Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
Raw
coGM
Avatar of Antediluvixen

Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

Member Seen 29 days ago



The Council of Nikaea
After the Duel
Eiohsa’s private quarters, aboard the Ultima Ratio


The private quarters of the Sixteenth Primarch had changed substantially since last Kaldun had seen them. The tables and benches that filled its hall still lay covered in half-assembled machines and half-realized dreams, manuscripts and technical documentation, but they had been pushed aside rather haphazardly to make way for a bed - though the term was loose at best.

A veritable army of machinery hummed and whirred about the Sixteenth Primarch as she lay within her quarters, staring vacantly into the void above her. Dark thoughts raged within her, a black thunderstorm that roiled with the contained energy of the gods as it fought against her mind. She stared up with eyes unblighted by scars and the damage of her duel. Both hands had been attached to various diagnostic equipment that maintained a steady readout of all her vital information. What was most notable was what was not there. A conspicuous absence beneath the blankets that covered her form, wherein her left leg ought have been. She barely breathed, staring blankly ahead as her mind replayed, in perfect detail, the events of the duel. Over and over and over and over and over again. She felt her body begin to burn. She felt the hands that grabbed at her. They had been so real. She had even forgotten, for a time, who it was she fought - and why. A part of her longed to simply lie within this room until the end of time. To rot away and disappear into the shifting winds of the universe. Part of her wanted someone to come and end her now - a final mercy.

But none came, and her mind turned its formidable might inwards upon her as she stewed in isolation.

The doors to her chamber slammed open with a loud bang as Kaldun kicked them open and strode through, a barrel of ale in hand. “Sister! I have come to celebrate your glorious battle against our brother! Even though it may have ended in defeat, you put up a good fight and showed the world the might of the Sixteenth Legion!glorious battle against our brother! Even though it may have ended in defeat, you put up a victorious fight and showed the galaxy the might of the Sixteenth Legion! Not only that, you showed Augor that his ‘oath’,” here Kaldun made dismissive air quotes with his free hand, “would neither be easy to fufi nor would it be likely! While victory would have been preferred, I see no reason to mourn this defeat!”

He paused, looking at Eiohsa. “And yet, instead of being among your daughters singing songs of victory, I find you here mourning! Why?! There is no reason to do so!” He sat down next to her, cracking open the barrel of ale. “There is, however, a reason to drink!”

Eiohsa didn’t respond initially, staring listlessly at the ceiling. After a moment, she turned her head to face her brother, her eyes blank and focused on some point half past him in the distance. “Celebrate?” She asked, scarcely comprehending him. “What is there to celebrate? The madman will continue his mission to destroy me. He will bring harm to who knows how many. He will lay waste to all I hold dear, if he can.” Her words were hollow, as though she scarcely realized their meaning, reciting from some blank manuscript within her mind. “I will have been humiliated before the galaxy by his broadcast. I do not matter. But my legion? My people? My cause?” She shook her head, returning to her prone position on the bed. “Had I been at my peak, I would have destroyed him. And humanity would have been better for it.”

Kaldun turned his head, like a confused puppy. “A good fight is always worth celebrating! Even if Augor was foolish enough to break his word to the Warmaster, effectively breaking his word to our Father or Ominssah as he calls him, he isn’t stupid enough to think that destroying your empire would actually help the Imperium! And even if he is so stupid as to think that would do anything other than harm the Crusade, as soon as he tries he will be punished for not only treason but being an Oathbreaker! And then I will be able to fight him, and I won’t be as distracted as you were during the fight! I watched the recording with Usriel! You lost focus several times, though given your empathy and recent events it was not unexpected!”

He shook his head, sloshing his ale as he gestured to emphasize his point. “If you had killed him, you would have been a traitor! Killing your family in a duel would have turned the whole of the Imperium against you, and may I remind you that you already have a good chunk of the Imperium against you in our other siblings and their legions! No, even if you would have handily crushed him without other issues bothering you, no deaths was the best outcome of the duel! It ensured a final end, and a way to protect you should he not see that end!”

“He will pursue it regardless, Kaldun. He is a mad dog, convinced of his own absolute dogma without exception. Those who challenge it must be purged, in his eye.” A single tear ran down her cheek. “And now I have brought ruin and death to my people. To what extent, I do not know.”

“But… I… I would not have killed him. Just as he would not have killed me.” She murmured, “I would have, however, humbled him before the Imperium and his cult, and shown humanity the power of truth.” She looked up to him. “Do you know what I saw when I fought him, brother? You saw my distractions, as did all who observed. But do you know what it was that distracted me during that fight?”

“Eiohsa, either you would have killed him, or nothing would have changed! If you had spared him he would have just claimed that your witch powers, powers he possesses no less, overcame him and he is still in the right and blah blah blah, you know how he gets! You can’t humble those fanatics! You can only end them! Augor is, so far, a loyal servant to our father and the Imperium at large! Even if he is a fanatic. Killing him is the only way to stop his kind and you could not kill him! This was a duel you were set up to lose!” He shook his head, finishing his ale and refilling it from the barrel. “My best guess was thoughts of revenge on Sarghaul or grief over your daughter, but I did not truly know, no!” He snorted and laughed to himself at the accidental wordplay.

“I saw you.” She murmured. “I saw you. And Daena. And Wolfram. And all of the others. And the Emperor.” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “I… I had failed. All of you were judging me. Sentencing me to death. I had forgotten I was even fighting Augor. I was sentenced to die by the nameless, faceless monster I fought.” She coughed, pushing herself upright as she looked her brother in the eye. “I relived the destruction of Arretius - the first world destroyed by my hand. I felt the heat. I felt their betrayal. Fresher than it has ever been. You do not understand, brother. The very earth itself warred against me, I could swear it.” Even to Kaldun, she could not bring herself to reveal the full truth. The skeletal hands that gripped her flesh and tore bloody chunks of her body from her, trying to drag her into the ground. The hungry malice of the earth as it tried to consume her whole in rage against its creator - she who had failed humanity. Daena standing over her, ready to end her on the Emperor’s words. “It was horrible.

Kaldun waved a dismissive hand, ale sloshing over once more. “Stress visions! Some of my Golden Legionnaires get them from time to time! With your unrelenting empathy, combined with the horrors that you had witnessed before here, combined with the stress of the council meetings with father, and combined with the duel against your own brother it was all too much! Even for a primarch! Your mind needed release! It found them in relieving horrible memories and creating horrible new visions to torment yourself with! Nothing more, nothing less! Of course they were horrible, they were designed by your own mind against you! Your own worst enemy is yourself, as the saying goes!” He offered her a mug. “Here, drink! It’ll help you feel better!”

“I…” She trailed off. “If your Auxilia are afflicted by similar visions, brother, I implore you not to brush it off as mere stress. Even if it is brought on only by mental trauma, the extent of such cannot be brushed aside as harmless. For their sake, and if not them, for me - look into it?” She tried to force a smile, but was unable to. Dead, emotionless, dispassionate eyes looked up at him, the color seeming to have drained from them. “I am sorry, brother. I do not think it a good idea for me to drink now.”

“They are not visions, I assure you! Even the ones that are seen by our mortal Psykers rarely come to pass, and the ones that do are so broad as they would have been more impressive not to pass! Things like ‘You will die in a hail of laser fire tomorrow!’ When they were the ones blessed with the glory of leading the charge to break through defenses! Or, ‘your mother will die soon!’ When she was already on death's door for months!’” He waved a dismissive hand. “Stress hallucinations! Stress hallucinations! They get a few weeks to months of rest and then they are ready to go back onto the field! You will too, after you rest!” He shrugged and finished the offered mug himself before putting it next to him. “And you have to make sure that you are rested mentally as well as physically! Going into battle like you are, uncertain and stunned, will help no one at all!” He sloshed his ale again, empathetically. “You lost today, that is true! But you won’t lose the next battle! Even if Augor is foolish enough to continue his vendetta, you will be prepared this time! Unless you let this miasma cloud your mind and sight! Do not let this loss erase the victories you achieved from your mind! You have brought the Emperor’s gaze upon Sarghual and his abominations! Their crimes will be revealed and justice brought upon them! By us if we are lucky! You helped prevent the Edict of Tolerance from being removed, a move that surely would have weakened the Imperium! These are all great victories that should be remembered, not forgotten!”

“Assuming I live that long.” She muttered, turning away from him. “I can scarcely recall what was and was not real of that duel, brother. It… it was so real. I felt it. My skin being torn to shreds in their hands I-” she stopped herself, drawing breath. “I was sentenced to death. How am I to know that such will not come soon? Will my final acts be nothing more than sowing more discord within the Imperium than any other before me? I defy the Emperor daily - and I am unable to change. My days are numbered, and I fear that that number is a small one. I was hoping that… I was hoping it would not be until we had finished the crusade. That I could at least do what I was made to do. But if I cannot even do that… what use has the Emperor for a broken tool? And who will do the deed? Nelchitl? It’s selfish - but I don’t want my last moments to be hearing her laughter as she sets off to burn my people.”

“Nonsense!” Kaldun declared, refilling his mug. “You met the Emperor before this duel, yes? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think he told you anything of the sort! Our father is many things, but he is not hesitant and he is not one to beat around the bush! If your death was to be ordered, he would have ordered it while you were away from your strength! He would have ordered it while you were surrounded by those who wanted to kill you anyway and the rest would be loyal enough to accept his order! Then he would tell some lie to your Legion, get them to break down into manageable groups, and have them all massacred!” He paused, drinking from his mug. “Or at least that’s what I would have done!” He said with a shrug. “Point is, if our father wanted you dead the best time would have been right as you stormed in with evidence of Sarghaul’s crimes! You were emotional, distracted, and you have your entire legion here with you! The other legions together would be able to put a perfect ambush to deal with you!”

“But he did not order that, did he? No! What happened when you spoke to our father? Did he scold you, threaten unimaginable punishments for your transgressions, swear upon a false god that he will bring vengeance upon you and your daughters?” He snorted, drinking from his mug again. “I doubt it!”

Eiohsa remained motionless for a time, long enough almost for her brother to believe she might not have heard him, lost in her own mind. But she looked up to him, the normal light blue of her eyes having given way to the same gold they had taken on during the duel. “I… I did. Yes.” She murmured, “I… I asked him if he was going to, even. I told him… that I was tired. That I was ready. That if there was no place for me in the Imperium of the future, to spare me fighting for a utopia I would never see.”

Her gaze dropped from his, looking to the far wall as she stared into space. “He told me that… some day I would build cities and wondrous things for him. That I would some day make reality the dreams cultivated in my mind by his hand. But… how do I know it is not a lie? I did not think it so, then. But now?” She felt empty, dead. Deep within her, a tiny spark struggled against the darkness, a spark she dared not hope could blossom again. “He yet has use for me. I know this. I am a useful tool of his. How many other Legions can do what we do? How many others will follow his orders no matter how many of us die? How many will shun honor and glory to die, forgotten, in the mud and shit and blood of the trenches on some far-flung reach? I, and my Legion, are favored tools. Kaldun. That- that’s what I have come to believe. That is what has allowed me to continue on as I have. And I fear I have finally broken. Or that I am near it. What can be done with a broken tool but to discard it? And yet…” she looked up at him again, some miniscule spark returning to her eyes. “You think… not?”

“Of course not! Even if you are broken, do you just throw away such a valuable tool? No! You broke my mortal father’s spear when we first met! Did you throw away the broken pieces? No! You rebuilt them to be stronger and more efficient! So it should be with you! You believe you are broken! Fine! Rebuild yourself to something stronger!” Kaldun sloshed his mug around to enunciate his point, spilling more baalrosi golden ale.

“That is what you need! To rebuild yourself with control over your powers and prepare your daughters for the coming crusade! We have more galaxies to bring under heel, and justice to bring to the Lurkers!”

Kaldun nodded, pleased with himself. “Yes! That is a good plan!”

Eiohsa coughed. She pushed herself up from the mattress. “You are right, I suppose.” She murmured silently, after another uncomfortable silence had elapsed. She didn’t look at him - not at first - but the golden light emanating from her eyes intensified almost imperceptibly. “I am shattered. Broken. Torn into a million pieces and scattered to the winds. A million chips and cracks have worn me down over time - and the events of the past days have finally broken me.” She sighed. “I don’t know if there’s a fire hot enough, but I will try to find it. If I do not… who will?”

“I will, of course! I was right that you need to reforge yourself, and if you cannot find a fire hot enough to reforge yourself, I’ll find it for you! The Golden Conqueror does not fail!” Kaldun declared, sloshing more of his mug before draining it with an air of finality.

She looked to Kaldun, forcing a hint of a smile with enormous effort. “I’ll take a mug of that, if you’re still willing.”

“Of course, I brought two mugs for a reason!” Kaldun laughed, filling the other mug and thrusting it into Eiohsa’s hands with gusto.. As he did so Eiohsa’s ale soaked instruments finally had enough, letting out a piercing alarm as the Baalrosi golden ale seemed to have damaged something important.

“Hm! Your machine spirits are angry sister!”

Eiohsa forced a small laugh. “They are, it seems, yes.” She said, choking down the bitter drink. “The Yudsvashnika insisted on their use - though they told me themselves they know not what to make of my insides.” She forced another laugh, slightly more genuine. “One of them made the comment that I must have gotten too ambitious in my early years and rearranged too many things. Cheeky little thing. I like her.” She sighed. “Thank you for visiting. You have certainly given me much to thi-”

The door crashed open as a bevy of unarmored Astartes forced their way into the room, followed by a dozen more in full armor, and armed to the teeth. “My Primarch! Are y-”

The group stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the laughing form of Kaldun. Some seemed paralyzed with indecision, but one of them, young and filled with energy, marched forward. “Out!” She insisted to Kaldun, furious, “Out with you! Get the… get the booze out of here! That’s for the dining hall, not for, oh Nitya will be furious. Out! She needs time to recover and you are not helping at all! Out! Shoo!” She seized Kaldun’s hand and pulled - though even the form of an Astartes stood no chance of budging the Primarch. The others stared, mortified, those without helmets looking between the three figures in uncertainty.

Eiohsa laughed out loud, genuinely now. “I think you’d best do as she says, brother. I fear for your safety if not. I will be fine. Go, and I wish you luck with whatever it is Father has assigned you.”

She smiled as the protesting Astartes pulled her brother from the room, making mental note to commend her bravery, and remind her of some proper manners. The mug of ale had been taken from her hand with an insistent and disapproving frown, but she could not bring herself to resist. The machinery did little, but it comforted them to think they could in some way help while she recovered - and who was she to take that from them?

Silence descended on the room once more, broken only by the hum of the remaining machinery, and she drifted back to sleep. Soon they would leave for Obscurus.


[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Rejoice, oh brave warrior, for thy triumph may only be at hand borne on the back of true camaraderie.]

Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by grimely
Raw
Avatar of grimely

grimely

Member Seen 2 mos ago

After the Council

Aboard the Redemption the newly christened Warmaster worked and brooded and watched as her flagship was transformed to take part in a glorious new era of the Crusade that may never come to pass. The War Council was now hers, the great administrative cohorts that had followed in the wake of her Father’s court now decamping for her own. Thousands of souls and tonnes of documents were transferred, dark holds cleared and state rooms readied so that the already creaking edifice of Imperial bureaucracy could be installed aboard her Gloriana.

Her attention was consumed almost utterly by this effort. But only almost. Among the countless demands of her position, some attention remained for her most beloved of siblings. To see that the Primarchs had already begun to meet and whisper behind her back was of no great surprise, but to see it of Nelchitl stung greater than she had imagined. Her sister was great in her heart, though if pressed she would admit that the Emerald Priestess was only second, and the realization filled it with grief. She was invited aboard the following day, a summons that Daena hoped would be accepted due to her love for her sister rather than her obedience to her Warmaster. At this point she would take either.

No great party welcomed Nelchitl aboard when she arrived, no grand display of banners or massed arrays of martial glories. The Primarch herself did not greet her. Instead, awaiting the demigod were a mere sixteen Astartes. Two ranks of Terminators, seven each, their helms newly ornamented with silver blindfolds. The symbol their gene-mother had augmented her daughters’ panopoly with upon her elevation was meant to symbolize the blind dispensation of Imperial Justice she sought to provide within her office - that each Doomsayer was Justice - but it had immediately taken a darker meaning to her detractors.

Though she expected no great display upon her arrival, Nelchitl was surprised at what awaited her. She studied the blindfolded forms of the terminators but offered no words as she stepped off of her Stormbird, leaving all but two Terminator clad Serpents of her retinue aboard the craft to much protest from the rest which was quietly silenced with a single wave of her hand.

Beyond the fourteen stood the familiar form of the Praetor Primus, Asha io Qaphsiel, shining spear in hand, and the less familiar form of the Equerry, Yeketerina Ascania, for once not wearing her gene-mother’s death mask. Together, the pair represented the last Terran Marines inducted before Daena was discovered, and the first taken from Irkalla. Both pounded a martial salute to the Primarch, and though the Equerry technically spoke with the Warmaster’s voice it was Asha who greeted the Emerald Priestess.

“It is good to see you once more, my lady,” the young Astartes said, maintaining eye contact with the Primarch. The pair of them had been forged in the fires of Praxia, and she knew well that the divinity cared nothing for meekness before her. “Our mother awaits you in the camera arcanum,” she said, and as one all sixteen Doomsayers turned upon their heels.

“Then let her wait no longer.” Nelchitl answered Asha as she allowed herself to be led away by the retinue.

Despite the flurry of activity within and without the ship, the entourage saw no one cross their path as they traversed the massive vessel’s corridors towards the Strategium nestled deep within its heart. The Doomsayers seemed tense, the Equerry most of all. Closest and most attuned to their gene-mother’s moods, she did not once speak upon the long march, her lips tersely pressed into a thin line. Even the armored forms of the Terminators seemed on edge, as if expecting a firefight to erupt within the halls of the Gloriana. Each bore the Raptor Imperialis upon their knee, but controlled the massive suits with little of the grace expected of such veterans.

Asha attempted to defuse the mood with what she could, but as they finally approached their destination even she eventually fell silent. A massive adamantium door stood before them, decorated with a life-sized mural of Daena pledging her fealty to the Emperor. It opened to reveal the Strategium’s antechamber, the room filled with the mighty of the Legion and its auxiliaries, the assembled women and handful of men looking at Nelchitl with mixtures of relief and awe, those who had not already fought at her side immediately kneeling in the presence of the Primarch.

The Terminators remained outside, lining the wall, as the door closed behind Nelchitl and her entourage. Asha again spoke for the Legion, bowing her head to the Primarch as she did. “Only you are to enter. She wishes to see her sister, and her sister alone.”

A smaller, though still transhuman sized, door opened as Nelchitl approached, bringing her at last into the camera itself. Daena sat enthroned, but unarmored, choosing instead to wear the void black gown studded with diamonds that shone like stars. With the lumens in the chamber disabled and the only light provided by a stuttering hololith of Praxia below, she seemed to be nothing more than a head and a pair of wings, suspended above a column of starlight. The door closed, and silence hung between them for a time, until at last she spoke.

"You doubt me. You see it now, as plain as I have all these years, and you worry that I am not ready for this task. Perhaps you are correct to doubt. Perhaps if Sekhmetara had been chosen instead. Perhaps," she muttered, her voice and face flat not from control but exhaustion. ”Have I failed him so soon?” she wondered aloud, eyes closed.

Nelchitl had studied her sister once she had finally been ushered into the private confines of the arcanum. But only upon hearing her sister's voice did she realize what she had wrought in meeting with her brother. A piece of her felt vindication as she saw her doubts echoed in her sister’s perfect features, and yet the rest of her ached. Ached at the sight of Daena so dejected, and though her face betrayed little of her mood, Nelchitl could feel the same doubt she held in her own sister echoed by the Angel.

“I doubt much Daena,” she began as she moved to stand perpendicular to the hololith of the slowly spinning Praxia, “You know this. I am but a child on Hi-- your grand stage. I play at war and chase glory and honors while the rest of you have honor rolls beyond tally to fill the shelves of the most exalted libraries in His domain.” she admitted plainly as leaned her armored form on the hololith display.

“I doubt much.” she repeated, “But this… This duel, this infighting, it sits greater than my simple doubt.” she turned to regard her sister, taking her gaze away from Praxia for the first time since she began talking, “But you already know this.” she stated plainly.

“I have seen it,” Daena replied just as plainly. Though she expected to be overwhelmed at the sensation of finally sharing over a century of grief shared with someone who believed, she found herself numb. “I have seen so many ends for all of us, my sister. You know I have. You doubted them just as you now doubt me. This hate, this jealousy, it eats at the very fabric of our Father’s will. But it is too deep, Nelchitl, too deep to be smoothed over by soft words and coddling diplomats!” she continued, a fire finally coming into her body and voice as she remembered all that she had foreseen.

“It must be bled, lest it fester. Our siblings must know that my judgement is fair, but final. That as they bicker and squabble, they shall always have a final recourse before Legion need fall upon Legion in the name of their sire’s honor. That is what must never occur. I would have lanced Eiosha in the gut myself if I thought it would prevent such a fate.” Her fire kindled, her blank eyes opened to stare into Nelchitl’s own, the Warmaster filled with conviction anew. “Hatred grows when it remains hidden in the hearts of men. It must be wrenched out early, so that it may die stillborn. But perhaps I was too late. Perhaps he was too late. Perhaps all that I have seen shall be, and our days will be those of fire and blood.”

Nelchitl nodded her head in slow agreement as her sister spoke, sorrow filling her dark eyes as she listened to her Warmaster.

“Of this I agree that to excise such hatred is necessary… But Daena… In what world was what happened okay? In what universe could such have been allowed by Father? And recorded for all? The pictfeeds and holovids run rampant across the fleets, maybe even the entire Crusade soon.” she paused as she allowed herself a laugh devoid of humor.

“I admit I am the first to reach for a weapon when it comes to disputes but… This was too far, and at your hand, at your order some may even whisper.” she shook her head and brought a hand to her hair as she fiddled before the Warmaster, before her sister.

“I am afraid Daena, I hate to admit such,” she smiled meekly, “‘The Emerald Priestess fears nothing’” she pantomimed, “But I fear what has been set here, what may come of this.” she straightened from the hololith and her eyes seemed to fill fully with sorrow, “Tell me I’m wrong Daena.” she pleaded with her sister, glad that for once she was truly alone with a sibling.

