[img]http://puu.sh/Hi8xa/81dd5b0051.png[/img] [i]High orbit of Ullanor Prime Two days after the fall of Urlakk Urg[/i] Daena sat impassively upon the bridge of the [i]Redemption[/i], the ordinarily formidable seeming Gloriana appearing tame in comparison to the Emperor’s own magnificent warship. Thus she had always been, the demure and silent companion following after her master where and when he bade it. Both he and fate had conspired in equal part to keep her role in these endeavors dull and unheralded in Imperial annals, but fame was not her concern. Indeed, it had been those consumed by honors and glory that had left her in such a state, the woman dutifully cleaning up her brothers’ messes. While the others who had taken part in the campaign arranged trophies and spoils, she conducted a far less glamorous phase of the war. Gazing into a great hololithic tank depicting the Ullanor system, Daena could see the sigil of the Doomsayers on almost every world, each marker denoting women clad in silver and black taking the place of their ‘victorious’ brothers. It was all too common for Astartes to depart from the battlefield when victory was declared, leaving behind the Auxilia to complete cleanup operations. Such was grim, dirty, and dangerous work - often deemed beneath the ‘value’ of a Space Marine’s time but evidently worth the lives of the Imperial Army. One need only look upon the foreboding armor of Doomsayer Destroyer Squads scouring the system of the most minute trace of greenskin life to understand how strenuously she disagreed with such thinking. It was perhaps surprising to a casual observer that the only world where she did not feel the need to act was Quartus, its rune dull without the glowing symbol of an active Chapter. Although Sarghaul was not known to care for the lives of mere mortals, he was known for completing tasks such as these, and the Primarch was confident that her brother would not remove forces from the planet until its surface was cleansed of every ork spore. For all of his faults, and Daena could name many, one that she could never attribute to him was a lack of thoroughness. Would he only ensure that such commendable behavior was always put towards worthy ends... With a sigh, the demigod shakes her head before she can lose herself in a reverie, bringing the hololith to focus upon the world she was currently above - Ullanor Prime. She was neither ordered nor requested to attend to her father’s side when he descended upon its killing fields, and so had not. Her fleet had entered the system shadowing his own, and fought where and as he directed - which more often than not meant that it did not fight at all. Dispatching individual Chapters to where she deemed them best suited, she retained the bulk of her forces waiting for a command from her father that never came. That a part of her had always suspected would never come. Regardless, she did not consider it a waste. Playing hero on the surface was pointless when her time could be better spent coordinating her forces from her command ship, one more divinity among the rabble would not turn the tide. Her Revenants had departed with her father and his finest of warriors however, and they had paid a dear price in blood and bone for their zeal. Even now her forces were recovering their bodies, usually from great mounds of corpses created during the thickest of the fighting, many having been slain alongside the Emperor’s own Custodes. Many of her siblings would consider that news a point of pride, but Daena merely filed it away with a dull recognition. After hours of detailing orders to her Chapters, she was eventually confident that the cleanup could run itself for the foreseeable future. A corner of her lip twitched at that thought, the woman realizing that she had made a joke. It had been some time since she had managed that. With those tasks accomplished, she turned to a far more morbid responsibility, pulling open the latest reports on all under her command who had perished for Prometheus’ trumpeted victory. A veteran. A Revenant. A newly minted Battle Sister. “My lady.” A Techmarine. A Revenant. “My lady.” A Tactical Marine. A mother. A Scout. “My lady!” The shout finally freed her from her morose contemplations, the Primarch looking up to the power armored frame of Vairya Kurus, Legion Mistress of the Doomsayers. “My lady,” she repeated for the final time, looking down on the seated demigod with poorly hidden relief. “Malcador has forwarded us a report from your sisters. He does not order...” she began, trailing off. “....but he implies,” Daena finished for her. “Let’s hear it then,” she said with a firm nod, vigor returning to her frame as a problem was presented to her. Quietly, a part of her wondered how the Sigilite always seemed to know when she required such diversions. “The disturbance began on 20-63, designated Praxia by the local human population. It was brought under Compliance some time ago without serious fighting. A rebellion has broken out recently however, Lady Sekhmetara’s scribes reporting that the rebels have arms far more advanced than the local industry could produce, and of a different make than the armament of the Imperial garrison. She rendezvoused with Lady Nelchitl and engaged the enemy on the ground. Both Legions report that enemy weapons are capable of felling Astartes and that attached Knight Houses have suffered losses far in excess of what the inhabitants should be capable of.” The feeling coursing through Daena’s body as she processed the report was less the thrill of the hunt, and more of a boulder being rolled downhill. She and Vairya consumed all available information with a mechanical thoroughness until there was nothing left of the initial report. Her demeanor shifted as she did, the lethargic woman slowly rising as if she were a spring being wound. Ullanor fell away, the bridge fell away, even Vairya fell away as curiosity morphed into obsession. A bloodhound given a scent, she began teasing and pulling at every lead from the scraps of data available. An external force interfering with the world was obvious. But who? Many foes, human and otherwise, had attempted to incite rebellion before. Many had gone so far as to arm the rebels. But none had armaments similar to these. Daena permitted herself to feel excitement as she realized that this was something altogether [i]new[/i]. Eventually, the Primarch was satisfied with her research and began to give her orders. Any doubts she had on following Malcador’s unvoiced request had by now long vanished. “Prepare the First through Fifth in their entireties, as well as the Thirty-Eighth, the One Hundred and Sixty-Seventh, and as many Chapters with below average bloodright that can meet us en route. Work with the Navigators to chart a course that will take us through the territory garrisoned by the Ninety-Second, we’ll replace their deployments with the One Hundred and Sixty-Seventh as we go.” “Of course, my lady. I assume we shall take a full Administratum detachment with us?” the Legion Mistress asked, both women already knowing the answer. ‘Administratum detachments’ were an all too common sight for errands run on the Sigilite’s behalf. “Elucidators and Remembrancers,” Daena replied with a simple nod, before going yet further. “The Hohenheims as well, both of them. Leave the civilians and baggage train here with the rest of the fleet, we’ll be travelling through Compliant space. Standing orders for all remaining Chapters are to scour the system of hostile xenoforms and then proceed to previous orders. No doubt there will be some outlandish ceremony, I leave attendance at the discretion of the Ladies Commander. Yekterina will remain behind as well. Little remains in Ullanor save burning and speeches, my daughters do not need my oversight for the former and my Equerry shall suffice to attend the latter.” “Is there anything else, my lady?” For a fleeting moment, the Primach’s eyes flicked to the sight of Ullanor Prime far below them, its verdant expanse visible from the bridge. Of the horrors her daughters had borne witness to, and of the renown that was being given over to other men. A quiet, distant, part of her enchained psyche dared whisper the word [i]lesser[/i], taking advantage of the fraction of a second that her thoughts had dwelled on her brothers’ fame. A vision of every voice within the Imperium singing praise to her unfurling within her mind’s eye, a possibility that could be reality if she would only just reach out and - And then she suppressed such foolish thoughts and gave her orders. “Prepare the Astropathic Choir. Have them send tidings to my dear sisters.”