~World of Bloody Sands~
~794. M30~
~Eastern Ultima Segmentum~
~Nuceria~
~Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Imperial Regent~
It had been one year since the start of their voyage. They had been to two-tenths of their planned destinations so far, and were approaching a planet named Nuceria.
The traditional map of the Imperium divided the galaxy into eight broad sections, divided by lines that extended out from Terra, thereby creating eight 'triangles' of galactic subdivision. Knowing what he did know about Chaos, he decided that was probably a poor idea, and instead used the Aeldari map to plan his future actions. The Eldar map subdivided the galaxy into ten segments, one for each of their mostly-dead pantheon, extending outwards from the exact center.
As they had ten ships in the initial fleet, that served nicely to plan around. They were traveling around the middle and the circle, about halfway between the center and furthest reaches, and every tenth of the trip would have one of their ships split off from the main body. This ship would travel to all Exodite worlds in the region carrying a specific set of memories from himself, entrusted to a party that included a seer and a diplomat of Charnac. The memories were divided into three sections, one of the future of the Eldar as he knew it, the other as his plans for a new polity in the southern outer and middle rim of the galaxy, and the last of his knowledge of Isha and her imprisonment.
Included would be the Codex Administratum and the Codex Lingua. If the Exodites started to expand early, they would have a resource to call upon for managing the humans that lived in the star systems around them. It was presumptuous to assume they didn't know how to rule already, but the redundancy never hurt and it would help him unify the states later on if they used a mostly consistent system of governance.
Then, finally, was a set of documents from him. One was simply a series of plans that detailed how expansion might go in those regions and his notes on what was present there already in general terms (aiding his future allies in their own expansion) and a firm request to link up with other exodite worlds on their own and spread the message further. If all went well, the worlds that the message was sent to first would already be working together by the time the initial voyage was over, that would make this business far simpler.
He couldn't be everywhere at once, so he would have to delegate all he could for the initial expansions. He would correct and standardize them later, the initial hodgepodge of various cultures of Exodites would serve as the start of something he could work with. Like a farmer, spreading his seeds to as much of the field as possible to begin with, only to use the first harvest to hire workers to plant straighter and straighter rows as he developed.
The last document was a simple letter. A letter from him, to be read out in their courts by the messengers. A letter that leveraged all he knew of dictation, of persuasive writing, of his dreams and nightmares of the future, and of everything he was willing to do to stop them. He could not be there personally to rally them to his banner, he would have to hope this would be enough.
If it was not, he would have to conquer them. He wasn't about to let anyone die due to inaction. He had a galaxy to save, which meant a galaxy to unify.
A second letter was penned, but it was mostly prophecy rather than detailed plans of expansion. It was a document that called for the unification of humanity and the coming of the Emperor and his children. This secondary letter was to be copied and given in bulk to every human-majority planet that the Exodite ship came across on their trip to the Exodite worlds in that subdivision. It was short enough to be carved into a column of Wraithbone and physically mounted in multiple locations of each planet. It was his hope that this would make the initial unification and expansion easier.
Once they had finished that, the ship was to return to Charnac, both to defend it, resupply, and start initial expansion and conquests according to his outlines left at the palace in the hands of Worldsinger Savan. Hopefully, they would be able to start linking up communications and supply lines with the other Exodite worlds, and give him a large enough force to start quickly conquering human-majority worlds. Once that began, he could simply start a more standardized guardsman training protocol on each world and mass recruiting levys to conquer more worlds.
Of course, each world would be given a copy of the Codex Administratum, and its translation, and a group of Eldar to act as informants for him on the state of that planet.
A centralized government that spanned multiple solar systems was quite tricky to manage without appropriate infrastructure. He would have to do his best to get that sorted once the beginnings of infrastructure could be started. Shipyards and armies, he needed both in great numbers, and as fast as possible, but such a start could not come from nothing, he needed to sow the seeds first.
This voyage had an allowance of ten years before their planned return to Charnac, at which point a more mighty fleet and armies should be raised and ready for their conquest of surrounding systems. It was estimated that they would return within five should nothing go awry.
He held his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the slowly expanding dot in the distance, far away from the massive windows that looked out into surrounding space from the bridge of Charnac's Pride.
