Grijs
Enzayne
MarshalSolgriev
Lord Zee
Frettzo
DracoLunaris
Cao the Exiled
VecMalcador is Slightly Irritated
[After the Second Meeting]
Malcador led the procession of superhumans, his older frame seemingly unhindered as he moved to a room of his choosing. Unlike his master’s previous audience with the Magos of the Mechanicum, he didn’t bother dismissing those present, simply selecting a quiet enough corridor before turning on his heel to face the Primarchs. Angered orbs bored into each of their skulls, and he took a deep breath before he let himself talk.
‘What, pray tell,’ he spoke severely, ‘are each of you thinking when you make death threats to your siblings and their guests? Accusing one another of treason is one thing, serious an accusation as that is to throw about; but whilst I may normally turn an eye to wrothful talk, this is I need remind you a formal gathering. We are here to consider the evidence, not beat at one another with words or with fists as children might in a Schola. Especially a human of relatively limited ability to fight back, Augor.’ This last spear was particularly pointed, considering the content.
“The evidence is already clear. Eiohsa and her Astartes are traitors. Micholi has also made his intent clear. The Sixteenth in particular is already in breach of the Imperial Truth and the laws set down by The Emperor. They only still live because you and The Emperor refuse to enforce your own laws, as you would have and have done against me - on Engraila.” Nimue said, blandly to Malcador. She and him had little to no interactions with each other, so she saw him as just an adept close to The Emperor. Closer than her, though.
“Sigilite, the record is and shall be clear upon review.” Augor stated, face shaded a peculiar, faintly yellow-hue offset against his otherwise ashen complexion. “I began our discourse with a dispassionate and rational call to a reasoned discourse and consensus. Time and time again, the same malfeasant actors have plied their every effort to turn the discourse away from the actual matter at hand.” He threw one of his bionic hands in a wild gesture back towards the chamber door. “The Council is convened for a particularized purpose and they wish to discuss instead evading and redrafting the Imperial Truth. It is precisely as I said - there is a point past which the privilege afforded to them exceeds the boundaries of what should be permissible and verges onto betrayal. There are countless billions of Human souls that will bear witness to these proceedings, and as crass as my reaction was, worse still would it be to permit the impression that egregious dissent and rejection of the Imperial Truth is permissible. My conscience is clear, and I stand by everything I said.” His voice, if tense, was firm and unapologetic.
Usriel remained silent, his hands firmly behind his back as his helmeted view seemed to go past Malcador without any true explanation behind his words to Ayushmatki. It became clear after a moment of silence that Usriel would not speak as his siblings had.
Malcador’s expression slackened slightly as he looked to Usriel. He knew well that the Primarch didn’t like him very much, and perhaps to grant him the same harsh talk as those truly speaking death to their allies was not so equitable.
‘I shall say, Usriel, your efforts to maintain balance are recognised too,’ he soothed, for what it was worth. ‘But, as was just stated by the Emperor, the mass of humanity is important to ensure its own perpetuation. Outright wishing for their death is not especially helpful.
‘Nor, to be clear,’ he added, returning to his harsher tone, ‘is suggesting outright that you will slaughter them for speaking in turn. I would not say to do so is particularly rational, Augor, and no more so to suggest your fellow Primarchs ought to be killed too, Nimue. And, in case you are overly worried,’ he precisely noted to them both, ‘those actions of theirs which go against the Imperium’s dictates have been noted, and are being countermanded as we speak. To simply kill them is to turn their full forces against the Imperium; these are not costs we can safely incur at such a time.’
“Sigillite - I of course trust the measures you take beyond our knowing, and if this is what you claim then I must take you at your word…” Augor began cautiously. “Though I hope you will find my doubts as to their sufficiency forgivable. Countless billions of Adepts. Hundreds of Millions of Tech-Priests. Can you fathom have many revolts, how many rebellions and calls for dissent will go out once the words of these…” He seemed to struggle for a moment before continuing. “...once their words are issued? Can you calculate the number of Priests of the Cult Mechanicum within whom the seed of doubt shall be planted by the Emperor refusing to speak or issue his word despite the deliberate invocation of multiple Primarchs? How many Heretek Savants and Aspirants may have just been born? How many of the Edicted Xenos will take this as signal to rise up? If there is something you know of that we do not that could assuage our fears, I beg of you, in the name of my father, tell us.”
“Augor, your fears are born of a paranoia that I understand, a fear all too present in my own mind. However,” Usriel started, turning to face his brother, “They are not of the faith. They do not understand. You know as well as I do, that they do not know what is to go against what we believe. They are not bound as you are and I am sure a great many priests know this.”
Nimue said nothing. Unlike the others, her concerns with the Imperial Truth were not based on conflicting beliefs she already possessed - or, at least, not entirely. She had already said her part, there was nothing left to say.
‘Please understand, both of you,’ Malcador began explaining, forcing his tone to level out. ‘The Emperor always has reasons to pursue action when he does. If he has been invoked and does not speak- which, I dare say, it is highly presumptuous to assume that he will always speak when called upon, for he is a wolf rather than any dog- then it is likely that he is waiting for the right moment, which of course was displayed with Prometheus’ subsequent statements.
‘And far beyond simply the Cult Mechanicum, there are humans, unmodified humans, those ruling planets and keeping the Emperor’s assets as well as those in their immediate and not-so-immediate employ, who will see these events, and wonder how safe they are when the leaders of humanity’s conquest threaten individuals who are, by their perspective, rather similar to themselves. Not to mention those who will inevitably find this broadcast when they ought not, and feel as if the Legiones are being led by... well, less than rational warriors, shall I say.’
Malcador folded his hands together, looking over the trio before him. ‘You are all rational, I hope? Because I would hope you’d be happier to show that rationality to all and sundry.’
“I have done nothing but show rationality throughout the debates, Sigilite,” Usriel began in a cold tone as his gaze went back to Malcador, “The serf of Primarch Eiohsa had spoken as if Saravata can be trusted, to which I am sure we all know it cannot. If she wished to spout facts then she’d better look to sources that can immediately be approved by the Administratum.” His voice grew colder as he had spoken to the right hand of the Emperor, his red gaze burrowing into the man before turned away from Malcador.
“Know that the human will know her place,” Usriel finished.
