Date posted: 1st September 2022

Listen, a man gets tired writing fics for the same fandom all the time.


Summary:

Valentinus of House Balbani, citizen of the Imperium of a Thousand Stars, has an overall boring mundane life. That is until, he takes his first job as a Bestower. Oneshot.


Bestowing Ceremony

Valentinus Balboni was not having a good day.

For one, he had a terrible hangover, and no amount of advanced Glitterworld level medicine would immediately poof it away. Three hundred thousand years of human existence, three thousand years of space travel, countless worlds under the reign of mankind, and we had yet to discover a way to counter hangovers.

Secondly, it was his first time to perform a bestowing ceremony and he was completely incapable of doing so.

After a shower that lasted less than a minute, he barged out of his bathroom, towel around his waist, shampoo in his hair, and reached for his armoire.

"Theresa! Theresa! Where is my staff?!" he called out. His yelling was loud enough to wake up Suleimeow, who looked at his master with the annoyance only a cat could conjure.

His ever dutiful bodyguard/butler appeared instantly by his side, bedecked in gold inlined power armour. "You gambled it away to Praetor Demetrius last night at the poker table, milord."

The fear of losing his symbol of office immediately expelled whatever drunkenness he was suffering from. "W-what?" he croaked. "I - I cannot perform my duties without it! Theresa, you need to -"

In her gauntleted fist was his staff, taller than he was (which wasn't so impressive since he was quite short). It was masterfully forged from plasteel, the entire length of it etched with eltex and written in a long forgotten language. Completing its appearance, it was topped by a shiny orb, the main catalyst of its power. It was a masterwork weapon, the envy of many a sorcerer. Even a self trained hovel mage could boost their psychic powers immensely.

To Valentinus, it was a very fancy stick for a very mediocre psycasters. It was like giving the world's best harp to a complete amateur.

"That wasn't very funny, Theresa."

"I would never make jokes, lord. They destroy our sense of humour during janissary training," said the Vestiarites.

"And why didn't you wake me up earlier?!" He looked at the clock in his HUD; a basic feature of all bionic eyes. "It's almost noon!"

"The message came just recently. I informed the High Bestower that you were sleeping, I believe he would wait."

He grumbled under his breath. "Where is my vest?"

"That you also gambled away and I couldn't find it when I snuck into the Praetor's apartments. I think his pet elephant was using it as a blanket."

Valerian sighed as he finished buttoning up his shirt and slid on his official robes; which was likely worth as much as a small town depending on where they stood on the Sylvester Scale. He turned and looked into the mirror where a pale fellow looked back, with eyes too big on a face too small. His hair was long and unkempt despite his best attempts at combing it, which he could easily hide under his hood. In the late morning sun (or at least the virtual representation that the windows provided) he looked like the evil vizier in those soap operas his fellow Sophiamundans so enjoyed.

He puffed out his cheeks, combed a rebellious tip of his hair off his forehead, and asked, "How do I look?"

"Like a great Bestower of the Imperium of a Thousand Stars," she answered patriotically. "Will the lord have brunch?"

"I'll have it in the shuttle. Can't be fashionably late to my first bestowing ceremony, now, can I?"


Valentin Balboni strolled through the halls of the colony ship Constantinople Eterna from his apartments. These massive ships were the symbol of Imperial power, though a cynic would say it was a fading remnant of said power.

With him was his Bucelarii - his household troops - which his father, Duke Constantinus IV, had spent a fortune to train. House Balboni didn't have that many troops compared to the other Dukes, but Father was quite proud of what he did have. Of the four janissaries, only Theresa was in her gold-inlined marine armour, and she wore her plasteel longsword in a beautifully stitched scabbard. A stark contrast from the firearms the rest of his troops had. Yet even with a blade, she was more dangerous than the others combined.

"Couldn't you borrow a few charge rifles from the armoury?" Valentinus whined. "We have to look impressive!"

"Milord, we simply do not have access to such weapons," said Corporal Flavius, tapping his battle rifle. "Besides, 7.62 kills anyone just easily."

He shook his head, the number completely meaningless. "You only have one chance to give a first impression, you know."

"There will be more chances for first impressions, milord," said Theresa.

They reached the office by the shuttle bay. His Bucelarii waited outside as he entered the room. There, he found an older man, in the same robes as he, sitting behind a desk. Valentinus bowed. "High Bestower. I am ready for my first mission."

High Bestower Bessarion did not deign to look up from his terminal. "Young Valentinus, where is your vest?"

Valentinus cursed himself for not buttoning the clasp of his robe. He attempted to bulldoze through it. "You summoned me, Your Eminence?"

Thankfully, the old man was feeling merciful. "Have you heard of what happened the other day?"

"I'm afraid not, High Bestower."

"One of my fool nephews decided he wanted to take a walk in the middle of nowhere. Something about connecting with the land and with nature, or some other foolish notion. Are the private forests of our ships not sufficient? Regardless, he somehow found himself miles away from the nearest outpost, away from his Bucellarii, when he was chased by a wild animal."

"How terrible! Was it a bear? Or perhaps a pack of manhunting wolves?"

He adjusted his glasses; a fashion statement, considering his bionic eyes. "No, it was a -"

Valentinus snapped his finger. "Perhaps it was a warg! I heard, on certain worlds, wargs are primarily carnivores instead of omnivores as they were created to be."