Charnac's Pride was an Eldar cruiser equivalent. A broad category of ships creatively classified as 'Dragonships'. Ghostdragons was the proper name for Dragonships piloted entirely by Wraiths, which made intuitive sense but fell apart when one realized that Ghost Dragonship was the name for Dragonships that were equipped with Lascannons and Fighter-craft launch bays.
Charnac's Pride was a 'Ghost Dragonship'. But it was not a 'Ghostdragon Ship'. Nor was it a 'Ghost Ghostdragon'. That would be silly, after all.
The Dragonlord had been laughing at him when Guilliman learned of the proper names for their various ships and began a long rant about their confusing name structure. The other Eldar present had also found it amusing, but were polite enough to keep their snickers quiet. He had yet to let go of the grudge. He wasn't sure what his revenge would be yet, but it would be fearsome.
"So, your brother is there?" A voice brought him out of his thoughts, bringing his attention to the Dragonlord now standing by his side.
"Should be, unless my memory has failed me entirely." Hopefully they had managed to arrive before it was too late. If Angron had already been implanted with the Butcher's Nails, then all he could hope for was that the Eldar could somehow extract them. If not…
…If not, it would fall to him to put Angron down. He could not allow a potential danger to the entire galaxy such as he, not when the future was at stake. If Angron couldn't be cured, then he was merely a ticking bomb, ready to go off as soon as Khorne sunk its claws sufficiently into his mind.
His heart weighed heavy in his breast. Playing the role of executioner was not something he was enthused to potentially do. The small dot in the distance was rapidly growing.
"Tell me of this world, slayer of evil. I only know of it in parts thanks to your mutterings and diagrams."
Guilliman grunted, he rarely muttered, his mind worked far faster than his mouth did. Still, he relented and spoke. "It is a mostly barren world, the populations of which are forced to work in mines to gather the minerals that are then exported for profit to surrounding worlds. It has over a dozen city-states on the whole of the planet, and from their walled palaces the High-Riders rule over the populations in their slums. They claim to own the cities because they own the ships that sell the minerals mined, and that bring the required resources for life on the planet to be sustained at all. The truth is that they hold power because they hoard the remnant technologies and weapons from their golden age, and crush all that resist."
"To distract the populace from their woes, slaves and criminals, a distinction that doesn't exist here, are forced to fight in various arenas. Both for the pleasure of the roaring crowds and the High-Riders themselves, who busy themselves with bets and sponsors of favored warriors. If the warrior seems unwilling to fight, they are implanted with devices known as Butchers Nails."
He must have let too much of his disgust seep into his voice, as the Dragonlord pointed it out. "You sound angry at such things."
"They replace large swathes of the mind with micro-technology of some variation, and cause intense and persistent fury, and then eventually death. As I understand them, it makes it impossible for them to enjoy anything but violence afterwards."
The Dragonlord's face twisted into a sneer partway through the explanation. The surrounding Eldar warriors also tensed with anger. His face turned towards the planet, and he spoke with a hint of irritation underlining his words. "A breeding pit for followers of Khaine's crudest admirer, then."
Guilliman supposed he was speaking of Khorne. "There is a reason El'Johnson destroys it completely later on. It becomes a daemon-world under Khorne's dominion and gets subsequently purged. If I had more time I'd call for its preemptive annihilation and relocation of everyone upon it."
"Are we to merely leave it alone after retrieving your brother? The idea clashes with my sense of virtue, slayer of man."
"No, we will find the most acceptable among the High-Riders, purge the rest, give him instructions on how to develop into a more acceptable world."
"You'll be looking for your brother then?"
"If you would be so kind as to handle the High-Riders, yes. I don't suspect he'll be difficult to find, two years on this hellish planet should render him almost as large as me."
"What do you mean?"
"Primarchs grow faster in response to environmental dangers. It took ten years to reach my full height. It took some of my brothers three."
"...You sounded lucky then." The Dragonlord commented softly, staring at the barren and utterly wasteful planet now in almost full view. The damaged and withered-looking ships in orbit circling like vultures around a sickly child.
