~Kings of Beast and Bird~
~798. M30~
~Segmentum Tempestus~
~Gryphonne Octad~
~Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Imperial Regent~
"It's impossible to explain with you being untrained." Asarnil made conversation as they awaited for the defenders of the eight-system empire they were approaching to make a decision. He raised a hand and gestured vaguely to the direction Guilliman assumed the Astronomicon's light was coming from in the warp. "The warp is not a place of pure darkness, lights writhe throughout it as stars in the skies might. Psychic galaxies swirling of all manner of colors and shapes, gently swirling in a sort of eternal dusk."
He threw his hands up in small amounts of frustration. "Your father has managed to undo that! There is now a sun in the warp! There is a golden, burning sun present in what was before a place of gentle, horrific twilight! Everything has been thrown into sharp and painful relief, illuminated by what I would normally assume was Asuryan making the kingly decision to demonstrate his masculine glory for the Wheel!"
"I did warn you about it." Guilliman spoke in an unimpressed manner, taking another bite of the firm, sweet fruit. He assumed it was the Eldar equivalent to the fruit of the domesticated malus tree. Petra's own gaze kept flickering in the same direction, presumably the space in the warp in which the Eye of Terror and the Astronomicon clashed. She was here on the chance that he might successfully bargain for a tutor for her. His other sisters showed little interest in potential engineering studies, and he knew it wasn't their intended functions regardless.
She had yet to stop preening about it, no matter how much she tried to disguise it from him.
"There is a distinct difference in being informed and bearing witness!" Asarnil jabbed a finger at Guilliman, before snatching an eldar-apple of his own and biting into it furiously. He chomped through it quickly, taking out his irritation on the poor fruit and finishing it off within the minute. Swallowing, he looked at his hand, now slightly stained in fruit juice.
Holding it out, he declared. "Maid, clean my hand."
The pink-haired maid, trying her best to look at neither of them, quickly obliged with a slightly damp washcloth, a tint of red at the tips of her ears. Guilliman decided to ignore that situation as Asarnil's eyes glowed with mischief.
Turning his gaze back towards the defending ships of the tech-priests, he tried his best to ignore the slightly panicked yelp of the maid and the devious chuckles of Asarnil. The Dragonlord reminded him of Fulgrim at times like this.
"...Our Father is lighting the Astronomicon." Petra suddenly said, worded like a declaration, but Guilliman could tell it was more of a question.
"Indeed. The complex is massive, on par with a small continent in overall scale, and exists to collect and project psychic power as warp-light. The effect is more obvious when traveling through a warp-drive, worry not."
"...What's father like?" Petra asked with a curious tint to her voice.
Guilliman found himself struggling to answer that question for a moment. Visions of a holy corpse flashed through his mind, and ever-shifting words filtered through his ears like a half-remembered dream. A burning beacon of psychic torment barely holding himself together, barely holding on on behalf of all of humanity, incapable of correcting the rot in their dream on his own.
My Son. Thirteen. Tool. Hope.
Greatest Triumph. Greatest Pride.
Did a God love his sons? Perhaps.
…But he was not a God. Not yet at least. Not ever if Guilliman could spare him that tormented fate. It didn't matter if a God loved his sons, because Guilliman knew that a Father did.
That god-corpse had burned all previous memory of his creator's face from his mind, as a consequence of its existence. Guilliman could not recall that.
…But he could recall the man's deeds, and what they told him of the man behind the divinity he once was. He could remember the writings about the man, good and ill. He could even remember Lorgar's book, and all its arguments, even if he couldn't agree with the conclusion.
"Big." Guilliman eventually settled on.
"...Big?" Petra sounded distinctly unimpressed with his chosen adjective.
"Big." Guilliman nodded with increasing confidence. "The man is absolutely incapable of performing deeds in small and subtle ways. Everything he is and does can be described with the word 'big'."
"Like the Astronomicon?" She asked.
Guilliman nodded in confirmation, and continued. "He stands about four meters in height, from what I remember last. He is an incredibly powerful psyker, and whenever he taps into his power his eyes glow too bright to see his face behind the light. As he is focused on many things in the warp, his face is almost always hidden behind a miniature sun. In public, he words every sentence in the most imposing or imperious manner he can, and I'm confident he doesn't realize that he does this."