"No. It was a -"

The younger Bestower clasped his hands. "An elephant! Perhaps being ridden by javelin throwing mahouts!"

Bessarion cut him off. "It was a rabbit."

Valerian blinked. "A genetically enhanced rabbit?"

"A rabbit."

"A rabbit with sharp teeth that breathes fire?"

"I told you Valerian, just a normal rabbit."

"And this nephew, could he not have used his powerful magic to whisk himself to safety?"

"It was the heat of the moment, he forgot his training."

"So what happened?"

"A nearby village of tribals came to his rescue. Shot the monster dead, saving his life," said Bessarion without a single hint of irony. "It is a great deed of arms worthy of the honours of our Empire. Let us not forget that the Empire does not forget its debts."

"Ah." Not very impressive that dead of arms. "So what does this have to do with me?"

"My nephew feels indebted to the loincloths and he brought this up to the Stellarch. Together, they are of the mind of giving titles to citizens of the rimworld below us. That's where you come in. You've trained for this, know the words and the rituals, so you fly down there, say the fancy words to the savages, and come back. Shouldn't take too long, really."

This is not how he planned his first outing to go. "But sir… giving random peasant titles will upturn the fabric of our society!"

The old man raised his brow at that. "You're worried about that, and not giving random peasants access to our psychic powers?"

Using psypowers were such a drain, Valentinus forgot he even had them. "That too!"

"I don't disagree, but our great Empire is a shell of its former self." He turned to his window, where the blue-brown planet floated below. "Once upon a time, we were the Imperium of a Thousand Stars. Single officials ruled planets in the Emperor's stead and every Consul could raise an army of millions with a single stroke of a pen. The lowest ranking noble could summon his navy and go toe to toe with the most advanced of urbworlds. But that was before the Calamity. We must make do with what he have."

"Very well. Tell me about this tribe."


"Of all the places, they build their homes in a swamp. Why?" asked Corporal John. "Don't they know what diseases mosquitoes bring?"

"Quit whining, soldier. You're wearing fully insulated armour. They couldn't get through you if you were covered by a swarm of them," said Sergeant Gregorius.

The corporal's face paled behind his visor. "Now I'll have nightmares for days, thanks sarge."

"Never say I never do anything nice to you."

Valentinus asked the pilot, "Are we there yet?"

"ETA five minutes, lord," said the voice through the speakers. "We'll be landing a fair bit away, they don't have a landing pad."

Corporal Flavius shook his head disapprovingly. "They don't even have a landing pad."

The shuttle had no windows to speak of, but cameras on the outside with screens that acted as windows. It was a primitive settlement, where the average home was less a house and more a shack, with roofs of thatch and hay. The communal fire was in the middle of a circle of the shacks, and some ways away was their well. A drove of pigs were rolling in the mud in a fenced area, and they seemed to be growing paddy rice next to the swamp. Much further away was a strange looking tree, glowing even during the day. Must be some unique local flora.

What a poor and destitute people. Still, he was a loyal subject of the Emperor (wherever the hell he was) and he shan't shirk from his duty.

They made landfall on elevated land. The sergeant went out first followed by the rest of the Bucelarii. As he was given the signal that it was safe, Valentinus stepped out to the humid putrid smell of the swamp.

A group of people had gathered in front of his shuttle, a bunch of gawking tribals in pelt tribalwear, faces smeared with blue paints and arms decorated with tattoos. Leading them was an old man, gaunt and thin, with the head of a muffalo on his head. He walked with a gnarled cane. Next to him was a tall figure in a sleeveless mail hauberk, a spear in his meaty fist.

Valentin's training returned to him. "Hail, chief. I am Valentinus of House Balboni, loyal bestower of Heraclius Helios X, Beloved of a Thousand Stars, Emperor of Shining Sophiamunda. I am here to bestow you with the rank of Yeoman for your saving of Baron Basso Severus from the dangerous beast that harassed him."

A chubby child raised their hand. "It was just a wabbit!"

Another villager said, "If killing rabbits gets us shinies, then bring on the rabbits." His comment generated laughter from the rest.

The old man shook his head. "Alas, I am merely the tribe shaman. The chief slew it."

Valentinus smiled diplomatically. "And where is this chief who slew this mighty beast?"

A mailed figure took a step forward. He was an impressive figure, corded muscles threatening to burst the links of his armour. Under his steel cap was a grizzled face, a bushy red beard and a horizontal strip of red paint, which only proved to highlight his grey eyes. On his back was a round shield and he had a bone hilted dagger in his belt. This man would not look out of place in the Corps.

"Ah, is it you, the champion of this village?" Valentius nodded approvingly at the man; he was like one of those pulp heroes from the novels he read. Now this was a mighty warrior.

The giant shook his head. "Nay, it is her."

He stepped aside to reveal a young woman, around Valentinus' age if he had to guess. Hair like fire. She was a toned figure, with the legs of a runner, and reaching shoulder height with the giant (her father most likely). In her rope belt was a dagger that looked like it was made from scrap metal with some leather stripes for a hilt; and a couple of hatches.

She was smiling, missing a front tooth. "Aye, mister bestower, that be me, the mighty rabbit slayer!"

The rest of the village laughed. Valentinus couldn't help but be a little upset at it all. When he chose (well, his parents chose his course for him) this degree, he thought he'd be an important palace functionary; attending lavish balls, perhaps even catching the eye of a beautiful lady or making friends with the crème de la crème. You know, important stuff.