“It was a question of when and where and who,” Daena said in a tired voice, slumping upon her throne. “Not if. Eiosha acted more rashly than any of us should ever do, and were she any other Augor would have been within his rights to cut her down where she stood. But she is not any other, and her death would’ve provoked the greatest of bloodletting. And you know our brother. He would’ve plotted and schemed and his designs would grow more hideous with each day.”

Her eyes closed again as she considered her sister’s plea, but she could not bring herself to give the answer Nelchitl desired. “I cannot, sister. I cannot tell you that you are wrong to fear when I myself am afraid. If Augor accepts my judgement, and Eiosha her punishment, and part with that understanding, then we will have avoided this doom. But I cannot tell you to lay so much trust upon a mere if.”

“I simply saw no better option left to me,” she admitted, voice finally turning bitter.

Nelchitl’s pleading features turned sour as Daena finished, her gaze casting away from her sister as she scoffed.

“No better way than to allow Augor with weapons meant to fell armies? To allow Eiohsa her magicks? Could you not have forced the weapons? The rules? The means?”

Her accusing gaze came back to her sister as her armored hand gripped the hololith table hard enough to crumple the metal, “You are Warmaster Daena! You are the voice of Father!” she yelled as her anger grew, a hint of jealousy evident as she did, “Yet here you fell to the whims of two of his more errant of children…” she trailed off, a flash of guilt marring her features as she released the table.

“I’m sorry.” she stated softly, though the fire in her chest demanded far more from her.

“Nelchitl,” Daena whispered, finally rising from her throne to rest a hand upon her sister’s shoulder. “You need never apologize to me for speaking the truth of your heart. Such honesty is why you are beloved of Sekhmetara and myself,” she assured her, free hand placing the Emerald Priestess’ armored own back upon the crushed table with a soft smile.

Keeping her gaze away from Daena as she approached, she allowed her sister to do as she wanted as she silently waited for her to retreat back to her throne.

“You are right,” she said sadly, her gaze fixed on the now flickering display of Praxia. “I could have done all of these things and more, but it would not have sufficed. Augor would not consider his damned oath satisfied if I had. He would have tried again, and again, and again, working always within the letter of his vows in order to undermine its spirit. His convictions, the certainty that he follows aspects of Father’s will that have been left unstated? Excuses to do as he truly wishes.”

“Yet I see those same convictions as what keeps him predictable… It was clear he would take this too far, for the Martian Priesthood’s ways called for it, demanded it even.” she shook her head and turned her eyes back to the flickering hololith.

“Do you think I'm the same as him? Do you think my convictions give me the excuses I need?” she asked quietly as she watched Praxia turn, “I don’t.” she added with a weak smile, “But I don’t think Augor does either. Only the insane fail to see the insanity in their actions.” she felt horror at the idea that she might be equated to Augor, to his twisted Priesthood and his strange rights. But the fear stuck, the idea that perhaps she too may be perceived as misled in her belief cutting deep as she awaited judgement.

Daena looked at Nelchitl with honest confusion upon her face, turning to look her in the eyes. “Of course I don’t. You serve our Father. The Crusade. Mankind. Augor serves the Mechanicum at best, and his own interests at worst. What could possibly make you think that the two of you are the same?”

Nelchitl hesitated at Daena’s confusion. For a moment, she felt guilt, that she had assumed her sister knew. That she was aware of her own beliefs, like her dear sister Sekhmetara, or her newfound kinship in her brother Wode. But she was wrong. Daena didn’t know, she was not aware of the faith that burned inside of the Emerald Priestess. Of her devotion to their Father on a level far more intense than simple adoration or respect.

Nelchitl stepped away, her face turning to stare at anything else in the small confines of the arcanum but the Angel before her as she realized her misstep. Daena was one of her Father’s most trusted. She held the Truth above all. Abhorred the faithful, burned the holy works of more worlds than Nelchitl cared to count, and would see the death of many more. The Angel was godless.

“Doubt is all.” she answered briskly, unable to even look toward her sister. “But that is unimportant,” she lied.

“Doubt plagues both of us it seems,” Daena whispered, accepting her sister’s words for fact. Perhaps she believed them in truth. Perhaps she simply did not wish to confront the truth. Perhaps. “I had hoped Sekhmetara might alleviate such, but she has been busier than I had hoped,” she half admitted. In truth, she had wanted her sister to invite her aboard, and the lack of notice was beginning to gnaw at her own mind just as much as the spat between Augor and Eiosha. “She has a way of calming things.”

Nelchitl couldn’t help but laugh at Daena’s words, more at the irony of the situation the Angel found herself in rather than in the woman herself. Here the Angel sought solace and peace in the guidance of Sekhmetara, the very same Sekhmetara that had just recently been destroying one of Nelchitl’s staterooms aboard the Solstice’s End in an attempt to find her own solace in Angels’ ascension.

“You and her both, sister.” she answered quietly, “Sekhmetara is… torn at your rise. She cares for you dearly of course, but she fears for you all the same.” Nelchitl offered a smile while a flash of violence ran across her eyes as she recalled the recent bout she had shared with the Huntress.

“We wrecked a room aboard the End together. Her for you. Me for… well that damned Tartarean brother of ours.” she offered as she diligently studied the riveting in the deck.

Daena winced at the news, her wings closing about her form to create a protective cloak, as if her sister’s fears were a knife. In a sense, they were, the newly christened Warmaster faltering as she joined her sister in examining the construction of the deckplate. “She would have thought of a better solution,” the Angel whispered, voice tinged with self-loathing and doubt. “Sekhmetara would’ve hidden her disdain and stopped herself from treating our brother like a rabid dog. He is so much worse, only now do I see this,” she continued, her own hands now resting on the damaged holo table.

“Nelchitl,” she said after a long pause, now in a louder voice, tinged with the sharp edge of command. “Is there any order from me you would refuse?”

Nelchitl shifted uncomfortably where she stood, her unease at the entire situation unfolding at her feet evident as she squirmed without end. “Our dearest sister would have thought of a different solution, I can not say it would have been better. I do not have your gifts of prescience afterall.” Nelchitl spoke, her words sounding far more confident than her demeanor betrayed.

With a shift Nelchitl brought her gaze up, her attitude instantly changed as a far simpler question than anything asked so far was posed for her.

“None.” she replied with a surety of mind so clear that the air about the room seemed to shift from its gloom just as quickly as the Emerald Priestess’s mood. “You are Warmaster. You are his hand in these dark stars. His will is in action with your every step.” She rushed forward to Daena, her hands slipping past the slumped forms of the Angel’s wings and coming to firmly grasp her sister's arms in her hands, “Your every order his creed.” she was speaking with the burning fire in her chest now as she tore one of her hands away from her sister's arm to cup her chin gently. Lifting the Angel’s gaze tenderly up from the deckplate, the Emerald Priestess brought the Angel’s cold eyes to her own burning orbs of faith.

“To deny you would be to deny Him, and that is something I could never live with.” she smiled at her sister, now so close, love that only a true sibling could provide bleeding from her every motion as she spoke, “I could never deny you Daena. My darling sister, my Warmaster.”

A satisfied smile blossomed on Daena’s face in return, but it did not reach her eyes. She brought her own hand up to gently stroke the one Nelchitl was cupping her chin with, her other coming to rest on the Emerald Priestess’s shoulder. “Oh my sister, the truest instrument of his will. You alone were meant for this charge. I see His wisdom now, clearer than even before.”

The Warmaster’s demeanor had changed in turn, the Angel standing taller and prouder than before, her wings raised over the both of them as they held one another. But there was as much threat as tenderness in that embrace, Daena’s mind upon the morbid necessities of their Father’s will. “There may come a time, Nelchitl, when I will require this hand. You will not hesitate, I know,” she said, drawing her sister’s hand off of her chin as she did before pressing a single kiss against it.

“His red right hand,” Daena whispered, voice potent with prophecy.

Nelchitl allowed herself to be moved by her Warmaster, the divinations of the Angel before her ringing like scripture in her mind as she listened. Even without her sister’s gift of prescience she could see the fate awaiting them now as clearly as she imagined her sister saw the strands of the future stretching out before her. She could practically taste victory on her lips as she hung on the Angel’s every word, she could see the triumph of humanity stretch before her as she stood at her Angel’s side before the most flawless being to grace all of time and space. She smiled, an animalistic thing, the promise of violence and savagery stretching across her features as she did.

“By your command Daena, always.” she whispered back to her sister.

“Stay with me for a time, oh sister mine,” Daena murmured while pressing her face against Nelchitl’s neck. “Oh murderer mine,” she added, in a voice so faint even a Primarch had to strain to hear it.
1x Like Like
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Ezekiel
Raw
coGM
Avatar of Ezekiel

Ezekiel

Member Seen 5 days ago

-Placeholder-
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
Raw
coGM
Avatar of Antediluvixen

Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

Member Seen 29 days ago



Port Daenaria - Nikaea Satellite Orbit

Perhaps the decree of the Emperor least important to the grander scale of matters discussed at the Council was to not put the terraforming of the Council-World to waste. As the Primachs and their legions prepared to leave the system, the explorator fleets of the Mechanicum remained to continue their duty of bringing the nascent world into line with general human habitation limits. Sekhmetara expected they would go beyond more than the barest necessity, such as to better make a statement of this world which already held its place in the annals of human history. The port was a symptom of that, a star port for a world which would not hold significant stellar traffic for some time. It was most likely that when the first wave of civil servants arrived, those who would administer the realm in the Emperor’s name, they would serve from the construct for some time, held on high above the early colonists actually breaking ground on the world below. A distasteful memory scoured across the Mithran Primach’s mind. That was how the foul cults of her homeworld had ruled, cults so similar to those she had found among their supposed allies on Praxia. She had burned them all the same, and should the same take root elsewhere she had but one fate to bring down upon them.

When she had arranged for the meeting to be called before the events of the final days of the council, between those Primachs willing and able to deploy immediately to face the growing crisis of rebellion and invasion in the Galactic North, she had expected to chair the proceedings, her Legion no doubt having the greatest intelligence and investment in the ongoing conflict. But now Daena was warmaster, the orbital upon which they stood named in honour of her elevation. Even if she had been willing to risk whatever sanctions ignoring such a declaration would cause, she would not wish to undermine her sister so soon after the Emperor’s will was made clear, no matter her distaste at being passed over. Her conflict was not with her sister. She pictured Daena’s features in her mind’s eye, overcoming the distressing images of pain and suffering which her memories of the Empire of the Scale had brought forth. The joy across her sister’s often troubled features as they had celebrated among the greatest lords of the Imperium but a few nights before. She was Sekhmetara, she could survive a slight.

She strode back from her view of the world itself. Not a warship, the great port had the luxury of true observation glass spanning one wall and the ceiling of the meeting hall, the lights of the stars joining the lumens in keeping the chamber lit. Only the Tears of Dawn were present for now, Sekhmetara departing the world below with something approaching undue haste. They had made this new locale their home for the time being, an honor guard of the Legion’s finest awaiting the arrival of the others to be presented to this chamber, delicacies of their homeworld arrayed alongside the strategic terminals that provided the dedicated material of the meeting upon the central dias. The primach herself paused to lift a handful of banku from a bowl, dipping the spiced corn-dough into a blaringly hot chilli paste to then consume, unusually the pristine primach allowing the trace of the paste to remain on her lips, savouring the homely burn for a few moments longer before correcting her appearance once more with the sweep of her tongue. She had brought her favoured cooks with her when she had left Mithra most recently, but still, her planned return home was always a moment of joy, not least for being able to taste the cuisine of her people once more. It was never quite the same when brought to life aboard the artificial homes of the Legions.

“Mother always warned me against too much of that.” Isabis’ words were honeyed as she recalled their childhood. All three of the siblings were present in the chamber, lounging where in likely a number of minutes demigods would plan the tides of stellar war. While Sekhmetara herself was arrayed in her warplate and Kvasi the ceremonial military attire of the Mithran Knights, Isabis’s status as a remembrancer was shown in the simple robes of an Administratum adept, cut with a little additional flair. “Although I suppose concerns about you fitting into the family robes were made a little moot once you eclipsed eight feet.” The siblings’ tone had been delicate around their adopted divine sibling since the events of the council, and it refreshed all of them to fall back into the warmth of familiarity.

“You think that is why Mother wouldn’t refuse Sekhmetara Khafre seconds? I am sure it is more down to the child's temper only matching her appetite.” Kvasi grinned as he threw and caught the handle of one of the serving knives, perched as he was on the back of one of the grand assembly seats.

“If you had not noticed brother, the blessed children of the Emperor stand of greater stature than the rest of humanity who we valiantly serve.” Sekhmetara finally teased back, her playful tones of mischief finally returning in the company of her family, the Primach resting one hand on the back of the chair opposite to her adoptive brother, affixing him with the full force of her captivating eyes. “I had rather more growing to do.”

“And you think it is a coincidence your blessed sisters only come close to matching you in one direction.” Kvasi continued, pushing the boundary further as he made a motion with his hands which suggested verticality. Sekhmetara’s eyes narrowed, a flicker passing over her features which might suggest her adoptive brother had misstepped. A comparison to her sister was perhaps poorly timed given the cause of her recent troubled mood. The expression slipped, as with a flippant snort, the Primach threw a cup at her brother, the priceless gold bouncing off his head with a weighty clang that almost sent him off the back end of the chair.

“You cannot take Kvasi too seriously sister, he has been chasing skinny pale women all about the ballroom, and beyond if so I hear.” Isabis wiggled an eyebrow as she skirted the table, turning the round of teasing upon her brother instead.

“Ah? So the flames of war have sparked into passion? We can start writing the songs now.” Sekhmetara laughed, still steadied and braced with one hand on the chair as she joined her sister, the circle of sparring between the siblings turning once more.

“She is a fierce woman, and besides, not that skinny.” The male held his ground, even as he recovered from nearly being upended by the force of his sister’s throw.

“Ha, I am sure she would be overjoyed to hear you coming to her defence so.” Isabis shook her head as she reached her brother’s side, pressing a hand to the strike point of the golden cup upon his forehead, finding no significant bruise or swelling, she ushered him off the back of the chair with scalding Mithran, finishing in Gothic; “Come, behave you two, we have the greatest of guests to attend to.” It was not simply premonition, the voxbead in Isabis jewellery crackling at her ear as the Honor Guard informed her the other invited Primachs and their accompanying attendants were short moments from arriving.

While the Tears of Dawn had moved their operations to the station hanging above the planet, the Night Watch had largely kept their operations happening aboard their ships in orbit, with the only things really going down to the planet in question being the information required for the discussions and work Micholi needed to do personally. As the Council started to wrap up, what little they had brought down to the surface was returned to orbit with Micholi being among the last.

One of the reasons for his departure from NIkaea was the war council that his sister Sekhmetara had sought to organize before those forces heading for the Northern regions of the Imperium started their campaigns. Despite how a part of himself raged at the promise he had made to assist Sekh’s efforts and the fact that it prevented him from personally attending to the destruction of a Craftworld alongside several other legions, a promise was a promise and he valued his word.

So as he crossed the threshold of the room in which their gathering was to be held, one would have been surprised to see that he had come alone; Then again, any Primarch that had dealt with him before likely knew that he had a habit of not really having an ‘honor guard’ in the same sense that other legions did. “Greetings Sister. I see that I’m the first to arrive. Do we have a rough headcount on who’s coming north with us?”

“I will be.” Came another voice as another of the Emperor’s offspring entered the room. The Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion held her head higher than before, and though she could not easily hide the pain that still afflicted her when she walked or the weight that she carried on her shoulders, she was possessed of an energy she had not felt in years. Clad not in drab grey robes but in the colorful clothing of her home, she forced a smile as she nodded to her brother and sister. A manic gleam lit up her eyes as she looked around the room. Her form was slimmer today - seeming tuned not for war but for enjoyment. The most striking element of her appearance however was the shimmering leg she walked on. Where once had been flesh and blood, torn from her by the weaponry of her now hated ‘brother’, her left leg was now wrought seemingly from golden light, only partly concealed by the colorful but unusually cut garments she wore.

Before her night of drinking with Daena and Kaldun, Eiohsa had planned on returning to the Segmentum Ultima to continue the expansion of the Imperium - as had been her standing orders for years. But now a small part of her burned with curiosity ever since Daena had brought the insurrection in Obscurus to the forefront of her mind. A mysterious benefactor to the rebels against the Imperium, supplying the enemies of the imperium with advanced weapons that in many ways eclipsed the capabilities of the Imperium’s own arms? Her mind relished the thought of prying them open and learning their secrets, above the stifling foolishness of the blind band of zealots that dictated the Imperium’s technology. The mere thought of them…

She grit her teeth, clearing her mind of such dark things. She would rise above it. She would rise above these injuries inflicted by her brother. She would forget the things she had seen. Now, here and now, was something real and tangible, a way to return to her roots. Smile. Reforge herself. “Daena will likely join us too, I believe. It was she who ordered me away from another siege in Ultima and towards Obscurus. Greetings to you, sister, I don't think we've ever spoken much - but Daena speaks highly of you.”

Other Legions had the freedom to make ready for their next campaigns, to disperse and arm themselves for battles to come. The Doomsayers were not other Legions however, the personal army of the Warmaster having been frozen into a state resembling shock at their gene-sire’s sudden elevation. Paperwork and ceremony filled their days, matters of honor and protocol paralyzing one of the most formidable fighting forces in the Imperium. A change swept over their ranks in fits and starts, borne by the need to throw themselves back into the fray without hesitation as to who or what they were.

No such hesitation had taken hold of their Primarch however, the demigod sliding from one role to another with the same sense of duty she brought to everything in her life. Daena the Primarch had arrived to gatherings such as this almost meekly, dressing and presenting herself to dazzle mortals but be in turn eclipsed by her siblings. She had no desire to engage in the politics and gamesmanship of the pantheon of superhumans, preferring instead to fade into the background until the time was right and she was needed in their private affairs. Daena the Warmaster had other priorities.

Gone were the austere robes of Imperial functionaries, along with the subtle emblems of status and authority she once spent hours analyzing and designing. She was the Emperor’s chosen representative in the Crusade, and humility no longer suited her. The Warmaster entered the chamber garbed in a gown that cost more than a suit of Power Armor, glittering shards of silver that seemed to - no, that actually did - dance and shift around her with every step she took with a train made of soft white feathers that matched those of her own wings, and atop her head was a laurel wreath of gold. Accompanying her were grandees of the Imperial Court, centuries old generals and strategists that had been gracefully retired to their father’s personal staff, the entire assembly flanked by two Doomsayers in Cataphractii pattern Terminator armor. Each bore the Raptor Imperialis upon their knee and a heretofore unseen marking upon their breasts - a winged skull.

It was an entrance better fit for royalty than a meeting among peers.

Eiohsa now, suddenly, felt keenly aware of the common nature of her attire. Colorful, lightweight cloth in the fashion of Kayaamat’s old underclasses shriveled against the magnificence of her sister’s entrance. They were simple designs that breathed easily and let heat escape in the stifling, humid confines of the hives. Clothing worn by commoners, dyed and decorated in beautiful patterns by artists and wrapped around the body and provided a protective barrier for the skin against hot metal or steam. She’d always felt most comfortable in these clothes, the lightweight cloth made from processed algae - as was so much back home. She cast her gaze away from Daena, looking for something else to pay attention to.

As his other siblings arrived, Micholi had calmly walked over to the window in order to gaze out at the planet below. He was perfectly happy to turn and acknowledge the new arrivals as they made their respective entrance. At least that was the intention anyway and was what happened when Eiohsa had entered. When Daena arrived, Micholi fully turned in order to gaze at her and the entourage following in her wake.

“Daena, congratulations on your recent ascension to Warmaster.” Micholi offered politely, even going so far as to offer a small bow of his head in acknowledgement of her new rank. “Forgive me for not saying so sooner. I figured you would prefer some time to adjust to your new duties and responsibilities rather than be dragged into a social call, albeit a friendly one.”

The quick succession of arrivals prevented Sekhmetara from performing the more personal greetings of her siblings she tended to prefer, a brief nod and smile of greeting to Micholi and Eiohsa as they assembled. A deliberately unsubtle flash of concern marred her features at the evidence of injury to Eiohsa, although for now the comment was kept to itself.

A frown crossed the eyes of the Sixteenth as she took note of Sekhmetara’s concern. She had seen the footage captured by the madman, disseminated across the imperium en masse, had she not? The extent of her injuries had been made clear for all to see. Her humiliation and madness laid bare. Surely, she knew?

Her smile lifted at the announcement of Daena’s arrival, her soul craving the assurity of her sister’s presence. The pristine image in her mind was a powerful counter to the acidic bitterness that lingered throughout her, but it was still a pale imitation of the real thing. To be in the company of Daena had always made things easier. Her smile didn’t falter as her sister arrived in full, accompanied by the throng that had already attached itself to her given the primacy of her position. It was not the demigod herself that gave away any cause of concern, but her siblings were only mortals, they could not still their hearts not entirely hide the flicker of their eyes towards Sekhmetara. Even as the Demigods' eyes met, the mortals held their breaths.

It was not pain, rage or hurt that first rose to Sekhmetara’s features, but her smile softened in a muted sort of pride. “Be welcomed, My Warmaster, Honored Guests.” The Huntress of Mithra bowed her head to Daena, lower than the nod of greeting for her siblings. Those assembled of Sekhmetara’s own bodyguard, both the black-clad terminators of her first company and the mahogany artificer armour of her mortal guardians saluted in respect to Daena’s own daughters, the sign of the Aquila given, rather than the crossed fists of Mithra’s warriors. With the presence of the retinues of the other Legions, the previously absent honour guard of Sekhmetara now fanned the perimeter of the chamber, standing appropriately at ease given the trusted allegiance of those assembled. Despite being the host of those assembled in terms of the provided refreshments and organisation of the meeting, Sekhmetara deigned to allow her chosen sister the right to call the meeting to, as well as the order to allow those assembled to sit. Enough chairs around the central table had been drawn up to allow for a primach and their closest confidants to sit, with further seating for observers provided at smaller tables around the room.