“If it is irrational to state the obvious, that Eiohsa breaks laws where others would be punished immediately and harshly, then I would gladly be irrational,” Nimue stated.
“As far as I am aware, Nimue, Eiohsa is a Primarch. She is not above reproach, however, she is able to dictate as she pleases so long as it furthers the Imperium,” Usriel snapped in a blunt coldness, turning his head to his sister.
“Is that so, brother? Then I suppose, my faith too, should be permitted to once again be open to practice… so long as it furthers the imperium, of course. Is that what you are saying?”
“There is no religion other than that of the Machine Cult as decreed by the Emperor.” Usriel retorted.
“Yes, by the Imperial Truth. Which Eiohsa is actively breaking right now. So? Which is it? Is Eiohsa permitted to breach the Imperial Truth because it furthers the Imperium, or is she not because the Emperor’s decree says what she is doing is illegal?”
“Eiohsa is bound by the Imperial Truth and the Edict of Tolerance, as it currently stands she is following the Edict,” Usriel stated.
“Have you even read the Imperial Truth, brother? Did you even hear Eiohsa’s Equerry?” Nimue stated in disbelief.
“Do you accuse me of being ignorant of what my post entails, Nimue? As much as I hate to state it, that serf has yet to do anything wrong other than speak words that you disagree with,” Usriel began.
“The Imperial Truth, as decreed by The Emperor, clearly states the superiority of the human race by virtue of its purity, its right to rule the galaxy, above all others. Eiohsa, through her Equerry, rejects these claims. The Edict of Tolerance does not negate the superiority of man, it only permits the continued existence of the Xenos. Her realm ignores the Imperial Truth entirely, in fact, I would not be surprised if she permitted religious beliefs within her realm as well, I would not be surprised if she consorts with Orks and Eldar in secret, or hoards abominable intelligence. Her Equerry has openly denounced the Imperial Truth and seeks its ‘reform’. How can you be so blind?” Nimue stated, quickly glancing down to the device her Equerry had passed her before leaving the Council Hall, a holographic projector that Nimue activated, and so provided a projection of the Imperial Truth in written form to Usriel and Malcador, shocked that the two of them could be so blind to their own laws and absolute decrees that The Emperor forces on all others.
“If you believe me to be blind then strike me now, for clearly I am without sight, Nimue,” Usriel growled, before continuing, “The Sigillite knows best of us what it means to uphold the Imperial Truth, for he was with the Emperor when it was proclaimed, and he has stated that such matters to correct this behavior are being undergone. The next time you spout this nonsense upon me, I will show Malcador what irrationality is.”
Nimue flares her psyker aura, in preparation for battle, if necessary. She was not surprised - she had suspected for some time that Usriel secretly held stronger beliefs in this regard than he seemed at first, publicly. In truth - she knew Usriel was not ignorant of the Imperial Truth, it was impossible for any Primarch to be so. In reality, it seemed rather that he was in agreement with Eiohsa and Micholi, only he hid behind the pretense of nuance and neutrality.
‘Nimue. Usriel.’ Malcador’s voice projected between the two Primarchs sternly, not an ounce of fear in it. ‘Much as I wish not to tell you again, the discussion of the Edict of Tolerance is precisely why the War Council has been convened. Whether or not it contradicts the Imperial Truth is what you have gathered to discuss - ideally, without infighting such as this.’ Malcador sighed to himself, shaking his head. He knew the Primarchs were strong-minded, that was a given; yet, handling their outbursts remained ever a challenge. ‘Just understand this, all three of you. You are not- I reiterate, you are NOT- to threaten to fight or kill each other or any humans present at the conclave for its remainder. If it happens again, I will be forced to remove you from the hall for the conclave’s remaining duration to ensure peaceable proceedings- and before anyone complains of unfairness, I shall be informing the other Primarchs of this ruling too, and subjecting them to similar reprimand if they fail to follow through. Are we all clear?’
“Remove me from the conclave if necessary, I care not.” Nimue said in casual defiance. “This council is a farce regardless of my presence. The Emperor already knows of all we would provide to him. He very likely has already made his decision, and is simply weighing our reactions. He now knows, so let it be over with.” Nimue said.
Usriel’s voice came through, clear and concise, “Very well, Sigillite.” The Nineteenth’s gaze did not falter from Nimue as his metallic feet scraped against the floor whilst he exited the chamber, leaving his brother and sister with the likes of Malcador.
“Sigillite, there is actually a matter that bears clarification and which may address all of our exact concerns.” Augor spoke, breaking his bout of silence. “You claim now, in our presence, that the purpose of this Council is to discuss whether or not the Edict of Tolerance contradicts the Imperial Truth.” He then folded his hands and deliberately allowed a moment to pause as that statement settled.
“You claimed no such thing when you officially convened the Council. No such declaration of intent was ever issued by you, or by any other office to that matter, to any of the legions…that we know of.” The final three words contained a trembling and insidious air to them, but just as swiftly as they came they went, and Augor carried on.
“Which is to say, amongst other implications, all of the Legions and the Primarchs present at the Council have been speaking around and about the Edict of Tolerance generally. This is the first time its relationship with the Imperial Truth has been brought to a head, though it was mentioned during the first discussion. I would invite you to elaborate upon this fascinating qualification you have just made - though if you do not see a need to do so, I in turn shall be pleased to return to the Council Hall and present it before all of our siblings in your stead.” He cast his empty eyes down at Malcador, his countenance almost serene.
As the Primarch that first brought upon the topic of the Imperial Truth’s contradiction with the Edict of Tolerance, or at least in how it was applied by some… “I am not all that surprised,” Nimue said, a snide remark on the sidelines. She already knew this Council was a farce, after all.
Malcador tilted his head for a moment, as if thinking back to his statements, before blinking and smiling with apparent amusement, and giving out just the lightest chuckle. ‘You are indeed correct, Augor Astren. In the aftermath of so much discussion of that very matter already, I appear to have misremembered when it was first mentioned, and I apologise for that. I am only human, after all.’
