[center][h1]The Council of Nikea: Brains and Beauty[/h1][/center][hr]
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The vast scope of the Council hall was writ ever more vast by the absence of the assembly. Still the chamber buzzed with a sense of capacity, but not in the physical sense. The psychic wrath of the Emperor still crackled through the air, the ire of the Master of Mankind scorching the air with the metallic tang of the Immaterial.

"It would seem there is one matter yet to address.” Despite the more intimate company of fewer figures, the Master of Mankind’s tone did not waver from the uncompromising force of will that had defined his final proclamations of the council as he beheld those he had bid remain, motioning with one hand to the quiet, poised figure of Sekhmetara. “A daughter provides me with wrongs performed by another son, of a less grand extent most certainly, but still a matter that requires addressing.

“The efforts of your Stargazers have merit, Augor, but my will has ever been that each Legion is beholden to none but the Imperium and their Primarch. The work of Corneceus Sicanus has been brought to my attention. I would have you explain upon what authority he acts.” The Emperor’s tone eased somewhat as he addressed the remaining male Primarch, certainly lacking the personal condemnation leveled against the charges that had shortly been heard in the chamber, and would no doubt proceed after this matter had been addressed. When the Emperor’s eyes turned to the paler of his daughters remaining, his words were clipped, dealing with the matter in a cold manner.

Augor, for the first time since the Council had begun, looked as though he had been caught entirely off-guard. He had visibly recoiled where he still stood before his podium, and even without eyes the lines of stricken apprehension were evident upon his face. The remainder of the Twelfth Legion’s retinue had likewise seemed to stir with a mixture of upheaval, the Consuls evidently taken aback, muttering to themselves in Lingua-Technis and gazing between the Emperor and the Twelfth Primarch.

After several unsettled moments, Augor appeared to recover. He grasped his podium with both hands and took in a long, shuddering breath before he began to speak. As he did so, it took several moments for the onlookers to realize that he was not addressing anybody in particular - rather, he was speaking to the room at large.

[i]”They shall stand, adamant clad, and they shall be his angels of death. They shall carry with them the light of Sol Invictus, the unconquered, and all shall know them and hearken only to despair. Every step they shall take will be his grace and shall advance the destiny of man. For them to witness their enemies shall be to know victory, for they shall be the leaden spear of death as it sweeps across the stars. Their word itself shall be truth, and their veracity shall unmake all deceit and all of man shall be reunited in his splendor. They shall stand no ignominy, and all challenge will break futilely about their frames, for their very grasp shall see the dominion of man eternal stead.”[/i] 

The recitation was familiar to all in the chamber. Even if they had not heard the exact refrain before, the recognition of what it must have been was evident. Every Marine in the chamber had heard, and spoken, a passage much like it. Augor intoned the whole of it, his head lowered faintly, his posture fervent. Only at its closing did he raise his head, and when he did, the Twelfth Primarch barked out a booming, exigent imperative - even with the Sigilite impeding the expression of power, his words were tinged with a hint of impulsive force that demanded answer.

[b][i]”ASTARTES!”[/i][/b] The Primarch of the Twelfth Legion boomed, setting most of his own retinue aback in startlement - save for the Consuls and Praetors amongst their number, who had sprung to attention, and even a few of the marines amongst the processions of the other Legions seemed to stir as realization crashed upon them.

[b][i]”WHAT IS YOUR LIFE?”[/i][/b]

His own marines, clustered about him at his podium, answered immediately in resonant chorus. “My honor is my life.” They all answered, their voices raising to the peak of the chamber.

[b][i]”WHAT IS YOUR FATE?”[/i][/b]

“My duty is my fate.” This time, the answer did not come merely from Augor’s marines. Either due to the subtle, demanding power laced through his tone, or due to their own compulsion and bond, a small number of marines about the room added their own murmured answer to the reply.

[b][i]”WHAT IS YOUR FEAR?”[/i][/b]

“My fear is to fail.” Additional voices from about the room joined in the chorus - and before those who had only muttered, now spoke with voices aloft.

[b][i]”WHAT IS YOUR REWARD?”[/i][/b]

“My salvation is my reward.” The voices rose in volume.

[b][i]”WHAT IS YOUR CRAFT?”[/i][/b]

“MY CRAFT IS DEATH.” The answer coursed through the room, nearly matching the intensity of the Twelfth Primarch in its own fervor.

[b][i]”WHAT IS YOUR PLEDGE?”[/i][/b]

[b]”MY PLEDGE IS ETERNAL SERVICE.”[/b] The answer had risen to a roar that clashed with Augor Astren’s call.

Evidently satisfied, Augor loosened his grip on the podium before him, raising his bionic hands and beckoning to those assembled in the chamber.

“Astartes, you all who have avowed your honor and your exaltation, you who are the greatest warriors to ever live - when you swore the Oath of Moment, to which [i]body[/i] did you pledge your service?”