Eiohsa looked to Sekhmetara, still focused on the look of concern from before. She spoke to her in her mind, words inaudible to any other. Have you something to say to me, sister?

On several occasions Sekhmetara had felt the touch of a psyker on her mind, had the words of Aeldari, Astropaths, crazed witches or the librarians of her legion whispered across their gifts to the Primach. The words of one of her siblings was another matter. She hid the surprise well, but the psychic force that each of them projected was far more than even the perfidious xenos and it took several moments for her to compose a response, replying only with a thought, as she had done for others in the past. ”Perhaps, it will wait. A slight frown finally crossed her features, as one hand pressed to rub her temple, an uncomfortable experience she would no doubt have to become used to.

“Thank you, Micholi, but know that I am always grateful to hear from my beloved siblings,” Daena said, matching his bowed head with a nod of her own. She made a mental note of Eiosha’s reluctance to look upon her, the Warmaster internally cursing her folly so soon into her tenure by humiliating her so publicly. But such concerns melted away when her eyes met Sekhmetara’s, a smile blossoming upon her face as the two regarded one another.

“My sister, my heart, your welcome is more pleasing than a thousand crowns,” she replied with clear joy, ignoring the knowledge of who and what guarded her sister. Such were the purview of the Legion, and it alone, no matter what she felt about their curse. The sign of the aquila was duly returned, the Warmaster making sure to pay due respect to the warriors she was among.

“But sadly we are not here to rejoice as siblings. The disquiet in the North has become impossible to ignore, the threat is clear. A power exists in those distant stars, one with the strength to delay our Father’s vision. Many Legions have engaged with the servants of this foe, but I tire of fighting petty proxy wars. We shall find the benefactor of these rebellions, and crush them for their insolence. They shall be made to account for their deeds.”

His greeting returned, Micholi moved to be seated so that the meeting proper could begin. Listening to the situation, he was quick to ask an insightful question. “Is there a pattern to the rebellions and revolutionaries that are being supported? They might merely be taking advantage of whatever opportunities they can find in order to undermine the Imperium, but if there is a pattern that would suggest evidence of a grander ideology behind their actions. Understanding what motivates them to undermine the Imperium would make predicting their actions much easier.”

With a gesture, Sekhmetara drew attention to the central table the gathering orbited around, the heart of it, a holographic projector, sparking into life at the unspoken command, presenting a slowly rotating map of the Segmentum Obscurus, many labels of data springing off from it, detailing the strength of forces coming to bear, both aligned with the Imperium and against it. Individual pictfeeds arose alongside these notes, snapshots of the fighting on a hundred different worlds to provide in visceral imagery what mere datareels could not.

“There is no doubt a carrion element to the conflict, uprisings and piratical factions seeking to take advantage of the strain pressed elsewhere, or shirking the new demands placed upon them to meet the enemy, but the worlds of the Imperium are prepared for such things.” They certainly were in the territory claimed by the Tears of Dawn. She supposed that the fires of her sibling’s rage could often claim the same. It was hard for an ashen ruin to voice its complaints about Imperial tax policy.

“What requires our attention is far more concerning. With a flick of her wrist, the Primarch manipulated the hologram, the view of the Segumentum being replaced with snapshots of many worlds, a dozen in total, each with planetary details of strategic relevance. “Our Warmaster will be familiar with the technology we encountered on Praxia, trusted agents of my Legion have confirmed evidence of the same being present on each of these worlds, with many more times that still being investigated.” Each of the worlds presented had been key in Imperial rule to their local systems, or even sub-sectors. Sekhmetara did not need to voice, in the presence of the instinctive minds of her own siblings, how that would all but confirm a unified force. “Systems that were routine in their compliance, who easily beheld the Light of Reason and knew it to be true are now in open rebellion and are equipped in a manner that can threaten even our Legions.” She could not keep the sting of pride from her words, to consider such a thing was almost anathema. This was not the glory of Ullanor or the Horror of Rangdan, yet they had challenged the Astartes.

“At the least, each of these worlds require the attention of an Expeditionary Fleet, and I believe it necessary for one of the Emperor’s Scions to be present as well, so that we may root out whatever our Legions and Bureaucrats have missed.” The hologram did not change for the moment, the twelve key worlds the Tears of Dawn had identified turning on their axis. “The orks are not a common threat in this region of space, but there is equally the concern of xenos threats escalating as the war burns on. Obscurus has long been plagued by Aeldari piracy and I would imagine this shall only increase.” Sekhmetara’s eyes settled on Micholi as she spoke. She knew he had longed for the chance to claim his vengeance upon their species with the siege of the limping Craftworld, and so she offered him this, albeit lesser, prize for knowing that his efforts were needed elsewhere. “One Legion could no doubt achieve this, but the effort would be painfully slow. As one, we can crush the fires of rebellion and secure the borders of the Imperium once more, no doubt in doing so, we will reveal whatever greater malice has conspired against us.” As she finished speaking, Sekhmetara claimed a goblet of wine from the table, a long sip as she surveyed her siblings, assessing their reactions as the first stage of her briefing came to a close.

Eiohsa was first to speak, “The Warmaster has informed me of the unusual and advanced equipment in use by these rebels and requested my presence in assisting the handling of the situation. I have, over the past few days, been availing myself of the reports available to me on the nature of the combat and strange weapons provided to these rebels by their mysterious benefactors.” She nodded to Sekhmetara, “While I have yet to fight alongside you and our sisters against this foe, I will not insult you by asking the questions we all know the answers to. Instead I would ask if you have any of these weapons that you can spare for examination. My own works and those of my technical experts are more rapid and less bound by dogmatic superstition than the works of the Mechanicum, and though the manufactoria of my fleet are no substitute for the fabri-complexes of Kayaamat they may suffice for devising countermeasures or adapting this new technology to serve us against the threat.”

There was a brief moment where Micholi looked over the information present in order to choose his words carefully. “While I am sure we will be getting details of just what this equipment these chosen rebels are being provided might be capable of in time, will we be striking all twelve planets at once or is there an order you would prefer our forces be concentrated on?”

Eiohsa frowned, “It would be best to be cautious. We are facing an unknown enemy with unknown capabilities. Assaulting all twelve worlds simultaneously might provide us some advantage in time - but it risks overextending the legions. Against a foe whose true strength remains unknown, exposing ourselves to a larger escalation invites disaster - a second Rangdan.” She paused, letting the weight of the words hang in the air for a time, “If our unknown enemy receives word of a larger redeployment of astartes forces to the region they may in turn ratchet up their own involvement. We know they possess weapons capable of threatening even Astartes with ease. But we don’t know if they have yet greater weapons in store because we know nearly nothing about them. It would be wise to keep our cards close to hand and employ the Night Watch’s exceptional reconnaissance abilities - because frankly, we’re stumbling blind. Any light your Legion can shed on the enemy would be immensely helpful and enable us to defeat them in detail without undue risk.”

“Oh of course sister.” Micholi answered casually as he turned to look at Eiohsa. “Regardless of whatever grander plan we employ, the Night Watch and its agents will be present throughout the theater, even if we are not actively fighting on a given planet at the time.” For the first time in the meeting he turned his gaze towards the mortals present, deciding to give them a reasonable explanation “While the equipment they are being supplied with is on par with that of the legions, once we arrive I have confidence that our fleets can take orbital and aerial superiority fairly quickly since it is a rare planet that can actively operate, supply and maintain orbital or aerial forces for any real length of time while under siege and cut off from supply lines.They are high maintenance, resource expensive pieces of equipment after all.”

“Unless the Imperial governments on these worlds were so grossly corrupt and inept that their falls would be darkly comedic if innocent people weren’t dying in the crossfire, the various insurgent groups we’ll be dealing with have successfully learned how to operate as an insurgency force long before we arrive… and that means that even with the technology and weapons to fight a legion on equal footing, the last thing they’re going to want to do is have a prolonged battle with us out in the open. So they’ll go to ground and try to turn their planet into a quagmire of hit and runs and sabotage designed to stall us until either their patron moves in to save them or something more important comes along that we need to divert our forces and attention towards.”

Having given what he believed would be a reasonable prediction of the war goals of their foes, Micholi shifted as he looked back at the warmaster again.

“I have no mind for subjugation and grinding planets into dust,” Daena breezily declared. “Our goal in these campaigns is not conquest, it is information. Even banded together the scattered rebel worlds are of little consequence, aside from the insult of their existence. Those which have been Compliant shall be rendered so again - but one must not let vengeance nor zeal cloud their judgment,” the Warmaster continued.

Her eyes locked with Sekhmetara’s, the thinnest of smiles appearing upon the Angel’s face. “I believe that my sister is in agreement with my thoughts. As she stated, every rebellious world has the same benefactor. You will note that the Legions assigned to this theater are all of a particular bent, this was no accident. We shall discover this hidden foe, and root them out stem and branch.”

“All of you have trained your gene-children in extracting information from civilian populations, by hook or by crook. This is our goal. I will not have the blood of billions upon my hands - not when these pitiful rebellions can be ended by removing the flow of supplies to them.” At this, Daena’s perpetually calm face dropped into a frown, the woman shaking her head grimly. “And I would know the name of a foe with such boldness.”

Daena’s narrow smile was met by a more emotive upward turn of Sekhmetara’s fuller lips, any of the Mithran’s primarch’s fouler inner thoughts far from the affectionate surface present for all to see. Such was easier when her sister was present in the flesh. “The bulk of my own Legion is already in the process of redeploying to Obscurus, my daughters shall provide each of us with ongoing reports as to the situation at each of these focus points while your legions are gathered. I must first return to Mithra, it has been decades since I have sat the Atenite Throne, the Senate will have grown restless to send more of their children to glory, and my Daughters need fresh souls to mould.” It was an artistic way to voice a need to replace the losses of many campaigns, but there was truth to the flower of her words. She missed Mithra, for all the wonders of the galaxy and righteousness of their cause. “I will endeavour to not leave you waiting, Warmaster.” Sekhmetara dipped her head slightly to her sister, almost teasing in her words, but nonetheless, pronouncing her comfort with her sister’s rank. Her eyes flickered between Eiohsa and Micholi in turn, a flash of disappointment over her eyes in the interim, not at their present situation, but at the tales that swirled around the pair already, of the costly impact of their duels with different scions of the Emperor. “May we all avoid the trials of recent weeks, I have found conquest to be a salve for the soul in this way.”

There was a small glance towards Sekhmetara from Micholi, before he offered in a rather neutral tone “Personally I have never found much in the way of solace in conquest. But there is something to be said about aiding to reconstruct worlds so that they might, hopefully, never have to feel the flames of war again.” Turning back to the campaign displays, he quickly confirmed for the Warmaster “I’ll be calling in the Night Watch’s second division in order to assist with the campaign. Alongside being the closest stationed to the theater of operations, they are also the most… dedicated when it comes to rooting out the true nature of a population.”

A moment’s delay elapsed before the Sixteenth Primarch spoke. Taken aback by the words of the Warmaster she stumbled for a moment as she sought to find her own. Any viewer would have noticed the widening of her eyes and momentary parting of her lips in a moment of genuine shock. At long last, her Legion had been called on for something other than total war.

“I- I will be bringing detachments of the Third and Fourth battle groups of the sixteenth legion.” She declared after a moment, “The Third is frequently employed in garrison duties and has extensive experience in reconstruction and cooperation with civilian authorities and individual noncombatants. The Fourth played an essential role in counterinsurgency operations on the worlds of the xeno empire that attacked the eastern frontier, as well as countless human worlds besides. They are… frequently rather informal, but the best my Legion has to offer in this regard. Their accompanying auxiliary forces will as well be redeployed to the region, as well as detachments of the Saravati Defense Forces and State Security Directorate who have experience handling civilian unrest.” She nodded to the others, “I will also be redeploying several manufacturing vessels to aid in the production of any countermeasures to the enemy weapons I or my engineers can provide, as well as providing logistical support for rebuilding efforts in those areas already ravaged by war in concert with hospital ships.”

Another moment passed, and the tension went out of her shoulders, “I am… I’m glad to hear I have been called on for a reason other than their annihilation. Thank you.”

“You have never done so before, sun of my heart,” Daena murmured in reply to Sekhmetara before turning back to the business at hand. “Make no mistake,” Daena declares as she looks between Micholi and Eiosha. The Tears required no such guidance. “We march to war, and traitors are still traitors - regardless of their motives or masters. But we must find and extirpate the root of these rebellions, and bring the full wrath and fury of our Father upon it. All other concerns are secondary. If you must make haste, make haste. If you must slaughter, then slaughter. If you must be merciful, then be merciful. As soon as the identity of this hidden threat is known, inform your siblings, and we shall deal with this distraction.”

Aboard the Redemption

A light spacecraft glided through the empty void, understated and devoid of imperious ornamentation. Ahead loomed the Gloriana Redemption, flagship of the Doomsayers, and Eiohsa’s destination. The summons of the Warmaster were not something to brush off, and even had she been so inclined - a part of her simply wished to speak to her sister. She had brushed off the concerns of her medical staff, no longer content to lie in bed and languish in her thoughts. She would begin remaking herself. She had to begin remaking herself, ridding herself of flaws and imperfections. Becoming a tool of the Imperium to be proud of, rather than discarded. How exactly, she did not yet know, yet she would achieve it all the same.

The craft touched down within the hold of the Redemption and Eiohsa stepped off it without ceremony, stepping foot within the same vessel she had stood within scant days before the duel. She suppressed a shudder, looking around the hold as memories threatened to rush in once more. The hallucinations that had plagued her on that field down below pushed against her mind, and in turn she pushed them down to languish in the depths of her psyche. She would overcome them. Purge herself of them. But first she would speak to her sister.

Eiosha was not greeted with an elaborate honor guard, no phalanxes of Terminators or pomp and ceremony. Instead, the only person there to greet her was the Warmaster’s own Equerry, the woman wearing the death mask of the Primarch that was her symbol of office. Yekterina was typically sullen when she was about business that required the mask, but not today. “Lady Eiosha, please follow me,” she said in a kindly voice.

She was rapidly led through the corridors of the Redemption without much in the way of protocol, the Equerry simply taking her by the most direct route to Daena’s quarters. Such was exceptionally rare, but Eiosha was barely in the foyer before she came face to face with the Warmaster.

“Forgive me, Eiosha.”

Eiohsa looked to her sister, a bizarre combination of emotion playing out across her features as she looked at the same face that had arbitrated her humiliation. And yet she could not bring herself to feel anger. At least, not anger at her sister Primarch. Regret. Frustration. Hope. All of these, certainly, but not anger.

“I hope you can forgive me in turn, for acting as foolishly as I have, sister.” She said, watching her evenly. Emotion warred within her again. The memories on the broken field of the duel. The backlash in the midst of her vision, as she accepted what she had thought to be her death on the Emperor’s orders. Her own conversation with the Emperor. A moment passed, and without consideration, she spoke again, “How much did you see?”

“All of it,” Daena replied before nodding her head to her Equerry. The Astartes pounded her fist to her chest in salute as she left, leaving the pair alone together at last. “Come, my sister. We have much to discuss and precious little serenity left to us,” she said softly as she turned upon her heel, leading Eiosha from the foyer and deeper into her quarters.

The dining room was well appointed by the standards of the majority of the Imperium, but was shockingly modest and threadbare for one with such wealth and power at her fingertips as Daena. Important, however, was a flagon filled with a potent wine spiked with the herbs Sekhmetara so praised. “But first. Drink.”

“All o-?” Eiohsa began, the words slipping from her involuntarily. She placed a hand over her mouth to silence herself, “Apologies.” She murmured, after a moment. “I, yes. Of course.”

She followed her sister hesitantly, every step an uncertain as she followed her through the halls of the ship. The spartan decor - at least by the standards of most of her kin, brought a strange sense of comfort as she took in the room. Much like her own ship. Devoid of excessive ornamentation or dedadent furnishings. No gaudy embellishments leered out at her to flaunt inestimable wealth and power. It set her mind at ease.

Wordlessly she took the proffered flagon and poured herself a generous portion of it, welcoming the chance to numb her mind with drink once more. Uncertain of herself, she waited for the warmaster to speak once more.

“I acted rashly. Foolishly. I attempted to seek the path of peace between my siblings, but failed in my first true test. There is no forgiveness possible for such a grievous error,” Daena said with a heavy sigh, pouring herself her own helping of the wine. “There was once a man of Old Earth who I am reminded of now. What I have done, what I allowed to happen, is worse than a crime. It was a mistake. I played directly into our brother’s hands, and ruined the reputation of the Primarchs. Of our Father.”

Eiohsa nodded silently, drinking in her sister’s words as she watched her speak. “It would be the height of irony to claim I know best in all such things as this - but I cannot bring myself to disagree.” She sipped at the wine, “My own actions were foolish. Impulsive. Spurred on by emotion and outrage at our brother and misdirected at another. Certainly, some kind of punishment was due.” She paused, “But… to be frank I can’t think of a better way to have handled it. Brushing my words aside would have angered the entirety of the Mechanicum, and anything short of the duel likely would have been seen as such. What’s done is done and for better or worse you did what you thought was best, and that matters - at least to me.”

Barely had the wine passed her lips when emotion swelled inside of Daena’s breast, far too soon for her to claim it as an excuse for the break in her composure. “I-” She slammed her mouth shut as she felt her voice begin to crack, staring into the middle distance as she regained her composure. They had been blessed with superhuman minds, it was true, but that included superhuman emotion, and even she could be found wanting. “Thank you, Eiosha.”

“I would have you join me upon our next campaign. Leave our quarrelsome brothers to their own devices and let the two of us build the future together. As sisters. I understand if you would have nothing to do with me after what I have done.”

“Nonsense, sister. You have borne me no hate, you have not accused me of baseless lies, you stood by my side against Sarghaul, and we share a vision for a better Imperium. If I would have nothing to do with you, who else would there be?” Eiohsa raised an eyebrow. “You are not perfect and, unfortunately, neither am I. We have all made our mistakes - small and large. As I said you did what you thought was right. You acted the judge, impartial and weighing in favor of what benefitted the whole, rather than an individual.” She sipped again at her wine, struggling to keep her voice even. “It’s a heavy weight you carry. And it was a harsh first trial. Who could have done better?”

She shook her head, “I doubt I could have - I doubt any could have. Of course I will join you.”

Daena finished her wine, this time in earnest rather than despair, eyes alight in excitement. “Then let us banish our sorrows, for there is work to be done. Are you familiar with the troubles far afield that I was last engaged in? A wave of rebellion and unrest, coordinated and coaxed by a foe yet unknown.”

Eiohsa leaned forward in her seat, “Indeed I have - you mentioned it briefly aboard my own flagship. Advanced weaponry, unrest upon worlds our own sister peacefully brought into compliance.” She stroked her chin, thinking, “And what is it you would have my legion do on this world?” She asked, continuing with words tinged with bitterness, “Father designed my daughters as a mass produced sledgehammer, not a scalpel.”

“Then reserve your wrath,” Daena said with a shrug. “There is far more than one world in rebellion, an entire front has erupted within the Obscurus. Restore them to order by whatever means you deem fit, restore Compliance and the integrity of our rule. But I will call upon their fury, do not mistake that, my sister. Our Father’s will shall be enacted and at my word great slaughter will occur - but not now. Not yet. We shall find who has incited these revolts, and we shall destroy them for their temerity.”

Eiohsa raised an eyebrow, “Wrath?” She asked, smiling, then bursting into laughter. “Wrath?!” She set her drink down, shoulders heaving and shaking as she laughed at the thought. “I have no wrath, sister! And neither do my daughters. I- forgive me.” She cut herself off, holding a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter until, gradually, it died away, golden tears drying on her cheeks.

“Apologies. I… let me…” she began, “Mine is not a wrathful legion - and I am not a wrathful woman. We are simply… accustomed to being used as such. A battering ram, the easily replaced spearhead. We are spread around the galaxy engaged in garrison duty, or dying in the trenches. And yet all the same we hold no hatred in our hearts.” She looked over at Daena. “You must understand - what you are asking is something most in my Legion will have never undertaken outside the borders of Saravata. I have waited, and my daughters have waited, so long for an assignment like this. Where there are not great strongholds and citadels to tear down and worlds to despoil, but ones to save.” She smiled, “So, thank you for that.”

“Then let it be my command. You shall bring salvation, Eiosha,“ Daena said in a soft voice, the ghost of a smile playing at the edge of her lips.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Lauder
Raw
Avatar of Lauder

Lauder The Tired One

Member Seen 7 days ago

//Planet: Saghall
//Designation: Fortress World
//Governor: Delegatos Seighard Romulus
//Status: Open Rebellion (Class Alpharius)

After the trials and revelations spurred upon the conclusion of Nikea, Usriel had retired back to his normal duties of administrative work and logistics preparation needed to support future endeavors. Yet, just as he had plotted a course back to Vion 5, the Astra Telepathica had relayed a communicae from one of his ruling sons, Delegatos Seighard, that a rebellion had occurred on one of the Fortress worlds designed by the Nineteenth. The occurrence was far from uncommon, but what had warranted the attention from Usriel was the scale as the main citadel has been put to siege and remained unbreakable as redoubts and outposts become overrun. Their forces consisted of rogue Imperial Army forces, foolish mortals whose goals were beyond the Primarch, and normally such a force would be quashed quickly, but the suddenness and organization was beyond normal expectations. He had his theories for sure, but he decided it best to restrain his paranoia for whatever lurked within the shadows.

Usriel lowered himself over a map of the citadel, noting how the anti-air towers had been the first to fall and how the rebels had proceeded to establish footholds at all the entrances to the inner sanctum, cutting off the Astartes inside from most lines of resupply. Yet, the Ninteenth always had contingencies for such events and thus the forces that were stubbornly holding the inner sanctum had secret exits that allowed them to ferry in some much needed supplies, but not in mass as to not give those entrances away to prying eyes.

“The mortals are amassing on the southwestern wall, and I suspect that they will be attacking within the day,” Seighard spoke in a static-touched vox as Usriel continued to stare at the diagnostics of the fortress. There would be no massed landing, no organized breakout, only the fury and chaos of a drop landing. It would be hell but it was necessary for their retaking of the fortress. This he had concluded, the fortress was merely too hazardous to lay to siege and he did not have the numbers of Eiohsa’s daughters. Seighard’s voice came to bring Usriel back, “The defenses will repulse them, the Neophytes have been cutting bloody swathes down each attempted assault.”

