[CENTRE][h3]The Prologue[/h3] 

[i]In which Lord Alpharius Sends his regards - Spiels Voran; Drauf und Dran - Lady Anastastasia Belisarius has dark portents - Riding to war! - Burning of Alreudt - Dozens of Cardinals debate theology - A pact is sealed[/i]

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[YOUTUBE]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmnbTe1otDk[/YOUTUBE]

[/CENTRE]



Lord Commander Jonas Saltzar was quite depressed today. So far the efforts of of the seventry regiments under his command to dislodge the perfidious Tau from the Imperial fringes were met with failure after failure. The fact the Imperial navy were less than eager to assist him only worsened the matter, and while he was a quite good commander there was only so much he could do when he only had a lasgun for every two men, not to mention the Chirurgeons were not at all helpful with the wounds his men took and the headaches he was having. 

It was in the orbital station of the Forgeworld Kyrann that things took a particularly sour turn for him. Saltzar was going to sleep when the headache began to act up again. He pushed rune at his door that would summon his aide but naught happened; if anything all was worse now as the light and heat in his room failed. The commander growled, cursing the Mechanicus cogheads. If they didn't want to supply him with more firearms so be it, but they should have the Throne-damned decency to let him sleep a night. 

Only the inverse was to happen. 

[CENTRE][img]https://img00.deviantart.net/2f89/i/2005/036/9/1/glowing_red_eyes_in_the_dark_by_roiler.jpg[/img][/CENTRE]

The Lord-Commander's body shot into an upright position as he squinted with fear, the door to his quarters suddenly open. "Lady?" he questioned, knowing only the Astropath of the station to have such glowing red eyes. "Pardon my... brevity, but what the hells are you doing here at this time?" he demanded. 

There was no reply forthcoming for now, the figure getting closer. He could now better make out the shape of the person, and realized grimly it wasn't the Astropath. 

"Who are you?" he demanded, hand reaching for his laspistol. It was a clam, fluid motion and perhaps unnoticed by most, but when he tried to flick off the safety it wouldn't budge. 

"[i]My Apologies Lord.[/i]" The voice droned. 

"I'm going to ask you to get out." The Commander replied, not in the mood for these shenanigans.

"[i]For finality of the equation, I cannot do that.[/i]"

Jonas quickly recognized that voice as that of one of the cogboys, though for the life of him couldn't remember which. It was cold, but he was paradoxically sweating. 

"Out, I said." 

There was no reply again, save for the shaking of the head. He raised his pistol but the counterpart didn't seem to care, going forth. Mechadendrites emerged, with short triangular cutters silently slipping out. They were clearly for engraving, but they could nevertheless do quite horrid things to flesh.

"I'm a Lord Commander of seventy Regiments, I demand you leave!" He screamed, but once more it was to no effect.

"Please. Please!" He squealed, swiftly changing tone from that of authority to pleading. 

"I'll do anything!" 

"[i]That is the issue, Lord.[/i]"

With that, the Imperium found yet another theater of war.