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Warhammer: Unification Wars

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The Hordes of Ursh charging their Enemy



The Kalagann was deep in thought upon his throne. There was a sound, it was a sound of anarchy, death, horror, and Chaos. This was nothing new for the Kalagann who had experienced it before, although not as... intense as the pillar had made it.

This brought a smile to his face though, for now, his purpose was clear. The Gods have given him direction and their blessing. The Trumpet of the Kalagann shall roar once more, should it be the last thing he does. There will be no peace until the one who shall be despised by the gods is dead, crush, torn asunder, and devoured. The Thorns shall expand, the new blessed warriors shall reign supreme upon the battlefield and upon the world itself. The Kalagann was no fool, however, should there be an entity that despised the gods as much to declare them an enemy, then they should have the power to back it up. The blessed ones shall lead and fight elsewhere, we know whom the target of our rage will be, but like with all prey, the Hunter must be patient.

The new Thorns... no. They would need a new name perhaps... yes, Wrathsingers, those who sing of the coming storm, who bear the rage against the non-believer. Finally as if spurred into action by the great Horn's roar the Kalagann shall go to war. Summoning his thorns, he tells them of what is to come, and soon, All of Ursh knows why the Horn of the Kalagann roared as it did, and they believe down to the last orphan that the Kalagann has had a revelation from the Gods, a statement is whispered from mother to child, father to son, blood to blood, foe to foe. The message is simple, "Fight, for the Gods Will It." The whisper of a holy war against they who would deny the gods caused blood to boil, bodies to be broken, and bloodlust to reach unprecedented levels. There would be no retreat once their charge started.

The Kalagann looks to his thorns for the last time before their march and duties are to be done. His voice carries over them, "Make no mistakes. War is coming, in all, its glory and all its horror, and Ursh shall triumph against our foes. Go Forth and slay, kill until there is nothing left to kill." To the south marched three thorns, Halydon the Bone-Breaker, Sindra the Bloodborn, Elipha the Corrupter, and behind them marched their armies. To the east marched two Thorns, Sanguine the Red, Kyri the Broken. To the West marched the largest of the hosts. Jekyl the Twice-Slain, Malcan the Seer, Bervan the Stone-skin, Varia the Avenger, and finally the self-proclaimed heir to the Kalagann himself, Angra the Depraved.


The Wrathsingers of Ursh​
 
In a flash, the Urshmen were routed, their malignant bodies rendered ash before the awesome might of Terrawatt technology. It was as expected by Ologo and while his people whooped, he merely returned to his workshop in muted acknowledgement. There was much more to do.

But even the stoicism of the Theologitek was dented by the missive from Mars, the enigmatic message of unity from the Red Planet. At once, he was obsessed, his brain seared with frequencies and scrambled data. A techno-cult of codebreakers were brought into the grace of the tower soonafter, around which they erected a structure not unlike a shrine. Though the Terrawatt were a people of science, the line between the mystic and the scientific was a blurred one thanks in large part to the denigration of society. Buoyed by their lord's own reverence towards the tower, they set about their work with fanaticism, their bodies becoming logs for their observations.

Unity, thought Ologo. But with what, with whom, he questioned. Certainly not with the degenerate Urshmen, he reasoned, nor with the assortment of vile barbarians who pillaged throughout Terra. Perhaps then, it would be a unity that transcended the bounds of the planet, perhaps a unity between the high-minds of Terrawatt and Mars, an alliance of the select few that could hold to the splendor of the past. Were the Martians then to come to Terra, or the Terrawatt to Mars? Proud as he was, even Ologo knew the latter would be a daunting task. But, thought Ologo, he was among the wisest of Terra and so who better could fulfill that duty than he.

Ologo required more information, but even now he foresaw a grand happening. Much would change, but to what extent, he knew not. And that unnerved him.
 
@Noco

To: Ologo
From: Revelation

It is time, the journey begun by your fathers has reached its conclusion. Join me, and I shall unlock secrets of technology beyond your imagination. I shall break your enemies and raise your from this blasted earth to the heavens.
 
Crowded around their communications array, the Terrawatt technicians looked amongst one another, mouths agape. The message was one of much perplexing, and while not from the engimatic Mars, it was peculiar all the same. A strong-jawed man barked orders after a moment of silence.

"Alert the Theologitek!"


The message relayed again and again, recited from the barely-functiong recording program luckily built into the array. Ologo stooped before it, one ear pressed against a speaker. He consumed it as a hedonist does a fine wine. Technicians gawked, witnessing their master contemplate. Finally, he spoke.

"Ready for transmission. We shall inquire further."

They obeyed.


"Speaker of Revelations | @Mortis Nuntius

We know not of you nor your intentions; you speak in vague words meant perhaps to invoke awe in we of the Urals, we Terrawatt who hold true to the notions of science and power. You tempt our allegiance with the promise of secrets, yet how can we provide trust in one who does not reveal himself?

And so we say to you: the Terrawatt must receive proof. From your transmission, it is clear that you know of our location and by your offer, you know of our technological prowess. So then, we say that if you travel to our lands, to the bastion of the Terrawatt, and survive the horrors which keep us safe. And if you do this and bring unto us gifts of knowledge, then it shall be proven that you are worthy, that you may be the one to secure us from the savages of Great Sibir.

Here the Terrawatt shall wait and see what man seeks to bring us beyond Terra. So says Ologo of Ous."
 
The Priest-King stood before his Deacon-Princes assembled in Haven's High Cathedral.

"Under the Countless Gods of Old Earth man was nurtured and flourished. Man spread across the galaxy brought out wonders to the stars and the treasures of the stars to Earth. In our hubris we thought ourselves beyond divine we eschewed our gods and forged an empire of atheistic reason. Like good parents the Countless Gods of Earth looked down on us with pride, there children had outgrown them and forged ahead. They held no regret or hurt pride they let man move ever onward. They looked on at our Federation and our nations and declared them holy, the apotheosis of their vision for their chosen children." spoke the Priest King to his congregation before pausing.

"Then the fires and the dark came, our creations turned upon us and everything we created was destroyed. Our Gods looked on in sorrow. They had erred we where not ready to live without them like good parents they acted. They acted, preserved us, in refuges such as Haven there divine will saved man. Under our ice we survived, representatives of everything that made our gods proud and so we give our thanks. We build temples such as this shrines and fanes in thanks, but that is not enough." continued the Priest King.

"Now it is time that you return to the surface and spread our gods' will, it is time that we restore the unity and glory that made our gods so proud, repay their mercy in saving us with the glory they deserve. return to the homelands you fled here in refuge speak to your people of the divine will of the gods and out unity of purpose, speak to them of the peace we can forge under their will and loving grace."
 
Factions of the Hive-League of Jermani

With most political expression curtailed by the ongoing Kosibar Rebellion and the depredations of Maulland Sen and Justinian of Globus, nascent groupings have established themselves within the militia societies and warrior sodalities of the Lord Interrex, trading nominal acquiescence of the new order in exchange for the legality of their association. With the Regency of Kosibar and the lack of an official line on the secession of the Europa Empire stumping for one candidate or another has become a convenient shorthand for political manifestos, especially in the relative safety of the Gewerkschaftbund Assembly. The main clubs will be listed here, along with their political power bases and ideological developments.

Part One: The Order of the Golden Wings



Once a society of aero-chivalry created by Emperor Eratas the Great conferring the priceless lapels and badges of aviation onto a newly dubbed sky-knight of the Empire, the Europan society did more than just give the traditional initiation gift of shaded spectacles and goggles. The order transformed from one of many imperial institutions in Jermani Hive and part of the Emperor's ever-potent patronage machine to keep the notables and elities of his domains quiescent into the main political organization of the eldest Imperial Prince, Regalianus Caesar, who became beloved by the Jermani margraves as Kaisar Donner after his victory in the battle of Deusone against Ursh. Regalianus in turn was an enthusiastic adopter of the "barbarian" theme and soon was inseparable from his heirloom jewel-encrusted Power Hammer. It was the personal intervention and frequent terms of Grand Chancellor of Regalianus that in a large part created the old guard of Jermanii imperialists. The Prince's cult of personality eventually became basically synonymous with the Jermanii ancestor-cults of the Men of Gold and the ancient pre-Fusion Romanii Eratas all imperial officers were supposed to cultivate. The mysterious death of Regalianus and the assumption of his Grand Chancellorship by the youngest Imperial Prince Justinian Caesar greatly angered the Jermanii political classes and the subsequent attempts by Prince Justinian to rationalize and centralize the causal relationships of Regalianus from a desk in distant Globus provided the a great deal of tinder for the spark of Kosibar's Rebellion.

In the coming of the revolutionary league the Order of Golden Wings had actually been completely surprised by the Defenestration and the barracks coup of Kosibar's middle officers. Most of their members were established generals who much feared the combined fury of Europa that looked to stand against them and were thus devoted to more long term conspiracies gathering munitions and installing loyal agents. Their efforts were preempted by Prince Justinian's thorough tying up of loose ends as Emperor Eratas became further confined to his deathbed. Many Order members in Globus were taken captive and forced to turn on their associates or else simply locked away as hostages, but the most dramatic move was the botched assassination of Prince Postumus Caesar, who had been grown out of Prince Regalianus in the secret ways of the Men of Gold only shortly before his death. Postumus had been the star most early opponents of Justinian had tacked to, hoping for the minority regency wherein all their supporters held power and reformed the imperial court to their liking. In the confusion of Justinian Caesar's enforcement of his new claim as Emperor and the disappearance of Postumus Caesar, the Order was in complete disarray and mostly sidelined by the then-Marshal Kosibar.

Safely neutered by the changing circumstances of the rebellion from palace intrigue to grand warfare with Nordyc Witch-Raiders and Merican Geno-Clades, Kosibar mostly left the confraternity of his officers and peers alone. Subsequently the Order of the Golden Wings became the refugee for warlords who desired to signal their "apolitical" service to the Hive-League away from the factional infighting, or else prove their loyalty to Kosibar's satisfaction and their survival despite their imperialist sympathies. Besides professed loyalty to Postumus Caesar as Emperor of Europa and a general warrior ethos, the Order of the Golden Wings have tendencies to aristocratic conservatism, isolationism, and virulent hatred of Kosibar's ally in Maulland Sen as a rabid Skandian dog.​
 


Consolidation & Commiseration
-Those who must make peace, prepare for war-
​
OUR COMMUNION is a sacred trust which asks nothing but total submission from its vassal - the human soul. Though each day man toils in the shadow of the spectres of rationalising progress, their understanding goes beyond the mundane. Their eyes wander to the sky. They dare to dream of a point to life beyond maximised efficiency and comfort. Our Lord offers this, the prize of a life well-lived and eternity thereafter, and so the people flock to Him. We who have peered beyond the veil, who see life in the vivid colours of faith and passion, make no apologies for our appeal. We are the facet of character that the engineer has forgotten. We are the unreplicable, the irreplaceable, the spirit of humanity.

THEREFORE having acknowledged the indispensable humanity of our appeal, the indisputable fact that the capacity for faith - the capacity to dream and aspire - wanders not within the mere territorial borders of our city, of our nation, but across the multitude of man wherever they may dwell, who are we to deny those that would seek to join us in acknowledging their vassalage to Our Lord? The faithful of Espagne call for the protection of Our Order, that they may practice their faith without fear of persecution or isolation from their brethren in the former empire.

WE WELCOME our fellow servants of God. We welcome all who would kneel before the altar and recite the words of Our Saviour. We welcome you, the sickly, yearning masses, and we will protect you as if you were our family. For there is only one Kingdom, only one Nation, only one Imperial seat: that which Our Father, Hallowed Be Thy Name, occupies in Heaven. All who would dispute the solidarity of our federation of believers, we invite you: we are lambs, yet we are protected by wolves. So it has been promulgated, so it shall be enacted.
 
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The North is secure.

It seems like a dream, but the North is secure, for now. After fifty years of humiliation, fifty years of spiraling downward, of bloodshed and suffering, of defeat after defeat, of mired down armies unable to move in any direction but backwards, for the first time in fifty years, territory has been regained. Once more, the Akores are ours again and we have peace in the North. And we can trust in this peace in the North, not because our old foe Great Europa is trustworthy, but because they turn their gaze inward. They have no choice, with brother turning on brother and all Europa ablaze. How could they backstab us, if they are too busy backstabbing each other?

This is a welcome reprieve, one we shall take full advantage of. Like Europa, we can turn our gaze inward, to deal with our own treacherous brothers. Without the quagmire in the North to distract us, we may turn our full and undivided attention towards the East and the South, to reign in our wayward relatives of Gyptus and Midafrick. Already our greatest teknolgians and brilliant warlords have devised means for us to do so. Their rebellions live on borrowed time.

Our armies now march on our enmies. Where they stand to oppose us, our teknologians will bring the sky crashing down on them. Where they vanish into the desert, our raiders and rangers will hunt them down. Where they hunker for shelter, our siegeworkers will claw out of the earth to bury them. Where they sleep, in cover of darkness our Nightcrawlers will haunt them. Where they plot to assail us, our Warmongers will suppress them. And when the dust we grind them into settles the Conclaves will stand united once more, as resplendent and glorious as we once where before these dark times.

With gun and bomb and knife we will reclaim our place in the sun. Sure as the sun rises Nordafrik will return to glory. I only ask that Nordafrik suffers but a little longer, so we may never suffer again.
-excerpt from the Chief Marshal's address given on the eve of the Gyptus Invasion​
 
​

With the intigration of the Hive Cities of Nabatea and Dwel in his charter and a new Imperial Truth to propagate the Consul Ahura Mazda looked to his strengths, knowledge and reason. From the lower ranks of the Dhul-Qarnayn Silver Aeons the most reasonable and stable were selected to establish the Lyceum litterarius.


Called Iterators they would go to every noble house and town square with Writs of Imperium cadres of specialist and begin the process of educating a new generation of citizen who would think of themselves as Imperials.
 

"The Think Tank is a place where no problem could not be solved, where no question could not be answered."
-Quoted from Dr. Mobius
​
The Think Tank or officially known as the Big Mountain Research and Development Facility is a top secret research facility that was implemented under direct order from President Washington. Merican R&D was skilled that much is known but it is limited by society and ethics in Merica, but in Big MT such things are cast aside for one thing and one thing only Science. Dug into a mountain as fitting of it's name the Big MT is one of if not the most heavily guarded secrets of Merica after its implementation with only the fact that such a place exists being close to common knowledge as its location is unknown to the public or even most of the government.

Home to dozens of scientists and workers all completely cut out from the public and rendered ghosts they work on problems that no other place in Merica...no Terra could solve, but that's just the tip of the iceberg for the Big MT. Some would call what they do science fiction but the men and women at the Big MT would prefer to call it a science fiction triple feature, however what they do is far from theoretical it's applied science, applied with extreme prejudice.

While it is home to hundreads of scientists the true heads of the Big MT and the ones truly known as the Think Tank are people that while eccentric put any other to shame.

Artist depiction of the Think Tank​
1. The founder and sort of leader of the Think Tank is Doctor Barn Klein, head of logistical operations and ideology. A patriot through and through he while not as scientifically gifted as the rest is immensely gifted in managing the Big MT's resources, tasks, stocks, and keeping up morale or loyalty.

2. Then their is Doctor Onim Zero, Head researcher of robotics, construction, and programming. A stereotypical egghead is as his title implies the most gifted researcher of robotics, construction, and programming inside Merica.

3. Next to Doctor Zero is Doctor Blain Zine, Head researcher of acoustics, physics, Nuc. He is a chatterbox befitting of his title of an acoustician he is the most gifited in his fields and also the most open of the 6.

4. After Doctor Zine is Doctor Gabriel Borous, Head researcher of bioscience, chemistry, botany, and meteorology. Borous is perhaps the most sadistic of them all, while not a bad perhaps he is prone to fits of anger and resentment due to his upbringing although he is good friends with the rest of the Think Tank.

5. The only female member of the Think Tank is Doctor Valery Dala. She is the Head researcher of biology, humanology, mineralogy, and medical science. She is actually rather boyish in appearance and very self conscious of herself and this makes her rather vain and overly feminine.

6. The second in command of the Think Tank is Doctor Edward Mobius. Head Researcher of weapons, cognitive science, and cybernetics. Mobius as his head title implies works on the important military aspects of Big MT and his personal research about theoretical brain extraction technology.

Individually they are the best of the best of their field but together the Think Tank can truly conquer any problem that they are confronted with together. What they can come up with remains to be seen however.
 
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'Lion' Update II 999.M28
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    • The deserts rolled with activity. Initial fighting had been here and there as gunfights between bands of scouts and skirmishers led to a shift across the desert sands, an end to the stagnant drop that Nordafrik had been slipping down since her glory days when the Conclave ruled most of Europa and reached the edge of the Hymalazian mountains. Now, the sand rolled again as fleets of trucks and mighty tracked artillery swept eastwards, all led by the Chief Marshal. Their journey to victory had begun. Initial battles swept aside the ragtag Gyptite militias, forcing the mustered army of her dictator, a former general by the name of Belok Tor. Tor had anticipated only the switching of hands around the land which Gyptus held, some token push made by the Chief Marshal in order to secure the deserts in between the renegade hive and her territories. The trucks and artillery did not stop there as they kept pushing, reaching the Suess Dam, a massive relic of the old days and a landmark worth keeping. The Nordafrik soldiers didn't hesitate to storm and capture it, raising the flag of their homeland above. Hive Gyptus itself initially refused to surrender, though Tor was not a fool and was keenly aware that his army was encircled and trapped, with little supplies in a city housing several billion souls.

    ​

    In the chaos of Gyptus' collapse, it was little surprise that Europa itself was heaving once more. The Knight-Paladins of the Arcquess marched south in strength, emerging from the Sun Court as divine crusaders leading the charge into Espagne, or Ibire, depending on who you asked. Needless to say, the Knight-Paladins of the holy order were met with equally zealous Cruzadistas, men and women armed with flails and other totally primitive weapons, carrying old iconography of saints and various holy figures of the past. The Sun Court only grew in the span of a year as pilgrims from all over Franc's holy see flocked to the hive city, the faithful masses being promoted and protected by God's knights. In the south, a massive counter-offensive mounted by several renegade generals from Europa attempts to retake the Espange plateau, while in the north, the mad king of Albyon launches his gambit for the riches of Globus, made aware of the collapse of Eratas' empire.

    In fact, the devastation had been so severe on the Europan people that in fact Globus itself was in a state of upheval. The elite, so blinded by the possibility of defeat, did not anticipate the chance of losing as the first aerocraft broke through the Alpine defensive line. Antiquated fliers stormed over the mountains and struck out unleashing various devastating chemical weapons on the improvised bunkers and trenches of the Alpine defenses, though by this point Emperor Justinian had one response to the Jermanic vanguard pushing into old Italia.

    ​

    The first atomic bombs fell without punity, obliterating agri-works, factorums, and the final lines of defense beyond the city as the entire atomic arsenal of Globus was unleashed on a hapless army. Millions died and billions were irradiated in the chaos that followed, though the few formations that escaped managed to hole up quite well in Globus proper, breaking the remnants of the Jermanic vanguard as it took shelter in the wastelands beyond while the Nordycs, far less equipped for the nuclear option, broke and fled north, leaving the Hive-League to its own devices as eastern Europa fell, minor warlord states rising up while various tribes and armies simply broke off, abandoning the city to its fate. The siege would take years to complete, and the ever-stubborn Emperor, still believing in the Espagne campaign would continue to funnel troops into his western territories, ignorant of the first bombs which fell. The Jermanic armies had suffered terrible casualties and lost a great deal of high quality equipment, including entire formations of jet troops and plasma weapons in atomic fire, and the aerial vehicles had little to no luck approaching the distance to Globus, being shot down by powerful flak batteries. Eratas was no fool, and had turned Globus before his death into a fortress none of the other hive cities could take without immense casualties.

    ​

    Ologo, ignorant to the changing tides beyond the Ural mountains obsessed over the elusive martian messages, building together and dismantling various codebreakers and his own cipher keys from scratch, demonstrating the sheer technical genius of the theologitek. Things seldom improved on initial searches, only managing to pull out fragmented and broken messages which reinforced this 'Lightning Lords' proclamation, though something the Terra-watts could not apparently afford to look into further entirely as things drastically changed. But, as Ologo sat away sealed within his laboratory, the bunkers and forges of his clans shifted banners, and he saw the truth of what had happened to Mars.

    Mars, once terraformed to be a vibrant sister world to Terra, was reduced to a state few on Terra could claim to remember - red, barren, broken. Not too dissimilar to what had become of Terra in the chaos of the Age of Strife, but it was not divided, for a new organisation, built upon an odd combination of technology and faith had risen to power; the Cult Mechanicus and their master, the Omnissiah, or the Machine God. The truth of the Cult was simple, that every machine bore a soul (the machine spirit) which was an echo or fragment of the Omnissiah, and to ensure clear function, one must appease said spirit. Artificial intelligence was abhorrent for it was man's attempt to lash this machine spirit with code and blind logic, while the Omnissiah offered the purest union. In addition to this preaching, he had seen images, broken and static-ridden, of things striding through Mars' red sands. Clad in thousands of victory banners and painted with glorious heraldry, for lack of a better term, god-machines strode in protection of Mars. Their weapons the size of cities, their forms crossing continents, they were the purest expression of the Omnissiah given form, all except one, the Emperor.

    He had not been entirely absent from the minds of those manning the Urals, as the fluttering banners of Unity from baseline mortal hosts and the Legio Cataegis. The Imperium had been attacked by Ursh, a massive host raised by one of the Kalagann's mighty generals sent to burn and raze the holy cities, though they had unsuspectingly marched into what was initially a small column of travellers led by the Emperor himself, only to be ambushed by hundreds of Thunder Warriors and members of the various elite regiments taken from the Achaemid and Ind, and slaughtered. The general responsible for this push was killed but not before he managed to bring about several Neverborn to his will, lashing them to the stolen artillery pieces and driving back the mortal formations. The Kalagann, who had been in the process of crossing Sibir to reach his planned assault against the Nordycs, suddenly found his empire split in two as the Imperium surged forward, reaching the base of the Urals, where several mighty hosts had gathered.

    ​

    The Battle of the Black Mountain had begun as the Imperial Army, led by the mighty vanguard of several thousand Thunder Warriors, Valdor and two additional Custodes surged into war against an army of Urshmen billions strong, a million banners flying high as the opening salvoes of boltguns against exposed human flesh ruptured entire lines, the tight firing lines of the Thunder Legion breaking the Kalagann's front, though under the Emperor the Legio Cataegis seldom relied on ranged weapons alone, drawing chainswords and joining their master in the melee. It was here, with the slopes pressing the Urshmen back, that the first Wrathsingers unleashed their terrible spells.

    What had initially come as maniac screams that ruptured eardrums and shattered minds soon changed to literal hounds from hell, pulsating and rippling with unholy pink muscle that could tear even the mighty elite warriors of the Emperor in half. The Neverborn had taken time to manifest and form, dozens of these 'daemons', along with hundreds of humans being simply taken over and turned into swollen monstrosities swarmed the Emperor, leaving him encircled with his three Custodians. A darkness had settled over the battlefield as the fighting men of the Imperium held on to desperate flanks, the center already broken as rabid Urshmen shattered them, that was, until the light. The Emperor, well aware of the threat did not hold back in his powers, and in massive swathes of golden fire he obliterated the hordes of the Immaterium, banishing them with impunity, the full psychic might held within him turned entire hordes of Urshmen to ash, bringing dead soldiers back to life and raising their weapons imbued with pure fire. The Urshmen finally broke, fleeing scattered as the Kalagann's hosts had lost nearly half their strength. Though still a mighty formation, the absent Kalagann could not take advantage as the Emperor stood among thousands of dead Thunder Warriors and millions more dead mortals, his body bloodied but unbroken. It was no surprise then, that in the absence of Ologo, the Terra-watts immediately bent the knee, submitting themselves and their forges.

    The Emperor hadn't concluded his business there, as he raised the raptor-and-lightning above the mountains, he travelled deep into the mountains, and unlocked what would be known as Constantin's Vault, unveiling thousands of suits of Thunder armour, not quite as masterfully-crafted as the suits worn by the first thousand or so of the Legio Cataegis, but far higher quality than anything built by traditional human engineers. Weapons followed shortly after, and mighty converted haulers to bring these weapons to the Thunder Warriors. It is said that the Emperor wept for all the suits that would remain empty, but those tears were in joy in the thought of all the new warriors who would join his cause.

    ​

    Malcador had not been entirely inactive, as apart from overseeing the diplomatic ties being built with Yndonesia, which was in a state of massive unrest as Cardinal Tang, awakened in the psychic spell, led millions of 'pure-bred' against the masses, slaughtering those seen as genetically unfit or not faithful enough to his gods. He was building the Imperium as it was, integrating the Holy Cities of the Nabatae and ensuring the bookkeepers and scholars were protected, along with ensuring that the proper measures were being taken, such as the Navigator houses being welcomed into the Imperial Palace and established to begin scrying the stars, and a large number of capable telepaths being inducted into another side project of the Emperor, which, while it had no appearance yet, had a name which meant quite a bit for the Sigilite; the Astronomican.

    In addition, the Sigilite's status as Terra's only 'Imperial Lord' meant that he had been the one who brought thousands of fresh Thunder Warriors and millions of soldiers to the front lines, and ensured that the industrial might brought from the Terra-watt's accelerated the buildup of the palace which in of itself had become a huge population center as thousands flocked, erecting the first hab blocks around the mighty citadel. His own plans were not interrupted either, as with the banks of psykers opened, so were those of the opposite, nulls, the unmentionables, the unseen, these were among the first inducted into one of his many secret orders, from which sprung the complex spy network which had been meticulously in the works for centuries. Malcador learned of Europa's atomic solution before the first bomb even fell, and the splintering of Ursh before the Kalagann even knew his hordes around the Nordyc tribes rebelled. Malcador's work was diligent, and it paid off, as the quiet left hand of the Emperor knew where civilisation shifted and went in the preparation for pushing beyond chaotic Ursh.

    ​

    The T-45 as it became known, the first (known) iteration of standard issue power armour had entered mass production much to the grumbling of the Merican military. The explanation was quite simple, the suit in it's current design required the engineering of parts the Department of Defense did not have in spare, and as a result relied on a number of pre-strife jets - namely from the line known as the F-99 atmospheric-space fighter - being dismantled and used as spare parts for the T-45. This gave the Merican army suits of relatively usable powered armour which relied on limited energy cells and didn't have proper protection against hostile atomic winds and several partially dismantled jets.

    The Think Tank, though immensely successful in bringing together the various minds of Merica, would soon default on what President Washington feared - gerrymandering and filibustering as old political rivals soon take the forefront, breaking down a united effort into factionalism as arguments over budget and bias coming from the president, a relic of the unchecked temper tantrums that the Merican elite are fond of throwing purely for the sake of needless drama and generational rivalry. Talks with Vhnori seem to break and buckle as the lone city state continues to filibuster any sort of commitment, choosing instead to capitalize on the mass slave revolts happening in former Pan-Pac territory to profiteer on, though aren't against any sort of particular trade agreement, provided they can also sign one with Hy Brasil.

    With the Merican military pushed back at Globus and the atomic disaster unleashed by Justinian, it was not surprising that the command staff of the Geno regiment deployed chose to totally evacuate to Nordafrik, withdrawing with limited air and ground transport from the city and escaping the rising carnage around the capital, seeing Globus as lost to stability.

    The President's attempts to quash Unity as it were was very mildly successful, further emphasized on the border regions and Vhnori where entire regiments of militia formed to fight against anti-Unity efforts, with many coming from former slaver hosts or tribals scattered across the radioactive wastes.
    ​


    The line with Inwit came and went, and the Orioc station found itself once more facing static, only managing to pick up fragmented transmissions from Mars and Luna, both of which being too garbled and aged to tell, however, the Tasmanian station did secure one thing which was managing to triangulate roughly the locations of Sol's other bodies, confirming, perhaps, to the more superstitious that the galaxy was seemingly whole still.

    Exploratory efforts to find technology around Tasmania Station were less successful, as the site had been almost totally destroyed in ages past and Ynodensia's forays into the region had seemingly pilfered everything except additional parts for the communications array.

    Orioc, once a jewel in Terra's crown, had attempted to preach unity through messengers and broadcast not unlike the Emperor, but found a less receptive audience, particularly in territory already claimed by the Imperium. The Lightning Lord had far more than mere human charisma and false promises, and those who were distributing the Priest-King's propaganda soon found themselves convinced to join, as the raptor and lightning banners began appearing in forms of graffiti and other crude imagery across Orioc's tunnels in retaliation to their streak of unity.



    TERRA, 000.M29​
     
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    • The Aquila rose above the blasted landscape. Its twin heads mirrored opposites. The one with the open eye was iron and bronze; mottled, stained with carbon and blood coloured rust. In the eye socket a fire burned eternally, a fraction of the Emperor's own essence, watching eternal over the resting place of so many of his warriors. Its twin was the purest gold, its surface smooth and polished to the point of reflection. His servants had spent days gathering materials, the arms and armour of a billion slain Ursh warriors, iron, rock and bone, he had rearranged their structure to more aesthetically pleasing materials better suited to his grand design, investing in this final memorial to his brothers all the care and diligence due to them.

    He did not look back as he left the battlefield, only forwards towards Black Mountain, towards the mighty arsenal with which he would unite humanity. His new subjects prostrated themselves, their whispered murmurings of awe echoing like thunder such was their number, he ignored them focussing instead on the great seal, set so many generations before. Before an audience of millions he split the mountain in twain and unleashed its bounty upon the world.

    Jubiliation was the furthest from his wounded heart however. Instead there was only a rage, black and terrible, fiercer than the most vicious of the Warpspawn sent against him. His children had fallen yet again, living in the ruins of the last apocalypse of their own making they had once more reached for the fire and scorched their ignorant, hateful hands. They were infants teething on a bolter. Savages unworthy of their potential. His boundless love for them curdled with contempt and anger. They were unworthy of the sacrifices his warriors had made for them, unworthy of the dream they threatened with their incredible inferiority. The instruments warned of fallout, noticeable even in the polluted soup of Terra's atmosphere, the casualties would be in the billions. Even that was nothing compared to their reckless use of far more destructive and perverted powers, he could only marvel at the sheer scope of their folly and its potential cost. Every single soul was a blow, to die for a purpose was a perfectly suitable end to a life well lived, to die for nothing was utterly unacceptable and he well knew the ultimate fate of those lost to the ruinous powers. He would not allow this to stand.

    He reached out, drawing upon his reserves of psychic power to touch the mind of every living human on Terra.

    --Hear me humanity, hear my children. You have known me by many names, Revelation, George, Alexander, Augustus and Joan. I have watched, protected and guided you through the ages. I have seen you climb to towering heights and plummet to the deepest and darkest of lows. I have waited through the centuries for you to find a better way, to reach the point when I could help you rise once again further than ever before to mastery of all things for all time. I wait no longer. You have dabbled with forces beyond your understanding and control, you have warred against your brothers and sisters and rolled about in a sty of ignorance, hatred and self destructiveness. NO LONGER. Today, I offer you a choice, from King to Prole; every man, woman and child the same. I am coming, with fire and sword. Join me and through unity, brotherhood, order and progress we will rise together to make the Stars our own! Or. Stand against me and perish.--
     
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    The Court of the Sun
    -The triumph of the spirit is the will to resistance-
    ​
    LIBERATION is the highest prerogative of a fellow soul. We in our communion acknowledge the plurality of man, the diversity of their faiths: we seek no domination in the name of mere geopolitical gain. We create no empires, and crown no monarchs, for our realm is the soul, and our mandate divine. There can be no great enterprise to win coverts by the sword. War - death - breeds bitterness and division. The greatest victory of the faith is never a war of conquest, but one of defence: the strong realm, the lasting realm, is the victory of the immortal spirit. It is testament to the superiority of God.

    WHY, THEREFORE do the crumbling, vestigial remnants of ancient Europa cling so violently - so desperately - to the faithful of Espange? The reason is material. The affairs of their souls - which they do and have willingly offered up to God - are not the paramount concern of their Emperor. They are less than people: they are land, resources, conscripts and farmers. Wheat, bullets - it matters little to the rationalising gaze of a secular monarch. Though they open their doors to welcome us, their lands are still razed, their fields bloodied on the campaign field.

    THE KNIGHT-PALADINS are now bound by God to their oaths: not simply to Our Order, nor to Our City, but to the common fundament of our civilisation: where the faithful go, go there shall I. We are ready to protect our brethren. Our hearts are steeled to the cause. We have seen already the barbarity the technocrat, the exploiter, will resort to in his quest to break the human spirit. To deny the soul its liberation, the pursuit of purpose beyond mere work and war. The great clouds of dust that scatter north of distant Globus are the death-cries of the Empire. Now, to preserve itself, the secular shall become irrational in defence of that which it thinks is rational.

    TO THE NORTH the heathen masses cut a swathe through our communion, looting and taking captive. They, too, in their way, commit their perversions in the name of faith. But, in their weakness, they have allowed themselves to become subverted by the material realm. No bandit horde, no warlock king, will stand in defiance of hale men, fortified in courage and the virtues of Our Lord. They see the lack of fear in our eyes, and they tremble. No doubt you have heard the words that I have.

    REVELATION is coming. I have seen a gilded warrior stood atop a desert hill, his head framed by the halo of Our Lord. Where he walks, divinity follows. His is the will of God, whether he acknowledges the hand that acts upon him or not. Look for him in the east, whilst you steel yourself against our enemies in the west.

    THE LONG NIGHT of man's history is ending. Light gleams, peering beyond the hills: these are the wars that shall end all wars as men know them. We fight so that light is of our own, our unique spirit, our hidden nature: not the dull headlights of homogenising progress. Take to your arms. Join us in banishing the darkness.

    - SO IT IS PROMULGATED, SO IT SHALL BE ENACTED -​
     
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    ​

    That... was unexpected. The hordes destroyed or routed was something that was considered possible, but the way that it was done was... unbelievable. The Spirits were banished, the horde destroyed, and the dead brought back. This was the power of the one the Gods considered their enemy. A god of Man it appears, one that would be an interesting foe. Unbeatable in direct combat or interaction, at least, not at the level we currently are at. We need to expand. We need to crush him like how we would destroy anyone else, but smarter about it. Numbers and blood were well and good, but when their allies could be brought back in the same second your army was smitten, it spoke of something interesting.

    I would need to separate the ones who would and could stand up to the God of Man, from those who would be better off charging his own army. The West was no longer mine, it will be impossible to defeat, for now, I can only hold back the tide of enemies coming from there, and head to the east. They held land that can be used to expand, and reach around to crush the enemy of Ursh. This would be a glorious battle should it be allowed, but steps have to be taken to prevent that moment from coming sooner than was needed.

    The Kalagann is not a fool, and the God of Man should be made aware of this fact. After all, a god must be served, or they will destroy you. Mayhaps the God could provide something that the other gods could, or would, not give. Perhaps he could convince me to serve him, but the cost would have to be extraordinary indeed. Though, there is one single fact that may derail this idea. What use to a God is a man who is a traitor to what he believes?

    Time would tell. Time. Would. Tell.

    @Mortis Nuntius

    A message should be delivered by hand, something like that is a simple enough of a warning. It is as follows: "God of Man, Your prowess and glory are something... inspiring. You have split my people in half and in doing so weakened my hold on the people of Ursh further than you might understand. Know, however, this has brought a cost. I can no longer afford to play with you and your subjects, and you can not afford to play with mine. At least, not directly. I purpose a deal. Should you not take the field in battle against Ursh, I will no longer throw those of the Wrath at the ground you have consecrated. A battle of Mortals until the time comes for our fated duel, and I should note. This is not a deal you should snub in your arrogance, after all, does not pride come before ones fall, my God of Men?

    An Admirer, The Kalagann of Ursh."
     
    'Chaos' Update III 000.M29
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    • The war against Ursh had turned into a hellish mirror of reality. As the Emperor's legions shattered the straggling rear guard of the Kalagann's mighty war hosts, they found themselves fighting in lands scorched red with blood and heat as entire mountains seemed to float above the surface, violent thunderstorms tearing apart mortal armies. The Emperor could not bring to carry the Exertas Imperialis across these terrible lands, ordering the mortal men to remain behind and begin laying down the foundations for Imperial settlement in less tainted lands while the Emperor, and twenty regiments of the Thunder Warriors and Custodes, many of them veterans of the Black Mountain, struck out. Initial conflicts against Urshmen were swept aside as the fortified psychic might of the Emperor breached the unholy aura which had settled the deep corelands of the Kalagann. A terrible spell was being channeled as the Imperium reached the outskirts of the Hornhold, a massive fortress being raised by fanatics under the orders of the dark Kalagann to protect the artefact inside.

    Millions of unwashed, psychotic zealots swarmed out the gates, eight-pointed stars carved into their foreheads and wielding crude weaponry, guns firing in erratic patterns as they swarmed the Imperial formations, with the golden-clad generals and bodyguards of the Emperor organizing a defensive line in a series of nearby hills, the first bolts tearing down lines of flesh. The Neverborn were strangely absent to the warriors who battled in the fields, with Valdor himself expressing the same concern to his liege. The Emperor knew better, however, as he watched the towering horn groan and shift, as if a baleful eye leered from it, staring at him. The Lightning Lord attempted to seize it, to break it and shatter the spell, yet as he did so the trap of the Warp was unleashed, swarming over him as locust-like spirits covered his person in a tar-like liquid, encasing him as hope and ambition faded briefly from the person who had claimed he was meant to unite Terra.

    ​

    The spell seemed to only last moments as the Emperor's gambit on Molech unleashed itself in earnest, obliterating the daemonic presence and sweeping them back, with the arrival of freshly forged tanks from the Uralic forges bombarding the horn and sending it crashing to the ground, ending the battle soundly as the remaining Urshmen fled east. What Valdor did not know was that the Emperor in that brief moment had a moment of awakening, seeing what was, in more superstitious terms, destiny, a colossal starfleet breaking out the light of Sol and shattering galactic hegemony and fallen empire to bring about a divine human rule. But that was the problem that the Emperor saw, divinity, godhood, blind faith to morals which had little to no ground in reality. It was his plans for the future laid bare yet corrupted by the same superstition he struggles to trample out. The Emperor's ambitions had been tempered and many Thunder Warriors had ultimately perished to bring down the great horn, along with much of Terra's land left tainted, something that would take centuries to purify with even the most powerful of psykers at his beck and call. The greatest fear of the Emperor; failure, had been seeded in his heart by the Kalagann's potent sorcery.

    Building what was the Imperium continued unabated in the south as the Emperor's first lord, Malcador oversaw the collapse of the Cardinal Tang, all thanks to the efforts of a single soldier by the name of Iacton Qruze. Qruze, a young man serving in the Mauryec-Ind assault regiment had scaled the Papal Spire which housed the quarters of the mad cardinal, slaying in his sleep and totally breaking the stability of the region and allowing Imperial forces to sweep in and seize Palatin with little effort, pushing down rebels and ensuring the loyalty of a third hive city, expanding the population of the Imperium even more.

    Efforts to industrialize and raise new cities had also gone well, as the region of the Imperial Centre, or Imperial Palace, had been the site of great factorums and various facilities, though much of the war industry remained in the Uralic forges. The first mag-lev trains would be laid down as well by the Achaemid lords, joining Nabatae and Dwel as similar lines were laid down to lead to the outskirts of Hymalazia. Indeed, under Malcador's oversight the Imperium had quickly become increasingly centralized, with provincial rule being abolished in favour of a growing bureaucracy of administrators and governors operating directly in the Imperial Palace. Thunder Warriors manned it's walls now as fresh warriors for the Legio marched out every several months, clad in shining bronze and violet armour forged by the Uralic technicians. The Imperium had spiralled out of being a mere fief underneath the Hymalazian nobility to rising as a domineering power, with industrial engines churning out fresh equipment and the Emperor's own genius reviving many lost pieces of technology, including terraforming chemicals to allow the slow restoration of agriculture on Terra.

