AN : and here it is ! At last ! This chapter was actually completed yesterday, but circumstances conspired to keep it away from you, dear readers. But I have finally managed to get my Internet connection working, and here it is.
In this chapter, we will not see what happened to Illarion in the end. That will be in the next chapter. Instead, I chose to look at something that has bothered me for a long time :
Who exactly are the humans who join the Chaos Marines when they attack an Imperial World ? What motivate them to betray everything they have ever known ? How do they interact with allies to whom their entire life is but the blink of an eye ? There is more to Chaos worshippers than the wretches who scream 'FOR CHAAAAOSSS !' while blindly charging enemy lines. In my opinion, those are just the rabble, driven insane by the Ruinous Powers. What we will look at in this chapter is the 'higher strata', where the mortals actually hold some influence in the balance of power. So, this chapter will be mostly politics and introduction of new characters. But don't worry, the next chapter will be pure action to compensate. You will understand what I mean when you reach the end of this chapter.
As usual, I want to thank my reviewers. There have been several questions about the hierarchy, so I will tell you this : I still haven't exactly worked it out. Mainly, it's going to be something like any other Chaos warband when you come down to it : one leader, several trusted lieutenants, and field leaders. One of the strength of Chaos Warbands is their flexibility, so I don't think Arken would abandon it just to make his job easier. He is not that kind of ... whatever he is by now.
Also, for Spider : there is no united culture in the Warband, nor do I plan for one to appear. Legionaries will probably mix their own rituals with those of the brothers they come to respect. For the pits ... Arken would never allow it, at last not in the format seen on the Conqueror. Such mindless fratricidal slaughter is for the mortals. If those with the Butchers' Nails need to spill blood, they can take it out on the non-essential fooder gathered precisely for such a purpose.
Concerning my writing program, I will probably write another chapter of the Forsaken Sons then get to work on the Roboutian Heresy, with perhaps some short stories in between. Sorry about those who wanted to see the Space Wolves corrupted soon, but these Index Astartes take a lot of work to make. Each time I make one, I respect Games Workshop's work a little more.
If you like this chapter, see anything to correct, or have an idea for what will come next, please review !
I do not own Warhammer 40000 or any of its characters. They belong to Games Workshop.
The seeds of Ruin cast by Arken had blossomed well upon the fertile soil of Hive Santorius. The former planetary capital – a title now claimed by one of the hive-cities on the other side of the ocean – had changed greatly since the arrival of the Forsaken Sons. It had been here that the touch of Chaos had been the strongest, no matter the efforts of the Ecclesiarchy. It had been here that a shadow war had been waged between two hidden powers, the agenda of one remaining a mystery to the other despite having claimed victory at the tip of a chainsword.
The hive stretched from horizon to horizon. It was broad enough to house two billion people and the industry they had fed with their strength. This industry had been given a new purpose : now, it churned out bolt shells of various calibre and a myriad other items that the warband needed. Entire manufactorium had been ruined by the battles and the riots that had preceded the invasion, but what remained was being used to the maximum. The industry of war had seized the portions of the hive not given over to carnage, looting, and the rituals of the disciples of the Dark Creed – all in preparation for the next stage of the war.
And it was also in preparation of that stage that Dekaros had arranged the events of this day. The former Alpha Legionary stood at the balcony of one of the Governor's Palace's aisles. From this vantage point, he could see the millions of enslaved souls milling around, going to work. Many more were singing the praises of the Chaos Gods at the feet of the monuments built under the supervision of the Forsaken Sons bearing the gene-seed of the Seventeenth Legion. Some had been illuminated long before the arrival of the Traitor Marines, but many more had turned from the Emperor when the skies had started to burn with the fires of vengeance. In defeat, they had sworn their allegiance to the Ruinous Powers, hoping to save their lives by abandoning the faith of the so-called Ecclesiarchy. They were little more than wretches, though, of no use beyond serving the whims of the Forsaken Sons.
Millions had died in the battle for Hive Santorius, but many more had survived and become the subjects of a new ruler. While Arken's dominion over the hive was unchallenged, the Awakened One had more pressing concerns than the administration of a city. Instead, he had let his warriors do as they saw fit, and, eager to impress their lord, they had begun to turn the hive into a valuable asset. Packs of Iron Warriors and tech-priests had come from the Hand of Ruin to put the slaves to work, while others sacked the city of all that could be of use, putting to use their experience on Mulor Prime. A few Fleshmasters with no interest in the Unbound unleashed in Hive Anaster were wandering the streets. Groups of malformed servants and vat-grown creatures accompanied them as they sought fresh specimens amongst the hive for their experiments.
All in all, it was an efficient arrangement, but one which would only last as long as the Forsaken Sons were present to enforce it. Once the Astartes had left, utter chaos would claim the hive, and the mortals would tear it apart, driven to insanity by the whims of the daemons that even now spoke to them in their dreams, seeking to use them to infiltrate the material universe. A new rule needed to be established, and fortunately, the means by which the hive had been conquered had left plenty of candidates. Dekaros had used many groups of renegade humans to help him weaken the planet in preparation for the invasion. Many had been destroyed during the actual battle, slaughtered by the loyalists and giving their lives to help the cause of the Forsaken Sons. But some – the most powerful and therefore useful – had survived, and it was time for them to receive the rewards they had been promised. His agents – hypno-trained individuals who answered to none but him – had delivered his summoning to all of the various factions' leaders. Now, the designated time was drawing near, and soon the curtain would raise on a gathering such as the galaxy had rarely seen.
Valemus Galeyard, lord of his House, outwardly appeared to be the very incarnation of calm. He was sitting at the back of his limo, looking through the tinted, reinforced windows, utterly unconcerned with the misery and suffering he saw. He held in his right hand the letter that had been delivered to his estate the day before. The sheet of paper had been read so many times it was covered in creases, and Valemus knew its contents by heart.
'To the attention of Valemus Galeyard : you are called to a gathering of your peers, taking place tomorrow at midday in what was once called the Hall of Celebrations. You might bring with you an escort of four, and any weapon you may wish to, provided it can be carried by yourself or your chosen companions. The gathering will be held under the protection of the Forsaken Sons, by Arken's own will, and Dekaros will bring retribution to any who would break the peace of the talks and celebrations.'
At the end of the parchment was the address of the door by which he would be admitted into the gigantic Governor's Palace. Of course, there had been no question of refusing the 'invitation'. Dekaros had been the one who had approached Valemus through a chain of intermediaries in the months before the attack, when the madness of the Warp Storm was just beginning to abate. His agents had known everything about House Galeyard : from the exact number of their staff to the fact that they had sold weapons to both sides of the Heresy, as well as the security codes of every room of the estate. The man behind these contacts – at the time, Valemus hadn't known his true nature – could have destroyed the House in a hundred different ways, and made sure that Valemus knew it before making his offer.