‘To re-clarify then,’ he elaborated, ‘the Edict’s contradiction of the Imperial Truth is not, per se, the primary topic; rather, the Edict’s existence, and whether it need be altered or nullified, is as stated in convening periods the main concern, though of course there have been claims as part of that discussion wherein it is cited to contradict the Imperial Truth outright. If you wish to input further evidence of this latter matter,’ he added, ‘you are of course free to do so when the topic comes around again.’
“Then I shall,” Augor replied, his voice conversational but his stance combative. “...and I shall submit as evidence your very word. I shall take care to qualify the scope of the discussion as you have now, of course, and so soon all those partaking in these talks shall treat them in a rather different light. I do not know what game you are playing Sigillite, though it would seem I am now fated to be your instrument in it. Know that all the lives that shall be lost as a consequence of the Imperium writ large viewing these proceedings are as much upon your hands now as they are upon ours.”
‘The conclave is designed to minimise loss of life, Augor,’ Malcador concluded. ‘Lives are bound to be lost nonetheless, and my hands are already soaked with blood simply by virtue of managing the Imperium. As are yours, you see, by virtue of your role as leader of the Stargazers Legion.’ He walked past Augor and Nimue.
”...Do you want to hear the lesson I learned from the Age of Strife, dear sister?” Micholi said, his voice low. Augor stared on blindly, impassively, his arms folded as the Primarch of the Second Legion finished speaking. Truthfully, Augor did not approve of Micholi speaking in response to an inquiry that had been directed to their father - but he did not want to discourage the Second Primarch’s pursuit of discourse that, at long last, did not implicitly tread upon father’s station and status. Father would object if and when he had to.
Nimue was scarcely even paying attention to Micholi by that point - her face, cast over with dismay, was instead directed at their father. Augor Astren did not turn to look with her - he still was not yet worthy to meet father’s gaze. But with sight beyond sight, the Twelfth Primarch still beheld the Emperor peripherally.
Their Father did not meet her gaze - he continued to stare, serenely and dispassionately, at the overall layout of the Council Chamber. Not focused with particularity, yet still sharp and encompassing. Seeing all, but only affording every detail with equal notice.
“Why are you silent?” Nimue asked, her tone veering even further towards indignation. “Why will you not defend your own decrees from such obvious subversion?”
Augor’s lips once more began to pull into a frown as he cast his focus between his sister and his father - and took note that Micholi had also turned, directing his argument directly towards their father as if he were now presenting his argument to an arbitrator. He still faced Nimue, but even Augor could see where the Second Primarch’s attention was being drawn.
“The humanity of the Dark Age of Technology didn’t fall due to weakness Nimue.” Micholi began. “In fact, it was rather powerful. It fell because it was cut off from itself. It’s planets divided, unable to travel or talk to ea-”
“Shut up, Micholi.” Nimue snarled. “I am not arguing the tenets of the Imperial Truth with you. You are not its creator. Its decrees only come from him.” She pointed to father, the urgency of the gesture almost violent in its intensity. Augor, for his part, was glad for her crass interjection. He recalled some several decades past when he and Micholi had been speaking of ancient history, and of the Dark Age of Technology. Micholi evidently styled himself as something of a historical scholar - but he had still possessed his tendencies to draw conclusions and seek knowledge that was expressly forbidden. Augor had been almost certain the fool was about to say something adjacent to the discussion that would pry them all off-topic once more, until Nimue had deprived him of the option.
“Very well then.” Augor was almost taken aback when Micholi acceded to Nimue’s directing of the conversation. The Second Primarch had a wary and tired air to him, one that had evidently been weighing down upon him since the start of the Council. He was normally irrepressibly confident and buoyant in demeanor. But despite how the Council had afflicted his disposition, in that moment, the Second Primarch seemed to recoup his regular well of resolve as he turned to face their father. “I can agree with you that now, if ever, the Emperor should make his opinion heard.”
It was genuinely startling to Augor. Micholi was wholly confident the Emperor would support him in this matter, even in light of all the omens to the contrary. Even when his enemies and rivals appealed directly to his father’s authority - as Augor himself had - the Second Primarch kept his faith, and in that single moment the Twelfth Primarch saw a single facet of himself reflected in his brother.
Almost imperceptibly, to a degree that almost certainly went unnoticed as almost all attention in the room was drawn towards the Emperor, Augor Astren flinched. It was nearly an unconscious epiphany - the direction of his own genetic gifts directing his sight beyond sight to reveal truth unseen without him even consciously desiring to do so. For a single moment he saw himself and Micholi standing, in the same light, united with an identical expression of unconditional faith. The direction of that faith differed, but insidiously, a strikingly resonant crack of thought burst from Augor’s brow as he beheld the relationship.
’Both set instances are identical in configuration, but the predicate independent variable of at least one of those instances is false.’
A coiling chill seemed to spiral up and around the Twelfth Primarch’s spine at that realization. In almost all matters of his own faith, the only thing necessary to affirm their inviolate veracity was the certainty that it was what father willed. The Imperial Truth stood as a blazing monolith of ineffable writ in his mind, imperishable and near to the heart of every consideration and decision he made - and that was as it had to be, for it was his father’s will, manifest…
...So why did his father remain silent?
That recreant, shivering silence crept into Augor’s mind like a serpent and coiled suffocatingly around his resolve. All that was required for Augor or, indeed, any of HIS truest followers was the affirmation of his will. The Twelfth Primarch and the Cult Mechanicum could always find this certainty in the shape and form of the Emperor’s writ and decrees - but here, in this moment, when his will was challenged by his own children, Augor felt a stabbing hollow in his heart of a sensation he had never before known, save for once.
Augor could not help himself. He turned his unworthy, empty sight directly towards the Emperor, his father, the Omnissiah - aware that as he did so, so too did every other soul in the chamber. The assembled lords, the Remembrancers, the retinues of every Astartes Legion, even Malcador himself - all turning their attention, as one, to the master of the Imperium in anticipation of an answer.
Choking, crushing silence followed. The Emperor did not move, did not so much as permit his brow or expression to shift. Even his gaze, the scope of his notice, did not waver. He might have been a statue, still and silent as he remained when invoked.
The wedge that had been thrust into Augor’s heart widened, poisonous uncertainty riddling through his mind, pouring through channels that had never known it save for a single instant before, in the Primarch’s darkest hour. As Augor beheld the Emperor and his silence, memories came to the Primarch, unbidden and bearing daggers.
Memory of the Rangdan Campaign. Memory of his children, broken and dying. Memory of flame and blood, of ships splintering apart in the void, of hideous alien forms as cruel in their shape as in their mocking, inhuman laughter.
Augor took to one knee - or was it a saving motion to account for the sudden weakness, the abrupt frailty and emptiness he felt in every limb, in every joint, a hollow and cold cord of frigid attenuation running through every fiber of his being?
In desperation, Augor clasped his hands together over his breast in the sign of the Cog Mechanicum, and hoarsely, he whispered.
”...Omnissiah…Deliver us...”
In the haze that followed, Augor remained on his knee, strugglingly ardently endeavoring to find strength and affirment in his father’s serene countenance. He remained peripherally aware of the words of his brother Prometheus as he interjected, Augor’s heightened senses and mind effortlessly registering and compartmentalizing everything without the Twelfth Primarch truly listening to what was being said. The Fifth Primarch’s sentiments were hollow-sounding, feeble rationale to explain the irrational, much as the entire Council was, much as -
’...Betrayal!’ The twisted, indignant accusation scythed through Augor’s mind reflexively even before the remainder of the blasphemous thought could form. The shade of treachery was banished into the furthest reaches of his mind by the sudden crusade he waged within himself as he wordlessly closed his gaping, empty eyes and meditated in the moment upon his failings and hubris. There could be no doubt, there could be no uncertainty, there could be no weakness - these were things he had to excise from his being. For his father. He did not have to question the Emperor, the Omnissiah and their motives, their actions, or lack thereof. The truth itself was manifest and imperishable already, in word, writ, and will. That Augor had allowed himself to be shaken by his father’s silence was not a failing of the Emperor, but of himself. Nothing more than disappointment from the improvident son-
The world fell away. Augor’s sight beyond sight turned upon the Twelfth Primarch, casting the world into darkness as it lashed and railed against the bastions of his mind.
Betrayal! BETRAYAL! BETRAYAL! Blasphemer! Weak, soundless scion, least and lowest of all twenty wayward children! Most piteous, feebleminded, craven fiend to blemish creation! Sickening, twisted cripple! Infidel! Traitor!
Almost imperceptibly, Augor quivered where he knelt on the chamber floor. Pain bloomed within his brow. Unaccountable, untenable anguish that transcended mere mortal injury. A dissonant wracking, self-castigation and flagellation as the Twelfth Primarch’s mind turned in on itself once more. Bewildered and lost within his own senses, even as he damned and cursed himself with every fiber of his own loathing that he could muster, he struggled to determine why, how he had been reduced to this. Contemptuously, the answer came from within a corner of himself replete with disgust - with himself, and with the obviousness of how he had lain himself low in self-defeat.
He could not be wrong, and the Emperor right in this instance.
Either they were both wrong or they were both right.
Necessarily, the Emperor was correct and right, and this was proper.
But factually, doctrinally, Augor Astren was wrong.
In the preceding moments Augor had proven himself the infidel by arriving at the incorrect conclusion - a revelation which came from the lips of the Omnissiah himself. Yet the conclusion itself had been vested in the infallibility and infinite nature of the Omnissiah and his will. The Omnissiah embodied the mortal aspect of the Machine God. His mortal frame and flesh were fallible, but his mind and will was that of the Machine God, a conduit for divinity itself, and that was immaculate in nature. Augor Astren was either damned for rejecting the Omnissiah’s inherent divinity or else he was damned for rejecting the word of the Omnissiah.
Straightforward reason dictated that the Omnissiah could not be wholly wrong and wholly right simultaneously, nor could he simultaneously utter unblemished truth or unstrained falsehood. The Omnissiah was capable of deceit, certainly, but in this instant, speaking as he was as to his own capabilities and state, there was no reason for him to contradict himself -
’Unless it is all a - ‘
The thought was stamped out and crushed in by the legions of incoherent hatred coursing inside Augor Astren’s mind. He was wrong and the Emperor was right. Nothing more and nothing less, and no notion to the contrary - no matter how self-evident - could be permitted. If such notions were as axiomatic as they seemed, it was only because of a failing of the self. The designs of the Omnissiah were not for Augor Astren to know, and if some manner of the Omnissiah’s spoken word drove the Twelfth Primarch to blasphemy, that was a failing of the child, not of the father.
Managing to draw his concentration back, his insides still riddled with self-directed scorn, Augor endeavored to reaffirm himself by saying as much.
“Brother -” He began, and then realized he was still knelt down on the floor, both of his bionic hands seeming to strain in their tense, coiled gesture of the cog. As the entire room directed their notice back to him, he self-consciously rose once more and began to voice the only sane - the only tenable conclusion that he could draw.
“If the Omniss-” His voice halted, and he started over. “...As the Emperor has declined to speak on this matter, we can only be left with the conclusion that he permitted it to come to fruition for some purpose, even knowing that it contradicts the Imperial Truth…” The words tumbled from his mouth gracelessly, the fervor that would normally have accompanied them now absent, his voice now almost seeming hesitant - though buffered on by the volume and immensity of his form, their frailty was likely lost to most of the onlookers. “...Understand I do not seek to make light of your call or these deliberations, but to suggest that perhaps how the Imperial Truth and the Edict of Tolerance are meant to align, if at all, is not for us to know.”
He had said something similar many times before in the past.
So why was it, only now, that the words seemed to ring hollow in his own ears?
Lightly fettered and untamed rancor coiled like a tumor in Augor Astren’s chest. This reticence could not be permitted. It was tantamount to betrayal. He had to prove his devotion, his loyalty, his very faith to his father -
The Equerry of the Sixteenth Legion spoke.
The rancor within Augor Astren became unleashed. Lacking eyes, there was little warning of the raw, unconditional hatred that was about to erupt from him, save for the manic energy of his laughter as it echoed across the chamber.
“You, Equerry, are out of line - and you will not live to see the Sun in Splendor ever again.”
The chamber became replete with the shocked inhalations and murmurs of those in attendance, and almost invisibly, the Custodian Guards seemed to tense. The Twelfth Primarch did not care.
They had, all of them, done this to themselves.
Just as he had.
[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Hark, citizens - courage, faith, and duty to one’s masters are the pillars of the Imperium.]
