, and Fabius, someone that managed to disturb even him.
Fabius Bile was just like Fulgrim; arrogant and beautiful, full of pride and swagger befitting a man of his talents. Konrad recognized Fabius for his talents and capabilities.
Yet the man sickened Konrad. He saw the look in his eyes. Pass the wonder and genius was a creature of ambition that dreamed of obtaining things beyond his grasp.
Konrad had once tortured and killed a creature, a daemon, of unparalleled strength and madness. Something that could shatter a world with a whisper, and rend apart reality on a whim.
Fabius would do worse, just to see what it'd be like and what secrets he could cut out.
Sevatar chuckled darkly, a menacing whisper that faded into nothing. "Fulgrim would agree."
The Night Haunter glared at the First Captain. "There's a certain irony to it, yes."
The Astartes was always difficult to understand, and these days it only seemed to be harder to understand the Night Lords. "The ends often justify the means," there was something more to it than it seemed. Faint emanations that indicated a deeper response was needed.
"We must believe that the evils we do now will aid those here and now, and those yet born." Konrad hated that injustice and vileness had to be pardoned, nay, exalted even by those that guided humanity.
"There's a reason we hire medics now." Sevatar's eyes gleamed with mirth before the emotion vanished into a void of nothing.
Konrad scraped a claw across the Umbral Mantle, a gift from Vulkan, the sound faint, but just enough to warn Sevatar to watch his words. "Those medics present a far larger threat than anything else we have," he said ominously, letting Sevatar try and fail to puzzle out what he meant.
The Night Lord gently tilted their head in thought before saying his closing words, just as Vulkan began to speak. "If you say so," he clearly didn't understand, but he would in time.
"Take care of the Black Fleet for me," Konrad said, to which Sevatar simply looked at him in confusion. "You'll see them in a few days." Sometimes, his future sight could be useful it seemed.
Sanguinius spun to the right, dancing around Raldoron's blade. Gracefully placing one armored hand on the power sword, the Primarch wrenched it away from his son's hand, wincing as he did. The duel ended there, both of them understanding who had won the most recent bout.
"That was more aggressive than normal," his First Captain commented, glancing at the healing cut on Sanguinius' hand. "Is everything alright?"
The Angel of Baal didn't respond immediately, instead taking a moment to remove the latest gift, the most useful one in several decades, from his face. The mask was a work of art and made of some of the finest materials available to the people of Skysoph, but right now he wanted to look at his son face-to-face.
"Ill thoughts plague my mind," Sanguinius admitted after a moment. "Such as they always do these days."
"Ah, heavy is the crown of leadership and all that." Raldoron flourished his blade once more as he briefly took another stance before he noticed his gene-sire seemed distracted.
Sanguinius saw his son's expression shift slightly and sighed, "Is the stress that obvious?" He sheathed his sword, and Raldoron followed a moment later. "Future sight, can be a curse at times. I can see so many different moments, yet the further I look, the bleaker it becomes."
"Is there aught we can do to stop the spiral?"
Sanguinius gave a beleaguered sigh and an apologetic glance in turn, "Yes and at the same time a huge, resounding 'no'. There are so many different pieces moving that attempting to stop their movement would just create a new catastrophe."
"...Ah." was Raldoron's eloquent response.
"Sometimes I see myself weeping over my brother's corpse, my own blade through their chest," the Primarch gazed off at a future that was growing more and more likely. "Other times I see myself drowning under an ocean of guardsmen." He snorted, "Sometimes it's the Orks."
Raldoron slowly nodded, "Far be it for me to speak on such things, but have you perhaps brought this up to your brothers or the Emperor? These visions seem to be taking a toll upon you."
"I will be meeting with the Emperor in seven months' time," Sanguinius answered, "if he doesn't have answers, I have a meeting with Magnus in two years."
"I … hesitate to suggest this," Raldoron slowly began, "but I heard the Night Haunter suffered similar visions."
The Angel of Baal thought carefully about his next words. "It isn't wise to discuss such matters with him or the Night Lords."
The First Captain of the Blood Angels blinked, "is this a euphemism to reduce ties with them?"
"No," Sanguinius shook his head, causing Raldoron to let out a sigh of relief, "regardless of how bad our disagreements get, we must keep lines of communication open. But we cannot afford to show weakness."
"It is not a weakness to care for your brothers," the Astartes gently pointed out.
"No, it isn't," Sanguinius admitted, albeit with a smile that belied a tragedy that was yet to unfold. "But right now we have the likes of Lion and Kelbor-Hal championing both sides. I know Vulkan and Kesar think they wield influence, and that Kelbor-Hal isn't who I believe he is." He let out a mirthless chuckle, "Then on the other hand, we have Lion, the only one of us willing to take charge without hesitation."
"You can usurp his position," the First Captain suggested, "out of all the loyalists, you are the most well-liked. I have some friends in the 3rd Legion, I can have them sound out the Phoenician."
"Don't," Sanguinisu sharply ordered, "give me a decade first. I have some ideas on what must be done."
"As you command," the Astartes responded, unsure of his father's decision, yet trusting all the same. "Another round?" Raldoron asked, redirecting Sanguinius' focus to the reason they were sparring.
"Another round."
GM Note: The italicized section was written by @Ruirk. Special thanks to him!
Hard times produce strong men was a favored sentiment among mortals and Astartes. To Ferrus, it should have been it makes men with purpose. A weak man with purpose could accomplish the work of ten listless strong men. Strength had its place, as did discipline, but what was the point if it amounted to nothing? Ferrus would sooner surround himself with fools ready to die for whatever they believed in than be guarded by those with feeble spirits.
The weakness of the average human was born not of frail physicalities or a lack of mental aptitude; instead, it was those who had nothing to strive for, nothing to call their own, or the means to leave their truth or wisdom behind. Vulkan would call it "hopelessness," but Ferrus saw it for what it was; no meaning to life.
How could one expect humanity to achieve greatness if all but a handful drifted through their pathetic, empty lives? Ferrus believed this lack of ambition was because of laziness, apathy, or ineptitude on their part. Hence, he sought to put the masses to work via the Olympia Refit program before the blasted Tyrant of Terra ended it. Nevertheless, Ferrus would find a way to make it work.
Ferrus simply needed the bodies. When the Lion told him to gather the poor, the impoverished, and the destitute, it seemed the most logical decision. Most of humanity didn't care about their "invisible" population—the dregs of their respective worlds. "Better gone than here" and other such remarks. Their governments would be more than eager to remove them, as would the people and nobility.
Somehow that made Ferrus think…
The galaxy was a cruel place. It would not afford or allow for even the barest kindness without conditions attached. Ferrus knew firsthand that no one would save these miserable souls, certainly not a conqueror like him. They were stuck in their pathetic existence—nothing to fight for and no reason to build anything worthy of their names.
Did he wish for such creatures to man his factories and fields? Tainting and weakening his endeavors with apathy and despair? Moving through their meager lives with no fire in their hearts or a desire to make something more?
Questions started plaguing his mind. When he realized he had spent hours thinking about these problems and the people who would be the cause, the Gorgon found himself at a crossroads and uncertain of his path forward.
He had no answers. None that didn't involve time and resources wasted for little gain. Wasting no time, Ferrus reached out to his brother, Fulgrim, and asked for his wisdom. To his surprise, the Phoenician sent back only a single phrase.
"Give them something worth struggling for."
Ferrus initially dismissed the idea. He was giving these people a chance to aid the Imperium of Man, to help the Legions bring this galaxy to heel! Each world that took part in this endeavor will have carved their names into the bedrock of his Father's empire.
But then Ferrus contemplated this and realized these people wouldn't live to see that. It would take generations before their marks would even be felt. So what did they have to look forward to?
Nothing. All Ferrus would give them is words and winds. What was he left to do to give them purpose in this extraordinary work?
The answer was startlingly simple. One that made him swear at his own blindness at not seeing it.
He needed to give these people, the poor, hungry, and forgotten, something worth building up from nothing and turning into something glorious! Something they could call their own—a purpose found within the backbreaking and miserable work. A society built by them, for them.
Ferrus almost disregarded the idea. It was too radical, similar to the blasted reforms by Vulkan. But even so, Ferrus couldn't shake the feeling that this was the way forward and started putting his ideas to paper.
When he finally spoke of this to Fulgrim, showing off his plans face-to-face, his brother looked proud of Ferrus for coming up with this idea.
"You call yourself just a Conqueror, my dear brother—a man who can't see past his own flaws and the injustice of our time. Yet you might have just won us a victory for a battle that had yet been witnessed. You are, beyond a doubt, one of the wisest men in the galaxy."
Ferrus was still unsure how to feel about the events that had transpired over the past few months. Nagatami was interesting, but the Iron Forge project had become far more than he ever expected it to be. All he had to do now was convince the Tyrant of its necessity. Hopefully, the mortal was feeling sane today.
"...I'll approve it." Well, that was easy. "What are your plans to deal with the backlash?"
"If the nobles complain I can spare a few Astartes to bring them in line," Ferrus calmly remarked. It was a simple solution, he honestly had no idea why the Tyrant of Terra thought there would be any backlash of note.
"And what of the Mechanicum?"
Ferrus scowled, unhappy at the realization. "That may prove more complicated than expected."
The mortal rubbed their eyes unhappily, "Well, it's not like Primarch Russ and you haven't directly attacked his support base." He sighed, "This can't exactly anger him more, hopefully."
The Gorgon's mind spun, cataloging the possible responses the Fabricator General of Mars could take. "The Sigillite will assist with matters," he eventually concluded. Confident that Malcador would be willing to lend his support to the task. The Emperor had already approved it after all.
"I'm sure he will," the Tyrant patronized, causing Ferrus to glare at the mortal. Aldritch sighed, "If that's everything, there's the door. I have my own problems to solve."
"Those problems would be resolved if you listened to myself or my brothers," the Gorgon growled, only provoking a small flinch in the mortal.
"Well, congratulations, you'll get to see how that turns out when I retire in a year." The Tyrant snapped. "After I deal with these rebels in the Segmentum, Eli can take my position and you can deal with someone who does just that."
Ferrus frowned at the response, "If this Eli is much more supportive of our cause, I welcome his ascension."
Aldritch had the gall to then laugh at the Gorgon. "You'll be getting a glorified yes-man. Eli is a genius, I'll give him that much, but he's more interested in his own projects. But then again, I suppose you all share that particular vice."
"This endeavor has merit, even you can see that."
The Tyrant nodded, "It does, which is why I will support it all the same. God knows that the chance to help someone, especially people that have nothing, is worth the effort. And I'd like to leave this office doing one or two things that make me feel like I did something for humanity."
Ferrus scoffed, "You've done plenty, attempting to halt my work for one."
"Forgive me," Aldritch's voice dripped with condescension, "perhaps next time you'll share your work rather than extort the Imperium over it." The Tyrant smiled, "I have never once regretted doing what I did. I'm happy to see that it has improved your work at least."
The Gorgon stood to his full height, towering over the Tyrant of Terra in a blatant attempt at physical intimidation. "You should choose your words more carefully," he growled.
"I-I don't think I will," the mortal stood up himself, a hand on his sidearm. "Now get the fuck out of my office."
A part of Ferrus was tempted to remain, just to ensure the Tyrant knew he wasn't one to be trifled with. The other part, however, was unwilling to waste time over an inconsequential man. But he could resist one final parting shot, "Watch yourself Aldritch, you've angered too many of my brothers already."
"I've already had to stand my ground while the Angel of Baal decided to voice his grievances. That wasn't a pleasant experience." The Tyrant of Terra called out to the retreating Ferrus.
He got what he came for, but the Gorgon couldn't help but feel that conversation could have gone better.
I can taste it on the edge of my tongue, feel it pulsing through my veins, burning within me like a fire that cannot be quenched.
The nails scream, and the feeling is drowned beneath pain and rage.
I have come a long way. Endured too much for even a Primarch, experienced horrors no one can face and stay sane.
The nails scream, and my mind reverts to an animalistic state.
I smell fear, then hear a voice that sounds oh so familiar.
The nails scream, and their words turn into screams.
I stand here, my body chained, my spirit shattered, my soul deteriorating by the minute, as I have stood for so many long decades. My eyes have seen much suffering, my hands have known much toil, my heart has felt too much pain, and the light shining through the darkness has long been snuffed out.
The nails scream, and my thoughts turn to nothing but violence.
I have never truly known freedom, I realize one day. There has always been a master, someone's hand on my leash. The nails remain a collar that I can only shed in death.
The nails scream, but the thought of death remains.
I talk with my brother, the first conversation among equals in a long time. Through the darkness comes a single beam of light, so small it seems like it will be shrouded at any moment.
The nails scream, but the light remains.
I am free of chains upon my body, but the chains on my soul remain. Those that once served me gaze upon me like they would a violent hound. A few of them may have, one day, become a friend, but that path has been closed for me. For the second time in years, I make a choice all on my own.
The nails scream, and the moment almost vanishes.
I take a deep breath and force the words through gritted, hateful teeth. "The World Eaters are dead, let the War Hounds be reborn."
The nails fall silent.
GM Note: Special thanks to @Ruirk for the following italicized section:
As a young man learning to rule, Roboute found that his father had plenty of insight to offer. Far be it for him to ignore any advice, especially from the man that raised him, he always hung up on the warnings more than anything. A thousand accomplishments could be undone by one mistake.
"Never overstay your welcome, Roboute." The words stuck around, even after all these years, and now he was starting to recognize that quite a bit of the government had overstayed; that is to say, people were running out of patience with it. Worse, they were starting to resent it.
Roboute knew that good government was based on the consent of the governed. This means that a government's legitimacy and authority are derived from the people's willingness to be governed by it. This was, in essence, tolerating certain agreements, like taxes for defense spending and participating in the local administration.
Why? Because it meant they trusted their rulers to enact mandates and decisions that ultimately benefited those governed. It all seemed so simple when Konor explained it to him as a boy. A good leader, first and foremost, needs to be a responsible one.
Responsibility was the cornerstone of good leadership. Integrity, empathy, vision, and motivation were equally important, but Roboute believed the person in charge had to take ownership of their decisions and actions and be held accountable to the people they serve, the law, and the realm.
But who was held accountable in the Imperium of Man? A thousand men and women held sway over quadrillions of humans and millions of Astartes. The Emperor, the Sigillite, the Tyrant and his Lord-Generals, Kelbor-Hal and Fabricator-Generals, his brothers, and many others.
All of whom were practically untouchable. Yes, perhaps the Emperor or Sigillite could easily reign most of those people in, but if they didn't care or had other concerns? One needs only see how effective the Tyrant of Terra was with getting any of his brothers to cooperate. Which was saying something as his mother thought highly of Aldritch.
In which case, what was the mechanism to hold any of their mistakes accountable? The Tyrant could subpoena them, but so far, that hadn't done much other than drawing out this circus of a government.
He didn't want to think of how most humans would react if they knew what was happening behind closed doors. Especially now. Then again, they no doubt suspected issues based on the increased taxes and conscription efforts.
Yet humanity was a species that often willingly took ignorance over the truth. Roboute strongly suspected that was to the benefit of the species as a whole. The problem now was even free citizens were starting to get frustrated. The poor and impoverished often jumped at the first chance of change in government if there was a promise of work and food. Fates blessed him that the Realm of Ultramar didn't have to deal with those problems.
The rest of the Imperium? You'd be hard-pressed to find a world that wasn't dealing with food, water, fuel, or air rationing with a limited workforce or an overburdened economy. Many of those in charge were either unable or unwilling to create solutions. Worse, there were plenty just wanting to line their pockets.
Ineffective government, from the top to the very bottom. Was it surprising that the Imperium was on the brink of credit default? He felt like a man on a sinking ship, trying to toss out the water with a bucket while everyone was trying to find one themselves or unaware of their impending doom.
Those that knew didn't care, and those that cared didn't know. The Desolation was the start of all of this, but it still came from a failure of leadership. Not just Angron or those within, but from Terra itself and among his own brothers. Even Roboute failed to see the warnings.
He had become too distracted, even more than usual these last few years. How was he to reconcile this impending apocalypse when there were so many others? This impending civil war would be a minor conflict in the history books.
Especially if what Yyraine told him was true. She warned him that a great change would occur in the galaxy. After the events of the Nomad World and everything else, he feared for the future. She had proven herself to be a useful…ally, among other things. The secret alliance with the Eldar was an unexpected but beneficial arrangement.
Regardless, time was running out for the Imperium in more ways than one. He would need to make a choice, him and all his brothers, regarding its fates. The Karnori once asked if he was prepared to do whatever was necessary as a ruler to ensure the survival of the Realm of Ultramar, and he had no answer.
Perhaps soon, he would finally have it.
Then Guilliman returned to the present, where Vulkan was just beginning to talk. His experiences of the past few years fell away, the joint hell Thiel and him experienced on Tumultus briefly flashed through his mind before vanishing, for it was not important at this time. Hopefully, Thiel's next assignment will go well.
"The average Imperial citizen is safer than ever. The days of fear and oppression are now in the past," Vulkan snorted as he began his speech. "It is a lie of propaganda, of a government that never tried to resolve the problem. And so, the Renegade Few have demands." Guilliman leaned forward, hopeful that these would not be too radical.
"First, we must recognize that the Imperium is unfair." Well, that wasn't an encouraging start. "The nobles within the Imperium have gained wealth, while the average citizen has not seen a hint of an increase in their standard of living. And so, we must ensure that the average citizen sees their wages increase as their productivity increases." Alright, Guilliman thought, that was possible, although it would be difficult to convince the nobles and elites of the Imperium.