Usriel looked to the anti-air towers, knowing that they would kill many of his sons before they could reach the ground. As many as possible would need to be retaken before the drop would commence, minimizing what casualties they would take during the upcoming conflict. The Primarch spoke to the Delegatos in a slow, deliberate tone, “I will be sending in the Eldest to retake the batteries, once they are down we will be dropping in force.”

“Father-“

“Once we have impacted you will lead the counterattack to retake the fortress,” Usriel finished, looking away from the diagnostics finally, his blue eyes wondering towards the glow of his plasma pistol. There was a moment of hesitation of him reaching for his weapon, the tool of the Emperor’s will. It was a brief moment of weakness as his face relaxed and his hand found its natural place on the grip of his pistol - nothing would stop him from his duty to the Emperor.

A lithe frame caught his attention, moving to his side and looking over the diagnostics of the fortress - forcing Usriel to quickly shut down the schematics so that no mortal may see the intricacies of his designs. He looked to the mortal and instantly recognized the form of Belloris, not that who the human was would have changed his reaction, but he did relax ever slightly and holstered his pistol. The serf studied the primarch for but a moment before her back straightened and she spoke, “I have arrayed the Auxilia for battle, my lord. I expected that you would want them to land outside of the fortress and cut off the traitor’s escape routes.”

“You would be correct, Belloris. I want you to give no quarter,” Usriel replied simply, moving past the mortal who turned to follow.

Belloris for her sake made sure to stay behind the Father of Sentinels, but still spoke openly, “Aye. No traitors will leave the perimeter and none shall enter.” Yet, Belloris would stop abruptly, looking at her lord with worried eyes - Usriel need not even look at her to know her gaze. All the same, he stopped so that she may speak, “I want you to be careful, lord. I fear that the head of these snakes is more insidious than we may believe.”

Usriel’s head turned slightly, the corner of his eye catching Belloris’ own purple eyes, yet there would be no assurances from the Primarch - only the absence of mortal emotion could be seen by her. She bowed her head in silence and allowed him his leave to prepare the terminators, the Eldest, for battle in the pit of vipers that the Sentinels were about to enter. The only thing that would remain in the room after he left was desire unrequited, for no mortal could sway Usriel - yet no other human would be worthy of his attention. Belloris knew that in his subtleness, she was the only one that could subdue his mind. As such, she brought herself to follow the Primarch out into the hallways of the ship, keeping close to him just as any well intentioned serf would.

“Will the Eldest require any support, my lord? I can have some drop troops sent to aid them,” Belloris asked after a long period of silence in their walk.

“No, they would only get in their way,” Usriel said simply, keeping his eyes trained forwards as they walked, evidently not wishing to continue any conversation with the woman.

Yet, she would continue to speak, this time in a playfully sarcastic tone, “Ah yes. Your sons are clearly able to do anything as long as they set their mind to it.”

Usriel shot a look to Belloris, a glare that made her silence her antics immediately - not even having to dignify her with a proper response to her words. She should have known better than to joke about the capabilities of the Sentinels, especially when one of his own fortresses lay half-fallen to the machinations of the traitors. Belloris looked down, not wanting to incur more of such attention from Usriel, clearly only wishing for him to confide in her as he would normally do. The two needn’t share any more words to know that the conversation between them was done.




The break of dawn had come in a tide of blue fire and the screams of death as the terminators descended upon the fortifications that they well knew. Men, traitors, had not been caught off guard by the sudden arrival of the Eldest as they teleported upon the anti-air batteries, but against the armor of contempt their weapons were useless as las-shot could do nought but be absorbed by shield or be deflected by armor indomitus. The wrath of the Sentinels came upon them in calculated and deliberate destruction, forcing the enemy back into the choke points of hallways in the walls of the outer and inner fortresses. However, the Terminators would not advance, instead content to hold their objectives rather than chase down their fleeing foes.

Yet, it still allowed drop pods to rain from the skies, a hail of steel landing into the thickets of the metallic fortress sounding the rise of the counterattack of those that remained in the fortress. Neophytes of all ages poured from the citadel, many sporting autoguns or bolters as they had not undertaken the rites to wield the temperamental choice of weapon the Sentinels were so keen upon using, fighting with a fury to prove themselves not just to their older kin but to the Primarch as his own drop pod landed amongst ranks of traitors and chattel. A giant amongst the mortal men, Usriel fired his plasma pistol into the hordes of men, each bolt the size of a plasma cannon shot. His fist ran through them, sending gore and viscera into the terrified men whose shots did not even connect with the demi-god - his psychic barrier refusing to let their pitiful shots grace his form.

His sons fought with a ferocity only beaten by the likes of the Serpents, their weapons firing until their barrels warped or their weapons ran too hot. No full-blooded Astartes had yet been felled by the traitors, though the neophytes - especially those who had not yet been versed in the tribulations of warfare - fared worse, their armor not of the same standard as their full-grown brothers. Their tenacity made up for it, overpowering their adversaries by following their teachers, chasing down those who fled and finishing those who could not escape the wrath of the Sentinels. The hallways were choked with bodies as Astartes made their way through the once adamant attackers, clearing them with the blessed blue light of their armaments. In a short amount of time, the coordinated counter attack had successfully pushed the traitors back from the inner walls to the next layer of defenses, reclaiming what equipment had been sealed in locked away supply caches for the defenders.

Usriel pressed the attack, pushing forwards in a wash of flame and blood - always in the thick of combat for no man could run fast enough through his halls to outpace him. No mortal man was bold enough to face their doom, only fear and death stalked those battlements as he outpaced even his honor guard. Despite the wanton killing, however, there was no emotion to be sensed from the father, calculating and meticulous death was the only thing that registered from him even as the vox spat out reports of the battle to him. He did not pay attention to where he was being led to, though, with only the liberation of the fortress on his mind as bones were crushed beneath his boot and bodies made to slag.

As he turned a corner, a heavy round slammed into his psychic shield, energy dissipating around him as he was forced to set a heel back to steady himself. With a grunt Usriel looked to see the plasma cannon of a tank pointed at him - a clever trap to try and kill him, but he was a Primarch, and such things would not lay him low. As a reflex, a single shot rang in response, a shot cascading directly into the barrel of the turret before detonating, sending an explosion rippling through the halls of the fuel cells to the weapon detonated. Usriel stared at the blue fire that clung the halls and began to walk through it, the warm embrace signaling the failure to such a pitiful trap. Yet still, had he not been more cautious then perhaps he would have met a grizzly wound for sure. He came to an intersection and looked between each path, he could hear more traitors down the leftmost but he still looked around.

As his eyes came to the path in front him, Usriel caught a glimpse of a form far too lithe to be human - thinner than his sons but nearly just as tall. The cold calculation turned into a rage as he took in the form, visions of his sons dying in front of him filled his mind as his hands clenched and his teeth gritted. Usriel knew what he what stared upon him, knowing that look even more so than any of the forces that he had commanded - save for his sons. With a grunt, Usriel began to sprint down the halls and at the same time the lithe form moved out of his sight, clearly running out of fear at the sight of the raging Primarch. No sign of life past him - no trace of traitors or other such forces could be found and even his vox had gone quiet. Even still, he pushed forward in a desperate hope to catch the elusive form and confirm his suspension.

The lithe form was certainly elusive, but the long hallways of the fortress did it no justice as the Primarch swiftly caught up. It became clearer and his suspicions were confirmed - aeldari scum crept through his very halls, a fact that brought no end of anger to Usriel. Yet, as the Primarch reached out to grasp at the alien, it made a sudden turn and disappeared into a small service crevice that he merely could not fit. In desperation, he pulled his plasma pistol and fired into the thin hallway, but the creature had already disappeared into the maze of service tunnels, nothing to show for his chase save for a few scorched walls and broken pipes. With a grunt Usriel, backed away from the service tunnel and looked ahead of him.

He had instantly known how and why this rebellion had been so organized and meticulous - the Aeldari had come to distract him. Had the announcement of the Craftworld siege been leaked so soon? Had a traitor been in their mists while the talks had gone on? No - there had only been Astartes in that room, there was no way that it had leaked to the Eldar already. The rebellion was a freak occurrence, just meant to destabilize him and kill more of his sons much like upon Atis. The thought of the massacre brought sadness to his mind, though he did not act upon it, instead marching forwards, still not noticing that his vox was completely silent. His mind continued to grasp at the Aeldari threat that loomed within the fortress’ halls - HIS halls, the very that raised his sons and forged them into Astartes. There was a distinct worry that began to form in his mind; had they come to kill off some of his progeny? To kill those that had been best selected to be compatible with his gene-seed?

His teeth grit as paranoid and conspiratorial thoughts clouded his vision, calculating all the possible routes that the service tunnel could lead to - none of them critical, luckily. It was still nerve wracking to the Primarch as he walked through the now mostly empty halls, only charred corpses and slag being the only thing to keep Usriel company. Then, static broke him from his stupor, broken words that were neigh unintelligible coming through his vox - forcing him back to attention. Usriel tried to piece it together, his mind working as much as any scribe in the Imperium - if not more - but nonetheless he did.

’Inner wall retaken. Father - no contact.’

It seemed that his overzealous nature had caused worry amongst his sons, but the fact that he had lost contact with them within his own fortress had made him curious. The Father of the Sentinels looked back to the path that he had been following, knowing now that scramblers had been deployed. He knew then that he had been being led away from the combat, away from his sons and singled out, but it seemed that he had moved too fast for them to be fully prepared. Usriel was tempted to chase down the aeldari still, tempted to purge them from his halls, but he knew better than to give in to his emotion. That is what had led to him being separated in the first place, yet, it provided him with an opportunity to find where the scum hid - for now he knew they were in the walls.

Usriel turned and began to walk down the bastion, hearing that his sons’ voices grew more distant and more muddled and only when they were silent did he stop. It was then that he would close his eyes and focus his mind, focusing the latent abilities that he rarely called upon - save for the psychic shield that he would raise. His mind’s eye looked and felt the touch of the scrambling spirit, noting how it isolated him in a haze that seemed more of a fog, and like a machine his soul traced it near perfectly. Usriel was attuned to the machine spirits, perhaps not like Augor was, but he was used to their presence given his upbringing on Vion 5. Then, the connection was found, his mind had become synchronized with the scrambler, and he could feel it far from his body. Now he knew where to go and so his boots began to move, stepping like a machine the Mechanicum would employ, his eyes unopened as he hunted for the device.

Another force began to impress itself on the connection, however, like a knife trying to saw through a cable - Usriel picking up his pace to light jog. The force was alien to him and much more refined than his own use of the psychic powers, sweat began to form on his face as he began to run through the halls as he struggled to maintain his connection. Yet, another suspicion was confirmed - that a warlock stalked his halls. No - the power was too strong to be a mere warlock, too refined to be able to battle his mind in such a fashion, he knew not the rank but he knew their position must have been important. Usriel knew he could not keep the connection for long, not even as he sprinted, but instead the primarch suddenly refocused his power and sought the connection to the xenos. The connection was formed briefly before a jolt of pain ran through both his and the aeldari mind, but for that brief moment he felt the tainted blood of the alien course through him.

It was then that he knew what he would be dealing with, ripping the name from the alien at the very least. Anger would creep through his being once more as his eyes shot open and he came to a sudden stop in front of a bulkhead, rage culminating as he began to snarl like a wild beast struck with bloodlust. He would mutter under his breath, the words like poison seeping through his mouth.

”Farseer.”




//Four Hours Ago
//House Ordinator Belloris Miniro

The hull of the retrofitted cargo ship cracked as they entered the upper atmosphere of the planet, sending chills down the spines of most of the mortal men that prepared themselves for what lurked below. The fortresses of Usriel were legendary to them, almost mythical, and knowing that their foe had breached it and thrown back the defenders caused much worry amongst their ranks. Yet, slumped over a seat was none other than one of the commanding liaisons, Belloris, injecting more than enough stimulants into her bloodstream to make even a Daughter of Iron be queasy. Another needle dropped to her side - none of the men questioned it - but she still remained sober and she looked to the medic, a desperate anger clear across her face, “Give me another.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have any more. Achilles has been tightening the noose on my supply,” the soldier said before fiddling through his pack, “All I have are things to keep you from overdosing, my lady.”

Ever since her tribulations upon Inrade, her body had been demanding further and further stimulations to keep her sane and it grew harder and harder by the day to even find something strong enough. She wished that she could have sampled the alcohol that the astartes of other legions used, knowing that it would have brought her a sweet release past recognition. Though her true high had always been merely being near Usriel, being at his side was the best drug that Belloris could have ever imagined - but being away from him meant she needed other sources. Other sources which are rapidly drying out, much to her chagrin.

The great Belloris now lurched there, sweating bullets as if she were some cadet who was just now heading into their first bout. It was a horrible feeling, and a grimace tainted her perfect features, her brow wrinkling out of disdain for her current condition. The sound of chaff released her from her focus, a swift dive followed and she quickly pulled herself into her seat, only barely saving herself as the ship brought itself out of its dive. Her instincts told her that the enemy had secured fighters or interceptors, their quality or make was one that she did not know nor could she see from the confines of the dropship.

Metal splintered and wailed and fire from an enemy craft hit them. Men were torn in viscera and bloody remains. Their blood stained all around them, including those who still lived after the brief hail. The soldier next to her cursed Usriel’s name for sending them off to another suicide mission, but an angered look from Belloris sent him back into a fearful silence as he clung to the straps of his seat. The ship lurched forwards as it slammed into the ground, not crashing but merely having been forced to land as quickly as it could to dispense the soldiers who now ran off the ramp and scattered into the plains surrounding the fortress. Belloris herself walked off, chainsword in hand and ready for a fight, but there was only silence save for the sounds of the dogfights that occurred far into the air. She revved her chainsword in mild disappointment, hoping the adrenaline of battle would have brought her mind back into the haze that was a high.

Instead she looked to the distant fortress, seeing a blue fire rise from the differing redoubts and bastions as the Sentinels fought hard to reclaim their fortress. Yet, Belloris felt disconnected from herself in a brief moment as familiar whispers gripped her mind - they urged her to fortress, to her love to protect him. She blinked and now she was at the very walls of the fortress, the visor of her helmet covered in blood and her chainsword twisted and bent as if it had been used against someone with too much armor. It was dusk now, she felt cold and she wanted to retch but her body refused to obey her sensations. Confusion wracked her brain only momentarily before a pair of arms wrapped around her shoulders and her own voice greeted her in a soothing coo, ”Go to him.”

She stepped forward, into the fortress and into more confusion. Each step did not feel as if it were her own, her vision blackened only to find herself by the corpses of traitors. For a moment, she could think clearly again - her own self began to shout to be free, to be in control. In the moment, she cried out for her friends and family that had long since died from old age, while she remained young and beautiful. Belloris wanted to drop to her knees and sob - anything to regain control of herself. However, she couldn’t, and so as quickly as her old mind had come, it had been silenced by whispers and promises of ecstasy. Another black out, more bodies, though these were laid out ornately as if they died in a beautiful ballet. She smiled at the calming sight of it and began to dance through the halls of the fortress, revving her sword.

Then, silence.

She could feel eyes upon her in the dark, a delicious gaze that yearned for her everlasting attention. Belloris allowed them to look upon perfection, for how could they not gaze upon magnificence that was only rivaled by the likes of Usriel. Their flavor was felt on her tongue, she could feel their very spirits looking upon their end and their new beginning. A delicious madness seeded itself in her mind as desire corrupted her form, a knowing glimpse into what was to be offered to her. It was far too tempting to ignore. Her head snapped to them, their form hidden by darkness yet shined so brightly to her; like a flame to a lonely moth.

“Poor lost lambs,” she said in a voice far more sadistic than would be her normal, though the figures now knew they had been noticed. As the sleek forms stepped from the shadows, a viscous smile grew across Belloris’ features as three aeldari made her relish her own existence. Ecstasy shot through her form and further whispers promised her far more if she would kill them. Her mind was aflame with haunting joy as she stepped towards the eldar before a singing taunt came from her lips, “Come now, let me show Usriel my undying affection as I arrange your corpses in a great ballad!”

Another voice joined them, responding to her taunt with cold calculation, “That beast holds no love for you, serpent. Any such delusions are but wool pulled over your eyes by beings beyond your own comprehension.” Her eyes snapped to the side as another Eldar revealed itself, this one adorned in robes more ornate than she could recognize. All it did was make him all the more delicious, but the disciplined aeldari did not move from their position, instead opting for a stand-off as they stared each other down. The robed one spoke again, the reserved nature of this eldar brought sickness to her clouded mind, “You are unwell human. I know not why my master believes you to be important for the future, but you reek of taint. I will do you a service and make this quick.”

The three warriors raised their pistols, stepping forwards in unison. Belloris was upon them in an instant, moving with a supernatural speed and bringing her sword through the neck of one. The other two panicked, one sprayed small needles at Belloris and missed while the other swiftly turned and raised a sword of unknown design. Her blade raised itself and caught the blade coming down upon her just as she upholstered her las pistol and shot into the one who had missed, sending enough las shots into him to ensure his death. Yet, her body seized. Electricity shot through her body as the robed aeldari jettisoned lightning through his hands- she screamed an inhuman wail as the energy coursed through her body.

The other Eldar took a moment of reprieve, swiftly plucking stones from the fallen before backing to the warlock. “A fair play human. Your corruption has -” he was cut off as a bright light erupted from Belloris hand - she had activated a blind grenade and sent chaff and a brief electromagnetic smoke into the room. The warlock raised his hands in surprise and ended his assault on the serf. It created an opening for her to suddenly rush the other warrior, who brought his blade up just in time to block the chainsword, but nothing could be done as she sprayed further laspistol shots into his torso. The warlock turned on his heel, activating his blade.

Belloris dodged under the strike, turning to thrust her own blade up but the warlock was quick to react in a swift movement. He turned to the defensive as she rushed after him, spaying shots that went into walls and slashes that caught not but air. The two locked blades for a moment and Belloris attempted once more to shoot him, but instead felt as her laspistol was wretched from her hand and thrown somewhere. Yet, in the opening she grabbed the warlock’s forearm with her now free hand and brought her legs around his neck. She moved like a serpent - her form coiling around the warlock and forcing him to the ground where she swiftly brought her hands around the aeldari’s throat.

Belloris squeezed with all her might as the aeldari struggled to get free, gasping for air and clawing at his predator’s face. She did not budge, and past her visor the warlock could see her maddened purple eyes contorted into a smile as sadistic laughter filled the air. He struggled and struggled, her head slammed into his helmet, cracking the visor open before a hand moved itself. It grasped the stone on his chest and threw it to the side. Tears came to his face as it began to turn purple. His vision began to not turn black, but violet as the laughter grew louder and louder in his skull. He could see Her and he fought with all his might to resist Her painful embrace. Yet, soon that was all he felt as his hands fell to his sides.

Laughter subsided as Belloris' form still remained haunched over the now dead warlock. She began to breathe heavily, exertion becoming apparent as he eventually fell to the side, allowing herself respite after the brief but tracking battle. The pain from the psychic energies was still present in her mind, but it was a feeling that made her high all the brighter as she basked in the afterglow of her murders. After a few minutes, she would get up, leaning against the cold wall of the fortress. Her eyes looked upon the corpses, she would make her previous promise come to fruition.

They would make great pieces for her ballad.




//Usriel Andredth
//Present

Heaving the bulkhead up, Usriel was greeted with a dark room only illuminated by the dim red lights of the emergency power. He stopped at the entrance, scanning over the large room filled with nothing but darkness, the Primarch, and presences that he scantly felt in the immaterium. Usriel knew this room and he knew to step lightly - only to step upon a pathway known only to the Sentinels. The red glow from his helmet scanned the room for the presence that he had felt, settling upon the center console where one of his sons would be guarding the room - and there laid the corpse of the guardian of this chamber. His form was slumped over the console, his power sword bloodied and embedded in the ground behind him.

Usriel knew that he had died intentionally over the console, stopping those who had come into the room from finding a crucial control. Yet, he could not focus on his fallen son and the precious items that he had died guarding. Instead, as he stepped to the central console, he gazed upon the form that he had registered in the warp.

“Usriel Andredth, Primarch of the Steel Sentinels. I bid thee welcome home,” came a hauntingly smooth voice that echoed in the otherwise silent room. The primarch would not respond, instead feeling the grip of his pistol in his hand - despite being hesitant to shoot in the room. The cackle of the energy field of his powerfist registered in his mind as he stared down the aedari that gazed back at him with the glowing green of a helmeted face. The aedari spoke once more, “It seems that what I have heard is true, you are a powerful beast. One hellbent on the destruction of my people.”

The nineteenth son did not respond once more, merely holding his position as the two continued to gaze upon each other, daring the other to make the first move. “Your progeny had held that position for a long while, he slew the humans we had sent to kill him and even some of those under my command had found themselves meeting fate trying to subdue him, before I had to kill him personally.”

Usriel turned his head and suddenly fired into the darkness. The blue flame of his shot illuminated the entirety of the room. An inhuman form as tall as himself reeled back as the plasma impacted its form, scorching its chest. They were upon him in a near instant as eight others charged his position - bringing to the sound of war to a peaceful room. Yet, the Primarch adeptly dodged the strikes, his prescience being enough to ensure his safety before a punch the abdomen sent one flying back. Shrapnel launched as the wraithbone form shattered, sparks impacting the metallic floor as it landed. Usriel fired another round, though this one narrowly missed its mark as the construct moved to the side.

The aeldari spoke more as the battle occurred, his vile words corrupting the sanctity of the room, “I foresaw you, Usriel. Much like how you long to protect your sons, I must protect my people, otherwise I will not have come here.”

With those words, Usriel began to see double, images of constructs that were not there entered his mind - strange images and patterns dulling his senses. Still he fought on, staying reliant upon his prescience to allow him to dodge and block the incoming attacks of the wraiths. One raised a cannon to fire upon him but he shot far before it had the chance to strike him. The construct’s head came off in an instant - nothing but slag where the head would have been. Usriel went to put up a barrier to block an incoming attack but where the weapon should have harmless bounced away, the axe swung towards him and he narrowly dodged by shifting his weight backwards. He cast a knowing gaze to the farseer.