"He's a master in just about every field I can name." Guillman waved a hand in front of him, reaching down to take another Eldar-apple in hand. "Sciences, mathematics, engineering, psykery, medicine, history, sociology… perhaps the only field I can match him in is statesmanship, and I don't suspect I'll ever reach him in any other discipline. He has a poor tendency to assume that you already know what he knows at times, and will forget to inform you of what seems obvious to him, even if that knowledge is esoteric to everyone else."
"Above all things else, he is utterly dedicated to humanity." Guilliman's gaze grew distant. "He is willing to endure an eternity of torment if it means keeping humanity safe. An eternity of suffering for just one more moment…"
After a moment, he came back to himself, and bit down on the apple. Swallowing it, he continued. "He created us, the Primarchs, to aid him in this task. To shepard and steward humanity until the day comes in which they no longer need us."
"...So what will you do after?" Petra asked quietly.
Guilliman considered it for a moment, before smiling broadly, and shaking the half-eaten fruit in his hand at her. "I would like to be a farmer, I think."
Petra looked unimpressed. "Farmer?"
Guilliman grinned. "Indeed, I would have a field of healthy wheat, and with scythe in hand I would harvest the whole lot in an afternoon. I could bundle this, and sell it to passing ships, and keep the rest for myself. I would grind it into flour, and bake bread in a stone oven."
"Surely not just wheat?" Asarnil questioned very seriously, walking over once more, the pink-haired maid nowhere in sight. Guilliman pointedly ignored the faint smell of perfume on the Dragonlord and the gloss of lipstick about his face. "Surely more to life than just wheat, like tubers and fruits as well!"
Guilliman nodded seriously, an imperious frown on his face. "More than just wheat. I have yet to mention the cabbages."
Petra gave a small groan, much to the laughter of the two monarchs.
The seer in a kneeling communication raised his head, bringing their attention. He turned back to look upon Asarnil and Guilliman, and spoke. "My lords. Their rulers have agreed to a formal meeting. Their standards dictate we bring at least one large warmachine with us as a showing of our military prowess."
"Mallwyrn should be repaired by now." Asarnil mused. "Very well, steersman, open communication with the seer and follow the path they dictate to us."
"Aye Dragonlord." The Eldar woman, currently standing in the midst of the psychic-steering of the ship, gently began to move the ship along the path outlined by the defenders of the Gryphonne pocket-empire, comprised of eight nearby mineral-rich systems, controlled by an offshoot colony of the tech-priests of Mars.
They were the tech-priesthood of Gryphonne IV. One of the strategically most important factors in the entire southern galaxy, either as a monumental boon or a staggering opponent. Ideally, Guilliman would manage to negotiate a full alliance. At minimum, he would aim for a non-aggression pact. Having them as his enemy would slow his operations in this theater almost too much to afford.
Thankfully, Guilliman knew exactly how to negotiate with them in particular.
The tech-priests of Gryphonne were much more martially-inclined than much of their brethren Forgeworlds. Their emphasis on individual skill and bringing glory to their respective bloodlines brought them much closer to larger-scale feudal Knight houses than standard tech-priests. To the point that they were somewhat famous for their Titan duels as a means to settle disputes.
The best way to the heart of a tech-priest, excepting a complete STC, was through their Titans.
He also brought all the STC fragments he found on this voyage, just for good measure. It never hurts to have more leverage when dealing with zealots.
—
A hab-block was a semi-standard unit of measure when it came to larger residential constructions in the Imperium. Technically speaking, it came in three overall sizes. The 'true' hab block, a larger hab-block made of nine 'true' hab blocks linked together in an even larger block, and an even larger hab-block made of nine of those previous larger hab-blocks linked together in a truly enormous cube-structure.
A 'true' hab-block was a single self-contained apartment-style complex. It continued three floors, each floor split into nine blocky sections. The first floor contained the entrance in one block, the staircase leading up in another block, and a public restroom and showing area in another block. The remaining six blocks of space were apartments that could comfortably fit around one to three individuals. The next floor contained a public kitchen region in one block, the stairs in another block, and seven blocks of living space. The third and final floor contained the stairway up to the roof and down in one block, and eight blocks of living space.
All in all, it was around thirty-three standard feet tall and wide, a perfect cube of standardized living space that he both loved and despised for its brutalistic efficiency. Of course, there was very little standardization when it came to how these structures were linked together. The largest and most inefficient of which were sometimes up to a kilometer on any side.
They were eyesores at that scale, and inefficient eyesores at that. Guilliman loathed them.
The procession of tech-priests before him had been escorted by a selection of their Reaver-class Titans. Gigantic humanoid warmachines, clad in heavy adamantium armor and void-shields, acting as both avatars of the tech-priest's machine-god and as actually effective weapon-platforms.