[After the Second Meeting]
Malcador led the procession of superhumans, his older frame seemingly unhindered as he moved to a room of his choosing. Unlike his master’s previous audience with the Magos of the Mechanicum, he didn’t bother dismissing those present, simply selecting a quiet enough corridor before turning on his heel to face the Primarchs. Angered orbs bored into each of their skulls, and he took a deep breath before he let himself talk.
‘What, pray tell,’ he spoke severely, ‘are each of you thinking when you make death threats to your siblings and their guests? Accusing one another of treason is one thing, serious an accusation as that is to throw about; but whilst I may normally turn an eye to wrothful talk, this is I need remind you a formal gathering. We are here to consider the evidence, not beat at one another with words or with fists as children might in a Schola. Especially a human of relatively limited ability to fight back, Augor.’ This last spear was particularly pointed, considering the content.
“The evidence is already clear. Eiohsa and her Astartes are traitors. Micholi has also made his intent clear. The Sixteenth in particular is already in breach of the Imperial Truth and the laws set down by The Emperor. They only still live because you and The Emperor refuse to enforce your own laws, as you would have and have done against me - on Engraila.” Nimue said, blandly to Malcador. She and him had little to no interactions with each other, so she saw him as just an adept close to The Emperor. Closer than her, though.
“Sigilite, the record is and shall be clear upon review.” Augor stated, face shaded a peculiar, faintly yellow-hue offset against his otherwise ashen complexion. “I began our discourse with a dispassionate and rational call to a reasoned discourse and consensus. Time and time again, the same malfeasant actors have plied their every effort to turn the discourse away from the actual matter at hand.” He threw one of his bionic hands in a wild gesture back towards the chamber door. “The Council is convened for a particularized purpose and they wish to discuss instead evading and redrafting the Imperial Truth. It is precisely as I said - there is a point past which the privilege afforded to them exceeds the boundaries of what should be permissible and verges onto betrayal. There are countless billions of Human souls that will bear witness to these proceedings, and as crass as my reaction was, worse still would it be to permit the impression that egregious dissent and rejection of the Imperial Truth is permissible. My conscience is clear, and I stand by everything I said.” His voice, if tense, was firm and unapologetic.
Usriel remained silent, his hands firmly behind his back as his helmeted view seemed to go past Malcador without any true explanation behind his words to Ayushmatki. It became clear after a moment of silence that Usriel would not speak as his siblings had.
Malcador’s expression slackened slightly as he looked to Usriel. He knew well that the Primarch didn’t like him very much, and perhaps to grant him the same harsh talk as those truly speaking death to their allies was not so equitable.
‘I shall say, Usriel, your efforts to maintain balance are recognised too,’ he soothed, for what it was worth. ‘But, as was just stated by the Emperor, the mass of humanity is important to ensure its own perpetuation. Outright wishing for their death is not especially helpful.
‘Nor, to be clear,’ he added, returning to his harsher tone, ‘is suggesting outright that you will slaughter them for speaking in turn. I would not say to do so is particularly rational, Augor, and no more so to suggest your fellow Primarchs ought to be killed too, Nimue. And, in case you are overly worried,’ he precisely noted to them both, ‘those actions of theirs which go against the Imperium’s dictates have been noted, and are being countermanded as we speak. To simply kill them is to turn their full forces against the Imperium; these are not costs we can safely incur at such a time.’
“Sigillite - I of course trust the measures you take beyond our knowing, and if this is what you claim then I must take you at your word…” Augor began cautiously. “Though I hope you will find my doubts as to their sufficiency forgivable. Countless billions of Adepts. Hundreds of Millions of Tech-Priests. Can you fathom have many revolts, how many rebellions and calls for dissent will go out once the words of these…” He seemed to struggle for a moment before continuing. “...once their words are issued? Can you calculate the number of Priests of the Cult Mechanicum within whom the seed of doubt shall be planted by the Emperor refusing to speak or issue his word despite the deliberate invocation of multiple Primarchs? How many Heretek Savants and Aspirants may have just been born? How many of the Edicted Xenos will take this as signal to rise up? If there is something you know of that we do not that could assuage our fears, I beg of you, in the name of my father, tell us.”
“Augor, your fears are born of a paranoia that I understand, a fear all too present in my own mind. However,” Usriel started, turning to face his brother, “They are not of the faith. They do not understand. You know as well as I do, that they do not know what is to go against what we believe. They are not bound as you are and I am sure a great many priests know this.”
Nimue said nothing. Unlike the others, her concerns with the Imperial Truth were not based on conflicting beliefs she already possessed - or, at least, not entirely. She had already said her part, there was nothing left to say.
‘Please understand, both of you,’ Malcador began explaining, forcing his tone to level out. ‘The Emperor always has reasons to pursue action when he does. If he has been invoked and does not speak- which, I dare say, it is highly presumptuous to assume that he will always speak when called upon, for he is a wolf rather than any dog- then it is likely that he is waiting for the right moment, which of course was displayed with Prometheus’ subsequent statements.
‘And far beyond simply the Cult Mechanicum, there are humans, unmodified humans, those ruling planets and keeping the Emperor’s assets as well as those in their immediate and not-so-immediate employ, who will see these events, and wonder how safe they are when the leaders of humanity’s conquest threaten individuals who are, by their perspective, rather similar to themselves. Not to mention those who will inevitably find this broadcast when they ought not, and feel as if the Legiones are being led by... well, less than rational warriors, shall I say.’
Malcador folded his hands together, looking over the trio before him. ‘You are all rational, I hope? Because I would hope you’d be happier to show that rationality to all and sundry.’
“I have done nothing but show rationality throughout the debates, Sigilite,” Usriel began in a cold tone as his gaze went back to Malcador, “The serf of Primarch Eiohsa had spoken as if Saravata can be trusted, to which I am sure we all know it cannot. If she wished to spout facts then she’d better look to sources that can immediately be approved by the Administratum.” His voice grew colder as he had spoken to the right hand of the Emperor, his red gaze burrowing into the man before turned away from Malcador.
“Know that the human will know her place,” Usriel finished.
“If it is irrational to state the obvious, that Eiohsa breaks laws where others would be punished immediately and harshly, then I would gladly be irrational,” Nimue stated.
“As far as I am aware, Nimue, Eiohsa is a Primarch. She is not above reproach, however, she is able to dictate as she pleases so long as it furthers the Imperium,” Usriel snapped in a blunt coldness, turning his head to his sister.
“Is that so, brother? Then I suppose, my faith too, should be permitted to once again be open to practice… so long as it furthers the imperium, of course. Is that what you are saying?”
“There is no religion other than that of the Machine Cult as decreed by the Emperor.” Usriel retorted.
“Yes, by the Imperial Truth. Which Eiohsa is actively breaking right now. So? Which is it? Is Eiohsa permitted to breach the Imperial Truth because it furthers the Imperium, or is she not because the Emperor’s decree says what she is doing is illegal?”
“Eiohsa is bound by the Imperial Truth and the Edict of Tolerance, as it currently stands she is following the Edict,” Usriel stated.
“Have you even read the Imperial Truth, brother? Did you even hear Eiohsa’s Equerry?” Nimue stated in disbelief.
“Do you accuse me of being ignorant of what my post entails, Nimue? As much as I hate to state it, that serf has yet to do anything wrong other than speak words that you disagree with,” Usriel began.
“The Imperial Truth, as decreed by The Emperor, clearly states the superiority of the human race by virtue of its purity, its right to rule the galaxy, above all others. Eiohsa, through her Equerry, rejects these claims. The Edict of Tolerance does not negate the superiority of man, it only permits the continued existence of the Xenos. Her realm ignores the Imperial Truth entirely, in fact, I would not be surprised if she permitted religious beliefs within her realm as well, I would not be surprised if she consorts with Orks and Eldar in secret, or hoards abominable intelligence. Her Equerry has openly denounced the Imperial Truth and seeks its ‘reform’. How can you be so blind?” Nimue stated, quickly glancing down to the device her Equerry had passed her before leaving the Council Hall, a holographic projector that Nimue activated, and so provided a projection of the Imperial Truth in written form to Usriel and Malcador, shocked that the two of them could be so blind to their own laws and absolute decrees that The Emperor forces on all others.
“If you believe me to be blind then strike me now, for clearly I am without sight, Nimue,” Usriel growled, before continuing, “The Sigillite knows best of us what it means to uphold the Imperial Truth, for he was with the Emperor when it was proclaimed, and he has stated that such matters to correct this behavior are being undergone. The next time you spout this nonsense upon me, I will show Malcador what irrationality is.”
Nimue flares her psyker aura, in preparation for battle, if necessary. She was not surprised - she had suspected for some time that Usriel secretly held stronger beliefs in this regard than he seemed at first, publicly. In truth - she knew Usriel was not ignorant of the Imperial Truth, it was impossible for any Primarch to be so. In reality, it seemed rather that he was in agreement with Eiohsa and Micholi, only he hid behind the pretense of nuance and neutrality.
‘Nimue. Usriel.’ Malcador’s voice projected between the two Primarchs sternly, not an ounce of fear in it. ‘Much as I wish not to tell you again, the discussion of the Edict of Tolerance is precisely why the War Council has been convened. Whether or not it contradicts the Imperial Truth is what you have gathered to discuss - ideally, without infighting such as this.’ Malcador sighed to himself, shaking his head. He knew the Primarchs were strong-minded, that was a given; yet, handling their outbursts remained ever a challenge. ‘Just understand this, all three of you. You are not- I reiterate, you are NOT- to threaten to fight or kill each other or any humans present at the conclave for its remainder. If it happens again, I will be forced to remove you from the hall for the conclave’s remaining duration to ensure peaceable proceedings- and before anyone complains of unfairness, I shall be informing the other Primarchs of this ruling too, and subjecting them to similar reprimand if they fail to follow through. Are we all clear?’
“Remove me from the conclave if necessary, I care not.” Nimue said in casual defiance. “This council is a farce regardless of my presence. The Emperor already knows of all we would provide to him. He very likely has already made his decision, and is simply weighing our reactions. He now knows, so let it be over with.” Nimue said.
Usriel’s voice came through, clear and concise, “Very well, Sigillite.” The Nineteenth’s gaze did not falter from Nimue as his metallic feet scraped against the floor whilst he exited the chamber, leaving his brother and sister with the likes of Malcador.
“Sigillite, there is actually a matter that bears clarification and which may address all of our exact concerns.” Augor spoke, breaking his bout of silence. “You claim now, in our presence, that the purpose of this Council is to discuss whether or not the Edict of Tolerance contradicts the Imperial Truth.” He then folded his hands and deliberately allowed a moment to pause as that statement settled.
“You claimed no such thing when you officially convened the Council. No such declaration of intent was ever issued by you, or by any other office to that matter, to any of the legions…that we know of.” The final three words contained a trembling and insidious air to them, but just as swiftly as they came they went, and Augor carried on.
“Which is to say, amongst other implications, all of the Legions and the Primarchs present at the Council have been speaking around and about the Edict of Tolerance generally. This is the first time its relationship with the Imperial Truth has been brought to a head, though it was mentioned during the first discussion. I would invite you to elaborate upon this fascinating qualification you have just made - though if you do not see a need to do so, I in turn shall be pleased to return to the Council Hall and present it before all of our siblings in your stead.” He cast his empty eyes down at Malcador, his countenance almost serene.
As the Primarch that first brought upon the topic of the Imperial Truth’s contradiction with the Edict of Tolerance, or at least in how it was applied by some… “I am not all that surprised,” Nimue said, a snide remark on the sidelines. She already knew this Council was a farce, after all.
Malcador tilted his head for a moment, as if thinking back to his statements, before blinking and smiling with apparent amusement, and giving out just the lightest chuckle. ‘You are indeed correct, Augor Astren. In the aftermath of so much discussion of that very matter already, I appear to have misremembered when it was first mentioned, and I apologise for that. I am only human, after all.’
‘To re-clarify then,’ he elaborated, ‘the Edict’s contradiction of the Imperial Truth is not, per se, the primary topic; rather, the Edict’s existence, and whether it need be altered or nullified, is as stated in convening periods the main concern, though of course there have been claims as part of that discussion wherein it is cited to contradict the Imperial Truth outright. If you wish to input further evidence of this latter matter,’ he added, ‘you are of course free to do so when the topic comes around again.’