He thought of his home, of his father and mother, and the climates. He thought of knowing that they were here, in this galaxy, and alive. Alive, but he could not approach them lest he throw some element of the timeline off. Not interact lest Ultramar be ruined by some rippling effect of his presence upon it.
He thought of how his father would die in some years.
"I was." He eventually answered.
The planet was close enough now, the Eldar seers started to psychically scan the minds of the people upon ships in orbit. They were looking at who might be the most bearable among them. From their subtle body language, it was something they would have to deliberate upon for a while.
In the meantime, he marched off to the smaller webway gate onboard the ship, which served as the short-range teleportation for troops to and from the ship. Once he arrived, joined by nearly a thousand Eldar, they stepped through the gate and onto one of the largest cities of Nuceria, one of the first of many to fall that day.
He had a brother to find.
—
They spent one month on that planet. Dragonlord Asarnil and his fleet handled the High-Riders as Guilliman and the ground troops handled the search of the cities. All the guardians who tried ineffectually to attack them were promptly killed, their barely-understood relic weapons no match for a Primarch girded for war accompanied by inscrutable Eldar warriors. Companies were shattered, battalions dissected, armies decapitated, and their incongruously advanced equipment plundered by the victors.
As for those that offered aid to those they saw as unstoppable conquerors, they were given some extra rations from the Eldar's food supplies (much to the Nucerians' teary awe), and directed to aid in the search across the many conquered cities.
Said cities were horribly inefficient places, most of the population relying on corpse-starch and subsistence gardens that only barely had enough water drawn up from wells and collected from dew.
Nuceria was far drier and less fertile than it should be, he did not know why. A planet's atmosphere should be automatically cultivating the earth, creating seas and mud and easy-to-develop life. From this initial nature, a great many methods could be employed to develop nearly any world with said atmosphere into a breadbasket and incredibly productive industrial center.
But all life about the scant and incredibly salty seas was far below the water, dragged up by long and deep nets, and sometimes shattered outright by things that dwelt in the deepest places. The only things that could be eaten by the population were a type of wretched-wormlike thing found in the sands.
All of this was secondary information to where his brother was, and after many days of questioning the locals and his allies searching the minds of everyone they could meet, they had to eventually reach the conclusion that his brother wasn't here.
He should be here. But he wasn't.
It was at about this point that Guilliman was forced to realize something that he didn't before. They had been scattered through the warp from Terra, landing on various planets across the galaxy before eventually being found by the Emperor.
Travel through the warp was inherently inconsistent in terms of time.
His brothers didn't all land at the same time. They landed at random points of time in the next century or so throughout the galaxy. It was almost impossible for him to tell who was actually present anywhere without physically checking on them first, which he didn't have time to do if he wanted a sufficiently large empire by the time the Rangdan Xenocides began.
By the end of their week-long search, covering nearly every nook and mind of the planet's major cities, speaking to each and every gladiator and all of the slaves brought to him, his brother was not found. More than that, no one had seen anything resembling a pod or falling star land upon their planet yet either.
All he could do was ensure his preparations of the planet prevented the Butcher's Nails from being implanted into his brother. Actually saying those specific words might provoke from ill-sighted revenge from the last High-Rider, so he had to refrain from that.
The fat little man was forced on his knees in front of him, making him even smaller compared to the towering Primarch than he already was. He looked up fearfully, covered in blood and shaking behind a bushy mustache. He was covered in silks and gold, none of which Guilliman cared for.
Knowledge of his language had already been taken from the mind of another and given to Guilliman, so there wasn't any danger of miscommunication here.
He loomed over the tiny slavemaster, participant in a grossly inefficient system, and began to speak.
"I am Malum Caedo, Son of the Emperor of Mankind. You are before me because of your peers, you were the most acceptable. Do you understand this?"
The fat little man burbled for a moment, bowing and kissing the ground before him. 'Y-yes Lord Prince of Mankind! I understand! I was worthy!" He sounded close to tears and despair in that sentence.
Guilliman decided to allow that delusion of his. "Your peers are slain, their assets are now yours. In exchange, you will administer this planet with a virtuous hand. I have prepared a document. You will read it. You will heed its scripture. You will turn Nuceria into a planet of plenty and prosperity. My agents will be watching you as you do so. Do you understand?"