In return for the Galeyard's support in the preparations of what had then been called 'the Arrival', the waning fortunes of the House would be restored. Furthermore, an opportunity would be granted, after the Arrival, to seize power beyond Valemus' imagination. Accepting had been the obvious decision, and Valemus regretted nothing. Watching the unleashed might of the Forsaken Sons, it was obvious that refusing and trying to fight back would have accomplished nothing beyond the extinction of House Galeyard.
Once the deal had been made and the alliance sealed by delivering all the information Galeyard had on the system's defences and military forces, the mysterious individual had made good on his word. Millions of credits had flowed into the coffers of the House, much of which had to be reinvest in other ventures specified by the benefactor. But the commission Valemus was allowed alone were more than enough to save the House from the ruin that had threatened it since the end of the Heresy.
Over time, the requests had changed, becoming more varied and dangerous. To his own surprise, Valemus had come to enjoy the challenges these demands represented. This was much similar to the game of intrigues nobility had waged since Terra's antiquity, but the stakes were much higher. He had arranged for weapons to be delivered to other groups, for shipments of food to be lost, and on several occasions, had planned and ordered the murder of some high-value target. Had a single one of these acts been uncovered, he would have been executed at once. But the Galeyard family had an extensive network of agents for these kinds of tasks, gathered during the years. Whether these individuals realized they were now working against the Imperium instead of simply furthering the interest of House Galeyard didn't seem to matter to them. They were given several times the usual fee in return for their services and silence. As months passed, many of them were added to Valemus' growing circle of aware co-conspirators.
By the time of the Arrival, dozens of Valemus' kin, employees and associates had been brought into what the House Lord had dubbed the 'Shadow House'. Of all of them, though, only Valemus himself had ever met their mysterious sponsor in person. The meeting had been organized to make sure he understood who and what he was dealing with. It had been the first time Valemus had seen a Space Marine in his life, and he had been terrified. To think hundreds of the surhuman warriors' kindred would come ! How could any force oppose such a gathering of military power ? The only smart move was to join them, and try to get as much as possible from the whole thing. The unforeseen arrival of the loyalist Astartes only changed one thing : the victory of the Forsaken Sons was even more important. House Galeyard's involvement with the invaders had become obvious, and they would all die if the Sons of Calth prevailed. So far, the situation appeared to be in the renegades' favour, but Valemus knew enough about warfare not to take anything for granted.
That made the upcoming gathering primordial, if only because of the chance to obtain more information. Still, there would be dangers as well, and the greatest of those would doubtlessly be the other attendees. Valemus didn't know who else had been summoned, but he had gathered a list of those he suspected had been Dekaros' agents as well. It was based on speculation from his own orders and intelligence gathered by his agents during their missions, and not a single entity on it was someone he would turn his back to. Which was why he had carefully picked the four companions who were sitting with him in the limo.
One of them was a nameless servitor, who appeared to be nothing more than a recording scribe, and indeed could fulfil that function perfectly, but had been heavily modified by bribed tech-priests. It was, in fact, a deadly bodyguard whose only priority was the protection of Valemus' life. Hidden beneath its skin were dozens of weapons and defensive mechanisms, while its skull had been filled with sensors, forever looking for threats. As far as its master was concerned, the fact that the servitor's fleshy components had once belonged to one of his cousins was just another advantage. As a punishment for trying to kill Valemus and claim lordship over the House, the brain-dead, would-be usurper would protect him forever in death. The message to the rest of the family hadn't been missed by anyone.
The second of Valemus' escorts was a hulking brute of a man, wearing custom body armor and carrying a very visible bolter. His name was Talek, and there were many amongst the Galeyard's household who joked that he must have ogryn blood in his veins – always behind his back, and low enough that he wouldn't overhear. But while it was true that Talek's scarred and blunt face would never win any beauty contest, his mind was that of a cold-blooded killer who had performed on Valemus' instructions numerous times. The man was one of the best trouble-shooters on the House's payroll, if not the best, but he was probably the most loyal. Other organizations had tried to buy his services on several occasions. Fortunately for Valemus, and unfortunately for the would-be employers, Talek had a very strong sense of loyalty and considered such attempts to be attacks against House Galeyard.
Sitting opposite to Talek and next to Valemus, Amelia couldn't have been more different from the hitman. She was dressed like a lady of the high society, but her black, tight bodyglove was actually made of a reactive material that would harden at the first impact. The jewelry she wore was also stuffed with technological wonders, some of which came from the Dark Age and others from proscribed dealings with xenos. Even she didn't know half of their potential uses, but the skills she possessed and the edge they gave her were more than enough for Valemus to want the female agent to his side. Amelia was as beautiful as she was deadly, clever and more importantly, completely devoid of morales – which had made her a very useful assassin since Valemus had gotten her out of the slums, some twenty years ago.
The last of Valemus' companions was cowering in one extremity of the vehicle, holding his head in both hands while endlessly mumbling to himself. Valemus had long debated whether or not to bring him at all, but there were just too many potential situations where Jar's peculiar talents could be useful. As an unbound psyker, he could protect Valemus from psychic intrusion and compulsion, but the small, skinny man could do much more. If his master turned off his dampening collar completely, Jar would become a very potent if somehow unreliable weapon. The Gamma-class psyker – according to the corrupt Administratum adept who had been paid off to let him escape the Black Ships – was kept under control by chemical injections and being treated like a prince when in his warded room in the estate. Some had questioned Valemus' generosity toward a being who wa, at best, a second-class citizen of the Imperium, and at worst a walking abomination whose mere existence endangered all those around him. Valemus' thoughts on that subject were simple : in case Jar somehow slipped the leash, better not to give him any reason to go straight after Valemus. Jar had spent the last months in a drug-induced coma, after the Storm had arrived and nearly driven him insane. Twelve servants of House Galeyard had been torn apart by his uncontrolled powers before Valemus had shut him down with a triple dose of his collar's injections. It was only because Dekaros had given him an upgraded version – for reasons the Astartes had never told, and that Valemus hadn't questioned – that the noble had even begun to consider awakening the little wyrd.
There would be other psykers at the gathering – perhaps even one of the Forsaken Sons' Sorcerers. Valemus wasn't about to walk into that particular viper's nest without being even able to trust his own thoughts. For despite the aura of calm he projected, the lord of House Galeyard was acutely aware that he could very well be going to his death. Valemus was under no illusion that his life held any special value to the Forsaken Sons. They were conquerors of worlds, whose deeds had shaped the galaxy into what it was now. To them, Valemus was at best a useful pawn, and at worst a burden no longer of use. He intended to do all he could to convince his masters that he was still of use, and deserved the rewards that had been promised to him. At least, from his dealings with Dekaros, he knew that the Forsaken Sons were pragmatic, and wouldn't kill all of their mortal agents at the gathering just for the hell of it.