Without another word the farseer’s hands moved, a cackling psychic field wrapping itself around Usriel before it began to rapidly close around him. The primarch held back the field with a combination of his own psychic abilities and his own strength. Then an axe embedded itself in his side, blood gushing from the newly found opening in his armor before another strike came down upon his shoulder. He dropped to a knee, swiftly bringing up his pistol again and shooting. The blue crashed with violet and the crushing orb erupted before Usriel wrapped his fist around one of the constructs heads and maneuvered it to block another incoming strike.

They fought in a blur, a battle of speed and focus as Usriel minimized damage to himself and the room while the farseer aided the wraiths. Soon a power blast sent the Primarch off of the central console and sprawled onto the open floor. One of the constructs leapt after him, bringing its axe down at the primarch in savage strike. Instinctively, Usriel rolled away and easily dodged the strike. Yet, the battle came to a standstill as a realization dawned upon him and crying filled the air. The cry of a toddler brought all the warriors to a halt. The small bunker that had held the child had been wrought open by the strike and fear had gripped it. The father of the sentinels felt his breath leave his body in the moment before he launched himself with a speed and savagery to match Nelchitl. His fist tore the construct in twain, his form standing protectively over the bunker.

In the first time of the bout, Usriel would speak, a protective anger seeping from his voice “Never again! There will never be another butchery of my sons!”

As the wraiths descended upon him, he would fight as a man possessed, dodging and striking with such ferocity that not even the farseer could truly keep up with the battle. All the farseer could truly do was focus on making sure to allow the constructs to properly operate, even as Usriel tore them apart. He knew the battle was no longer in his favor, the beast had been disturbed and the carefulness of the primarch had given way to anger and bloodlust. Yet, he looked to the entrance and saw the form of a human standing there. Reinforcements would be trickling to the battle and so the farseer knew it was time to retreat.

The primarch dodged a cannon shot, rushing the one that had fired and throwing it into another of the constructs. He kicked the knee in of another and gripped the head of one that dodged his own plasma shot - crushing it swiftly and letting it fall loudly to the ground. He looked to the farseer and there he saw the form of the aeldari locked in single combat with a familiar human form. Usriel knew it was Belloris by the build of her, even from just a glance, but she struck with a speed to match his sons and a gracefulness far more apparent than any aeldai movement. Not questioning it, Usriel focused on the remaining wraiths that surrounded him, the last four to threaten his sons.

In the brief opening, gravitic forces slammed into his side, tearing away more of his armor as the canons of one of the wraiths hit him. Usriel did not give them another opening, launching himself upon them as a rabid animal and dismantled them in a hail of plasma and strength. Exertion began to claim the demi-god, his mind having been exhausted from overuse of his own abilities. He fell to his knees, breathing deeply. The sounds of farseer’s struggles continued to resonate throughout the room but his focus went to the toddler, who had by now climbed out of the small bunker. A brief moment of calm would wash over the primarch as he brought the child into an embrace, making sure it was safe within his arms.

“My son,” he muttered, though he knew that the child had yet to even receive the first implant to become an astartes. Usriel did not care at the moment, instead allowing himself to show a rare weakness.

A sharp scream of fear from the farseer brought him back to his wits, it seemed that Belloris had managed to deal with the eldar. Instead he would gaze up to see her form slowly hobbling toward him, she would stand over the kneeling primarch and the child for the moment before falling onto him. Belloris' own exhaustion seeped into the Primarch, but they had achieved a victory.

“Usriel, I came as fast as I could,” she said softly.

“You abandoned your post,” he growled in response, though allowing his anger to melt away into a mere annoyance, “But, I will thank you for dealing with the Eldar.”

A smile would creep onto her face, the thanks of Usriel pleasing her beyond recognition and filling her to the brim with ecstasy. She would raise herself to her feet before letting out a soft coo to him, “I will get your honor guard, I doubt they are too far.”

“No,” Usriel responded, the eyes of his helmet meeting her now purple ones, “Stay.”

“As you wish, lord,” Belloris said, kneeling with the Primarch and embracing the child as well. She knew they would be found like this, like a mother and father soothing their scared child after a trying time. They would be seen as a family and the idea brought a far too hedonistic smile to her face. She would become the mother of the nineteenth, and maybe then Usriel would finally reciprocate her feelings.

They would be perfect.

Together.
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Bright_Ops
Raw
Avatar of Bright_Ops

Bright_Ops The Insane Scholar

Member Seen 22 hrs ago

//Planet: New Welshland
//Designation: Imperial World
//Governor: Uchelgais Tywyll (Contested)
//Status: Civil War




"While I appreciate any support at this time, I admit I am a little... confused. I was under the impression that the second legion was sending forces to assist us." Governor Tywll offered as respectfully as a governor who's rather tedious situation meant that insulting or dismissing any ally that presented itself with troops and and equipment simply wasn't an option, even if they weren't the reinforcements you were expecting or hoping for.

For his part, Audi kept a professional face on as he stood on the other side of the Governor's rather expensive desk. As the highest ranked commander of the Imperial army forces that had been deployed to New Welshland, protocol demanded that he met with the rather... inflated Governor of the planet. Despite the respectful tone that Tywll was using, Audi had to admit that the Governor rubbed him the wrong way; The planet was actively in the middle of a rather brutal civil war with a separatist faction with tens of thousands wounded and dying each day with shortages of food, water and supplies on just about every part of the planet... and yet the Governor still maintained at least three chins and a small team of slaves in order to assist him in getting his bulbous body to his feet from a sitting position.

Then again, he did generally distrust anyone in a position of authority who was obese enough that if he ran a sword into their stomach all the way to the hilt, there was a chance he wouldn't hit anything vital. "Yes, to my understanding the original plan was for a company of Night Watch to arrive but they've been delayed. There are a number of other rebellions in progress in this region of the Imperium and they've been required to deploy elsewhere... However, since they did not wish to abandon the people of New Welshland to current conditions, they have sent myself and my forces in their stead to try and stabilize the situation."

Audi couldn't help but notice the expressions that surfaced on the Governor's fat, disgusting face. There was a brief expression that reminded him on a small child about to throw a tantrum because they weren't the center of everyone else's universe, but it seemed that whatever political skills Tywll had gathered over the course of his life kicked in to stop him from saying or doing something stupid. "Well... there are worse things then getting an army of fresh, veteran troops. If you'll report to my high commander they'll be able to best position your forc-"

"I believe-" Audi interrupted, his face still professionally blank but some small degree of pleasure at seeing the Governor look annoyed at being cut off "-that there has been a slight misunderstanding. My forces are not here to fight your civil war or take orders from you."

There was a brief moment of silence, broken by Governor Tywll looking livid as he said "Excuse me?"

Pulling out a copy of the orders that had been sent to him from the Primarch of the Night Watch, Micholi himself, Audi offered it to Tywll so that the man could read it with his own eyes. "We have been sent here on a humanitarian mission. Our job is to secure key utilities like water and the power grid while offering those displaced by the conflict shelter and medical aid. To that end, I am not apart of the local chain of command and thus receive my orders directly from my superiors in the second legion."

The livid expression deepened on Tywll's face as he glared at the letter, then at Audi himself. "Why?"

Audi for his part let out a put upon sigh that he had long practiced. "My superiors believe that by presenting the Imperium as a neutral but benevolent entity in this conflict, anti-imperial sentiments will fade away while providing citizens caught in the crossfire somewhere to go to for safety that doesn't require them actively joining a side in the conflict. Personally I feel that there are faster ways to resolve a conflict like this, but orders are orders. If nothing else, our presence will mean that you don't have to garrison forces in those regions."

The Governor still looked somewhat heated... though that could also have easily been just his natural level of warmth since he had been a rather sweaty mess when Audi had entered the office, but it seemed his little performance had unruffled some feathers. "I see... A little round about for my tastes, but help is help I suppose. However, since everything is in order, unless you have anything else to say I think we will end this meeting here. You no doubt have preparations to make and I... well, I believe it's time for lunch."
1x Like Like
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Antediluvixen
Raw
coGM
Avatar of Antediluvixen

Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator

Member Seen 29 days ago

Sol and Lady Placeholder
Hidden 2 yrs ago 2 yrs ago Post by FrostedCaramel
Raw
Avatar of FrostedCaramel

FrostedCaramel

Member Seen 3 mos ago

Erosion
Gugann

The vox clicked to life in a wave of static, a constant hiss of white noise rising with each passing moment the vox remained alive. The sound abated with a click as whoever had been transmitting finished their transmission and relief washed over the vox channel as only silence followed.

“Vox is acting up.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Quiet both of you, eyes and ears up, we are not the hunters tonight.”

A pair of flashing runes blinked to life across the Serpent’s helm overlay, a pair of non-audible affirmatives from the bickering legionnaires as they fell quiet.

The soft crunch of stone beneath the ceramite boots of ten legionnaires was the only sound accompanying the squad of Serpent’s as they swept down the tunnel. Night-sight overlays aided their enhanced eyes as beams of light from weapons and armor pierced the murky gloom for any sign of the enemy.

A deeper darkness loomed into the tunnel as the squad found themselves entering a cavern of indeterminate size.

Like the well drilled machine they were the squad of Serpents fanned out into the hollow, a circle forming even as two of its members fell into the center of their squad mates.

A device was unhooked from one of the Serpent’s powerpacks and the duo got to work connecting snaking wires and ribbed hydraulic lines to the device.

Watching the progress on a small overlay on her helms visor Sergeant Mocel blink clicked a runic warning to those working the device, a pair of serpents eating one anothers tails in a spiral.

The device clanked as the two Serpent’s hefted it into the air and with no ceremony spiked it into the cavern floor. The device creaked for a moment, the machine whine of an internal turbine filling the restive silence and the cylindrical machine righted itself on four extending legs and began to pound a flat hammer into the earth with pneumatic hammer blows.

The overlay of her squad working was blinked away in favor of a new overlay, a slowly expanding map of the cavern they were in and the tunnels that snaked beyond it.

The machine worked well, sounding a map out with each hammer stroke, and Mocel allowed herself a small sense of relief as they neared the end of this mission.

The vox crackled to life once more, a static hiss like the death of a star filling the helmets of her entire squad with ear splitting noise before it cut out as quickly as it had come.

A warning rune flickered in her helm from one of her squad, then another, followed in quick succession by four more. Each the same, a four legged animal, similar to the jet black jagara of Hy Brasil, bounding forward.

Movement.

They were felt first, in the way that her helms autosensors struggled to focus and adjust. Then in the thrum of her powerpack as wires corroded and electricity was siphoned off as random heat.

The mission timer counted down in her visor, 27:13, 27:12, 27:11. It would not be fast enough.

A servo whined in protest as one of her own, Xocotl, attempted to reposition to cover a tunnel to her right. The sound was a sweet carrion call to the things that lurked beyond the shadows of the hollow and at once they descended on Mocel and her squad.

Like apparitions of myth, like the tormented souls of Ixhun that haunted the forests beyond the great city-walls, the Hrud appeared. They came forth from every crevice imaginable, from behind every rock and, as Mocel swore on the Fifth Sun, from within the shadows themselves.

Face to face with a slithering blurred beast of chitinous armor and spoils of mucus that had just a moment earlier not existed at all, Mocel opened fire point blank. The harsh report of her bolter set the rest of her squad alive and the hollow alight with the staccato blaze of weapons fire.

The creature before them burst into messy chunks, covering Mocel in its remains as she continued to fire away at the enemy beyond.

She moved her bolter over the xenos with drilled precision and disciplined bursts. Not a single bolt was wasted as each found their mark even as she let loose another at a new target. She slammed a new magazine home and keyed the squad vox.

Static assailed her.

She dropped the connection and blinked clicked a new rune, the closing gates of an Ixhun city state.

Withdraw to safety.

She took a step, servos and fine motors in her armor whining as she did. She could hear her squad moving around her, the tortured screams of delicate mechanisms aging at supernatural speeds echoing just beneath the din of bolter fire.


Weezing permeated the room as the Primarch of the XVII, newly arrived over Gugann, stood over Sergeant Mocel. Mocel looked up at her scion, her features impossibly aged for a warrior of the Astartes as she rasped out breath after pained breath.

“You are one of few yes?” her Scion asked her as she circled her like a predator would wounded prey.

Mocel steeled her features as best she could, pulling her drooping lips tight before she spoke, “Lord, I and two others of my squad exited the caves.”

Her scion continued around her, poking and prodding at her skin as she did, “The rest fell before you could make for safety, I have read that report, I ask of your condition, of your being as you are,” her Primarch motioned toward her body, toward her aged features, her skin pulled taut over her degraded muscles, to her incessant cough.

“Sixteen total, Lord,” answered Chief Apothecary Peña from where she stood against the wall, “Sixteen of your daughters are reduced to nothing more than feeble old women--”

“We still wish to fight,” Mocel interjected before she began a coughing fit worse than any since her Primarch had entered the room.

Nelchitl stopped her prodding and came to rest in front of Mocel, her eyes, those umber pits looking down upon her daughter with pity as she spoke, “You can fight no longer, Sergeant,” she shook her head, “Though I hate to say it, to condemn you to such a fate as the end of your service in His name… I can not allow you to remain in a combat status.”

Mocel swallowed hard, an action that in itself caused great discomfort to her aged countenance, but mercifully managed to keep the reaction from her dismal features.

“Lord, you can’t d---”

“I can do as I please, I should not have to remind you, Sergeant,” her Primarch spoke quickly as she cut off her daughter, “But I understand, the hurt you must feel,” Mocel found sadness then in the eyes of her scion, a deep hurt like no other she had ever known and in that moment she too ached as she never had before.

“I will have you and the others returned with me to Ixhun, I am always in need of veteran daughters to raise the next of us. With any luck, you will be useful to the His purpose yet, Sergeant.”


1x Like Like
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Lauder
Raw
Avatar of Lauder

Lauder The Tired One

Member Seen 7 days ago


//Fortress of Steel - Gloriana-class
//Orbit of Sarghall
//Sarghall Status: Pacified

The indomitable battleship laid wait just inside the orbit of the once rebellious planet, now laid alight as hives were burned out as punishment for moving against the Imperium. Yet, the Fortress of Steel no longer loomed as a warship, but as a meeting ground for some of the Primarchs. Summoned by Usriel at the behest of Augor, this would be the first time the ship had seen more than one other Primarch wonder it's halls. So honored was it, that the Eldest - those oldest of the Nineteenth legion - lined its halls to bow to each of the Primarchs that would come aboard. It was a clear show of trust by the Legion, but the cold darkness of the ship betrayed their intentions for it was the Nineteenth who would oft be compared to nothing more than machines and aboard their home vessel was that coldness more apparent for no Astartes would dare speak.

A large, open room would be their meeting room, only filled with a large holographic display from a round table and chairs made for the Primarchs and Astartes. The banners of the machine skull hung on the walls, mostly hidden by the darkness but staring upon its occupants all the same with indifference. Servo-skulls fed in and out of the chamber, only carrying with them further intelligence that they deposited at the table then disappearing silently back into the darkness. Life was a foreign entity within the room, Primarch or not, all felt unwelcome except for the small lithe form of a woman in decorated armor who danced around the table preparing cups for the Demi-Gods. Her steps were eerily quiet, the only noise she made was that of a light hum and the clang of stone cups upon the table. Once she was done, she would pirouette away and await by a large door, silently staring out with almost glowing purple eyes.

It was she who gestured each of the Demi-gods to their seats, silently bowing her head to each as they entered - yet unmoving from the side of the door opposite of them.

“Behold Zaphariel ibn Varranis, Malik of the Illuminated Pandjoras Star Sultanate, Sheikh of the Star Serpent, Unifier of the Thirteen Houses, Child of the Hassan, Star Emir of the Dusk Sands, Master of the Suma’tah, Grand Faris of the Thirty Palaces, Grandmaster of the Assassins, Emissary of Falak, Nazim of the Seventy Sectors, Padishah of the Umbral Armada, Conciliator of the Three Hundred Worlds, the Arbitrator, Caliph of Neu Amalut, the Steel Companion, Grand Rival of the Dawn has arrived!” A thundering voice blasted next to the blonde haired woman as it entered the meeting room. The form of a titanic warrior in pitch black armor, an alabaster skull helmet, and midnight blue robes entered the room with its vox blasting. They stepped to the side to allow another giant with dusken armor, bronze pauldrons, and a laurel crested MK II helmet to stride in. They, too, stepped to the side to allow a final figure to step in.

Despite the powered armor that he wore, each step was as silent as it was light. Charcoal armor, trimmed with sunset orange, surrounded the striding figure. A hood the hue of the void wrapped around his head, traveling down into a lengthy tabard with a waist-cape ending. An amalgamation of thin pipes ran across the plating, while the tips of his gauntlets and greaves ended in sharp claws. A pair of orange eyes with predatory pupils gawked at the meeting room from beneath his hood. The trimmed beard of the warrior bore smiling lips for the occasion. Zaphariel, as he was announced, peered around the room in anticipation of his brothers and sisters. None had arrived.

“Raamiz, do not announce my presence to an empty room. Your unfiltered vox grills must’ve bursted Belloris’ sensitive, mortal eardrums.” The primarch turned to regard Usriel’s favored servant, his head ordinator of the house. Although the dusken deity of Pandjoras secretly held no love for mortals, Zaphariel felt it was necessary to give an apologetic, slight bow to his brother’s favorite. The two Astartes that had entered with him moved to halt his bow, but the Malik stopped them with a single gesture. “Forgive me, Belloris, my sons are acting unbecoming of their stations. Announce my presence to my beloved, younger brother when you can.”

“The Father of the Nineteenth is currently relaying Astropathic messages to Lord Augor, he shall be here soon, Lord,” Belloris said, her purple eyes flickering briefly between the Malik and his sons. She craned her head to a passing servo-skull before speaking of Zaphariel’s request, “Notify Usriel that Lord Zaphariel has come.”

The servo-skull turned on its place and disappeared into the darkness to do its task, leaving the room in a gripping silence one more as Belloris did nothing more than stare at the other occupants. She held a soft smile on her face but made no other efforts to acknowledge the Primarch or the Astartes, at least not visibly. Though, a brief tapping of her fingers against the side of her armor, while silent, did betray her outwardly calm behavior.

The vibrantly orange orbs briefly matched Belloris’ strange, purple eyes in the midst of her eerily silent stares. The slitted pupils of the primarch briefly widened before returning to their original form. A knowing, toothy grin spread across the lips of the Malik beneath his hood as he moved away from the mortal servant. With the instructions from her, Zaphariel found his seat on the left side of the chamber. His form settled into the rudimentary seat provided by the Father of Steel. His eyes shifted to Astartes standing on either side of him. On his left, Emir of the Hafiz Raamiz Urahal stood as a grim executioner with his laurel-topped skull helmet. On his right, the former Legion Master Zaid ibn N’dar remained a draconian relic of an age long forgotten. Only Zaid bore no form of shroud across his armored body.

“Raamiz, reannounce my arrival the moment that the Primarch of the Steel Sentinels walks by the mortal servant you saw earlier. Unless he has his helmet removed, then it is grim tidings. Zaid, prepare the dataslate for the rest of the council. They will certainly desire knowledge about these xenos. Do not speak out of turn. I respect my younger brother beyond any measure of worth as you rightly know.” Zaphariel spoke, the Pandjoran Low Gothic trill echoed through the empty war room of the Fortress of Steel. Despite the emptiness, with no other being but them and the mortal, his words were still chosen carefully.

“As you wish, my great king of the dusken sands. Your titles shall echo across these deplorable halls for centuries to come!” The alabaster helmet loudly barked as an affirmation to his Primarch’s command. Raamiz held a hand on the grimoire chained to his belt, while the other rested on his hip as he watched the entrance to the room. An affirmative click from Zaid was the only noise that the elder Astartes made to his primarch.

The war room wouldn’t remain silent for long. While the Lord of the Dusk Warden’s might have had a soft if not silent foot when it came to walking the floors of the Fortress of Steel, the Master of the Honorbound ‘s tread was heavy enough that his approach could be felt like a minor earthquake.

As the door opened, a wall of gray metal carefully ducked down, shifting an arm so that the red barrel they were carrying was in front of them so as to ensure that it didn’t accidentally catch on something. It was one of the eccentricities of Strahlender that he never met with his siblings outside of his armor, despite the logistical issues that could have when it came to fitting into a room, but once he was clear of the doorway he announced in that loud, joyous tone of his “Brother! It’s so good to see you again! I’ve brought some Strategie Met in order to aid in the planning of the campaign to come!”

Coming out from behind Strahlender were two of his marines. On the right was Herrliche Tapferkeit who, unlike his Primarch had opted to wear a normal suit of Mark II armor for the occasion rather than his normal wargear, alongside putting aside his normal powersword for a smaller one that would fit better within the confines of the ship. He was also carrying a barrel, but this one was a green barrel in order to tell it apart from Strahlender’s red one.

The marine on the left was an unknown figure… at least in regards to the Imperium at large. His name was Kreuzritter des Sonnenlichts and while his name and legend hadn’t grown to the point where he would be recognized by other legions just by entering a room, his presence beside his Primarch indicated that might change in the future. He was carrying a bottle of what appeared to be red wine.

Glancing away from his fellow Primarch for a moment, Strahlender turned his gaze to Belloris before saying “And if it isn’t our lovely hostess for the proceedings! Lady Belloris, while our brother speaks fondly of you I’m afraid he has never mentioned your personal tastes in regards to drink. While this bottle of Königin wine is a personal gift to you, we’ve also brought some Strategie Met that’s safe for unaugmented humans to enjoy if you care to join us at any time!” With a small gesture from Strahlender, Kreuzritter stepped forward and offered Belloris the bottle.

“Usriel speaks of me?” Belloris asked, a clear excitement in her voice before she seemingly bringing herself back to her normal calm. She gave Strahlender a deep bow before accepting the bottle, holding it in her hands though not seeming too enthused about the wine. Her voice came through once more, “I will take that offer should Usriel wish to have me join.”

“In his own way.” Strahlender answered in a somewhat softer tone. “In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him speak of someone who isn’t directly a legionnaire so often or with such praise. But at any rate, where shall we be seated?”