But no, here he was, in the middle of nowhere, in some backwater swamp village on some forgotten rimworld.

He held in a sigh and forced a smile. "Of course, miss -"

"Blue."

"Blue?"

"It's short for Blueberry. And before you ask, it was Ma's favourite food."

"Why not cherry instead?"

"What's a cherry?"

Not only were they primitive, but they were also uncreative. A waste of that red hair, in his opinion. What the hell was he doing here?

Still, he smiled diplomatically. "Come, Miss Blueberry. Let's talk first."


Before they performed the ceremony, Valentinus took Blue aside as everyone streamed into the hall.

"Yeah?" She was chewing on something foul.

"The ceremony's important and all but the paperwork is more important." From his robes he pulled out his digipad and handed it to her. "Don't worry, it's only three pages long. I'll need your signature here, and here."

Blue took the pad, looking at it as if it was a piece of archotech, and finally said, "I can't read."

Valentinus blinked. Training did not prepare him for this. He spoke a dozen languages, had the best penmanship in his class, but this confounded him. "Well, in short, for a Yeoman rank, that just means you're a citizen on paper and -"

Blue sucked on whatever it was she was chewing. "This isn't paper, it's a fancy mirror."

Oh boy. "What I mean is, you will be provided quests for your acceptance of this citizenship."

"And I gotta do em'?"

"You're free to decline!" According to the guide he was given, the Empire did not expect any of the natives to actually accomplish anything which to him strikes as bad management. "But those who serve the Empire will be well rewarded."

"Reward, huh?" She looked him up and down, or more accurately she looked down at him, due to their height difference. "Are all Empire boys as pretty as you?"

"Um …" Of all the things that he expected to do today, being hit on wasn't it. "Excuse me?"

She leaned over and gave him a sniff. "You smell like flowers. I like that in a man."

Valentinus blinked. "P-p-perhaps we can discuss this after the ceremony?"

"Oh, like a date?"

"Well, I mean …"

She took the digipad and signed it. When she returned it, he saw she had drawn a big smiley face.

"Now c'mon, times' a wastin!" Then she dragged him into the hall.

Well, it could have gone worse.


"So the mighty bestower returns! How goes the ceremony, old chap?" Demetrius raised his glass of champagne, but lowered it as he saw Valentinus' face. "I take it didn't go so well?"

Valentinus plopped down in his favourite chair. The lights of the saloon, ever warm and the genetically altered staff ever pretty. A pretty waitress with cat ears set down his favourite drink as if she read his mind before turning back to serve another.

The nobleman downed it in one go. Demetrius grimaced. "Glad to see you back in one piece anyway. What, did they harvest your organs? I'm told some unsavoury types do that down in the rim."

He patted himself. "Don't worry, I have my organs intact, thank you very much."

The quiet continued on for some time. In the corner of the saloon, a musician was playing a pleasant melody on a piano. It was a quiet evening and there were few people overall.

Demetrius broke the silence. "Dammit, man! You look like someone killed your cat."

"Sulaimeow is perfectly fine, thanks for asking."

"Then what happened?"

Valentinus rose so quickly, it made the Praetor back into his chair so forcefully, it slid on the polished marble floor. "What happened? I'll tell you what happened!"

The Bestower leaned over, narrowing his eyes. "It sucked."

"Pardon?"

"It sucked."

Valentinus snatched Demetrius' drink from his hand and gulped it down, though he didn't finish it. "It was the worst bestowing ceremony I've ever done!"

"This is the only bestowing ceremony you've ever done."

Valentinus ignored him. "So here I was, in this village of primitives. Which they built, by the way, on a swamp. Infested with mosquitoes and other horrid bugs, I swear, it's like they were trying to assassinate me indirectly.

"They invite me to their hall, if you can call it that. An oversized shack really. And they had a campfire, right there in the middle of the hall! Not even a chimney or anything! Someone was cooking rat meat, I think."

"A dangerous fire hazard," said Demetrius, who had never once cooked a meal in his entire life.

"So I do the ceremony, you know, the way we're trained to do. I give a speech about the Empire, of the great civilisation that is (was) Sophiamunda. It took me a while."

"The Empire loves long speeches, yes."

"A couple people started fighting each other. I think one of them compared the other to pubic hair, I didn't really hear. And no one stopped them!"

Demetrius adjusted his monocle. "Barbaric!"

"So the chief goes to one knee, as you do. I bring my staff to her eye -"

The Praetor smirked. "Her, eh?"

Valentinus rolled his eyes. "Yes, Demetrius, women exist everywhere."

"What did she look like?"

Valentinus sighed. "Does it matter? By the Emperor, man, you already have multiple lovers." Well, sure some of them were paid but who was he to judge?

"Sate my curiosity, brother."

He tried to recall. "Tall, red haired, strong looking."

"Strong looking?" he asked, leaning.

"If you're wondering if she's like one of your meathead marine girlfriends, she isn't. I doubt she's had enough to eat." What do people eat in swamps anyway? Gators? "Oh, and she's got bad teeth."

"Not everyone is as blessed with a strong dental healthcare institution. Was she pretty?"

She was pretty, in a feral cavewoman sort of way, he supposed. "She's okay, I guess." Aggressive, domineering. He had never met a woman like her. After the ceremony, everyone just shrugged and went back to work. He overheard someone say it was boring. Not that Valentinus could blame them, these sort of things tend to be like that.

"Aaah, my friend is interested in a native? Of all the flowers in the Empire, you had to find yours in some backwater planet. How. Adorable."

For some reason, he felt his face heat up. "At least I've got a job."

Demetrious laughed but left the subject, and poured for the both of them. "Continue."

"As I was saying, I was ready to give her a psycast. I pop in the psylink neuroformer in my staff, aimed it at her eye and to my shock, she was already a psycaster!"

Demetrius bushy mustache bristled, his monocle popped from his eye. "By the stars!"

"I know, right?! I thought only we had access to these powers. Regardless, I reported it to the High Bestower and said to forget it."

"Really?"

"Yes, quite strange that."

"This damn wine is too strong," he complained. Demetrius did not mention how it was Valentinus who stole his drink.

"So, what now?" he asked.

"From now on? I guess going down and bestowing a title to random nobodies. Three years studying at Bestower College, and this is my work."

Demetrius raised his drink. "Bah, enough of this melancholy! You survived the savage rim and finally started your job. In your health, and May Sophiamunda Shine Forever!"

Valentinus raised his own and clinked his glass against his friend's. Well, it's not the most satisfying of jobs, but at least it was a job.

He wondered if he would ever bump into Blue again. He hoped not. To run away from a lady like that wasn't exactly the definition of manliness.

But that was tomorrow's problem.


A few months passed and life went on in the Empire.

Nobles bickered with each other, as they do. They commissioned embarrassing monuments to mock their rivals, or build grand ones to glorify their own accomplishments. They sent their janissaries against each other, in legal warfare - a complete waste of soldiers. They performed arcane experiments on the planet, which to Valentinus seemed more like a practical joke than anything. What sort of experiment requires one to bath a whole area in toxic fallout and a cold snap?

And what kind of madman actually takes the deal?

Still, life went on, even for a lowly bestower like him. Some native performed a quest for a noble, and the noble would insist on bestowing them favours or gifts. Most gifts were utilitarian: medicine, art pieces, the odd precious ores and minerals, and the like. But some were a bit more worrying: like weapons, armour, psylink neuroformers, techprints and even archotechnology.

When brought up about the dangers of gifting the natives these powerful items, the High Bestower brushed him off, as if giving bandits the ability to summon tornadoes was a completely normal and not at all dangerous thing.

Madness.

Valentinus was working at the bestower office one day. There were a few of his colleagues, but not many. The Explorator Fleet was wide and far, stretching across the entire solar system. Only a few noble houses preferred to have any sort of business on the planet and the few presence they did have planetside were trade outposts, military forts or resource settlements.

In effect, it meant that it was he who took most of the burden of performing the ceremonies. There was a bit of a stigma in Imperial culture regarding bestowers. Powerful enough nobles despised working, so they spent their time chasing their hobbies. He wasn't technically minded enough to be in the business maintaining and running ships, ruthless enough to be an inquisitor, sneaky enough to be a spy, tough enough to join the Imperial Tagmata, or other numerous jobs in society.

And so, bestower he was. Once upon a time, it was a prestigious position only given to the most upright noble citizens. But after Sophiamunda's destruction, the role became lower on the totem pole, a relic of a bygone age. After all, why bother bestowing a title when most of your population is dead?

There was perhaps another reason why there were not many bestowers: the job itself was incredibly dangerous.

The High Bestower summoned him once more. "Another one? Your Eminence, this is the fifth time this week! We can't give titles out like candy!"

The old official always tolerated his outburst. Perhaps it was because of nepotism, and his father's high rank. But most likely because, like all government officials, Bessarion stopped giving a damn. "The Empire needs as many allies as we need, and if it means giving cheap titles to every tribal, outlander, and bandit, then we will."

"Last month, I performed a bestowing ceremony at some bandit lord's hall. I went in there, and the bastards locked me inside and turned up the heat, cooking me and my men alive!"

He didn't even know simple household heaters could be so powerful like that. Thankfully, Theresa was a beast of a woman, hauling him to safety. The rest of his Bucelarii made sure to slaughter everyone before leaving. Valentinus called in an orbital strike, just to make sure.

Bessarion waved his hand, as if the act dispelled his worries or the incident. "You made it out, didn't you? Nothing but a minor setback."

Valentinus raised a second finger. "Then there was the other instance with the … um …"

The old man checked his digipad and pushed his glasses with a finger. "The Alliance of Beastmen."

"Yes, the furry hippie colony." The name was nowhere as fearsome as it made out to be.

"And what of it?"

"They were … having sex! Everywhere! In the hall, outdoors, on the training grounds! And in these elaborate (but very well made) fursuits! While I was performing the ceremony, a couple of them were making animal noises, barking at each other!"

Bessarion tut-tut'ed. "Now, now, Valentinus. There's no need to kinkshame people."

"And then there was this … fog machine? Of some kind? Only it wasn't giving out fog, but they were using it to pump fumes of smokeleaf into the hall." His robes still smelled of it, despite being washed three times.

Bessarion nodded. "I'll be sure to add gas masks for shuttles for safety reasons."

"Then there was the … cave settlement."

"Ah, wasn't that the one running a hotel of sorts? The Andale Inn, I believe. What was wrong with them?"

"They were nice people, actually. The place is dark, because you know, it's a cave and they use darklight instead of normal lighting. But the place was clean, neat, and comfortable. Save for a few accidental bumps in the dark, they were completely fine."

Bessarion went on, "But …"

"There was something off about their … about the way they act. They had very strange looking clothing, all leather. I thought it was pigskin but it was too … smooth?"

"You cannot judge an entire group by how they dress, Valentinus."

"Yeah okay, but everything was covered in it. The tablecloth, the drapes, even the bed. And they were very … polite. I don't know, maybe I am overreacting. Their pork was excellent though."

The old man steepled his fingers, and Valentinus mentally prepared himself for another one of his lectures. He'll start of with by referring him as 'Young Valentinus' -

"Young Valentinus …"

There it was. Then he'll go on about 'the good of the Empire'.

"We must all do our part to perform our duties, for the betterment of the Empire …"

Valentinus will be asked to consider the needs of the many over the wants of the few.

"The wants of a single man is miniscule to the needs of society."

You must follow the station and role entrusted upon you.

"A citizen must perform his or her duties placed upon them."

How else would we strive over the hardships and stagnancy that affects every civilisation?

"To struggle against the burdens placed upon us, who will do that but us?"

Do you understand?

"Do you understand?"

And so rather than get into another argument, for the umpteenth time, knowing full well they'll be doing this song and dance not too soon, Valentinus simply bowed his head and said, "I think I do, Your Eminence."

In a rare instance of warmth from the old coot, he leaned over the table and patted Valentinus on the shoulder. "That's my lad. Now, onto the next ceremony."


"Do you guys think there was something off about the leader?" asked Corporal John.

"You mean the Pharaoh?" said Flavius.

"It's just, I don't know." John thought about it. "The guy looked very familiar. I think there was an exile from a few decades ago that kinda looked like him?" And wasn't there a pharaoh back on Earth?"

"So? There were kings back on earth too," said Sergeant Gregorius.

"I don't know, man. The pyramids, the sphinx, the statues, it looked like something out of a story book. I think his bodyguards were robots too."

"It's just fancy power armour, I think you're overthinking it."

John shrugged. "I guess. What kind of name is Jergypt anyway?"

Another day, another boring ceremony. At this point, the ritual had become rote. He could probably recite the entire speech in his sleep. There was no deviation from the speech, that would be against the code of conduct. Really, if he could have just pop the psycast into their eye and have them sign, that's what'd he do. But that would mean he'd be out of a job and disappoint his parents, and no woman would ever want to marry a jobless bum. Thus the fate of all youngest sons.

At least the settlement was pretty. As he boarded the shuttle, Theresa's comm buzzed. "Lord, grim news."

"What is it now?"

"There are pirates in the area, warring against an alliance of outlander towns. Control suggests we take an alternate route lest we get caught in the crossfire."

Now, Valentinus didn't know much about flying a shuttle other than sitting in one, so he left that to his pilot. "Okay, and?"

"The trip will take a bit longer, as the optimal path is being showered with shells. I recommend we ask for the Pharaoh's generosity and stay overnight."

Valentinus considered it for a moment, then remembered they all pooped in a pot and no one had air conditioning. "Absolutely not, we are taking the alternate route."

The pilot buzzed in over the intercoms, "Apologies, lord. We simply don't have the fuel to make the trip if we take the alternate route."

"We risk it the standard route then."

Of the group, only Theresa was willing to speak up. "Lord …"

"Don't lord me, we are leaving."

"As you will."

As the shuttle took off into the sky and he was blasted with cool air, Valentinus knew he made the right choice.

CRASH

As the shuttle fell from the sky and he was blasted with warning alarms, Valentinus knew he made the wrong choice.

"Mayday, mayday! This is Shuttle Balboni Zero-Oh-Five, requesting permission to land in friendly territory!"

Theresa, ever the cool professional, said, "I told you so."

"Shut up, Theresa."

"As you will, lord," she said, and Valentinus could have sworn she was smiling behind her helmet.

The pilot landed as gently as she could, which still made everyone strain against their seatbelts. Even from inside he could feel they landed on water. The door to the shuttle door popped open, everyone trailed out, walking as if they were drunk.

Valentinus was last to exit and immediately felt a shiver as he found himself in calf high water. "Oh, fantastic. Where are we?"

He looked about himself: he was in water, that was obvious, which was green as the trees about him. The entire swamp was covered in leaves from the great trees, whose roots stood high above the water. It was noon and the sun was hot, and the temperature was humid. Had Valentinus had any artistic skill, he could write about the beauty of the swamp and its primordial state but he was not that.

There wasn't even any land that he could see. "Should we leave?" he asked.

"Negative. We stay put, and wait for our allies to arrive," said Sergeant Gregorius. He looked disapprovingly at the smoke coming from the shuttle's back thrusters. "That'll be attracting the scum of the earth."

"So what, we're just going to stay here, and wait for murderous pirates to kill us?!"

The sergeant smartly ignored his tantrum. "Corporals, set up a perimeter. I'll stand on the shuttle, keep an eye out. Lord, just take cover and wait. Pilot, when will the next shuttle arrive?"

The pilot, a woman in baggy jumpsuit wielding an SMG, answered. "Two or three hours, tops."

"Three hours?!"

As always, it was Theresa that came to the rescue. "Sergeant, I spotted some ruins deep in the forest. I suggest we take shelter there."

He nodded. "Very well. We'll take cover there, it'll give us some safety from any dangers and it would make for a better defensive position. Let's just hope our allies find us before others do."

"Lead the way, sergeant."

A few minutes later, they hunkered down in the ruins. What purpose the ancient structure served, he couldn't tell. There was a table, the remnants of a bed, and a single stool. Valentinus hung his robes over a rotten door frame, shivering in his shoes. He wished he had the pilot's boots, or his Bucelarii's sabatons. Or their armour. And maybe another orbital bombardment targeter (the old man refused to loan anymore, because as he quoteth "It was a waste of ammo.")

So here he was, in the middle of the swamp, in foreign territory, waiting to be saved in soggy shoes. Demetrius was never going to let him leave it down.

It could possibly not get any worse.

Then the downpour started, and Valentinus told himself never to tempt the fates again.

Corporal Flavius looked up, the rain splattering on his visor. "The Goddess Cassandra spits on us today, gentlemen."

"Keep your pagan faith to yourself, corporal," said the sergeant, ever worried if an Inquisitor would pop out from behind a tree and accuse him of heresy. "Let's make this place defensible."

Valentinus sat on his ancient stool, watching his Bucellarii form the world's smallest fort. They chopped down trees, used the branches and leaves for roofing; hauled chunks of stone for cover and used the wood to build a barricade; John, who was an adept carpenter in his free time, even made spike traps.

The most Valentinus did was use his modicum of psycasting to summon a Solar Pinhole: a microscopic skipgate that was linked to the nearest star, generating light and heat for the room.

The eltex staff: a priceless artefact, whose secrets are known only to a select few of the Empire's finest engineers. The envy of wizards all over the galaxy with a spell that would take the average man decades to master. And what was it used for? A heather/lamp combo.

Truly, Valentinus was the one worthy of such a powerful weapon.

Flavius came in to build a fire, leaving a small hole in the branch-roof for the smoke to filter through.

Theresa, somehow in all this rain, had hunted down a rabbit, skinned it and cooked it over the fire. "Could use some salt," he said.

An hour passed and the rain turned into a downpour. Only the pilot and Theresa were in the ruin with him, the rest of his guard keeping watch. Theresa had her longsword, Fidus Servus, laying on her knees, wiping an already pristine and clean blade with a piece of cloth. His digipad had cracked in the crash and all there was to do was to chat and wait.

"On the upside," he began, "at least I'll have an interesting story to tell in the saloon."

Lightning cracked as the wind howled. Valentinus could have sworn that he heard someone's voice in the wind. "Is someone calling us?"

Theresa spoke into her wrist. "Sergeant, report."

No answer.

The pilot stood up, SMG in hand. "I'll go and check."

She took two steps from the door and immediately collapsed. A gaping hole in her stomach as blood pooled on the ancient cobblestone floor. Gunfire exploded.

Ah shit, here we go again.

Theresa dragged the pilot further inside and detached her IFAK, throwing it to Valentinus. "Lord, stay here and help patch her up. I'll assist the squad."

The bestower tried to recall his first aid training, only to realise he had no training at all. The pilot was groaning and screaming in pain, clutching at her wound.

"Umm, this may be a bad time to ask, but do you know how to do this?"

"Ughgggg … aaaaahh …."

"Okay, okay, no need to be rude about it."

An idea came to him. He pointed his staff at the injured pilot and summoned the powers his body held, the secrets of archotech - according to some Imperial scholars, the reason why the Calamity befell them - and casted.

The pilot stopped moaning in pain, eyes wide open as if waking up from a nap. "I don't … feel hurt?"

"+Painblock+," said Valentinus, giving her the IFAK. "It'll only last for a short while, patch yourself up."

Someone was screaming outside. More gunfire. An explosion went off, shaking the branch-roof above. The correct thing to do, strategically and tactically, was to stay put. A noble was a rare, precious flower, and janissaries were born to serve and die at their whims.

But dammit, it was his stubbornness that got them here. A lack of plumbing and air conditioning seemed heavenly compared to this dank shithole.

"Stay here, aim your gun at the door," he said, summoning his father's voice and grabbing his stil damp robes. "I'll help the rest of the men."

"But … your safety …"

He gingerly patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll be back." Steeling himself, he stepped out of the door.

Lightning flash, the world thundered. He stepped out onto a battlefield where men died in the mud. There, the janissaries held the line from the safety of their barricade, pouring rifle fire into the tree line. A phalanx of fighters with swords and spears charged the gunline, the Bucelarii's bullets pinging off their cheap shield belts.

Sergeant Gregorius unhooked an EMP grenade from his belt and threw. The tell tale sound of breaking glass dissipated the shields and the rest of the men slew the charging fighters. Their guns clicked empty.

"Reloading!" the corporals yelled as they reached for their spare mags.

Gregorius lined up his charge rifle at the charging berserker. The man wore a mail hauberk reinforced with flak plates, a fearsome longaxe in hand. He stepped onto one of John's spike traps, a nasty piece of jagged wood went through his foot. The sergeant took the opportunity to blast the pirate in the chest.

Only to have a second similarly armoured berserker to come right behind the dead man, spear in hand. "Shit!" He dropped his rifle to reach for his sidearm. He was going to eat that spear.

Valentinus's powers reacted before his mind did. Pointing the orb of his staff at the enemy, his power surged from his scalp, down through spine, to his arm and through the staff.

One moment the berserker was there, the next he was right back in the swamp ten feet away. The corporals emptied their magazines into them, he twisted and turned like a dancer before falling to the mud.

The battlefield became silent, save for the torrential rain and the gurgling of dying men. He felt like his head was on fire, the dangers of psychic heat.

"Lord! What are you doing here?" asked Gregorius.

"You're welcome, sergeant. Saved you from being skewered there." He expanded all his psychic might and the troops didn't even appreciate him. "Where's Theresa?"

"I sent her forward to flank the enemy. She's out there, behind enemy lines."

Valentinus listened harder. It may have been his imagination, but he could hear distant gunfire, and the sound of bullets failing to penetrate a shield.

"That is fantastic!" Despite the situation they were in, Valentinus could not help but be happy with the situation. "Who needs those reinforcements, anyway?"

The treeline shuffled and all guns were aimed at them, only to reveal a sprinting Theresa coming right at them. She had her sword in her left fits on account how her right arm was completely missing. "They're coming! They're coming!"

A spray of bullets fired from the brush, materialising filthy fountains as they struck the water. In another time, seeing someone sprint in thirty kilos of armour would be an impressive feat worthy of an Olympus event. But the fact it was Theresa, the baddest person he knew, was running away from an enemy sent a bolt of fear through his very core.

Something flew past him, like a hot gush of wind. It dropped his hood from his head and made his robe wave even in the torrent of the rain. Then a great heat singing his back as debris fell from the sky. Valentinus planted the butt of his staff in the mud and almost fell on his face.

If the ruins were in bad shape before, it was completely destroyed now. Bricks and branches rained from the sky. Something heavy plopped down by Valentinus and he turned to look down.

It was the pilot's helmet. Her head was still in it.

The bestower turned to the treeline and raised his staff. "You pricks! Do you know how hard it is to find good pilots?! Years in pilot school wasted - oof!"

"Lord! Take cover!" said Theresa as both of them went sprawling to the mud.

Another rocket whistled pass harmlessly above them, hitting some distant tree and exploding it into a million splinters.

"Dammit, woman! Stand down, you're missing an arm!"

She shook her head. "No lord, I have it right here," she said, producing her ruined arm from her back.

Despite his insistence, Theresa refused to lie down. The vestiarites continued her fighting, hurling herself into the melee. It was only his +Painblock+ psycast and the rest of his Bucelarii's overwhelming firepower that kept them from being swarmed.

The firefight raged on and the swarm of pirates seemed to multiply. For every single one dead, two more took its place. Theresa sipped some go-juice and threw herself into the fray like she was trained to do, Fidus Servus shining red.

Valentinus assisted the only way he knew how: with pure psionic might.

The youngest son of House Balboni wasn't the mightiest psycaster around. The act of meditation hours upon hours, the mental burden of holding all the powers in his head, was more of a hassle for a pencil pusher like him. A Warcaster he was not, those studious battle wizards who go into battle in full armour.

But as he summoned the power to teleport the upcoming phalanx, letting his troops pour fire into their exposed ranks; or how with a single pulse from his staff made the gunmen suddenly throw up their breakfast; he understood then, why so many people wanted to join the Collegium Aracana.

This is how Sulaimeow must feel whenever I scratch his head, he thought to himself, as he casted +Beckon+ in a general direction, feeling the pleasurable tingle on his scalp. A pirate with a sniper rifle stumbled out of a tree, and Corporal Flavius ended him with a shot to the head.

Even so, with all these powers, he could feel his focus running out. His head felt like it was on fire despite the dampness of his hood. He was only allowed up to rank three of his powers, and the neuroformers in his robes were becoming even more and more a delicious fruit.

"Sergeant, I'm burning out! How long till the shuttle arrives?"

"Just a short while, lord!"

"Where the hell are our reinforcements?!" yelled John as he blindfired from his cover, slaying a spearman.

Theresa was in the melee, shredding into a small group of shooters, slicing barrels, splitting skulls and severing limbs. Her shield was long dead and it was only thanks to the quality of her power armour that she was alive.

The sky lit up once again, to reveal a silhouette in the treeline, hauling a cumbersome thing on their shoulder.

And it was aiming straight at Theresa.

He aimed his staff at her, to cast +Chaos Skip+ only for him to hear a farting noise. Uh oh.

Thinking quickly, he produced a Psylink Neuroformer from his robes' pocket, and jammed the needle in his eye, hoping he got something useful.

Information flooded his mind, and with his new psychic powers, he pointed his eltex staff just ahead of Theresa and from the swamp a mound of stone and earth rose to a man's height.

The doomsday launcher went off, showering the melee in a shower of dirt and stones. With a renewed well of psyfocus and rolling the die, he +Skipped+ Theresa again, only to find her standing next to her.

He slouched on the ground, his ass meeting the mud. "I'm tired." He didn't even have the energy to ask where the reinforcements were.

The treeline shook with yelling, as if the entire swamp was cheering for their imminent demise. Then, weirdly, the pirates turned on themselves.

A shotgunner blasted his comrade in the back. Another jammed his knife in another's one throat. They devolved into fierce fighting, as if they suddenly found themselves surrounded

Theresa pointed excitedly with her stump. "No, lord! Look!"

He tried to. From where he sat, coming from the bush, painted warriors came with spears, shields and clubs. A flak and mailed pirate went to the water as he sprouted a trio of arrows. A score of pirates died to a hail of javelins. Leading them was a warrior with nothing but a wooden mask covering their face, their spear a whirlwind of death.

His Bucelarii stopped firing, lest their allies incur friendly fire. It was as if the friendlies were birthed from the swamp itself. Bushes became warriors, tree branches became spears, and their warchief like a panther, axes in both hands.!

So the pirates were beaten back from the flanking, throwing their weapons down and abandoning their comrades. The tribals gave a whoop of victory, and as if the very weather agreed with them, the rain stopped.

The leading warrior came to the barricades and his guards readied their weapons. He held a hand to tell them to stand down.

The warrior, now clearly visibly a woman from her figure and the long streak of wild red hair, tucked her axes in her girdle and raised her mask upwards. "So, is this your idea of a date?"

Valentinus smiled regardless of the situation. "Good to see you, Miss Blueberry."

"It's Chief Blue. You owe me, you know."

In the bright sky, he could see a blip, ever growing in size. About damn time they sent another shuttle.

"Yep, I guess I do." He put out a hand and she hook it.

When they entered the shuttle, he was shocked to see the old man there. "High Bestower, what are you doing here?"

Bessarion frowned. "Trouble back home, young Valentinus."


The village had grown the last time he came here. The shack that they called a hall had been repurposed as a smithy, with chimneys and tiles for a roof instead of thatch. The drove of pigs were still there, but now there was a proper rach with muffalos, cows, and a coop of chickens. Tiled walkways were in the process of being built, and the swampland was partially recovered with mounds of dirt and a proper jetty.

And of course there was the hall: an actual proper hall now, befitting a mighty and influential chieftess. The floor was of a lovely dark wood, the walls held sconces, and in the middle of the room was a long hearth where cooked muffalo meat was being prepared for their Imperial guests. A handsome throne, beautifully carved with patterns of trees and animals, much better than the gaudy thrones other nobles had, sat on the end of the hearth.

And best of all, no one was duking it out over comparing one another to pubic hair.

The psychic fog that enveloped the hall dissipated as he raised the orb of his staff from Blue's eye. "Rise, Chief Blueberry, Dame of the Imperium of a Thousand Stars, and rejoice!"

The hall exploded into cheering. Who knew cutting the time of a speech in half greatly impressed people?

Blue rose, draped in her finest dress made from what he could only guess was the pelt of some big cat. A girdle of fine leather and gold was strapped around her waist, a jade hilted knife stuck into it. She smiled as he took his hand and stood to her full height.

She addressed her tribe, the very opposite of his speech. "Okay, enough speeches. Time for beer and good food!"

Another cheer, and everyone descended upon the plates of meal as kegs of beer were brought into the hall. Valentinus had a wide smile on his face as his Bucelarii stood guard by the walls, his ever stalwart defenders. He nodded to them, and they left the hall.

He found himself outside again by the shuttle. Blue had followed him. "Oh, not enjoying the rest of the party?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Just saying goodbye to my friends."

The chieftess understood his meaning and returned to the party.

Gregarious took out Valentinus' bag from the shuttle, alongside a carrier with Sulaimeow in it. "Will you be safe here, lord? We could stay too."

Valentinus clasped the sergeant on his shoulder. "No can do, friend. I have to stay out of sight and out of mind. A bunch of guards with high tech gear would be too much."

He harrumphed. "I would look great in those pelts."

When Valentinus returned from his bestower ceremony, it was discovered that his father had been accused by a rival duke about betraying the Emperor. In effect, that made everyone of House Balboni a target, and his father would be fighting in court and summoning his allies to defend himself. This, sadly, was not out of place in the Empire. It was only a matter of time such an incident struck his House.

It was old man Bessarion that suggested the plan. "Lay low with the tribe, keep your head down while your Lord Father settles this business."

"What about my brothers and sisters? Are they safe?"

"All hidden away, already. I can't speak much, but trust me. This will be for your benefit."

So a few days later, after finishing his business, and putting his things away, Valentinus found himself doing one last ceremony. For now, at least.

"I wish I could stay with you, lord," said Flavius. "You're the best boss we've got."

"We could teach a thing or two about marksmanship to these tribals," said John.

They all clasped arms. "Stay safe, everyone. I know I will be."

Theresa was last, hugging him suddenly, her new bionic arm whirring ever so softly. She looked heartbroken. "Stay safe, Val."

Valentinus blinked away tears. "You too, Tess. You too."

As the shuttle flew into the heavens above, Blue appeared once again. "You know, this ain't so bad," he said.

"How so?" asked the chief.

"Well, no more ceremonies for one. And no imperial politics."

"Just violent tribal warfare!"

"Exactly!" He knelt down and opened the carrier, Sulaimeow immediately rubbing himself against his owner's leg. "Maybe this place will grow on me."

"I'm afraid us humble folk don't have air condeeshoning, whatever that is."

He picked up his cat, cradling him like a baby. "So, what now?"

"Depends, what are you handy with? Wait, no, your contract says you don't have to do any work."

"If I don't do any, I think I'd go mad."

Blue sucked on her gums and blew. "We'll figure it out soon, eh?"

He turned to her. Blue was pretty, in her own way. "How about a date?"

She smiled, gap tooth and all. "I think that'd be great."


Always wanted to write something other than SAO stuff, so here it is. Wrote it in about a week. Had fun.

As for the the twelve people that read RimWorld fics (on Fanfiction dot net, the newest RimWorld fic was done on 1st November 2020), hope you enjoy it. I also have an Ao3 account under the same name.

Back to the grind. See you all in a bit.