The limo – whose driver had been a faithful servant of the House all his life, like his forebears on three generations – parked in front of the entrance to the Governor's Palace indicated at the invitation's back. The door was a small opening in the wall, made for servants to move in and out without disturbing their betters. Valemus wondered if there was a deliberate message there, or if the entrance had simply been chosen because it was the closest to where the gathering would be held. Regardless of the gate's prestige, however, it was well guarded. Two Astartes in sea-green armor stood at attention, their bolter held at their chest, ready to slay any of the few, terrified people who hastened through the street. Forcing his composure to remain undisturbed by an effort of will, Valemus led his companions toward the giant, still holding the summoning in his hand.
They didn't open fire – in fact, they barely reacted to their approach. As Valemus neared the door, it opened, revealing a small figure covered in dirty rags that didn't let a single spot of skin exposed. A beak of metal emerged from the shadows of the creature's hood, and it carried a rolled scroll under its arm.
'Hello, sires and lady,' it said, its voice rasping and its tone reverent. 'Have you come here for the Great Ones ?'
'I have come here upon Dekaros' summon,' answered Valemus, holding the parchment before what he supposed was the creature's face.
'Ah, yes, yes, of course. Many sires have come today for the Great Ones. You may enter, of course, but first the Master has ordered me to check you are on the list.'
With very careful movements, as if manipulating as holy relic, it unfurled the scroll it bore, and pulled out a stylus from its rags.
'What is your name, sire ?'
'I am Valemus Galeyard, lord of House Galeyard,' told the nobleman, offended that he had to justify his presence to this wretch. There was no doubt of it now : Dekaros was deliberately reminding them of their place. Fine, Valemus could play his game – though he did wonder, for a second, if the Astartes would have reacted had he simply ordered his cohorts to get the creature out of the way.
After checking that, yes, Valemus' name was on the list, and writing a cross in front of it with trembling fingers, the creature let the group in and told them to simply walk straight down the corridor. They would find the room where the other sires were waiting for the Great One who had called them, but they must not wander, or the Master couldn't guarantee their safety. As they strolled down the corridor, noticing the marks of las-fire and bolt impact left on the walls, Valemus wondered if there wasn't another layer to the message given by the creature's presence. Who knew how exactly the Forsaken Sons had found this being. Perhaps at some point it had been a normal human, and facing him was intended as a reminder of what could happen to traitors and failures. Or perhaps it was just the Forsaken Sons using whoever was available for what was, in fairness, an insignificant task. Valemus wasn't going to ask Dekaros, anyway. He had another source, though.
'Jar,' he called to the psyker. 'What did you feel about our diminutive host ?'
'Naught but a flicker,' babbled Jar, his brain so loaded with tranquillizers he could barely walk. 'Its spark is weak and false and birthed from metal and cables. It has no name but the Servant, and no purpose but to obey and to watch, watch for its master, in the shadows …'
From what little sense Valemus could make out of his witch's words, it seemed the creature was an artificial being, created in a lab somewhere. Another formerly forbidden science the Forsaken Sons had dabbled into. He wondered if there was anything the renegade Astartes would not do, no taboo they would not break if there was even just the most remote possibility it could be of use. Creating life was hardly uncommon in the Imperium – without specially designed lifeforms, how could the most savage worlds brought to a state where they were inhabitable by Mankind ? But sapient life, of a sort … cloning did exist in the Mechanicus, but its use was restrained by many rules. The creation of a whole new being such as the Servant was, no matter how harmless the creature may look, something straight from the horrors that had led to the Long Night.
'Are you all right ?' asked Amelia. Valemus shook himself mentally. He must have let his thoughts appear on his face – an unforgivable mistake for a scion of Galeyard.
'I am fine,' he snapped back. 'Now, stand ready, all of you. We are almost there, and there is no telling what await us on the other side.'
The door they had reached was plain, but Valemus could hear the whispers on the other side, and Jar's increasing trembling and mumbling were all the clues he needed. Whoever Dekaros had also summoned, their surface thoughts and auras alone were enough to cause fear to one whose soul was perpetually on the brink of the abyss. But there was no turning back, there never had been a chance of that. It was time to begin the game that, if he played his cards well and fate smiled upon him, would see him reach heights of power no lord of Galeyard had ever known. He took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.
Dekaros watched the gathering, registering the postures of each group and who was talking to whom. Already he could see alliances begin to form and old rivalries and hatred come to the fore. The room, which had once been used as a ballroom for the amusement of the city's worthies, held about fifty people. The last of the guests had just arrived, a full hour before the actual time of the summon. None of Dekaros' servants had wanted to risk being late, and simply being the last had apparently shaken the concerned leader.
Five Astartes stood guard over the proceedings, all of them wearing the colours of the Alpha Legion. Like Dekaros himself, they still bore the emblem of the hydra on their shoulder paldron. They were part of the group who had joined the former infiltrator, submitting to his leadership for the duration of the Parecxisian war. Contrary to Dekaros' fears, his work on the hive-world had been wildly recognized amongst the warband, especially by his gene-brothers. They had come to help him secure the holdings of the Forsaken Sons, and they understood the importance of this meeting. More of them were keeping watch outside, to ensure the security of the valuable pawns Dekaros had gathered.
The Lord of Shadows – as some of his brothers had come to call him – was sitting upon a throne specially built to bear the weight of an Astartes, carved with daemonic figures writhing as if in agony and crowned by a representation of the warband's emblem. The throne had been made in the workshops of the Hand of Ruin, by some of the slaves taken from the Mulor campaign. The entrails of the ship had also produced the new suit of power armor that Dekaros was wearing : a magnificent model, forged by Merchurion himself upon Arken's command. It was encrusted with priceless emeralds and a hydra with eyes of ruby decorated the chestplate, and a cloak made of the fur of a Fenrisian wolf, slain during one of the battles fought by the members of the Forsaken Sons during the Heresy, hung from its shoulders. It was far too gaudy for Dekaros' taste, but it would be very useful today. In following with the traditions of his Legion, today the Astartes had renounced to the absence of officer's marks that made the Alpha Legion such a confusing foe on the battlefield. Today, he had to be imposing enough to remember the mortals in attendance just who was in charge here.