"Second, we must ensure that every person has the right to live. No one should go hungry, no one should go without shelter, no one should go without the ability to survive. We must create an Imperium where even the poorest can at least live." Guilliman nodded at that, it was both the moral and pragmatic thing to do. Even the coldest governor had to realize that larger populations produce more, so keeping people alive was for the best.
"Third, we must recognize the sanctity of the Mechanicum," Guilliman swore quietly, turning his eyes towards Kelbor-Hal, who seemed utterly serene. "The Treaty of Mars was signed in good faith by both parties, and so they must be treated with dignity, and their beliefs respected. However!" Vulkan paused, letting Guilliman hope that he hadn't actually managed to get Kelbor-Hal to support him, despite everything that they had discussed earlier. "This does not mean the Mechanicum is exempt from ensuring the livelihood of the common man."
"Fourth," Vulkan sighed, "fourth, we must ensure that people want to join the Imperium. If a world is found that is led by a sane government that is supported by the population, and it does not want to join the Imperium, we should not start a war."
"Brothers, friends, this is our moment to create a better Imperium, let us not waste it." Vulkan ended his short speech, then turned towards Kelbor-Hal.
"And with a few short words, the Imperium dies," Guilliman whispered under his breath.
Mortarion was pleased, a rare feeling for him. After the events of the past few decades, he could feel the strain on his body. His lungs scarred from the heavy breathing in combat, his brain filled with stress chemicals thanks to his realization of Angron's state, but now his facial muscles tried to smile every now and then. He eyed the events that were proceeding in front of him dispassionately, as if disinterested. Only the Death Guard knew him better. They knew he was more than the brute some mortals thought he was. He had made mistakes before, the lack of focus on infrastructure for one, thankfully fixed now. But he was also the Death Lord, the Primarch that adapted, he had expanded the Tallymen for a reason after all.
But at the moment, Mortarion was glad for his reputation. No one expected him to be a skilled politician, yet he had learned over the decades. He almost felt guilty for his actions, but had he been honest, then he doubted Kesar would ever have supported this endeavor as much as he had.
There would not be a peaceful resolution, Mortarion knew. Not unless the Emperor fell on his own sword.
There were too many cracks in the Imperium, ones he had never thought to pull upon until now. Not until he had a reason for it. A reason to damn the galaxy into another massive war, and one that was necessary. The Emperor was a necromancer, one that was unwilling to listen to reason, unwilling to even admit his actions. Mortarion had killed witches that had done less, and he had done so to cheers.
The Emperor would die, Mortarion had already decided, and his death would be celebrated.
Sic Semper Tyrannis.
"I have always been a man of logic and calculation," the Fabricator General of Mars began, forcing Mortarion to suppress his smile. "I only join causes once I am thoroughly convinced of its necessity, for the Mechanicum is fundamentally a conservative institution, for while innovation is wondrous, it is also dangerous." For a moment, Kelbor's mechadendrites seemed to gleam dangerously, supplementing his words, likely an intentional move, Mortarion thought. "After intense study and calculation, I have come to a conclusion similar to Lord Primarch Vulkan."
"The Imperium must change. And I bring forth a list of four demands." It was at this moment that the Primarch of the Death Guard was pleased with Kelbor's own nature and desires. This would have been far more difficult without his support.
"First, similar to what was previously said, the Mechanicum must be respected. A treaty was signed in good faith, one that has ensured the Imperium and Mechanicum both prosper." He let out a theatrical sigh, "unfortunately, there are elements within the Imperium that have killed Mechanicum officials for no reason." Kelbor snarled, "This is unacceptable! As long as Mechanicum officials have to fear for their lives, the Imperium has failed! As the Fabricator-General of Mars, I demand that these perpetrators be brought to justice!"
Kelbor took a breath, creating the illusion of, or perhaps actually, calming down. "Secondly," he began in a calmer tone, "a greater percentage of wealth must be held by groups besides Imperial nobles or the Mechanicum." A few interested murmurs spread through the room at the inclusion of the Mechanicum in that statement. "I acknowledge that I myself have a part to play in this, but with new evidence coming to light, I have begun to align the Mechanicum in a more egalitarian fashion, and I encourage the Imperium to do the same." He gestured, pointing towards Vulkan, "ask the Lord of Drakes if you do not believe me, and he will inform you of what I'm doing to decrease wealth inequality within the Imperium."
Mortarion shifted, forcing himself to not actively vibrate in glee. Every demand they had was reasonable, each one needed, and yet, they would all be refused without hesitation. "Furthermore!" Kelbor raised his voice to draw attention back to himself. "We must ensure greater dissemination of knowledge among the Imperium. While I have had my differences with Archmagos Shor, he has brought up several ideas of note. When combined with information provided to me by other entities, I have authorized a small portion of the Mechanicum's wealth for teaching the layman."
"Lastly," Kelbor-Hal slowed, speaking softer, forcing his audience to lean in. "There must be an increase in oversight for the top officials of the Imperium. Look at the Desolation, a devastating action caused by Lord Primarch Angron. This could have been prevented by a degree of oversight. Then there is the Sigillite, and while I understand that secrecy is needed, some of his agents have on occasion gone rogue and attempted to harm Imperial interests. Surely something must be done about this?!"
Kelbor sighed, waving toward Horus listlessly, "But for now I shall end my speech, and cede the floor to others."
The Favored Son, The First Found, The Champion of the Great Crusade, The Lupercal, He-Who-Would-Be-Warmaster.
Horus.
Here he stands, in possibly the most important time and place he's ever been. The stage is yours.
"Some would say I'm the ideal Primarch," Horus began. "The first Primarch ever found, raised by the Emperor, a man the Emperor calls a son. It is not arrogance when I say I am the Emperor's favorite son, for among my brothers it is known that this is the case." Horus sighed, giving the room time to let his words sink in. "And yet … and yet, I've made unforgivable mistakes."
He looked around the room, taking in the reactions. His brothers were surprised at his words, the mortals almost baffled. "It is not on the level of my brother Angron, the Bloody Angel, a Primarch who should be executed for his actions. But in my anger, I have killed those that simply pointed out some of the Imperium's flaws, so blinded was I by the lie that was told to me."
Horus smiled sadly, letting his memories of that day be brought to the forefront. One of the few days he'd killed someone in anger. The day he'd killed a member of Polaris that served under him for mere words directed at him. "The Emperor and his creations are beyond reproach."
He could feel the stares on him, stares that demanded he continue. That he explain his words, explain his thoughts. "How can Primarchs be above reproach? I ask you," he let the question hang in the air for a moment. "Because the Imperium does not acknowledge its problems, instead it prefers to plaster over them with blood and flame."
The Lupercal sighed, knowing that after this, his father would throw him aside. "Today, I stand before you, wishing to solve a problem that has become clear to me. The lack of oversight upon my brothers and I, the lack of oversight upon Malcador the Sigillite, and lastly, the lack of oversight upon the Emperor himself." He heard gasps in the crowd, chiefly among some of the servants and mortals. His eyes drifted towards Mortarion, who on the surface seemed curious, but Horus could tell he was excited.
"I put forward an idea that could brand me a traitor to the Imperium," Horus began to pace through the room, circling like a shark on the hunt. "The idea that the Emperor may not be perfect, that he too may have erred."
He stopped, standing where everyone could see him directly, "what else would you call the decision to place Angron, a Primarch infamous for his lack of sanity, in charge of trillions of lives without any semblance of control?" Horus snarled, "if a mad hound bites a child, who is to blame? The hound or the owner? It is both!" He paced as he spoke, ensuring everyone took in his words. "Only a handful have ever brought up this fact as if Angron simply appeared in a position of power himself. He was placed there by the Emperor, a position of power where the Bloody Angel directly caused the deaths of trillions!"
"And so, I am left with a final conclusion, each of us needs some degree of accountability, for without that, we are doomed to repeat our mistakes until the end of time." Horus took a deep breath, calming himself down so that his final words would resonate with everyone. "The Imperium cannot afford a second Desolation, let alone a third. So if the choice is between letting the status quo remain and conducting change through any means necessary, then I'm afraid the choice becomes clear."
Horus didn't bother ceding the floor. Instead, he just collapsed in his chair and desperately hoped that a miracle would allow his demand to be met without war. He looked over at Vulkan, who was staring at him intently. Then he broke eye contact and whispered to no one. "Perhaps one of us has a miracle left up their sleeve."
GM Note: Special thanks to @Ruirk for the following:
Magnus remembered a line in one of the many books he read as a child, "All thinking men have the capacity for hate and love, good and evil, yet each is only reciprocated through similar means." It sounded so naive to him at the time. Thinking back, the stark beauty in those words seemed truer than before.
Why, then, had he not understood until now? He wanted to believe that he had, at some point, tried in earnest to help others familiarize themselves with the knowledge that psykers were a force for good and people that desired equal opportunity to be free and happy.
That he wasn't the enemy, for a time, it seemed like no one listened. Yet perhaps, in his arrogance and pride, he blocked out all criticism or concerns in his quest to educate others, leaving him alone in his hubris and rejection. His brothers became uninspired or brutish, unwilling to expand their minds or even ask a question that would allow him just to say, "Yes, I am a person! I am your brother! I am one of you!"
Instead, he was left with only the silence of his fury for the longest time. Arrogance and pride became his only companions. The quest for knowledge and understanding became a mockery, an excuse to create more walls and widen the gap between his brothers and humanity.
And yet…and yet things had changed. Magnus found a new path, leading him to find companionship and friends among the Eldar. It wasn't their unfathomable knowledge or quiet diligence that intrigued him…rather, their openness and ability to make him ask himself questions had been left unanswered.
Who was he? What did he want? Why did he seek to change himself and others? Who or what mattered the most to Magnus the Red?
At first, his answers "bored" the Eldar. They gave him only more pointed questions. It took him a long while to find them, and even then, he needed the help of someone like Morianne and Eldrad Ulthran to help point him back toward his family. It was among his kin that he would find the answers he sought.
His return was scrutinized and surprised, but he offered what help he could. When Mortarion and Horus feared that their brother Angron would find himself at the mercy of their Father and sought answers on Nuceria, Magnus told Mortarion the truth of what he saw and felt that day.
To his surprise, Mortarion was grateful for his aid. Though he did speak in kind words or gestures, the Pale King desired the truth rather than live in ignorance. He cared too much about the fate of Angron, his awful past, and his doomed future to turn away from either.
His brothers needed to know what was happening. There were too many uncertainties and dangers and not enough answers and solutions to go around. Not unless they found the will and courage to join as men and kin.
Magnus knew that he had to offer his services and skills. If nothing else to sate his curiosity, but finally reconnect with his brothers. But he feared what his involvement might mean for Mortarion or Vulkan, both moving towards an escalation with their Father and Emperor that would shake the very foundations of the Imperium.
Yet he had to try. He was tired of being kept out of the loop and unable to talk to his brothers without feeling like stepping on eggshells. This wasn't the time either to sit on the side even if Corvus and Roboute pretended not to participate in these talks of demanding answers from their Father.
So he once again offered his aid.
To his surprise, Mortarion came forward to speak with him. The Pale King wasn't happy or excited, looking like a man who tasted something foul and sour…but he spoke with him and asked the Crimson King, "How can we fix the problem with psykers in the Imperium?"
Such a simply phrased yet complicated question. One that belied intense bitter feelings, opinions, hesitations, and desires from the brother who had only ever despised psykers towards the brother who would help champion their right to life and happiness.
Magnus the Red knew that tomorrow would be full of uncertainties. He had no chance to ever fully help Mortarion see a different point of view, for he wasn't his brother's keeper, but in those moments on Orus…he felt as if there was still a chance for a better future.
GM Note: Special thanks to @argenten for the following
"Psykers are dangerous." Mortarion's start to his speech did not fill the Cyclops of Prospero with much hope. Magnus knew that Mortarion was still struggling with his own nature but really? "This is fact. However, so are any other weapons, including ourselves. What is it that makes us different then?"
Magnus blinked his eye in mild surprise, not exactly the tact he was expecting, which was rather the point he supposed, "The difference is not in our nature. Nor is it in our supposed invulnerability as many mortals think we have, as the suffering of Angron proves. What makes us different is our training, taught or otherwise."
Magnus found himself raising a finger, only to lower it as he saw Mortarion's point and could get the gist...and let it stand, "The current system of 'training' for Imperial psykers is so ramshackle and disorganized that the average auxiliary attachment to the Imperial Army is as likely to cause mass casualties on our own side from lack of control as they are to do sufficient damage to the enemy to justify their existence."
Magnus was going to let that one slide...
"If we must accept that psykers are a part of humanity and one that can be used for the greater good, then their training, like that of our own gene sons and any other military organization, must be brought to sufficient competency that we are not wasting resources, lives, and more on 'good enough'! 'Good enough' is never enough when you are dealing with the POWERS OF THE WARP!"
Magnus was in this speech and he didn't like it.
"Our psykers need to have training not only to be able to avoid being overtaken by them in the course of their life, but in many cases, their powers are run rampant due to outside influences, nearby warp storms, or xenos artifacts. It is crucial that they be taught how to suppress their powers on their own so that the use or lack of use of said powers is of their will and their will alone."
Magnus knew a que when he heard one...
"As much as I disagree with Mortarion in most cases," almost all, he silently added, "he is correct in this case. Being able to fully control one's power is a necessary skill for psykers, one that the Imperium often ignores." The Cyclops walked over to stand next to the Death Lord.
"If the only psyker you meet is one trained by the Astra Telepathica, then it is little wonder they are feared and hated," Magnus growled, after meeting the excuse that was the head of the telepathica, he almost thought Mortarion was right in some of his anti-psyker rants. "I have met with several such psykers myself, and I continuously find myself disappointed and unamused."
Magnus snapped his fingers, creating a tiny flame above his hand. "The power a psyker wields is great," the fire grew larger, "the level of knowledge a psyker should have to use their power must be correspondingly great," the flame returned to its original state. "It is for these reasons that I agree with Mortarion, the psykers within the Imperium must be trained to a higher standard."
It was what they agreed upon earlier, but Magnus had to acknowledge Mortarion's skill in setting up the situation. Here they were, two extremes when it came to how psykers should be treated jointly coming to an agreement. And like Magnus, Mortarion knew a que when he heard one.
"I will … acknowledge," Baby steps Magnus, you can't expect Mortarion to say this without sounding like he's being tortured to speak. "That you are qualified when it comes to training psykers." Magnus would have to save the recordings from this, who knows when Mortarion would admit it again? "But how qualified are you in the laws and customs concerning psykers?"
Magnus flashed a look of smugness at his brother before suppressing it. If Mortarion thought he wasn't familiar with the topic, he was about to eat his words. "Exceedingly, I've created a framework that's used on Prospero and my Legion, updating it as needed. I've cataloged the Imperium's policies on psykers a century ago and tracked the changes that occurred as the Imperium grew. And I have on numerous occasions attempted to change several of the current contradictory rules when it comes to psykers."
He paused, bringing forth in his mind the worst offenders, "under some interpretations of the legal code, Astartes would be classified as psykers due to their modifications. A truly unbiased reading would even be able to find cause to execute Sanguinius for the simple crime of having wings." That truly disgusted him, he'd even had the misfortune of meeting people like that. "I have seen administratum clerks mark psykers as cargo rather than people because of the legal system. I have evidence of sanctioned psykers being dragged to the black ships because different sectors had different requirements for what constituted a sanctioned psyker!" Magnus knew he was slowly growing louder, but no one could blame him for being angry at the injustice.
"There are thousands of other horrific implications, and tens of thousands of stories of men, women, and children suffering because the Imperium has never bothered to listen to any of my suggestions!" Perhaps it was simply Malcador's control freak tendencies, or perhaps he simply didn't care. "The sheer magnitude at which the legal code can be interpreted is monstrous, and in some interpretations, it says that the Emperor of Mankind should be executed or shackled to the Black Ships! I ask you, is this right?!"
Magnus was dimly aware that he likely looked furious. He'd never gone on this rant anywhere but within the presence of his closest sons. Doing it out in public wasn't what he had intended, but he felt it was needed.
"No, it isn't," Mortarion declared simply.
The Cyclops double-taked, wondering if perhaps this entire conference was a fever dream. An expression that Mortarion clearly picked up on judging by his annoyance.
GM Note: Thanks to @Ruirk for the following section
Someday, someone would ask Vulkan why he did all this and risked his family, friends, and perhaps even the Imperium. How would history remember him and his reforms? But more importantly, what made a demigod want to upend all of society?
It started on a forgotten agri-world, Verax IV. Twenty years ago, the Salamanders liberated that planet from the clutches of a Psybrid warband. So much destruction, yet the people of Verax IV had never given up the will to fight. When the Imperium of Man arrived, hope was alive once more.
He had aided in the liberation of many worlds, but Verax IV was a personal victory in more ways than one.
Here he witnessed the indomitable human spirit in its multitudes. A spirited defiance that had cooled into hopeful cooperation. The future was bright. So they sought to thank the Lord of Salamander with a gift.
Though they had little left from the occupation, the people gave the Primarch a bundle of beautiful metal flowers forged from the destroyed war-machines of the Psybrid warband. A lovely prize, and one that he kept in his personal quarters to this day.
When the Salamanders left Verax IV, he promised to return after defeating the Psybrids.
"Your defiance against the Psybrids proves that we can overcome such horrors. That at the core of human strength is hope. To endure and grow through all the hardships and obstacles. Over the last few decades, I have seen only bitterness and despair. Yet you, the people, have shown me plenty of strength remains in man. When I return, the Psybrids will be defeated, and I shall call upon your strength once more."
True to his promise…he defeated the Psybrids. It took him a decade. A long, brutal decade, but he achieved final victory over such beasts. Upon his return to the Imperium of Man, he made his victory lap and soon arrived back at Verax IV.
From above Verax IV, he saw the planet was still hale and healthy.
A dozen shining beacons of light dotted the surface. Industry and civilization flourishing. A sign of improvement. The people had rebuilt their lives.
Naturally, his return to their world generated attention. As he landed with his honor guard, he expected to be greeted with the faces of industrious people. Tired but eager to continue aiding in the recovery of their world.
Yet when he landed…he saw only gaunt, grim faces. The people cheered with forced smiles, and in their eyes, he saw it. Fear, resentment, grief, and hopelessness.
Horrified, the Primarch all but demanded an explanation from a confused governor. He wasn't from Verax IV; he kept spouting excuses and reasonings.
"Quotas have to be met," "Certain restrictions were necessary," "Punishments were necessary," and "Executions were within acceptable limits."
When the governor said it was completely legal and within his right to carry out the orders of the Adeptus Terra, he wanted to burn him and his entire palace down. Yet he stayed his fury and tried to learn why the Imperium had done what the Psybrids could not.
He was foolish to just move about the cities and farming zones. He scared most of the population into hiding as he searched for answers, practically demanding the entire planet halt production so he could inspect it.
No one spoke to him, not in any meaningful way. He started demanding answers and then realized these people weren't locals. They were people brought off-world to slowly replace those from Verax IV.
Upon hearing this, he demanded where the original inhabitants had gone. The governor and his administration didn't know where the survivors were now.
Verax IV had gone through a small rebellion, resulting in the Imperium crushing it to prevent another spark similar to the Desolation from spreading across the sub-sector. No one had even thought to speak with the rebels.
Better to have killed and deported the survivors. Verax IV had only been home to four billion people. A pitiful number, small enough to swiftly remove through various means. Even if he had tried to find someone, anyone who once called this planet home was likely only a few left spread across the sub-sector.
It took the better part of a month to finally find an enclave of these people. What he saw made him weep, for it wasn't the fear or anger directed towards him. He who promised a better world and future, but instead, it was the defeated look in their eyes.
To survive the Age of Strife, the Psybrids, and all other disasters and tribulations that fell upon Verax IV, both in body and spirit, to now see it was the Imperium of Man, other humans, that finally broke them.
The cruelty and indifference of an empire.
The same empire he swore to defend.
And the very one that finally extinguished the fire in the hearts of a beat that burned brighter than even the Lord of Drakes.
He knew that this couldn't continue. There could never be another repeat of Verax IV. That the Imperium of Man had to be reformed from the inside. Not through violence but through understanding and compassion. That the hope which yearned in the hearts of every man, woman, and child for a better future would never be extinguished.
So when people would ask him, "Why are you doing this?" He would only say, "Because we can do better."
It'd certainly been an eventful series of years for Corvus. He'd taken a visit to Commorragh with Sachmis and learned more about the Dark Eldar than he ever expected. He'd created the Skeleton Key, an artifact of incredible power, one that Lockcraft rightfully feared. He'd recruited the Chairman to run a crime ring all so that he could covertly fund Ravenloft. Hell, the organization he made studied holidays of all things, and the information from that project was genuinely helpful. Now here he was, attending a meeting that was certain to be eventful. And he was attending it on the side of the Emperor, at least as far as everyone knew.
He had to make sure to keep up that facade. After all, he was planning out an absurdly dangerous heist, and supporting the formation of an Eldar empire. What next? He'd recruit a Xenos assassin sent to kill him? The series of events that had led to this point was truly absurd, yet his own decisions were the largest cause of the present.
GM Note: Thanks to @Ruirk for the following section
After everything had been said and done, Corvus would readily welcome calling himself the King of the Fools, for that is what he felt like these days. Where others would proclaim themselves wise or insightful or masters of their fates, he knew better.
No one with an ounce of wisdom or sanity believed themselves cunning enough to get away with even half the decisions he had made these last few years. Worse yet, given his accomplishments, he was starting to believe he could.
If nothing else, his luck was keeping up with this…nonsense. An adage came to mind: you never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from. Then again, he stopped believing in things like luck. The gods had played enough tricks on men like him since time immortal.
The uninitiated or unaware would look upon his accomplishments with awe and envy. He created the Skeleton Key, allied with the Aeldari, formed Ravenloft, and was bedding perhaps one of the most dangerous women in the galaxy. He was also caught in an impending civil war, trying to "play" both sides while keeping his "volatile" activities a secret.
His mistakes were not born from his decisions or actions but from consequences compounded by unforeseen complications. All of which could have been seen an entire lightyear away.
Mixing politics, religion, and sex…
Playing dangerous games nets you delicious prizes but equally damning punishments if you were to fail. That he made it this far hinted either Corvus was incredibly lucky and capable…or the rest of the galaxy was made up of greater fools than he first anticipated.
It was enough to make him drink, which, thanks to Sachmis, he started doing just that. Damn, that insufferable, beautiful woman. She poked and taunted him in ways that got him too riled up, and his only solace was his ability to do the same to her. Sex and love were so addictive.
Yet Sachmis was on schedule to complicate his life even further. Her blasted dominion was already set in motion, but beyond that was her part in the coming theft and resurrection of the Venus godseed. An overtly complicated and resource-intensive attempt to return a god to this realm so that he could prove a point to the Aeldari.
The Aeldari…this alliance was a windfall and a sword looming overhead. His only relief was knowing Roboute and Magnus were equally deep into this arrangement. If one of them were to hang, the others would as well. Eldrad Ulthran had proven a powerful ally, though. As had the other Eldar.
Which complicated things further. Humans weren't meant to be allied with aliens or those that rejected the Imperial Truth or compliance. Corvus had stopped caring either way. Could he tell another to stop siding with an alien when he shared his bed with one? Tell a freeman to join a nation that used slaves? Order men and women to abandon their faith because it didn't fit neatly into the Emperor's plan?
He was tired of being a hypocrite, and if he were to compromise on his principles, he would do it for at least one or two worthy causes. The Lord of Ravens knew there were worse things in this galaxy to falter on. Besides, he was always the sort to go down a different path.
This business with the gods was a good indication of that. He took a small bit of pride in knowing that if he was the King of the Fools, he wasn't a blind idiot like Lorgar.
His brother…their brother was undoubtedly an embarrassment and a warning. Lorgar had sought to gain answers. To find the truth. Yet what had that idiot done? He sought to create divinity for a man that had no need for it. Their brother had the opportunity to learn from the Old Faiths, but he either didn't know or cared enough to try.
Such wasted potential. Had Lorgar attempted to organize the other faiths and learn from them, perhaps he would've understood that faith and divinity did not go hand-in-hand with capability and wisdom. Corvus had spoken with three gods now…and he wasn't impressed.
They were flawed, stuck in their own ways, and looked upon the galaxy with bitterness and regret…old souls who had either died before or been forced into taking action. Meanwhile, the "animals" ran rampant across the stars. The savage gods hiding in their homes and trying to formulate a plan against Chaos.
He didn't hold such things against them. This new galaxy required a different sort of mortal and god to survive it. Cegorach warned him that each man had a part to play in the stage of the universe. If he was to be the King of the Fools, he might as well embrace the damn role.
Better to be the self-aware fool than the one who has yet to realize it.
"How much of this was planned?" Alpharius asked the Eldar prisoner as soon as he entered the cell.
"I have no idea," the Harlequin responded immediately with a cocky grin, "perhaps all of it, perhaps some of it, or perhaps none at all~"
"I'm not in the mood for games, Asurvan," Alpharius snarled, after everything he'd heard from Omegon, everything he'd learned from his sons, he needed answers. "I'll join your theatrics later, but I can't afford it right now." If pressed, the Hydra would admit that he had a fondness for the Harlequin's sense of showmanship, it was certainly enjoyable to follow, and it gave him a few ideas for introductions alongside Omegon.
The Harlequin tapped their lips, clearly amused but considering the offer. "Hmm, give me twenty Astartes, appropriate props, a stage, and an audience and you have a deal."
"Fine, done." Alpharius immediately said, not bothering to negotiate at all. He almost relished the surprise on the Eldar's face.
"Oh, it's that level of serious then," the Harlequin's entire personality shifted back into Asurvan, similar to an actor shedding a role. "What do you wish to know?"
"I know you have an arrangement with Magnus, who else have you subverted?" It was blunt and to the point, nowhere near the sophistication he was capable of, but if he tried to be subtle it'd take him months of effort to get this information.
Asurvan hummed in thought, "As far as I know, none, and the arrangement with Magnus was more knowledge and favor trading than anything else. We assisted him in the Garden, he assisted us in the Eye. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Fine, what about your Farseers, what has the Great Seer been planning with the Imperium?"
"I don't know."
"Alright...what about your military?"
"Beats me."
"How are your forces trying to stop Chaos?"
"By killing them I guess."
"...what do you know?"
"I know I don't know the answer to a lot of these questions!"
"Fine," Alpharius huffed, "what do you know?"
"Like, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say, we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns. You know?" Asurvan smiled at Alpharius' deadpan expression.
"Although the language may be tortured, the basic point is both valid and important. That said, you're down to 15 Astartes for your play for making me have to listen to that." The smile disappeared.
"Killjoy," the Harlequin sulked, "I don't know anything beyond what I was told, the Laughing God is a Fool, but he is not a fool, he wouldn't have sent me if I knew anything useful." The Eldar chuckled in a self-deprecating manner, "Have you heard the saying, don't shoot the messenger? Perhaps they should add, don't imprison them."
This was a mistake, Alpharius thought, of course Asurvan didn't know anything, they'd spent years verifying it. He'd already had all his secrets dragged out of him, it seems his fears were making him irrational. "Fine, let's try a hypothetical," the Harlequin leaned forward, interested in crafting a future story, "if you were the Laughing God, how would you subvert me?"
"Why would I?" Asurvan grinned, "You play the role of Alpharius so well, to change that would be the sign of a bad playwright, no, no, it would be much more interesting to simply let the future play and see what comes of the character Alpharius, will he open his eyes to the world or let them remain sewn shut?"
"Alright, so a dedicated information campaign and psychological honeypots, sounds reasonable," Alpharius distilled Harlequin into a more understandable language to Asurvan's dismay. "Corvus?"
"How droll," Asurvan commented, "simply going down a list? I expected more from you. That's worth at least 40 Astartes for my play."
The Hydra twitched, suppressing the urge to instantly agree. "You obviously want to cooperate in some fashion. Why add all these absurd conditions?"
"Because you aren't asking shrewd questions. Because shrewd questions deserve honest answers." The Harlequin's eyes glistened with amusement.
"In what way does that make sense?" Alpharius exclaimed in exasperation.
"You aren't looking at this through the eyes of a player on the stage of life."
"If this is how you talk while imprisoned, no wonder the Emperor and Malcador hate your kind," Alpharius grumbled, "they're what, the evil tyrant and evil right-hand man in this analogy?"
The Harlequin clapped his hands, "Yes! Yes! You're understanding it now! The entire galaxy is a play, and we are all but actors upon it!" The Harlequin leaped onto the table, spreading their hands out in glee, "Do you see now what questions must be asked?"
"Who's the lead actor then?" Alpharius asked, trying to make the Harlequin's logic work in his favor.
"Oh, there are multiple leads in this act. It's just switching around from multiple points of view. Perhaps none of you are the lead." The Harlequin responded immediately. "Maybe the galaxy is the lead in this story? It's scary to think about being an extra in someone else's story."
Alpharius' mind worked swiftly, categorizing his worldview all so he could fit the Harlequin's analogy. "Then wouldn't the characters change between points of view?" Asurvan looked at him, tilting their head in confusion. "An extra in someone else's story might be described in a single sentence, but in their own story, they would require entire plays to describe."
"And yet, add but one line in their own story, and the character can change entirely, add an entire chapter, and an extra will remain unchanged," the Harlequin added, clearly pleased at Alpharius' deduction. "Now, what does that tell you?"
"The lightest of touches," Alpharius began, "applied at the perfect time." He almost felt mesmerized at the thought, it was the highest ideal for him and Omegon, and it seemed it was how the Harlequins operated at all times, "you add a few words at the right time, and entire volumes, entire plays are turned upon their head."
"Some would call it induced chaos. I would argue, that's the point." The Harlequin smiled nostalgically, remembering some story coming to a culmination Alpharius suspected, "Bring enough plays together, and a single meeting can create waves that echo to eternity."
"Because...you would be able to influence events easier. It's malleable in the right circumstances. Especially if you have someone like your Great Seer on hand." Alpharius laughed, "Then you can see how the script changes."
"Do make sure to tell Cegorach of this," the Harlequin's eyes glinted, "I suspect he'd be rather pleased."
"Not to worry Asurvan," Alpharius stood up and opened the door to the cell, gesturing for Asurvan to leave, "lead me to him."
"Wait, what?"
"This is as much on you as it is on him!" Omegon shouted as he hit the end of his rope. "Yes, I understand, what Kesar did is short-sighted and foolish, but it was fucking predictable thanks to your response!"
"Because he had no trust in me!" Malcador shouted back, "I was prepared to compromise, I was willing to discuss matters, but he had no faith in my willingness to talk. And so he did this!"
"What willingness?" Omegon sneered, "Name one thing you were willing to do to resolve Kesar's justified demands."
"I would have told him everything," Malcador lamented as he sank in his chair. "Every dark detail in the Imperium, every monstrous decision we made, and each cold calculus we used to get there." Omegon sat down himself, feeling as if the Sigillite truly was as old as he looked. "But that wouldn't count to you, would it?"
"We both know that wouldn't have been enough for him."
"It is the foundation behind everything, not just what happened to Angron. Everything. Why have things gone this far, why in this manner? Does he really think we went here without any thought at all?"
"That wouldn't resolve anything Malcador," the Hydra said softly, "it would be excuses and explanations. All flavor but nothing substantial. The problems and issues would remain regardless of how Kesar responded."
"None of this was meant to be permanent," the Sigillite tried to explain, "it just isn't the time for what Kesar or Vulkan demand."
"Then when will it be time?" Omegon asked, "If you had an answer to that, perhaps there never would have been a schism this large."
"What will the Imperium face on the edge of the galaxy?" Malcador answered with another question, "How long will it take to deal with the Orks? You know very well why I can't answer that."
"I can answer it." Omegon softly claimed. "After the next war."
A dark glare crossed the Sigillite's face, "You've already made up your mind on the matter, why do you care what I say?"
"I had hoped that you would have a time frame. I had hoped that all of this had a schedule, I had hoped that there was something, anything I could bring to Kesar to ease his worries." Omegon began, hoping to lead with a logical explanation. "But there is nothing but empty words, and callous mathematics. A billion lives for a trillion, we work with your men and people and know the burden. Yet, nothing has improved and nothing will improve. Everything will always be "after the next war" or "it is not yet time." How many worlds, how many governments fall prey to those insidious desires and lose everything in turn? You know the numbers, we know the numbers and it is far too many."
"And yet those numbers support everything I've done!" Malcador raised his voice to make a point, "So tell me, why do you refuse to listen to reason?"
"Because you're better than this," Omegon said with a smile, without a hint of doubt.
Malcador on the other hand, wore an expression similar to one he'd wear if Omegon had started tap dancing in front of him. "Because the two of us are clearly good people," Malcador finally said sarcastically.
"You misunderstand," Omegon began, licking his lips nervously, "I'm saying you're willing to do whatever is needed for the good of mankind."
The Sigillite scowled, "And is that wrong?"
"No, of course not," Omegon shook his head. "At the scale, we work at, we must always look at the larger picture."
"Did you not just explain to me why my larger picture is incorrect?" Malcador asked, unamused.
"I did," the Hydra said, "because you have skipped a simple solution due to your personal biases."
"And what might that be?" The Sigillite asked, clearly expecting Omegon to say something along the lines of supporting Vulkan's reforms.
"Remove the Emperor from power and take his place," the Primarch bluntly stated. "You are already responsible for the Imperium's governmental institutions, and by removing the Emperor, you meet Kesar's demands and show that you are willing to adapt."
Malcador flickered through emotions rapidly. Shock, betrayal, anger, contemplation, guilt, contemplation once more, then a deep sense of depression as he sighed. "I … did not consider that."
"And now?" Omegon asked.
"You're asking me to betray my oldest friend," the Sigillite said sadly, "a man that I fought alongside for millennia to save Terra. A man I watched weep over what had happened to mankind. A man that helped console me when I wept. A man I have fought for even at his darkest and least complete state."
"And what conclusion have you come to?"
Malcador let out a bitter laugh, "Have I decided to turn on the Emperor you mean?" Malcador let a chuckle build then die. "I hate that I'm genuinely considering it."
GM Note: Alright, at long last the interlude is done! 37 pages in total, but I'm happy with it. The next update should come out a lot quicker. For now, you get to decide how Kesar will speak and on what topic he'll cover. For this, please use plan voting.
Speaking Style
[] Focus on appealing to the Emperor
[] Focus on appealing to the Primarchs present
[] Focus on appealing to the common man
Demands for the Emperor
[] We cannot have a man missing their soul in charge of the Imperium. How can a being only partly whole rule properly?
[] The Primarchs cannot be left in the dark on matters like this. The Emperor should not hoard information such as how they were made.
[] Non-Primarchs should be read into some of the Imperium's classified information. If they are not, then they cannot make informed decisions.
[] Vulkan and Kelbor's work should not be hindered or sabotaged. They should be allowed to succeed on their own merits.
[] More effort is needed in reducing avenues for subversion. For Chaos finds it much easier to convert the downtrodden than the well-off.
[] Increasing production for the Imperium so that the Primarchs can be less beholden to the Imperium's government for resources
[] Kesar shall take over the Maelstrom for Vulkan (Vulkan does expect you to do this based on prior conversations with him)
[] The Imperium must move away from a dictatorship. Horus' comments on oversight have made it clear how a single man is always fallible.
[] Write-in
[X] Sixth - Fourth to speak was Mortarion, the Primarch going on a rather well-researched repudiation of the Imperium's policy on psykers, at one point claiming under its current laws, the Emperor himself should be executed. After which he called upon Magnus, who spoke up on further deconstructions of the failure within the Imperium's psyker institutions. At this point, Kesar spoke.
Some of his brothers were fucking disappointments, to steal a term used by a guardsman, Lion mused. Fulgrim, he expected, would find the shift in the First's beliefs to be somewhat ironic. He had thought it would be mortals that disappointed him most, considering the Desolation, that belief had only strengthened.
Then his brothers went and did … that. It was a flagrant spit in the face of the Emperor and Imperium. If anyone but a Primarch had done it, they would be executed without hesitation. And it was that fact that recontextualized the actions of mortals. Those men and women, they had a point.
A select group of his brothers still remained loyal, however, but the list was far shorter than he would have ever expected. Fulgrim, Dorn, Leman, Sanguinius, Ferrus, and himself were all that remained. Then if he compared it to the list of loyal guardsmen, he found the numbers to be impressive. "We will have to rely on the Imperial Army," he commented to the war council he had convened.
At the four corners of the round table stood himself, Dorn, Ferrus, and Leman. Each of them had been called to this meeting because he knew that they would play key roles in the decades to come. He could hear the grinding of Ferrus' teeth, he knew just how much his brother disliked it, but his argument had been logical and thorough. "Aye," Leman's own voice added, a clear hint of distaste within, "it seems we will."
"They will not approve." Ferrus remarked from his seat, "The Imperial Army." He further clarified. "How do you explain to them that they are expected to go and fight Astartes?"
"You tell them they are in open rebellion." Lion retorted to his brother with a frown. "The prospect will be daunting, this I am well aware of, but the Imperial Army will stand and fight when the time comes."
"Bold of you to assume that." Ferrus sneered at the idea, "The Imperial Army has been whining and bickering for years now over being sent into campaigns where they lose trillions without so much as seeing anything worthwhile for their troubles."
"You should appeal to more than their loyalty, Lion," Leman interjected as he drank from a tankard. "What are these men fighting for otherwise?"
"The Imperium and humanity." Lion countered, "Isn't that more than enough?" The First Son frowned, "I recognize that times have been difficult for all, but there are more challenges ahead of us before we see the light ahead."
Leman laughed, a bitter and cold sound, "Fight before the situation gets even worse? You have to give these mortals something more, Jonson. Plenty of ways to make a man walk barefoot through Hel."
"Fine," Lion grudgingly accepted, "Ferrus, we'll need Fulgrim's support in this." He turned back to Leman, "And yours as well." Truthfully, he doubted it was necessary, but arguing that would be difficult.
When the council ended, only Dorn stayed behind. "We'll need another fifty years before the next stage of Terra's defenses finish," his stoic brother reported. "I'm unsure if that is enough time."
"I am unsure as well," Lion added his own thoughts, "it depends how reasonable Kesar and Vulkan prove to be, and how well they can sway Mortarion." By now he knew who the three heads of the movement were, and he knew one of them was beyond hope. "The Wispers, how have they done so far?"
"Slowly," Dorn grunted, "those nobles are insistent on being methodical. They're effective at what they do, but they could be doing it twice as fast."
"I'll send them a letter," Lion promised, "we need to minimize disloyal actors where we can. And removing unproductive members of society is the best way to do so."
He expected Vulkan would be horrified at what he was doing, but the Lord of Drakes often failed to look at the larger picture. Improving conditions in the underhives was expensive and time-consuming. Remanding residents into servitude was cheap and made nobles happy. Some would consider it monstrous, but the Emperor allowed it, and Lion took advantage of it.
It had all been going so well. He had Aleph, he got to witness Leman trying to figure out what romance was, and he got to tease Ferrus to the point of a mental overload.
Now? Now he was in his fifth bottle of wine wondering how he wasn't drunk. "Did one of you swap out my alcohol?" He asked the servants aboard his ship.
They looked at each other as if wondering who would be foolish enough to attempt such a thing. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice for another two bottles." The Callidus truthfully spoke, "Your brother asked me a favor."
"Leave us," Fulgrim ordered his servants, directing his ire at Zeta. "It was a brave choice, but also foolish. I would have found out eventually, and what stops me from throwing you in the brig and drinking as much as I want?"
"You've had time to think," the Callidus answered, only a minor waver in her voice betraying her unease. "And you're now far enough away that you won't do something foolish on Orus."
"Oh, if only I was allowed to do something foolish." Fulgrim lamented with the same theatrics he used to bother Ferrus. "A jape or two at someone else's expense would not be remiss."
"That's not necessarily what I meant, but I suppose if that is what you were thinking of..." Zeta tried to be diplomatic about this situation, "Would you like me to perhaps bring something to eat? Maybe see if one of your sons is available to talk too?"
"I would rather fight the Unbound again," he groused, "my sons are excellent, but they would spend their time with platitudes on a problem they do not understand." He glared at the non-alcoholic wine as if it had personally offended him, which in this case it had, "I just attended a moment that will one day be referred to as the beginning of the end of the Imperium, so forgive me for being irrational."
There was silence for several seconds, Zeta trying to avoid quaking at the intensity of the Primarch's gaze. "Would …" she hesitated, "would you like me to turn into Aleph?" It was a risk, but a comfortable one. Brazen seduction was a technique all Callidus knew well.
The glare from Fulgrim almost made Zeta recoil in fear, before Fulgrim waved away at the suggestion. "No...it just wouldn't be the same. Besides, my Aleph isn't the type to engage in risqué behavior. She's far too refined for that."
"Duly noted." Zeta made a mental note to not ever pretend to be Aleph while onboard this ship. "But my lord, we really need to do something...perhaps a stroll through Aleph's art gallery would be preferable then?"
"Very well," Fulgrim accepted, "but I will expect you to pay attention to what I say."
Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, Zeta accepted, "I will think of it as a briefing."
"Nothing so serious," Fulgrim dismissed, "analyzing art for the sake of analysis is trivial. What you need to do is find your own inner voice and see how it comments upon truly excellent artwork."
That made her hesitate, "with all due respect my lord, but as a Callidus, my 'inner voice' has been well refined."
"Nonsense," Fulgrim waved off her concerns, "you're playing the role of my devoted servant right now, but someday you'll not be playing a role at all."
"Unlikely," Zeta dryly responded.
"Oh, hush now, I'm in mourning don't you see?" The Primarch quipped, the distraction from what plagued him easing his own burden. "And you give yourself far less credit than you should, you're quite the interesting individual."
"As interesting as Aleph?" Zeta seductively asked, redirecting the topic.
"Perhaps a fifth, no, a sixth as interesting," Zeta blinked, not expecting an actual answer. "You have a charm to you, and you have impressed me at times, but I have not been awed by your work."
"You have … given it more thought than I expected."
"You witnessed a part of me that only a handful ever have," Fulgrim honestly said. "A part of me wishes to go back to Orus and directly voice my fears, but that would be foolish in the extreme." He paused, "alright, you may have been wise to switch out the wine."
Zeta giggled, "Well, I'm glad to have outmaneuvered a Primarch, a shame I can never brag about it."
"Oh, such precarious thoughts plague my mind! To think I have fallen so low that a mortal can outplay me." Again, Fulgrim played up the part of the disparaging lord. It was amusing, somewhat, to Zeta, but it didn't help address the problem.
Zeta tried a different approach, "My lord...perhaps putting these thoughts to canvas might help?" Then she got a brilliant idea, "Or better yet...perhaps Aleph could?"
That seemed to have gotten a very animated response from the Primarch, "Oh! Ohhhh! Now isn't that a wondrous idea!" For a moment Zeta saw an instance of a smile on his face. "Surely Aleph could capture this feeling better than anyone!"
These had been an interesting series of months. Perturabo was truly proud of his creation, Arx Coventus, but he certainly wished it had been made in less tense times. As a piece of architecture, it pleased him, as a fortress, far less so. A hall for discussion should not need to be this fortified, but the galaxy had proven to him that defenses were needed.
Now he was even designing defenses to be used against the Imperium. If it hadn't been for Kesar, he wouldn't have ever considered the idea. If Vulkan hadn't spent the last two decades championing his cause, Perturabo would have spent time trying to convince Kesar of the foolishness of his ideals. But now, now he found himself supporting it as much as he could.
He had yet to discuss it with his sons. His decision had not been made logically, it was an emotional choice, something that had been growing more common for him lately. His discussions with Kelbor-Hal were of little substance, yet he enjoyed them and would continue those discussions in the future. But this entire council was something he thought was unlikely to succeed.
It was certain to end with a series of proposals that would undoubtedly be good for the Imperium. But by now, he understood that the Emperor and Malcador were relics of an older age. They were set in their ways, and at their core, they had a plan that was in motion that they were unwilling to change. The comparison to himself was … uncomfortable. There were more similarities than he liked, and he wondered if he could fall into the very same trap.
He wished he could know. Perhaps in a century, he would.
He shook his head, distracting himself from the current situation with Project Talos. In five years' time, he'd have the next prototypes ready. The Iron Circle was a step in the right direction, but the additional development time that had gone into the next model was sure to be helpful. It had been a rewarding project thus far, and while artificial intelligence would never be widespread, having a few models to help with logistics and local battlefield awareness would be helpful.
He just wasn't sure if the consequences of a civil war would allow them to help humanity.
Khan never thought that his expedition would start off this way. Rather than the constant danger of combat, he was instead faced with worlds that had already been broken and cowed by Astartes. At first, he had been confused, but then he learned who it was and his confusion lessened. Meeting his brother's exiled sons was not how he expected the expedition to begin, and he honestly could say that it was unplanned in its entirety.
A lot of his recent adventures had been unplanned, the Primarch found himself thinking. The arrival of Orion, an Eternal Warden that had proven himself time and time, a nephew he could truly thank for his exemplary work. The discovery of Kuveer the Gemlord, a powerful psyker that had proven capable of slowing him, albeit not for long. The meeting between the two that changed how deck claims worked in parts of his domain … He half wondered if there was a part of Kesar's geneseed that caused interesting moments to occur. The entire story behind Clear Skies and Elegia showed as much.
The uses for Ambrosia were plentiful, but it would take years before any such use could bear fruit. Yesugei had cautioned him of the dangers, not that he had any intention of rushing into matters. Instead, he would ensure Elegia developed safely under his protection, only then would he worry about what their unique resources could do for him. Even with such a mindset, he had already begun to see benefits. Elegians volunteered to join his expedition. Khan allowed a brief smile to cross his lips, Orion's reaction to that had been amusing.
And yet, the Grand Nadaam had almost ensured a foul mood. The tournament had been a disaster on all levels. Poor showings from the underdogs, a true fight that had to be cut short, and a finale that flopped. He'd almost given up when the opportunity that was Catachan was presented. Twelve Champions were dropped upon the dangerous world, and all of them had an interesting tale to tell. A few may have been forced to conduct medical evacuations, but that was just a single team. Khan himself loved his adventures upon the jungle world, and he looked forward to gathering a few thousand soldiers from the world when he could. Orion had also impressed him as usual, but Kuveer had truly excelled, earning the right to call himself a true pillar of the White Scars. He should probably make that official for both the psyker and the Angel of Humility. The latter certainly deserved it.
But now in the present, he half wondered if this expedition would turn out like the Grand Nadaam. Five years later, he still hadn't seen combat. The closest he got was Admiral Yang, an excellent pericognitive, with skills on par with Yesugei. But she proved … reasonable. By the spirits was that disappointing, he wanted a fight at that point, and yet he was denied. Instead, all that he had to do was provide a dozen Ambrosia injections and she freely gave him passage and information. Letting her attempt to court him caused her to bend the knee to the Imperium, and he found himself in rather enjoyable company on some nights. And she knew where a few dangerous foes were located, at least in the past.
There was always the possibility the Shadow Queen's empire had destroyed those threats which brought him far more worry than it should. Yesugei was certain there was something more to it, which Khan agreed with. An empire of ten thousand worlds, each developed well and loyal … Yesugei should have seen it before during his periodic divinations for sane empires beyond Imperial space. And yet it had been shrouded from his sight. The shroud seemed to fade by the day, but Yesugei swore there was also the lingering scent of vileness to the empire. As if it was meant to be defiled and warped, but fate never claimed its due. Then there was the Shadow Queen, the dictator of ten thousand worlds. The description of her almost seemed identical to Malcador.
As such, he knew she could never be trusted.
"How did ye deal with this?" Leman asked out loud, knowing Zunia wouldn't have the answers he wanted, but maybe she had ideas he didn't.
"I never was in this situation," she replied, her voice strangely unsure. "I doubt you think of your brothers like you do nobles."
"Maybe Fulgrim at times," he jested with a laugh, "he certainly has the obsession of some."
"I still don't understand him," Zunia hummed in thought, "he's interested in me, not romantically," she interrupted before Leman could cut in. "Nor is he interested in my work."
"With that dinner of his, there's certainly something about ye and romance that interests him," Leman said seriously. "But I will grant that it's more complicated than I once thought."
"I once thought you were the strangest of the Primarchs," Zunia sighed, "you've given me far more power than anyone ever would. All because you claim you're not good at it."
"Compared to ye I'm not," Leman bluntly explained, which made Zunia nod her head in acknowledgment. "Oi, at least pretend to argue in my favor."
She giggled, making Leman smile at the sound. "But Leman," she fluttered her eyelashes, "don't you detest such meaningless flattery?"
"Meaningless flattery yes," he began, "but meaningful flattery is different. I've done things ye can flatter me for."
Zunia rolled her eyes, "I presented a list of your good features to Fulgrim already, would you like me to expand on them further?"
"Ah," he blushed, an action that had become more common the more time he spent with her, "perhaps another time, I don't think my heart could take that."
She looked at him oddly, as if there was a puzzle she had yet to unlock. It'd taken Leman over a decade to do so himself, maybe he'd share the solution to that puzzle with her one day. "Are you doing alright Leman?" She leaned over, resting a hand on his leg. "You're acting a bit like me when I overwork myself."
Was he alright? If it was someone else, he'd smile and nod. But now he actually thought about it. "There's … room for improvement," he began. He didn't speak for a few seconds, and thankfully neither did Zunia, leaving him alone with his own thoughts for those crucial moments. "There's just so much to do. So much that needs doing. So much I don't know what or how to do." He looked at her, and she looked back at him with kind eyes. "It feels like I'm in a blizzard sometimes. I can't see what's in front of me no matter how hard I try or want to."
"And the thought of getting lost in it doesn't sit well with you." Zunia saw where he was going with this. "Uncertainty is one of the greatest obstacles everyone faces in life."
"There's more to it than that," Leman began, "I dealt with uncertainty in the past. The uncertainty if a battle would be won or lost, uncertainty if a war could be won, uncertainty if I would survive. This …" he swallowed, "I'm … I'm used to knowing what's right and what's wrong. I'm used to the uncertainty being related to my skills." He gestured at himself. "Now I have to question myself, and ask, am I choosing the right side? By the white snow of Fenris, why are there even sides to begin with?"
"People congregate to those that have similar ideals," Zunia began, "when they believe in those ideals strongly enough and think people without those ideals are not listening, then sides begin to form." It was rhetorical at this point, a leadup to something that might help him. "Maybe you could act as a mediator?"
"The Great Wolf, the voice of peace," strangely that statement didn't cause him to bark in laughter. "Truly the Imperium is in a desperate state …"
"You don't give yourself enough credit," Zunia interrupted. She stood to her full height while he remained seated, "you, Leman Russ, are not a professional diplomat, you're not the person anyone should call to negotiate a treaty." She stepped towards him, gently tapping his chest with her finger. "But you're not making a treaty, are you? You have Guilliman for that."
"I'm not going to dismiss the idea," Leman slowly began, "but you're underestimating how stubborn my brothers and I can be." After this, he was definitely going to drink mjold. "Trying to get them to sit down and talk could end with a war beginning then and there."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Zunia remarked after a moment. "All I can say is just do what you believe is right and stick to it."
"I'm having trouble figuring out what exactly is the right move to make."
Zunia shook her head, "Sometimes you just have to act on instinct. Granted, always take the time to weigh your options...but you've never been the type to overthink things."
"...I feel like that was a backhanded compliment." Leman gave one of his wolfish grins. "Still, just do the right thing is what ye are saying?"
"Do whatever you believe to be right." She corrected him, "And do it with purpose and confidence. Two things that you have in spades."
That made him genuinely happy. He smiled lightly, a strange but not unknown series of emotions flying within him. "Zunia," he gently reached out, cupping her hands in his. "Thank you for this."
Her blush made him wonder if she felt the same way about him as he felt about her. "It's … the least I can do." She hesitated, and he wisely let the words hang in the air for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. "You're a good person, Leman, the other Primarchs would do well to learn from you."
He swallowed, alright, purpose and confidence, two things he had in spades. He could do this, "Zunia," he began breathlessly, "could I … court you?"
Every millisecond afterward was an eternity to him. Time seemed to pause, and his enhanced senses seemed as sharp as they were in battle. "Uh," Surprise and shock were the first emotions Zunia felt, the instinctive part of her mind kicked in, "Sure." Embarrassment took over as she realized how casual that sounded. Her face turned a lovely shade of red. "Wait," ruthlessly surprised pleasure appeared briefly before being suppressed by her iron will, "are you being serious?"
"I wouldn't joke about this," maybe a few years ago he would have, but he genuinely cared for her, to make a mockery of this would just be cruel. This moment was important to him on a personal level, and he expected it was for her as well. "You are … an amazing woman, brilliant, confident, shrewd, and sharper than anyone I've ever met."
"Well, then I am being serious as well here," Zunia answered once more, standing up as rigidly as she could, "I accept," she declared as formally as she could.
He knelt down, holding out a hand for Zunia. She placed her hand upon his, and he pulled it closer, his lips gently brushing across her skin. "I hope this proposal was to your liking." He was proud of it, noble diplomacy wasn't his favorite, but he knew Zunia, and she was steeped in it.
"Well, err..." Zunia's face pinkened a touch. "I figured you'd be a lot more blunt or straightforward in asking me out. Because I've heard more than enough stories from the Huskarls."
Leman blushed slightly at what she was talking about, "I can assure you that I wasn't going to 'kidnap' you as a form of committing to a relationship. That's an old tale shared among young boys when talking about finding maidens to court."
"Too bad..." Leman blinked at hearing that and then almost smiled at seeing the blush on her face. "Would've made the first date a lot more exciting."
He thought about it for less than a second, before grabbing her and throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry before running out the door, her laughter trailing behind the entire time.
Dorn didn't like the Tyrant of Terra. It was an opinion he generally kept to himself, with only Lion having realized it during one of their many conversations. He didn't dislike the man, the Lord Commander Militant was given a thankless position and told to do the impossible. While Dorn disagreed with the methods used and Aldritch failed in his task, he did better than the Primarch had expected. Moreover, he was now holding the position even after attempting to resign, an admirable quality.
"There are no other options available at this point," Dorn said bluntly around an hour into their discussion on what the Imperial Army could afford to cut in its budget, "the Legions have proven unwilling to accept budget cuts and you have no means to enforce them."
"I hope you're not suggesting cuts to the Imperial Army," Aldritch gave him a wary look, perhaps considering what he could do if the Primarchs demanded it. "It's already shrinking by 2% annually and as it grows smaller it will grow more strained."
"I would be a fool to suggest that," Dorn commented, "you have three choices. One, increase taxes." The Primarch glared at him, "which as we both know would be extremely unpopular. Two, reduce garrisons which the Desolation showed is not possible. Three, eliminate pensions for service."
Dorn relaxed as Aldritch ground his teeth. It was a cold solution, but at this point, it was the only one available. A large expense needed to be cut, and of them, pensions for guardsmen were the only acceptable choice. "It'd start a damn civil war is what it'd do," the Unyielding One frowned, but Aldritch kept speaking. "I've told your brothers this, but if you take away a soldier's pay, you don't get a pissed-off soldier that continues fighting, you get a damn rebel."
"They will not rebel if we announce it properly," the Primarch rumbled, "if we just make the declaration in High Gothic, it will be decades before it's even noticed by the average soldier." For once the communication issues in the Imperium would help them.
"That's not happening." Dorn sighed, it seemed like this meeting would prove to be nothing but a waste of time.
Five more hours were spent in that meeting, Dorn trying to get Aldritch to see reason, while Aldritch tried to find a nonexistent issue in the Primarch's argument. It was rather clear to him that Lion was correct as usual. His brother might have great difficulties connecting to humans, and even Astartes at times, but the First was rational and intelligent enough to find a solution to an impossible problem. It was just no one was willing to make the sacrifices needed.
He tried to probe the Imperial Army for those willing to make that choice, but he had turned up nothing. There was Eli, one of the Lord Commanders, but he seemed unwilling to try and oust Aldritch. However, he was at least next in line and willing to listen to Primarchs. "Perhaps it is for the best that the Tyrant resigns," he wrote in his missive to Malcador.
The Primarch returned to his own inventory of letters. The usual annual letter from Kesar, the one from Lion, two from Sanguinius, one from Fulgrim, one from Guilliman, and one from Magnus. Most of the letters were different than normal, Kesar's was far more worrying than normal, Lion's was far more factual, Sanguinius was clearly distraught, Fulgrim was being Fulgrim which was a nice return to normalcy, and Guilliman was explaining why he wasn't willing to attend any meetings with the loyal Primarchs. Magnus' was the most interesting, asking if he could take control of the compliance with the Xeno-human hybrids. He had no reason to refuse it, so he allowed it.
Magnus was sure to come out of it having learned something about the relationship between psykers and genetics, but that was something for his brother. Dorn himself didn't care too much as long as Magnus didn't do anything foolish.
Konrad … wasn't entirely sure what his life was anymore. It was good, better than it ever had been, and now he was helping to start a revolution. And somehow that wasn't the strangest thing he'd done.
The Night Haunter had an understanding of who he was. He was a sadist, torture and murder rather appealed to him, in part. It was how he directed those impulses that made him good. The need to punish those that harmed others. The stick to the carrot that was Vulkan. The Lord of Drakes was a good man, but the two of them knew that kindness alone could never change things. Change needed force, it needed threats, it needed death.
And for that reason, he let Fabius Bile research him in exchange for help setting up a medical organization.
Then followed that up by making a deal with Kesar to introduce a more hands-off post-compliance system meant to reduce civilian deaths and insurgent numbers.
And just before arriving on Orus, helped organize an evacuation of a planet.
"It's quite a strange tale." He whispered to himself.
"A throne for your thoughts?" Whispered Sevatar, his most trusted son? Astartes? Subordinate? He wasn't entirely sure yet what their relationship was.
None within the room saw Sevatar, so focused was everyone on politics. "The largest monsters save the most lives these days." He said referring to so many people all at once. Himself, Malcador, the Emperor, and Fabius, someone that managed to disturb even him.
Fabius Bile was just like Fulgrim; arrogant and beautiful, full of pride and swagger befitting a man of his talents. Konrad recognized Fabius for his talents and capabilities.
Yet the man sickened Konrad. He saw the look in his eyes. Pass the wonder and genius was a creature of ambition that dreamed of obtaining things beyond his grasp.
Konrad had once tortured and killed a creature, a daemon, of unparalleled strength and madness. Something that could shatter a world with a whisper, and rend apart reality on a whim.
Fabius would do worse, just to see what it'd be like and what secrets he could cut out.
Sevatar chuckled darkly, a menacing whisper that faded into nothing. "Fulgrim would agree."
The Night Haunter glared at the First Captain. "There's a certain irony to it, yes."
The Astartes was always difficult to understand, and these days it only seemed to be harder to understand the Night Lords. "The ends often justify the means," there was something more to it than it seemed. Faint emanations that indicated a deeper response was needed.
"We must believe that the evils we do now will aid those here and now, and those yet born." Konrad hated that injustice and vileness had to be pardoned, nay, exalted even by those that guided humanity.
"There's a reason we hire medics now." Sevatar's eyes gleamed with mirth before the emotion vanished into a void of nothing.
Konrad scraped a claw across the Umbral Mantle, a gift from Vulkan, the sound faint, but just enough to warn Sevatar to watch his words. "Those medics present a far larger threat than anything else we have," he said ominously, letting Sevatar try and fail to puzzle out what he meant.
The Night Lord gently tilted their head in thought before saying his closing words, just as Vulkan began to speak. "If you say so," he clearly didn't understand, but he would in time.
"Take care of the Black Fleet for me," Konrad said, to which Sevatar simply looked at him in confusion. "You'll see them in a few days." Sometimes, his future sight could be useful it seemed.
Sanguinius spun to the right, dancing around Raldoron's blade. Gracefully placing one armored hand on the power sword, the Primarch wrenched it away from his son's hand, wincing as he did. The duel ended there, both of them understanding who had won the most recent bout.
"That was more aggressive than normal," his First Captain commented, glancing at the healing cut on Sanguinius' hand. "Is everything alright?"
The Angel of Baal didn't respond immediately, instead taking a moment to remove the latest gift, the most useful one in several decades, from his face. The mask was a work of art and made of some of the finest materials available to the people of Skysoph, but right now he wanted to look at his son face-to-face.
"Ill thoughts plague my mind," Sanguinius admitted after a moment. "Such as they always do these days."
"Ah, heavy is the crown of leadership and all that." Raldoron flourished his blade once more as he briefly took another stance before he noticed his gene-sire seemed distracted.
Sanguinius saw his son's expression shift slightly and sighed, "Is the stress that obvious?" He sheathed his sword, and Raldoron followed a moment later. "Future sight, can be a curse at times. I can see so many different moments, yet the further I look, the bleaker it becomes."
"Is there aught we can do to stop the spiral?"
Sanguinius gave a beleaguered sigh and an apologetic glance in turn, "Yes and at the same time a huge, resounding 'no'. There are so many different pieces moving that attempting to stop their movement would just create a new catastrophe."
"...Ah." was Raldoron's eloquent response.
"Sometimes I see myself weeping over my brother's corpse, my own blade through their chest," the Primarch gazed off at a future that was growing more and more likely. "Other times I see myself drowning under an ocean of guardsmen." He snorted, "Sometimes it's the Orks."
Raldoron slowly nodded, "Far be it for me to speak on such things, but have you perhaps brought this up to your brothers or the Emperor? These visions seem to be taking a toll upon you."
"I will be meeting with the Emperor in seven months' time," Sanguinius answered, "if he doesn't have answers, I have a meeting with Magnus in two years."
"I … hesitate to suggest this," Raldoron slowly began, "but I heard the Night Haunter suffered similar visions."
The Angel of Baal thought carefully about his next words. "It isn't wise to discuss such matters with him or the Night Lords."
The First Captain of the Blood Angels blinked, "is this a euphemism to reduce ties with them?"
"No," Sanguinius shook his head, causing Raldoron to let out a sigh of relief, "regardless of how bad our disagreements get, we must keep lines of communication open. But we cannot afford to show weakness."
"It is not a weakness to care for your brothers," the Astartes gently pointed out.
"No, it isn't," Sanguinius admitted, albeit with a smile that belied a tragedy that was yet to unfold. "But right now we have the likes of Lion and Kelbor-Hal championing both sides. I know Vulkan and Kesar think they wield influence, and that Kelbor-Hal isn't who I believe he is." He let out a mirthless chuckle, "Then on the other hand, we have Lion, the only one of us willing to take charge without hesitation."
"You can usurp his position," the First Captain suggested, "out of all the loyalists, you are the most well-liked. I have some friends in the 3rd Legion, I can have them sound out the Phoenician."
"Don't," Sanguinisu sharply ordered, "give me a decade first. I have some ideas on what must be done."
"As you command," the Astartes responded, unsure of his father's decision, yet trusting all the same. "Another round?" Raldoron asked, redirecting Sanguinius' focus to the reason they were sparring.
"Another round."
GM Note: The italicized section was written by @Ruirk. Special thanks to him!
Hard times produce strong men was a favored sentiment among mortals and Astartes. To Ferrus, it should have been it makes men with purpose. A weak man with purpose could accomplish the work of ten listless strong men. Strength had its place, as did discipline, but what was the point if it amounted to nothing? Ferrus would sooner surround himself with fools ready to die for whatever they believed in than be guarded by those with feeble spirits.
The weakness of the average human was born not of frail physicalities or a lack of mental aptitude; instead, it was those who had nothing to strive for, nothing to call their own, or the means to leave their truth or wisdom behind. Vulkan would call it "hopelessness," but Ferrus saw it for what it was; no meaning to life.
How could one expect humanity to achieve greatness if all but a handful drifted through their pathetic, empty lives? Ferrus believed this lack of ambition was because of laziness, apathy, or ineptitude on their part. Hence, he sought to put the masses to work via the Olympia Refit program before the blasted Tyrant of Terra ended it. Nevertheless, Ferrus would find a way to make it work.
Ferrus simply needed the bodies. When the Lion told him to gather the poor, the impoverished, and the destitute, it seemed the most logical decision. Most of humanity didn't care about their "invisible" population—the dregs of their respective worlds. "Better gone than here" and other such remarks. Their governments would be more than eager to remove them, as would the people and nobility.
Somehow that made Ferrus think…
The galaxy was a cruel place. It would not afford or allow for even the barest kindness without conditions attached. Ferrus knew firsthand that no one would save these miserable souls, certainly not a conqueror like him. They were stuck in their pathetic existence—nothing to fight for and no reason to build anything worthy of their names.
Did he wish for such creatures to man his factories and fields? Tainting and weakening his endeavors with apathy and despair? Moving through their meager lives with no fire in their hearts or a desire to make something more?
Questions started plaguing his mind. When he realized he had spent hours thinking about these problems and the people who would be the cause, the Gorgon found himself at a crossroads and uncertain of his path forward.
He had no answers. None that didn't involve time and resources wasted for little gain. Wasting no time, Ferrus reached out to his brother, Fulgrim, and asked for his wisdom. To his surprise, the Phoenician sent back only a single phrase.
"Give them something worth struggling for."
Ferrus initially dismissed the idea. He was giving these people a chance to aid the Imperium of Man, to help the Legions bring this galaxy to heel! Each world that took part in this endeavor will have carved their names into the bedrock of his Father's empire.
But then Ferrus contemplated this and realized these people wouldn't live to see that. It would take generations before their marks would even be felt. So what did they have to look forward to?
Nothing. All Ferrus would give them is words and winds. What was he left to do to give them purpose in this extraordinary work?
The answer was startlingly simple. One that made him swear at his own blindness at not seeing it.
He needed to give these people, the poor, hungry, and forgotten, something worth building up from nothing and turning into something glorious! Something they could call their own—a purpose found within the backbreaking and miserable work. A society built by them, for them.
Ferrus almost disregarded the idea. It was too radical, similar to the blasted reforms by Vulkan. But even so, Ferrus couldn't shake the feeling that this was the way forward and started putting his ideas to paper.
When he finally spoke of this to Fulgrim, showing off his plans face-to-face, his brother looked proud of Ferrus for coming up with this idea.
"You call yourself just a Conqueror, my dear brother—a man who can't see past his own flaws and the injustice of our time. Yet you might have just won us a victory for a battle that had yet been witnessed. You are, beyond a doubt, one of the wisest men in the galaxy."
Ferrus was still unsure how to feel about the events that had transpired over the past few months. Nagatami was interesting, but the Iron Forge project had become far more than he ever expected it to be. All he had to do now was convince the Tyrant of its necessity. Hopefully, the mortal was feeling sane today.
"...I'll approve it." Well, that was easy. "What are your plans to deal with the backlash?"
"If the nobles complain I can spare a few Astartes to bring them in line," Ferrus calmly remarked. It was a simple solution, he honestly had no idea why the Tyrant of Terra thought there would be any backlash of note.
"And what of the Mechanicum?"
Ferrus scowled, unhappy at the realization. "That may prove more complicated than expected."
The mortal rubbed their eyes unhappily, "Well, it's not like Primarch Russ and you haven't directly attacked his support base." He sighed, "This can't exactly anger him more, hopefully."
The Gorgon's mind spun, cataloging the possible responses the Fabricator General of Mars could take. "The Sigillite will assist with matters," he eventually concluded. Confident that Malcador would be willing to lend his support to the task. The Emperor had already approved it after all.
"I'm sure he will," the Tyrant patronized, causing Ferrus to glare at the mortal. Aldritch sighed, "If that's everything, there's the door. I have my own problems to solve."
"Those problems would be resolved if you listened to myself or my brothers," the Gorgon growled, only provoking a small flinch in the mortal.
"Well, congratulations, you'll get to see how that turns out when I retire in a year." The Tyrant snapped. "After I deal with these rebels in the Segmentum, Eli can take my position and you can deal with someone who does just that."
Ferrus frowned at the response, "If this Eli is much more supportive of our cause, I welcome his ascension."
Aldritch had the gall to then laugh at the Gorgon. "You'll be getting a glorified yes-man. Eli is a genius, I'll give him that much, but he's more interested in his own projects. But then again, I suppose you all share that particular vice."
"This endeavor has merit, even you can see that."
The Tyrant nodded, "It does, which is why I will support it all the same. God knows that the chance to help someone, especially people that have nothing, is worth the effort. And I'd like to leave this office doing one or two things that make me feel like I did something for humanity."
Ferrus scoffed, "You've done plenty, attempting to halt my work for one."
"Forgive me," Aldritch's voice dripped with condescension, "perhaps next time you'll share your work rather than extort the Imperium over it." The Tyrant smiled, "I have never once regretted doing what I did. I'm happy to see that it has improved your work at least."
The Gorgon stood to his full height, towering over the Tyrant of Terra in a blatant attempt at physical intimidation. "You should choose your words more carefully," he growled.
"I-I don't think I will," the mortal stood up himself, a hand on his sidearm. "Now get the fuck out of my office."
A part of Ferrus was tempted to remain, just to ensure the Tyrant knew he wasn't one to be trifled with. The other part, however, was unwilling to waste time over an inconsequential man. But he could resist one final parting shot, "Watch yourself Aldritch, you've angered too many of my brothers already."
"I've already had to stand my ground while the Angel of Baal decided to voice his grievances. That wasn't a pleasant experience." The Tyrant of Terra called out to the retreating Ferrus.
He got what he came for, but the Gorgon couldn't help but feel that conversation could have gone better.
I can taste it on the edge of my tongue, feel it pulsing through my veins, burning within me like a fire that cannot be quenched.
The nails scream, and the feeling is drowned beneath pain and rage.
I have come a long way. Endured too much for even a Primarch, experienced horrors no one can face and stay sane.
The nails scream, and my mind reverts to an animalistic state.
I smell fear, then hear a voice that sounds oh so familiar.
The nails scream, and their words turn into screams.
I stand here, my body chained, my spirit shattered, my soul deteriorating by the minute, as I have stood for so many long decades. My eyes have seen much suffering, my hands have known much toil, my heart has felt too much pain, and the light shining through the darkness has long been snuffed out.
The nails scream, and my thoughts turn to nothing but violence.
I have never truly known freedom, I realize one day. There has always been a master, someone's hand on my leash. The nails remain a collar that I can only shed in death.
The nails scream, but the thought of death remains.
I talk with my brother, the first conversation among equals in a long time. Through the darkness comes a single beam of light, so small it seems like it will be shrouded at any moment.
The nails scream, but the light remains.
I am free of chains upon my body, but the chains on my soul remain. Those that once served me gaze upon me like they would a violent hound. A few of them may have, one day, become a friend, but that path has been closed for me. For the second time in years, I make a choice all on my own.
The nails scream, and the moment almost vanishes.
I take a deep breath and force the words through gritted, hateful teeth. "The World Eaters are dead, let the War Hounds be reborn."
The nails fall silent.
GM Note: Special thanks to @Ruirk for the following italicized section:
As a young man learning to rule, Roboute found that his father had plenty of insight to offer. Far be it for him to ignore any advice, especially from the man that raised him, he always hung up on the warnings more than anything. A thousand accomplishments could be undone by one mistake.
"Never overstay your welcome, Roboute." The words stuck around, even after all these years, and now he was starting to recognize that quite a bit of the government had overstayed; that is to say, people were running out of patience with it. Worse, they were starting to resent it.
Roboute knew that good government was based on the consent of the governed. This means that a government's legitimacy and authority are derived from the people's willingness to be governed by it. This was, in essence, tolerating certain agreements, like taxes for defense spending and participating in the local administration.
Why? Because it meant they trusted their rulers to enact mandates and decisions that ultimately benefited those governed. It all seemed so simple when Konor explained it to him as a boy. A good leader, first and foremost, needs to be a responsible one.
Responsibility was the cornerstone of good leadership. Integrity, empathy, vision, and motivation were equally important, but Roboute believed the person in charge had to take ownership of their decisions and actions and be held accountable to the people they serve, the law, and the realm.
But who was held accountable in the Imperium of Man? A thousand men and women held sway over quadrillions of humans and millions of Astartes. The Emperor, the Sigillite, the Tyrant and his Lord-Generals, Kelbor-Hal and Fabricator-Generals, his brothers, and many others.
All of whom were practically untouchable. Yes, perhaps the Emperor or Sigillite could easily reign most of those people in, but if they didn't care or had other concerns? One needs only see how effective the Tyrant of Terra was with getting any of his brothers to cooperate. Which was saying something as his mother thought highly of Aldritch.
In which case, what was the mechanism to hold any of their mistakes accountable? The Tyrant could subpoena them, but so far, that hadn't done much other than drawing out this circus of a government.
He didn't want to think of how most humans would react if they knew what was happening behind closed doors. Especially now. Then again, they no doubt suspected issues based on the increased taxes and conscription efforts.
Yet humanity was a species that often willingly took ignorance over the truth. Roboute strongly suspected that was to the benefit of the species as a whole. The problem now was even free citizens were starting to get frustrated. The poor and impoverished often jumped at the first chance of change in government if there was a promise of work and food. Fates blessed him that the Realm of Ultramar didn't have to deal with those problems.
The rest of the Imperium? You'd be hard-pressed to find a world that wasn't dealing with food, water, fuel, or air rationing with a limited workforce or an overburdened economy. Many of those in charge were either unable or unwilling to create solutions. Worse, there were plenty just wanting to line their pockets.
Ineffective government, from the top to the very bottom. Was it surprising that the Imperium was on the brink of credit default? He felt like a man on a sinking ship, trying to toss out the water with a bucket while everyone was trying to find one themselves or unaware of their impending doom.
Those that knew didn't care, and those that cared didn't know. The Desolation was the start of all of this, but it still came from a failure of leadership. Not just Angron or those within, but from Terra itself and among his own brothers. Even Roboute failed to see the warnings.
He had become too distracted, even more than usual these last few years. How was he to reconcile this impending apocalypse when there were so many others? This impending civil war would be a minor conflict in the history books.
Especially if what Yyraine told him was true. She warned him that a great change would occur in the galaxy. After the events of the Nomad World and everything else, he feared for the future. She had proven herself to be a useful…ally, among other things. The secret alliance with the Eldar was an unexpected but beneficial arrangement.
Regardless, time was running out for the Imperium in more ways than one. He would need to make a choice, him and all his brothers, regarding its fates. The Karnori once asked if he was prepared to do whatever was necessary as a ruler to ensure the survival of the Realm of Ultramar, and he had no answer.
Perhaps soon, he would finally have it.
Then Guilliman returned to the present, where Vulkan was just beginning to talk. His experiences of the past few years fell away, the joint hell Thiel and him experienced on Tumultus briefly flashed through his mind before vanishing, for it was not important at this time. Hopefully, Thiel's next assignment will go well.
"The average Imperial citizen is safer than ever. The days of fear and oppression are now in the past," Vulkan snorted as he began his speech. "It is a lie of propaganda, of a government that never tried to resolve the problem. And so, the Renegade Few have demands." Guilliman leaned forward, hopeful that these would not be too radical.
"First, we must recognize that the Imperium is unfair." Well, that wasn't an encouraging start. "The nobles within the Imperium have gained wealth, while the average citizen has not seen a hint of an increase in their standard of living. And so, we must ensure that the average citizen sees their wages increase as their productivity increases." Alright, Guilliman thought, that was possible, although it would be difficult to convince the nobles and elites of the Imperium.
"Second, we must ensure that every person has the right to live. No one should go hungry, no one should go without shelter, no one should go without the ability to survive. We must create an Imperium where even the poorest can at least live." Guilliman nodded at that, it was both the moral and pragmatic thing to do. Even the coldest governor had to realize that larger populations produce more, so keeping people alive was for the best.
"Third, we must recognize the sanctity of the Mechanicum," Guilliman swore quietly, turning his eyes towards Kelbor-Hal, who seemed utterly serene. "The Treaty of Mars was signed in good faith by both parties, and so they must be treated with dignity, and their beliefs respected. However!" Vulkan paused, letting Guilliman hope that he hadn't actually managed to get Kelbor-Hal to support him, despite everything that they had discussed earlier. "This does not mean the Mechanicum is exempt from ensuring the livelihood of the common man."
"Fourth," Vulkan sighed, "fourth, we must ensure that people want to join the Imperium. If a world is found that is led by a sane government that is supported by the population, and it does not want to join the Imperium, we should not start a war."
"Brothers, friends, this is our moment to create a better Imperium, let us not waste it." Vulkan ended his short speech, then turned towards Kelbor-Hal.
"And with a few short words, the Imperium dies," Guilliman whispered under his breath.
Mortarion was pleased, a rare feeling for him. After the events of the past few decades, he could feel the strain on his body. His lungs scarred from the heavy breathing in combat, his brain filled with stress chemicals thanks to his realization of Angron's state, but now his facial muscles tried to smile every now and then. He eyed the events that were proceeding in front of him dispassionately, as if disinterested. Only the Death Guard knew him better. They knew he was more than the brute some mortals thought he was. He had made mistakes before, the lack of focus on infrastructure for one, thankfully fixed now. But he was also the Death Lord, the Primarch that adapted, he had expanded the Tallymen for a reason after all.
But at the moment, Mortarion was glad for his reputation. No one expected him to be a skilled politician, yet he had learned over the decades. He almost felt guilty for his actions, but had he been honest, then he doubted Kesar would ever have supported this endeavor as much as he had.
There would not be a peaceful resolution, Mortarion knew. Not unless the Emperor fell on his own sword.
There were too many cracks in the Imperium, ones he had never thought to pull upon until now. Not until he had a reason for it. A reason to damn the galaxy into another massive war, and one that was necessary. The Emperor was a necromancer, one that was unwilling to listen to reason, unwilling to even admit his actions. Mortarion had killed witches that had done less, and he had done so to cheers.
The Emperor would die, Mortarion had already decided, and his death would be celebrated.
Sic Semper Tyrannis.
"I have always been a man of logic and calculation," the Fabricator General of Mars began, forcing Mortarion to suppress his smile. "I only join causes once I am thoroughly convinced of its necessity, for the Mechanicum is fundamentally a conservative institution, for while innovation is wondrous, it is also dangerous." For a moment, Kelbor's mechadendrites seemed to gleam dangerously, supplementing his words, likely an intentional move, Mortarion thought. "After intense study and calculation, I have come to a conclusion similar to Lord Primarch Vulkan."
"The Imperium must change. And I bring forth a list of four demands." It was at this moment that the Primarch of the Death Guard was pleased with Kelbor's own nature and desires. This would have been far more difficult without his support.
"First, similar to what was previously said, the Mechanicum must be respected. A treaty was signed in good faith, one that has ensured the Imperium and Mechanicum both prosper." He let out a theatrical sigh, "unfortunately, there are elements within the Imperium that have killed Mechanicum officials for no reason." Kelbor snarled, "This is unacceptable! As long as Mechanicum officials have to fear for their lives, the Imperium has failed! As the Fabricator-General of Mars, I demand that these perpetrators be brought to justice!"
Kelbor took a breath, creating the illusion of, or perhaps actually, calming down. "Secondly," he began in a calmer tone, "a greater percentage of wealth must be held by groups besides Imperial nobles or the Mechanicum." A few interested murmurs spread through the room at the inclusion of the Mechanicum in that statement. "I acknowledge that I myself have a part to play in this, but with new evidence coming to light, I have begun to align the Mechanicum in a more egalitarian fashion, and I encourage the Imperium to do the same." He gestured, pointing towards Vulkan, "ask the Lord of Drakes if you do not believe me, and he will inform you of what I'm doing to decrease wealth inequality within the Imperium."
Mortarion shifted, forcing himself to not actively vibrate in glee. Every demand they had was reasonable, each one needed, and yet, they would all be refused without hesitation. "Furthermore!" Kelbor raised his voice to draw attention back to himself. "We must ensure greater dissemination of knowledge among the Imperium. While I have had my differences with Archmagos Shor, he has brought up several ideas of note. When combined with information provided to me by other entities, I have authorized a small portion of the Mechanicum's wealth for teaching the layman."
"Lastly," Kelbor-Hal slowed, speaking softer, forcing his audience to lean in. "There must be an increase in oversight for the top officials of the Imperium. Look at the Desolation, a devastating action caused by Lord Primarch Angron. This could have been prevented by a degree of oversight. Then there is the Sigillite, and while I understand that secrecy is needed, some of his agents have on occasion gone rogue and attempted to harm Imperial interests. Surely something must be done about this?!"
Kelbor sighed, waving toward Horus listlessly, "But for now I shall end my speech, and cede the floor to others."
The Favored Son, The First Found, The Champion of the Great Crusade, The Lupercal, He-Who-Would-Be-Warmaster.
Horus.
Here he stands, in possibly the most important time and place he's ever been. The stage is yours.
"Some would say I'm the ideal Primarch," Horus began. "The first Primarch ever found, raised by the Emperor, a man the Emperor calls a son. It is not arrogance when I say I am the Emperor's favorite son, for among my brothers it is known that this is the case." Horus sighed, giving the room time to let his words sink in. "And yet … and yet, I've made unforgivable mistakes."
He looked around the room, taking in the reactions. His brothers were surprised at his words, the mortals almost baffled. "It is not on the level of my brother Angron, the Bloody Angel, a Primarch who should be executed for his actions. But in my anger, I have killed those that simply pointed out some of the Imperium's flaws, so blinded was I by the lie that was told to me."
Horus smiled sadly, letting his memories of that day be brought to the forefront. One of the few days he'd killed someone in anger. The day he'd killed a member of Polaris that served under him for mere words directed at him. "The Emperor and his creations are beyond reproach."
He could feel the stares on him, stares that demanded he continue. That he explain his words, explain his thoughts. "How can Primarchs be above reproach? I ask you," he let the question hang in the air for a moment. "Because the Imperium does not acknowledge its problems, instead it prefers to plaster over them with blood and flame."
The Lupercal sighed, knowing that after this, his father would throw him aside. "Today, I stand before you, wishing to solve a problem that has become clear to me. The lack of oversight upon my brothers and I, the lack of oversight upon Malcador the Sigillite, and lastly, the lack of oversight upon the Emperor himself." He heard gasps in the crowd, chiefly among some of the servants and mortals. His eyes drifted towards Mortarion, who on the surface seemed curious, but Horus could tell he was excited.
"I put forward an idea that could brand me a traitor to the Imperium," Horus began to pace through the room, circling like a shark on the hunt. "The idea that the Emperor may not be perfect, that he too may have erred."
He stopped, standing where everyone could see him directly, "what else would you call the decision to place Angron, a Primarch infamous for his lack of sanity, in charge of trillions of lives without any semblance of control?" Horus snarled, "if a mad hound bites a child, who is to blame? The hound or the owner? It is both!" He paced as he spoke, ensuring everyone took in his words. "Only a handful have ever brought up this fact as if Angron simply appeared in a position of power himself. He was placed there by the Emperor, a position of power where the Bloody Angel directly caused the deaths of trillions!"
"And so, I am left with a final conclusion, each of us needs some degree of accountability, for without that, we are doomed to repeat our mistakes until the end of time." Horus took a deep breath, calming himself down so that his final words would resonate with everyone. "The Imperium cannot afford a second Desolation, let alone a third. So if the choice is between letting the status quo remain and conducting change through any means necessary, then I'm afraid the choice becomes clear."
Horus didn't bother ceding the floor. Instead, he just collapsed in his chair and desperately hoped that a miracle would allow his demand to be met without war. He looked over at Vulkan, who was staring at him intently. Then he broke eye contact and whispered to no one. "Perhaps one of us has a miracle left up their sleeve."
GM Note: Special thanks to @Ruirk for the following:
Magnus remembered a line in one of the many books he read as a child, "All thinking men have the capacity for hate and love, good and evil, yet each is only reciprocated through similar means." It sounded so naive to him at the time. Thinking back, the stark beauty in those words seemed truer than before.
Why, then, had he not understood until now? He wanted to believe that he had, at some point, tried in earnest to help others familiarize themselves with the knowledge that psykers were a force for good and people that desired equal opportunity to be free and happy.
That he wasn't the enemy, for a time, it seemed like no one listened. Yet perhaps, in his arrogance and pride, he blocked out all criticism or concerns in his quest to educate others, leaving him alone in his hubris and rejection. His brothers became uninspired or brutish, unwilling to expand their minds or even ask a question that would allow him just to say, "Yes, I am a person! I am your brother! I am one of you!"
Instead, he was left with only the silence of his fury for the longest time. Arrogance and pride became his only companions. The quest for knowledge and understanding became a mockery, an excuse to create more walls and widen the gap between his brothers and humanity.
And yet…and yet things had changed. Magnus found a new path, leading him to find companionship and friends among the Eldar. It wasn't their unfathomable knowledge or quiet diligence that intrigued him…rather, their openness and ability to make him ask himself questions had been left unanswered.
Who was he? What did he want? Why did he seek to change himself and others? Who or what mattered the most to Magnus the Red?
At first, his answers "bored" the Eldar. They gave him only more pointed questions. It took him a long while to find them, and even then, he needed the help of someone like Morianne and Eldrad Ulthran to help point him back toward his family. It was among his kin that he would find the answers he sought.
His return was scrutinized and surprised, but he offered what help he could. When Mortarion and Horus feared that their brother Angron would find himself at the mercy of their Father and sought answers on Nuceria, Magnus told Mortarion the truth of what he saw and felt that day.
To his surprise, Mortarion was grateful for his aid. Though he did speak in kind words or gestures, the Pale King desired the truth rather than live in ignorance. He cared too much about the fate of Angron, his awful past, and his doomed future to turn away from either.
His brothers needed to know what was happening. There were too many uncertainties and dangers and not enough answers and solutions to go around. Not unless they found the will and courage to join as men and kin.
Magnus knew that he had to offer his services and skills. If nothing else to sate his curiosity, but finally reconnect with his brothers. But he feared what his involvement might mean for Mortarion or Vulkan, both moving towards an escalation with their Father and Emperor that would shake the very foundations of the Imperium.
Yet he had to try. He was tired of being kept out of the loop and unable to talk to his brothers without feeling like stepping on eggshells. This wasn't the time either to sit on the side even if Corvus and Roboute pretended not to participate in these talks of demanding answers from their Father.
So he once again offered his aid.
To his surprise, Mortarion came forward to speak with him. The Pale King wasn't happy or excited, looking like a man who tasted something foul and sour…but he spoke with him and asked the Crimson King, "How can we fix the problem with psykers in the Imperium?"
Such a simply phrased yet complicated question. One that belied intense bitter feelings, opinions, hesitations, and desires from the brother who had only ever despised psykers towards the brother who would help champion their right to life and happiness.
Magnus the Red knew that tomorrow would be full of uncertainties. He had no chance to ever fully help Mortarion see a different point of view, for he wasn't his brother's keeper, but in those moments on Orus…he felt as if there was still a chance for a better future.
GM Note: Special thanks to @argenten for the following
"Psykers are dangerous." Mortarion's start to his speech did not fill the Cyclops of Prospero with much hope. Magnus knew that Mortarion was still struggling with his own nature but really? "This is fact. However, so are any other weapons, including ourselves. What is it that makes us different then?"
Magnus blinked his eye in mild surprise, not exactly the tact he was expecting, which was rather the point he supposed, "The difference is not in our nature. Nor is it in our supposed invulnerability as many mortals think we have, as the suffering of Angron proves. What makes us different is our training, taught or otherwise."
Magnus found himself raising a finger, only to lower it as he saw Mortarion's point and could get the gist...and let it stand, "The current system of 'training' for Imperial psykers is so ramshackle and disorganized that the average auxiliary attachment to the Imperial Army is as likely to cause mass casualties on our own side from lack of control as they are to do sufficient damage to the enemy to justify their existence."
Magnus was going to let that one slide...
"If we must accept that psykers are a part of humanity and one that can be used for the greater good, then their training, like that of our own gene sons and any other military organization, must be brought to sufficient competency that we are not wasting resources, lives, and more on 'good enough'! 'Good enough' is never enough when you are dealing with the POWERS OF THE WARP!"
Magnus was in this speech and he didn't like it.
"Our psykers need to have training not only to be able to avoid being overtaken by them in the course of their life, but in many cases, their powers are run rampant due to outside influences, nearby warp storms, or xenos artifacts. It is crucial that they be taught how to suppress their powers on their own so that the use or lack of use of said powers is of their will and their will alone."
Magnus knew a que when he heard one...
"As much as I disagree with Mortarion in most cases," almost all, he silently added, "he is correct in this case. Being able to fully control one's power is a necessary skill for psykers, one that the Imperium often ignores." The Cyclops walked over to stand next to the Death Lord.
"If the only psyker you meet is one trained by the Astra Telepathica, then it is little wonder they are feared and hated," Magnus growled, after meeting the excuse that was the head of the telepathica, he almost thought Mortarion was right in some of his anti-psyker rants. "I have met with several such psykers myself, and I continuously find myself disappointed and unamused."
Magnus snapped his fingers, creating a tiny flame above his hand. "The power a psyker wields is great," the fire grew larger, "the level of knowledge a psyker should have to use their power must be correspondingly great," the flame returned to its original state. "It is for these reasons that I agree with Mortarion, the psykers within the Imperium must be trained to a higher standard."
It was what they agreed upon earlier, but Magnus had to acknowledge Mortarion's skill in setting up the situation. Here they were, two extremes when it came to how psykers should be treated jointly coming to an agreement. And like Magnus, Mortarion knew a que when he heard one.
"I will … acknowledge," Baby steps Magnus, you can't expect Mortarion to say this without sounding like he's being tortured to speak. "That you are qualified when it comes to training psykers." Magnus would have to save the recordings from this, who knows when Mortarion would admit it again? "But how qualified are you in the laws and customs concerning psykers?"
Magnus flashed a look of smugness at his brother before suppressing it. If Mortarion thought he wasn't familiar with the topic, he was about to eat his words. "Exceedingly, I've created a framework that's used on Prospero and my Legion, updating it as needed. I've cataloged the Imperium's policies on psykers a century ago and tracked the changes that occurred as the Imperium grew. And I have on numerous occasions attempted to change several of the current contradictory rules when it comes to psykers."
He paused, bringing forth in his mind the worst offenders, "under some interpretations of the legal code, Astartes would be classified as psykers due to their modifications. A truly unbiased reading would even be able to find cause to execute Sanguinius for the simple crime of having wings." That truly disgusted him, he'd even had the misfortune of meeting people like that. "I have seen administratum clerks mark psykers as cargo rather than people because of the legal system. I have evidence of sanctioned psykers being dragged to the black ships because different sectors had different requirements for what constituted a sanctioned psyker!" Magnus knew he was slowly growing louder, but no one could blame him for being angry at the injustice.
"There are thousands of other horrific implications, and tens of thousands of stories of men, women, and children suffering because the Imperium has never bothered to listen to any of my suggestions!" Perhaps it was simply Malcador's control freak tendencies, or perhaps he simply didn't care. "The sheer magnitude at which the legal code can be interpreted is monstrous, and in some interpretations, it says that the Emperor of Mankind should be executed or shackled to the Black Ships! I ask you, is this right?!"
Magnus was dimly aware that he likely looked furious. He'd never gone on this rant anywhere but within the presence of his closest sons. Doing it out in public wasn't what he had intended, but he felt it was needed.
"No, it isn't," Mortarion declared simply.
The Cyclops double-taked, wondering if perhaps this entire conference was a fever dream. An expression that Mortarion clearly picked up on judging by his annoyance.
GM Note: Thanks to @Ruirk for the following section
Someday, someone would ask Vulkan why he did all this and risked his family, friends, and perhaps even the Imperium. How would history remember him and his reforms? But more importantly, what made a demigod want to upend all of society?
It started on a forgotten agri-world, Verax IV. Twenty years ago, the Salamanders liberated that planet from the clutches of a Psybrid warband. So much destruction, yet the people of Verax IV had never given up the will to fight. When the Imperium of Man arrived, hope was alive once more.
He had aided in the liberation of many worlds, but Verax IV was a personal victory in more ways than one.
Here he witnessed the indomitable human spirit in its multitudes. A spirited defiance that had cooled into hopeful cooperation. The future was bright. So they sought to thank the Lord of Salamander with a gift.
Though they had little left from the occupation, the people gave the Primarch a bundle of beautiful metal flowers forged from the destroyed war-machines of the Psybrid warband. A lovely prize, and one that he kept in his personal quarters to this day.
When the Salamanders left Verax IV, he promised to return after defeating the Psybrids.
"Your defiance against the Psybrids proves that we can overcome such horrors. That at the core of human strength is hope. To endure and grow through all the hardships and obstacles. Over the last few decades, I have seen only bitterness and despair. Yet you, the people, have shown me plenty of strength remains in man. When I return, the Psybrids will be defeated, and I shall call upon your strength once more."
True to his promise…he defeated the Psybrids. It took him a decade. A long, brutal decade, but he achieved final victory over such beasts. Upon his return to the Imperium of Man, he made his victory lap and soon arrived back at Verax IV.
From above Verax IV, he saw the planet was still hale and healthy.
A dozen shining beacons of light dotted the surface. Industry and civilization flourishing. A sign of improvement. The people had rebuilt their lives.
Naturally, his return to their world generated attention. As he landed with his honor guard, he expected to be greeted with the faces of industrious people. Tired but eager to continue aiding in the recovery of their world.
Yet when he landed…he saw only gaunt, grim faces. The people cheered with forced smiles, and in their eyes, he saw it. Fear, resentment, grief, and hopelessness.
Horrified, the Primarch all but demanded an explanation from a confused governor. He wasn't from Verax IV; he kept spouting excuses and reasonings.
"Quotas have to be met," "Certain restrictions were necessary," "Punishments were necessary," and "Executions were within acceptable limits."
When the governor said it was completely legal and within his right to carry out the orders of the Adeptus Terra, he wanted to burn him and his entire palace down. Yet he stayed his fury and tried to learn why the Imperium had done what the Psybrids could not.
He was foolish to just move about the cities and farming zones. He scared most of the population into hiding as he searched for answers, practically demanding the entire planet halt production so he could inspect it.
No one spoke to him, not in any meaningful way. He started demanding answers and then realized these people weren't locals. They were people brought off-world to slowly replace those from Verax IV.
Upon hearing this, he demanded where the original inhabitants had gone. The governor and his administration didn't know where the survivors were now.
Verax IV had gone through a small rebellion, resulting in the Imperium crushing it to prevent another spark similar to the Desolation from spreading across the sub-sector. No one had even thought to speak with the rebels.
Better to have killed and deported the survivors. Verax IV had only been home to four billion people. A pitiful number, small enough to swiftly remove through various means. Even if he had tried to find someone, anyone who once called this planet home was likely only a few left spread across the sub-sector.
It took the better part of a month to finally find an enclave of these people. What he saw made him weep, for it wasn't the fear or anger directed towards him. He who promised a better world and future, but instead, it was the defeated look in their eyes.
To survive the Age of Strife, the Psybrids, and all other disasters and tribulations that fell upon Verax IV, both in body and spirit, to now see it was the Imperium of Man, other humans, that finally broke them.
The cruelty and indifference of an empire.
The same empire he swore to defend.
And the very one that finally extinguished the fire in the hearts of a beat that burned brighter than even the Lord of Drakes.
He knew that this couldn't continue. There could never be another repeat of Verax IV. That the Imperium of Man had to be reformed from the inside. Not through violence but through understanding and compassion. That the hope which yearned in the hearts of every man, woman, and child for a better future would never be extinguished.
So when people would ask him, "Why are you doing this?" He would only say, "Because we can do better."
It'd certainly been an eventful series of years for Corvus. He'd taken a visit to Commorragh with Sachmis and learned more about the Dark Eldar than he ever expected. He'd created the Skeleton Key, an artifact of incredible power, one that Lockcraft rightfully feared. He'd recruited the Chairman to run a crime ring all so that he could covertly fund Ravenloft. Hell, the organization he made studied holidays of all things, and the information from that project was genuinely helpful. Now here he was, attending a meeting that was certain to be eventful. And he was attending it on the side of the Emperor, at least as far as everyone knew.
He had to make sure to keep up that facade. After all, he was planning out an absurdly dangerous heist, and supporting the formation of an Eldar empire. What next? He'd recruit a Xenos assassin sent to kill him? The series of events that had led to this point was truly absurd, yet his own decisions were the largest cause of the present.
GM Note: Thanks to @Ruirk for the following section
After everything had been said and done, Corvus would readily welcome calling himself the King of the Fools, for that is what he felt like these days. Where others would proclaim themselves wise or insightful or masters of their fates, he knew better.
No one with an ounce of wisdom or sanity believed themselves cunning enough to get away with even half the decisions he had made these last few years. Worse yet, given his accomplishments, he was starting to believe he could.
If nothing else, his luck was keeping up with this…nonsense. An adage came to mind: you never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from. Then again, he stopped believing in things like luck. The gods had played enough tricks on men like him since time immortal.
The uninitiated or unaware would look upon his accomplishments with awe and envy. He created the Skeleton Key, allied with the Aeldari, formed Ravenloft, and was bedding perhaps one of the most dangerous women in the galaxy. He was also caught in an impending civil war, trying to "play" both sides while keeping his "volatile" activities a secret.
His mistakes were not born from his decisions or actions but from consequences compounded by unforeseen complications. All of which could have been seen an entire lightyear away.
Mixing politics, religion, and sex…
Playing dangerous games nets you delicious prizes but equally damning punishments if you were to fail. That he made it this far hinted either Corvus was incredibly lucky and capable…or the rest of the galaxy was made up of greater fools than he first anticipated.
It was enough to make him drink, which, thanks to Sachmis, he started doing just that. Damn, that insufferable, beautiful woman. She poked and taunted him in ways that got him too riled up, and his only solace was his ability to do the same to her. Sex and love were so addictive.
Yet Sachmis was on schedule to complicate his life even further. Her blasted dominion was already set in motion, but beyond that was her part in the coming theft and resurrection of the Venus godseed. An overtly complicated and resource-intensive attempt to return a god to this realm so that he could prove a point to the Aeldari.
The Aeldari…this alliance was a windfall and a sword looming overhead. His only relief was knowing Roboute and Magnus were equally deep into this arrangement. If one of them were to hang, the others would as well. Eldrad Ulthran had proven a powerful ally, though. As had the other Eldar.
Which complicated things further. Humans weren't meant to be allied with aliens or those that rejected the Imperial Truth or compliance. Corvus had stopped caring either way. Could he tell another to stop siding with an alien when he shared his bed with one? Tell a freeman to join a nation that used slaves? Order men and women to abandon their faith because it didn't fit neatly into the Emperor's plan?
He was tired of being a hypocrite, and if he were to compromise on his principles, he would do it for at least one or two worthy causes. The Lord of Ravens knew there were worse things in this galaxy to falter on. Besides, he was always the sort to go down a different path.
This business with the gods was a good indication of that. He took a small bit of pride in knowing that if he was the King of the Fools, he wasn't a blind idiot like Lorgar.
His brother…their brother was undoubtedly an embarrassment and a warning. Lorgar had sought to gain answers. To find the truth. Yet what had that idiot done? He sought to create divinity for a man that had no need for it. Their brother had the opportunity to learn from the Old Faiths, but he either didn't know or cared enough to try.
Such wasted potential. Had Lorgar attempted to organize the other faiths and learn from them, perhaps he would've understood that faith and divinity did not go hand-in-hand with capability and wisdom. Corvus had spoken with three gods now…and he wasn't impressed.
They were flawed, stuck in their own ways, and looked upon the galaxy with bitterness and regret…old souls who had either died before or been forced into taking action. Meanwhile, the "animals" ran rampant across the stars. The savage gods hiding in their homes and trying to formulate a plan against Chaos.
He didn't hold such things against them. This new galaxy required a different sort of mortal and god to survive it. Cegorach warned him that each man had a part to play in the stage of the universe. If he was to be the King of the Fools, he might as well embrace the damn role.
Better to be the self-aware fool than the one who has yet to realize it.
"How much of this was planned?" Alpharius asked the Eldar prisoner as soon as he entered the cell.
"I have no idea," the Harlequin responded immediately with a cocky grin, "perhaps all of it, perhaps some of it, or perhaps none at all~"
"I'm not in the mood for games, Asurvan," Alpharius snarled, after everything he'd heard from Omegon, everything he'd learned from his sons, he needed answers. "I'll join your theatrics later, but I can't afford it right now." If pressed, the Hydra would admit that he had a fondness for the Harlequin's sense of showmanship, it was certainly enjoyable to follow, and it gave him a few ideas for introductions alongside Omegon.
The Harlequin tapped their lips, clearly amused but considering the offer. "Hmm, give me twenty Astartes, appropriate props, a stage, and an audience and you have a deal."
"Fine, done." Alpharius immediately said, not bothering to negotiate at all. He almost relished the surprise on the Eldar's face.
"Oh, it's that level of serious then," the Harlequin's entire personality shifted back into Asurvan, similar to an actor shedding a role. "What do you wish to know?"
"I know you have an arrangement with Magnus, who else have you subverted?" It was blunt and to the point, nowhere near the sophistication he was capable of, but if he tried to be subtle it'd take him months of effort to get this information.
Asurvan hummed in thought, "As far as I know, none, and the arrangement with Magnus was more knowledge and favor trading than anything else. We assisted him in the Garden, he assisted us in the Eye. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Fine, what about your Farseers, what has the Great Seer been planning with the Imperium?"
"I don't know."
"Alright...what about your military?"
"Beats me."
"How are your forces trying to stop Chaos?"
"By killing them I guess."
"...what do you know?"
"I know I don't know the answer to a lot of these questions!"
"Fine," Alpharius huffed, "what do you know?"
"Like, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say, we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns. You know?" Asurvan smiled at Alpharius' deadpan expression.
"Although the language may be tortured, the basic point is both valid and important. That said, you're down to 15 Astartes for your play for making me have to listen to that." The smile disappeared.
"Killjoy," the Harlequin sulked, "I don't know anything beyond what I was told, the Laughing God is a Fool, but he is not a fool, he wouldn't have sent me if I knew anything useful." The Eldar chuckled in a self-deprecating manner, "Have you heard the saying, don't shoot the messenger? Perhaps they should add, don't imprison them."
This was a mistake, Alpharius thought, of course Asurvan didn't know anything, they'd spent years verifying it. He'd already had all his secrets dragged out of him, it seems his fears were making him irrational. "Fine, let's try a hypothetical," the Harlequin leaned forward, interested in crafting a future story, "if you were the Laughing God, how would you subvert me?"
"Why would I?" Asurvan grinned, "You play the role of Alpharius so well, to change that would be the sign of a bad playwright, no, no, it would be much more interesting to simply let the future play and see what comes of the character Alpharius, will he open his eyes to the world or let them remain sewn shut?"
"Alright, so a dedicated information campaign and psychological honeypots, sounds reasonable," Alpharius distilled Harlequin into a more understandable language to Asurvan's dismay. "Corvus?"
"How droll," Asurvan commented, "simply going down a list? I expected more from you. That's worth at least 40 Astartes for my play."
The Hydra twitched, suppressing the urge to instantly agree. "You obviously want to cooperate in some fashion. Why add all these absurd conditions?"
"Because you aren't asking shrewd questions. Because shrewd questions deserve honest answers." The Harlequin's eyes glistened with amusement.
"In what way does that make sense?" Alpharius exclaimed in exasperation.
"You aren't looking at this through the eyes of a player on the stage of life."
"If this is how you talk while imprisoned, no wonder the Emperor and Malcador hate your kind," Alpharius grumbled, "they're what, the evil tyrant and evil right-hand man in this analogy?"
The Harlequin clapped his hands, "Yes! Yes! You're understanding it now! The entire galaxy is a play, and we are all but actors upon it!" The Harlequin leaped onto the table, spreading their hands out in glee, "Do you see now what questions must be asked?"
"Who's the lead actor then?" Alpharius asked, trying to make the Harlequin's logic work in his favor.
"Oh, there are multiple leads in this act. It's just switching around from multiple points of view. Perhaps none of you are the lead." The Harlequin responded immediately. "Maybe the galaxy is the lead in this story? It's scary to think about being an extra in someone else's story."
Alpharius' mind worked swiftly, categorizing his worldview all so he could fit the Harlequin's analogy. "Then wouldn't the characters change between points of view?" Asurvan looked at him, tilting their head in confusion. "An extra in someone else's story might be described in a single sentence, but in their own story, they would require entire plays to describe."
"And yet, add but one line in their own story, and the character can change entirely, add an entire chapter, and an extra will remain unchanged," the Harlequin added, clearly pleased at Alpharius' deduction. "Now, what does that tell you?"
"The lightest of touches," Alpharius began, "applied at the perfect time." He almost felt mesmerized at the thought, it was the highest ideal for him and Omegon, and it seemed it was how the Harlequins operated at all times, "you add a few words at the right time, and entire volumes, entire plays are turned upon their head."
"Some would call it induced chaos. I would argue, that's the point." The Harlequin smiled nostalgically, remembering some story coming to a culmination Alpharius suspected, "Bring enough plays together, and a single meeting can create waves that echo to eternity."
"Because...you would be able to influence events easier. It's malleable in the right circumstances. Especially if you have someone like your Great Seer on hand." Alpharius laughed, "Then you can see how the script changes."
"Do make sure to tell Cegorach of this," the Harlequin's eyes glinted, "I suspect he'd be rather pleased."
"Not to worry Asurvan," Alpharius stood up and opened the door to the cell, gesturing for Asurvan to leave, "lead me to him."
"Wait, what?"
"This is as much on you as it is on him!" Omegon shouted as he hit the end of his rope. "Yes, I understand, what Kesar did is short-sighted and foolish, but it was fucking predictable thanks to your response!"
"Because he had no trust in me!" Malcador shouted back, "I was prepared to compromise, I was willing to discuss matters, but he had no faith in my willingness to talk. And so he did this!"
"What willingness?" Omegon sneered, "Name one thing you were willing to do to resolve Kesar's justified demands."
"I would have told him everything," Malcador lamented as he sank in his chair. "Every dark detail in the Imperium, every monstrous decision we made, and each cold calculus we used to get there." Omegon sat down himself, feeling as if the Sigillite truly was as old as he looked. "But that wouldn't count to you, would it?"
"We both know that wouldn't have been enough for him."
"It is the foundation behind everything, not just what happened to Angron. Everything. Why have things gone this far, why in this manner? Does he really think we went here without any thought at all?"
"That wouldn't resolve anything Malcador," the Hydra said softly, "it would be excuses and explanations. All flavor but nothing substantial. The problems and issues would remain regardless of how Kesar responded."
"None of this was meant to be permanent," the Sigillite tried to explain, "it just isn't the time for what Kesar or Vulkan demand."
"Then when will it be time?" Omegon asked, "If you had an answer to that, perhaps there never would have been a schism this large."
"What will the Imperium face on the edge of the galaxy?" Malcador answered with another question, "How long will it take to deal with the Orks? You know very well why I can't answer that."
"I can answer it." Omegon softly claimed. "After the next war."
A dark glare crossed the Sigillite's face, "You've already made up your mind on the matter, why do you care what I say?"
"I had hoped that you would have a time frame. I had hoped that all of this had a schedule, I had hoped that there was something, anything I could bring to Kesar to ease his worries." Omegon began, hoping to lead with a logical explanation. "But there is nothing but empty words, and callous mathematics. A billion lives for a trillion, we work with your men and people and know the burden. Yet, nothing has improved and nothing will improve. Everything will always be "after the next war" or "it is not yet time." How many worlds, how many governments fall prey to those insidious desires and lose everything in turn? You know the numbers, we know the numbers and it is far too many."
"And yet those numbers support everything I've done!" Malcador raised his voice to make a point, "So tell me, why do you refuse to listen to reason?"
"Because you're better than this," Omegon said with a smile, without a hint of doubt.
Malcador on the other hand, wore an expression similar to one he'd wear if Omegon had started tap dancing in front of him. "Because the two of us are clearly good people," Malcador finally said sarcastically.
"You misunderstand," Omegon began, licking his lips nervously, "I'm saying you're willing to do whatever is needed for the good of mankind."
The Sigillite scowled, "And is that wrong?"
"No, of course not," Omegon shook his head. "At the scale, we work at, we must always look at the larger picture."
"Did you not just explain to me why my larger picture is incorrect?" Malcador asked, unamused.
"I did," the Hydra said, "because you have skipped a simple solution due to your personal biases."
"And what might that be?" The Sigillite asked, clearly expecting Omegon to say something along the lines of supporting Vulkan's reforms.
"Remove the Emperor from power and take his place," the Primarch bluntly stated. "You are already responsible for the Imperium's governmental institutions, and by removing the Emperor, you meet Kesar's demands and show that you are willing to adapt."
Malcador flickered through emotions rapidly. Shock, betrayal, anger, contemplation, guilt, contemplation once more, then a deep sense of depression as he sighed. "I … did not consider that."
"And now?" Omegon asked.
"You're asking me to betray my oldest friend," the Sigillite said sadly, "a man that I fought alongside for millennia to save Terra. A man I watched weep over what had happened to mankind. A man that helped console me when I wept. A man I have fought for even at his darkest and least complete state."
"And what conclusion have you come to?"
Malcador let out a bitter laugh, "Have I decided to turn on the Emperor you mean?" Malcador let a chuckle build then die. "I hate that I'm genuinely considering it."
GM Note: Alright, at long last the interlude is done! 37 pages in total, but I'm happy with it. The next update should come out a lot quicker. For now, you get to decide how Kesar will speak and on what topic he'll cover. For this, please use plan voting.
Speaking Style
[] Focus on appealing to the Emperor
[] Focus on appealing to the Primarchs present
[] Focus on appealing to the common man
Demands for the Emperor
[] We cannot have a man missing their soul in charge of the Imperium. How can a being only partly whole rule properly?
[] The Primarchs cannot be left in the dark on matters like this. The Emperor should not hoard information such as how they were made.
[] Non-Primarchs should be read into some of the Imperium's classified information. If they are not, then they cannot make informed decisions.
[] Vulkan and Kelbor's work should not be hindered or sabotaged. They should be allowed to succeed on their own merits.
[] More effort is needed in reducing avenues for subversion. For Chaos finds it much easier to convert the downtrodden than the well-off.
[] Increasing production for the Imperium so that the Primarchs can be less beholden to the Imperium's government for resources
[] Kesar shall take over the Maelstrom for Vulkan (Vulkan does expect you to do this based on prior conversations with him)
[] The Imperium must move away from a dictatorship. Horus' comments on oversight have made it clear how a single man is always fallible.
[] Write-in
- Location
- Elsewhere
12 hour moratorium, as I forgot to add that in the update.
So! Lots to unpack.
for the overall vote though gonna get that out of the way now and suggest a rather bold plan with solid logic I hope behind it.
Plan: Mutual Benefit
-[] Focus on appealing to the Emperor
-[] We cannot have a man missing their soul in charge of the Imperium. How can a being only partly whole rule properly?
-[] The Primarchs cannot be left in the dark on matters like this. The Emperor should not hoard information such as how they were made.
-[] More effort is needed in reducing avenues for subversion. For Chaos finds it much easier to convert the downtrodden than the well-off.
-[] Increasing production for the Imperium so that the Primarchs can be less beholden to the Imperium's government for resources
-[] Kesar shall take over the Maelstrom for Vulkan (Vulkan does expect you to do this based on prior conversations with him)
-[] The Imperium must move away from a dictatorship. Horus' comments on oversight have made it clear how a single man is always fallible.
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SO! The logic of my choices is as follows.
The Focus on the Emperor is because Kesar has never been particularly close to the common man outside of his own planet and he's already appealed very much to the primarchs already to get this far as opposed to an armed uprising. Focusing on Big E leans in on the fact that Kesar does not himself see him or his actions as anything OTHER than loyal, and that he is just as devoted and determined as he has always been to protect the Imperium...even from the fractures in the original Plan that Big E and Malcador had.
For the choices, there's a lot going on in the background and foreground that means that Kesar can essentially give Big E and Malc 'freebies' aka things they were going to do already or can do quickly thanks to the efforts of loyalist primarchs.
I'll be copying the choices I have and detailing why I think they're either a Big Ask or a freebee and the overall strategy for this.
1: We cannot have a man missing their soul in charge of the Imperium. How can a being only partly whole rule properly?
This is a big ask because this is basically the 'you will take your soul back NOW dad!' option which is both good and bad. Good because he'll be human again...bad because he will be SO MUCH MORE DEPRESSED! Holy shit all the depression. There are not enough video clips of cute animals in the setting's history to bring back all the depression that's going to happen here...but still a better option than letting him continue as he is.
2: The Primarchs cannot be left in the dark on matters like this. The Emperor should not hoard information such as how they were made.
This is a medium ask from what I can see as it ties in with the boon that Kesar asked of him already like the chaos information and will benefit the loyalists as much as the rebels to get more information, so there will be less pushback on this one but still enough to be an ask.
3: More effort is needed in reducing avenues for subversion. For Chaos finds it much easier to convert the downtrodden than the well-off.
This fits with Malcador's efforts to secure the Imperium from Eldar influence and other subversion attempts, so this is basically asking Big E and Malc to continue doing what they are already doing and make some of it more open.
4: Increasing production for the Imperium so that the Primarchs can be less beholden to the Imperium's government for resources.
Ferrus is basically planning to deal with this himself and so kesar making the above demand is basically setting the stage to make Ferrus's reform Imperiumwide, which will benefit countless people (eventually) and give the Imperium more production that's away from the Mechanicum, which will throw Kelbor's plans into disarray and thus benefit Big E on a few levels.
5: Kesar shall take over the Maelstrom for Vulkan (Vulkan does expect you to do this based on prior conversations with him)
This has been our plan for awhile and will be a big ask as this basically tanks his plans to tie up Vulkan in the former Maelstrom region.
6: The Imperium must move away from a dictatorship. Horus' comments on oversight have made it clear how a single man is always fallible.
This one is a gimme on a few levels. It basically allows the Emperor to implement the High Lords part of his plan early, be seen as giving a concession to the rebels, and also ties in with the Omegon and Malcador bit of replacing Big E by having Malcador act as the leader of the High Lords/First Citizen or something of that sort.
All in all combining these options with the Emperor focus and it will do a good job of I think keeping Kesar looking like what he is: A devoted son of the Emperor trying to ensure that the spirit of His goals is kept. Of showing the Emperor that for better or worse he has managed to reach the point where his needing to be in complete control is no longer necessary to maintain momentum.
for the overall vote though gonna get that out of the way now and suggest a rather bold plan with solid logic I hope behind it.
Plan: Mutual Benefit
-[] Focus on appealing to the Emperor
-[] We cannot have a man missing their soul in charge of the Imperium. How can a being only partly whole rule properly?
-[] The Primarchs cannot be left in the dark on matters like this. The Emperor should not hoard information such as how they were made.
-[] More effort is needed in reducing avenues for subversion. For Chaos finds it much easier to convert the downtrodden than the well-off.
-[] Increasing production for the Imperium so that the Primarchs can be less beholden to the Imperium's government for resources
-[] Kesar shall take over the Maelstrom for Vulkan (Vulkan does expect you to do this based on prior conversations with him)
-[] The Imperium must move away from a dictatorship. Horus' comments on oversight have made it clear how a single man is always fallible.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SO! The logic of my choices is as follows.
The Focus on the Emperor is because Kesar has never been particularly close to the common man outside of his own planet and he's already appealed very much to the primarchs already to get this far as opposed to an armed uprising. Focusing on Big E leans in on the fact that Kesar does not himself see him or his actions as anything OTHER than loyal, and that he is just as devoted and determined as he has always been to protect the Imperium...even from the fractures in the original Plan that Big E and Malcador had.
For the choices, there's a lot going on in the background and foreground that means that Kesar can essentially give Big E and Malc 'freebies' aka things they were going to do already or can do quickly thanks to the efforts of loyalist primarchs.
I'll be copying the choices I have and detailing why I think they're either a Big Ask or a freebee and the overall strategy for this.
1: We cannot have a man missing their soul in charge of the Imperium. How can a being only partly whole rule properly?
This is a big ask because this is basically the 'you will take your soul back NOW dad!' option which is both good and bad. Good because he'll be human again...bad because he will be SO MUCH MORE DEPRESSED! Holy shit all the depression. There are not enough video clips of cute animals in the setting's history to bring back all the depression that's going to happen here...but still a better option than letting him continue as he is.
2: The Primarchs cannot be left in the dark on matters like this. The Emperor should not hoard information such as how they were made.
This is a medium ask from what I can see as it ties in with the boon that Kesar asked of him already like the chaos information and will benefit the loyalists as much as the rebels to get more information, so there will be less pushback on this one but still enough to be an ask.
3: More effort is needed in reducing avenues for subversion. For Chaos finds it much easier to convert the downtrodden than the well-off.
This fits with Malcador's efforts to secure the Imperium from Eldar influence and other subversion attempts, so this is basically asking Big E and Malc to continue doing what they are already doing and make some of it more open.
4: Increasing production for the Imperium so that the Primarchs can be less beholden to the Imperium's government for resources.
Ferrus is basically planning to deal with this himself and so kesar making the above demand is basically setting the stage to make Ferrus's reform Imperiumwide, which will benefit countless people (eventually) and give the Imperium more production that's away from the Mechanicum, which will throw Kelbor's plans into disarray and thus benefit Big E on a few levels.
5: Kesar shall take over the Maelstrom for Vulkan (Vulkan does expect you to do this based on prior conversations with him)
This has been our plan for awhile and will be a big ask as this basically tanks his plans to tie up Vulkan in the former Maelstrom region.
6: The Imperium must move away from a dictatorship. Horus' comments on oversight have made it clear how a single man is always fallible.
This one is a gimme on a few levels. It basically allows the Emperor to implement the High Lords part of his plan early, be seen as giving a concession to the rebels, and also ties in with the Omegon and Malcador bit of replacing Big E by having Malcador act as the leader of the High Lords/First Citizen or something of that sort.
All in all combining these options with the Emperor focus and it will do a good job of I think keeping Kesar looking like what he is: A devoted son of the Emperor trying to ensure that the spirit of His goals is kept. Of showing the Emperor that for better or worse he has managed to reach the point where his needing to be in complete control is no longer necessary to maintain momentum.
- Location
- USA
...😵💫
What is even happening right now. WTF.
All these great interludes and viewpoints and it's capped off with this?!? The Emperors right hand man is on the fence?
Madness. I have absolutely no idea what's coming.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
With all this in mind, and partially sparked by realising that mentioning the 'lack of complete soul' in front of everyone might make the Emperor extremely angry with that being out, I have a write-in suggestion to act as an alternative inspired by the above quotes and the general plan that's been going on since the Maelstrom had finished.
[] Angron, Primarch of the Twelfth Legion, must be executed by the Emperor of Mankind's personal hand. Show to everyone that even at the highest level of the Imperium, accountability will be upheld. A great mistake admitted, a tortured soul laid to rest.
@Daemon Hunter is this allowed?
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Oh I like this one.
- Location
- U.S.
think we should appeal to the emperor, if he steps down, nothing would actually really change, he will still do what he has always done, and with malcador in charge his authority is essentially unchanged and his ability to act will still be the same, basically a change in name only but would do a lot in quieting down unrest and allow the emperor's plans to continue like killing orks.
I'd like to point out why Ferrus's plan is so crazy.
" Well, in the old system, they'd see a dollar for every 10k dollars of production the worker made. So 0.01 cents. In the new system, it's a full cent. As it is, their average salary will go from a dollar a day to 20 dollars a day. With the other 80 going into factory/home quality-of-life features. so essentially, they're getting free room and board on top of the salary—basically, the essentials to live, and some "luxuries" like hot showers and lighting. Odds are what'll essentially form is a communcal democracy, as these factories are for the most part rather self-contained."
In other words...Ferrus is introducing the concept of Cooperative Businesses (Co-Ops) in the Imperium.
" Well, in the old system, they'd see a dollar for every 10k dollars of production the worker made. So 0.01 cents. In the new system, it's a full cent. As it is, their average salary will go from a dollar a day to 20 dollars a day. With the other 80 going into factory/home quality-of-life features. so essentially, they're getting free room and board on top of the salary—basically, the essentials to live, and some "luxuries" like hot showers and lighting. Odds are what'll essentially form is a communcal democracy, as these factories are for the most part rather self-contained."
In other words...Ferrus is introducing the concept of Cooperative Businesses (Co-Ops) in the Imperium.
As long as it doesn't develop to terminal capitalism it's ok