[center][h1]The Council of Nikaea[/h1][/center]
[center][h3]The Ancillary Meeting Hall[/h3][/center]
[center][h3]After the Craftworld Meeting…[/h3][/center]
[h3]Year: 001.M31[/h3][hr]

Some time after his gathering had ended, the Twelfth Primarch strode down the halls of the Council building leading from the chambers where the Stargazers’ retinue dwelt, and down a less heavily trafficked secondary passage purposefully. Unlike before, he was bereft of his Servo-Harness and had once more adorned a simple set of Martian robes, a towering crimson-mantled, ashen-skinned specter passing swiftly through the halls. He was flanked by only a token number of escorts, two of his Legion Praetors who were likewise out of their armor and wearing ceremonial robes and tabards, the only true armaments evident between any of the three of them being the Omnissian staves they carried.

In a flash of motion, one of the Stargazers Praetors was splayed across the ground, his stave spinning with a droning whir over the armored hand of Nelchitl as it picked up speed. As the second Praetor, caught off guard by the abrupt violence of the Seventeenth Primarchs actions shifted to step in front of his gene-sire, Nelchitl brought the stave to an abrupt stop horizontal with the deck. With the butt of the weapon, the Primarch struck out. Pieces of the second Praetor’s augmetics shearing away as the staff smashed into something other than flesh. With the second Praetor immobilized Nelchitl dropped the staff where she stood and turned to regard her brother.

Augor turned, calmly pivoting on one foot to face Nelchitl, observing with a polite air of interest as Nelchitl disarmed and then disabled the two Astartes in scarcely less than two heartbeats. As she turned to him, he addressed her. “Tidings, honored sister. I regret to inform you that if you have come for my eyes, you are far too late.” The lids of his empty sockets raised and lowered once in emphasis. Despite the words, the Twelfth Primarch was smiling ever so faintly. “You may have to make do with my waggling tongue instead.”

“I do not seek either,” she laughed, “there is much to speak of Brother,” she continued seriously as she began to walk slowly away from the scene of violence, “this siege… I am uncertain of it.” she shrugged, the fact she had laid two of her brother’s finest so low and so easily not even a concern in her mind, “These questions I admit, were likely answered, and I did not intend to offend you with them again. But after the events of earlier I figured it best I don’t involve myself in such a large gathering of our kin.” she admitted.

“You need not have worried. My newly kindred brother in sightlessness was not personally in attendance, though the measure was doubtlessly still a prudent one.” Augor finally frowned as he turned his gaze down towards where the Praetors, heaving in pain and clutching at their chests, reached feebly across the floor for their staves while trying to recover from the sundering blows Nelchitl had struck them with. “You two, pack your belongings and return to the [i]Ineffable Artifice[/i]. See that you recover swiftly from your humbling here, perhaps there is a lesson to be learnt from it.” He turned his gaze back to Nelchitl as the two Marines finally managed to haggardly pull themselves upright, dazed expressions on their faces - intermixed with shock and awe, neither of the Legion veterans being accustomed to being stunned or having stars pinwheel across their vision.

“I am pleased to clarify what I can. Since you were not in attendance - know that the First, Second, Seventh, Ninth, Tenth, Fourteenth and Nineteenth Legions have all pledged substantial forces and assets to the Campaign. Brother Kaelianos pledged the [i]Castrum Aeterna[/i] and its defense armada. Usriel has, much even to my dismay, pledged his entire Legion, down to the last Neophyte. I did not expect to have to protest too generous a contribution to the cause.” He shook his head faintly. “...And later of course, during our sister Sekhemetra’s conclave of the College Titanica Princeps, I shall be endeavoring to secure the aid of several God-Engine Legios. Rest assured sister, even with all of this might, fighting the Eldar will be like confronting a nest of cornered serpents.”

Nelchitl nodded along as Augor spoke, a certain fire in her eyes growing as he listed out all those who had pledged to add their strength to his. “Perhaps they require Serpents to put them down.” she smiled, “I can’t lie and say I didn’t expect so many to be present,” she grinned as she kept going, “for who wants to miss out on the honor of taking down such a megalith as an Aeldari Craftworld?”. With a smile she turned to him and continued her line of questioning, “I’ve not had the chance to fight the Eldar before… Too long have I been in the galactic West, too far from where they are normally encountered.” she sounded almost somber as she spoke of the missed opportunity, “I’ve heard of them as fierce opponents, each nearly the equal of an Astartes on their own. But I’ve also heard of them as a surprisingly nefarious xenos race.”

She seemed to mull over her next words for a moment before she spoke again, “How can you be sure of the success of this campaign? The resources of nine legions are substantial, to amass such might for one objective is unprecedented as far as I am aware.” she shrugged, “That this isn’t some sort of ruse or false flag to draw in such might and smite it in one fell swoop… Do not misunderstand brother, I wish to commit as well, but the specifics of how we have arrived at this campaign evade my understanding.”

“There were likewise similar issues raised by the other Primarchs. Suffice to say if this is all some Eldar ploy the very universe and the warp have conspired to to turn it back upon them. Nonetheless such a concern is why I still hope to persuade Usriel not to commit his full Legion to the Campaign. His thirst for vengeance over Atis clouds his judgement in this matter I think, and could potentially leave the Imperium’s flanks exposed. The Steel Sentinels and their fortifications are the bastions that hold back the savageries in many regions of space.” Augor answered. “As to the Campaign’s success...the Logis are optimistic. Initial projections indicated the campaign would take years, perhaps even a decade. The swell of support from my siblings in this matter has changed that substantially. With so many Fleets, Astartes, and the Children of the Omnissiah himself present...Victory is preordained. Though the Eldar will doubtlessly make it a bloody, wretched victory if we do not respect them for their prowess and cunning. Needless to say, we do not intend to approach this matter recklessly. I will have a Priest deliver a data-slate with the details concerning the Craftworld’s discovery and its current predicament, which should hopefully allay your concerns.”

She could feel her mood sour as the conversation brushed over Usriel and his grudge against the Eldar. Once more she found her brother’s inability to let go of the past to be a tangible detriment in the present, and she did not appear alone as Augor expressed his own concerns with the Steel Sentinels Primarch. 

“The Steel Sentinels will bay at the moon until they breathe their last breaths if it means they can get closer to exterminating the Eldar. A handful of my daughters reinforced Usriel and his wounded legion at Atis. What they have told me, from those who have survived long enough to meet me, are less than flattering accounts of our brother.” she replied as she mulled once more at the final words of Augor.

“You may deliver them to my General’s Staff, they will handle the proper scrutinies. Though I trust your word, I must be sure to have my own do their due diligence.” the Emerald Priestess continued as she placed a hand on the shoulder of her brother, “That so many of His children have committed should be enough for me to do the same, for it is as you say, there is not but the preordained victory before us with such allies.” she smiled warmly as they walked along the pathways, “Tell me Augor, how many more do you require?”

“The Devastator Squads of the Seventeenth will prove to be exemplary aids within the craftworld. As things stand, the Campaign is presently over endowed with heavy vehicular and artillery support and spearhead elements, with comparatively few specialized infantry wielding line of fire heavy weaponry. There remains the distinct possibility that the Craftworld may not have any of the open spaces that have been predicted and is just a tangled knot of arterial corridors and industries, like a Forge World, in which case those assets would prove…” He paused momentarily before continuing. “...Less than advantageous to employ freely. The Craftworld is immense of course, and to make a real difference against foes like these across such distances…” He tilted his head faintly up and to the side, doubtlessly running through more than a hundred different estimations compiled on the fly from various reports and deployment files that he had been supplied with. “...Twenty-thousand Astartes with commensurate fleet-elements would be the ideal to aspire to.” He finally settled on. “Though I understand the Serpents of the Sun have other pressing Campaigns and fronts they are presently embroiled in - such as the uprisings in Obscurus.”

Nelchitl bristled at the request of Augor. Some twenty thousand of her Daughters committed to his Craftworld, as much as she wished to assist, was simply too much. “You wish for a fifth of my entire Legion?” she scoffed incredulously, “You have the might of nine other legions committed already, why should I give you a fifth of my own strength?” she shook her head and sighed as they pressed further down the corridor, “It is a steep price brother. One I am unsure I can fulfill. It is true, my Legion is split between many compliance actions. Xenos filth rears their ugly forms in every corner that my fleets look. They are simply too committed to give so many over to you.” she paused, her brow scrunching as she thought, “I can commit half that. 10,000, all of them Devastators. With leadership capable of employing them. And I will give you three of my attached Solar Auxilia regiments. A handful of my very own elite. Light Infantry, well suited to combat in confined and open spaces alike.” she offered, reluctance evident as she gave up a significant portion of her strength.

Augor nodded, his expression unperturbed. “I have no doubt your daughters will startle, alarm, and strike terror in our foes - and awe amongst our own - in how swiftly even ten thousand of them will burn away the xenos as well as their treachery. Ten thousand is more than I thought you would be able to spare. I assure you that come the end of this campaign, even the common soldiery of the Astra Militarium will only ever speak of the Seventeenth Legion with awe itself dancing on their lips.” A bold claim indeed, given the soured outlook the Imperial Army generally held for the Serpents of the Sun.

Nelchitl laughed as her brother finished, “I do not require admiration Augor, only results.”

“Will you be able to lead your daughters personally, incidentally?” Augor inquired. “We expect many Champions amongst the Aeldari to come forth to serve as icons of defiance. Icons that might serve to diminish our foes if duly unmade in sufficiently spectacularly a fashion. Occasionally admiration itself may serve as a blade.”

“Though Praxia stands in compliance, a shining beacon to all others that wish to forsake the Emperor’s light, I have another front to attend to.” she responded, “Troubling reports of a new xenos threat reach my astropaths from one of my more distant fleets. They report…” she hesitated before continuing, a torn expression gracing her face, “they have lost several engagements with them. I intend to see to it personally.” she finished, anger and disappointment lacing her words.

Augor frowned. “What sectors of space were these encounters in?” He inquired. “Hearing of xenos that can defeat Astartes time and time again...it evokes darker times, sister.”

Nelchitl seemed uncomfortable as Augor searched for more information from her, a frown gracing her lips as she answered him bitterly, “Tempestus, coreward, uncomfortably close to Segmentum Solar and at the border of Pacificus. These xenos are unlike any I’ve yet to encounter, and the adepts of Mars attached to the forward fleet report they have no such record of them either.” she paused and shifted in her armor, “There is little more I am comfortable with divulging here Augor. These are things best kept from prying eyes.”

Augor nodded. “Sadly there would be little I could do to supply aid directly at this time at any rate. Half my Legion has been committed and the rest remains on guard at key positions. If there is anything I can do to assist your efforts by other means-” He began.

“I expect no such aid.” she replied quickly, “My Serpents will deal with this ourselves, of this I am sure. To dirty our honor anymore by accepting defeat without my own presence would only serve to further their current failure to levels I am not so accepting of.”

Augor nodded solemnly, his face turning to the side as he directed his eyeless gaze at some oblique angle. “I understand. I have no doubt you will cut to the heart of the matter.” He said. A brief silence followed before he then resumed speaking.

“In regards to Xenos generally of course…” He began, “I think we should momentarily discuss the Edict. I trust it did not escape your notice the murmuring and conspiratorial asides some of our siblings entertained during the discussion yesterday.”

Raising an eyebrow in confusion at her brothers next line of questioning she shook her head with an exhausted sigh, “I can’t say I know specifically which of our siblings you speak of,” she admitted, “and though I can’t say I listened to any of the more private conversation of the council, I am more than willing to hear what it is you need to say.”

“Although I myself am conflicted on this matter, it is at least evident that our father desires genuine discourse of some form concerning the Edict. Your opposition is unified and acting in concert, you and the others who would argue against the Edict are distant and speak only as individuals. Those Primarchs who are undecided or ambivalent as to the Edict will be better swayed if you conduct a more coherent campaign.” Augor spoke, his voice lowered faintly. “You should speak with both Kaelianos and Sarghaul as to this matter.”

“I’m uncertain we can change the Edict.” she admitted sourly, “It appears too well entrenched, too untouchable. By some fluke of the galaxy the xenos have not once misstepped once through it. In this regard it appears infallible. Though I am suspicious of this very fact and specifically of Micholi and his part in these records, I can not prove such suspicions.” she waved a dismissive hand, “Uniting the other two with me will barely matter if there is no evidence of the Edict's failure to prove it flawed. Of course many of the xenos have failed to make it through the process, but that is… the point of the process… to find those that are not worthy of the Imperium’s majesty before they are trusted to lay their fealty before us.”