For an entire hour, until the appointed time finally arrived, he watched like a king of old contemplating the intrigues of his court. Creatures who were more or less human, or had been at some point in their existence, cast fearful glances in his direction before quickly looking away. The tension in the air grew higher as the minutes passed, and the glasses of wine liberated from the former Governor's cellar and distributed by Dekaros' agents remained largely untouched. Maybe some of the guests feared poison, as more than one of the them probably recognized the waiters as one of the mind-wiped middlemen the Lord of Shadows had employed in his dealings with them. More probably, they wanted their intellect to be unclouded. Even from the estrade upon which his throne was placed and through the filters of his helmet, Dekaros could smell the fear in most of them – those who were still human enough to feel such an emotion, anyway. Many of them had been touched by the Dark Gods in an obvious fashion, bearing upon their flesh the mark of Their favour – or disgrace, depending to the case. Others appeared untouched at a glance … but Dekaros could feel the taint within them, just like he had felt it on that traitor scribe. Their souls were being changed, and they would probably never realize it. Then again, it wasn't as if Dekaros himself was still the same man who had fled Terra aboard the Hand of Ruin …
At last, the time arrived, and he rose from his throne. The conversations silenced at once, and all eyes turned to the one who had made all the mortals present into traitors to the Imperium. He removed his helmet, exposing his rude, scarred features, and gave the priceless piece of armor to one of his attendants. It was important that they saw his face as he spoke to them.
'I bide you all welcome,' began the Legionary, his voice carried across the vast room by its carefully studied acoustics. 'All of you are people of this world, and nine of you are leaders of men who were smart enough to join their forces to the inevitable victory of my brothers. You helped me prepare the way for the Arrival of the Forsaken Sons. In return, you were all promised varying rewards, and a chance for power. Today, I shall give you what you are due. The rewards await in these coffers,' he continued, gesturing behind him, were servitors were carrying nine different storage devices. 'The power, though, I cannot give you, for power is worthless when it is given. All here know that it must be taken !'
My brothers have come to this world, as I told you they would. But our war is only beginning. The lapdogs of the False Emperor still keep an entire continent out of our grasp. Half this world is denied to the Forsaken Sons, but it shall not be so for long. Soon, we will march against the Sons of Calth and those who hide in their shadow, begging for their protection. We will teach these fools that there is no protection from the Forsaken Sons. In doing so, we will leave this city, just as one day we shall leave this system and move on to other conquests. It is as much to reward you as to prepare for that day, once we have crushed our enemies here, that I have summoned you.'
He had had their attention from the beginning, but now he could see the interest shining in their eyes. They could guess what he was about to say, though he doubted any of them could have anticipated the details of what he had planned.
'It is you, and in time others like you, who shall rule this city in our absence, as well as the others who shall fall to our might. We Astartes are warriors and conquerors, not administrators or senechals. We shall grant you the right to rule, as long as you acknowledge our authority and swear your undying allegiance.'
He paused, and saw the hunger in the eyes of the leaders who looked upon him and the ambition that burned in their souls. All of them commanded to hundreds of souls, and their influence spread all across the hive, shaping the destinies of tens of millions. Yet at the prospect of becoming rulers of an entire world, even under the yoke of the Forsaken Sons … to many amongst them, the sheer scope of the power this would grant them was enticing enough, while others thought of how thie would help them further their own agenda.
'Now,' he continued, 'I shall give you your rewards, and then we shall discuss of this city's – and this world's – future. Xirthe ! Come forward and receive what you deserve.'
A male human came upon the estrade. Amongst the gathering of lords and masters, he and his ragged group were something of an exception. They wore prestigious but used clothing, covered in symbols of devotion to the Ruinous Powers. Their skin was marked with self-inflicted wounds, the scars forming crude patterns calling upon the favour of the Dark Gods. Their leader, who now faced the one who had elevated him above the other many petty rebels and street doomseers of Parecxis, had his hands nearly covered in jewellery, and was clearly more terrified than honoured by his situation. And rightly so.
At Dekaros' signal, one of the servitors approached. The cyborg carried a simple wooden box, a cube as broad as a forearm. It presented the item to Xirthe, who took it in his trembling hands, still looking nervously in the Astartes' direction.
'Open it.'
Xirthe pushed away the panel at the box' top, and looked into it. With a scream, he let go of the box, which fell on the floor, letting its contents spill out. A head rolled on the estrade, eliciting shouts of surprise and disgust from the crowd. Xirthe's gaze was fixated on the gruesome trophy, and Dekaros saw the look of horror and recognition in the mortal's eyes. The Lord of Shadows gave his wayward servant a smile entirely devoid of mirth.
'Yes, Xirthe. It is the head of your son, who you left with the rest of your group before coming here, running to be the first, hoping that it would be enough to make up for your failures. Between your departure and the beginning of this gathering, all of your pathetic group of lowlifes were killed by my brothers. And now, it is your turn.'
Too fast for the mortal eye to see, Dekaros plunged his gauntleted hand through Xirthe's chest. His ceramite-clad fingers pierced the man's skin in a shower and gore and tore apart the bones and organs beneath. At the same moment, the Legionaries on the ballroom's sides opened fire on the dying man's companions, ripping them to shreds with carefully controlled volleys of bolts. Only an instinctive knowledge that their own lives would be forfeit if they moved prevented the rest of the guests to run for the doors.
'You failed me,' said Dekaros, in a soft whisper that was nonetheless heard by all those present. 'You failed the Forsaken Sons. I was with the pack who fought in the streets you and your rabble were supposed to secure. One of my brothers was wounded by the loyalists fighting the battle you should have fought. A son of the Warmaster, who has fought for hundreds of years across scores of worlds, lingers still between life and death because of your cowardice. You pathetic worm, did you really think that you would get away with this ?'
Xirthe's body twitched, his lips moving frantically, desperately trying to stave off death even if just for a moment longer. Abject terror was inscribed on his face even as he quickly slipped into cold oblivion. Dekaros threw off Xirthe's corpse, and, with his hand still covered in the dead man's blood, gestured to the butchered remains.
'Remember this, all of you. Remember that this is the price for failing or betraying us. Remember that, no matter your wealth and your might, the walls behind which you hide and the armies you command, we can end you just as easily as I ended this miserable worm.'
He could see that the message had been received. As planned, the contrast between the civility of the gathering and the brutality with which he had dispatched the traitor scum had taken them by surprise. Now that he had shown them the stick, it was time to distribute the carrots.
'Kirlgan,' he called. 'Come forward and receive your reward.'
With well concealed and understandable nervousness, another mortal stepped on the estrade, carefully avoiding the body of his predecessor and the expanding pool of blood around it. Kirlgan was one of the most fervent opponents to the False Emperor in the congregation – which as greatly ironic when one considered where Dekaros had first found him. Once, Kirlgan had been a priest of this aberration the loyalists called the Ecclesiarchy. He had been taught the lies of the Lectitio Divinatus by the self-proclaimed Cardinal Tranos. But when Dekaros had told him the truth, the universe had collapsed around the man. Dekaros still didn't know how he himself felt about the accursed book. Part of him was appalled at how easily the humans had returned to the lies they had been freed from by the Great Crusade, while another found it darkly humorous that Lorgar's first, misguided Word would how horrify and enrage his whole Legion.