Without another word, though with a satisfied smile, Belloris gestured to the holographic table and the seats surrounding. She stepped back into her place and flagged down another servo-skull, peddling off the bottle of wine to it to be brought into the cold confines of the ship. It was likely that she would partake in the gift in her own personal time, though it was clear that she would not shirk her duties at the time - certainly not when she knew of Usriel’s high praise of her. And thus the Honorbound contingent took their place for the council ahead.

“Brother Strahlender! You honor me with your presence, my enormous sibling! If I had known that you would be arriving in such a timely manner, then I would’ve brought you the unique, umbral liquor of Pandjoras that you love!” The trill of Pandjoran Low Gothic boomed across the war room as he leaned forward in his seat. The typical theatrics of the Sultan commenced as he spread his arms in enthusiastic movements. “Crack your barrel open, my sibling, for my throat is as dry as the umbral sands of my homeworld!”

Where one Primarch had been silent and one had been thunder, the later arrival to the briefing was one of steady, ceaseless tread. He was not announced, instead, his presence rolled into the chamber like a frozen tide, an aura of constrained malice which permeated the air. He was preceded only by two of his legion, brothers of The Drakes Exemplar clad in the silver and red of their legion, before their master followed them, long black hair spooling over the pauldrons of his armour, the great axe sheathed at his belt still humming with the blue lines of esoteric power as it sat at rest.

“I have not brought gifts,” The words rumbled from him in a tone that was both harsh and magnetic, the charisma of a primarch warring with the gruff harshness of his homeworld. His senses flared as he moved around the table, the enhanced sensation of a son of the Emperor tasting the placated desire and desperation in the air as he passed by the mortal woman, before he and his pair of astartes took their place. “You shall have to accept the skills of our arms and the skulls of xenos in their stead.” Zelimir grinned as he took his seat, his weapon, Spasatel, removed from his belt, pommel to the floor with one gauntleted hand over the axehead still pulsing with unrestrained fury. “Bring our brother forth.” The demigod barked with casual impatience, his eyes not deigning to meet the mortal woman.

Following Zelimir was the arrival of yet another of the Emperor’s children. Entering into the hall with little fanfare, no announcement or proclamation, and only a single accompanying Astartes, the arrival of the First Legion’s Primarch was simply that, an arrival. Both Victor and his entourage of one, the former Legion Master Zuriel Cladius, were clad in the particularly mundane colors of their legion, the simple blue-gray ceramite of their lightweight armour a contrast to the others gathered around. Victor looked to those assembled so far and offered them a simple greeting of “Brothers.” before taking his place, Zuriel following suit.

Quite to the contrary, the next of His children arrived with much fanfare, replete with a sound of strings like droplets of falling water - at their head, of course, was the impressed, helmetless form of Huo themselves, their face clad in the finest of pale makeup, flowing locks of silky black hair resting on their shoulders to join the greater mass behind their neck. In one hand, they held an enormous, gold-bladed guandao, the other empty, though one of the Astartes behind them, instead wielding a massive cleaving power-sword on their back, carried a large vermillion-lacquered body bearing the shape of dueling dragons atop it. She was, of course, clad in tartaros armour of the finest make, a roaring lion placed at the buckle of her belt. On either side of her was another space marine, each wielding guandao of a design much like their progenitor's, though far smaller... And ahead of the primarch themselves was a young man in fine vermillion robes decorated with thousands of golden orchids, his face almost doll-like in its smoothness, full lips highlighted by cherry red makeup, his face pale much like his lord's. "Behold Shūguan of Jing, Eminent Lord of Penglai, General of His Third Legion of Celestial dragons, Destroyer of the Hated Barghesi, Slayer of the Palatine, General Who Defeats Tyrants, Bearer of the Golden Dragon Crescent Blade, preserver of the Pan-Pacific peoples, Reclaimer of Agripinaa, Sage of the Clouds, Master of Tea Ceremony, Administrator of the Penglai Sector, Once-Emperor of Penglai, and Thirdmost-born of Huangdi - the Celestial Emperor's - children," the young man said, speaking clearly and loudly despite his evidently miniscule size compared to the Astartes around him.

Behind all of them was a single woman in simple yellow robes, her face obscured by a porcelain mask through which nothing could be seen, a tall Erhu in her hands.

“Ah, Lord Hou!” Belloris exclaimed once all of the many titles had been proclaimed, bowing deeply to another child of the Emperor. She straightened herself from her bow as she gestured to the table with the other Primarchs around it, speaking in a more humbled tone whilst in their presence, “Please by all means, seat yourself. My lord shall be arriving shortly, once he has come then this council shall begin in earnest.”

“Belloris, if I am not mistaken,” they said, gently dipping their head in greeting. Smoothly moving to take their seat alongside their entourage, they gently grasped the young man’s hand as they seated themselves, quietly speaking a handful of words in their native tongue before he bowed and turned to leave along with the masked musician. “I have brought a gift for you; though I would do the same for my brother, I fear he would have little want for trinkets, and would simply prefer my knowledge. General Wei?” They said, gesturing to the blade-armed Astartes beside them as they opened the vermillion-lacquered box.

Within, sitting on a bed of soft red velvet, was a jade globe sitting atop a wooden stand - it was no model of Terra, however, but a painstakingly chiseled and carved image of Vion 5 in ludicrous miniature; as painstaking, at least, as public knowledge could allow. “I would be greatly honoured if you would accept it.”

“I thank you greatly Hou,” Belloris said humbly, bowing deeply once again as she took the miniature of her homeplanet. Her purple eyes gazed over the details of the Jade planet, almost trying to map out where it was she had grown up at. Once she was done, like the other gift, she peddled it off to a passing Servo-skull, in order to remain focused on her duties.

The last to arrive before their glorious host was, in many ways, the least of those present. General Nelinho of the First Division of the Night Watch was not a Primarch, but he was in charge of the Night Watch forces that had been committed to this campaign in his Primarch’s stead and thus the Tech Marine would once again sit in the presence of the Imperium’s greatest. He didn’t announce his arrival, nor did he bring an escort: If the Fortress of Steel was hostile to him, even more so due to one of the Primarchs in the war room being hostile to him, then having one or two marines with him wouldn’t damn thing to change the outcome.

Still, a servo-skull followed Nelinho dutifully as the General offered Belloris a respectful bow before walking over to claim his place at the table.

Meanwhile, Strahlender had more than happily cracked open the red barrel of Strategie Met and was happy to make sure that his siblings and their subordinates would have access to a mug of it while idly passing the time with small talk and catching up about details unimportant for historical record.

It was not too long after the representative of the Night Watch had arrived that Belloris stepped forwards, a soft smile still in her face. Extending her arms in grandiosity, she would raise her voice to usher in the owner of the Fortress of Steel, “My Lord’s, as Mother of the Nineteenth, I announce the arrival of Usriel Andreadth, Primarch of the Steel Sentinels.” While she could have rattled off waves of titles, it was not in the way of the Steel Sentinels for such grandiose and unnecessary behavior, preferring to keep moving ahead at all times.

Usriel strode in, class in the grays and dark greens of his legion, the boots of his power armor giving way to mechanical stopping. His armor still bore signs of the damage sustained upon Sarghall, when the Aeldari had tried to do away with him in their insidious plot. The red of his helmeted eyes were amongst the only things to illuminate his helmet, but it seemed as if a shadow looked behind him, even in the dimness of his ship. In a way that is because there was, a Pandjoran shroud billowed behind him, ushering in further darkness that made his armor seem brighter by contrast. He made no attempt at greeting the other Primarchs as he made his way to the holographic table, Belloris following closely behind him. The shroud clung to him as it had clung to the Malik hundreds of years before. Once he had reached the table, his form was illuminated by the blue glow of a holographic Craftworld - the red of his helmeted eyes staring intently upon it as if great anger raged inside of him.

“My fellow Primarchs,” Usriel began, his head unmoving from the insidious Craftworld.

The moment that the Father of Steel had entered, the blaring vox-grill of the Dusk Warden’s skull masked Astartes breathed life once more. “Announcing Zaphariel ibn Varranis, Malik of the Illuminated Pandjoras Star Sultanate, Sheikh of the Star Serpent, Unifier of the Thirteen Houses, Child of the Hassan, Star Emir of the Dusk Sands, Master of the Suma’tah, Grand Faris of the Thirty Palaces, Grandmaster of the Assassins, Emissary of Falak, Nazim of the Seventy Sectors, Padishah of the Umbral Armada, Conciliator of the Three Hundred Worlds, the Arbitrator, Caliph of Neu Amalut, the Steel Companion, Grand Rival of the Dawn has long awaited your arrival” There was no small amount of pride beaming from within the helmet of Raamiz as he spoke aloud to the arriving primarch. A small snicker gurgled up from the seated Thirteenth Primarch.

“My apologies, Usriel, I tasked Raamiz with reciting all of my divine titles the moment that you had entered the room. You weren’t there originally and I felt immense disdain that you failed to see my dramatic entrance.” The dusken deity continued to lightly cackle to himself as the Nineteenth Primarch sat at the foot of the circular table, thronging with holographics and deities alike. His eyes snapped to the shroud that clung to Usriel’s armor as his laughter ended. A beaming, toothy smile replaced the placated smirk that had adorned his face earlier. “Continue as you will, younger brother, I will try not to interrupt you further.”

“My fellow Primarchs,” Usriel began once more, seemingly unmoved by the interruption, would speak in a cold tone more relaxed than many had ever heard, “I have called you all here to inform you all that Augor shall no longer be heading this siege, he has delegated that task to me in his stead.” The Father of the Nineteenth did not address anyone in particular, his focus dedicated to the planning of the siege. He pressed a button on the table, displaying the member legions of the campaign and the forces that had been promised to the fruition of their task. The symbols of the Stargazers and the Abyssal Lurkers, along with their collective assets, went red and disappeared from the holograph as Usriel spoke, “To make up for losing two of the key legions in this invasion, I shall muster the entirety of the Nineteenth once more, leaving Auxilia to watch over my fortresses along with two companies to continue recruiting for my legion.”

“Then the outset of the Council of Nikea is true. Both Huo and I heard what happened via astropathic message during our campaigns in Segmentum Obscurus.” The Thirteenth Primarch began to speak as Usriel’s words rebounded around the war room. The vibrant orange orbs left the Nineteeth’s armor to watch the Legions disappear from the holograph. One of his clawed gauntlets snatched a stone cup full of Strategie Met, raising it to the thin lips of the Malik. He began to speak once more as the drink was set down. “The loss of their support will be staggering, but we will fill the void in their place. Where we had lost two key assets, you now have five to command. The might of the Dusk Wardens are with you, Usriel.”

Primarch Zaphariel briefly turned his attention to the skull helmeted Astartes at his side, a nod allowed Raamiz to begin speaking. “High Hakim of the Hafiz, Raamiz Urahal. To the craftworld siege, the Dusk Wardens have pledged twenty-four thousand Astartes. Five-hundred thousand auxilia mamluk and a thousand Legiones Mamluk have been prepared for the first wave of the assault. Our arsenals further account for several thousand graviton weapons ready to distribute forcewide. The mortal mamluk of the Thirteenth shall give their lives for you.” The hafiz bowed their form to the gathered deities at the table before stepping back behind the Malik of Pandjoras.

For a moment, the normally joyful and energetic Strahlender fell silent. The fate of the Abyssal Lurkers and the… misguided brother in charge of them and the discoveries that led to that fate were bitter subjects that were a dark spot on the glory that was the Imperium. After that moment had passed though, he did offer an acknowledgement of Sarghaul even if he didn’t intend to speak of it again. “May the exile of our brother and his legion be the first step of rethinking their lives and the steps they took to reach this point, rather than the final, disgusting note.”

Shaking his head slightly as he cast out the bitterness, he returned his focus to the campaign planning as he sipped deeply of his mug of Strategie Met before speaking again. “I must admit I was originally planning to be more conservative with the forces I was dedicating to this campaign. With so many legions sending forces after all, I wasn’t sure just how much room there would be on this battlefield and I didn’t wish to drag too many of my battle brothers to this fight, only for a number of them to have to sit back and do nothing when they could be earning the Imperium glory and renown elsewhere.”

“However, with the loss of two legions, I think I can send out the call to arms in order to rally an extra twenty thousand Honorbound Astartes to round up the thirty thousand we were already coming with to fifty thousand.. On top of our Imperial army allies and other resources, of course.”

The face of Zelimir pulled further into a sneer at the fanfare of arrivals over the interim between his words, although shifting from a harshly amused to a genuinely contemptful as the plans of action were spoken aloud. With the finger of his right hand, free from balancing his axe, he tapped the large V across the runic chestplate of his armour. “My Sons have their duties to the Crusade, I will not pull more from the scouring of Ullanor or the Coreward march than intended, lest the Imperium be swept from under out feet while we chase glory.” For the moment he shifted his axe, taking the haft in his right before the fingers of his left hand traced over the glowing metal, the weapon held across his lap. “Three Companies, I will lead them.” The two legionaries that flanked their seated primarch moved only to form the sign of the aquila over the V chestplate also marked into their own armour.

Victor silently cast a gaze over the room as his siblings offered up their forces, his remaining eye tracing over the room before falling upon his accompanying Astartes, Zuriel. Zuriel raised two fingers and looked to Victor, who shook his head and returns with a single finger and than gestured to himself. Zuriel gave a final nod and Victor addressed the room himself.

"The First Legion will offer one full chapter, and I will accompany them directly. I hope you will understand the limits placed on our contribution given the size of our forces." Victor stated simply, his voice carefully rising to reach those in the room while still maintaining his quiet nature. Like anything involving a band of Primarchs in the same place, this was as much politicking as it was planning, and Victor intended to act to the benefit of his legion in spite of his reluctance to do so.

"The campaign in the Agripinaa sector has been a serious drain on our logistics," Huo interjected, "although, first and foremost, I would share the intelligence I have gathered of the Aeldari species - after all, one cannot win a battle in which they do not know their enemy." They said, glancing sidelong at the Malik, their brow deeply furrowed. Here was their chance - however small - to persuade their brothers to end this utterly foolish, wasteful endeavour. "In my time in the Agripinaa Sector, I have discovered precisely three Aeldari worlds. One, I am still hunting - but the two I have set foot upon appear to have been extensively terraformed. There are pristine, and exceedingly habitable, despite close proximity to the Great Storm." They explained, steepling their fingers together. "Dotted with Aeldari ruins, of course - likewise in good condition. The carbon-dating I have ordered, inconclusive. Whether this extensive ability to terraform is applicable on a minute-to-minute basis, I am unsure - but what I have found, I believe, does confirm that we will face an enemy with an unusual ability to control the environment of this... World-ship." They said, bringing their fingers down into their lap, folded neatly together. As was often typical of Huo, they briefly paused, allowing their words to be processed, looking across the table and just above their fellow primarchs, awaiting a response.

Where there was no change in Usriel’s movement, the Primarch’s head had snapped to Hou at the mention of further intelligence of his great enemy. Yet, the placid face of anger remained on his helmet as the red eyes drilled into their form in an almost clear annoyance. “Their ability to control their environment is an interesting fact, but that merely increases their danger, and our reasoning to destroy them furthered.” Usriel turned back to the hologram and brought up a hologram of the wraith constructs, the very same that had attempted to undo him. He spoke in a calm hatred, “Their attempt to assassinate me - their clear desire to see me and my sons broken - have only brought forth a new goal to this crusade. While I must adhere to Augor’s own goals, once that is achieved, I shall administer Exterminatus upon their ship, nothing shall remain.”

"I can only wonder why they would attack you, unprovoked. It seems entirely senseless," Huo sighed, shaking their head. "An ailing world, making itself a necessary target. It is as if the fools signed their own death-warrant." They grumbled, once again steepling their fingers together as they stared at the constructs atop the table, deep in thought.

“They signed their death-warrant upon Atis, Hou,” Usriel corrected, staring intently at the wraith before looking to Victor and Zelimir. He thought to himself once more, calming his inner rage for the moment by bringing up the addition of their forces. It was a brief moment of realization, at the forces that he was committing, Augor’s words of restraint still throbbing in the back of his mind. Yet, the zealot was not there to hold him back this time, and he shan’t underestimate the foul xenos again. The Father of Steel spoke to them, “Your additions are very much appreciated, our array shall perhaps be overkill but I will not underestimate them and I will not be caught unprepared.”

"Those at Atis, as I understand it, are unrelated to this world," Huo said, inhaling with a sharp hiss. "I mean no offense, brother, but should we not be hunting those who sent assassins at you?"

“Aeldari are all the same. The ones upon Sarghall just happened to have been a new variant. This farseer,” Usriel said changing the display to that of the powerful Aeldari that had led the expedition, his eyes locking with the display before he continued, “Had known of Augor’s plan and sought to kill me personally, claiming it would protect its people. That was all I could gather before Belloris killed it. As such I can only assume the Farseer was from this Craftworld.”

Another sharp, inhaling hiss, and Huo brought their hands together, quietly interlacing their fingers. "I see," they said, lifting their gaze, their brow knotted together, to stare at Usriel. "The siege is - or perhaps was - entirely preventable, then."

Nelinho felt the need to speak up at this point or risk his Primarch’s objectives being lost due to Usriel’s rage. “This siege is not pointless. One of the core reasons that Lord Augor was so committed to it was the chance to seize and study Eldar technology on mass. My own Primarch is quite interested in prying the secrets of the Webway from them in order to allow the Imperium to directly strike at the Eldar slavers that hide themselves away within its confines. With all due respect Lord Usriel, but destroying the craftworld outright seems to be counter to these goals.”

“As I said, we will adhere to Augor’s goals, but I will take from them everything,” Usriel snapped, turning his head to Nelinho. The Primarch inhaled deeply as he let the matter of the Night Watch’s interjection rest, he would try his best to not lose his temper again. In a simple move, he would bring back the hologram of the Craftworld before haunching over the table. He would look to Hou, then to Zaphariel, and lightly nod as a gesture to his chosen of kin. Usriel spoke to all of the Primarchs and those Astartes present, “I understand that this may sound as if I am merely out for vengeance, and I shall not lie that I seek redemption for the fifty-thousand sons that were taken from me, but Augor has put me at this campaign’s head for he trusts me to carry out the objectives he had set out for us. The Imperium shall have its spoils and their heretical technology shall be wrought from their corpse-ship. I know my great enemy, their tactics and intent for survival. They will stop at nothing to defend their world until the bloody end, we know that they will come to us and attempt their hand at subterfuge.” The Father of Steel gestured to the recent scars of his armor, only partially hidden by the Shroud of Pandjoras.

“Our fight is sealed in fate, the Omnissiah himself has blessed this quest and we shall not fail him. I ask for your trust in me to see this campaign through,” Usriel’s speech came to a close and he looked around the table to gauge the reactions of his kin.

Strahlender had been silent for a time. Simply listening. However, as he looked between the Night Watch representative, Usriel and Hou, he decided to offer a point of view of the situation. His tone was…surprisingly serious as he said “This is not the first time I have heard the suggestion that there are different cultural groups of Eldar. Had any of our kin known what the Abyss Lurkers were doing and said nothing, turning a blind eye to the suffering they were causing out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to another Primarch, they would be as accountable for the crimes committed as those that did them. Whatever differences exist between the Eldar living on a Craftworld and the Eldar Slavers that favor the Webway, the former is almost certainly aware of the actions of the latter and seemingly have done nothing to stop them.”

“That being said…” He paused for a moment, glancing towards the Night Watch tech marine and Hou before continuing “It is possible that this is a case where those living on a Craftworld are unable to act against their depraved kin. The Eldar were an empire that has fallen from grace and the Craftworlds seem to be nations and entities in and of themselves. While we do not know the nature of life in the Webway, one can assume that whatever settlements that lurk within are fortified to hell and back and a species with a limited number of people would be… ill equipped to try and dig them out.”

“If the latter is true, this provides an opportunity.” Putting off the point for a second to refill his cup, Strahlender quickly continued “We make the Craftworld an offer. If it will actively aid the Imperium in the destruction of their slave taking kin by providing Webway access and military information, if not troops, the Craftworld will be allowed to travel freely and unhindered through Imperial space as a recgonized ally of Humanity… provided they don’t throw that away by attacking Imperial targets or what have you.”

“Surely, at least speaking to them is a worthwhile endeavor.” Huo added, making a sweeping gesture toward Strahlender. “If it turns out that those who dwell on the world-ships simply lack the desire to do away with their slaving kin, then they are much less worthwhile. If they are willing to cooperate, then are there not better uses of our sons and daughters?”

“There can be no peace with the Eldar, they are beyond the Edict, that is our Father’s law.” Zelimir spoke, the digits of his hand gripping his weapon flexing dangerously at the thought, but otherwise he remained in place. “ The Siege is necessary for no higher reason than it is our duty to do so, Mankind’s destiny is dominion, it is the purpose we were all forged for. It matters not what esoteric distinction they hold, they would all seek our destruction or enslavement had they the power to do so, but the time of their Empire has passed, they squandered their fate, and so now we take it from them.” An inkling of the broiling storm touched the Primarch’s words, the closest he had come since arriving to the force of personality he was known for. “Enough talk of placating the alien, lest we find ourselves with more siblings accused of treason against the Emperor’s word.”

Taking in the words of his siblings, Victor's brow furrowed briefly as his eye darted around in thought. Seizing the opportunity to speak, he took the opportunity to address the room, though clearly directing himself to both Hou and Zelimir's points.

"While I hold no love for the Eldar and have no desire to supplant our Father's laws, I feel there is a utility in these Craftworld Eldar that could be beneficial in the goal of reaching their more sinister counterparts in the Webway. Our plan is already to conquer this world-ship in one way or another, so why leave it as the end goal of some revenge vendetta? If we could disable the ship and take some of its people prisoner, perhaps we could use them as tools to get to those hiding in the Webway? They would be offered no protection once their role is done, they would simply be a means to a further end. I would even volunteer myself and my men for this purpose, and if it proves infeasible, we simply revert to our original goals."

“We are not speaking of the Edict of Tolerance, Zelimir.” Strahlender answered quickly in return. “I am suggesting a one time offer in which this Craftworld would be recognized as an independent, allied state of the Imperium, not a vessel or a conqured slave race. They would also be likely to accept the terms of this agreement as well since… Well, they’re doomed and they know it. Their one hope of this siege not being the death sentence of their Craftworld was literally attempting to assassinate Usriel beforehand and it failed. If they refuse anything close to reasonable terms at this point, they are either too proud or too stupid to live and my battle brothers will gain many stories and much glory from their destruction.”