“The document itself may well be infallible - unsurprisingly, as it was written by the Omnissiah himself.” Augor nodded. “Though that does not mean those xenos that successfully pass through its procedures are likewise infallibly joined to the Imperium. I recommend you attend the evidentiary hearings and comport a plan of action. Although I must refrain from being too [i]partial[/i] in this matter, it would obviate the purpose of this Council if a cogent opposition to the Edict and the [i]effects[/i] it produces, or may produce, does not materialize.” He appeared to hesitate for several moments before continuing.
“On a more personal note - you should refrain from referring to our father as the Omnissiah. Many are watching and taking note. You are not an Adept of the Mechanicum - and I am already pleased to offer you counsel without you needing to sway me over in such a manner.” He hesitated again before breathily murmuring, so softly as to almost not be heard at all, [sub]”...and it displeases our father…”[/sub]

“I have yet to be censured for my words in this regard,” she boasted, “so if it displeased our Father I would have expected Him to make such clear. He or the Sigillite. And what difference does it make that I call our Father the ‘Omnissiah’ or the ‘Emperor’ dear brother?” she paused a moment before continuing, “I dare say we share more in common than many may believe Augor. You and I both know of the undeniable providence of our creator, so why should it matter in what form I call Him what he truly is, especially when your form is… acceptable, by all writs.”

“True as it may be, he seems unconvinced of his own divinity...for the time being.” Augor managed to eek out with a grimace. “We must honor him as he demands, and his demand of those without the Mechanicum is that they shall not worship him in any form or fashion. Though if you wish to continue to test him and the Sigilite in this way, I will not stop you.” After a momentary pause he then continued. “Although pertaining to the Edict once more...Usriel would potentially be a great ally to you in this cause if you could sway him over.”

The Emerald Priestess laughed as her brother spoke, the idea that the Emperor wasn’t aware of his own godhood bringing a small tear to her eye. “He is aware, there is no way He can’t be. But it is the Imperium at large that is not ready for this revelation.” she gestured vaguely around them as they walked, “The mortals have their reasons to follow him, though quietly many feel the fact of his godhood already. Yet many more do not. He will come to see in time that He must accept it.” she finished before shrugging, a noncommittal thing even as seen through her armor, “Usriel appears in between the Edict indeed. Though I feel that he will remain where he is, despite his history with the xenos.”

“That is precisely why I feel he can be swayed, perhaps especially in light of what may be presented at the evidentiary hearings.” Augor agreed. “Though if you are content merely to bow away from the struggle merely because your opponent seemingly has the advantage for the moment, I suppose it would be improper of me to convince you otherwise any further - doctrinally bound as I am.”

“I am not giving up, merely stating what I see as the conclusion of this frivelty. Though I despise Micholi and the fractures his Edict have caused between us siblings… I can not continue to push the blade deeper between us.” she paused and seemed to think for a moment, “Not to mention I may need to leave this council before it’s conclusion. The reports from my daughters in Tempestus are rife with troubling news, and they come more frequently as of late, with more desperate need of reinforcement in each.” 

“Were you not obligated by your doctrine, you too brother would make a fine leader for these talks of the Edict.” she countered.

“The Edict of Tolerance is the written word and will of the Omnissiah. It is, as you say, infallible on its face. To object to the body of that document would be heretical.” Augor replied almostly idly. “All I can comment on are its effects and material consequences - as after all, the execution of the Edict is an affair seen to by mortal hands and instruments. It is already something of a deviation that I am not compelled to speak in [i]support[/i] of it - helped, of course, by the fact of the Omnissiah himself decreeing discussion over it.”

Frowning as her brother once more brought his dogma to the fore, Nelchitl slowed her walk as they approached an intersection in the hallway. Stopping before it she turned to Augor and clasped a hand on his shoulder, “I understand your inability to truly oppose your tenets and beliefs, though I fear I lose a valuable ally in that fact.” she shrugged and took her arm from his shoulder, “For now I will continue to oppose it, and I will count on your facts to assist me, though I understand they will not always be favorable to my own views.” with a sigh she turned to leave Augor, “Another time may have seen this Council play out differently Brother. But for now I must get back to my own duties to my Legion. The Emperor protects.”

“The Omnissiah enlightens.” Augor returned with a faint bow of the head.

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A short time later, Augor - now bereft of his honor guard - made his way through the back corridors of the Council building and arrived at the temporary offices of the Night Watch. They were unoccupied and bereft of any furnishings save for the desk that Primarch Micholi Vakarian was ruminating. Augor approached him without any particular ceremony or pomp and addressed him as though his approach was merely by chance rather than having been scheduled in advance.

“Brother. I have come to discuss the specific allocation of forces from the Night Watch that are to attend the siege of Iris.” He indicated, hands clasped behind his back. His lack of eyes made reading his expression difficult, his lips set in an unassuming line that might have been appropriate either towards disinterest or irritation.

Glancing up from the data slate that he was gazing upon, Micholi blinked his currently singular eye at his Mechancium aligned brother for a moment before respectful answering “Of course brother. I had just finished overlooking the summary of target Iris and Nelino’s report of the meeting and was currently looking over what assists of the second would be best to offer to the campaign. Please, take a seat.” While the office itself might have been spartan of decoration, there were still several seats designed for different persons of differing sizes at the ready, including several seats designed to accommodate the size and bulk of a primarch. 

The red-mantled Primarch declined the invitation with a perfunctory shake of the head, so Micholi got down to business. “I admit, there is a small part of me that desires to follow Usriel’s example and gather all of my legion to assist in this assault but… that is unwise. The siege of Laeran caused me to draw the bulk of the Night Watch to the campaign and thus the patrols and peace keeping efforts the divisions normally take time for had to be put on hold. I would rather not risk slavers, raiders, cultists and secessionists being emboldened by a lack of legion presence.”

“All that being said… While the second and fourth divisions tend to have more hands on experience with the Eldar in general, their experience is more related to the Drukhari subsection of the species rather than the craftworld variants. In truth, I suspect that the first division under General Nelino might be best suited for your campaign, due to their strong connection with the Mechanicum and their understanding of the tactics of the followers of the Machine Cult. This would include their imperial army regiments and whatever assets they have.” 

What went unsaid was that the first division didn’t use xenos regiments, a fact which likely would assist in reducing… incidents.   

“A substantial contribution nonetheless.” Augor nodded, his expression still noncommittal. “The first division’s particular expertise in common with the Cult Mechanicum’s shall service the campaign well. We will have great need for saboteurs and assassins who can either disable key Aeldari shipboard systems or otherwise eliminate key personnel. When it comes to Psykers sometimes even Sicarians are not always enough, but there are few forces that have the training and body of knowledge necessary to use the tools of the Cult Mechanicum for such tasks to their full potential. I look forward to meeting with General Nelinho in person, I imagine there is much for us to discuss concerning the order of battle and our deployment priorities.”

With a sharp nod, Micholi was more than happy to seal the arrangement. “Indeed. Though there is something about this campaign I would like to discuss with you Augor.” Putting the data slate down fully, Micholi took a quick moment to carefully select his words before he voiced them. “I must confess… there is another reason I am interested in this campaign and… honestly regret the fact that my promise to Sekh means I cannot take part personally.”

“My hatred of the Eldar is, I like to believe, public knowledge. However, I do have a favor I wish to ask of you in your efforts to rip their secrets from them. Above all else, I desire the secrets of the webway gates to be cracked.” There was a momentary pause before he explained himself. “Despite the efforts of myself, Usriel and the Imperium in general, the sad truth is that as long as the Drukhari and the Eldar in general can hide within their webway we will never be able to wipe them out fully. While my desired end goal would be for humanity to be able to control and access the webway so we can take the fight to them properly on their home turf, even if you could figure out a way for us to detect dormant and hidden gates would be an untold boon for us.”  

“That much you can be assured of.” Augor promised, inclining his head ever-so-faintly. “Even if Webway technology is ordained to be Heretech - though I see no reason why it would be, mind you, given it is one instance of Aeldari technology the Mechanicum is already somewhat familiar with - the intent to create means of detecting and tracing webway connections and gateways is high on the list of priorities of the Explorator Fleets that will be dismantling the Craftworld. I have every confidence that even should nothing else come of our efforts, this at least is something we have to expect.”

There was a small snort from Micholi at the mention of heretech before he felt the need to explain “ Honestly, once the Eldar have been purged from it I foresee there being a great deal of upheaval within the Mechanicum between those wishing to better understand the technology to possibly make use of it and a combination of those factions who are truly zealous in their desire to destroy all traces of xeno tech and those magi who can be influenced by the Navigator houses who would easily see the threat to their own power and positions in the long term. If nothing else, I suspect another council like this would need to be called because I think we can both agree that it would be important enough for the Emperor to give it his personal attention.”

“At any rate, as long as the Drukhari are finally wiped from existence I cannot help but feel like that all our siblings, regardless of their views on the Edict and non-human life in general, would have to agree that the universe would be a better place because they’re not longer in it to plague life itself.”

“Victory of course, is preordained.” Augor intoned in recitation of one of his Legion’s common sayings. “And so it shall come to pass a day when the Eldar no longer plague the galaxy - though this campaign shall hasten that inevitability, which cannot come soon enough as we can both agree.” He inclined his head again. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss? I need yet to speak with Usriel regarding his perhaps [i]overzealous[/i] contribution to the Iris Campaign.”

“A tall order but… I believe you might benefit from appealing to the same notion I am for not committing too much of my legion. Namely, that not having as active a legion presence around might embolden certain negative elements… including the very eldar slavers that he loathes so greatly. They are always looking for targets of opportunity for their raids after all.”

For a moment Micholi was quiet, before he decided to ask Augor “Just between the two of us brother. What is your personal opinion on the Edict of Tolerance? I know that it is considered holy scripture for the Mechanicum because the Emperor helped create it and to publicly speak against it would be… [i]problematic[/i] for you to say the least. But just between us, as one of the driving forces for its creation… I want to hear your true opinion of me and my works brother. If only to know where we truly stand. Because I do like to think we get along, even if we disagree on some things.”

“I cannot hold anything but awe and adoration for the body of the document itself.” Augor indicated courteously. “Its [i]effects, results, and consequences[/i] I may freely discuss, as those are all carried out, executed, and observed by fallible instruments and agents. Quite frankly those ends are repugnant, no matter how sacred the means. The practical manifestation of the Edict’s implementation is a concession to the corruptibility and weakness inherent in mortal men. It is perhaps the case that the Edict itself is being misused, or that it was never intended to be used, but to serve as an ongoing test - indeed, a testament - to the faithfulness of the Adepts of the Imperium. Or perhaps it is all a part of some grander design of the Omnissiah’s, obscured from our comprehension. Regardless of the truth of that matter, it is not something I am prepared to hazard with specificity, as that would impinge upon the inviolate will of the One Who Stands Above All. Much as you did so freely during the first day of open discussion over the Edict.” Augor’s tone as he spoke his last sentence was decidedly acidic.

A sigh escaped Micholi as he muttered “I admit, I shouldn’t have spoken for the Emperor’s motives for they are his own… even more so when he is in the very room and can speak for himself if he so chooses to do so. For what it’s worth… I don’t begrudge you your opinions. I know that the Mechanicum has a great deal of scripture related to a distrust of the xeno and their technology and… honestly I can see the wisdom in not trusting such things at face value.”

“That scripture, I will remind you, is the Omnissiah’s devise. It is his instruction, his exigencies that decree our abhorrence. Prior to the Treaty of Mars, the Mechanicum had no such aversion to the perversion that is Xenotech. It is by the grace of his will, his direction, his truth, that such a policy should be embodied and venerated within the Cult Mechanicum. ‘Our’ wisdom, as you so put it, is [i]his[/i]. Question it and you question him.” Augor said icily. “If you are to feel anything of that at all, feel only acceptance. There is no other path.”

Micholi… offered a small, sad smile to Augor. “I’m afraid I do have to question him. After all, the whole point of the scientific method that the Imperial Truth promotes is that nothing can remain completely unchallenged. If nothing else, the fact that his wisdom can withstand questioning further cements it as the correct model to base things off of.”

“You are not a member of the Cult Mechanicum, so you are not bound in the way we are as his truest servants.” Augor aceded. “It is your privilege to question him. Such is the errancy of lesser minds. You would do well not to emulate them. In your place I would choose my words carefully come the next open discussion of this matter. There is a fine line where such privilege ends and treason begins - and my patience in this matter has already been sorely tested.”

“Of course brother. For what it is worth I am sorry for any discomfort and annoyance I have caused you. Even more so before you have to enter what has to be one of the strangest conversations I feel either of us will ever be apart of… talking Usriel out of committing forces to a military campaign. I don’t think any of us have ever needed to talk anyone [i]out[/i] of committing resources to a campaign before.”

“Usriel and his Astartes are blinded by their need for vengeance, but they are otherwise sound of mind. They can be reminded of their duty to our father and his Imperium.” Augor replied. “I should hope, at any rate. Though the Ordo Astranoma is as certain as can be that this is not a trap or ploy, it might very well lead to one should the Imperium’s flanks be left exposed.” He made the sign of the Cogwheel to Micholi with his hands before turning to depart. “Until we are convened again, brother.”