Regardless, the revelation of his holy book's history – how the Word Bearers' Primarch had written it and been denounced for it, and how it had led to the whole Heresy – had shattered Kirlgan's faith. Dekaros suspected that his faith in the Emperor had probably not been that strong to begin with – many of the Emperor's faithful had known about the Lectito's author, and it hadn't dissuaded them from worshipping the tyrant. Still, Kirlgan had proved most useful once steered toward a more honest and rewarding faith. He had spread the message of Chaos in his sermons, slowly turning his flock to the Ruinous Powers until they would have spat on the Emperor's image without hesitation. The gods had blessed him with great oratory powers, and though most of his followers were wretches from the planet's slave-workers, they numbered in the hundreds and were utterly devoted to him. In the initial attack, dozens of loyalist priests had been butchered by the minions of the Apostate, breaking the morale of those who looked up to them for support.
Kirlgan's four companions were looking at the other Legionaries, clearly wondering if they were about to open fire on them as well. All of them were members of Kirlgan's cult, but they were vastly different from the pathetic creatures who had accompanied Xirthe. They were trained fighters, equipped with the best weapons and armor their master's influence could obtain. The Pontifex Guard, they were called, using the title claimed by their lord with pride, and Dekaros could see none of them were too happy about letting their liege and charge walk alone before the Marine. Good – it meant they had brains. Kirlgan, like all the other leaders, would need competent bodyguards in the future.
'You have served me well,' declared Dekaros, and Kirlgan's shoulders relaxed slightly. 'For months you have brought the word of Chaos to the ignorant, teaching them to accept their true nature instead of denying it. You have done so with great conviction despite your limits, sharing your limited illumination. Now, it is time for you to be revealed deeper truths.'
Another servitor approached. This one carried a richly decorated box, covered in carvings of daemons and Colchisian script that promised a thousand agonies to the unworthy if they dared to open it. Fortunately, Kirlgan couldn't read the language of the Seventeenth Legion's homeworld, and opened the box without hesitation at Dekaros' command. Within it was a tome that had first been written in the same language as the warding runes, but its script shifted endlessly through countless others, stopping only when its reader understood the words. The content, however, was always the same : it was the Book of Lorgar, the Word of the first Primarch to turn from the Emperor. This copy had been written aboard the Hand of Ruin, and altered into its current form by the baleful influence of the Warp. The Legionary who had written it had offered it to Arken precisely for that kind of situation, where it would be used to spread further the glory of the Pantheon. The book had been written on the flayed skin of the Ultramarines who had boarded the ship at Terra, using the fluids of butchered slaves as ink.
Kirlgan closed the box with reverence, and bowed deeply before Dekaros, clutching the contained to his chest like a newborn. Dekaros could easily imagine the priest reading the tome for days on end, drinking deep of the tainted wisdom of Lorgar. He hoped the mortal's soul was strong enough to withstand such revelations as awaited him.
The next to be called was Tarox, who led those who called themselves the Breakers. Like the creatures that composed the base of his horde, the renegade captain of the PDF still wore the remnants of his military uniform, with all emblems of allegiance to the Imperium torn away. During the Heresy, Tarox' company had been the one most used to crush the terrified mobs into submission. Over time, the soldiers had come to enjoy the beatings and slaughter they inflicted, becoming more and more savage and cruel in the performance of their orders. When the Storm had arrived, their flesh had been changed to reflect their souls. At first, those afflicted had been able to conceal their nature, but their changes had been revealed when they had next been unleashed. It had been Tarox who had then taken measures to keep the truth hidden. The PDF captain had feared – doubtlessly rightly – that his entire company would be purged if the mutations were discovered. So he had delayed the addition of priests to his troops, and attributed the reports of 'monsters' and increased ruthlessness to the exaggeration of the people and the fact that the situation on the planet was growing ever more tense.
But soon, it was no longer possible to keep up this masquerade. Too many bodies were piled up at the door of Tarox, some of them PDFs from other units who had seen too much during joint operations. More and more of Tarox' men had succumbed to mutation, and the captain had been forced to desert with those loyal to him into the underhive, where hundreds more of mutants had flocked to his banner. In this lawless place, the freaks of nature and the ever-growing population of mutants created by the Storm had seen him as a beacon, a force to which they could rally. These hundreds had turned to thousands when Dekaros had given Tarox his support, providing the mutant overlord with weapons and supplies. In the depths, Tarox had built up an army, whose core was still formed by the creatures that had once been his men.
One of the hulking mutants had been brought by its master to the gathering. The other three were human enough, capable of dissimulating their mutations with bandages or clothing – the most clever and cunning of Tarox' host. But the fourth could never have passed for human. It was a monster of red skin, overgrown muscles and bony outgrowths. It towered higher than an Astartes in power armor, and was constantly sharpening its claws against each other while looking around with hungry eyes. There was nothing human in these eyes, only mindless, animal urges and cruelty. Tarox had a hundred such beasts under his command, all loyal to the death to him. Perhaps some part of their former existence remained, or perhaps their attachment to him was nothing more than a cruel joke of the Dark Gods.
Tarox himself, who now stood before the Lord of Shadows, looked perfectly human. But Dekaros knew that, beneath the man's skin, the touch of Chaos was strong. Only through a will of iron powered by despair was the mortal postponing his own transformation into a mindless brute.
That despair had been what Dekaros had used to make the renegade soldier join his cabal. Inside the box containing Tarox' reward was a vial of crimson liquid, manufactured by the Fleshmasters in the Hall of Asclepios. The crew of the Hand of Ruin had been afflicted by mutations ever since the Storm had been unleashed, but by Arken's command, the former Apothecaries had sought a mean to limit the degeneration of the most valuable crew. The elixir, whose composition Dekaros felt it was best not to know, didn't stop the mutating touch of the Warp entirely. Such a feat was beyond even the skills of the greatest of sorcerers. But it would prevent Tarox from devolving for a time, until a more permanent cure could be found. Already one of Dekaros' brothers in the Fleshmasters' ranks was in the Palace, looking over data from the Breakers, seeking to understand the particular strain of mutation that had touched them. Dekaros just hoped that whatever alchemy gave Tarox control over the beasts wouldn't be broken by the genetic chirurgy. But for the mutant horde to remain of use, it was a risk that had to be taken.
The moment Dekaros told him the nature of his gift, Tarox opened the vial and drank its contents in one go, to the surprise of the onlookers. Bowing deeply to his lord, he returned to his men – and, to Dekaros' hidden relief, the beast didn't react any differently. The Lord of Shadows supposed that it made sense – in so far as anything touched by Chaos made sense : the Breakers bore the mark of Khorne, and the Bloodfather cared nothing for the subtleties of genetic alteration and hormonal balance. Whatever hold Tarox had over the creatures must be of a more spiritual nature.
After Tarox came the chosen representative of the Tenebrae Lex. Like all members of his group, he was almost entirely mechanised, though it was difficult to know for certain when one looked upon them. Debased robes of the Mechanicum covered much of their frames, and only utter blackness could be seen under their hoods – not even the light of optic sensors found on more typical tech-priests. The Tenebrae Lex perceived the world around them through other, darker senses. Once, the group of techno-adepts had been dedicated to maintaining the myriad systems that had brought light to the hive. When the Warp Storm had engulfed Parecxis, one of the reclusive order had been infected by a sliver of corrupted code. The malice of the Empyrean had twisted the unfortunate's body and soul, and spread to his colleagues like a digital plague.
Some creature from the beyond had turned the priests against each other, and a bloody, fratricidal war had been fought in the temples and tunnels of the light-keepers. Dekaros had lent his help to the daemon-infected priests, ensuring that no word of the struggle reached the authorities and even fighting alongside them. Now the Tenebrae Lex held all of the secret tunnels that hadn't been destroyed in the battles, allowing them to travel across the hive without exposing themselves to the light. The hereteks had developed a fascination with the darkness, where before it had been their duty to bring light. Their tunnels were realms of absolute shadow, where modified kill-servitors and half-daemonic contraptions lurked, eager to hunt the unwary and the foolish.
When the Arrival had come, the Tenebrae Lex had cut the power to hab-blocks that had never seen the light of the sun, plunging vast portions of the hive into an endless night. Then, they had opened their tunnels and let loose their horrors upon the terrified population. Still hundreds of thousands survived in the darkness, clutching increasingly sparse light sources as the monsters drew ever nearer. Most of the killing machines of the Tenebrae Lex had been called back, but such had been the horror and bloodshed that daemons manifested, and kept the fear of the mortals aflame to sustain their unholy appetite.
The Tenebrea Lex professed to serve the Infinite Darkness, a force that promised to end the illusion of the sight and bring forth true knowledge through senses better capable of perceiving the divine. Whether it was one of the Four that hid beneath that name or a princeling of the Warp Dekaros had never heard of, the Legionary did not know, nor did he much care. The hereteks were capable of following orders, and as unnerving as their presence could be, they were far from the most disturbing thing he had ever seen.
In return for their services, Dekaros gifted the cabal with the lore of the Forsaken Sons' own warpsmiths, and offered for some of their number to come aboard the Hand of Ruin or the newly acquired daemonships. There they would sail in true, absolute darkness, in the places of the ships that no light had ever seen. There were still kilometres of corridors aboard the flagship that remained unexplored in the aftermath of the Exodus, and the three possessed vessels were entirely new territory, and needed crew to guide the leviathans within.
Though it was difficult to be sure, the tainted tech-priest seemed to appreciate the gift, and returned to his peers with the precious data, already sampling it through data-ports at the tip of his mecha-dendrites.
Several more leaders came and received their reward. To the Priests of Mutability, who sought to master the flesh-crafting arts of the former xenos overlords of the system, Dekaros gave relics exhumed from Parecxis Beta. The disciples of Tzeentch, whose blue robes hid the changes they had wrought upon themselves, were delighted. They vowed to use the gift to create more abominations to fight for them, and enhance themselves yet further, all for the glory of their dark patron.
The Prophet in Rags, whose true name remained unknown even to Dekaros, received a crown of psi-sensitive stone, forged from gems taken from fallen Eldar during the Great Crusade. With it, the rogue psyker's abilities would increase threefold. The throngs of rabble and the circles of wyrds he had bound to his will would share his strength. Whether the Prophet would be able to withstand the nightmarish visions that had driven several Librarians insane before the crown was sealed away in a stasis field, Dekaros did not know. It would be an interesting test of the mortal sorcerer's will.
The master of the Cartel, a gathering of criminal organizations as old as the reconquest of this world, was given the long-lost ring of status of the association's supreme lord. The mind-controllers of the Puppeteers received one of the alien weapons the Sons of Horus had seized long, long ago, when they had fought alongside the Angels of the Ninth and against the so-called nephilims. Then, at last, came the turn of Valemus Galeyard.
'Valemus,' called the Astartes warlord. 'Come before me.'
At last, thought the lord of House Galeyard. He had watched the others receive their reward, one by one. All that time he had ached to know what was to be his gift, like a child on his birthday's eve. He knew that, for all their vaunted services, none of those who had preceded him on the estrade had brought as much as him to the cause of the Forsaken Sons. None had been more useful to the success of the Arrival. His mind was spinning with possibilities – yet there was no denying that he was also possessed by a cold sense of dread. Dekaros was even more imposing now that he had been when Valemus had first met him. Proximity with the armoured transhuman was filling the human's heart with fear. Perhaps, he thought, unable to stop himself, Dekaros intended to end the rewards the same way they had begun. Perhaps even now the spires of Galeyard were burning, its members and servants butchered by the blades of the Forsaken Sons. How would he know ?
He shook himself free of the dark thoughts, and steeled his will. Whatever Dekaros' intentions were, there was no way he could stop them now. Even Jar would die in the blink of an eye if the Marines targeted them. All he could do was meet his fate – whatever it would be – with dignity.
'Tell me, Valemus. What is it you desire ?'
Valemus looked up at his lord, unsure of what to do. This wasn't how it had gone with the others.
'The others yearned for knowledge, for treasure, for ascension or salvation. But you either already have those things, don't care about them, or can claim them on your own. What can I possibly give you, Valemus, lord of House Galeyard ?'
This time Valemus knew what to say.
'Opportunity, my lord.'
Dekaros nodded.
'Yes. Opportunity. The chance to use your power and talents, to do something with all you have. I know all too well the pain of wasted potential, Valemus, and it would be a shame for one such as you to suffer it. And so, here is my gift to you.'
The final box opened, revealing a scroll of parchment. Valemus took it, and it felt heavier than it should be. Somehow, the spire-born could feel the weight of destiny in the item, as if whatever was written on it would shape the future of the entire world.
'These are the Accords of Parecxis,' said Dekaros, and he was no longer speaking to Valemus alone but addressing the entire room. 'These are the rules and laws by which all of you and those who serve and obey you shall rule this city and this world once we have purged it from the loyalists. In our name shall you reign, each of you over your separate domain. And here, in this Palace, shall rule a Regent : one of your own, chosen by a council of peers, tasked with upholding the Accords in the name of Arken, the true master of this world.'
The Legionary looked at the assembly for a moment, staring at each leader in turn, before continuing :
'I do not expect you to be comrades. I know all about the grudges and rivalries between you. But you will settle your different in the frame of these Accords, or so I swear by the Ruinous Powers, the wrath of the Forsaken Sons shall fall upon you and all your followers. Even when we have departed, our ships sailing the Storm in search of new prey, do not believe you hidden from my gaze. I shall learn of all that transpires on this world, and punish those who would go against my commandments, through means both subtle and terrible.'
A table was brought on the estrade by servitors, and on Dekaros' indication Valemus unrolled the scroll on it. It was a series of articles, written in a red ink that was unmistakably blood. There was space left at the bottom of the scroll, and it wasn't hard to guess its purpose. One by one the leaders came back, each of them signing the Accords with his own blood – or what passed for it. Valemus was the first to sign, cutting his arm with a short knife to provide the liquid. Then he made to return to the assembly, but a gesture from Dekaros kept him on the estrade until the end. His four escorts joined him, forming a loose protecting circle around him.
'It is now time to decide who shall be Regent. However, this world is still at war, and the one to lead you must be able to protect what we have conquered, as well as have proved his loyalty to us. Valemus here had proved his worth in the past, as have all of you – but it is him we would entrust with this duty and power.'
Valemus felt his pulse quicken. Visions of what he could do with the powers attributed to the Regent in the Accords flowed his mind …
'Is there any amongst you who would contest his nomination, and name a champion to settle this disaccord in the arena of blades ?'
Valemus' blood ran cold, and he cursed himself for a fool. How could he possibly have thought it would be so easy ? Dekaros had clearly said it : power merely given was worthless. If he wanted to be Regent, he would have to prove the seven other factions' leaders that he could keep this elevated rank. The Accords were clear : once named, a Regent remained in function until his or her death. The post was both a blessing and a curse, and for a moment Valemus wondered if the wiser move wouldn't be to let any challenger take the throne instead. But he abandoned the idea as soon as it came to him. Certainly it would be better for his life expectations, but showing weakness now would fatally undermine his position in the game of power the Accords had just started.
He looked back at the seven other groups Dekaros had gathered. All of them had brought muscle with them, but he was fairly certain his bodyguards could take most of them on if needed. The only one that could pose a problem was …
'I challenge him,' declared Tarox. 'I would know the mettle of the forces commanded by the one to stand above us all.'
'Very well,' answered Dekaros. 'I do not think I need to ask, but who will be your champion ?'
The renegade captain pointed to the beast at his side, and Dekaros chuckled.
'Yes, that is what I thought. And you, Valemus ? Who will you choose to fight on your behalf ?'
The spire-born took a moment to consider his answer. Jar wasn't an option, obviously. The servitor-bodyguard wouldn't be able to make full use of its capacities when not actively protecting his master's life. So …
'Amelia,' he said softly. 'You are up.'
The female assassin walked down the estrade into the circle formed by the rest of the crowd, a respectable distance away from Tarox' champion. If any were surprised by Valemus' choice, they did not show it. All here knew that appearances could be deceiving, and that none of them would have brought a dead weight with them at the gathering.
Amelia faced the brute, ridiculously tiny in comparison to the monster. The mutant was growing more and more restless, sensing the imminence of battle but not yet allowed to act. However Tarox was able to control it, clearly the renegade captain's ability extended far. The hunger and battle-lust in the creature's eyes were almost overpowering, and Valemus thanked the Powers that Amelia was immune to almost all psychological weaknesses. The hypno-training that she had followed had cost a lot to Valemus, but the lord didn't regret his investment.
'Begin,' said Dekaros.
It appeared that enough humanity remained in the beast that it could understand the Astartes' words. At once, the mutant hurled itself at the assassin. It was fast, faster than anything of its bulk had any right to be. Seeing it move to tear Amelia to pieces, Valemus could understand why Dekaros would go to such lengths as employing his brothers life-crafters to ensure the Breakers would remain under control. The thought of a hundred of these beasts loose without Tarox to keep them directed at the warband's enemies was … unsettling to say the least.
But as fast as the mutant was, Amelia was faster. She dodged the claws of the beast by the thiniest of margins, and pointed two of her fingers toward it while speaking ancient command words. The rings on the fingers reacted to her order, and an hyper-focused laser beam burst from her left hand, while a stream of almost invisible needles – each loaded with a different poison, that could never be replicated by today's technology – from her right. Both attacks reached their target, and the Breaker screamed in agony when the needles tore through its eyes and into its skull and the laser pierced its chest, and burst out of its back. It staggered for a moment, and then collapsed with the sound of a mountain crashing down.
There was a moment of silence as the audience watched the fallen corpse of the Khornate mutant. Then, Dekaros spoke :
'A most impressive kill, lady Amelia. Tarox, as you can see, Valemus does not suffer from a lack of useful servants. Is there anyone else who would contest his claim to Regency ?'
There wasn't, of course. At this point, it was clear to all that Valemus had the Lord of Shadows' favour, and that the duel had only confirmed what the Astartes already knew. They bowed before him, and the gathering began to dissolve. Dekaros told Valemus of what he expected from him : to keep Santorius under firm control for now, and prevent any infighting amongst the Forsaken Sons' servants. Troops from the Hand of Ruin were even now being brought down to the hive, to be placed under his command. Not Astartes, obviously – the Forsaken Sons would never take orders from a mere mortal. Men and women taken from the previous system the warband had conquered and trained in the craft of war in the great ship's chambers. These would form a caste of soldiers who would only be loyal to the Regent, and form the base of his rule.
Valemus installed his headquarters in what had previously been the Governor's own office. He had called his servants back at the House's domain, and ordered his favourite furniture and agents to be immediately relocated. There was a lot of work to do, first of all was choosing who would succeed him as the Galeyard lord. The Accords were clear : the Regent was technically above the divided factions, and couldn't remain at the head of one. There were many possible candidates, none of which Valemus trusted, but he would have to pick one anyway. Hopefully he would find one smart enough not to ruin all that Valemus had built, but not ambitious enough to seek to replace him as Regent.
As the first incumbent of that elevated title, it was also Valemus' duty to build the infrastructure of the Keep (to use the name now given to the Palace) from scratch. Besides the agents he would take with him from his former organization and Dekaros' gifted soldiers, he was now in command of tithed warriors and agents from the seven other factions, all of which were no doubt already plotting his destitution and demise. He had to organize them into an effective policing force, the first step of which would be convincing them that it was better to work for him than against him. He wondered how many would have to die trying to assassinate him for that to happen.
The immensity of the task before him was daunting, yet Valemus had never felt happier. The challenge was incredible, and it came with near-absolute power over a city of billions. Soon the Forsaken Sons would leave to prosecute the rest of the war, and he would be able to do as he saw fit with the hive.
He was still considering what to do immediately when someone in the room caught his attention.
'What is wrong, Jar ?'