“However, they have to be given an offer in the first place otherwise we’re going to be dealing with doomed defenders fighting a long defeat in the name of their home. While such valor is respectable and will make for a heroic setting for many stories and legends, it will be costly and we might not get anything out of it in the end.”

Usriel had been silent whilst the other talked amongst themselves, talking of allowing his most hated of enemies to be offered the olive branch in a sign of peace. An aura of anger flooded the surroundings; dim lights began to flicker, the hologram began to go in and out of existence with each image distorting further and further. Belloris backed away from the table knowingly, as the Father of Steel’s rage began to manifest in the physical surroundings of the Primarch - he was unable to suppress his hatred anymore. His voice boomed over the chamber, the rage in his voice further than what could have been mustered by any of the other Primarchs at the time, “You would ask me to make peace with my most hated?! You would ask me to work alongside them?! Nay! I would better be sent to be experimented upon by Sarghaul than to work alongside those monsters! I will NOT be denied anything other than their total annihilation or so help me, by the Omnissiah, I will visit death upon any who would deny me what vengeance I am owed!”

Despite Usriel raising his voice, Strahlender didn’t seem all that cowled. “Yes. Because doing so would allow you to directly confront those who organized and executed the ambush of Atis directly, giving you the justice you need rather than the vengeance you crave.”

“Brothers, brothers.” Zaphariel stood from his seat, the arms of the Malik spread wide to address the throng of primarchs around the table. As he began to speak, his words reverberated twice over in a supremely eloquent tone that bounced across the war room. The ears of the Imperium’s finest warriors figuratively inclined towards the voice as it spoke. “I believe we’ve had enough on suggesting how to deal with the Eldar and their world-ship. The xenos present on the ‘craftworld’ will be put to the sword. There is no avoiding that, lest you forget that they attempted to assassinate a primarch. For that singular injustice, there will be holy retribution. That is something that we can all agree upon. The matter of what to do with the ship - salvage, destroy, or retrofit - can be dealt with in the aftermath when our duties are fulfilled.”

“With the matter of the craftworld laid to rest, I believe it would behoove the council to begin discussing our tactics and roles in the coming siege. Brother Usriel, please, elaborate on how you would field us.” The Primarch of the Dusk Wardens reseated himself, the echo of his voice reverberating its last strum. The eyes of hassan darted between each primarch to watch their reaction, carefully tapping his clawed gauntlets across the surface of the table. Zaphariel’s smooth masquerade failed to break even as his orange orbs passed over the likes of dissenters.

A look from the Malik of Pandjoras passed to Belloris, a hand gesturing to the Father of Steel to attend to him. He gave a slow nod to boost the resolve of the blonde haired woman. Few primarchs, and fewer Astartes, could calm the infernal rage of the Vionborn; however, Belloris certainly had a larger ratio of success in comparison to the duskborn.

Without a single word, Huo lazily pushed themselves to their feet, golden robes flowing behind them as if blown by an invisible win

"General Wei," they began, turning their back toward the holographic table. "We have business to attend to in the outlying zones of the Agripinaa Sector. Summon the Fabricator-General of Voss Prime." Huo said, quietly clearing their throat. The Astartes, towered over by her primarch, nodded and turned as they began to leave.

Despite the anger Usriel felt in that moment, he could almost feel the soft touch of Belloris’ hand through his armor, a calming feeling that almost made him ignore the fact that Hou was leaving. Instead, he forced himself to look upon the human, her eyes were stern in an urging for him to stop his rage and so he forced himself to. The Nineteenth Son looked to Zaphariel and nodded in agreement with him, understanding it was time to move forwards. The flickering of the room turned back into a consistent dim light and the hologram returned to a stagnant display, this time of the Aeldari fleet that surrounded the Craftworld.

“Very well,” Usriel said in a cruel voice.

As the words left Usriel’s lips, the room plunged into darkness. It was not simply a cessation of light, a but a void of all vision. It did not coil or coalesce, it simply was, the unending void of the darkness between stars. When a new voice followed, it seemed to come from the void itself, all around, unable to be pinpointed even by the supernatural senses of the Primarchs and their Astartes.

“Children of the Seer, take this as warning, the path you seek to tread leads only to the ruin of all. Your people and my own have committed great acts of rage upon each other, but only by putting this aside can we prevent the calamity to come.” With the first of the words completed, the great darkness that had suffused the room sparked with floating runes, the language of the Aeldari dancing in the air, before light returned, at once, with enough force to register even across the eyes of the enhanced, the room as it was, with one exception. A lithe figure, draped entirely in black robes trimmed with the ivory of bone, stood at the heart of the gathering, one hand gripped around the staff of his ancient office.

“I am Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Ulthwe, I greet you, that the future I have seen might yet be prevented, if you can but spare the lives of my people.”

"Oh," Huo said, clicking their tongue in approval as they smoothly whirled about to face Eldrad, all while Wei, turning just as smoothly, unsheathed the enormous power-blade attached to their back. "I suppose you are not here to kill us, else we would be dead already."

Strahlender had risen to his feet the moment that the lights had been taken out, alongside his two battle brothers. Unlike them, he hadn’t drawn a weapon as the Eldar made his presence known; This wasn’t due to not wishing to be armed as much as he had elected not to bring a weapon to this meeting amongst siblings. However, as the Farseer made their case, he couldn’t help but chuckle a little in amusement. “I must confess, during this whole process of discussing a possible diplomatic solution to this situation, I didn’t factor in the Eldar making contact first.”

The skull-helmeted form of Raamiz began to unchain the grimoire attached to his side with a quickness unlike standard Astartes, but froze in place as he activated the powerfield of the tome. Similarly, the form of the elder Astartes to the right of Zaphariel had removed his chainaxe to strike at the Aeldari before him. Similarly to the hafiz, his form suddenly froze as if forced into stasis. The Primarch of the Dusk Wardens slowly rose from his seat to idly gaze at the illustrious form of Eldrad Ulthran. The eyes of hassan deeply drank of the sight that unfolded before him, the Malik of Pandjoras’ pupils widened with excitement. His lips failed to create competent words, instead breaking out in a toothy grin. The only words in the harsh bark of Pandjoran Low Gothic were: “It was just as they said.”

General Nelinho did not automatically draw a weapon with the intention of opening fire with it. Instead, as his fellow Astartes found themselves frozen in some kind of stasis, the Night Watch General instead calmly but slowly pulled out a plasma pistol and placed it on the table before him. Easily within reach if violence was needed, but reframing for the time being as he simple watched and listened.

The glow of another plasma pistol had illuminated the room, Usriel’s own, that had been pointed straight at Eldrad the moment he revealed himself. His reflexes had been fast enough to put his finger on the trigger but the Eldar had stopped him just before any shot could ring out. Anyone would notice that his thumb hover just above the setting that would throw the weapon into a supercharge. It was clear that the lithe xeno was just in time to stop the Primarch that would most want him dead on the spot. The Nineteenth’s red eyes bore into the Aeldari, rage incarnate clear even beyond the visor as his mind struggled to try and undo the binding that had been cast upon him.

Belloris meanwhile, was stationary, not because of her being thrown into stasis like the hostile Primarchs - she was beyond such reckless aggression. Instead, her purple eyes flared in a clear anticipation, a piercing violet glow almost illuminating her face. She stifled mad laughter by biting into her lip, a crimson streak running down her chin in a single line of blood. The human did not act as her lord had, she was pleased to see the Aeldari and she shifted in place as her fingers toyed with something behind her back.

Next to the demigod giants the Aeldari figure seemed almost inconsequential at the heart of the chamber, yet the air thrummed with the very presence of such a being, the psychic might of such an individual holding back the tide of violence intent on annihilating him practically incomprehensible to determine. The being did not respond individually to any of those present, even if all felt the scrutiny of his great mind, instead, Eldrad’s left hand swept gracefully through the air, tracing runes that burst into a soft light.

“Behold then, the future you would pursue.” As the words sounded from his helm, the hovering runes extended outwards, before dispersing. Once again, the visage presented to those gathered altered, shimmering beneath the skein of fate. This time, rather than the embrace of darkness, the currents of the immaterium forged a vision. The intricacies of such changed for each present, but a clear theme ran throughout. The visions imparted by the witchcraft depicted scenes across the galaxy, treasured homes, bastions of reason, the hallmarks of the Imperium, in crumbling ruin. The ceramite clad forms of Astartes warred among them, the ravages of war turning their battered forms into armour clad demons of myth. Among them, the shattered remains of untold mortal humans, utterly unrecognizable and broken from the war of brutality around them.

”Your age of reason is at an end, only the darkness awaits.

The visions coalesced, a figure of fire clutching the bloodstained mess of a great sundered wing, a glorious figure of gold carried aloft and broken by a son in mourning, and a further collapse into darkness, punctuated only by one, sonorous voice.

”Let The Galaxy Burn,”

As the vision fell away once more, leaving the room as it was, Eldrad spoke once more.

“You have been mislead, the great enemy stirs, and only through an end to our petty wars can we have hope of putting a halt to this future, spare my people, that we might stand together, or otherwise damn humanity to a slow, painful, destruction at the hands of forces you do not comprehend.”

Huo’s strange joviality fell away in an instant - their characteristic calm broke like waves upon the rocks, hands clenching, even shaking at what they’d just seen; whether fear or anger, however, they could not tell. “How - how did it happen?”

For his own part, Strahlender followed Hou’s example in that what remained of his jolly nature disappeared the moment the visions started. It was a harsh, difficult thing to bare witness to… even if he didn’t put much faith in fortune telling and visions. In the visions, he swore he witnessed some of his own battle brothers in the Honorbound, fighting among themselves… It was a heartbreaking sight.

General Nelinho did not remain silent for long. While Hou was inclined to speak about what the vision meant, the one representative that wasn’t a Primarch spoke, even if there was a hint of trying to suppress the unease in his voice from the things he had witnessed. “If your people will give us the technology to access the Webway and deal with the monstrous wretches that plague all life with their slave raids and torments, that would go a long way to sparing their lives, Eldar.”

Victor's brow furrowed and a stern look overtook him as he reflected upon what they had been shown. Amidst the chaotic battles plaguing humanity, he'd seen one which stood out clear as day. His Legion Master, Zuriel, the man who stood by his side that very moment had been leading forces to battle against Victor. Looking to Zuriel, he could tell he had seen similar. As he contemplated the vision, he offered a question to the Eldar standing before them. "Why go to us? If this 'great enemy' is such a threat, why not go directly to our Emperor? Surely this concerns him more than us."

“The tinder of Augor’s matchbox saw fruition…” Zaphariel whispered as the scenes danced across his eyes as malevolent illusions. The rest of the primarchs held mixed looks of horror, confusion, and frustration, but the Malik of Pandjoras held a placid look. The orange orbs of the umbral world reflected no disgust in the face of these images, but silently held a gaze of knowing as if it had already been played to him. His tanned skin prickled as the last words were spoken by the mourning son. The claw-tipped gauntlets of the Sultan reached out to touch a passing, phantasmal Astartes; however, his movement stopped short as the crimson gene-warrior beheld a pauldron with a blade and sun. “... The fires of the Stargazer’s previous ambitions will burn all of us then. Every Scion of the Emperor, every Astartes, every mortal.”

“It is your Emperor who set these events in motion.” It was in those final words that a bright blue erupted in the room - a small sun traveling quickly across the room. Usriel had seen the visions and all they did was remind him of Atis, his great failure, and a fury swept through the nineteenth. To him, these were no visions; they were a threat that the Aeldari imposed to try and intimidate him into backing away from Augor’s - no, HIS crusade against the great enemy of his sons. Yet, the Father of Steel had broken through the stasis-imposing witchcraft, unrelenting anger breaking through the Aeldari’s master psychics. The blue bolt illuminated the room only for a moment before an eruption scattered crystalline fragments across the room. It seemed that what had been in front of him had been a farce, much like the empire the Eldar clung to. Rage spurred in every fiber of his being, even through his armor it was clear as day to see, for even Belloris looked to him in fear rather than lust.

Usriel looked to other primarchs in a silent anger, holstering his plasma pistol as Belloris slowly began to back away, “Heed not the deceptions of the xenos. Anyone who entertains his threats for peace, I shall bring to the Emperor in chains, myself.”

The quiet following Usriel’s declaration was broken as a heavy hand was placed down on the table rather firmly. Strahlender hadn’t slammed the table… if only because there wouldn’t be a table left if he did. It was a measured blow to make a loud noise, but not destroy what was hit. “Brother Usriel, I had my growing doubts about your ability to make rational decisions based on your history with the Eldar during this meeting. But I must now ask you to stand down as leader of this expedition. I have every reason to believe that you would let wounded pride and your thirst for vengeance take precedence over the good of the Imperium and the lives of those under your command if you remain in charge. So please brother… stand down.”

The Primarch of the First spoke as well, a grim demeanor spread wide over him. "I hold no love for the Eldar, and I'm committed to seeing this Craftworld overtaken by the Imperium. But anger leads to rash and foolish mistakes, I've seen it lay low some of the most skilled individuals I've ever met. I have no qualms with superseding your orders to my legion during this operation, brother, if you continue to act on base rage rather than from a tactical focus."

Usriel quickly shot a glare at Strahlender, seemingly ignoring the grim words of the First for the time being. Control of the situation was firmly out of his control, yet he would dare ask Usriel to stand down from his post - dare to side with the Aeldari. The ever paranoid mind of the Nineteenth suspected treason, knowing Strahlender had wanted to engage in diplomacy with the Eldar. His mind raced. He was almost certain that his kin had been swayed. Then, his eyes looked to Victor, the words finally registering in his mind as he then began to mentally recite the canticles. Usriel’s gaze remained fixated on Strahlender before he spoke in a restrained fury, “No.” The single word of defiance echoed through the chamber. It resonated with a clear disdain that met with the concern of Strahlender.

“I shall helm this campaign as Augor has ordained upon me. If you bear further issue, by all means, go seek him out,” those last words contained much malice, poison dripping through the words as any acid that could drip through an Astartes saliva. Yet, Usriel dared no longer look Strahlender.

The snap of a powerfield crunching against metal blasted across the chamber as the hafiz by the Thirteenth Primarch’s side returned from stasis. The grimoire of the spiritual guide smoked along the edge of it’s shielding. The sheer grinding sound of a chainaxe wound to a close as the other Dusk Warden was restored to realtime. A umbral gauntlet clasped the pauldron of the draconic Astartes, Zaphariel acknowledging Zaid’s restoration from the psychic thrall. The Malik and the Legion Master shared a wordless look, a singular nod from the Sultan. The elder gene-warrior produced a dataslate to be placed on the war table, his dusken gauntlet gesturing for a nearby servo-skull to claim it.

“The Primarch of the Nineteenth is correct in his abhorrence, brothers, you refuse to believe the atrocities that the Aeldari have committed. Exclusively for this council, I had prepared preliminary data. Illusions, falsehoods, phantasms, psionic mirages are the work of Warlocks and Farseers. Many of you present…” The Malik of Pandjoras’ gaze momentarily passed the forms of Strahlender and Huo. “...believe that this is a warning. This is a preemptive strike, one that has been in progress since the beginning of the initial discussions.”

“Behold, kin, the data presented before you. Augor, interrupted in his duties to the Imperium, failed to upkeep his vigilance on the Eldar. The hassan have not.” Zaphariel swept his hands in a grand gesture as the hololith alighted with fresh data from the dataslate procured from Zaid. Clusters of activity within the Segmentum Obscurus, bordering the Halo Stars and Segmentum Pacificus, grew crimson with packets of data. Each packet highlighted streams of data involving myriads of subtle acts of subversion - minorly redirecting Imperial fleets, small-scale sabotage, low-value target elimination. The list continued with dates recorded within the timeframe between present and the Council of Nikea.

“Usriel, your rage is justified as it has always been, but the only way to root out assassins, saboteurs, and slithering skinks is with a furious mind honed to a blade. Trust me on this as Grandmaster of the Hassan. Savor your righteous hatred for the xenos on the Craftworld, they will taste retribution. I implore the rest of this council to harbor faith in the Father of Steel. There is still so much we have to do.” The Malik of Pandjoras finished as the collection of primarchs began to review the presented data.

It was a credit to Strahlender’s patience and the argument that Zaphariel was making that the Primarch of the Honorbound remained silent as he waited for him to finish. He humored the Malik of Pandjoras by looking at the data that he had gathered for display, but in the end he spoke softly, but with enough force to be heard all the same. “Strike at this Craftworld and all that will happen is that all the other Craftworld will naturally polarize against the Imperium to avenge their fallen kin. It was a combination of blind luck and Augor’s dedication to keeping track of Iris that we even know the location of this one. This is a war that will last centuries, if not thousands of years solely because striking at the heart of the Eldar isn’t possible with a heavy handed fist.”

“And if that battle needed to be fought, I would dedicate all of my resources to doing so. I suspect it doesn’t, but as Usriel has been blinded by his hatred of the Eldar to not to even consider any alternative I clearly have no place here. I will be withdrawing myself and the Honorbound from this endeavor in order to serve the Imperium where we can do some good and prove our valor for this battlefield will provide neither.”

With a gesture, those that came with Strahlender started to solemnly make for the door to leave with their Primarch being the last. “May this folly not prove to be your undoing brothers.” Was all he muttered as he stepped through the doorway and left them behind.

"A pre-emptive strike, brother?" Huo said, their gaze [i]snapping[i/] to the Malik, plastered with an utterly sardonic smile. "If you think that is what that was, truly, then you do not understand. If that being - that Eldar - wanted to kill us, to stop this siege, to lay us low..." They sighed shaking their head.

"This vessel would be naught but ash, and we would have been dead before we knew what was happening."

“My dearest, fairest sibling, it seems that you, too, fail to understand the gravity of the situation as it evolves. To that, I apologize on behalf of the Ordo Astranoma and the collective body of the Imperium for their lackings.” The Malik of Pandjoras bowed his head theatrically low to the honored form of the Shuguan. Raamiz followed the actions of his primarch, while Zaid refrained from excessive movements like his gene-father. His words were spoken with venom masqueraded as faux benevolence. “You believe I speak of Eldrad as the preemptive strike, but I speak of the very moment that these plans were spoken in the halls of Nikea. The strings of fate were pulled from that moment. Review the data, generously provided by the Stargazers, Dusk Wardens, Armada Imperialis, Adeptus Mechanicum, and the Imperial citizens afflicted by their kind.”

"Cease with your honeyed words, brother, and speak frankly - you know damned well that I have seen the data, that I have informed myself, and yet, you hide the truth from me as if you expect me to be blind! Pfagh!" Huo hissed, rolling their eyes. "I love you, Malik, truly, for you are my sibling - but it is youyou fails to understand what is happening. It is you who fails to understand that a nail is being driven into the Imperium's heart, that we are making an unknowably powerful enemy which has no desire to make a foe of us - or perhaps, brother, you are simply too high off of the fumes of your own ego to care what harm this campaign will bring to our nation?" They barked, sucking in a sharp breath through their nose in an attempt to calm themselves.

"No,, I say. I will not let this Imperium be torn apart! I will bring word of this meeting to father my own damn self." They said, their voice shuddering, as if struggling to choke back sobs, promptly whirling about. "The writing is on the wall, dear siblings. I suggest that you read it."

Usriel finally spoke, his head only slightly tilting to the words of Hou, his aura of anger still prominent - almost blind to any words other than Zaphariel’s. He rose to his full height, fully turning as Huo continued to speak pleas and idle threats of bringing word of their council to the Emperor. The nineteenth knew not the subtle talk of the Dusk Wardens, nor the scheming of Sekh, but he knew what he was - a servant of the Emperor, the Omnissiah. No task was his to undertake without it being permitted by his holy word and his voice was cold, devoid of the anger that radiated off him like the flares of a roaring star, “Who do you think gave Augor express permission for this venture?” A foot fall signalled the giants approach. “Who do you think ordered Augor to capture their technology?” Each foot step was one of a beast encroaching forth. “The Emperor has ordained this crusade. The Omnissiah has decreed our objectives and so it is our duty as his generals to carry it out. Speak to him, it will change nothing, for our Emperor is a cold and merciless lord. He desires their webway and cares not for the lives of the Aeldari. I urge you, Hou,” Usriel was next to them, “Learn how your father behaves before making such threats.”

"Oh, no, no, brother - you misunderstand why I go to Terra. I am bringing myself to trial - if father deems my actions worthy of censure, then so be it. I will reveal my bare neck to his chosen executioner."

“I commend you for recognizing and accepting the potential for your decision to lead to your own demise.” Victor said, offering Huo a dip of his head. “It shows that there is some level of loyalty to your action, even if I do not agree with the unwillingness to fight. I also agree that our father needs to be made aware of what has transpired here. The Eldar who spoke to us is very clearly more than others of his ilk, and that alone warrants investigation. Who exactly he is to their people, what exactly he spoke of is something I intend to look into, and this Craftworld should prove a good opportunity to do so. Let Huo leave, and if any of you attempt to stop them, I’ll be informing the Emperor what they wished to tell him myself…and if you stop me you’ll be losing yet more forces to this cause.”

A dusken gauntlet lightly touched the pauldron of Usriel, the light steps of the hassan having stepped up to stand by the side of the Nineteenth Primarch. Though hesitantly, Zaphariel reached out his other gauntlet to rest on the Shuguan's shoulder as well. "Huo, you asked me for no more honeyed words. You shall have them in the near future. For now, however, let this tirade end, lest it devolves further into another aftermath of Nikea. You are Scion, just as we are. Do what you believe is best, and we shall do ours - both in the name of the Imperium. Ask the questions that Victor brings up, should you meet our Father before him." The Malik spoke with a softness that belied the frequent bark of Pandjoran Low Gothic. The Sultan let the gauntlet on Huo fall away as he lightly urged the Father of Steel back towards the war table with his other hand.

With everything that had just transpired between the Primarchs, one could be forgiven for forgetting about Nelinho. However, now that the chaotic nature of the council had passed, he finally had his chance to speak up to hopefully calm the tensions of the remaining Primarchs. “...I am going to have to make contact with Primarch Micholi in order to inform him of the departure of the Honorbound and the Celestial Dragons from this campaign… and request additional forces to try and make up for the loss.”