The answer that came to him came now only from his own Marines, the hint of power that had laced his words before now gone. “To the Legion.”

“And when you swore the Oath of Moment, to [i]whom[/i] did you pledge your loyalty?”

“The Primarch.”

“And when you swore the Oath of Moment, to [i]what[/i] did you swear the whole of your being?”

This time, the answer was split - for a brief moment, it seemed as though other marines from about the room would again begin to take up the call - but the moment ended when the two rivaled words met in the air.

[center]”The Omnissiah.” “The Emperor.”[/center] A silence fell across the room, an awkward series of exchanged glances crossing the space between the assembled Legions as Augor Astren simply gazed on serenely, as though he had not heard the discordance in the response.

“There can be no doubt that all who stand amongst us and count themselves Astartes, are the greatest and highest servants of the Emperor. We are his instruments, his weapons, the very manifestation of his invincible will. This is not a status of privilege. It is earned, through service and honor - and through avowal. It is not a stature attained and hoarded, it is a height from which we all must endeavor to never fall.” He paused, sweeping the room with his blind sight before carrying on.

“It is a call to be answered - and to fail to answer is to forsake what it is, to be Astartes. So now, hear me all, - [i]those amongst us here who would rather die than continue to serve the Emperor, step forth.”[/i]

Silence reigned. The chamber was still.

“The autonomy of the Legions is inviolate to most ends - it is known.” Augor finally spoke. “It ends only and whence loyalty falters. None have dared, now, to step forth, for they know in their hearts the true depths of the oaths they have made and must keep. It is only whilst in the throes of pain beyond reckoning that this certainty waivers, and it is therefore at that juncture where intervention is necessary. The Apothecaries of the Twelfth Legion do not infringe upon the sovereign authority of the Legions. They are saviors, tasked with the renewal of the highest oaths and curses ever sworn by man. There is no denying that even the Astartes succumb to pain and doubt - and that is why the work of Corneceus Sicanus and his acolytes is [i]necessary[/i]. It is the duty of all Astartes to aid each other in overcoming all burdens, all hazards, and all perils - and it is also the duty of all Astartes, where one of their own forsakes their oaths, to rebuke the failing.” Augor cast his hands out to the assembled Legions.

[i]”Our service to the Emperor does not end at our willing. The bonds of our glory and our hate to the one who stands above all cannot permit it. All here know this to be true- it is what you swore. It is what you avowed.”[/i] He lowered his hands to grip once more at his podium.

“I say again.” His voice was as even as polished marble as just as cold. “Any who would rather [i]perish[/i] than continue to serve [i]The Emperor of All Mankind, Master of the Cosmos[/i], come forth!” He then turned his gaze to the Emperor, at long last.

“Father. The work cannot end. If even [i]one[/i] mind in this room thinks such a thing, it is a failure, a betrayal of the most profound and abhorrent kind, and evidence of the necessity of our intervention. If none do, then there can be no rational objection to the practice.”

He then turned his gaze back to the assembled room. “Well?” He demanded. “Who here [i]dares[/i] to think light of their vows? Who here speaks, whose word means [i]nothing[/i]? Who here spoke lies to the pledge, whose heart is naught but insipid ashes to be swept away? If you have not the audacity to reveal yourselves, then let there be no more protestation, for the deliverance of the maimed and crippled must be carried out.”

The silence which met Augor’s display proved almost as deafening as his words and those of his sons. None of those present in the entourage of Sekhmetara stepped forwards, in fact, those few Tears of Dawn who stood in her company had joined the chorus, and their Primarch among them offered them no reproach. The Emperor himself did not act to interrupt, the seething din of his psychic might refraining from direct interaction with this, the plane of reality.

“The loyalty of your sons has never been in question.” The Emperor spoke with a softness which still carried across the room, the force of his personality rippling through the air like a surge through the storm, no matter the tone. With just as much care, the Emperor’s eyes settled on Nimue, before intoning, “Speak your piece.”

“Augor.” Nimue said, deadpan, unimpressed eyes only mildly conveying her annoyance at her brother’s long routine getting in her way.  “You are very quick to align whatever you say with The Emperor’s Will. I care not for your drivel, the Astartes of the Seventh Legion are mine, and only mine. It was ordained as such by The Emperor when he gave the then Iron Maidens to me, and I would do with them as I see fit. My Celestial Inheritors follow my will, and through my will The Emperor’s. By your man, Corneceus, doing his work, he rejects and desecrates the inviolability of my command over my Daughters. If I say them dying forwards The Emperor’s will, then so does The Emperor.”