“Then I shall,” Augor replied, his voice conversational but his stance combative. “...and I shall submit as evidence your very word. I shall take care to qualify the scope of the discussion as you have now, of course, and so soon all those partaking in these talks shall treat them in a rather different light. I do not know what game you are playing Sigillite, though it would seem I am now fated to be your instrument in it. Know that all the lives that shall be lost as a consequence of the Imperium writ large viewing these proceedings are as much upon your hands now as they are upon ours.”
‘The conclave is designed to minimise loss of life, Augor,’ Malcador concluded. ‘Lives are bound to be lost nonetheless, and my hands are already soaked with blood simply by virtue of managing the Imperium. As are yours, you see, by virtue of your role as leader of the Stargazers Legion.’ He walked past Augor and Nimue.
”...Do you want to hear the lesson I learned from the Age of Strife, dear sister?” Micholi said, his voice low. Augor stared on blindly, impassively, his arms folded as the Primarch of the Second Legion finished speaking. Truthfully, Augor did not approve of Micholi speaking in response to an inquiry that had been directed to their father - but he did not want to discourage the Second Primarch’s pursuit of discourse that, at long last, did not implicitly tread upon father’s station and status. Father would object if and when he had to.
Nimue was scarcely even paying attention to Micholi by that point - her face, cast over with dismay, was instead directed at their father. Augor Astren did not turn to look with her - he still was not yet worthy to meet father’s gaze. But with sight beyond sight, the Twelfth Primarch still beheld the Emperor peripherally.
Their Father did not meet her gaze - he continued to stare, serenely and dispassionately, at the overall layout of the Council Chamber. Not focused with particularity, yet still sharp and encompassing. Seeing all, but only affording every detail with equal notice.
“Why are you silent?” Nimue asked, her tone veering even further towards indignation. “Why will you not defend your own decrees from such obvious subversion?”
Augor’s lips once more began to pull into a frown as he cast his focus between his sister and his father - and took note that Micholi had also turned, directing his argument directly towards their father as if he were now presenting his argument to an arbitrator. He still faced Nimue, but even Augor could see where the Second Primarch’s attention was being drawn.
“The humanity of the Dark Age of Technology didn’t fall due to weakness Nimue.” Micholi began. “In fact, it was rather powerful. It fell because it was cut off from itself. It’s planets divided, unable to travel or talk to ea-”
“Shut up, Micholi.” Nimue snarled. “I am not arguing the tenets of the Imperial Truth with you. You are not its creator. Its decrees only come from him.” She pointed to father, the urgency of the gesture almost violent in its intensity. Augor, for his part, was glad for her crass interjection. He recalled some several decades past when he and Micholi had been speaking of ancient history, and of the Dark Age of Technology. Micholi evidently styled himself as something of a historical scholar - but he had still possessed his tendencies to draw conclusions and seek knowledge that was expressly forbidden. Augor had been almost certain the fool was about to say something adjacent to the discussion that would pry them all off-topic once more, until Nimue had deprived him of the option.
“Very well then.” Augor was almost taken aback when Micholi acceded to Nimue’s directing of the conversation. The Second Primarch had a wary and tired air to him, one that had evidently been weighing down upon him since the start of the Council. He was normally irrepressibly confident and buoyant in demeanor. But despite how the Council had afflicted his disposition, in that moment, the Second Primarch seemed to recoup his regular well of resolve as he turned to face their father. “I can agree with you that now, if ever, the Emperor should make his opinion heard.”
It was genuinely startling to Augor. Micholi was wholly confident the Emperor would support him in this matter, even in light of all the omens to the contrary. Even when his enemies and rivals appealed directly to his father’s authority - as Augor himself had - the Second Primarch kept his faith, and in that single moment the Twelfth Primarch saw a single facet of himself reflected in his brother.
Almost imperceptibly, to a degree that almost certainly went unnoticed as almost all attention in the room was drawn towards the Emperor, Augor Astren flinched. It was nearly an unconscious epiphany - the direction of his own genetic gifts directing his sight beyond sight to reveal truth unseen without him even consciously desiring to do so. For a single moment he saw himself and Micholi standing, in the same light, united with an identical expression of unconditional faith. The direction of that faith differed, but insidiously, a strikingly resonant crack of thought burst from Augor’s brow as he beheld the relationship.
’Both set instances are identical in configuration, but the predicate independent variable of at least one of those instances is false.’
A coiling chill seemed to spiral up and around the Twelfth Primarch’s spine at that realization. In almost all matters of his own faith, the only thing necessary to affirm their inviolate veracity was the certainty that it was what father willed. The Imperial Truth stood as a blazing monolith of ineffable writ in his mind, imperishable and near to the heart of every consideration and decision he made - and that was as it had to be, for it was his father’s will, manifest…
...So why did his father remain silent?
That recreant, shivering silence crept into Augor’s mind like a serpent and coiled suffocatingly around his resolve. All that was required for Augor or, indeed, any of HIS truest followers was the affirmation of his will. The Twelfth Primarch and the Cult Mechanicum could always find this certainty in the shape and form of the Emperor’s writ and decrees - but here, in this moment, when his will was challenged by his own children, Augor felt a stabbing hollow in his heart of a sensation he had never before known, save for once.
Doubt.
Augor could not help himself. He turned his unworthy, empty sight directly towards the Emperor, his father, the Omnissiah - aware that as he did so, so too did every other soul in the chamber. The assembled lords, the Remembrancers, the retinues of every Astartes Legion, even Malcador himself - all turning their attention, as one, to the master of the Imperium in anticipation of an answer.
Choking, crushing silence followed. The Emperor did not move, did not so much as permit his brow or expression to shift. Even his gaze, the scope of his notice, did not waver. He might have been a statue, still and silent as he remained when invoked.
The wedge that had been thrust into Augor’s heart widened, poisonous uncertainty riddling through his mind, pouring through channels that had never known it save for a single instant before, in the Primarch’s darkest hour. As Augor beheld the Emperor and his silence, memories came to the Primarch, unbidden and bearing daggers.
