[center][h1]The Council of Nikaea[/h1][/center]
[h3]Year: 001.M31[/h3]
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In time, after the Triumph of Ullanor’s conclusion, more and more voices were raised about the matter of the Edict of Tolerance. Even as the Emperor of Man prepared to fully depart from the Great Crusade, rumours spread about the nature of xenos in the Imperium. Even the Primarchs, in their uniquely superior mindsets, were split on the matter, and on many others of the sort.

In the end, his hand was forced. To cement that matter and others firmly, before they could grow out of control in his absence, the Emperor called upon the Great Crusade’s War Council, to form a conclave upon the planet of Nikaea.

Compared to the building of the Triumph, the creation of the Council Halls was comparatively swift. It remained well decorated, clad in many places in gold as so many of the Imperium’s most valuable buildings were, and its doorways alone were up to 20 feet in height, more than roomy enough to contain the tallest of Primarchs and the Emperor himself - but beyond that, it was utilitarian, the very central hall no more decorated than a typical courtroom. All crafted in dark wood of distant origin: a lofty central stand for the current speaker to present themselves and any arguments they wished to put forth to the conclave; great tables lining the hall, for each individual Primarch and their retinue of accompanying staff to take seat at; and at the topmost end, the elevated seating positions for each of the High Lords of Terra in attendance, with the central podium in place for Malcador the Sigillite to hold his position as official Convener, dressed in his usual robes of office in the guise of a man in his prime, perhaps 30 years of age or so. The Emperor would be seated just to the back and left of him, out of direct attention, but nonetheless noteworthy as the conclave’s ultimate Arbiter of events.

These two were in attendance first, followed not long after by the High Lords taking their positions to either side. In due course, the majority of Primarchs would enter too, along with their respective retinues.
[center][h2]The Arrival of the Legions[/h2][/center]

The arrival of the Tears of Dawn lacked none of the presentation that had come to be associated with the Legion. The onyx armour of the First Company was ubiquitous among those present, only the plate of the Chief Librarian marked in the traditional orange warplate of the main legion. Alongside the Astartes, a representative from each of the main aspects of the Tears' Crusading fleets accompanied their Primarch; Kvasi Khafre of the Mithran Knights and representatives of Auxilia among them. Their mood was celebratory, even given the rumblings of conflict among the noble scions of the Emperor, a gathering of such beings could never be anything but an auspicious occasion. The Daughters of Sekhmetara entered with their helmets underarm, revealing a broad mix of Terran and Mithran features, the former marking their first return to their homeworld since the discovery of their gene-sire.

The Primarch herself strode at their head, the already captivating vision of her posthuman appearance framed by the ostentatious regality of her gown. Silver-gold thread spun in intricate patterns across her form, tapering down into a fan and train of feathers. Each was a  hunting trophy from a terrorbird of her homeplanet, slain by the Primarch herself. Many hundreds of beautiful killmarks for the Huntress of Mithra sweeping behind her in a shimmering weave of reds, oranges and yellows. The terrorbirds had been proud masters of their plains until they encountered this decidedly more deadly killer. Despite the expansive nature of the train, Sekhmetara moved as smoothly as she did in any gown or armour, the preternatural sense of her expanded physiology extended to the easy motion of the sweeping skirts, not a single feather out of place or catching on the others moving closely to her.

Before the Tears of Dawn took their place among the seating assigned for the primarchs and their retinues, the assembled Mithran throng came to attention with the sign of the Aquila to the Emperor and Malcador. Sekhmetara herself sunk into a low curtsey, holding the practically seated position with her head bowed low to her Liege and his regent.

"Lord-father, Regent-Sigillite, we are honoured to be your guests here, may we all leave these grand halls in greater concord and unity in your vision." She spoke with eyes cast low, before rising and smiling, both to the hosts and then to her siblings and their assembled guests, picking out both astartes and mortals with the favour of her attention. As one, the Tears delegation then found their assigned seats.

In stark contrast to Sekhmetara came the form of Usriel and his honor guard, his form bearing his signature armor and the glowing red of eyes of his helm staring straight forwards. His honor guard followed suit, surrounding the gene-father as the other delegation of the Steel Sentinels, including the Chief Librarian, Orator of the House, and Head Consul. They all wore their armor, including helmets as they stride to their seats, not paying heed to the other legion that had come before them. The only form being strange was that of the Orator of the House, Belloris, as she was leagues smaller than the Astartes that surrounded her.

Once they reached their seats, Usriel looked over to the Emperor and fell upon one knee, the others following his example as their father spoke, “Your presence humbles me, my Emperor. I hope that we may all stay united under your vision and may any dissent be rectified.” With those words, the Primarch rose and seated himself in silence.

Micholi was the next to arrive. Unlike his siblings, he had neither dressed up in eye-catching attire or his battle armor. Instead he was the very image of humility, having elected to wear what appeared to be a version of the Departmento Xenos scribe robe… though it had to be said, his version had clearly been tailored with the Primarch in mind in order to properly fit his larger than standard form. 

The sigil of rank that adored his robe was unique; while it was true that Primarchs were not allowed to pull rank with the Departmento Xenos when it came to their duties related to the Edict of Tolerance, there was an acknowledgement that Primarch Micholi was the key reason the Departmento Xenos existed at all… and thus he bore the rather humble rank of ‘Founder’.

The delegation he had brought with him also differed from his siblings due to the fact that the majority of it was made up of humans that were divided into one of two categories; The attire of the Departmento Xenos or several slightly differing uniforms that belonged to regiments of the Imperial Army that tended to be assigned to the 2nd Legion. 

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t any members of the Night Watch legion present but… compared to the two Primarchs before his entrance Micholi’s paltry six marines paled in comparison. His Head Librarian Uther and Tech Marine General Nelinho stood out from their peers only due to the differences between Librarian and Tech Marine armor from the normal legionaries while the remaining four… honestly just looked like any other squad of Night Watch marines, dressed in their power armor.

Stepping forward, Micholi and his following placed a closed fist over their hearts and knelt before the Emperor, with the Primarch himself proclaiming “You have called and I have answered, my Emperor. May these proceedings carry on with level heads and reason so that the best possible outcome might be reached.”      

The formalities given, he rose and moved to claim his own section and seat for the Council.

One could almost be forgiven for assuming that those following in Micholi's wake were simply latecomers of his entourage were it not for the pure white wings blossoming from the back of their leader. Daena wore the court robes of an Administratum Prefectus Primus, her own daughters garbed in the void black and silver trimmed robes of the Legion at peace instead of their armor. Disturbingly, almost all bore some semblance of their gene-mother's face, the assembled Astartes sporting either white hair or irisless eyes. The most extreme examples seemed perfect replicas simply scaled down and bereft of wings. Such effects of their gene lineage aside, most had Terran features, a handful appearing Irkallan. Interspersed among their number were what appeared to be two twin children until one remembered the sheer size of the genetically altered warriors, the pair in the robes of the heathen temple the Angel had been raised in.

A small coterie of unaugmented humans trailed in their wake, most representing the various departments of the Administratum that campaigned with the Doomsayers. Departmentos Exacta, Elucidatum, Munitorum, Xenos, and lesser offices, an assembly of bureaucrats to debate and provide explanation for the most tedious of points. A handful stuck out from their comrades however, wearing costumes and bearing insignias little seen within the Imperium. Dressed in the white and blue of Imperial scientists and engineers, they were a living rebuke to the technological monopoly of the Mechanicum - and ones rarely seen outside of the Emperor's own gene labs and armories. Strangest among their number was a withered woman, her face pitted with age but still bearing a noble countenance.