His voice boomed through the chamber of the ship, the rows of Eldar soldiers clad in plates of wraithbone and pelts of great beasts accentuated his message clearly. The rotund man rose up onto his knees and raised his hands in supplication.
"I understand my lord! I will! I will! I swear this to you!" The beginnings of faint tears began to well up in his eyes. Guilliman glanced over to one of the seers in the chamber, who subtly nodded. He glanced back towards the fat man and presented a hand, bending his knees enough to let the man grab hold and pull himself up.
On cue, one of the Eldar brought forth two books, Codex Administratum and Codex Lingua. Both of which Guilliman took, before handing it off to the man, who struggled with the weight of both tomes. Ceremony was important for humans, it helped to establish narratives and identities, it was something he was sure to leverage whenever possible.
"Go now, Lord of Nuceria. One day I will return, I expect your realm to be better than it is today when I do. Do you understand?"
The man vibrated in fear as he rapidly nodded. Guilliman raised a hand, and two Eldar came from the sides to gently shoo the man back into the small troop-transport gate. He kept turning his head back to gaze upon Guilliman, but bounced through the gate all the same.
Guilliman gave a tremendous sigh, brushing off his hand and taking his helmet off. The Eldar around him started to relax their own postures, and the Dragonlord entered from the side chamber.
"I'll never get used to just how different you are from your people, slayer of evil." He spoke, shaking his head as he did so. "They're like a parody of you."
"Please don't be too rude to them. Most are trying their best, and that is worth praising." Guilliman gently rebuked.
The Dragonlord nodded. "I agree with the principle, slayer of evil, but the difference is startling all the same. They're movements are almost graceless, their senses are dull, their minds are slow, their features unpleasant, their lifespans miniscule… Frankly I'm still finding it difficult to believe they could conquer anything save other humans."
Guilliman shook his head. "They have fallen far from their heights some thousands of years prior. It was the duty of the Emperor and my brothers to bring them together, to protect them, to raise them up…"
He unleashed another tremendous sigh, and rubbed his brow. A headache was forming. Both in frustration for not finding his brother, and feeling the immense weight of the future once more.
"...to make them better than what they are, to make them as good as they could be." He finished.
"Spoken like the Aeldari of old." The Dragonlord praised with a faint smile. Guilliman turned his attention towards him again. The Dragonlord continued. "We were given dominion over the wheel to protect it. To nurture and tend to it. To offer a hand to the younger races and pull them up into who they could be. Many of my kin forgot that in time, but not those who followed the way of Exodus. We remember the old oaths still."
There was silence for a while, but a more comfortable one. Eventually Guilliman spoke again. "Have the copied STCs and diagrams been organized yet?"
"Not yet."
"I will busy myself with that then. Save the schematics for the Butcher's Nails, destroy them. I have no wish to look upon it."
"Seer Maran will stay on this planet, and deliver a psychic message when your brother arrives, worry not of that matter."
"...Thank you, Dragonlord."
"Thank Maran, Guilliman. She is the one who will remain. Be careful to not seduce her too while you do so."
Guilliman snorted dismissively. "I think I shall thank her, where is she?"
"Staring at you from the far wall to your left."
Guilliman turned his gaze to see the Eldar in question slightly straighten out in attention. He nodded in thanks, and strode over.
Stopping a respectable distance away, he spoke. "Seer Maran? I was told you will stay on Nuceria to watch for signs of my brother?"
She had to crane her neck up to look him in the eye. He ducked slightly to make it easier for her, but he was still around a meter taller. "...Yes Slayer of Evil. I shall be."
He smiled and bowed sincerely. "Thank you, Maran. I am in your debt. Anything I can do for you, I shall."
She shook slightly, before raising her hands. "Thank you, Slayer of Evil. I shall have to think on that, and perhaps have an answer when you come to retrieve your brother. I shall endeavor to protect him on your behalf!" She spoke the last part a bit louder, passionate about her duties.
He had come to find that trait was present in most Exodites, making them refreshing to deal with compared to any of their kin. He rose back to his full height, and nodded once before turning back. Striding over to where he was before, he raised a brow at the Dragonlord.
Dragonlord Asarnil was staring at him in an unimpressed manner.