Memory of the Rangdan Campaign. Memory of his children, broken and dying. Memory of flame and blood, of ships splintering apart in the void, of hideous alien forms as cruel in their shape as in their mocking, inhuman laughter.
Augor took to one knee - or was it a saving motion to account for the sudden weakness, the abrupt frailty and emptiness he felt in every limb, in every joint, a hollow and cold cord of frigid attenuation running through every fiber of his being?
In desperation, Augor clasped his hands together over his breast in the sign of the Cog Mechanicum, and hoarsely, he whispered.
”...Omnissiah…Deliver us...”
In the haze that followed, Augor remained on his knee, strugglingly ardently endeavoring to find strength and affirment in his father’s serene countenance. He remained peripherally aware of the words of his brother Prometheus as he interjected, Augor’s heightened senses and mind effortlessly registering and compartmentalizing everything without the Twelfth Primarch truly listening to what was being said. The Fifth Primarch’s sentiments were hollow-sounding, feeble rationale to explain the irrational, much as the entire Council was, much as -
’...Betrayal!’ The twisted, indignant accusation scythed through Augor’s mind reflexively even before the remainder of the blasphemous thought could form. The shade of treachery was banished into the furthest reaches of his mind by the sudden crusade he waged within himself as he wordlessly closed his gaping, empty eyes and meditated in the moment upon his failings and hubris. There could be no doubt, there could be no uncertainty, there could be no weakness - these were things he had to excise from his being. For his father. He did not have to question the Emperor, the Omnissiah and their motives, their actions, or lack thereof. The truth itself was manifest and imperishable already, in word, writ, and will. That Augor had allowed himself to be shaken by his father’s silence was not a failing of the Emperor, but of himself. Nothing more than disappointment from the improvident son-
“Prometheus speaks wisdom, my children.”
The world fell away. Augor’s sight beyond sight turned upon the Twelfth Primarch, casting the world into darkness as it lashed and railed against the bastions of his mind.
Betrayal! BETRAYAL! BETRAYAL! Blasphemer! Weak, soundless scion, least and lowest of all twenty wayward children! Most piteous, feebleminded, craven fiend to blemish creation! Sickening, twisted cripple! Infidel! Traitor!
HERETEK!
Almost imperceptibly, Augor quivered where he knelt on the chamber floor. Pain bloomed within his brow. Unaccountable, untenable anguish that transcended mere mortal injury. A dissonant wracking, self-castigation and flagellation as the Twelfth Primarch’s mind turned in on itself once more. Bewildered and lost within his own senses, even as he damned and cursed himself with every fiber of his own loathing that he could muster, he struggled to determine why, how he had been reduced to this. Contemptuously, the answer came from within a corner of himself replete with disgust - with himself, and with the obviousness of how he had lain himself low in self-defeat.
He could not be wrong, and the Emperor right in this instance.
Either they were both wrong or they were both right.
Necessarily, the Emperor was correct and right, and this was proper.
But factually, doctrinally, Augor Astren was wrong.
In the preceding moments Augor had proven himself the infidel by arriving at the incorrect conclusion - a revelation which came from the lips of the Omnissiah himself. Yet the conclusion itself had been vested in the infallibility and infinite nature of the Omnissiah and his will. The Omnissiah embodied the mortal aspect of the Machine God. His mortal frame and flesh were fallible, but his mind and will was that of the Machine God, a conduit for divinity itself, and that was immaculate in nature. Augor Astren was either damned for rejecting the Omnissiah’s inherent divinity or else he was damned for rejecting the word of the Omnissiah.
Straightforward reason dictated that the Omnissiah could not be wholly wrong and wholly right simultaneously, nor could he simultaneously utter unblemished truth or unstrained falsehood. The Omnissiah was capable of deceit, certainly, but in this instant, speaking as he was as to his own capabilities and state, there was no reason for him to contradict himself -
’Unless it is all a - ‘
The thought was stamped out and crushed in by the legions of incoherent hatred coursing inside Augor Astren’s mind. He was wrong and the Emperor was right. Nothing more and nothing less, and no notion to the contrary - no matter how self-evident - could be permitted. If such notions were as axiomatic as they seemed, it was only because of a failing of the self. The designs of the Omnissiah were not for Augor Astren to know, and if some manner of the Omnissiah’s spoken word drove the Twelfth Primarch to blasphemy, that was a failing of the child, not of the father.
Managing to draw his concentration back, his insides still riddled with self-directed scorn, Augor endeavored to reaffirm himself by saying as much.
“Brother -” He began, and then realized he was still knelt down on the floor, both of his bionic hands seeming to strain in their tense, coiled gesture of the cog. As the entire room directed their notice back to him, he self-consciously rose once more and began to voice the only sane - the only tenable conclusion that he could draw.
“If the Omniss-” His voice halted, and he started over. “...As the Emperor has declined to speak on this matter, we can only be left with the conclusion that he permitted it to come to fruition for some purpose, even knowing that it contradicts the Imperial Truth…” The words tumbled from his mouth gracelessly, the fervor that would normally have accompanied them now absent, his voice now almost seeming hesitant - though buffered on by the volume and immensity of his form, their frailty was likely lost to most of the onlookers. “...Understand I do not seek to make light of your call or these deliberations, but to suggest that perhaps how the Imperial Truth and the Edict of Tolerance are meant to align, if at all, is not for us to know.”
He had said something similar many times before in the past.
So why was it, only now, that the words seemed to ring hollow in his own ears?
Lightly fettered and untamed rancor coiled like a tumor in Augor Astren’s chest. This reticence could not be permitted. It was tantamount to betrayal. He had to prove his devotion, his loyalty, his very faith to his father -
The Equerry of the Sixteenth Legion spoke.
The rancor within Augor Astren became unleashed. Lacking eyes, there was little warning of the raw, unconditional hatred that was about to erupt from him, save for the manic energy of his laughter as it echoed across the chamber.
“You, Equerry, are out of line - and you will not live to see the Sun in Splendor ever again.”
The chamber became replete with the shocked inhalations and murmurs of those in attendance, and almost invisibly, the Custodian Guards seemed to tense. The Twelfth Primarch did not care.
They had, all of them, done this to themselves.
Just as he had.
[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Hark, citizens - courage, faith, and duty to one’s masters are the pillars of the Imperium.]