Though on her breast was pinned the sigil of the Biotechnical Division, it was doubtful that most in attendance would notice such a small detail considering that she was personally escorted by a Primarch. Her left arm was wrapped around Daena's right, a straight cane of a dark wood in her right to keep her ancient form steady as the slow procession made its way to the center of the chamber. Ignoring the High Lords, Malcador, and the Emperor Himself, her eyes were set solely upon the Astartes and their gene-sires, gazing upon them with undisguised pride and glee. It was only when Daena and her elderly charge came to a halt before the high dais that the woman tore away from them to regard the Master of Mankind.

As one, the assemblage of Doomsayers and their mortal auxiliaries performed the Imperial salute to their lord - save for the mysterious guest. With great effort she brought her fist up, taking her cane with it, forming it into a ball before pressing it against her chest.

"Oh Emperor mine, oh Father mine, out of the void to this place I have come," Daena intoned, her voice somehow both quiet and clearly heard by all. "By your will have our pleas been answered, and by your word all discord shall cease," she lowered her salute and made for her seat, until her eyes caught those of her charge. A moment's silence passed between them before she turned once more to the Emperor, a ghost of a smile crossing both women's faces as she spoke. "For the Unity."

Her words had scarcely trailed off when a clamour of heavy metallic steps came from beyond the threshold of the great hall. Soon after, a group clad in dark blue armour crossed into it. The Abyssal Lurkers’ delegation was noticeably smaller than any of those that had preceded them, and far less diverse. At their head was the towering bulk of their Primarch, encased as ever in the bastion of his armour and masked by the graven features of his helmet. A step behind, diminutive in comparison despite his own otherwise superhuman stature, walked the pale-clawed Equerry, Traal, likewise inscrutable behind his blank visor. The pair were only accompanied by a handful of Orcus Lictors, with no other members of the legion in sight. Stopping still before the sight of the Emperor and his entourage, the Lurkers raised their right fists and smote them to their left shoulders in martial salute, sending a crash like the sound of a great gong echoing up to the chamber’s high ceiling.

“As you commanded, so it has been done, o liege,” Sarghaul’s sepulchral voice clove through the last reverberations of the impact, “Before you, I shall speak with the voices of all my gene-spawn. As our spirits are one in your service, so are our minds one in answering when you demand aught of us. Each of my words shall carry the consensus of thousands.” He bowed his head, then trudged off to the side, taking place upright behind a lectern rather than resting his immense weight on an all too fragile seat. The Equerry and his guards followed.

There was a brief, likely deliberate pause in the flow of newcomers until the Abyssal Lurkers had finished seating and positioning themselves, likely out of the desire of those who followed to distance themselves in more ways than one from the members of the Ninth Legion. Once they had found their places though, the next group of arrivals swept into the chamber. Four Martian-Red and towering Kastalan robots mechanically tromped into the room, each of their back-mounted servo-arms holding aloft ceremonial banners emblazoned with the emblem of the Aquila Mechanicum. Striding forth amidst them came the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion, finally having turned out in full war regalia rather than opting for the more ergonomic robes he was known to prefer for formal gatherings. The enormity of his six servo-arms and massive harness made him seem almost as massive as even the proceeding Primarch Sarghaul had been, and he made a point of unnervingly directly his empty gaze at each of the Primarchs already present in the room in turn as he strode forward. Following him came a procession of members of the Ordo Astranoma arranged in peculiarly staggered rows, all flanked by an honor guard of Sicarian Princeps. The first to come was, unsurprisingly, the Legion’s Archmandriture - their borrowed title indicating his status as an Equerry as well as the immediate successor to the Primarch - Mercaerath Kyrius. His familiar and entirely unaugmented visage standing in stark contrast to his position and the unmatched refinement of his armor left him as the one individual in the assembled group who bore their colors and symbols without having adopted the otherwise omnipresent aesthetic of Martian bionics.

Trailing only slightly behind him was the Archmagos Mephitor Fabrigistus, the immediate and nominal commander of the Ordo Astranoma’s Macroclade fleets. More pertinently, he was the evident and unapologetic voice of Mars and its Holy Synod within the Twelfth Legion. If ever there was a platonic ideal of what a Tech-Priest should have looked like, Mephitor was it, the proportions of his body bulging underneath his robes with asymmetrical and misshapen augmentations and devices that had completely cast aside all concern for outward appearance in favor of functionality. The entirety of his back had been replaced with a permanently grafted, shell-like abeyant comprising more than twenty-four articulated plates, nearly mimicking the shape of a gargantuan spine. His face was overcrowded by no less than nine optical implants of varying different colorations, and his robes were adorned with intricate golden trim and patterns of rank and high station, the only evidence of his position within the Ordo Astranoma being their emblem emblazoned upon his right sleeve. More than a dozen mechadendrites writhed in the air around him, assisting his right-handed grip in supporting the heft of the massive Omnissian Axe he carried aloft over the floor with him.

Following Mephitor was a pair of unlikely figures, the first being the instantly recognizable and infamous Corneceus Sicanus, the Chief Apothecary of the Stargazers and plausibly the most reviled man in the room short of the members of the Abyssal Lurkers. He bore the same ivory-white armor and intricately-shaped Prime Helix staff he had possessed on the day of the Triumph, though now his helmet had been cast aside, revealing his dour face. Beyond a single bionic eye and traces of ceremonial electoo criss-crossing about his forehead, he looked no different from any other regular member of another legion. He had a wild shock of black hair, a series of evident and heavy creases in his face despite little other sign of advanced age, and wore a wary and tired expression. Immediately alongside him was another Tech-Priest, who although largely unknown to many of those already assembled in the room was almost certainly the Genetor, Solisios Carnelan. His unexpectedly conversative appearance, with his body being almost entirely mechanical but nearly perfectly mimicking the shape of the Human form, ironically made him almost seem more like a servitor than a genuine Tech-Priest - perhaps due to their widespread disposition to so drastically alter the shape of their bodies once they had passed the Crux Mechanicum. His purpose was likewise one that drew a degree of attention - for the schedule of the Council which had been distributed prior to the arrival of the Legions plainly listed and declared that he and he alone, along with his staff of attendants, had been granted the privilege of a private audience with the Emperor of Mankind himself. The topic and nature of the audience remained wholly unknown, which had caused some amount of private speculation on the matter.

Following the two in turn came another pair of brow-raising figures. The first was the well-known Andron Axaltus, the Skitarii Alpha who had borne the honor of attending the Triumph embarked upon the Twelfth Primarch’s personal ordinatus barge. Where the rest of the gathered Stargazers were advancing solemnly and placidly, Axaltus’s gait had an exaggerated and lazy stride to it, as if he were overtly swanning down the street of a Hive. He was the only one in the group who was talking as they entered the chamber - not quite loudly enough to be coherently understood, but just enough to convey the obnoxious intonation and breakneck pace of his words to most of the onlookers. Also unlike the others, he had foregone any sort of ceremonial dress, and his mechanical legs even still seemed to be spattered with mud. His arrogant and irreverent demeanor was likely a byproduct of his status, for Axaltus was both the commander of the Ordo Astranoma’s Skitarii Legion’s as well as the Legion’s operations point-man and the most accomplished duelist within the entire ordo. It was said he had personally fought and slain more than four Ork Warbosses on Ullanor Tertius, and at least six more that he had crossed paths with even before the Ullanor Campaign - though why he had been brought to the Council at all in the first place was something of a mystery. His presence at the Triumph alongside the Primarch had been a foregone conclusion due to his performance and feats during the Ullanor campaign, but his demeanor and expertise were ill-suited for the purposes of the Council. Striding to his left, and evidently the current recipient of the Skitarii’s blather, was a Stargazers marine. His appearance betrayed substantial augmentations including a prominent surgical plate fused across the length of his cranium, and his armor bore extensive personal modifications. However, the insignia emblazoned upon the pauldron of his left shoulder indicated he bore the equivalent rank of only a Lieutenant. Even the ceremonial honor guard Princeps likely outranked him. Comparatively, he was a minnow amongst whales, and what possible purpose he might serve at the Council - much like Axaltus’ - was a complete unknown.