Micholi respectfully stood up and offered a respectful bow of his head. “Until we are convened again, brother. For what it’s worth, your best bet might be to try and convince him that by having his legion elsewhere that it would interfere with other Eldar plans in motion. Because I dread to think of what prize they might be after if they’re willing to have a craftworld be bait to try and create an opening in our lines.” 

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When Augor had reached Usriel’s room, two familiar figures of the nineteenth legion’s honour guard with their plasma weaponry casting a blue haze upon the area stood guard. Their eyes followed the Primarch of the Stargazers, a red gaze matching their father’s, and as he approached they moved out of the way of the door. Both of them bowed deeply to Augor as he entered the chamber and left the two guards to resume their duties of guarding the entryway, the door sliding close behind the form of the Primarch. The room was dark, a low iridescent light only illuminating the state room and the massive form of Usriel seated neatly behind a blackened meeting table. The Imperial Aquila and the Cog of the Machine God formed a repeating pattern on the walls, coming together behind Usriel whose form contrasted the darkness as he was dressed in a simple cream colored tabard, a hood neatly brought over his head. 

The rest of the room though was as bland as was the inside of his ship with little flare that many of the other Primarchs had in their room. Regardless of such facts, Usriel brought life to the room as he raised himself from his seat and threw open his arms with a howling laughter that was very unlike his character. His face held a smile that did not belong upon his features. 

“Augor! The very man I wanted to see! I have received the details of this plan of yours and I must thank you for allowing me and my sons a chance of proper vengeance,” Usriel said in an enthusiasm that did not come from him, one that felt unnatural as his desire to redeem himself and his legion came to the surface of his emotion.

“A chance for [i]a degree[/i] of vengeance, Usriel. Your [i]final[/i] vengeance shall not be met until the scales are balanced to your satisfaction.” Augor began, signing to Usriel as he approached with the sign of the cog. “Will Iris alone truly fulfill the call for absolution that burns within you?”

“No, but it will be a great start!” Usriel laughed, stepping around the meeting table to approach his brother, his arms still outstretched as if he intended to give Augor a hug. However, the Nineteenth Primarch reeled himself in, a smile still plastered upon his face, as he put a hand upon the shoulder of the other, “But, a true thanks is in order, Augor. I am eternally grateful for this chance.”

“It is an opportunity that shall enrich the whole of the Imperium and the kind which I would be pleased to offer you until the end of days, brother.” Augor reciprocated the smile. He brought his hands before him and steepled them together. “And I would be honored to join you in your fated battle in the depths of the Webway to purge these Xenos from the veins of the galaxy, which may well come once this campaign has concluded.” He paused, appearing hesitant for a moment. “You say you wanted to see me?” He asked finally.

“I wanted to celebrate this occasion with you, Augor, for none are as deserving of recognition of the greatness of this plan other than you! I have requisitioned some of the finest cuisine to be sent here as a bit of a gift, so that we may celebrate to a plan well thought and to the hopes of ending more of those wretched xenos! The food has yet to be finished, but it shall be done soon!” Usriel exclaimed as he moved away from his brother and pulled out a seat for Augor.

Augor sat in the proffered chair, possible only due to both it having been designing for Usriel and the other primarchs specifically in bearing and sturdiness but also due to being simply adorned in merely his crimson cult robes.

“While we are waiting then, it may be prudent to discuss logistics.” Augor stated almost idly. “I believe there are twenty fortress worlds personally garrisoned and overseen by the Nineteenth Legion. All at key Imperial crossroads and sectors of imperative strategic importance.”

“This is correct, but I hardly see how those worlds bear relevance to this mission of yours,” Usriel stated, sitting next to his brother. The Nineteenth Primarch spoke once more, “If you are concerned of their safeguarding, I am sure the serfs there will be more than capable of holding them should my sons leave them.”

“Should?” Augor asked lightly. His sightless gaze was not turned towards Usriel, but staring blindly into the midst of the room as they conversed. “Have you reconsidered the complete commitment of your full Legion, then?” 

“Of course not. My sons would be melancholic if they did not have their chance at vengeance, especially those veterans of Atis,” Usriel said, matching Augor’s tone as he too turned away from his brother's gaze. 

“Hm. Brother, the Ordo Astranoma is as certain as we can be that this is not an Eldar ploy.” He finally turned his head to aim his empty gaze to Usriel. “But the Eldar’s territory is a cancerous web that underpins the galaxy, and they do not have to confront us at Iris, nor must they premeditate their raids and attacks against us. Rest assured, they have proven to the Imperium that they know of the Legions. They know our approximate numbers. They know of our fleets. They know of our worlds. This is granted even prior to the consideration of the machinations and visions of their Farseers. It is almost inevitable they will lash out at the Imperium elsewhere in an effort to divert our attention or in retaliation for the siege itself.”

The Twelfth Primarch shifted his entire body to face Usriel then. “Where do you imagine it will please them to strike out at the Imperium, during the midst of the siege whilst our forces are tied down?”

“Should they strike any of those Fortress-Worlds they will be met with death at the hands of the countless Serf Auxilia that reside there,” Usriel stated, letting loose a sigh as he continue, “My Legion is not even big enough to fully garrison each world effectively, Augor. Fifteen-thousand Astartes cannot man each planet in their entirety, and they ache for the sounds of death. The serfs will be enough of a bulwark to turn them away if they decide to act.”

“I speak to more vulnerability than merely that of your worlds, Usriel.” Augor replied calmly. “You are to be at the craftworld itself, and the Eldar already know well of you. They will behold you there, and with their treacherous and alien minds they will divine the most effective ways not only to battle you, but to torment and diminish you. Just as surely as they will myself, and our brother Kaelianos. What do you envision they will see, what they will devise to test your resolve? What news would you most dread and despair to hear blaring over the vox, whilst clashing blades with their warriors?”

Usriel fell silent, the jovial nature he had beheld evaporation as he leaned forwards in seat and crossed his hands in front of his face. It seemed that he knew what Augor was speaking of, but did not speak it, only allowing an ominous silence to overcome the room.

“Of course, I do not speak of the rationalized fear.” Augor carried on. “The sort of conclusion as might be drawn by the Admirals of the Navis Imperialis or the Generals of the Astra Militarium - the assassination of our father, an attack upon Terra or holy Mars - these are not honest fears, for within our minds graced by the brilliance of the Omnissiah’s design, these are ruled out as outside the capabilities of the enemy and although existentially more portentous, less likely than the apprehensions that will come more instictively. The sort of fears that will terrify us more even than the idea of the Imperium itself ceasing to exist, for we will know that they are infinitely more likely - and perhaps inevitable. Inevitable, perhaps, save for our capability to deny the Xenos the susceptibility of our flanks and the blindness lurking in our peripherals. It is but one of the many reasons I myself have not committed the full might of the Twelfth Legion, for other than the many duties and obligations they are entrusted with - there are many eventualities I fear might come to fruition in my absence that I trust only my sons to ward off.” He fell silent, gazing blindly but levelly at Usriel.

“Never another Atis,” Usriel muttered, almost incoherently silent.

“Is another Atis [i]impossible[/i] should you bring your entire legion directly before the Eldar as one?” Augor asked, his tone still faint. “They are the most technologically advanced and psychically potent Xenos species in the galaxy. We shall be engaged in one of the most brutal regimes of attrition and asymmetrical warfare imaginable, fighting within [i]their[/i] territory, where they can twist even the very fabric of the world to oppose us. All it would take is for them to [i]discern[/i] that the entirety of your Legion is present - and they might conspire to evoke the dread of Atis and more, for they can strike both at the heart of what you hold dear as well as those places and holdings you have emptied of your sons to see to this campaign.”

Silence fell as Usriel seemed to blankly stare ahead of him, though it was easily discernible that he was reliving the event in his mind. Remembering the scores of his sons that littered the fields of Atis and the sons those that died in the destruction of the planet. “I cannot bear to see it again,” he said in another silent voice.

“And what,” Augor asked with an air of finality, “does your peerless mind, gifted to you by the One Who Stands Above All, tell you can forestall, waylay, or completely deter such a wretched possibility?”

“I know, Augor,” the other stated with a sigh, “I know. Perhaps it is my zeal that drove me to make such commitments. Maybe it is my need to atone for those who died, that I felt the need to try and prove that my sons can deal to the xenos what has been dealt to them. They and I alike crave an ultimate vengeance, Augor, but that is a chance that may never truly come like it has now.”

“Usriel, though this will not be the moment of your final vengeance, every desire you and your sons hold for atonement, to prove yourselves, shall be met and more here.” Augor’s voice began to rise oratorically, as though he were preaching a sermon - or foretelling a prophecy. “I swear to you, that this Campaign shall be to you as Vaomir was to the Twelfth. The Steel Sentinels, Legionaires and Neophytes alike, shall stride beneath the stars, beheld in awe and terror by all who look upon them. The thought of Atis shall never enter their minds, for it will have been driven out and crushed beneath the heel of the totality of your triumph here. They shall remember the dawn of the end of the Eldar species, when Usriel Andredth cast down the Craftworld Farseers and then turned his steely eyes into the depths of the webway - and the Eldar will behold you with only dread and know you as he who shows and bears no weakness, whose mind stood as a bastion that forestalled all of their wretched deceit and trickery.”

“And they shall know the name Augor Astren as the one who sent that them that dread,” Usriel responded, a smile coming to his face once more, albeit reserved as he turned to look at his brother. His voice picked up as his mind was brought back to his impending vengeance, “The Eldar shall know it was you that brought despair and they shall look to the stars and know that they gaze back. We shall bring holy wrath upon them, they shall know the fury of the Omnissiah and his creation.”

Augor smiled again and unclasped his hands, spreading them wide and splay-fingered. “Thus the Motive Force directs us, brother, and the circuit shall be one.” He lowered his hands. “I will give you time to consider what deployments you think will be most appropriate, and I imagine you may have to devise words to preserve the spirit of your sons who must be entrusted with the safekeeping of the Imperium in your absence.”

“Indeed, Augor,” Usriel said with a nod of his head as he turned away and leaned back in his seat, contemplating the interaction for a mere fraction of a second before suggesting, “Perhaps it would be best fitting for the veterans of Atis to attend. They have earned such rights to avenge their brothers, after all.”

“They would also have the most experience with combating the Eldar as well, one would suspect.” Augor suggested. “For the moment of course, I would be pleased to join you in this feast you have planned. I shall summon a number of my brothers as well, so that the spirit of this eve of vengeance may be held between us.” He rose from his seat and inclined his head faintly. “I will return shortly. I have need to speak with the Warmaster briefly, and my sons shall arrive by then as well.”

“Very well, Augor. I suspect everything shall be ready by the time you return,” Usriel stated, offering Augor a smile as he returned his gaze to in front of him to continue his contemplation of how best to handle deciding how much of his Legion should embark upon this new campaign.

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[b][u]In the Office of Prometheus, Primarch of the Fifth Legion…[/u][/b]

Prometheus sat at a desk, large and well made but simple, with tidy stacks of data slates concerning dozens of expeditionary fleets. It was impossibly complex work to balance the needs of the great imperial war machine but as Primarch it was his duty to do exactly that. 

“Inform General Tullius that he will be receiving reinforcements but only Imperial Army, he is cleansing a primitive race of xenos. Savage as they may be, he does not need Astartes support.” Prometheus said to one of his many aides before he lifted the next data slate and began to read. Before he delved to deeply into the tablet an Astartes of his personal guard stepped into the room. 

“My lord, Primarch Augor of the twelfth legion is requesting an audience.”

“Of course, see him in.” replied the Primarch, setting the tablet aside half read.

A moment later, Augor Astren was led into the room, dressed only in Martian robes rather than the full breadth of his armaments. He made the sign of the cog with his bionic hands and inclined his head. “Glory unto you and your sons, brother.” He intoned. “I trust your administrative duties have benefited greatly from our leave here.”

“No, stand brother I’ll not have a simple meeting soured with pomp and ceremony. As for these duties..” he gestured to the aides and stacks of information “I am suited well enough, but do relish and excuse to take a few minutes leave of them. Please” he said, leading Augor to a corner of the room such that they could sit comfortably as equals. As they sat Prometheus waved at the several aides and to leave the room such that they could talk in peace.

“Of course, brother.” Augor nodded as he took his seat. “I came personally to ask whether you or your Legion would have any interest in partaking in the planned campaign to lay siege upon and seize one of the Eldar’s Craftworlds. I convened a meeting to discuss the campaign and rally support for the effort prior to your arrival, and thought it only fair I bring word of the matter to you in person.”

“An Eldar Craftworld.” Prometheus spoke lost in thought. “Me and mine would make war on the eldar. Though I will have other duties to attend to. My first captain, Strategos Arghan and his forces however will be made available to you. I suspect I could also levy some additional forces of the Imperial army to your cause beyond that which Arghan would have.”

“That would be of great aid to the effort, Prometheus.” Augor nodded. “You mentioned other duties - what matters shall you be tending to during our campaign, if I may ask?”

“Other duties” he gestured vaguely at the desk piled with work for the Warmaster, “My work is never done. In truth there are some concerns brewing in the Maelstom zone that need attention. One of the fleets managing that region has been missing for some time. As most of our siblings are equally occupied I will deal with it myself. Or more likely one of my captains while I manage these onerous tasks.” He said looking balefully at his desk once more. 

“It may not be my place to say, brother, but you are still a warrior and the Imperium runs over with capable Administratum Clerks and Imperial Quartermasters. Do what you must to install yourself in the apparatus and then return to waging the Great Crusade - for your peerless capabilities as a tactician and champion of Humanity cannot otherwise be replicated.” Augor ventured. “That, and the Maelstrom is likely a place that might well require your personal attention. This would not be the first fleet to be lost within it.”

Prometheus laughs warmly “Worry not Augor, I was merely grumbling at the innumerable tasks these clerks have for me. I will not spend all my time sending orders to logistic fleets. Unfortunately much of this is because I am still organizing the support infrastructure to manage it for me, a herculean task in and of itself. In all honesty I hope the fleet merely turned pirate or some Orks are poking about. I suspect however it will not be so simple.” he finishes, his jovial mood falling slightly. 

“Ah, I nearly forgot. Strategos Argan, for your tally. He will have with him 10,000 Astartes warriors, and 100,000 Astartes Auxilia and however many Imperial army troops have attached themselves to him, doubtless a million soldiers if I were to guess.” 

“Of course - rest assured, they shall not be wanting for battle or opponents, for nowhere else are the Eldar so numerous as within their craftworlds. They may well outnumber us in terms of active personnel, within.” Augor nodded. “I will be sure to speak further on this matter with Argan soon once the full order of battle has been finalized.” He made to rise from his seat. “Was there anything else you would like to discuss while I am at your disposal, brother?” Augor asked.

“Nothing of import, Thank you for visiting Augor.” Said Prometheus rising with him and escorting him to the entrance “and if we do not have a chance to have another discussion before you embark, may fortune favor you and bring you great glory.”

“I am certain that with ten thousand of the Knights of Awe fortune will have little say in the matter.” Augor said with a fierce grin. “Though of course, as my sons are known to say, Victory is Preordained. I leave you to your duties, brother - warmaster.” The Twelfth Primarch bowed faintly and then turned to leave the room.

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An aging Astartes wandered down the hall, aside three others, one slightly taller, and one more rotund and far younger. The fourth figure, was a woman, beautiful and delicate, strong and fierce. The first astarte in question was named Gohn, he was suited in a mock battle plate, the shoulder guards, legs, and the upper torso were there, but a robe of wound and woven tree bark acted as a dress starting below the breasts plate, going all the way down to just above the knee. Along his right knee plate, and his right shoulder, stood a beautiful tree enamelled in a gold trimming that offset the colors of the plate. His face was covered in a white make up, if one tasted, it was a powdered bone dust mixture, but beneath that was a bright red hand which shined through the layer of makeup meant to cover it. 

“Mother…” Gohn said, “We know father has gone off for some time to contemplate, but should we not find him a room or a section to stake out for our own?” 

“No… we travel where we are needed my child, my husband knows that, and all of his sons should, we don’t like to keep still unless if we are somewhere that feels like home… this planet, is nowhere near home.” The mother, Boudica, looked young and beautiful, it was surgery to rejuvenate the body, and she had lost her cousin at some party earlier, but that was likely to be something to deal with later, her cousin was likely having fun far from her homeworld, or making someone uncomfortable. 

The figure behind mother, the rotund giant compared to all of them growled, his shoulder plate was covered by a bear, but around the bear was a binding of cords made from cloth and ropes, they hung down and wove under his arm to wrap around it. It was hard for most to deal with, but it was something of rank. The Captain of the first, Tenebrus opened his mouth before being hushed by the woman travelling in front of him. 

“Stay quiet Tenebrus… you know what I say is true, even for your properness, you hate sitting still… and for a bunch of people who like laying for hours in the snow, one minute above ten degrees and you’re all jumpy. Now, cousin Tenebrus, what did you have to say?” 

“Mother, I was g-.”

“I am not your mother boy…” the woman snarled back, stopping the four, “unlike my sons here,” she said gesturing to the two at her sides, “You and that old fool Librarian are not mine, you share my husband’s blood but you are not mine.”

“Yes, I am sorry my lord…” 

The other astartes slapped Tenebrus on the back to get him standing straight, this one looked young, and to be fair he was new. He was Gorgion, in stark contrast to his father, he looked just about like him, his face broken, shattered and calloused. But beneath it, it would have been smooth, lovely, and beautiful as he had been in youth. 

“We are together Tenebrus, here we are surrounded by family, friends, enemies, and nobodies… there are twelve reasons why you must call her Lord, or lady, or something other than mother… you are not from our world.” Gorgion leaned in, “but you’re still a brother to all of us, and behind that anger… you are a son.” 

Boudica smiled softly. It was fake for the most part, but there was some truth to it “now… dearest children, we must go find something to do besides babble about and rant in the hallways… we look like bums doing this, now… I see that there are likely going to be ambushed by some fool looking to get power by flattering me, or getting an audience with my husband.”

“Mother?” Gohn asked, “at this place, this is not our ship, this is not the fleet or some compliant world, this is some terrible place of darkness and bureaucracy.”

“That is why, I don’t wish to be here any longer, I wish to be on the ship drinking with the bridge crew, or watching you lot getting your asses kicked by my husband. Actually… find us some place to hide, I don’t wish to be out here, you’re correct, we should find a place to hide, and settle… get out of watching and preying eyes…” 

The Mother of the Eighteenth turned on her heels and started walking, those sons behind her all looked at each other puzzled, it was likely the heat. They nodded and continued their walk behind mother, Gohn running out in front of her as he lead protector. He was hoping that if they did run into someone, it would not be a bureaucrat. 

Around the nearest corner turned the tall armored form of another Astartes - this one clad in the crimson and silver-blue trimmed armor and an ornate ebon-black embroidered tabard of the Twelfth Legion. At first he simply seemed to be another wanderer of the halls, but as he lay eye upon Mother Boudica’s retinue he seemed to snap from a relaxed stride to a more alert and measured pace. He directly approached the group and gestured to them with the sign of the Cog.

“Tidings to you, cousins and honored aunt.” He said with a faint inclination of his head. “I pray I am not intruding. I bear a message from my father, Primarch Augor Astren, for yours - Primarch Ahgnemir Thordemir. We have been unable to get ahold of him - could I trouble you to relay the message?”

The man in front stood his ground seeing the individual in front of him, realizing it was not a bureaucrat, he took a friendlier approach. He hit his hand against his chest, “Cousin.” the man said as he started to listen to what was being said. To which he took a step to the side so mother could listen. 

“We shall join you.” The Mother of the Eighteenth said, “My husband is almost unknown to us as well, unlike him, we do not blend in well to environments we are not suited towards. So, in honesty he could likely be anywhere.” 

The lead man turned his head, and nodded to Gorgion, “Yes brother.” was the only reply from Gorgion as he touched the neck piece inside the chestplate he wore, something was wrong the channel was turned off. 

“Father has turned his communicator off, that means he is looking for something… his silence recently has kept him from acting out, so he must have known he was going to join one of his siblings. We shall tell him as soon as he comes out of hiding.”

The mother looked back at the Astartes of the twelfth legion, “Come cousin… let us go forward, Son Gorgion will notify my husband of the recent tidings and bring him along with us.”  

The crimson-clad marine held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Though I would be honored to join you in your search, this was more of a chance occurrence. After we could not get in touch with him via his fleet officers, the message was disseminated amongst us to pass on - and as such I have other duties I must see to. I think it would be best if I simply conveyed my message.” He then reached into the folds of his tabard and produced a data-slate which he presented to Mother Boudica. 

“As I understand, it is an invitation of sorts to discuss the particulars of the Iris Campaign to which the Sixteenth Primarch has pledged himself - but from the activities that have commenced at the Twelfth Legion’s offices and from what I was told, it is also an invitation to a feast.” He indicated. “Our father seems to have been quite touched by the gift your father bestowed upon him at the Campaign meeting.”

The woman smiled gently, turning her head behind her, “I am pleased to hear that, but a feast, that sounds wondrous. Besides that, I am sure something to drink will be in order, Cousin Tenebrus call the fleet at have something brought down for us all... “

The woman’s head moved, getting stuck about halfway through for a moment before resuming to it’s original position in front, “Your father and all of our kin, we will make sure to one up Lady Khafre’s party of the night, at least in quality of food and drink.”

“So, do you know how many are in attendance, and who all will be joining us tonight for the feast? If not, quickly, let’s move to find out to make sure everything is set in stone.” 

“I believe that the Archmandriture-” The marine halted for a moment before carrying on, “...that is, the Legion Equerry will be in attendance - plus the good Baron Sigveyr Archarnon the commander of the Ordo’s Knight Legion, and of course the Commander of the Ordo’s Skitarii Legion, Andron Axaltus. Many of my less reputed brothers amongst our father’s Praetors and Consuls will likely be in attendance and I imagine they shall bring with them a number of their personal staffs. Altogether there may be about two dozen or so of your hosts. There is to be a diverse selection of food and drink present, as the Twelfth Legion rarely has opportunity to sample cuisine of any sort - if you catch my drift.”

The woman turned her head immediately towards Tenebrus, “FOR A WHALE!” She yelled out as she turned to look at the man, “Come now… to the landing pad, we must hurry before the fleet mobilizes the druids and the rest of my hooligan sons up from this.” 

The man behind her looked terrified, but took a deep breath, and whispered into the vox link, hoping to give the vox operator a moment of peace before the ships in orbit that were assigned to the Eighteenth Legion turned into a circus of crafting, cooking, and livelihood. Stores inside the ships would be open, and the larger ships would reek of the change in opportunities. A need for culture, a lack of sampling cuisine from a limited area. This would be terrible for those ships which hate loud noises, and boisterous local vox channels. 

“The beasts have been awakened, I hope you know what you have done cousin, because I feel as if this feast might encompass us all.”

A light on Captain Gorgion’s neckguuard began to blink red, “someone has summoned the Clan of Whales? Are they here?” asked a frantic voice, “Father is asking because our ships are on high alert, and all of the stores are being opened. Parettrigron is frantic to get the forges and halls ready. Things will be mobilized in an hour.”

After that, the vox channel was turned down, and Gorgion had left.

The Mother of the Eighteenth, walked past the Cousin, “What is your name, because you and all of your kin in attendance will be shown a true feast… You have awoken one of the few prides of the First, so be prepared to enjoy the consequences. Now come, we have a feast to start, have your Father meet us at the landing site above.”  

“I shall convey your portents, honored aunt.” The marine inclined his head again respectfully. “Everyone shall assemble there within a few hours.” He then turned and departed at a hurried pace.

She looked as the Astartes hurried off into a direction, grumbling lightly, “I meant you come with us and tell him over a communicator, it’s not like the noise isn’t going to be heard halfway across this planet, even the Father will hear it, and I hope he partakes like he did long ago. Oh, and the Great Sigillite.” 

“Mother, we must hurry, the exterior hall is being loaded now.” 

“We are seven stories down, do you expect me to walk son?” 

“Of course, you are faster than we are, now go, I will be slow preparing this with no time.” Tenebrus said as he was being overwhelmed with ships captains flagging for him, it was if was anything else, this was going to cause racket, attention, but it was what they wanted. Something besides this dramatic telling of hate, rivalry, and destructive attitudes.  The party already unleashed upon this, although more in secret, and with less openness then the Eighteenth Legion. 

But, this occasion has rarely happened, and typically only a certain clan is the prerequisite for this call to arms from an entire legions fleet, although all others could join in. This had been done many times, primarily to induct a new world or clan, in smaller format. But this was for a Whale. 

“Tenebrus, flag my dear husband, tell him that his brother wants to speak, and then tell him that in two hours to invite his other siblings, even that gaunty sister of his Eiosha. Make sure it is from me, because she won’t dare show up otherwise. Hell invite the entire fleet, there is no way without those gluttons we can eat half of this, let alone anything from the twelfth if they bring anything, tell them to bring their homeworlds food. Even soldiers, bring in the lesser halls as well...  This planet sickens me,”

“It is an important occasi-” Gohn tried to say.

“I don’t care, it sickens me, these people all sicken me, they look at each other like predators looking for the weakest meal. For the legions, outside of a battlefield or a cultural occasion, that is us. We have our tact in diplomacy and politics, but this is a game outside of our legions. We will play to our cards, and show them how a Chattian feast goes, that stateroom is full of bickering, it is time for fighting, for screaming, for dancing, for releasing emotions in full… they want to see barbaric, we will show it to them.” 

The three would then proceed, silently except for Tenebrus and the vox communicator towards the surface, and landing area. Gorgion was left to mosey behind them, “Mother, you’re correct that this place is droll… but, you need remember that this is the fore-father’s ceremony and trial.”

“I do… but he needs to see humanity for what it is, not the inside of a stateroom. Father, is a man of truth, and with all of my life I love him. But it seems that those who seek the shadows are the ones who are gaining power, did you not see that last tournament within the stateroom. I would have believed a war was about to break out if it was not ended, you know your father would have stepped in if I was not there and prolonged it. In truth, I should have. But this, this will be that prolongment, where a legion, where all men, not just a few men will conduct themselves. Find a criminal, bring him as well for when those outside the twelfth are invited, show the rest what happens when you act out of boundaries for something like this.”

Up in orbit, the fleet of the sixteenth was shining lights in all directions, beautiful beams coming from it, those on the outside of the ship repairing the ships were now repainting the runes inscribed upon the hulls. Mainly those that ward from evil spirits, specially those of greediness. But inside those ships, every deck was bustling. Every cookery, forge, cafe, bar, cantine, was being turned out. For each clan of the legion, there was a different way to cook. For each squad, there was a different lineage of culture, and each man, wife, or astartes, there was a different tradition. Reaching all the way back to Terra with some of the older astartes, to those found only months before with some of the youngest, food would encompass every part of the ship. For these people, it was not just generosity, it was fear, and a competition at the same time. 

The larger ships held large bulk carriers, each with its own prefabricated hall, or piece to one. This was a large occasion, so all were going to be in use. Typically, the top two layers would be used, for the Whale clan, and those unfortunate souls that have to go through the event. But all would need to be used to encompass an armada, and a planet. Though, the first layer, and the top layers, would be the most used by those of greatest class. The top, being for that of the fore-father, the father, the Emperor. It was the hall he had sat in long ago, and it would be the peak in the mountain of fabrication that would soon be a monument upon this planet. It would be made, for the sole purpose of bringing together as many people together. 

“Tenebrus, you will take the second floor, Gorgion, the third, Tell husband we and the Blood Guard will take the first. Each clan will have their own floor, each one of the orders will have a floor. The army will have those near the top, the Scion Stormgah will have the top floor until the powers all arrive there. Make sure there is a lift ready for ascension to it. The mound will be perfect, and the hall will be beautiful… unlike those here, we do not dig ourselves a hole… we build ourselves up, and we will build this council…” The mother spoke. 

“Gohn, when the first fabrication arrives, and my husband does, instruct the Brother of the Twelfth to it, I will arrive immediately after. Then oversee the construction, the metal lovers wont like this, and I doubt the Emperor's will as well, but to my knowledge, they are dealing with their own problems of children as I am, and if you lot are a pain in my ass, I bet they are a pain in his.” 

“Mother, you expect me to deal with the Emperor if he comes up here to yell at us.”

“Of course I do, and tell him my reasoning for it, he doesn’t see eye to eye with me, and I am stepping over his parade, but, he knows how things have gone, or at least from my knowledge have gone. Then there is a need for an official change of pace… Now where is the boy from the Twelfth, I hope I did not scare him off.” 
 
“Honored [i]whoever-you-are[/i]!” came a shriek from over Boudica’s shoulder. Charging down the party was a hefty woman wearing a layer-white bodyglove and a heavy apron. She was waving around a fearsome-looking combitool implement with too many sharp edges and points, and was followed by a beleaguered parade of floating monotask servitors, a few agonized-looking Enginseers, and a single Marine of the Twelfth Legion keeping an awkward, leaning distance away from her.

“I am chef patronne Karlian, I am responsible for the [i]transubstantiation[/i] of cuisine for the members of House Caelrulmoste within the Ordo Astranoma. I was just told the feast we were instructed to prepare for [i]here[/i]-” She gestured vaguely around. “-has been moved instead to [i]somewhere else[/i]. I have several metric tons of cuisine, cutlery, plateware, and furnishings we now need to move on the double, so you had best cooperate with me [i]fully[/i]!” She brandished her combi-tool menacingly at Boudica’s face, evidently entirely uncaring of the small army of heavily armed guards around her. “So help me if any of the dishes are wasted or misplated I will serve your [i]flensed and  bloated head[/i] to the Primarch! Are we clear?” 

“Honored aunt, please know this one does not speak for either the Twelfth Legion or the Ordo Astranoma. Her insanity is her own.” The accompanying marine called out distantly.

Gohn chuckled lightly as he walked past the group and he stopped beside some marine that was with them, “You chose a good candidate to match her, don’t worry about Mother… She has her role, as do I. I will be holding off the fore-father’s son’s, at least until Gorgion arrives, or Father does.” 

“Karlain dear, do not worry!” the Mother of the Eighteenth mewed out in a thick accent, “but nothing goes wasted in the Eighteenth, now, if ya need a chef, real ones, not those dainty little mindless things. But, I’ll let you know, as all who will be welcomed, leave your lies at the door.”

She turned to look up as what seemed to be a lander with a large square platform being landed, and other one in high orbit which looked to be a part of a circle. “For in our halls, whispers and secrets will be heard across the floor. We don’t deal with those in the Eighteenth, I am glad for your honesty Chef Patronne, but you will also be enjoying everything you will see, it will not just be from Chatti, but from every place upon the stars you can see. Culture and humanity is our legions strong point, we may be barbarians to most… But we know when to treat people well, and we treat all, no matter how poor, or rich, strong or weak. Within my home that we see above us, we are all human... ” 

“Now, before long my husband will be here… more of my sons will be here, the twelfth legion will be here, and before long this entire world will be here, as well as those in orbit will hopefully come to enjoy and partake in this.” 

The Mother stared up as the first lander slowly planted itself in front of her, it was several miles away, but that can be rectified easily by transportation for bureaucrats and those who don’t wish to do something as dreadful as walking a shorter distance then it was to likely get from one chamber to the next. 
The one thing that was landed in front of them was the middle lower section of the hall,it could be considered a massive square prefab that looked older in style, but you could tell that it would need other parts to be complete. But, for the first purposes, it would do. 

Tenebrus turned to looked at the Mother, “soon Father and Gorgion will join us, he is coming back from orbit with Runepriest Mengahle.” 

The Mother turned to the group, “Let’s go now, come before everyone arrives. I hope you each have empty stomachs, because there will be more than plenty.” 

Some distance away, the Twelfth Primarch watched a pict-screen showing an exterior view of the grounds surrounding the Council building as the makeshift feasting hall was in the process of being assembled.

“Somehow,” The Primarch stated airily, his brow raised in a measure of bemusement as his empty gaze fell upon the view, somehow capable of perceiving the imagery even in the absence of battle-augments. “...I cannot help but feel that my siblings and their children regularly indulge in a degree of excess that our own relative austerity has not prepared us for.”

“If that is your way of saying that you were not prepared for this eventuality, father,” Kyrius remarked by his side, “I would encourage you to relax.” Although Augor lacked the necessary organs to effect a glance in Kyrius’ direction, a faint shift in his posture accompanied by an almost minute tilt of his head served as a largely similar tell of his being caught partly unawares by the marine’s words.

“This feast the Eighteenth Legion is now preparing - [i]erecting[/i], even - is being held in your honor to begin with. Simply arrive, preside over the hall, and do not worry over the prospect of reciprocation.” Kyrius elaborated.

“That seems a curious proposal to draw considering [i]this[/i].” Augor gestured at the pict-screen. “That facade being assembled is already almost half the size of the Council Building. It is an act of unspeakable hospitality and charity made all the more profound for that I have done little to deserve such effort by Ahgnemir or his children.”

“You have spent too much of your life in the void, father.” Kyrius replied. “Separated from your kin. Rest assured that I stake our bond that your brother and his children are not doing this for either prestige or in the hopes of some equally lavish reward.” He raised a hand and manipulated the view for the pict-screen to focus on the serfs and laborers of the EigtheenthLegion as they went about their work. Although their efforts were both efficient and swift, they were not particularly rushed - they seemed to somehow both be investing great care and consideration into the assembly of the feasting halls and yet relaxed, even taking moments to jovially convene and make merry with their fellows.

“These efforts of theirs, it is a reflection of their indulgent culture of origin. Even before they were found by our Father they were his servants, for they worshipped the glory of the Human aspect through celebration of the temple of the body. Grand festivities built around simple social engagement and kinship, the bonds of friends and family, and the salubrious essence of artfully prepared sustenance. There is no objective to be secured here except the expression of everything that connects them - and us.” Kyrius appeared to be carefully parsing his words, his gaze seemingly distant and lost in thought as he spoke - lost in distant, barely-recalled memories doubtlessly half-lost through the haze of his own Astartes Indoctrination - yet also focused upon an effort to convey the [i]essence[/i] of the experience to the Primarch. Though Augor Astren had attended many feasts held in his honor before on myriad planets across the Imperium, they had always been affairs he was only marginally willing to humor and that he sought to excuse himself from as expeditiously as possible. Where he could not, he always felt compelled to retreat upon the more ceremonial aspects of the gatherings themselves as a means to retain his reserved countenance.

The Twelfth Primarch was wholly unaccustomed to the prospect of a gathering intended more for festivity than for ceremony - and faced with the notion of having to entertain his brother with less than a formal air, had become quite vexed.

Augor shook his head faintly. “It is all wasted effort and sentiment. There is no lasting strength in the humors or substance of the flesh. Even if this is intended to venerate the Human form, how can [i]we[/i] be meant to follow suit? It makes sense for them. They have not been privileged with the knowledge of the higher mysteries and truths of my father’s truest servants. There is a stark divide between the prospect of a dozen or so consuls attending a closed feast and [i]this.[/i] Well more than three quarters of those I could call to attend an event of this size cannot even partake.”

“You forget the breadth of your own family, father.” Kyrius said with a tone approaching admonishment. “That much may be true of our Astartes and Skitarii, but there are thousands of serfs aboard our fleet who would be more than pleased to participate if you grant them leave - and I suspect even those of your consuls who cannot partake still remember enough of their former lives to be able to be able to carry out the celebrations regardless. And as for the matter of the affair itself - the point is not the worship of the body, but of our shared Humanity. The flesh and victuals are merely the tools and medium used. Even when the flesh is excised and the Crux Mechanicum has been surmounted, what remains between the minds of our kindred souls goes on, the immortal spark of the soul in the machine. The Human spirit our brethren will cultivate here is no different from that of our own.”

Augor drew in a reticent and heavy breath as he turned his full attention back to the pict-screen.

“...It still seems somewhat excessive.” He observed.

“It is absolutely supremely excessive.” Kyrius agreed. “There is no accounting for the eccentricities of the Eighteenth Legion - but rest assured that the excess is most definitely a good thing in this instance.” He smiled wryly. “It is going to be one hell of a party.”

As the hours dragged on and the preparation of the Eighteenth Legion’s new hall continued, transports began shuttling personnel back and forth from the Macroclade Fleet of the Twelfth Legion stationed in orbit, relaying the families of Legion Serfs who served with the Stargazers down to the planet. On arrival they set to work assisting their brethren from the Eighteenth Legion in the construction and laying of the feast, bringing with them tools, ornamentation and furnishings of their own to add to the splendor of the assembly’s features. Soon, the improvised feasting hall was festooned with the mixed colors of both legions - abundant Black and Crimson, with hints of ivory and sky-blue silver, and gold. The serfs had broken out the stores of the most luxurious food they had hidden away and been able to preserve aboard the Mechanicum’s ships, and though it the tonnage of it was utterly dwarfed by the provisions the Bloody Hands hauled down it nonetheless added a barbed, striking variety to the dishes and drinks in their presentation. Barely ingestible Gorsk White still bottled in the original coolant flasks it had been distilled in sat insidiously next to handsome and proudly faceted bottles of Questor Raenka. Plates heaped with stacks of reactor-grown radbread pocked over by candied chunks of Grox-braised triglyceride jelly battled for prominence amongst the table spreads with multi-layered bacterial-sponge cakes slathered with faintly luminescent soylens of indeterminate origin. The cutlery and plates present became littered with suspiciously abundant emblems of the Cog Mechanicum and far more repurposed hand-tools than was strictly necessary. Servo-Skulls carrying drink trays and viciously assaulting plated food into discerning portions became an abrupt fixture of the scenery, while statues and busts interpersing the hall were further populated by the awkwardly towering forms of Kastalan robots trying and failing to remain as unobtrusive as possible, a number of the towering constructs having their incendine combustors appropriated for use to open-air cook a number of preserved carcasses, to the general applause and approval of onlookers. 

Just as the last extensions of the great structure was fastened into place and as the preparations for the festivities themselves began to subside, a small procession of Macrocarids approached from one of the vehicle depots scattered around the periphery of the main Council building. Pulling to a stop before the entrance, a small token honor guard of two Legion Praetors - dressed only in ceremonial taberds and body-gloves and wielding only Omnissian staves - flanked the leading Macrocarid as the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion stepped out from within, followed shortly by the Archmandriture as well as by a Rune-Priest carrying a long, engraved ornamental metal case.

Kyrius tellingly leaned to the side and muttered upwards towards the Primarch. “Remember, adhere less to ceremony than would normally be expected. Move freely and think of it as building rapport with your brother and his family.”

“One will try, son.” Augor replied furtively. “I do have a task for you to attend to however - my apologies, this is something of an unexpected turn. I want you to stand by and watch over Andron-”

The Primarch’s words were interrupted by the clanking sound metal rapidly slamming into the ground. Andron Axaltus, Commander of the Ordo Astranoma’s Skitarii Legion, had just strolled out from his own Macrocarid alongside the Primarch’s and was busily in the process of dislodging the mud adhered to his bionic greaves by rapidly beating his feet on the long carpet leading up to the entrance of the Feasting Hall.

“So just to check,” His buzzing voxcoder loudly proclaimed, “This [i]is[/i] an open bar affair right? I only brought large denominations with me. Not that I drink, but it would be a shame [i]not[/i] to waste so much alcohol, and it would not do if we failed to appease whatever Machine Spirits abide such festivities by not intoning the appropriate cocktail jokes.” He then whirled around and seemingly [i]leered[/i] up at Kyrius. “Just exaggerating of course, Lord Astartes.” He confided in a lower tone as he produced an ominous silver flask from within his robes. “I brought my own crude serum for the occasion, but I suppose I could nonetheless be compelled to [i]share[/i] a little of it, maybe spike a few casks, put a little bit of rust on some chests. A healthy dosage of isotropic fuel never hurt anybody who could take a joke.”

“...to ensure he does not get into too much trouble.” Augor finished emphatically. Kyrius blanched.

“Why did you think it would be a good idea to invite him, exactly?” Kyrius whispered as the Skitarius turned on his heel and began swanning down the carpet towards the Hall. 

“I did not, he stowed away.” The Primarched muttered back. “You had better get moving. He is getting away.” At which Kyrius scowled and began to hurry after the departing Praetor.

Ahgnemir stood outside in the weather staring at the other building which rested itself against the sky as did the one behind him. His looked like a massive mound, complied of many different parts, each one unique. But together, they looked like a massive circular mound, and crowned ontop of a plateau of buildings was a small building, one that many years ago a father and son once shared drinks in for the first time. The rest of the large mound was covered in runes, and not just for decoration but to ward off the witch magics of the Universe, most importantly telepathy. 

But inside was a large hollow structure, small suspended decks, several fighting platforms, galleries, and gangways criss crossed the interior of it, and walls were widely not available except where it would be good placed for pavilions and seating areas. It was slightly more than just a place of festivity for a new world, it was one of the perks of being made compliant by the Bloody Hands, almost everything was prefabricated aboard the ships of the fleet up above, and ships would be ferrying to the plateau that surrounded the crowning structure to bring supplies and such down. 

But the reason the full mound was built was not just for his sole brother and his kin, but for when the others were invited in order. It was meant so that no secrets could be shared, it was built to where a whisper could be heard fifty or so feet away, where any little sound could echo to the ears of a person on the far side of an extremely long table. It was made for speeches and truth, so no secrets could be shared, so interruptions could be heard and accounted for. It was a palace of comradery and kinship, for those inside are all kin, no matter how distant from each other they could be. 

The Legion’s Mother stepped out and moved beside her husband, “You can feel him getting close, can’t you?” she asked placed a hand on the large open palm of her husband. 

“I can see him in the distance, I don’t have to feel him, now. For those other plans you had in store… You know it will cause conflict when no one can hide from each other, are you sure that it is a good thing to have it as an open invitation until everything is settled?” 

“Yes dear… Your father built his Empire across the galaxy, he helped build your kingdom in the stars, it is not just him in control, it is that council, you and your siblings, the governors, the servants, the factory workers, the metal ones. You know that this council is just lingering feuds being brought up, and the distaste of conflict is halting it. Let the crowd roar, like your siblings fight out their frustrations, let the people of your father’s empire sing, fight, drink, be happy, be apart of their empire. It is the Imperium of Man, not the Imperium of your father.” 

“The Mound is meant to bring people together, it will separate them.”

“This charade of a meeting is doing that already, it is shameful the way it was ended the second day. Let me do the role you entrust me to, I am going to bring your sibling together, and when the Custodies show up will be how we lure the Forefather and your Uncle here. I bet they are planning to with the fucking mountain we built next to that damned hot house” 

“It will not be good for us,” the primarch said, looking down at his wife with a smile. 

“I know, but it is a sacrifice you and I are willing to go through to get something meaningful done. Plus, I swear to g… your father, if he and Malcador don’t cook something I am going to string them both up, because generic meats explained as exotic isn’t going to fool me again.” 

“It was a grox dear, but Sigard I know is cooking those little prawn things from his homeworld. Oh, and Parettrigron figured out your plan in minutes, he is bringing the entire brewery to the surface. Gurtra and Lolnamia are also on their way as well.” 

“Great, know anything about the other army commanders?” the woman asked looking back at the approaching individuals, “Not at all.” 

“We have approximately a minute before they arrive, smile. ” Ahgnemir said as he raised his arms out to his sides, dropping his wives hand ready to embrace his brother. 

As Augor approached, Ahgnemir was struck by his brother’s form - it was but the second time they had met in the flesh, and before at the meeting to discuss the Eldar Craftworld he had not gotten nearly so close. His brother, the Twelfth Primarch, looked like a hauntingly leering spirit from the glaciers. Skin the color of ash, unapologetically hollowed eye-sockets, a cranium criss-crossed with scar tissue and gloaming electric-blue electoo markings. Though he had eschewed his armor and was wearing simple Martian robes, the number of obtrusive bionics lining his limbs - from the capacitors along his arms and legs to his fully bionic and taloned hands - made him seem almost skeletal in countenance. Perhaps it was due to the frame of starlight as it fell across the Twelfth Primarch by Nikaea’s setting star, but in the moment he bore the appearance of a looming, malignant corpse.

“You look like death brother!” said the shorter Primarch, a smile upon his face. “But I expect nothing else, for that is the reason we will be meeting today. Now come, let’s get some meat on those metal bionics of yours.”  

Ahgnemir pushed against his brother and slapped his back, “I swear, compared to my homeworld my siblings have the oddest qualities of any family I have seen, now… Currently brother, there are some fifty or so dishes laid out, it’s just the initial things prepared on quick notice. I plan on having this go for some time longer, and my wife wishes to invite all of the others once our dealings have been complete. Which, I would not mind at all, but as I will tell to all of my guests today. As soon as you enter, you are among kin, they may not be of direct bloodline as us, but all men are kin. In there, we are all equals, disputes are to be settled in the pit, no secrets will be spread, and only our words and truths will be told to each other, openly. I can tell you something from across the entire hall with a whisper.” 

“Also, it is good to see you brother, I do not spend as much time with my direct siblings as I wish… Nor with Father, so any chance I have supporting my kin I will take. Or luring our father into something festive, and aside from his immediate goal.” Ahgnemir took a deep breath, “But, come… the first level is ready for us. My wives’ dishes seem to be fresh, so we mustn’t keep them waiting, lest I will not sleep for a fortnight.” 

“The expeditious nature of this structure’s assembly has certainly been alarming enough that one of our father’s agents is doomed to intrude upon us shortly.” Augor agreed. His return embrace of Ahgnemir seemed perfunctory and stiff, and somewhat misaligned - as though it was a martial technique he had read about but never practiced before. “I hope my own serfs and their intrusion in the preceding hours have not proven unwelcome?”

“Bring what’s left of  them in, they are kin to us all. I hope to invite everyone, from the lowest menial to, well, our father. It is the Imperium of Man, and here we are all equal… We may be some of the most powerful individuals, but we had a guideline…” Ahgenmir looked behind him at the short warrior queen, and held his hand out towards the woman as a presentation, “We are as human as they are, but gifted with the blood of our father.” 

“But we have done similar things to this, not in grand of scale, but this is meant to fit an armada of people, hosting fights, bouts, breweries and cookeries. Typically it’s for the Whale Clan, their gullets need the extra protein and fat as they use enough of it in their duties. Or it’s to help guide a world into compliance. If the entire legion was here, it would be the size of my home mountain. But this mound will do, it’s perfect for the occasion. And once our talks are finished, we will take the crown for ourselves, and our siblings, our father, and uncle. If everything goes well, we can have some things sorted out for this council in a manner none of us can get away from. It will force an issue or two, and we will see where everyone lies within’ it.” 


“Do you truly anticipate they shall come?” Augor wondered aloud. “Though I was told you had sent invitations to them at the onset of construction, the whole of the affair is as nascent as the unseen dawn - and as you have hinted, the resentment from the second gathering may well still rule the hearts of our brethren.”

“Once our meeting is finished I will send the invitations, and I am hoping that our father invites himself, or at least uncle. But to my knowledge the resentment of our siblings is not going to go away, and I know it will not. Our sister likely despises me because of my wives and my culture, and I still bear that. We fight, we are siblings… But, here, I hope to bring that out some. In a place where we are siblings. Not politicians fighting on issues, we drive each other apart with that, we fight, and scheme, and break each other's backs for something we want to happen. We stick to an idea, another sibling, and we fight for it with tooth and nail even if it harms another one of us. If father had not shortened the last session, I would have seen a fight, or caused it. “ 

“I am not a man of politics, diplomacy maybe, but not politics. This is the place where I know what I am doing, I am not in control, but here I am open. Free to speak my mind, and my words, in that session I held my tongue because I was going to snap at father for halting it right as a fight was about to break out. Here, that fight can happen, and it should, relief for us, we are warriors… We fight, this might be a time for our voices to be heard but it is not where we are suited best to. We are suited to a battlefield, and right now… we all need to fight on our own terms, also, it’s cooler in there, so hopefully cooler heads will prevail.” 

Augor turned his empty gaze to stare almost blithely at Ahgnemir, silent in consideration for several moments as they approached the mound. Finally, he spoke. “Let us not unduly trouble our thoughts with such matters. This is a feast, is it not? A celebration. Come, let us attend to our families and dine - we can share the stories of our campaigns, and once all of us have had our fill of the first few courses we may talk of Iris and what lays ahead of us - but no sooner!” He gestured towards the mound. “And truly, it has been a time beyond reckoning since last I have sat with one of my brothers and discussed that which transpires within the Light of our father’s Empire. I have spent too long in the furthest reaches of the void, beyond the light of the Astrnomican. Come! Tell me of your glories and ventures!” He cajoled as the two of them strode into the hall.


The Bear chuckled lightly and nodded lightly, “I agree, and you must tell me of some of your recent ventures brother! We can worry about the hardships later, I agree… Boudica, send out the invitations, make sure Uncle knows, send one of my sons personally for him. We know the Golden sons of my father will be among us soon enough, so you start first.”  

The woman nodded, before hurrying off into the shadows, and in through a small gap between two runes. 

But, the large gates opened to the interior, and almost immediately the smell of a thousand dishes cooking, the barrels of brews and the bottles of wine hit them. A large table, tiny in comparison to those around it sat in front of them, large enough to fit at least fifty or so people. But the interior was massive, open, yet full of places to be, to sit, to stand, to converse and eat. To cook, and brew teas and drinks. To taste drinks brewed prior, such as beers, and wines, and the stills to refine them both to liquors. A single lift was in the center, which would eventually bring them to the crown jewel but for now this small table of fifty would do.” 

“Mother will join us, now, my guest… my brother, tell me, tell those in this hall what you have gone through since you have last truly spoken to me.” 
 
[hr][center][s]888888888888[/s][/center][hr]

[b][u]Some time after the first session of Debate...
Genetor of the Mechanicum Carnelian Solisios’ Audience with the Emperor of Mankind[/u][/b]

Away from the main hall, the Emperor and the Genetor tech-priest headed onward. Further and further out, perhaps an unreasonable distance by some standards. Nonetheless, no pict-captures or servitors recorded their passage, and no living minds recalled them as they passed. Finally, they entered the room in which the Archmagos’ proposition would be made. Even this far out, many servants and slaves worked to maintain the building for its duration of use and beyond, members of the Legio Custodes and Sisters of Silence held their guard in the room, and many scribe-servitors scrawled away at their documents, though moments before the two’s entry all would mysteriously cease.

‘[b]Leave us,[/b]’ the Emperor proclaimed quietly. As one, all others in the hall ceased their work save the Custodes, and filed out of the room, quiet until they found themselves working in the second-to-next room down the way, along with their compatriots from that room and the room betwixt. At the heels of their procession, a figure wearing the robes of a petty administrative adept, who seemed to have emerged from the very shadows of the corridor, slipped in behind the last servile. Unnoticed by all, the interloper, glimpses of her wan face and sunken eyes narrowly visible under her cowl, remained lingering by the doorway, feverishly tapping at a dataslate.

Contrary to the unknown skullduggery, other actors made their intentions to observe quite apparent. As the hall was cleared, four figures entered it, the resplendent figure of Daena foremost among them. At her right was the same ancient woman she had brought to the Council's opening, while to her left were one of her own Astartes and a man dressed in the uniform of one of the Emperor's scientists. "Grant me this indulgence father, my guest has requested she attend this audience. By your leave, I would have her remain with two of my own servants," the Angel said in a soft voice. After a moment of thought, the Emperor nodded, both an agreement and a dismissal of the Primarch. His daughter gave a low bow in return before spinning on her heel and leaving the chamber, leaving her three wards behind.

Within the audience chamber, the auramite-clad guards themselves found their vision of those who had entered blurred as if their images were smeared beyond recognition, and any sound from their meeting silenced in turn. They were necessary to protect the station - but nothing more than this.

His height matched to that of Solisios, the Emperor looked toward the artificed face of his petitioner and in inscrutable tone spoke thus: ‘Archmagos Biologis Genetus Veneratus Carnelian Solisios. At your request, I have made private this audience, that we might discuss the matter that you bring to me without interruption. And so I ask you now, with all haste to be made on the matter: what is it that you desire from me so sorely?’

The Genetor Carnelian broke convention with many of his brethren who had long ago crossed the crux mechanicum. Though there was no visible flesh on any part of his body, his appearance was notably trim and conservative. He possessed ordinary bionic arms and legs, and a smooth face-plate nearly resembling a death mask in its plainness with only a small, space-efficient vox-coder and breathing apparatus mounted over the mouth. He was dressed in well-kept and pressed Mechanicum robes in the traditional Martian red, the subdued and crisp electric blue trimming upon it the only outwardly evident signifier of his membership in the Ordo Astranoma. The only tell-tale concession to bionic excess apparent at a glance where the sheer number of mechadendrites he bore, easily numbering several dozen - all hanging like jungle creepers in a neat, curving line that fell from underneath the crease of the cowl about his body, reminiscent almost of a bulging Martian-ebon cape. They, much like the Genetor himself, were perfectly still and motionless at rest. He might have been mistaken for a statue, if not for his cloth garb. The only indulgence of form he had conceded to beyond the sheer number of mechadendrites that were draped upon him were four servo-skulls, their craniums plugged into the ends of four of the bionic extremities, which formed a neat square perimeter about the tech-priest.

He and his cadre of attending priests and lesser magi - most of whom conformed to the grotesque and bulbous excesses common of much Mechanicum bionic schemes - entered the audience chamber, silent save for the swaying of their robes and the metallic clicks of their multifarious and misshapen feet treading across the floor. Though they did not speak aloud, the Custodes' vox-systems were abruptly saturated with innumerable bursts of vox-chatter in lingua-technis arcing between the members of the procession like lightning. They stopped immediately behind Solisios as he came to a halt at the designated spot in the audience chamber, and as one, all of them prostrated themselves on the floor before the Emperor of Mankind - their Omnissiah. A resonant hum of vox-coder synthesized voices rose from their prone forms, a litany of Cant Mechanicum praising the Machine God and his mortal avatar. After a full five-minute long sonorous and dissonant wail of chanting from the mass, Solisios himself rose to his feet and began to speak. His voice, much like the rest of him, was subdued despite being wholly artificial. Calm and smooth, vaguely male reverberated words. Soft and lilting, but with a piercing volume that allowed them to echo throughout the chamber for all to hear without issue. His voice began the first of a series of many sermons, thankfully completely devoid of the normal crackles and static pops that would be expected of most other tech-priests.

Though the Emperor had little desire to hear the full seven hour segue of voiced sacred hymns and canticles dedicated to momentarily anointing mere Archmagi to even be doctrinally permitted to speak with him, he had nonetheless set aside a full hour for the verbal recitation of its core ritual invocation, during which he wordlessly reviewed several dozen holo-picts, doubtlessly using the opportunity to expedite a number of important Administratum projects he otherwise would not have had the time to address. 

At the closing of Solisios' sermon, four of the attending priests near him rose and hurried forward, each carrying a number of ritual instruments. Two of them carried four brass amphoras, two of them empty and the other sealed. These were opened, and the stench that arose from them would have caused any unaugmented Human to retch on the spot. The contents were a ruddy, dark-crimson colored amalgamation of Human Blood and Martian Oil, the two otherwise immiscible fluids having been chemically bonded together with an emulsifying agent that was not-quite altogether able to stop the blood from slowly coagulating. The priests dipped their bionic arms in the gross hue, before manually daubing lines of it across Solisios' face-plate. He then raised both of his artificial arms on high in an oratorical stance, palms facing upward as the two priests tipped the filled amphoras over above him, the foul mixtures dribbling down to pool in his outstretched hands, pooling and then oozing around his mechanical fingers to then fall in doubtlessly calculated streams into the mechadendrite-secured secondary amphoras the priests had placed before him, not so much as a single droplet of the mix being permitted to touch the floor. The third priest made a series of sacred gesticulations of benefaction between his hands and mechadendrites, and once the two amphoras had been fully emptied of their loathsome ointment, the fourth priest punctuated the ceremony by raising an Omnissian cog-staff and slamming its end against the chamber floor, the shuddering metallic thud that followed seeming to boom and rebound across the entire chamber.

The tech priests withdrew, leaving behind the two amphoras on the floor to catch any remaining rudiments that dripped from Solisios' fingers as he finally got around to speaking in plain High Gothic.

“Since the early days of the Founding and the start of the Omnissiah’s Great Crusade, the Holy Synod of Mars and those of its many offshoots have been rife, plagued with doctrinal strife, dissent, and debate. Discussion which only heightened both in its frequency and vehemence with the ascension of the Second Primarch and the inception of the Edict of Tolerance. The Omnissiah is infinite and infallible in his wisdom, and it is the truth of time and of the Will of the Machine God that eventually all knowledge and information that comprises the infinite reaches of the universe will be encompassed and comprehended by its chosen people. Though this is canonized fact amongst the faith of the Mechanicum, there are yet many, even amongst our most vaunted and exalted ranks, who do not fully grasp or accept this simple truth. They do not understand the nature of the Omnissiah's inestimable and profound exigencies, and insist - in almost blasphemous tones - that they conflict and comport a paradox with the tenants and holy writ of the Edict of Tolerance. Though all true, wise, and loyal adherents to the Omnissiah already possess knowing of this falsity, much effort and energy is wasted amongst them and others of our brethren in reiteration of these very same arguments time and time again. Few have had the will, or the courage, to embrace the challenge, the sacred test, lain before us by the Omnissiah in the forms of his beneficent exigencies and the most hallowed Edict of Tolerance. A challenge of our faith, requiring dispassionate and precise postulation of solemn truth, and the truth alone, to fully realize. Any and all supposed conflicts between the bodies of the Treaty of Mars and the Edict of Tolerance were never designed in the infinite poise of the Omnissiah to oppose each other, but to direct the efforts of the chosen people of the Machine God in the proper direction, suitable for their eventual enlightenment."

Solisios made a discrete gesture with one of his mechadendrites, almost entirely for the benefit of unaugmented onlookers rather than any actual need to direct a visual signal. Two additional tech-priests rose and strode forward, laying a large portable pict-caster on the floor and beginning the Canticles of Activation.

"The two decrees were made to be witnessed, comprehended, and [i]reconciled[/i]." An extra layer of reverberant intonation underscored Solisios' punctuating word as the pict-caster hummed to life and began to project a massive, three-dimensional holo-feed of data in sphere six meters in diameter hovering above the still-prostrated forms of the attending priesthood. 

The depictions within the holo-feed were of multifarious lines of Genetic Code - evidently Human - folding and unfolding in and upon itself in some esoteric bimolecular reaction. Appearing alongside were numerous lines of additional genetic templates - clearly alien this time - being exposed to the same compounds as the Human templates, but instead of refolding, slowly dissolving into nothingness only to then be replaced by a new, different xenos sequence. A third section of the feed depicted a massive, scrolling chemical formula and instructive protocols that were all but indecipherable except perhaps to Solisios himself. Finally, in a fourth portion of the feed, a large scroll list numbered off what seemed to be every variant and abhuman strain of Humanity (which topped the list itself) - and which, at its closing, listed all twenty of the Astartes gene-seed strains in turn.

"It is the decree of the Omnissiah that all xenos artifice and knowledge is a perversion of the Machine God's infinite form and boundless wisdom. This is inviolate providence." Solisios intoned. "It is also the decree of the Omnissiah that xenos graced by the tenets of the Edict of Tolerance are to be accepted into the Imperium of Man. This too, is inviolate providence. It is the manifestation of the Machine God's Will, the flesh and body of the Omnissiah, and the tenets of his most revered Imperial Truth, which evidence that Humanity and Humanity alone, are the chosen people of the Machine God. That they and they alone shall reign sovereign and supreme, infinite in knowledge and grace, above all others in all of existence. This is inviolate providence. These are not mutually exclusive truths, but [i]instruction[/i] from on high. The demand that these truths be brought and bound together as [i]one[/i]. Which is what I, Solisios Carnelian, have worked and toiled tirelessly for one hundred and fifty two years, two hundred and sixteen standard Terran days, thirteen hours, three minutes, thirty-seven seconds, and nine milliseconds, to do. I have spent my years examining and cataloguing every extant and venerated race and peerless variant of Humanity, and more than forty thousand xenos forms and physiologies. It is now, finally, after these labors of faith, that I have arrived at my inevitable hypothesis: The truth embodied in the decrees of the Omnissiah, can now be embodied [i]in flesh and the substance of life itself.[/i]"

With the statement, the Emperor, who before had gazed impassively and serenely down upon Solisios as he spoke, evidenced the faintest of reactions. His eyes, almost imperceptibly, narrowed - though whether in interest or in scorn was unclear.

"I have determined that it is wholly possible, and within the realms of [i]immediate[/i] feasibility, to disseminate across all of Humanity a blessing of the Omnissiah. A blessing of sovereign right and authority over all lesser forms of life. A blessing, that upon contact with any xenos form of sufficient complexity to possess perverse knowledge, will duly castigate and upbraid them, marking them as our chattel for all time. A curse, which only we, the Machine God's chosen people, shall be able to lift - but only in return for their unquestioning and proper subservience. All who do not yield to the Omnissiah's righteous and infinite authority will perish in untold anguish. All those who submit to his infinite compassion and mercy, shall be spared, to be brought into the fold of his children and to rejoice for all time as the servants of Humanity."

Solisios punctuated his segue by gesturing and enlarging the portion of the Holo-feed depicting the sprawling chemical equation alongside the list of known Human variants.

"This blessing, in its reflection of the unquestionable truth of Humanity's supremacy and designed using Humanity's own variant templates as its basis, would additionally safeguard the chosen peoples from perversion and distortion by xenos artifice and conspiracy. All those strains unclean, not sanctified and acknowledged by the Omnissiah, will both cease to exist and be forestalled from ever arising for all time - leaving behind alone the unblemished form of Humanity, immutable and unchanging in its beauty and perfection."

The Holo-Feed highlighted each Human and Abhuman variant in turn, coloring each of their proper High Gothic names in green light. Off to the side, a number of Mutant variants alongside hybrids created through interbreeding with certain xenos species, were highlighted in a virulent red.

"Of course, it would be presumptuous of me to conclude that my theological interpretation is as immaculate as the Will of the Omnissiah himself." Solisios carried on. "At this time, no samples of such a blessing exist, except as lines within cogitator archives. It is merely my devise, the conclusion of my great work, that such a blessing is possible to synthesize and rapidly disseminate amongst all Mankind. I will, of course, forward the composite structural information and formulation protocols for this Blessing to the Omnissiah's personal attendants for examination and due consideration. If, in the eyes of the Omnissiah, my fervor and work are found pleasing, I pray that he shall see fit to decree the immediate production of this sacrament and so ensure Humanity's dominion over all life in the galaxy for all time. If fault is found within my offering, I likewise pray that the Omnissiah shall be merciful in the recognition of my failings, and of my genuine and boundless contrition."

Solisios then bowed, low and long, prostrating himself upon the floor and taking care to clasp his oil-stained hands above one of the amphoras to keep from dirtying the chamber floor.

A distant vox-system buzzed to life across the upper reaches of the chamber, and the voice of one of the Custodes boomed through, though where the notion to make his announcement came from the Emperor only knew.

[b]"The audience chamber is now deemed open to discussion and inquiry of this matter."[/b]

“You have spoken many words, young Genetor,” the old woman said, leaning with both hands on her cane as a coy smile appeared on her face. “But I think you have spoken more than you have said,” she added, eyes flashing. “If I understand you rightly, you wish to create a multispecies retrovirus to be deployed across the entire galaxy, intentionally designed to afflict all strains of the human geneline as well as all known xenos. Accepted variants on the human genome are to be ‘blessed’, and undesirable deviations pruned. Further, all xenos are to be ‘cursed’ with those following the Edict of Tolerance inoculated or otherwise rendered immune to the effects. Is that accurate, more or less? And do answer with a simple yes or no before expounding, child, my remaining days are few,” she finished wryly.