Wordlessly, Huo pulled their shoulder away from the Sultan, walking out the door.

Usriel watched Huo leave, his anger dissipating with each step of their steps out of the door, silence befalling the room once more. The Father of Steel moved back to his original place at the head of the table, allowing for the display of the Craftworld to return. He spoke calmly, looking between those that remained within his solemn chamber, a rhetorical question echoed through the room, “Without any more distractions, shall we begin a proper planning of our assault?”

The Malik of Pandjoras, too, returned to his seat between the forms of Raamiz and Zaid. His armored elbows propped up on the tabletop with his claw-tipped gauntlets steepled. A short, silent sigh of relief passed his thin lips as Huo left in earnest. Zaphariel’s hood shifted as he addressed the member of the Night Watch present. “That would be most wise, General Nelinho. With Usriel’s permission, have one of your attendants send an astropathic message. Legion Master Zaid, accompany the Night Watch and deliver a message to the Twenty-Sixth through the Forty-Fifth Great Conclave to redirect their fleets. Organize the Forty-Sixth through the Fiftieth to take their place.” A short nod from the archaic Astartes affirmed the order, presenting the sign of the aquila before removing himself from the war council.

“I am as prepared as you are, Usriel.” The Thirteenth Primarch softly spoke as the Legion Master left his side.

Despite the assurance that he would be seeking out the additional support of his brothers and their resources, Nelinho decided to address the Eldar in the room in order to clear the air and reassure the remaining Primarchs of his personal views of the situation. “While a disturbing image, all we just saw was Eldar trickery. A ploy to weaken resolve. Nothing more. While it might have weakened our forces by removing those unwilling to commit to the work that must be done, it will not save them nor prevent us from seizing the secrets of the Webway from the purged, burned out ruins of their Craftworld. It is the will of both Primarch Micholi and the Emperor that the Eldar will be purged from the Webway… and if I have anything to say about it they’ll be just enough placement on the list of extinct xenos monsters that historians will recite stories of.”

Turning to his servo skull, the Night Watch General blurted in binary for a moment before the skull took off. The doorway briefly opened to allow it to leave and carry its message.

Victor and Zuriel looked to each other, silently processing the course of events and the potential of what was to come. Looking back to the rest of the war room, Victor offered another reassurance of his support. "I am still as committed to this as before. To make up for the losses I'll be providing an additional half-chapter of the First Legion as well. I'll need all the information we have on critical systems and commanders among the enemy, as I intend to strike to cut the head from this snake as quickly as possible."

A silent, affirmative nod came from the Nineteenth before he looked to Zaphariel, “And do you wish to commit more to this, knowing that others have deserted us?”

The Sultan slowly shook his head in repliance to Usriel. “Unfortunately, my brother, the remainder of the Dusk Wardens are spread thin across the Imperium. The hafiz are divided between the Librarian Crusade and acting as arbiters for the Imperial Truth in other Legions. The only ones you’ll see at the siege are Raamiz and his conclave. My hassan are handling threats along the galactic rim and with internal matters as well. Truly, if the void they left could be filled in exchange for supporting your retribution, then I would’ve already brought them to the fight.” Zaphariel spoke slowly as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. The logistics of his Legion weighed heavily on his mind, regardless of his eternal masquerade.

“Then it seems that what we have is what we shall get,” Usriel responded, looking to the other primarchs for a brief moment, almost half expecting them to make some dramatic decree of mustering their whole legion. Knowing that such a reality was never going to come to him, the nineteenth gazed upon the craftworld once more. It was the time for commanding and preparation, no more will the dramatics of the primarchs rule the room. He spoke as in a calculating tone, “Our first obstacle to bringing down this world will undoubtedly be their guardian fleet, as Augor has already explained in great detail.”

He looked to Zaphariel, “Neither me nor my sons are adequately specialized in the nature of void warfare. I am hoping that you have the confidence to aid me in this endeavor.”

The Malik of Pandjoras’ shifted a forlorn look at the Father of Steel. He’d ponder a moment before answering his brother once more. “The honor of admiralty for this conquest is a gracious one, brother. One that I would take without hesitation, but I am no Sekhmetara. The accolades I’ve acquired in the void are less grandiose compared to our sister’s vengeful fleets.” Humility crept into his voice, carefully considering the correct way to accept the responsibility of becoming grand admiral for the siege. Zaphariel’s gaze fell across the table to each and every Primarch and Astartes in attendance.

“If the rest of our brothers have no objections to my undertaking the mantle of Grand Admiral, then I would accept the honor you present to me. I’ve always wanted to boast the title of Padishah of the Umbral Armada to the rest of our siblings as it was.” The dusken deity bowed his head in acceptance of the task set before him, raising only to further address the issues at large. Zaphariel gestured to Raamiz, the hafiz already preparing a dataslate on preparation for the appointment. “At your earliest convenience, my siblings, provide me with a complete and accurate account of volunteer vessels - especially if you plan to utilize the flagship of your legions. Once this council is concluded, I will begin the long task of accounting for all Armada Imperialis, Mechanicum, Collegio Titanicus, and warranted Rogue Trader militant fleets available.”

There were no objections. As such the view of the craftworld focused, Usriel would leave the naval strikes to Zaphariel. The Nineteenth gazed over the world-ship, analyzing it slowly before speaking, “In the midst of combat, I would recommend we have a myriad of boarding parties from the Night Watch and the Emperor's Lightning move onto their abominable ship so that we may begin cutting the head off of this serpent.”

“A difficult task.” Nelinho answered, focusing on the image of the craftworld. “Not impossible, but difficult. Considering how much their leadership employs witch magics in their day to day lives, it makes the act of taking them unaware… challenging. Normally the trick is to put a sniper bullet in their head before they even know someone is there lining up a shot, but we don’t really know a lot about the layout inside of the Craftworld…”

“The Mechanicum can give you theorized layouts for what simulation the Night Watch must go through. Yet, if you truly worry about their accursed psykers then you shall step with umbral shadows,” Usriel said, turning his head to Zaphariel, “Your librarians shall accompany their initial boarding so that they might remain hidden about our objective.”

“Your will be done, Supreme Commander. Raamiz, accompany the Night Watch with your hafiz once the void war has ended. Show our siblings what it truly means to drown in dusk.” The Thirteenth Primarch boasted with a toothy grin, the skull-helmeted Astartes next to him salaaming in gesture towards General Nelinho.

The Nineteenth Primarch wordlessly went through what information he had about the Craftworld within his helmet, Augor had theorized many different problems the legions would face. Usriel would remain undaunted, and he would remain firm in his conviction as he changed the display of the table to that of several different entry points for the infiltrators. Their forces burned against the red of the Craftworld with a dark blue, their forces scattering. He spoke with confidence, “This is to prepare us for the main invasion force for we must attack the Craftworld as swiftly as possible lest allow them to properly consolidate further before our forces come to bare.”

At this, Victor stepped up to the projection and spoke, carefully scrutinizing the projected information of the Craftworld. “If we can prioritize rapid strikes against what we believe to be critical systems for the vessel and its operating crew in these positions…” He gestured at points along the Craftworld as he spoke. “...We should be able to prevent the vessel from exercising any sort of control over primary functions. Locking down the equivalents of a bridge and an engineering deck should be of the highest priority. Add in targeting any sort of command or leadership structure they attempt to muster. The initial boarding action should be focused on, essentially, capturing the ship itself and whatever could be called its crew in the traditional sense. My forces can handle that. Once the ship is as disabled as we can make it, it's a matter of clearing out the inhabitants. I’ll designate these positions as primary insertion points based on our understanding of their nature. Once those are taken, these additional objectives here will be my forces’ points of interest.” He gestured to positions throughout the ship, marking the initial insertion points with an emblem, and the secondary Legion-specific objectives with the emblem of the First. “If you can coordinate your forces around this, focusing on keeping these positions from receiving additional opposition support, it should make controlling the ship for the duration of the battle significantly easier.” With that, Victor stepped back and offered his siblings a dip of his head, inviting them to analyze and consider his proposals.

“I believed such things went without saying, Victor,” Usriel said, giving the other Primarch a nod in agreement before continuing, “Once the main assault is upon us; we must strike as one. Zelimir, you and the main Dusk Warden Mamluk force shall grant us our proper breach once the forward elements have best found one for us. My sons and the rest of the Dusk Wardens shall strike from many directions to ensure a successful boarding.” The display went to a hollow interior, unmapped and unknown for the time being, blue markings denoting a front line that spread across the outside of the world-ship as if to make a mock outline of it. Usriel would speak further of his plans, “Our primary objective will be to relink our lines amongst the boarding and form a cohesive front. From there, we shall begin to close the noose and rally with the covert elements to ensure we maintain the control while we begin the butchering in full.”

“Do not worry about the Legiones Mamluk, brother, use them as you see fit. They are frontline, assault warriors tempered in the hottest fires of war, perfectly complimenting the Drakes Exemplar. The Second Sultan, Zameel, will respond to your queries and orders if given. He leads nearly two thousand of his Mamluk brethren, a pair of Great Conclaves in their own right. They will not disappoint. You have my assurance on that.” The Malik of Pandjoras spoke with a strange mix of disgust and reverence as he turned his head to regard Zelimir. Raamiz’s skull helmet turned to the side, speaking into the air with slight movements of his headgear. His lenses returned to the Primarch to confirm the words previously spoken.

“My sons are with you, Usriel, as they always have been. Astartes that survive the void war will join you for conquest with a host left in the Umbral Armada in case of ambushes.” Zaphariel said as his gauntlet trailed the emblem of the Thirteenth Legion on various entry points previously marked by the other Primarchs. He then turned to the Father of Steel with a continuation of his statement. His slitted pupils slightly widened in controlled excitement as he spoke again. “Other than previously discussed, do you have tertiary objectives while the main assault is underway?”

Usriel slightly turned his head towards Zaphariel, giving a brief answer, “Whatever powers their ship, I want it intact. If it can power a ship of such magnitude, it would prove to be a valuable study for the greater Mechanicum. However, if it is not possible to achieve this, then it shall be destroyed along with the ship once we have looted it.”

“We fight and die, in his name.” The initial assent from Zelimir was full of his usual sense of both dread and determination, placing a fist to his chestplate, an action echoed a moment later by the two terminator clad honour guard set behind him. “The Sons of the Fifth shall fight as we always do, may we shed much xenos blood alongside you, brother.” The primarch nodded to Zaphariel, perhaps the closest he had come to any sense of warmth throughout the meeting, now that the needless showmanship and placating of more frivolous moral objections were over, something of his uniquely cold mirth had become present. “We shall do our best not to break the toys of our enemy.”

“If I may…” Nelinho spoke up at last, standing up as he stepped forward “The Primarch of the Night Watch spoke to Primarch Augor on this objective, but I believe it should be reinforced. His desire to purge the Eldar raider from the universe is well known, but in order to do so requires that the Imperium can access their webway in order to purge their strongholds hidden within it. To that end, the more technology we can capture intact in relation to their webway and its gates the better.”

“I am aware that this raid is dedicated to Eldar technology in general, but it must be stressed that anything related to the Webway and how humanity might force its gates to serve our will should be of top priority.”

The Malik of Pandjoras propped his elbows on the war table as he turned to address General Nelinho with a placid gaze. His unshaven chin rested on steepled gauntlets as he spoke to the member of the Night Watch. “You are correct in your beliefs, gene-nephew, to reinforce the desires of the original council. Their webway technology is of the utmost importance, such is one of the primary objectives of this crusade for our Father. I assure you that this council will pay close attention for that technology. If that does not assure you, then have faith in the hafiz I’ve assigned to you. They’ll uncover the myriad shrouds of the Eldar. High Hakim Raamiz is an incredibly observant warrior.” The eyes of hassan turned to regard the skull-helmeted Astartes next to him, who politely bowed in the direction of the Second Legion’s reputable Astartes.

“The grand sultan speaks the truth, General, the hafiz accompanying you will certainly be acting in accordance with the Crusade’s wants. Their webway technology will be unveiled to our assigned taskforce.” Raamiz’s soothing voice spoke with his hands forming the aquila, hoping to reassure the General of the Night Watch.

There was a brief, but respectful nod from the General as he answered “Oh, I have no doubt. But with how… emotional and off topic this Council was earlier, I felt it prudent in order to refocus attention to one of the key objectives.” With his concerns addressed, he returned to his seat.

“In that case, I shall call this War Council adjourned. May the Omnissiah bless us on this most worthy of campaigns and may his will be done,” Usriel said, the image of the Craftworld disappearing into the table as the lights of the room finally dawned in a low, dim glow. The father of steel stepped back from the display table, bowing his head lightly to his peers before gesturing to Belloris, who had since recovered from the fear instilled by Usriel, and had quickly gathered several servo-skulls. The Nineteenth son would speak but once more to the others, instructing them, “These servo-skulls shall account for all the resources taken upon this expedition by your respective legions. This will allow me to keep our logistics sound for this seige so that no shortage of supply may befall us. I will NOT leave anything to chance.”

With those final words Belloris bowed deeply to the Primarchs and the other representatives, Usriel following suit after giving Zaphariel a knowing look. After a brief moment, Usriel turned and walked out leaving Belloris to the finalities of the council.

The Thirteenth Primarch bowed his head in response to the Father of Steel upon his departure, turning his orange gaze to the rest of the Primarchs before standing from his chair. “It truly has been a treat to engage with the rest of you once more, my brothers, despite my absence from the Council of Nikea. This is only the start of a glorious chapter of humanity, something that we shall build for ourselves from the ashes of Iris. Be sure to forward all data relevant to your attending fleet when you have a moment, I’ll have much to plan if we want to win this void war with minimal casualties.” Zaphariel’s hood dipped in a respectful bow to his brothers, turning to march towards the same direction as Usriel. He raised a clawed gauntlet to Raamiz, halting the Astartes in his tracks before stepping beside Belloris. The dusken deity lowered his head to whisper to the mortal, quieting his voice to a deathly silent tone.

‘Find me before my departure from the Fortress of Steel, we have things to discuss.’ The trill of Panjdoran Low Gothic rolled off the tongue of the Primarch even as his lips barely moved. His head leaned away from Belloris, his lips shifting into an overwhelming smile as he resumed speaking in a louder voice. Zaphariel’s arms spread theatrically wide in a dramatic show of appreciation for the mortal beside him. “Thank you for your hospitality, Belloris! It warms my hearts that my younger brother could have a woman as capable as you are. Please allow my High Hakim to remain for a time as I speak with the Supreme Commander.”

With the Council firmly concluded, Nelinho waited until the Primarchs were standing and leaving before he likewise rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make use of the astropath. Rather important to know what additional resources Primarch Micholi can spare.” Offering the remaining Primarchs a respectful bow as he started to make his own exit, he offered one to Belloris as well, through hers was noticeably less deep then the others; A symbol of the difference in rank between her and a Primarch, but respect that she was still a host.

Victor and Zuriel similarly rose from their seats, moving in almost perfect synergy as they did. A look passed between the two before they began to make for the exit. As they moved to depart, Victor too took the chance to speak to their mortal host. “We thank you for your part in this, my brother certainly chose well in selecting those close to him. In particular your skills at handling a wide array of hosts are to be admired, especially those who arrive in sudden and unexpected fashion.” The barest hint of a smile crept across Victor’s face as he left for the exit, leaving his words to linger behind him.

And so Belloris stayed behind, her purple eyes following the lords as they left, her own words echoing as an unheard melody, “It is only so that I may prove myself above the dancing worms that Usriel sees humanity as.”
1x Like Like
Hidden 2 yrs ago Post by Jeddaven
Raw
Avatar of Jeddaven

Jeddaven

Member Seen 1 day ago


//Fortress of Steel - Gloriana-class
//Shuttle Bay
//Orbit of Sarghall
//Sarghall Status: Pacified

The contingent from the Honorbound would have completely left the Fortress of Steel in order to complete their protested withdrawal from the proceedings and the campaign against the Eldar Craftworld… only there was a slight snag. Namely, the shuttle they had flown in on was currently in the middle of being refueled and a maintenance check.

It made perfect sense that they would get the process over and done with while the planning meeting was going. Such things tended to take time to organize after all and the crew hadn’t expected one of the Primarchs to leave early for any reason. Strahlender for his part wasn’t upset by the delay and was inclined to let the crew finish their rather important checklist of tasks to make sure that the shuttle could fly safely. Dying in the void due to a technical error was not the heroic ending that a child of the Emperor deserved after all.

So he and his battle brothers found a place in the hangar to take a seat and wait while Strahlender himself softly began to sing “Möge der Imperator bald kommen, um uns Munition, Tee und Rum zu bringen. Eines Tages, wenn die Reinigung beendet ist, werden wir uns verabschieden und gehen.”

Huo's arrival was announced not by their voice, but by the mournful tune of a masterfully plucked guqing, an instrument few - if any - primarchs would have heard if they hadn't spent time around Huo. They entered the shuttle bay the same way they entered the meeting room, accompanied only by a strange, beautiful young man in golden robes, the masked musician, and, of course, General Wei.

The moment they entered, they glanced across the pay to a large, vermillion-gold shuttle, emblazoned with the Dragon's head of the legion on each of its stubby wings, only to quickly turn back to Strahlender, the tip-tap of their feet and the mortal man beside them announcing their approach while Wei and the musician proceeded toward the shuttle.

"Brother," Huo began, "are you well?"

Glancing towards his sister, Strahlender seemed to ‘jerk’ out of his current headspace. “Oh. Oh yes I’m fine. The crew of my shuttle decided that our planning meeting would be the perfect time to do a refill and maintenance check of the shuttle. In fairness to them, I don’t think anyone could have predicted the rather… disappointing turn of events that has transpired to result in my walking out on our siblings and withdrawing support.”

There was a moment of silence before he tilted his head to the side slightly. “But then, I am not the only one who decided to take a stand and walk out. How are you going, sister?”

"Ha!" Huo laughed, shaking their head as they glanced toward the young man next to them, then back to their sibling. "Terribly. I failed in the very thing I came here to do, and I saw a handful of my siblings refuse to acknowledge clear evidence that their actions would lead them and us to ruin. It is... Disheartening," they said, shaking their head. "But we must press on, I suppose. I have... Work to do in the Agripinaa sector, but before that, I have words to share with father. This Eldar and his visions will be of interest, I think."

There was a small shrug from Strahlender as he answered “Maybe. I confess I do not put much stock in the visions and words of those who claim to see the future. Even if they are not charlatans, interpretation generally cannot be trusted. After all, the one having the vision has their own bias and agenda. But I must agree that interest might be shown… though if I can make a recommendation, you might wish to seek out and speak with Malcador first. Father does tend to listen to his counsel after all and he might be able to word it so that it’s better received.”

"Oh, yes - of course. I should do that," Huo said, clicking their tongue. "I cannot say how Malcador would react, but he is a measured man, at least, and I hope that he would understand better that I intend no insult by my message. It is not preventing the siege, but... Perhaps we can mitigate further disaster."

Strahlender for his part politely shook his head. “It is hard to say. I suspect there is little we can do to save our Brother Usriel from his future folly. One cannot hit what they cannot see and hate blinded him years ago at Atis.”

"Indeed. Not only does he seek revenge, but he refuses to acknowledge literal facts," Huo sighed loudly. "He will not learn, I fear."

“Or he will learn too late. It is the lives that are going to be lost in the process that I mourn.” Strahlender offered in return… before he decided to change the course of the conversation from things that could no longer be avoided. “So what is happening in the Agripinaa sector?”

"Things the Mechanicum is most enthused about," Huo said, smiling almost giddily, glad for the distraction. "As I have been aiding Voss Prime in bringing the forgeworld Agripinaa itself back to operational capacity, we've been discovering data leading us to other objects of value - though there is one in particular that interests me, as of present, and one which I intend to inform Malcador of as soon as I can."

It had to be said, it seemed that some of Strahlender’s excitement had dimmed slightly at Hou’s answer. “Oh. It sounds like you have things under control. With this campaign against the Eldar being withdrawn from, I was rather hoping for a chance to give my brothers in arms another battlefield to prove themselves on. Not saying that your discoveries on Agripinaa aren’t important… If anything, the furtherment of knowledge and science can only be for the betterment of Mankind and the Imperium at large! But you don’t need a bunch of valor seeking warriors to get underfoot.”

"Ah, but you see, brother - Agripinaa is not where we stop! Once the sector is secure, I intend to push further to the north, and there are certain to be a great many foul things there to bring to heel, no?" Huo said, smirking playfully. "If the data we have uncovered on Agripinaa is any indication, there are a great many bounties to be found.

“Oh really?” Strahlender began while trying to sound disinterested. His ‘ploy’ wasn’t a very good one though. “That’s starting to sound more and more like a perilous quest to benefit all of humanity.”

"It is," Huo said, "we reach into the unknown, brother! There is no telling what threats we could find, and I would hate to be caught unprepared. Besides, if I may entirely frank with you..." Huo began, leaning in to whisper. "We had best remain productive, in lieu of participating in the siege."

That little tidbit was more than enough to seal it. “Well… I have thirty thousand battle brothers who need something to do. If you would have us I would be more than happy to help secure Agripinaa and beyond!”

"And I would be honoured to have you," Huo said, smiling to themselves. With the aid of Strahlender's Astartes, they could push deeper into the Segmentum Obscurus ahead of schedule - the more that could be claimed for the Imperium, the better. "There is an abundance of plunder to be claimed, and surely many xenos to be defeated. I know not exactly what, as the records on Agripinaa are incredibly fragmentary, but... They speak in whispers of places of incredible technological might in a sector to the east - its name as-of-yet undesignated, though we know its location. Perhaps you will win the rights, eh?"

“Perhaps. I’ll make the arrangements to meet up with you once-” One of Strahlender’s human crew took a few steps towards the pair of Primarchs. Rather than interrupting the conversation, he merely gestured towards the shuttle before Strahlender finished “-aw, it seems that they have finally finished their check. I trust we will be in touch shortly sister?”

"We will, brother - and, as always, I wish you luck and safe travels," they said, smiling serenely as they bowed in thanks.
↑ Top
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet