CHAPTER ONE
906.M30. Ninety-nine years before IsstvanThe Compliance of Three-Eighty-Twelve was not going to be peaceful.
The last sharad of the formality known as discourse was winding to a close, it was not only watched by the eyes of mortal humans, but those also of the Legions Astartes IXth, the Blood Angels.
The captain of the Blood Angels watched in silence, his features washed cyan-blue by the light of the lithocast display. Two others stood beside him, mighty warriors of his Legion and the Imperium. The three brother's watched the end of discourse for what it was. The harbinger of war.
The Captain's name was Raphaen. His smooth, pale face was - even by the standards of his legion - beautiful. Two sharp eyes shun below a shock of straw-blond hair. His helm was held in the crux of his arm, the ventral faceplate and horizontal mono-lense of a Mark III great helm.
The second was different from the first, he was Fenarix, a Terran. His face was that of a cadaver, flayed and re-stitched countless times, it seemed only to be held together by his numerous burn marks.
The third was built like a bear-man. A shaggy beard of auburn hair ran to his gorget, his hair was shoulder-length. His armour betrayed his almost barbaric features, blood drop amulets went from greave to vambrace. To his brother's he was known as Solun.
'It is a shame,' said Raphaen, his voice soft. 'That our duty brings us to this.'
'Aye, lad,' Fenarix's words were a guttural snarl, caused by the vox-piece that allowed him to speak. 'Better to kill ork's than one's own kin. Still, we may still spare blood with our coming actions.'
'Listen now, it begins.' As Raphaen spoke, his companions focused on a figure walking towards a raised dais; an Imperial Iterator.
Carthal Durmek was scared. Scared of the city-masters of Three-Eighty-Twelve, oh most certainly. How could one such as him not be scared of such men. Many of them had killed and mutilated him and his colleagues. Many were the friends now lost, but his terror was also one of sorrow. Not for the city-masters, oh never for them, but for the common people.
Before Durmek had reached the dais, a lone figure rose.
A tall man from a people grown lofty by select breeding was speaking. His costume was elaborate threaded, yet retained a certain practicality to it. Layered robes crowned a chestplate of ceremonial armour like a cape, his headpiece was made of angled metal, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The mosaic craft from it was, intricuite. As he spoke, chains that ran from his headpiece swung gently.
'You have had our answer,' said the man. We have no desire to join your Imperium. We are strong and proud of our independence,' somewhat ironic Durmek thought. The man was named de la Torghun, city-master of Leptkul. He spoke Low Gothic with little accent to his words, the lords of Three-Eighty-Twelve were well cultured.
Durmek shifted his eye's ever so slowly, looking upon the other twenty-one city-masters of the world. Many, such as Raghalen of Mondus restricted himself to watching. Not deeming the matter one of concern. Those in the last tier, Torghun included, were the foremost masters of the city-masters. Though they held no more control over them than was permitted by their rival's.
'So I say, begone with your offerings.' Torghun's speech came to a close. Durmek responded in turn.
Durmek had spoke with Torghun personally, as senior iterator, he had been assigned to the first cadre of ambassadors. He had lost a foot and hand for that, a flesh-graft replacement for his foot had been made, it worked well enough. He was still waiting on his left hand.
'We no longer offer you any choice in the matter. Do you not understand?' The hurt in Durmek's voice sounded almost genuine. Almost.
'So…' began another his voice a slow drool, Durmek believed he was named Holtec. '... You offer us peaceful union, no, brotherhood amongst your people.' Holtec. Yes, differently the slow witted city-master Holtec. 'But when we, politely refused your offering, you would back it up with a threat of such heinous action.'
Ironic considering Holtec's cadre had been mutilated and chained to his city walls before they died, they still hung there. Food for piggish carrion.
'Your treatment of Imperial iterators was anything but polite,' Durmek spoke up. He had known Holtec' iterator well, young, bright, Malion. 'You mutilated those sent to your city, then you strung them upon your battlements.'
'We did no such thing!' One shouted, he went unnoticed.
'An example had to be set!' Roared Holtec. 'You would not listen, after half a cycle no less! We are not as fond of such cruelties as those.' That was debatable, Durmek held his tongue. 'You had left us no choice, we were practically forced to descend to your level of action against discourse.'
The words unsaid roared in Durmek's mind. You see us as barbarians, he would roar. You were chief in orchestrating these gross injustices, of myself and my colleagues. Yet he kept a calm, cold demeanour.
'For millennia out world and cities have managed their own affairs,' said another city-master. But at what cost? Wondered Durmek. 'Why should we yield to such a tyrant's rule. This Emperor, this so-called Master of Mankind.' She spat. 'We have been visited before, we know of your sin's' Sin. That word, Durmek knew this one as Lady Jesalia.
'We have heard of the extermination of entire species. The scouring of worlds. All because they would not surrender to tyranny.'
'It is not surrender. You may retain your, unique, structure of governance. With but a few adjustments. We have been over this many times. We have been very clear.'
'What adjustments do you call for?' One Durmek did not know asked. 'Will you call upon us to send you our young, to march into a meat grinder. Bagh, I think not. Perhaps this so-called Emperor should come here, to explain to us.' Fool! The word nearly flew from Durmek unwiled.
'I implore you, my lords and ladies, this is your last chance,' said Durmek. His calm and collected demeanor cracking, the few muscles he retained from his youth tensed. 'We shall be forced to declare war upon you if you do not comply, we shall be made to take your cities. I ask you, please think of your people.'
One coughed, almost seeming as if he would laugh.
'Ah, your true colours are shown at last. Conqueror army of a tyrant-king of our old past. Like those of our own making, we have defeated and turned them back, the same shall happen to you.' Said Torghun. 'You say compile, but you intend for sujugatine. Yout promote to us unity, but offer slavery, painted with gamourous words.'
Unseen to most of the city-master's, a lithocast plinth fluttered into life. They continued to shout, some even threw chalices and goblets at Durmek, save one.
'We shall not yield to tyranny!'
'We have to yu we shall not give away our sovereignty. We are unyielding!'
One spoke up. 'Your forces are to few to best our cities. We will stand unified under one common cause. Our city-fleets may burn, but our cities shall stand proud, our armies defiant. Leave now, let us not wash the land with blood.'
Another shouted, more foolish bravado. 'You can not defeat us, we are unyielding!'
It became a chant. Unyielding! Unyielding! Unyielding!
'Enough!' The roar was low, to low for an un-augmented human. Durmek gave the city-masters a pitiful glance.
'I am Rapahen, Captain of the Blood Angels Legion, Son of the Great Angel. Your time is up, city-master's. Yield. Those that do shall remain unharmed, their past transgressions shall be wiped clean.'
Silence gripped every last city-master. For a pregnant second all was calm.
One rose, one that had been shouting defence a moment earlier. 'You need us, we proposed a treaty, you may pass through our system and leave us, you need us to-'
'We do not need you. You need us. With us your people may prosper, with us you shall know the fullest extent of what it is to be human.'
'We will not yield, our armies dwarf that of your own. Our fleet out numbers your own two to one.'
Raphaen sighed. 'If that is the case, know this. Your fleet shall burn, as shall you all. I have five hundred Blood Angels here, in this system. You have seen the guards we sent with the iterators We have thirty thousand more soldiers of the Imperial Army here, ready to avenge their fallen.'
One city-master Holtec, stormed from the chamber. Others followed. All save one, he stood and said, 'I am Berun. City-master of Thrustakii, You shall have my declaration of unity by day's end.'
'I suggest you return to the fleet, Iterator Durmek, for your own safety.'
'I agree with you, lord Raphaen. I shall convenience with you at your digression lord.'
Damn, not my best work, I'll admit. So new Fic by me, Please give criticism, and consider this your Christmas present. Till next time.