“Your word is not that of the Emperor’s, sister. None of the Primarchs may speak as to his will beyond what he has dictated - that is something which I have repeated, adamantly, every wretched day of this Council since it started, seeming though as it now does that my words fell on deaf ears each and every single time.” Augor’s face twisted in displeasure. “Unless I hear otherwise from the One Who Stands Above All, there can be no [i]sane[/i] recourse but to reject your seditious will in this matter. Your Astartes, like all of us, are HIS Soldiers even before they are yours. Or have you forgotten the oath you have sworn, the glorious promise we all should strive to keep? I have already spoken as to the matter of the sovereignty of the Legions, but I did not speak then for your benefit or rebuttal. What I spoke then is objective reality, the state of things as they are and as they should be, and there is but one force in all of the universe that may decree otherwise.”

“I would speak.” With only a small pause for appearance’s sake, the Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion turned her attention to Augor, leaving Nimue to silently sneer at the unwanted aid. “We have witnessed the atrocities visited upon my Legion by those of the Ninth, brother. Are these horrors not still fresh within your mind?” She stood fully, gaze boring into him as she spoke. “Your Legion accepts no injury as [i]enough[/i], yes? No matter how grievous, your Corneceus and his ilk will salvage even naught but the brain of an Astartes and implant it into a body of metal. Tell me, brother - would you have done the same to my daughter, Anastasia? Do you mean to imply that?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation or reticence to be found in Augor’s countenance as he replied. He almost seemed to relish in the exultation the answer gave him. “Her theft from this world before she could be saved is a tragedy - and your so-called mercy nothing less or more than an execution.”

“Then you and your cult have forsaken yourselves and humanity.” She said simply, her expression darkening, staring at him with a growing revulsion and hatred. “What our sister Nelchitl did for her, that I could not bring myself to, was a kindness. She had gone through enough - more than enough. The Astartes are still human. And yet you would see them pushed to fight after horrors indescribable. You would visit upon those who have served loyally and selflessly a cruel, torturous fate to sate your own mad delusions. In your fanatical quest to serve mankind and its the master, you have forsaken it. Sarghaul and yourself, you are one and the same in this.” Her form was stiff as she spoke, and she wished nothing more than to strike out at him. “I see it clearly now. You disgust me, ‘brother’. You are little better tha-”

“Enough.” The commanding voice which cut across the din of the chamber was a new one, brought forth by one who had remained silent since the main session of the chamber had come to a close. The armoured form of Sekhmetara moved from among her own retinue to stand between the two hostile siblings, her movement appearing almost languid despite the speed with which she crossed the distance, her palms spread, hands low in a warning gesture to the pair. The air she had displaced billowed across the room, filled with the abrupt and sudden acrid tang of ozone, the space itself between her and Augor’s podium almost seeming to shimmer in a line that the Primarch of the Twentieth Legion had deftly intercepted. Augor had not moved, but his visage now seemed to radiate with an invisible, baleful intensity - which receded only as Sekhemetra continued to speak.

“Have we not all raged and ranted enough?” The strain of the long toil of the council fueled her words, the hurt of its conclusion, and her thinning patience, but it did not bleed into the melody of her tone, conciliatory yet assertive, even as a low hum filled the air from the blades of the Custodes activating in response to the unfolding scene.

“I brought this matter to father not to accuse anyone of treason, or worse, but that we might cut out another canker of disunity between us, and move forwards with one purpose in the glory of the Imperium, in Humanity.” The Mithran’s primarch’s eyes swept between both siblings, two individuals who she knew more in deed and name than in self. “Please.” She asked with an earnest, if not begging, tone.

“Well spoken, Pakhetera.” Malcador’s speech was ever wizened by the age of his appearance, practically wavering with the weight of years, but such was his way with things the notes still carried, hands clutched around the stave of his office. His use of the Mithran term for the Primarch of the Twentieth Legion earned a brief flicker of recognition from the Emperor and a warm smile from the Primarch herself. “We have sailed through the storm, let us rest in the calm before the next torrent overtakes us.” The words of the Regent were not as forceful as the Emperor's own, but still they came with psychic empathy, encouraging cooler words with more than just the content of his words.

The penumbra of calming energy thus almost seemed to rob the Twelfth Primarch of his capacity to speak, murder and zealous rage still wavering within body. Almost as though displacing the violent impulses roiling within his thoughts, Augor clenched tightly along the rims of his podium - predictably causing the edges to shatter to pieces in his grip. The innumerable splinters then tumbled to the ground, caught fire halfway through their descent, and arrived upon the floor in wafting layers of crackling ash. Another reign of silence was cast across the room in the wake of the abrupt, thunderous snapping of the wooden frame. Black, fractal static tracery burnt its way down the sides of his podium where his bionic hands had gone taut.

“Peace, brother.” Sekhmetara spoke softly to Augor, before her hands fell back to her sides, even as the Emperor gestured for the next to speak.

“Usriel Andreath, Primarch of the Steel Sentinels, Prefect of Vion 5,” began the first of the Nineteenth Legion, “It is under my opinion that while there is a clear violation of command, I disagree that this breach was in bad faith. As our duty is to the Emperor, we are to fight until we no longer cannot, if the life of an Astartes can be prolonged to continue this duty, then it shall be done. In the name of the Emperor, for the Imperium, and the Mechanicum, no life of our sons and daughters should be wasted if we can help it.”

The weight of her new title and command still sat uneasily upon Daena’s brow, the Warmaster’s uncertainty only heightened by the horrid circumstances under which she was elevated to the lofty post. Sekhmetara had the right to defuse the situation as the one who had gone to their father, but she wondered if she had already begun to undermine herself by not speaking sooner.

Now however the Angel would speak, the winged Primarch having put on neither airs nor pretenses after her elevation and instead addressing her siblings from the place in the chamber she had ever sat.

“An Astartes is an icon of mankind,” she began cautiously, attempting to place the room upon even footing. “Surely on this all agree. Exemplars of the human form, granted strength and will akin to the heroes of old, they are an inspiration to all. But not because of their strength alone. An army of battle automata with their silica wafers replaced by the brains of soldiers is not the army our Father made. Why is this?”

“The Astartes are to be the protectors of humanity.” Came the voice of the Sixteenth once again. 

“Do you see such an army anywhere, War Master? It does not exist. This practice is not some measure intended to produce Legions, it is nothing less than the salvation of the crippled and the maimed!” Augor barked out indignantly in the same moment as the Sixteenth Primarch spoke, their voices colliding and overlapping in the council halls, the booming echoes of both clashing across the high ceiling.

Eiohsa continued, ignoring her brother’s interjection. “Their duty, and our duty, is the defense and development of humanity! The Astartes are warriors! But they are humans, first and foremost! Born of humanity, and of human make and mind! They exist not to destroy and to war until the end of time, but to help ensure a prosperous future! They are not robots, mindless automata whose very purpose is nothing but war. They are Human. Beings.”

“If you are suggesting that those who have been [i]saved[/i] by my Apothecaries are [i]any[/i] less in stature, any less in their profound honor and exalted grace than any other Astartes, then you demean the very spirit of Humanity, the very essence of our will to survive, our sovereign mastery of will!” Augor carried on over Eiosha, his voice growing ever louder as he went.

Eiohsa’s voice grew in turn, amplified by a growing psychic echo that followed her word. “Saved them from [i]what[/i], [i]brother[/i]? Forced them into fighting on and on and on in a war with no end? They have pledged themselves to the defense and the uplifting of man, but they have not pledged their humanity to war.”

“They have pledged themselves to [i]The Emperor[/i], and if he demands that they fight, then they will fight! You forget your [i]VOWS,[/i] your [i]OATHS,[/i] your [i]PROMISES[/i], sister. Your words are nothing but errant wind!” Augor finally directed his eyeless sight to Eisha as both their voices climbed.

“They have pledged themselves to [i]The Emperor’s dreams[/i]. [i][b]WE[/b][/i] have pledged ourselves to the ideals and the dream of the Emperor and the Imperium! Not to a man! He has shown us, with his Truth and his example, that we are to build a future based on reason and principles, not follow in the footsteps of one man! No matter how great he may be, what is even greater is the idea of the Imperium, the principles of the Truth, and his Dream for us! I know the pledge I made to the Emperor, brother. But it seems you have forgotten yours.” 

“YOU-” Augor began, but abruptly feel silent, his head whipping down and to the side. There, standing by the edge of the Podium, drifted the comparatively diminutive form of the Archmagos, Mephitor, a single sinuous and slender Mechadendrite seeming to hover and waver emphatically in the air during the unheard, soundless exchange between him and the twelfth Primarch. The Archmagos drifted higher into the air, setting just below the height of the Twelfth Primarch himself, and spoke then in their voxcoded, synthesized speech, their words resonant with the haze of static.

“The Apothecaries of the Stargazers save Human lives where others would permit them to end, and the loss of Human life, of the life of an Astartes, is to be forestalled. Whether the intent of the individual or the group is to service the will of the Omnissiah or to furnish the manifestation of his glorious vision for mankind, they adhere to the oath of the Apothecary to inflict no harm upon their fellow man. To administer the so-called ‘Peace’ upon the grievously wounded is to kill one’s own kin, and is directly detrimental not only to the dignity and standing of the Emperor’s Astartes, but also sets back the efforts of the Great Crusade. Statistical data compiled from the legions shows that tens of thousands of marines between every legion are killed by their own Legions every standard cycle, in circumstances where their judgment and true desires are sufficiently impacted to make effective consent impossible.”

“Yes. YES!” Augor stated triumphantly as he roused back to the discussion of Mephitor’s words. “Which returns to my earlier statement! In the moment of anguish, the individual cannot give reliable consent to whether they wish to live or die, [i]but either way, it does not matter[/i]. If there are [i]ANY[/i] who would [i]WISH[/i] to [i]DIE[/i] rather than to continue to serve the Emperor, the Imperium, or the glorious vision they have sworn to uphold, then death is what they shall have, for they have forsaken their oaths, their very names, their very memory, and are traitors! To save them from death and betrayal can only be the most sacred of duties!”

Eiohsa stood, watching, her lip curled in distaste as a miasma of loathing rolled from her figure. “Empathy is one of the most crucial traits of humanity.” She said, weighing each word as it passed her lips. “It is what defines a monster in the skin of man from one of our own.” Her eyes bored into those of Augor and the Archmagos as she spoke. “It is what drives us to care for our own. To endanger ourselves in service of another. It is what drives us to create a better future for all humanity. The Astartes are human. The measure of one’s humanity is not a matter of flesh, but of mind and spirit. It i-”

“If your empathy drives you to slaughter your own Astartes and soldiers out of hand when they could be saved, then you possess no Empathy, for you are not Human. You are merely an animal. A rabid, insensate beast slavering and snapping at any sign of weakness to be savaged and devoured. You sicken me, you craven [i]Grox[/i].” Augor retorted, the smell of ozone starting to build in the surrounding air.

Eiohsa’s expression remained stony and cold, though hints of what lurked beneath forced their way through in the way her lip curled and her eye twitched. “There was a time not long past when I would have defended your practice before the Emperor and all our siblings wholeheartedly and without reservation. Unlike many, the Astartes of the Sixteenth have replaced flesh with machine in order to better fulfill their duties to humanity. I commend, and follow, the practice of enabling our sons and daughters to fight on, no matter what. Ultimately, there is no true difference between interment within the Sarcophagus of a dreadnought and the measures of the Stargazers - or indeed my own Legion. In this, there can be no dispute. Whether one’s mind is within a body of flesh and blood or of iron and ceramite is ultimately irrelevant. Yet they remain human. Human within a body of whatever material. Their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams, and their pain. My experiences upon the world of Carcinus have made me understand, as none of you can understand, when even the mind of an Astartes is ready for an end. There is nothing inhuman about a shell of armor and guns, for it is more than the mere husk that conveys humanity. But in forcing such a fate upon our most noble of soldiers when they have seen enough? When they have served long and well, and are at last ready for rest? There is no humanity.” 

She looked down upon him, filled with disgust. “You call me an animal, a ‘slavering beast’. Yet you have forsaken your humanity in your madness. You are little more than a depraved, cruel construct of dogma and fanaticism. You force such fates upon those who have served humanity with no care, for only mindless pursuit of your despicable ends will suffice. I name you worse than any beast, for a beast knows love, a beast knows family, and kindness. But you? You are nothing more than a cruel machine in the flesh of what was once a man. In the words of your despicable cult,” Her spear appeared in her outstretched hand and she struck it upon the marble floor, her voice thundering through the room. “I name you abominable intelligence!”

One moment was all it took. The strands of fate converged here and now, snapping into focus as soon as Eiosha had finished her denunciation. Fire and death filled Daena's vision, her gaze sweeping across the chamber. Looking through the eyes of the dead, she saw the doom that was to come. Mechadendrites dug into flesh, plasma discharges bored through ceramite, psychic might flayed minds bare. Scores died in the chaos of Eiosha and Augor's duel, each death forcing the Angel's perspective to yet another damned. They fought and fought and fought , Astartes slaying Astartes like she had seen in the worst of her nightmares, each blow only engendering yet more hate. The floor reeked of blood, gore and offal splattering across the chamber, marring her father's perfect face. Why didn't he do anything? Why didn't she do anything? They continued to sit watching as limbs were sawn off, the limbs cauterizing, heads scoured clean of their flesh leaving behind only bare skulls, the ground itself erupting to spear warrior and scribe alike.

Yet she did nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
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"[i]Enough![/i]" she cried, her voice laced with power and command that caused both mortal and Astartes to fall limp. "The [i]both[/i] of you shall hold your tongues, or I shall take them myself," she decreed, placing herself between both camps with one flutter of her wings. "You are Primarchs, instruments of His will, and you shall act like it in His presence," she continued, cold fury in her voice. She had watched for three days as her siblings had bickered among themselves, the best and the worst of them permitting themselves to be dragged down into petty squabble with enough furor behind them to burn worlds. No more. There was no room for a wallflower, especially one who bore the title of Warmaster.

"Put. Down. Your. Arms."

Daena’s imperative had been immaculately timed - she had reacted just as quickly as the mechanical rancor of the Stargazers. Even as the first words had been leaving her lips, the entirety of the Twelfth Legion’s party had been raising or otherwise charging their weapons - pausing just short of a perilously charge by Daena’s swift intervention. The Custodes themselves were tensed and on edge, having been a scant instant from dropping into combat postures themselves. 

Towering over the assembled warriors clad in Red and Ebon, the Twelfth Primarch loomed like a spider, four of his servo-arms having reared up to orient the ends of esoteric implements of war in Eiosha’s direction. Arrayed beneath him, Astartes hefted Omnissian Power Axes, audibly crackled with volatile energies, and the plethora of Tech-Priests surrounding them had produced, seemingly out of the folds of their robes or else thin air, an armory of heavy ordinance - all poised on the precipice of being unleashed.

Augor raised a bionic hand in a closed fist. “By your order...Warmaster.” His brow was drawn taut from some form of concentration or consternation, if not both. He was no longer scowling or grimacing - instead, his lips were drawn in a firm, hard line.

The very air seemed to sag and rustle with relief as a multitude of weapons were either lowered or secreted away once more. The air around Augor Astren shivered and wavered with barely contained heat. With a static pop, another section of the Primarch’s now heavily abused podium erupted into flame and then fell from the rest of the structure to clatter and break to pieces across the floor, scattering smoldering ashes and embers about.

“As you wish.” Said the Sixteenth, standing passively immobile from the moment she had spoken her piece, showing no sign of preparing for combat. The Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion stood at her side with weapons leveled at the Primarch of the Stargazers. Bolters, plasma, and all manner of meticulously reproduced archaeotech wonders leveled with cold precision. The very air around her crackled with immeasurable psychic might, the air charged with ozone. 

At a wordless command, the Astartes surrounding her lowered their weapons, returning to their position at attention, silently watching her and waiting for what she might instruct. Eiohsa simply stood, having not moved a muscle since she had spoken, her eyes focused on her target, hatred etched into every square centimeter of her expression.

“Primarch of the Sixteenth legion. You have offered me, my sons, and all those who follow me the most grievous and reckless offense possible using mere words alone.” Augor said, his voice low. “With the Omnissiah himself as my witness, I swear you and your daughters will suffer for this. You will be made to know the consequences of my contempt, and bear to my wrath, raw and unfettered. I shall do all of this and more, I promise, without violating the oaths I have sworn to our father. Your very world shall come unraveled about you, the cosmos shall behold this, and know that your upbraiding was preordained.” 

Eiohsa remained still, her expression immaculate and serene, reminiscent of the Warmaster herself. She gave no indication that she had heard the words of her brother, and if she had, showed no signs of concern over such.

“There was once a time.” She began, eyes staring into a past now long forgotten, “That I once believed myself to be created for a grand purpose. From the moment of my first true memory, sitting upon the shore of a burning lake, in a rotting husk of humanity’s former glory, I believed I was destined to help enlighten and uplift humanity. By the hand of the Emperor himself, I was brought into this world with a desire to create, to nurture, and to build a bright future.”

Her eyes turned down towards her brother, now, and she continued. “I now know differently. I was crafted as a tool. A weapon. A shield. A hammer. Whatever must be used to defend humanity from those who would prey upon it, and force it down a dark path I dare not speak of. Such is the duty of a Primarch. Such is the duty I take above all else. Against the worst of humanity’s foes I have fought, as have we all, and so this truth has been revealed to me. Whatever threats you levy against me, Primarch of the Twelfth Legion, I accept gladly. For it is my duty to stand in the path of such threats to humanity, and it is a duty I undertake gladly.” 

[I]”This is why she was chosen.”[/I] The thought came unbidden to Sekhmetara as she watched the display of imminent violence and swift cessation broiling through the chamber. Two of her siblings that Sekhmetara had failed to control, and the sight of perfection that was the most loved of her siblings brought to angelic fury in the face of it. Not simply her sibling now, Sekhmetara remembered, as if she could ever forget, her Warmaster. Still the psychic presence of her aura suffused the room, fighting the rage within them all to bring about calm, but there was only so much that could work against the Inferno, and what use had that been.

[I]”What a mockery their foolishness has made of you.”[/i] The unravelling judgement of her own mind resounded like spoken words to Sekhmetara as she studied the room with the silent rage she kept from her face. This room of demigods she had trusted to show some semblance of restraint in the presence of their genesire. “[I]Naive, flawed, Redundant.”[/I] Beneath the purse of her full lips, her teeth ground, startlingly perfect eyes, flecked with the gold of her power resting on Daena once more, [i]”And there, the thief who will prosper for it.”[/I] Sekhmetara drew a hand up to her features, sweeping back through her hair to correct an errant strand. The touch of her own fingers brought her back to reality. The maintenance of peace, the execution of duty, for the moment this was more important than whatever emotional turmoil she felt.

“My own concerns are matters of the sanctity of my Legion. My Daughters fight and die in glory for the Emperor. Should they fall in his name it is the duty of none other than their own sisters to ensure the fulfillment of their final duty.” The Mithran Primach’s attention settled on Augor, for the moment ignoring the waves of hostility that one without the psychic empathy of her mind could surely feel. “Your apothecaries may teach my own how to perform this duty, that we may also show our dedication to the Crusade entirely.” The ache in her soul did not subside, but perhaps that had been her failing. Her commitment was not total, her Legion reflected that. They could always give more. “The matter of our sister's retribution is not addressed, however. It is within her right to seek such.” Sekhmetara motioned to Nimue, having no particular words of note for the escalating conflict between the two loudest parties present beyond the ire of their failure to function within the parameters she had anticipated. As she finished speaking, Sekhmetara retook her seat, a goblet of wine immediately turning between her fingers, before taking a long gulp disguised artfully as an elegant sip.

“Honored sister, truthfully, were it merely a matter of disseminating the necessary knowledge, me and mine would be pleased to instruct your Apothecaries and leave it at that.” Augor replied, turning his face to Sekhemetra, his voice shifting almost smoothly from barely contained fury to calm and evenly paced. “I trust that, in light of the pledges you and your daughter have sworn, that you would make judicious use of such teachings. There are, however, practical concerns. Though I naturally do not doubt the capabilities of your apothecaries, the knowledge and expertise needed to conduct the procedures and operations performed by my apothecaries, all of whom are fully inducted in the rites and mysteries of the machine, is doubtlessly withheld from most of them. I also doubt you have a sufficient number of Techmarines to make up for that shortfall. I will, of course, honor the request regardless. You shall have the knowledge and be capable of disseminating it across your legion for their eventual independent use. But until such time as that can be assured, I am afraid, where possible and necessary, my apothecaries must continue to intervene. The havoc of battle does not always leave the time or opportunity for concession or permission, and when forced to make a choice in the heat of battle, my apothecaries will [i]always[/i] choose to save lives.”

Nimue, having remained silent following Eiohsa’s and Augor’s battle of ideals, was only now being noticed again by the two Primarchs who had almost entered in battle. Honestly, she was disappointed that The Warmaster intervened, because while Eiohsa trying to turn this confrontation into yet another tirade about empathy and all those things Eiohsa cared for annoyed Nimue to no end, at least the possibility of her being maimed would make up for it. Unfortunately, now they were merely back to where they started. 

‘I do not care for all this other talk of monsters, beasts and abominable intelligence,’ Nimue pondered to no one in particular.  ‘I simply seek justice and retribution for the defiling of what is mine by one of Augor’s men. I could not in the slightest care less for the justifications for or against his actions - quite simply, if I say he shall not touch my Marines, he shall not. I am quite sure that The Emperor, who is right before us, I might add, is more than willing to make the obvious choice of agreeing with me.’ She then gestured to said imperious figure, observing them all still.

‘It is really quite simple then. The Emperor speaks; The Twelfth Legion stops meddling in things they ought not; the Apothecary fellow preferably dies, and we all go on our merry way,” Nimue finished cheerfully. 

“Your reasoning is flawed, Nimue,” Usriel stated blankly, “Firstly, you state that the Emperor will agree with you and yet he has made no inclination otherwise, and until he makes such a motion you should not state what his ‘obvious’ decision would be. Secondly, you speak of your daughters as only being yours and yours alone as possessions, not people deserving to be saved to continue their work. While I adhere to each Legion’s rule under their Primarch, there are situations where it would be best to save those who need it. My sons would wish to continue serving throughout their years if they knew that they had the chance. Lastly, you prefer to see an Astartes dead for doing what he believed to be the best to do what all Apothecaries do, save the lives of other Astartes.”

Usriel’s red glare continued to passively look towards Nimue, no motion coming from him to dictate emotion otherwise. Then he spoke again, this time his inflection growing colder, “Think, how would you feel if I demanded the head of one of your daughters for doing her duty?”

Nimue ignored Usriel, in a deliberate manner that could only suggest irreverence. “Well, my Emperor? You should speak, else your Primarchs will certainly continue to make fools of themselves and try to kill each other over petty insults. Would you not say that simply resolving this matter cleanly is fitting? A quick, fine duel, that is all I ask.” Nimue spoke to the emperor - she was certainly becoming a master at ignoring her siblings.

Despite herself, Daena's brow twitched in annoyance as Nimue once again deigned to speak for their father, to push and prod at the Master of Mankind. The dignity of the Throne was being undermined in the chamber intended to glorify it, and she knew then and there why she was chosen for her role.

"The question is of duty, and of death. Nimue has decreed that her daughters have a duty beyond mere battle. Death is the end of duty. Does the end of duty therefore mean death? What is to be done to an Astartes who has been rendered incapable of carrying out their duty? These are questions for philosophers, for the Legions to consider under the guidance of their gene-sires. Perhaps there is a true answer, but it shall not be found while tempers run high and spirits are frayed. Only if we come together as siblings, rather than as rivals will it be known to us. But before that may occur, hate must be rooted out."

Daena's tone immediately shifted as her eyes met first Augor's sightless gaze and then Nimue's beatific perfection, the Warmaster risking much at the hope of peace. "The [i]affront[/i] is one of honor. A challenge has been made, and satisfaction demanded. Do you accept, Augor?"

Augor raised a hollow brow. “For the head of my Chief Apothecary? Their loss, even in the hypothetical, would prove incalculably fearsome to the prospects of many campaigns, current and future. Even were I to accept, I would appoint a second without risk to Corneceus himself - which I take my sister will not accept. The so-called afront is to have saved lives, the challenge does not demand I pay life, but to pay in honor, as the warmaster says. If neither of you suggest a reasonable alternative, sanity dictates I deny the challenge and accept the ignomy that entails.”

“Tch”. 

Nimue was not amused. The Emperor had said nothing, The Warmaster, Usriel, Eiohsa were all involving themselves… And Augor would continue to refuse the duel if The Emperor did not force it. 

“Then there is nothing that can be done.” Nimue said flatly. She would seek justice through… other means. With that said, Nimue turned and moved to storm out of the room.

“Enough.” The sound of the Emperor’s voice carried across the room, the ire of the proceeding Council and Trial still present in his words even as the pure psychic shock of his being set the air to trembling. “My children, you were not created to function on interpretations of my will alone, you each have purpose beyond this, than to debate what I did or did not, will or will not, say.” The Emperor’s stance upon the seat crafted for him was almost casual, as close to reclining as one might expect be possible for the Master of Mankind, but his attention was severe as he watched those assembled.

“It is true that I gave command and sovereignty to each of you, yet it is also true that this comes with the duty to serve the Imperium, unto death should the moment arrive.” The slow tone of the Emperor’s words gave an impression of a mind still in debate, although whether anyone could be convinced of such would be another matter. The Emperor rarely spoke without purpose or clarity. “The ability to prolong the lives of Legionaries beyond the damages of their mortal form has long been an aspect of their charge, of their vow. Any process that allows this to occur is a tool that should be in the arsenal of all legions, not one. The process shall be passed on to each Legion.” With the initial aspect of the ruling complete, the Emperor stood, the sweep of his cloak rising behind him as if stirred, falling down from golden plate of his armour. “The Stargazers have my blessing to maintain their current parameters for the full extent of a Terran year, as of this day, such that the benefit of their knowledge may be fully imparted to their fellow legions. After which, the practice of doing so shall be the duty of each legion, and no further interference or infringement of fellow legions shall be permitted.” As the words issued forth, they became law within the fabric of the Imperium, more binding than any lengthy debate of the Imperial Senate.

“Be that as it may, the duty of command for each Legion was invested upon one of you, and until the declaration of my Warmaster, no more than that.” The gradual hardening of the Emperor’s tone was not subtle, although it never reached the cascade of rage that had brought the matter of the Council to a close. “My will on this matter was not sought until now and I cannot deny that an ill has been done against the duties and privileges I have granted to you all.” The Emperor’s gaze fell fully upon Augor, in a manner that was both understanding, yet stern. The image of the father who understood, yet could not excuse. “Your Legion will answer the challenge of the Celestial Inheritors, and may the rite of combat decide upon which side justice will fall.”

“As the Emperor speaks, it shall be done.” Augor answered immediately. Rather than anything approaching either shame or remorse, his expression was nothing short of rapturous as he bowed low before the Emperor, before turning his gaze to Nimue.

“Nimue Arcadia, Primarch of His Emperor’s Seventh Astartes Legion, Enchantress of Engralia - by the decree of the Emperor of All Mankind, The One Who Stands Above All - I, Augor Astren, Primarch of His Emperor’s Twelfth Astartes Legion and Fabricator Intendant of Last Light, accept your demand for satisfaction. In accordance with Imperial Law, I invoke my right to dictate the time and place of our contest. It shall transpire five hours from now, in the grand plaza of the Council Hall of Nikaea. I further invoke my right to secondment and shall produce Skitarius Praetor Alpha Primus Andron Axaltus as combatant in the stead of Archmagos Apothecary Corneceus Sicanus.”

“How so… Augor, of you, dear brother”. Nimue replied. “If you want to hide your pet, so be it. I accept”. 

“So shall it be.” The words of the Emperor may have sounded dismissive from the lips of another being, but with the force of will behind them, they arose simply with the touch of finality. “The Captain-General shall preside over the matter.” The Emperor did not even look to Valdor as he spoke, instead his gaze fell upon the newly appointed Warmaster. “Daughter, we must speak of matters of the Crusade.” The casual summons, so easily given as the Emperor moved to leave the chamber held with them the fabric of destiny.

Every fiber of Daena’s being demanded that she follow as she was bid, the Primarch’s body taking a step on its own accord before she arrested herself with an iron will. “We must, Father, but your children still grieve. Insults have been done this day that time will not mend. Augor, Eiosha, I would speak with you both when my present business is concluded. Tend to your own Astartes, the both of you,” she said with a voice of command, only then letting herself be pulled along by the tide of fate the Emperor so effortlessly had stirred.

[b][...End Log.][/b]
[b][...Terminating.][/b]
[b][Imperial Thought for the Day: Stand strong in thy purpose, let no doubt cloud your mind, let your heart be of iron, and you shall never falter.][/b]