“Yes, witness for the Fourteenth Legion.” Solisios confirmed with a faint inclination of the head. “Your summary is essentially accurate. My only clarification is that the blessing is not precisely a retrovirus. It has more in common with a multi-molecular prion, although that too is something of a simplification. It is something new.” He waved another hand, and the pict-cast enlarged the section of the view that showed the structure of Solisios’ great work. Much as he had said, it seemed to be a [i]clump[/i] of multiple molecular structures that clamped onto genetic templates. “Humanity alone shall control the cure, and regular doses shall be required for those xenos species under the Edict. The cure, I imagine, could be synthesized by our most dedicated of enemies - but it would take time, and infrastructure to produce on a meaningful scale. Logis calculations predict complete capitulation or extinction in 90% of projected contacts.”

The woman clicked her tongue to the top of her mouth as she examined the hololithic display. “I have no doubt your design is ingenious, specifics of molecular composition are not my present concern,” she said in a voice that made it very clear that the operative word in that sentence was [i]present[/i]. “Describe your promised blessing and curse, there is woefully little detail on both.”

“The blessing shall be the simple introduction of the compound into the Human macrobiome.” Solisios began. “Within the Human physiology, it is harmless and incapable of interaction with our own genetic material. The compound suffuses the sebum, carbon emission, and waste produced, replicating itself by consuming and transmuting chemical cascade terminators so as to not unnecessarily impact bodily equilibrium. The compound readily aerosolizes in most atmospheric mediums, is adequately tolerant of extreme heat and cold, is reasonably resilient towards extremely basic and acidic substances, and denatures only at otherwise lethally high levels of exposure to ionizing radiation. When making contact with lower lifeforms - simple flora and fauna - the blessing is likewise harmless. When in contact with higher xenos life-forms, it will immediately begin consuming their biomatter in order to proliferate and saturate their bodies, producing initial symptoms of fatigue and weariness. The curse then begins - the compound enters a static period lasting exactly a year and a day. Once that period has passed, the afflicted individual dies as the compound’s hunger is unfettered, and it rapidly cannibalizes their entire body in less than twelve hours.”

“That does not sound like a blessing, Genetor. That sounds as if you wish to make humanity into a vector of your plague,” the woman said in a low voice, seemingly unconcerned by the far more gruesome description of what would occur to any infected xenos.

“It is admittedly only a blessing in that it shall be a tool with which to secure the chosen peoples of the Machine God’s sovereign authority over all life in the galaxy.” Solisios responded perfunctorily. “Great work and measure has been made to ensure it will not and cannot impinge upon the perfection of the Human form, and to dare to try and embellish upon that immaculate design would be blasphemous indeed.”

“Tell me, in how many of your simulations has this plague remained stable after being introduced to the human genome?” she asked, her grip on her cane tightening. “In the long term, such a project can have no outcome other than having every living thing play as host - by your own admission it is capable of not just infecting humans and xenos, but animal and plant life as well. What safeguards exist to prohibit catastrophic mutation?”

“A wholly reasonable concern. Understand that this great work has been studied, formulated, abandoned, and remade thousands of times. Many of its iterations proved, as you fear, to be unstable, particularly across multiple generations. Others proved too malleable to external manipulation, and others still too indiscriminate in their harvesting of foreign biomatter. This latest iteration, which has been the current model for the blessing for over thirty years now, has been thoroughly modeled against all contingencies. It has no genetic structure of its own to speak of and so is wholly immune to mutation. Like the prion, it is merely a collection of self-replicating enzymes. There are a limited number of chemical factors that are at all relevant to its functionality. The recognition and structural inability to clamp onto Human genetic profiles, and the ability to recognize elements of Factor-CRWE in xenos physiologies. Exposure to this factor is what causes the transformation from blessing to curse, in the absence of Human genetic profiles.”

“Do not underestimate the forces you seek to play with, you would play dice with trillions. All it takes is a misfolded protein here and there to create a cascade failure, the odds of such increasing with the number of hosts. It is even more concerning that this same pathogen is to work not just upon xenos, but aberrant strains of humanity as well, reducing the number of genetic markers that you could possibly work with in order to safeguard authorized genelines from your disease. And to engineer it to live within flora and fauna as well? Every new colony runs the risk of complete biosphere destruction even if it remains stable within humanity, for you can provide no assurances for genetic codes you have yet to sequence.”

“A clarification - while the blessing may pass to simple flora and fauna, in the absence of Factor-CRWE it shall diminish and eventually disintegrate,” Solisios offered with a conciliatory gesture. “Respectfully, witness of the fourteenth, these concerns of yours cannot be laid to rest with mere verbal inquiry. The Omnissiah and his trusted staff of the enlightened have all of the documentation and research pertinent to the blessing. It shall be their determination whether the blessing is sufficiently safe in regards to the future welfare of Humanity, or whether it entails risks too great to consider employing. It is my assertion that they shall find no [i]functional[/i] reason to reject the blessing. If I am wrong, or if the Omnissiah finds the body and thought of my work displeasing, then of course it shall never come to pass.”

“You seem to put much faith in Factor-CRWE, and seem convinced that it exists only inside of humanity and higher order xenos. Yet, and I find this quite strange considering the length I have spent in my career, I am forced to confess I have never heard of such a thing in my life. If you answer but one last thing from me, let it be this - what features of Factor-CRWE make it so ideal?” she asked, looking at him quizzically like she was a girl returned to her studies.

“The knowing of the nature of Factor-CRWE is a Secret of the Throne. I too was ignorant of it in the distant past, witness of the Fourteenth. It was only due to my close work with the upper echelons of his glorious Omnissiah’s Administratum and his personal staff that I was privileged with the comprehension of it - but I am not graced with the privilege of disseminating such knowledge,” Solisios answered.

“A glorious privilege indeed,” she replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes, the ancient scientist falling silent for a moment to regard the Emperor. Whatever she may have wished to say to Him she ultimately decided against it, attention returning to Solisios. “Let us assume your assertion is correct, then. In such a situation there is, you say, no functional reasoning to reject your work. What nonfunctional reasons exist?”

“...A difficult question for me to answer, constrained by dogma as I am. I shall endeavor to answer your inquiry objectively, Witness of the Fourteenth - though I wish it to be understood, these are secular hypotheticals without basis within the body of Knowledge held by the Mechanicum,” Solisios bowed his head, faintly, to the old woman.

The old woman seemed to find that amusing, a rasping laugh escaping her throat. “We both know very well that the only concerns of merit here are secular. If the Omnissiah approves of your work, then it is dogma.”

 “As you say, witness.” Solisios offered another bow, slightly lower this time. “There are, of course, the ethical and pragmatic considerations of either exterminating or subjugating all other forms of intelligent life in the galaxy. It may be to the Omnisiah’s preference that more conventional forms of diplomacy and engagement might be employed in unforeseen but plausible scenarios of contact with xenos species. Adopting this blessing would necessarily be mutually exclusive to such considerations. Once the sacrament has been partaken of, the only diplomatic choice that will remain to anything beyond Humanity will be to submit or die. It might also perhaps be the case that subjugated species, forced into such subjugation, would forever look upon Humanity as anathema and culturally embody in themselves the spirit of dissent and defiance. It would be the duty of the Administratum and other Imperial administrations to cultivate and reshape xenos hierarchies and societies in order to deter such an eventuality, which would produce an amount of unknown future strain upon the body and workforce of the Imperium. Then, perhaps of greatest concern, is how the adoption of such a sacrament may yet affect populations of Humanity that have not yet been rediscovered and rendered compliant with the Imperial Truth. It is possible exposure to and proliferation of the blessing may well endanger such populations prior to the Imperium’s ability to either protect them or to enforce their compliance. In the case of Human populations coexisting with xenos populations, this would likely result in a purge of the former - and of course, such xenos would then have ample forewarning of our reckoning and a predisposition of disinclination to humor demands that they submit. It likewise remains wholly plausible that sufficiently developed xenos polities, moving quickly enough and with the correct body of knowledge, could begin to produce the cure for the curse in industrial quantities, allowing them to wage war with the Imperium - and the presence of such infrastructure in turn, both amongst these hypothetical xenos aggressors and amongst the Imperium’s own planets, would necessarily reshape and permanently alter strategic considerations and military doctrine as are currently employed. Finally, though of course not necessarily the last of all possible considerations, is that it will become impossible for any new forms or variants of Humanity to exist without the same continual provision of the gift. Mutants, abhuman derivations, vat-grown specimens, perhaps even new forms of Astartes - would likely be identified as xenos for the purposes of the curse. Once the sacrament is taken, it will be impossible to meaningfully alter or redirect in its purpose except over the course of thousands of years. That, perhaps, is the greatest of considerations to dwell on - that the blessing and curse of this sacrament, in turn, will be widespread, permanent, and likely impossible to reverse.”

“Well spoken, Genetor. You have hit upon almost every mark. But there are two points which have eluded even your keen mind. I shall dispense of the more trivial of the two first,” she said, looking briefly at the Astartes who had joined her. “You would deny humanity conquest over any save their own kind, and wars of such sort are the most brutal. Perhaps mankind may grow docile in your engineered peace, but I have my doubts,” she continued, apparently finding some joke in her words. But then the levity drained from her face. “The second is far more dire. A xenos polity with the technological capability to render themselves immune to the effects of the virus may well be able to uncover its secrets and in a crude, grasping manner turn it against us. One does not need to learn the vaunted secret of Factor-CRWE to make use of this - they need to merely identify and remove the relevant proteins that render it inert in approved human genelines.”

Solisios stared at the old woman for several long moments before answering. “...Due to the secrecy of the topic I do not feel it prudent to refute your assertions at this time, witness. The decision is in the hands of the Omnissiah now. What he wills, one way or the other, shall be.”

“I shall take that to mean that the necessary safeguards are, themselves, secrets of the Throne,” she replied with a rueful smile. “So be it.”

The Emperor, tactfully remaining silent throughout the exchange of Genetor and scientist, continued examining the information gathered by Solisios even as he listened to their discussion, the many flaws picked out by the elder woman and the Tech-Priest’s rebuttal to such. No need to intervene when discussion flowed artfully, of course - but, the work performed on any piece of art must be concluded eventually, that it might be displayed in full, and it seemed the discussion had ceased to flow.

‘I shall consider this matter further,’ he stated calmly, ‘and I shall declare my final intent upon the conclave’s conclusion. Rest assured, both sides of this matter shall be fairly assessed; for now, consider the discussion to be at rest.’

[b]"The audience chamber is now deemed closed to discussion and inquiry of this matter,"[/b] came the sound of the Custode observer over vox-speaker. Like that, the Emperor left, striding from the room unseen, yet allowing the usual staff and servantry to return to matters within these distant reaches of the halls of the Council building as if they’d never ceased at all.

Between the lines hurrying back to their posts and the shadows of the hallway, a gaunt hooded shape slipped behind a dim corner, and was lost to sight without a trace in mind or memory.

[b]Some time after the audience has ended...[/b]

“The sheer gall, to think such would be toyed with so recklessly,” the old woman murmured in a huff, walking through the corridors of the council with an unexpected vigor, each step causing her cane to sound against the marble floor. “He of all people should know better.”

“Have you met with Genetor Solisios before?'' The Astartes following her asked, genetically engineered limbs enabling her to keep pace with the energized ancient while keeping to a casual stride.

“She doesn’t mean him, sister, she means [i]Him[/i],” the human man supplied, his unaugmented form causing him to hurry in order to not be left behind by the Doomsayer’s guest.

For long moments, the only reply was a derisive snort, the scientist staring straight ahead down the seemingly endless hallway. “Perhaps we succeeded too well,” she whispered, the words almost drowned out by the rhythmic striking of her cane. “Or perhaps he has become comfortable enough playing god to take such risks.”

The human and Astartes trailing her, evidently brother and sister, shared a look with one another - the former having to crane his head up to look at the latter. At length, the Marine spoke. “Priests of the Machine-God true to their faith would never think to use sacred mysteries in a manner that may offend the Omnissiah,” she cautiously ventured.

“Oh yes, and his faith certainly overflowed,” the aged scientist said before letting loose a bone tired sigh. “Solisios seemed to think that he needed to explain what he had devised,” she began to explain, falling into the rote cadence of instructors from across all of human history. “That means one of two things. Either there was no particular goal when he was permitted to learn what he learned, or it was a carefully hidden one.” Her pace began to slow as she struggled with what to say next, the raps marking her passage growing quieter and farther in between.

“I am not sure which is worse.”[hr]
[b][...End Log.][/b]
[b][...Terminating.][/b]
[b][Imperial Thought for the Day: Many hands maketh light work. Stand beside thy kin and together ensure humanity's place in the galaxy.][/b]