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The soft scratches of quills upon vellum filled the campaign tent, a constant drone of activity. In this age of barbarity and strife such was a wonder in its own right, for learned men were rarer than conversion beamers. But the Sigilites were collectors of many rare things, their stores of knowledge the most carefully guarded trove of those riches. By the will of the Emperor and the assent of their Grandmaster, they had poured their efforts and into energy not into the preservation of antiquity, but the prosecution of war.

Reports from the five offensives flooded into a command post well behind the lines, in the deserts of the ancient Sinai. The combined forces of the Emperor and his newest vassals, the Achaemenids, had swept over those sands like the night wind. Only the fortifications of Gyptus's temple-cities withstood the fire and fury that the Emperor's chosen now unleashed, but a war is waged by more than warriors.

Within the back lines, a web of logistics and information spread, trailing behind the Thunder Warriors. They cared little and noticed less for the military administration left in their wake, but all knew its absence would be keenly missed. It was the job then of these scribes to ensure that they were never thought of, to wage war with a pen and scroll. Shipments of ammunition and fresh armor was constantly sent forward by truck, beast of burden, and porter, returning with the wounded, the dead, and whatever gear they could carry. Figures were tallied, need assessed, triage and repair performed, and the Army fought on without sparing a thought for how they always had new rounds to fire.

At the center of this web of information, this churning edifice of blood and treasure that reduced men to mere numbers, sat one man. Malcador, Master of the Administratum, had come to Gyptus to oversee its fall - and to ensure the integration of the Achaemenids into his master's realm. He had yet to take to the field, but as the sieges ground on and the slaughter continued with no end in sight, many whispered that the time would come that he would set aside his pen and pick up his staff.

But not yet. Not with forms left to sign and orders to approve.

War did not wage itself.