    Further exploration of the outermost spires of Byzant proved difficult, as even with armour the highly irradiated slopes housed little more than mad, gun-toting mutants and mad cultists trying to call upon atomic gods. If there was any equipment left, it would have to be pried from the madmen. However, rather than finding equipment, what the Achaemid lords would find is a free army with no master - the Byzant Janizares. The Janizares had been trapped in the lower levels of Byzant after the atomic blast, using a series of tunnels and bunkers to prevent their annihilation as they waged a secret war against the mutant hordes of above. It was no surprise that the tact diplomacy of the scholarly clique managed to easily convince this highly trained formation of soldiers to swear fealty to the Emperor, bolstering his ranks and providing a great deal of unused equipment - namely volkite weapons - to the Imperium.

    ​

    The Kalagann himself had chosen to abandon Ursh, gathering the better part of his war hosts amassed with all the mighty daemon-guns and other esoteric creations summoned from beyond the veil and fused with the technology of the techno-barbarian warlord. Tanks roared to unlife, machine guns chattered with limitless bullets, and his whole army seemed to be infused with a maddening glee as they swept over the initial Pan-Pac fortifications, the combined thrust would reach Mordak and capture it, with billions of slaves being taken in tow while many of the Empire's actual slaves were liberated and joined the hosts of the Kalagann eagerly.

    To the warlord's surprise, the Emperor would be deposed as his Jade Citadel was levelled through the clever use of a possessed Wrathsinger, and the madness of Narthan Dume. Half-insane and half-genius, Dume had been conspiring the overthrowal of the regime since his army first established the dynastic rule of the Jade Emperor. Unleashing terrible automata and potent nerve gas, the mad dictator of Hongol turned the Jade Citadel into a death trap, before rigging explosives which collapsed the spire holding it, placing the Empire under this mad despot's command. Rather than attempting to face off against Ursh, Dume would offer his services and weapons to repel the Imperium.

    ​

    President Washington had run himself thin trying to get prideful science cliques to work together, forcing something of a hodgepodge leadership under two of his leading theoreticians, though the pressure squeeze would eventually give, it would not be without some damage. Several scientists, particularly those of the Aeronautics Group, would desert, frustrated at the apparent deafness of government towards the scrapping of precious nuclear jet fighters for some hackjaw power armour. They would take their plans and the remaining fighters to the Imperium, surrendering themselves to Malcador's authority as soon as they reached Dwel. However, now the MT was united, but the brain drain had severely hurt any future development plans as the lost aeronautical engineers and atomic physicians made up nearly half of the tank.

    The troops seemed to mind little, though members of the high command were among the first to protest the power armour's mass deployment, believing it to be inadequate to the interests of the Merican military, sacrificing the precious mobility of their former air power for 'role playing the Knights of Europa'. The troops themselves seemed at ease with the new suits which offered protection against small arms fire, something that was becoming an increasing concern.

    With the Emperor's speeches and boundless charisma, he had managed to break even the tightest of gridlocks on propaganda, as mass rebellions across the Merican interior, and other parts of the world had broken out in the span of the year, many territories either joining the Imperium as rebellion turned into revolution, while others, like in Merica, would be brutally repressed by overeager troops.

    ​

    The war on the flat plains of Espagne had died down as noble Knight-Paladins thrust back, pushing the increasingly frantic Europan offensive which had been largely abandoned by Emperor Justinian, choosing instead to fortify and close Globus to all but the most loyal of subjects, which excluded his army, apparently. Many deserted to Franc, surrendering to the mercy of the Lord, while others fled across the border to Nordafrik, leaving the royal garrison behind and the atomic arsenal of the increasingly mad emperor.

    The clergy had been responsible for reformation and resolution, bolstering the people's will and putting them to work as unification meant giving way to the Church, something of the Arcquess' own design as the zealotry built commitment, though not without cost as many disloyal or faithless technocrats were simply executed and their wealth redistributed. The mind and the soul, as they said, would be administered by the clergy.

    Elsewhere in the north the tide of darkness unleashed by the Unspeakable King would be met by the Arcquess herself, marching with her elite vanguard as they took to the battlefield in 'steeds of light', according to eyewitness accounts. The Unspeakable King himself rode upon what seemed to be a dragon of medieval legend, clad in obsidian black armour as the massive beast brought down Arcquess' honour guard and the general who had initially repelled the Albyon offensive. With so many dead around her in moments, it was surprising to the wounded soldiers that she stood undaunted, sword drawn. After a fierce duel between the King and Arcquess, she would be knocked to the ground, with the gloating null king saying no man could defeat him, ignorant that the head under the helm did not belong to a man, leaving his guard down. A single sword thrust and the Unspeakable King was slain with the dignity of the Knight-Paladins restored and their lady hailed a hero as Albyon's mad armies were routed and mopped up, forced back northwards.

    Later, while healing, the Arcquess would see visions of the same future the Emperor had seen, a divine Imperium held together by the worship of the true name of the Lightning Lord; the God Emperor of Mankind. Many called her a saint now, having brought down a daemon with nothing but steel and divine will, the Dreaming Saint, that is what was chanted among soldiers as the war against Albyon came to a stirring victory.
     
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    • The Sermon On The Mount
    -Let them bathe in the warmth of the sun, for they are the faithful, the righteous, the strong!-​


    Ramshackle figures in welded plates. The Knight-Paladins, in any other age, would have looked more an ignoble militia than the creme of chivalry. Yet now six of them strode in unison, veiling behind them the Arcquess: their swords were raised and clasped toward their chest, a ceremonial guard. At their head, a cleric - draped in ruddy white robes, his feet bare - walked with a censer of incense.

    It was a hill at the crest of the border. One she had seen in her dreams - a pause, and an utterance: "It is as I have foreseen."

    The guard parted in a rustle of metal. She strode forth, drew her own sword, and - planting it into the earth - began to pray.

    She waited for the coming.

    The world screamed, announcing the arrival of the Emperor. He could have parted the air and emerged as if out of nothing if he so wished. He could have blinded them all with a radiant and brilliant aura, a display of total majesty. But on this day, the last thing he wished for was to adopt the trappings of divinity. So he arrived in a craft unlike any quite seen for a hundred hundred years outside the Merican Military. Tapered to a spearpoint, it was long and slim and silver and was followed by a wave of thunder as it came to a sudden stop a hundred feet above the assembled knights. The effect was rather undermined however by the golden staircase of light that the Emperor followed down to Terra, if any of his humanity remained it was the need to show off.

    The formation behind her shuffled only slightly. A rasp of metal, the sounds of swords being sheathed. The Arcquess turned her eye to the sky, and took a deep breath. Salvation was nigh. Standing, she canted her head to regard the figure as he strode from his craft - the mute murmurs from her guard, wondering at what it was, were far from her mind - and called: "I have seen this hill! I have seen this day. And I have seen you, Lightning Lord: these things God has given me."

    A hand rested on the pommel of her blade, sheathing it back to her hip. "But He does not say what follows after. I know only that His work follows in your wake. I bid you welcome to Franc."

    The Emperor looked at her, his immense distaste invisible behind perfect features. "Mankind's destiny will be forged through deeds, not prayers nor words." He told her, the only sign of his displeasure was the shattering of her bodyguard's teeth as he spoke though the Arcquess was untroubled, her sturdiness was interesting in its own right, but today true to his word he had greater concerns.

    "A great and terrible danger has arrived on Terra, forces of chaos and ruin come to enslave mankind forever to the basest ignorance and worst impulses. You would know this threat as false Gods and Daemons, they are anathema to everything I believe in, and I believe; to everything you believe is good. They must be defeated, before they do incalculable damage. In this I need your help."

    She briefly glanced back, with a flicker of concern, as one of her men buckled: her brow twitched as she turned back to behold the Emperor. "Wars, chaos, ruin - these are the currency of men's deeds." Her jaw set, her shoulders rising, then falling: "There is such beauty beyond the material. In the souls of men. All the hosts of Franc and Espange follow me - as your men follow you - because of something intangible. We need not call it faith if you disregard it."

    The Arcquess dips her head: "It would be my great honour to turn back darkness at your side. My knights and my people have suffered greatly at the hands of the coming chaos - and there remains work to be done in rooting pagans from their nests in our north, lest they loose another daemon upon us. I trust you will reward us with your own assistance in these matters?"

    "I shall, provide you the means of protection against their works. And we will subjugate what remains of the continent in short order. But it is in the region once known as the Pacific that the fate of this world shall be decided and there are other matters in need of my personal attention. Even I cannot be everywhere at once. I need a Champion, a commander of my armies who cannot easily be destroyed."

    "And what waits for us in the Pacific, I wonder? You are a strange saviour, to speak of subjugating this war torn continent. What order will await my people, should I take up your sword as Champion, rather than ally?"

    She gestured back to her shaken rank - many had only just peeled their helmets off, hands wandering to bloodied mouths. To them, two Saints conversed - their silence, despite their pain, was commendable. Reverent, even. "I have imposed no state upon them, for there is only one sovereign of all men's souls - each of them follows me freely, and we are all companions in faith. What happens to them, once this pact is struck?"

    The Emperor considered merely compelling her, or promising the universe, of speaking of the horrors of the past centuries, of the wonders that awaited. Instead he made a confession.

    "Over the past months I have altered my essence and neural pathways, in a very real sense I am a different being than I once was. I removed what many would call humanity so that I would have the resolve to do what must be done. I treasure mankind, I believe in its potential, its fall to its current savagery still move me to rage and grief even when all else has left me. But it was necessary, because only I can lead them to a better tomorrow. Their freedom is an illusion in this world. Hungry men worship bread, frightened men worship safety, sick men worship health. So long as this world remains one of of hunger, fear, sickness and desperation, freedom is impossible. I mean to change that, I mean to give humanity something that no one else in the universe can grant it...a second chance. A chance to rise and meet its potential at long last, there will be great benefits and great sacrifices along the way, but specifics matter not, only that the journey is undertaken, it is our last and only hope as a species. What I offer your people is what you would term salvation."

    There was a long silence as she stared up at him. Her eyes were hard, grey things that gave some of that cold zealot's fire to her speech when she cared to make it. It dragged on, as she considered this saviour - this creature, this technocrat's abomination - yet she could not muster anger. She could not condemn an alien admiration. She could feel it herself, at times. A thousand such souls burned brightly, perished with her on a field of war. "I… am sorry. For what you are. It must be unspeakable, to merely look at us from behind glass. And yet to truly admire us, still."

    Her hand briefly wandered up, but the fingers clasped and she let it fall back to her side. "I will follow you. But know that I am not loyal to the material - to the churning engines of modernisation - but to the flesh and blood around me. To the fire that holds the sinew of men together."

    She fell to a knee. Her eyes were still up. "Swear to me that you will remember we fight for men - not the concept of what men could be. And I shall deliver the souls of the faithful to your keeping."

    He looked at her for an age. "I swear." He said finally. "You in turn must swear...if I ever forget, remind me."

    Her head dipped. "I swear by the sword and the cross. The powers that be have decreed - the Second Saviour is born unto us."

    Metal scraping scabbard. She drew her blade and turned to her muddled rank: "Fear not what you cannot understand, brethren! For there is beauty in mystery. The occult is God's will. We all walk in His light, and wonder at the darkness it casts."

    Gesturing, with the blade, to the figure towering behind her: "Salvation has taken man's face and wills him forward. Come with me, now, and serve your Emperor - and through him, your Lord. As Joan died to make men holy, so shall we die to make them free."
     
    Hear me people of Gyptus.

    This rebellion nears its end. Your armies destroyed. Your defenses pushed aside. Your hive is surrounded.
    And now you now face either the mercy of the Conclave or starvation.
    It is not a pleasant choice, I will admit.
    But it is one you must make.

    People of Gyptus,
    You can still save yourselves.
    Most of you are guilty of no crime,
    save the unfortunate event of being born in this hive.
    It is the ringleaders of this rebellion that the Conclave is after.
    That tin pot dictator Belek Tor and his ilk.
    Cease being his ilk and you shall be spared.
    Throw him off, and you will prosper.
    Continue to support his lunacy,
    and I assure you,
    you will die.

    Leaders of Gyptus,
    You have but one option to save yourselves.
    You have committed grave crimes and have cost the Conclave much.
    For that you must pay a price.
    A price in blood.

    The price as of now is thus:
    Those that present the head of one of his or her fellow ringleaders,
    Shall be allowed to retire, barred from further politics but alive.
    Those that present the heads of three or more of their fellow ringleaders,
    Or even the head of Belek Tor,
    Or even spreads this message through the hive
    for all to hear and know,
    will not only be spared,
    but may have a place in the Conclave.

    But you,
    Belek Tor,
    YOU.
    If you wish to survive,
    You require the heads of
    ALL
    your ringleaders and conspirators
    with whom you schemed
    to steal the Conclave's destiny.

    The clock is now ticking.
    I thank you for your time.
    ​
     
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