The Stargazers’ line halted at the base of the speaker’s podium, and Augor Astren briefly addressed Malcador and the Emperor. “As the Omnissiah has willed, so it is that his sons and daughters gather. May the  Sigillite’s wisdom guide and direct our discourse so as to promote the betterment of all those who would be loyal to the Imperial Truth and the creed of the Machine God.” Behind him, the Archmagos Mephitor raised the shaft of his Omnissian axe before slamming its pommel against the ground, sending a loud, thunderous clap to echo throughout the chamber. As one, the retinue then turned and marched to find their positions along one of the great wooden tables lining the far walls of the chamber.

Bringing up the rear of the entrants was perhaps the smallest individual group gathered for the Council, consisting of only four notables of any importance, and of twice that many of armed warriors intent on their security while they participated in the deliberations of this most sanctified assembly; they came without fanfare and without announcement, the largest of them spearheading the entourage and bringing with him a presence of will and majesty matched only by the golden-armoured liege to which he and his siblings were bound – whether they liked it or not…

On came Kaelianos of the Eighth Legion at the fore, his twelve-foot frame swaying leisurely as he walked, his superhuman frame clad only in a sleeveless purple-bordered tunic which ended mid-thigh and did little to nothing to take away from the fact that he was, in a word, [i]perfect[/i]; from his curling mane of chestnut hair – oiled and placed back with a laurel wreath for this occasion – to the face of the Primarch, so alike to his gene-fathers and yet much changed, and ending with the flawlessness that was the flesh-vessel that served as his body.

Mere mortals wept at the sight, for something so handsome and yet beautiful at the same time should not have a life of its own, and even his own sons were never entirely sure whether to keep their gaze upon him or to look away.

Sandalled feet gave way to armoured treads, his Astartes clad in all their raiments of war though they were ostensibly in a place of safety.

Salvius Merula, equerry and closest advisor to the Primarch, came next with his bared head sporting pale and scarred features covered by a head of grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard, his white-crested helmet tucked neatly under one arm and his steely gaze never sitting in one place for long.

He was followed hotly by the much heavier footfalls of [i]Tribunus Militum[/i] Minicius Paterculus and the personal bodyguard of the Eighths liege lord, himself and eight others pacing fluidly about the cortège in a semi-circle of Tartaros-pattern armour and expertly wielded power-weapons.

Lastly came [i]Praefectus Peregrini[/i] Cae Velthur and [i]Primus Praefectus Classis[/i] Abdosir Hiram, mortals perhaps, but the most important mortals of the Eighth.

The former commanded overall the near unlimited fighting strength of the legions Auxilia forces, down to a man finely honed warriors in their own right, and utterly loyal to Primarch and Emperor, while the second man of brown flesh and deep hazel eyes – a former pirate and corsair prince of the Latrurian Sector – equalled his opposite in space borne command and firepower.

Making no show of formality or platitudes, it not being his way in the slightest, Kaelianos bade his followers take their place in the Council Hall somewhere they could be comfortably seated and out of the direct gaze of the other Emperor's progeny while standing alone before Malcador and the figure of his creator.

“Father!” Came a near shout, Kaelianos spreading his arms out and wide in an encompassing gesture, the statue-like makeup of his muscles and sinews clearly visible beneath his olive skin, “my sons and I come at your behest, here to sit and discuss with my relations in familial harmony, may it bring us closer together and bring us all a little more purpose in our tasks ahead.”

A perfect smile widened his mouth to just the right width, his eyes of greenish-blue unblinking as he pressed a closed fist to his chest, never taking his eyes from the Emperor until his radiance made it all but impossible not to – only then did he move away and take his seat with his subordinates, still smiling and waving to most of the others as he sat himself down for the proceedings.

Almost as an afterthought, Arnulf Wode entered the council room. He, and the two astartes accompanying him, were wearing the service khaki uniform of the Pact, with full decorations and the yellow shield emblem of the Legion on their right shoulder, with field caps on their heads. Each of them wore holstered pistols on their polished leather belts, and their boots were shiny enough to see reflections clearly. In addition, they wore bolters, the metal clean, with the bolts locked back and no magazine inserted. Between them they carried a single Munitorum crate.

Wode saluted the podium where Malcador and the Emperor stood, then sat in the closest empty spot, scooting over for the Astartes officers he’d brought with him, who set down their weapons on the desks and lecterns of the seating area. The crate went on the floor, and was promptly pried open by one of the Astartes, who handed the other man and Wode bottles of cheap amasec, as well as packs of unfiltered cigarettes. The Pact had clearly come here because they were obligated, not because they expected to meaningfully alter the discourse on the Edict’s implementation.

Wode’s countenance was guarded, but the resignation and mild frustration of being at a meeting instead of immersed in his Legion’s endless work clearly bothered the 10th’s Primarch. He was eager to be shot of these proceedings. 

Each arriving Primarch who greeted those at the topmost podium would be greeted in exchange by Malcador with a short nod. Once it seemed clear that no more would be entering any time soon, the Emperor and Malcador spent a moment murmuring to one another, before returning to their seated positions as Malcador began by addressing the crowd.

‘Welcome, gathered attendees, to the Conclave of the War Council of the Great Crusade, stationed upon the planet of Nikaea in Year 001 of the 31st Millennium,’ he stated dryly, his features barely showing his emotions in the moment. ‘As you are each likely aware, the primary purpose of this Council’s convening is to discuss the matter of the legal declaration known as the Edict of Tolerance, in broad strokes declaring that it is legal at the behest of an appropriate authority figure to induct suitable xenos races into the Imperium of Man as subsidiary members, provided they adhere to all necessary requirements on pain of eradication. With this in mind, there have been... [i]objections[/i] to its continued implementation from certain parties.’ He smiled somewhat as he spoke this latter sentence, but muted his features after.

‘To that end,’ he continued, ‘any who wish to discuss the matter in detail may step up to the podium, in orderly fashion, and address those gathered here today with any arguments for, against, or otherwise neutral on the topic, as well as any further topics that would be suited for discussion in these halls, as a matter of settlement before the Emperor of Man’s departure from the Crusade proper. As a matter of formality-’ He gestured now to the various attendants and servitors positioned around the room, each equipped with quill and endless sheathes of paper, and primed to scribble intensely as members of each group stated their case. ‘-when you first approach the central podium, please state your full name, associated organisation, rank within such, and up to three most pertinent titles beside, in that order, before stating your arguments clearly.

‘Additionally, if you wish to discuss any pertinent topics with particular individuals present here, either prior to or following a case made, various side halls are made available to you to attend such matters as are relevant to the conclave proper.’ He gestured to the side doorways of the rooms, leading to additional rooms of increasing distance from the main hall, each staffed by yet more attendants, servitors, and other pertinent individuals as to the general functioning of the Council. ‘All decisions regarding these matters shall be declared, along with the final ruling regarding the Edict of Tolerance’s continued, discontinued, or otherwise modified existence, at the conclusion of the conclave.

‘With those matters addressed,’ Malcador concluded with a tap of a gavel, ‘I hereby declare the Council of Nikaea is in attendance.’ He folded his fingers together, nodding to the assembly as if to say “go ahead”.

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[center][h2] The Debates Upon The Edict of Tolerance - Day One[/h2][/center]
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A sigh escaped Micholi as he rose up, taking the step required to reach his own ‘private’ podium in front of his seating area as he took a deep breath. “Micholi Vakarian, 2nd Legion Night Watch, Primarch.” After all, Malcador had requested that they address themselves before speaking.

“Since the Edict of Tolerance is currently the status quo, I will respectfully allow those opposed to it to make the first statement. I request that you do not leave anything in the dark, for regardless of outcome I doubt any of us wish to see this matter fester more than it already has. In order for us to be united once more, now is the time for the depths of the divide to be revealed in the light of day.”

“Indeed,” came the rumbling of Sarghaul’s voice, the giant not budging from his place, yet his words clearly audible to all, “What is there to conceal? That there is no use to the Edict besides appeasing your whims? Your words speak to your arrogance. You have nothing to show for your handiwork but the taint of alien blood in our master’s Imperium, yet you stand as a pillar for others to challenge. Tell us, what has the Edict given us beyond the proliferation of vermin?”

As Micholi turned his head to look towards Sarghaul, there would have been a second where the other Primarchs present would have been able to see a brief flash of surprise cross his face. It faded quickly as he answered “You mean apart from having the Imperium avoid having to waste lives, time and resources on pointless wars that didn’t need to happen? After all, as surprising as it might seem, the Imperium does strive to be diplomatic.”

“That price is well spent for the conquest of order,” the Tartarean scoffed, scraping his claws against one another, “The Crusade demands sacrifices of us all. Those loyal to the Lord of Mankind pay them gladly. You speak of their offerings, but you distort their purpose and make a mockery of their service with your contamination.”

Augor Astren then raised a single plaintive bionic hand and spoke in turn. “I find I must speak at this juncture. Let it be known that I do not intend to speak against the most sacred and hallowed screed that is the Edict of Tolerance. I shall endeavor only to objectively address its utility, and the consequences of that utility. To which I much regretfully rebuke you, brother.” Augor turned his eyeless gaze to Micholi. “For let there be no doubt - it is threefold the purpose of the Imperium, as spoken by the Emperor of Mankind and the Omnissiah, as sung by the decrees of the Imperial Truth, and as enshrined in the doctrine of the Cult Mechanicum. The purpose of the Great Crusade is to reunify all of Humanity and to subjugate the entire galaxy under the sovereign dominion of mankind and the one who stands above all. This end is to be achieved by any means, with any measure of sacrifice and hardship. Diplomacy, while a viable tool at our disposal, will not by itself permit us to attain that vaunted goal, nor will it remain an option indefinitely. Any pretense to the contrary can only be deceit.”

As the main debate began, Sekhmetara remained quiet, her hazel eyes, at least when she did not summon up the blazing gold of her innate gifts, watching the proceedings carefully as she crossed one leg languidly over the other beneath the shimmering feathered skirt of her gown. She had taken a position away from the epicentre of proceedings for the matter, calmly leaning ever so slightly to allow her hushed words to reach the most proximate of her sisters. 

“What do you think the chances are they might start hitting each other?” The onyx skinned Primarch spoke with the faintest hint of a visible smirk, which faded shortly as she regarded Daena with a more dedicated look, her eyes passing up and down her fellow primarch. “We have matters to discuss afterwards, I’m sure you can find my chambers here.”

Daena didn’t notice the critical inspection of her sister, the Primarch instead cocking her head at the argument brewing between their siblings. “Low, so long as they’re in front of Father. We might find them later on in the grounds, though,” she said with a shrug before taking a sip from her wine. After her stay with the Tears, she had grown rather fond of their potent brews, the Angel’s face slowly but surely growing flush. “And why? What’s wrong? Is there news from Praxia?”

“Nothing quite so pressing sister,” Sekmetara almost purred in a languid, near silent whisper, studying one perfect teal painted nail, before her attention settled on the debate once more. "That might provide some entertainment, if it wasn't altogether rather predictable."

Likewise positioned out of the limelight of the discussion, Ayushmatki silently observed the debate unfolding within the room. Her eyes, mismatched in color and make, darted between each speaker in turn, carefully noting down events as her cybernetic left eye recorded a detailed pict-feed of this proceeding and all others she would attend for the council. Every second would be made available to her Primarch upon their reunion. Until such time, she waited passively, chin resting upon folded hands. She could have almost been mistaken for a mortal follower of Sekhmetara’s, were it not for her different manner of dress than the other Mithran followers of the Primarch.

Turning his gaze away from Sarghaul for the moment to look at Augor, Micholi nodded his head as he acknowledged his Mechanicum brother before answering his claims. “I believe what we have here is a misconception. I have never claimed that diplomacy is the only means of uniting the universe, nor can it always be used. The idea of trying to convince an Ork warboss to commit to peace talks is utterly laughable after all. However...  We are not Orks. We are humans and part of that legacy is a willingness to accept those willing to stand beside us and under the banner of bringing order and peace to a war torn and chaotic universe.” 

He paused for a moment, before deciding to offer Augor an argument that he might struggle with. “After all, doesn’t it speak of the Emperor’s character that while other races mindlessly slaughter those different from them, he is willing to look past the mere coincidence of birth and instead respect loyalty to the cause above all else?”

“The legacy of Humanity is precisely and only what the Emperor of All Mankind and the Omnissiah decrees it is, and to presume anything of the Emperor’s character from the actions of others merely invites weakness and doubt. We have already received instruction as to how the Emperor of Mankind and the Omnissiah should be viewed and ascribed.” Augor replied flatly without missing a beat.

There was a moment where Micholi considered calling Augor out for the double standard of the Mechanicum’s stance on the Emperor and thus his statement, but decided against it, instead saying “Alas, we come to discussions about the Emperor from different points of view that make such discussions… difficult. We should get back on topic.” Augor looked for a moment as though he had a retort for that as well, but seemingly checked himself and folded his arms to cede the discussion.

Deciding to continue as Augor remained silent, he quickly explained “The goals you mentioned before are true. The purpose of the Crusade is to unite humanity under the Imperium and bring order and peace to a universe that had been plagued by the warp storms of the Age of Strife, hostile xenos races, monsters that come from all walks of life… alongside a thankfully small number of threats that cannot be classified as a ‘living creature’. The end goal being the Imperium stretching the galaxy and for those living under its protective flag to be able to live their lives as peacefully as possible.”

“The reason the Edict of Tolerance was created and accepted as Imperial law in the first place was rather simple. To be able to live peacefully without threat of being slaughtered by some outside, monstrous force was a desire that wasn’t just held by humanity...  and that those xenos races that clearly shared those values and was willing to sacrifice and bleed alongside humanity under the Imperial banner to make that dream a reality could be brought into the fold instead of wasting time and effort fighting them for petty reasons when there were more worthwhile and important wars to wage to secure a peaceful future. How much harder would the wars against the Rangdan have been if the legions had been further split and scattered, fighting a dozen species that could have been swayed diplomatically across the stars rather than able to be called to deal with the real threat?”

"Once again, you have [i]dared[/i] to speak as though your word was that of the Emperor!" Augor fired off at Micholi with an accusatory gesture. "You cannot speak as to the true reason the Edict was created because your will is subordinate to that of the Emperor, even if your writ is contained in the Edict's body! To continue to infer otherwise so irreverently would be treason for anybody other than a Primarch! Rest assured, I will not tolerate you doing so freely any further. I [i]demand[/i] you recant the nonsense you dared to speak of as though it was his will!"

“Alright, I take it back,” Daena said slowly to Sekhmetara before draining the remainder of her glass. “I can’t say I’ve ever known Augor to be this emotional about… anything.” A servant swiftly refilled her glass, the liquid mixed with the heady alien concoction that could make even the Astartes drunk. “Even odds that they come to blows.”

"Do you notice how he does not snap at Sarghaul for the same fault? Truly the Cog-men are as susceptible to bias as the rest of us, they just beep more when they do it." Sekhmetara drank along with her sister, if not quite so earnestly as her eyes flicked between the three speakers, perhaps taking more enjoyment out of the proceedings than her more concerned sibling. "We may have to intervene at some point I suppose."

Micholi glanced at Augor for a moment, a small look of acceptance in both his eyes and tone as he stated “Augor, if the Edict and its intent hadn’t met with the Emperor’s approval, do you truly believe it would have existed at all? If the Emperor’s vision for the Imperium truly didn’t allow for the inclusion of allied xenos races and inhuman vassals, I do not doubt for a second that the Emperor would have killed me on the planet he found me on and carried on without giving me a second thought for threatening his vision.”

“That the Edict was [i]sufficient[/i] for his purposes does not make them the same as yours and I will [i]not[/i] continue to humor your [i]treacherous[/i] implications to the contrary.” Augor practically hissed. “You have wasted enough of this Council’s time with platitudes you would baselessly have us believe are indicative of his will.”

From the sidelines, Daena had finally pushed aside her drink, the stoic woman now doing her best to retain composure. “Perhaps Father should’ve had more daughters,” she whispered under breath, pitched perfectly to be audible to her elder sister and none other. And then, in a thought she kept inside only to herself, the silent addition of, [i]Or perhaps fewer zealots.[/i]

"You do not treasure each of our brothers dear sister? My, such [i]treachery[/i]" Sekhmetara murmured back in private, if total, mockery of the term so loosely thrown around the chamber, her voice concealed even more so by the proximity of her goblet to her lips before taking a further sip.

“Both of you need to end this ridiculous tangent,” Usriel’s stern voice came, his mechanical gaze staring upon that of Augor. The Nineteenth Primarch spoke once more, “The Edict was written by both the Emperor and Micholi and thus is his will. The Edict would have not been created had the Emperor requested it so and has been in effect longer than some Primarchs have been in the Imperium. As such the Edict is his will, is such facts sufficient, Augor?”

The Primarch of the Twelfth Legion folded their arms and nodded stiffly, once, without replying - evidently placated for the moment.

“Excellent,” Usriel began once more before turning his gaze to Micholi, “However, I will state now that the Edict does directly go against the Mechanicum’s teachings, a fact that you should have looked into upon its inception, Micholi. I will allow Augor to elaborate more upon such things as he, unlike I, has been properly inducted into the Cult Mechanicum, but rest assured that you two do not speak words of treachery. That is all.”

“Did I ever tell you of the mess my daughters got up to at Ullanor?” Daena asked Sekhmetara, each word spoken with the careful enunciation of one who is quite aware that they are intoxicated. “Usriel impressed them greatly then, I think I’m beginning to see why.”

"No, although do feel free to share, I do not think we are going anywhere soon." The Mithran primarch's focus settling on the discussed brother as Daena's deliberate speech teased the tale. "I suppose the competition is quite lacking at the moment."

There was a quick, polite nod of his head to Usriel as Micholi accepted his words silently.

“Enough of this meandering,” Sarghaul cut into the pause that followed with a damp breath from his humidified respirator. “We would have prevailed against the Cerabvores all the same, Micholi. To doubt that is folly, and worse still is how you muddle the waters around our goal. Our duty is to fight and bleed for peace and order in the galaxy, yes. But you are deluded if you think that such things can be while the xeno lives. There can be no true quiescent dominion without a uniform genetic base. The flesh and the mind are one, so teaches the Imperial Truth. And so the intellect of the xeno is as aberrant as its body, an intrusion into any orderly system built by mankind. It will always bring strife and disruption. Whatever ideals the inhuman might parrot, it will doom the Imperium if brought into its fold. This is the truth of the unity of flesh and spirit.”

The levity on Daena’s face immediately vanished as soon as Sarghaul spoke, the Angel swiftly biting the inside of her cheek moments before resuming her typical grim countenance. Holding the glass daintily in her hand, she suppressed the urge to immediately stand. An urge that she did permit an exhaust valve to, the Primarch muttering, “Perhaps the Lurkers require new Iterators,” to herself.

“It is true, Primarch of the Ninth, that the Imperium would have sooner or later triumphed over the Rangdan and their empire. Of that there is no doubt.” Ayushmatki rose from her position, unable to hold her silence. “But you pay little heed to the even greater costs that would have been incurred by such were the Sixteenth Legion split up combating a dozen minor uprisings about the segmentum. Do you forget, Tartarean, the losses incurred not only by the Sixteenth Legion, but the loss of entire smaller Legions to the scourge from beyond the stars? Do you forget the worlds laid waste beneath them? Do you forget the worlds scoured by our own hand in their aftermath, to brook no chance that the menace could return? Do you forget the near elimination of the Twelfth Legion, the losses sustained by your own, and the permanent devastation wrought by such a foe? Do you truly believe that our victory would have been the same in such an event? It is fortunate, indeed, that my Primarch arrived at such a time bringing countless more soldiers from her empire. It is fortunate that we held the line against the scourge and held the tide that would have consumed ever more worlds and left naught but lifeless husks in its wake. The Edict, doubtless fraught with flaws, allows the Imperium to focus its might on the [i]true[/i] threats to humanity, and not to waste not only time but valuable resources wiping out all that seems different from us by circumstance of birth. Your ‘victory’, Sarghaul, would have left the Imperium weakened further by the scourge. To suggest otherwise, to believe we would have triumphed merely because ‘we are human’ is the height of folly, underestimating such foes is what lead the original leaders of the Sixteenth to waste as many lives as they did.” She stepped in closer, inserting herself fully into the discussion, her expression twisting into a more mischievous one. “And while this may not be a scientific debate, your basic lack of understanding of biological principles betrays the inherent foolishness in your position.”

Sekhmetara paused practically mid-response to her sister as Ayushmakti spoke, as if having quite forgotten that beings not of the direct lineage of the Emperor could find their voice in such a hall. Far from reproach, the woman's response earned only a subtle smile of enjoyment from the primarch.

“We are more than human,” the Abyssal Primarch waved a talon dismissively in response, his head barely turning to acknowledge Ayushmatki, “To doubt our victory is to doubt the foresight of the one who made us such, and that is treason. But a false-Astartes such as you would know little of that, as one who believes in immaterial spirits would know little of the corporeal sciences. Do not-”

“Sarghaul.” Micholi cut in sharply. “She is right. Even if we had won against the Rangdan in your alternative reality, your ‘victory’ would have left the Imperium weaker for it… and thus left weaker still when the Kynazar invaded the Segmentum Pacificus. Each campaign and war after Rangdan would have been harder fought with fewer troops and resources. Ullanor might have been a harsher, graver threat then it already was. The Imperium will not die to a single war or disaster at this stage, but that doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have been bled dry from a thousand smaller cuts. Just because she is not an Astartes does not mean that she is not deserving of respect.”

“You think little of the might of the Imperium and of the minds guiding it, then.” The Tartarean rested the tips of his claws on the fore of his lectern with a sharp tap. “Perhaps you would know them better if you mingled less with the alien.”

Daena lazily toyed with her glass of wine while looking at Sekhmetara from out of the corner of her eye. “I have grown far too fond of the gifts you bring, dearest sister. Were I to stand now, I fear I might be far too honest,” she whispered, the ordinarily subdued Primarch speaking with the barest hint of disdain. “Speak for me, would you? I need a moment to compose myself.” A moment passed before she looked back up at her sister with one of her trademark, all too perfect smiles. “Ah, I had almost forgotten. I trust that arguing on dearest Micholi’s side is not an imposition upon you?”

"Our dear brother has many qualities of note, although dressing for the occasion seems not to be one of them." Sekhmetara’s mournful whisper at the shade of greys currently shared between Daena and Micholi amounted to her primary response, before she waved a dismissive goblet of wine. "I cannot say I possess either of your burning faith on the matter but I shall do my best to not have him flounder so." She accepted, but before the Mithran primarch could prepare herself to stand, another, harsher female voice rose in condemnation.

Nelchitl, reclined in her seat as she was, spoke with forceful annoyance, “Brother Micholi,” she began as she looked in his general direction, “you truly think that this Edict is so vital to the Imperium’s survival…” she shrugged indifferently at her “older” sibling, “For that I am sorry. For the fact that you honestly believe Humanity is better off with xenos in our midst, I mourn for your sanity.” The Primarch, still seated, leaned forward to give respect to her Father at the head of the chamber before turning back to Micholi.

“Our Father, matchless amongst all beings, did not find it prudent to incur xenos detritus upon the Imperium when He first set out to reclaim humanities birthright.” she raised her gaze to look at her brother more completely, “Do you mean to imply that the Master of Mankind had made an oversight in this regard? That He required [i]you[/i], His most timid son, to open His eyes to the so-called ‘benefits’ of allowing filth to mingle with the purity of Humanity? That it would somehow make us stronger?” Nelchitl laughed, a callous thing full of bitter loathing, “The Imperium, our Father, would have been fine were we without this Edict. I have no question in the abilities of Sarghaul and his Legion or the stalwart warriors of the Sixteenth, or of the courage of the Excertus Imperialis which shield humanity, and in the wisdom of our Father to have led us through Rangdan and your Kynazar debacle, without your pet xenos in tow.”

“Honored sister - you are claiming the Edict of Tolerance, in its body, is either unnecessary or perhaps obviated on its face. I would suggest that the Emperor of Mankind does not do anything without sufficient reason. Please, elaborate - why, or how, is the Edict without utility? Are we perhaps employing it incorrectly, or is there some other factor you are thinking of that eludes me?” Augor had unfolded their arms and placed a single bionic hand upon his own podium, a single taloned finger clicking habitually on the end as he spoke. His words were courteous, but from the stern set of his brow it was evident he was a hair away from taking the same issue with his sister as he had with Micholi. 

Nelchitl turned to Augor to find barely a whisper of what she would have considered a Brother staring her down intently, mechanical finger tapping incessantly at the stand before him as he did. She knew she had misstepped in how she had framed her mind to those present and with a grin gave Augor a respectful nod, “Brother, I mean not that there was no reason for the Emperor to accept such an unnecessary screed as the Edict, or that he had no reason. As you’re aware Brother the Omnissiah makes no mistakes. He is perfect in all His decrees, His words sacrosanct.” she leaned forward, a true interest flaring in her eyes as she continued, “But nor you nor I, Brother, can ever know His true intent. That the Edict is law is fact, but [i]why[/i] it is law is yet unknown.” 

“If you are suggesting that the Omnissiah accepted the Edict of Tolerance for some ineffable purpose beyond our devise and external to its written body,” Augor nodded in acknowledgement to Nelchitl, the creases upon his brow visibly receding. “I cannot contest that - but neither is that a statement which can be evidenced without his word. Without offense, honored sister, your stance appears to be one of pure conjecture, if his will and intent cannot be known one way or the other.”

“I suggest only that the Omnissiah did what was necessary at the time. That he allowed his most cowardly son a moment of victory,” Nelchitl stood and turned toward Micholi, stopping briefly upon Aghnemir before resting her gaze on the Primarch of the Second Legion, “Our Father granted you a triumph worthy of praise to bring you closer to his bosom. To ensure your devious ways of war served the Imperium and Him rather than the whims of your Xenos passions.”

She turned back to Augor, “Our Father, our [i]Omnissiah[/i],” she intoned respectfully, “signed the Edict into law to unify the early Imperium, His armies had become unexpectedly led by a coward of questionable devotion to the Imperial Truth and this, the greatest undertaking in humanity’s history. He kept Micholi in check by allowing him his easily cowed playthings, his Xenos creatures of devious origin. Micholi’s stain upon the Imperium is no longer necessary.” she turned back to Augor, “It is this single fact that brings us here today, and it is this single, inescapable fact, that brings Micholi to defend his Edict even while defiling the wisdom and foresight of the Omnissiah.”

“Hm.” Augor resumed tapping on his podium again for several moments before replying. “Though I maintain this notion of yours remains conjecture to me, honored sister, I do confess it is compelling. Certainly the Imperium writ large has not yet grown any more accepting of xenoskind during the Edict’s tenure...as evidenced by the precautions that had to be taken to ensure the safety of our brother’s xenos auxilia during the Omnissiah’s most glorious Triumph. For the Omnissiah and the Sigillite to then subsequently and immediately raise this very Council over the subject would certainly [i]suggest[/i] such an alternative motive - although of course, even this conclusion remains mere conjecture as well.” A faint smile broke across Augor’s lips as he nodded, once, to Nelchitl from across his podium before turning his sightless gaze to Micholi once more.

Deciding to ignore his sister’s immature ‘coward’ taunt, Micholi decided to let rational professionalism carry the day as he demanded from his siblings “Tell me… do either of you actually have an issue with the technical aspects of the Edict? Some evidence to suggest that at some point there was a mistake made and a species that proved harmful to the Imperium managed to slip its way past the standards and safeguards? Or are your objections purely emotional?” Micholi paused for a moment as he acknowledged with Augor “...Or in your case, motivated by doctrine. Because considering all the lives that this decision is dependent on, I think the peoples of the Imperium would be more comfortable knowing that it was made with logic and reason rather than an arbitrary ‘I don’t like those who are different from me’. It spits in the face of the values that the Imperial Truth is trying to promote.”

“The people of the Imperium will be comfortable with whatever decision is made here, by the grace of the Omnissiah. The normal, law-abiding citizen of the Imperium would scarcely even hear or know of our decision, one way or another.” Augor stated serenely. “The Imperial Truth embodies the necessity of the unification of mankind and their sovereignty over the galaxy - your Edict of Tolerance is not relevant to it and if the Emperor and the Omnissiah so decrees, it will be as dust - both in reality, and in the annals of history.”

Ayushmatki spoke once more. “The Imperial Truth is founded upon a basis of logic, scientific rationale, critical thinking, and the abolition of blind dogma. And yet, some of its most ardent proponents are merely that - dogmatic followers blinded by their own prejudice and biases. The very concept that xenos are to be eradicated is at odds with the foundation upon which the Imperial Truth is built. There can be no sound, rational opposition to the tolerance of nonhumans within our midst, should they prove beneficial. And yet it seems this inherent contradiction is lost upon many of those present.” She folded her arms, undaunted by the beings that surrounded her. “If the Imperial Truth is not dogma, a religion in its own right that brooks no argument or examination of its tenets, then the destruction of the xeno necessitates a careful examination. Free of the fallacies of those blinded by irrational thinking. Present, to all assembled, your rationale for the eradication of sentient life that could not only serve our cause but strengthen it, purely based on a difference in genetic material. I can see none. The destruction of the alien, for the pure sake of it being alien, is the pursuit of those who cannot see past their own preconceived, blind notions. And to carry out with such zeal a doctrine of this kind reeks of the same dogmatic madness the Emperor himself would see eliminated from the galaxy.” She looked into the eyes of the assembled Primarchs, “Practice the core principles of Imperial Truth, Primarchs, sons and daughters of the Emperor, and [i]explain[/i] to us why humanity and humanity alone must rule the galaxy. Do not bore us with the same trite sound bites of the inevitable supremacy of humanity, for it neither answers the question nor follows the same tenets of logic, reason, and scientific analysis that the Imperial Truth is based on.”

As Sekhmetara finally rose from her seat, the light of the chamber cascading over the pristine shimmering skirt of her gown and its many feathers, she regarded the room with a cold detachment entirely at odds with the private mirth of her conversation with Daena.

“It seems I must apologize, dear father, for the insistence of my squabbling siblings to discuss such matters as your true heart while you yet sit among us.” Her eyes, the hazel of her irises now shimmering gold as the direct sight of her gene-father began to awaken the gifts of her bloodline. “They have spoken of your true meaning, made estimates of your mind, of your purpose, looked to define your great truth while [i]still you watch upon us[/i], as if you had ever intended this to be a matter of dogma, to bicker away like the foolish priests of Terra’s past, the very behaviour you shattered in all your wisdom so long ago.” The Mithran primach continued to address the Emperor himself rather than the other delegates, her eyes watering with sparkling tears as she beheld his perfection so directly for such an extended period, the emotion of her condemnation clearly writ on her flawless features. “We are gathered here to discuss the merits of the matter at hand, to listen to testimony, to provide reason and candour to this topic which has split us so egregiously, not pretend to know the mind of our father, to preach understanding of his action when he could, if he wished to, if that is what he wished us to debate, clarify such things in a moment. We have already failed him once by allowing such discord to grow among us, do not do so again.” Sekhmetara finally addressed the room as a whole, showing little concern for the onlookers of the debate to see her so resolutely stand against the entirety of room, in fact, her mote of gold rising alone seemed very much to be the point of the display, before she took her seat once more, a much quieter delivery to Daena beside her. “If you wish to salvage something from this, I would speak now.”

It did not go unnoticed by Kaelianos that he had gone unnoticed, not something he cared all that much about, but for the whole time of the 'discussion' he had been sitting silently and as still as he possibly could, a statue of flesh and blood both unmoving and with a facial expression void of anything other than a blank stare. In his mind meanwhile he had been as active as could possibly be, listening and absorbing the words of his siblings as a sponge might absorb liquid, yet slowly... so slowly... he was becoming tired and bored of this; he was a Primarch who could not cease moving, even as he sat there those of a more psychic bent may be able to see him [i]shimmering[/i] for want of a better word, his aura certainly not remaining as still as his body appeared to onlookers.

Having eventually had enough, he lifted himself lethargically from his seat, stretching his limbs and frame in a most deliberate manner, taking a few steps more toward the central area of the room than he probably should have in the wake of the outbursts of both his actual sibling Sekhmetara, and that of the pawn that Eiosha allowed to speak as if she were equal to them all.

“Brothers and sisters... brothers and sisters...” He had began to pace now, looking to each of them in turn and giving each a smile, a smile which to a mortal may have them crying, but which to another Primarch would at least hopefully show them he intended only the best with his words, “this has gotten heated, has it not?”

Ceasing his pacing and planting his feet down, interlocking his fingers like a scholar before him, his face took on a much more serious expression that pinched the unmarked skin of his face somewhat.

“I have studied much, the Edict included, and a fascinating document it is! Oh yes, the ability for any of us to mark a planet for 'elevation' when the time and place is right, as well as the inhuman denizens of that world. Truly our brother has crafted a fine piece of legislature, one that would insure the security of those Xenos that he and those in support of the Edict find worthy.”

Keeping his hands where they were, he gave the slightest of shrugs, his wide shoulders barely moving as he cocked his head slightly to the side, giving his voice some volume as he drew in a new breath and expelled words in its stead.

“So many uncertainties though can come from this – what happens if or when that species decides it does not like living for all intents and purposes under Imperial rule? They think that maybe they could do better without us, or even against us. What if we are deceived, as I fear you could well be, sibling Micholi, and they simply grow like a cancer inside our Father’s great expanse, all the while you and those that support this Edict feeding and nurturing them as unruly infants... but they are not infants, they are not even human, no matter how much you dote on them or treat them as equals.”

Now he opened his hands in a placating gesture, showing his palms both to Micholi and the other Primarchs, rubbing a hand under his smooth chin momentarily.

“Do not misunderstand me, I am neither warmonger nor xenophobe, but – since we have been asked for logic and facts – then let refer to established knowledge in this; our Emperor declared a Great Crusade across the galaxy to unite the fractured worlds of humanity under his banner, the planets of our upbringings included. He forged a partnership with those of Mars to do so. He created our own sons and daughters in order to do so. Yet you stand here speaking of what amounts to the antithesis of that very goal, even after purging Ullanor of just one abhorrent group.”

After steepling his fingers to his mouth for a moment he allowed a loud sigh to escape his lips, spreading his hands palms upwards toward the sky, then allowing them to drop to his sides.

“I will say this, we were created to bring about the unity of mankind, to follow the Imperial Truth, and to serve as one blade against those that are not of us. There has been talk of wasted resources, yet what resources can be wasted if it means making a world ripe for human habitation and colonisation? Talk of the slaying of potentially useful races and worlds, of Xenos that could benefit our purpose. I say that any [i]benefit[/i] goes against our purpose and that of this crusade, when the world can be taken and given over to our own. Will you propose High Lords come from these races next? Have your own legion taken away, that you might lead one composed of aliens rather than one that is far too human in makeup?”

Now he returned in the direction of his seat, pausing before sitting once more to say his final fill.

“I shall go by the final decision of this council, but I fear in the long term that – should it fall on the side of xenos collaboration – it will ultimately bring us to ruin one way or another.”

With that he settled himself once more in his seat, having vented somewhat if nothing else, but deep in his heart he could not help pondering whether – should it boil down to it in the end – would Micholi and his ilk fight against their own to save the alien?

At length, Daena’s befuddled mind finally recalled her sister’s instructions from so long ago, her jaw setting  in what appeared a stern gaze as she finally forced herself to bite down hard enough to free a trickle of blood. More potent than any intoxicant, the surge of adrenaline that came with the metallic taste of her own lifeblood finally cleansed her mind of Sekhmetara’s ‘gift’, and she wasted little time. More than enough had already been thrown away on the frivolity of drinking, and a stern hand was required to bring order to this so-called council.

With a whisper of thanks to her sister Primarch, she strode from her seat to claim the podium at the center of the room. Wings outstretched to frame the Emperor sitting behind her in a fashion that would have perhaps once been called divine, she began to speak. But not for the benefit of any of her bickering siblings.

“Daena io Azrael, Legio XIV Doomsayers, Primarch, Angel of Death, High Oracle of Irkalla, Queen of Deathseers. The forms must be obeyed,” she said in a flat voice, the mirth of her private whispers with Sekhmetara fully banished as she overlooked the hall. “To rush forward without thought or rigor is to invite catastrophe - as so in deeds of war as in councils of state. Our Father, most beneficent, has granted us the tools to avoid such mistakes with the revelation and practice of the Imperial Truth. All superstitions and prejudices are cast aside, all dogmas forfeited. Yet, who here has championed Truth? The meekest of our number has been its greatest friend so far,” she said, pausing for a moment to nod at Ayushmatki.

“There can be no doubt that the galaxy belongs to Mankind, but this is no article of faith. This was not writ in the firmament by the hand of any God. Our destiny need not be [i]believed[/i] for it is [i]proven[/i] - this is the glory of the Imperial Truth. You shall heed, dearest brothers and sisters, that the Truth does not claim these stars have always been ours. It concedes that we once resided here at the mercy of other great and mighty races, but each in turn has fallen. The Eldar have descended into destitution and decrepitude from the height of grace, the Ork was too savage and fractious to achieve dominion even before being broken at Ullanor, and countless more have risen and fallen in the eons it has taken for Mankind to bring itself by fits and starts to where we stand now - as the worthiest to rule.”

“Any child can grasp the logic of these simple facts, trusting not in emotion but in the surety of proof. I speak now with that conviction, that so long as Mankind is united no alien force can defeat us.” She stood quietly for what to her felt as an eternity, gathering the wherewithal to drive the point home now that the foundation was laid. “Indeed, so manifest and obvious is this conclusion that even the alien may grasp it. Those too crude or too prideful to accept the inevitability of our dominion must be extinguished - such was our Father’s wisdom in refusing the Edict’s grace to the Ork and the Eldar. But any mind capable of reason, free of the shackles of xenos gods or unwarranted superiority, can recognize Truth. Are we then to blot out even those who know their place in the galaxy? Are we so insecure in our rule that we feel the need to exterminate any who [i]might[/i] oppose us? Are we [i]afraid[/i]? Humanity’s rule ill needs those who fear losing it so readily.”

“Well spoken, Daena,” came the voice of Usriel, a rare praise passing from him as he looked to the others and uttered words of agreeance with the Primarch of the Doomsayers, speaking to the council in general, “I agree with Daena, the xenos that have already been Edicted understand their place within human society. Their place is determined under process of whether they are compliant and able to work with the Imperium, as well as be able to work alongside and under the tenants of the Imperial Truth. In the end, it is about the furthering of mankind and its unification that those xenos now support.”

Nelchitl grinned to herself as Micholi brushed over her accusations, as he refused to even refute them. She made a mental note of her Brother’s lack of a response and shifted her attention first to Sekhmetara, her brilliance in the light and her dazzling oratory giving pause to Nelchitl’s thoughts of pressing Micholi further but only for as long as her sister held the stage. No sooner did Sekhmetara cede the stage was another vocal sibling seizing it and rekindling the fires within the Emerald Priestess.

She felt her grin widening as Kaelianos seemed to subvert the expectations of his own speech. At first he seemed to be a supporter of the Edict, only for his direction to change and his opposition to it became known. She nodded in agreement as her Brother spoke on the conflicting existence of the Crusade and the Edict itself. To expand Humanity to the stars was the ultimate goal, to seed new worlds and recover the lost member planets of old. To join hand-in-hand with Xenos to achieve this, had never been among the original goals of their undertaking. She was about to rise, to give her support to Kaelianos when Daena rose to take the dais.

The Emerald Priestess watched with trepidation as her sister, celestial as she was, seemed to frame their Father in the grasp of her wings. Internally Nelchitl rejoiced at the sight, for even her sour spirits over the talk of the Edict were not enough to depress her from the holy scene before her, but outwardly she remained tacitly annoyed.

“Though I am the youngest among us, I am no child Sister. I grasp the facts of the Imperial Truth as well as any.” Nelchitl began as she rose from her seat, “I do not speak from humor alone, though I cannot deny it’s inclusion. I speak out of fact as well sister, though you may choose to deny it. So long as Mankind is united it will never fall to Xenos incursion, of this we agree..” she turned to look upon Micholi once more, “But can Humanity truly be united with Xenos included among our kith and kin? Can we ensure the purity of man when the alien lives, breeds, fights and dies alongside us?” She turned back to Daena and continued, her anguish at clashing with her dear sister evident in her gaze, “The Edict is no longer necessary, our Dear Brother Micholi no longer a lone threat to the Imperium at a time in which our future was unclear. Surrounded as he is by true servants of the Emperor as those in this chamber, Micholi and his penchant for deception and tricks pose no threat to His plan anymore. To remove his playthings and cast these xenos among the myriad races that have failed to achieve what humanity is on the cusp of is the least we can do. That they not suffer as they gaze up in ignorance at that which humanity will have achieved where they failed is the ultimate coup de grâce we can bestow upon them. The most human step that can be taken for the inhuman.”

“I fear not the Xenos sister, of this there is no question. I fear only that we are undone from within.” she finished as she swept her gaze one last time over Micholi before taking her seat once more.

Before Daena could answer, a harsh tap sounded from the marble floor as a stout wooden cane struck its surface. “Twenty of you were made, each for their own purpose,” rasped a wizened and aged voice, the strange guest that Daena had personally escorted finally speaking aloud. “Do not doubt the intent your Father poured into each and every one of you.”

Her last word was almost drowned out by a watery respirator gurgle as Sarghaul inhaled to speak once more.

“Our master’s design is not to be questioned,” the Tartarean’s voice merged with the last echoes of his breathing coursing through his armour’s auxiliary systems into the crashing proclamations of an irascible sea-god, “Though the instabilities of the Warp may have engendered flaws in some of his works which persist despite their creator’s will. And it is ever manifest how the spirit is the outgrowth of the body. Your words are as confused as your form is [i]mutated[/i], death-speaker.”

Wode, who had been sinking further and further into his seat with despair at this entire procession, finally gave up, rolling his eyes and putting his cap over his face. The two Astartes with him seemed miserably embarrassed by the nattering of their gene-uncles and gene-aunts, busying themselves with… anything, really. One of them produced a pack of cards, and they set to laying out a favorite game of the merchant soldiers of Salient, Convoy.

“Just lay me down.” Wode said, his voice guttural, not caring who heard. “Lay me down and let death take me, rather than listen to this. Wake me up when you ladies are done arguing over your bridge hands.”

With almost startling ease, the Primarch of the 10th, in front of the Emperor and all his children, fell soundly asleep, making good on his hyperbolic promise.

The noise of wood cracking against wood cut the commotion in the room then and there, as Malcador brought his hammer down in staccato to draw the Primarch’s attention as well as those of the riled High Lords. Behind him, the Emperor shifted, but said nothing.

‘Enough,’ Malcador said, his tone unimpressed, but nonetheless firm. ‘It is clear this has gotten out of hand now, and that you each need time to consider your words before everybody loses their tempers.’ He glanced briefly toward Micholi, who he rather felt looked to be on the verge of exploding, before continuing to speak: ‘With that said, we have spoken at length of the topic at hand, and I believe many of our number would appreciate a break from proceedings,’ he considered, a thought which a good number of High Lords muttered their assent to. ‘This conclave is now in recess. We shall return to the main hall at the same time tomorrow to continue proceedings. Until then, if any present have complaints to be rendered or further points of discussion to propose, myself and the Emperor of Mankind will be available to record them, as will any Remembrancers present in our absence.

‘And to wit,’ he added, slightly more grave than before, ‘accusations of mutation or internal strife are not, despite the circumstances, the point of this conclave, and I would advise all and sundry to remember this for when we return.’ With that, he tapped the hammer upon his gavel again, and rose, leaving the room to its less meaningful conversations. The Emperor, for the moment, stayed seated.
[hr]
[b][... End Log.][/b]
[b][... Terminating.][/b]
[b][Imperial Thought For the Day: Know thy place before thy betters, that thou shalt serve them best.][/b]