The psyker was standing, straighter than Valemus had ever seen him. He was staring at a map of the planet, spreading all over one of the room's walls. It was disturbing to see such intense focus in a man supposed to be struggling to even think because of the chemicals running through his blood. Valemus felt the first shivers of unease begin to penetrate his thoughts. He called again.
'Jar ? What is wrong ?'
'Six cities,' the psyker whispered. 'Six realms of Mankind, to be lost to the flames of destiny, to fuel the flames of the infernal forge.'
Jar was transfixed now, and he continued to ramble, his voice raising ever louder.
'One city for the betrayers, the chosen of the Hydra.
One for the newborn godlings, the heir of the fallen angels.
One for the dreaded black sons, marked by ruin and hatred.
One for the Garden Lord, fallen son of the Red World and reborn son of plague.
One for the children lost, and returned by their queen.
And one for the Blood Father, sitting on his throne of skulls !'
The holographic image lit up. In another room of the Keep, locked away and hidden from the new Regent's servants, the Lord of Shadows knelt before the one he called his master.
'It is done, my lord,' said Dekaros to the projection of Arken. 'Santorius is secure in the hands of our mortal servants.'
Arken nodded at his subordinate. He seemed distracted, which was only to be expected. The Awakened One was managing at least a dozen different plots at the same time, all of which could be responsible for the Forsaken Sons' victory … or their ignominious defeat. Even his Astartes intellect and not needing to waste time on sleep could only help him so far, and, not for the first time, Dekaros feared what would happen if the lord of the Forsaken Sons were to spread his attention to thinly.
'Then marshal our brothers in the capital,' told Arken to the Lord of Shadows. 'They will need to move soon.'
'We are moving on to the next phase, then ?'
'Yes. Asim has terminated his little errand in Anaster, and I believe Kakios will soon be done with fortifying the hive. Once I am done here, I will go take Hektor back from his games of carnage. Then we will be ready.'
A smile as cold as the void appeared on Arken's face, and Dekaros shivered as he looked upon the one who held his loyalty. Despite everything he had seen during his sojourn on a world trapped in a Warp Storm, despite all the horrors he had seen and wrought and the creatures with which he had forged alliances, the smile of the Awakened One still perturbed the Legionary.
'Hive Meridis will fall, and the screams of the people the Sons of Calth have abandoned will echo through the entire planet. And I will make sure that our cousins listen to it.'
Annexe : The Accords of Parecxis
AN : for those of you who may be interested, here is one of the first draft of the Accords. There may be loopholes, or situations it does not cover, but that's fine : it's not the definitive version ! (but if you see any potential problem, please tell me so that I may correct my own version. I have plans for this stuff.)
Also known as the Pact, the Convention of Chaos, the Will of the Lords, the Rule of Arken, and Dekaros' Word, the Accords are a set of rules by which all the factions on Parecxis Alpha loyal to the Forsaken Sons are bound. They define how these factions may rule the planet and interact with each other in the absence of the Forsaken Sons. At the declaration of the Accords, only two hives were under the warband's control, and only eight groups signed them. By the time the conquest of Parecxis was over and the Accords englobed the entire system, that number had substantially grown.
The purpose of the Accords is to stave off anarchy and enable the Forsaken Sons to use the Parecxis system as a safe haven and supplying point. They do this by providing a structure to the inevitable scheming, plotting and backstabbing amongst mortal followers of Chaos. They define the system by which the three worlds of Parecxis are to be ruled, and how the different factions may vie with each other for power. It also provides an ultimate goal to all factions : the throne of Regent, which confers great power to the one who can seize it. However, even the Regent is but a servant to the Forsaken Sons, and should he abandon his duty and threaten the Accords, there are many left behind by the warband who will suppress him and restore the order declared by the Traitor Marines. There is no spirit to the laws of the Accords : only the letter matters.
1. The word of Arken is law. All signatories of the Accord must obey the commands of the Awakened One and of those who carry down his will, or face punishment at the hands of the Forsaken Sons.
2. All factions must have a representative at the Regency Council, who can speak for his faction and make decisions in its name. The Council shall meet at least once a standard year, at a fixed date, with all members in attendance. Failure to be present at the obligatory meeting will result in the faction being struck from the Accords, though it can still join again. During these meetings, the Counselors discuss the details of ruling their dominion and present their grievances to the Regent.
3. The Regent is master of the Ruling Keep (former Governor Palace).His task is to enforce the Accords and to act as intermediary between the Forsaken Sons and the mortal rulers of Parecxis. A Regent remains at his post until his death. A new Regent must be named by the Council from amidst their number, in an open vote where the member with the most votes is immediately named. In cases of two or more Counselor having the same highest number of votes, a new vote is conducted every day until a Regent is elected. The Regent is not aligned with any of the factions, and the one he once belonged to must choose a new Counselor.
4. The space docks of Parecxis are neutral ground. The tech-priests who ensure their management may not join the Accords as a faction proper, but any interference with their work will be met with extreme punishment.
5. All factions must provide the Ruling Keep with a fixed tithe of personnel and resources, decided upon joining. Failing to provide that tithe for more than three rotations (the duration of which is also decided upon joining the Accords) will result in the faction being struck from the Accords.
6. Those not belonging to a faction acknowledged by the Accords may be treated by any faction as its ruling body sees fit. All factions, however, must respect each other's territory and prerogatives, as defined upon joining.
7. Adding to a faction's official holding must be approved in the obligatory yearly meeting of the Council. Approval is obtained automatically if none of the Counselors object, or by a vote to the majority otherwise.
8. A new faction may only be added to the Accords at a gathering with all current Counselors present. To join, a group needs to be sponsored by at least two factions, and be accepted by the Regent. A Counselor must have been decided, and the various terms of the faction's adhesion to the Accords are decided during the gathering. The Regent may propose terms of adhesion thrice; if the representative refuses every tim then the faction does not join the Accords, and may not petition again to do so for ten standard years.
9. The Regent may make exceptions to all rules of the Accords concerning Parecxis' ruling, if he believes it will benefit the Accords. However, all such exceptions must be recorded, and will be examined by a Forsaken Sons' agent when the true lords of Parecxis return. Then, these exceptions may be approved or denied, and the responsible punished.
10. It is the Regent's duty to use the tithes of the factions to fulfill the Forsaken Sons demands when they arrive. Should the stores of the Ruling Keep not be enough, the Regent will be executed, and the Forsaken Sons will take what they need directly from the factions themselves.
11. Conflict between the factions is forbidden. One of the Regent's duties is to ensure that any tension between the factions remain at the level of skirmishes and assassinations, of plots and schemes.
12. If open warfare comes between two or more factions, the Regent must mobilize the full might of the Keep to impose the Accords again. He may do anything to do so, including striking one or all of the involved factions from the Accords and order the others to lend him their strength into crushing the responsibles.