A Reaver-class Titan was mid-sized as far as Titans went. Typically deployed to support forces in fast assault roles. Not as heavily armed and armored as the heavier Warlord-class Titans, or as quick and nimble as the smaller Warhound-class Titans, but generally accepted to be a good balance between both.
The average Reaver-class Titan was about as tall as two and a half hab-blocks stacked on top of eachother, standing many meters taller than even the Wraithknight behind their own procession. Painted mostly gray, with yellow face-plates and pauldrons on their massive forms, accented in highlights of gold hammered into wing-like shapes.
The tech-priests had brought a modest number of their own to this meeting. Only twelve such hunched-over giants of plasteel and adamantium. A definitive statement of power to the ones who came before them. These Titans were surrounded by their ceremonial guardians, the Skitarii, machine-enhanced humans that served as the common soldiery of each forgeworld.
Before these Titans, the fabricator-general, leader of the overall forgeworld and its subordinate systems, stood. Just as all of the senior techpriests, the fabricator-general was greatly enhanced by machines, much of his original body replaced outright, and clad in the long gray and yellow robes of the Gryphonne priesthood.
From the waist-up, the fabricator-general was humanoid in form and size, even if the majority of his body was hidden away behind robes, body armor, and machinery. In one hand he held the symbol of his office, a massive halberd with a blade forged into the shape of a sharpened half-gear. This half-gear was attached to a distinctly eagle-like head, making it also appear to be a great mechanical wing, which was the overall symbol of the Gryphonne priesthood in specific.
From the waist-down, the fabricator-general was completely inhuman. Abdomen descending into what would be the neck of a great mechanical beast, quadrupedal and claw-footed, with two massive secondary claw-arms mounted on the 'shoulders' of the lower body, near the waist of the original torso. A mechanical tendril served as a tail, and from its end swayed machine-inputs that seemed to wander of their own accord.
Behind him, a procession of twelve slightly-more humanoid tech-priests stood, each with gear-wing-halberds of their own. Behind them, a procession of almost one-hundred and fifty more skitarii stood in perfectly symmetrical rows.
In comparison, Guilliman stood with Asarnil mounted upon Deathfang, one bone-singer, ten seers, one-hundred dragon-knights, ten Wraithguards, and one Wraithknight. A much more modest affair overall, as was proper for guests coming in good faith.
The two parties stood on the wide flat outskirts outside of anything the techpriests deemed important on this world. From what he could tell, it had long been stripped entirely bare of anything of value, replaced by massive plains of utterly flat stonework that likely comprised a majority of the forgeworld's surface area. Forgeworlds rarely cared to preserve anything natural on their worlds, instead harvesting all biological material to sustain internal, machine-controlled farms of various types, and reserving the rest of the planet for material strip-mining.
Mountains turned into flat plains, their stones harvested to fill in valleys and pave over entire biomes and build up massive fortress-walls that stretched miles across. Oceans converted into gigantic bowls through sea walls and their ecosystems carefully monitored and adjusted as they needed. Atmosphere carefully regulated by massive pumps that replaced the need for much of their land-vegetation when it came to the conversion of unbreathable air into something human lungs could be sustained by.
Right angles imposed upon every aspect of nature they could reach. This was a somewhat cleaner forgeworld than most, the sky and oceans were still blue, and there were a few pockets of wildlife from what he could see from orbit, although those were almost certainly deliberate, scientific preserves. He could tell the Exodites were quietly baffled by this level of heavy-handed regulation, they were used to the administration of a World-Spirit for their ecosystems.
He was glad that they had brought the table he requested of them, this made his eventual presentation somewhat easier.
"You bring xeno-construction and xeno-life to our worlds." The fabricator-general spoke, staring at Guilliman, golden optics glowing from behind a yellow hood. The massive scale of his mechanical lower body only barely brought him up to eye-level with the Primarch. His voice was heavily synthetic, carrying tones that only a machine could produce, and speaking in high-gothic. "You speak to the Fabricator-General of the Gryphonne Forge-Empire, Carolus Caculatus. Present thyself by name and banner, xeno-friend."
Guilliman nodded, and spoke broadly. His masked helmet was all that was left of his old armor. In the meanwhile, he wore fresh plates of heavy wraithbone over the standard bodysuit of the Eldar. This replacement-armor was not as finely crafted, but it was heavier overall, which served as an adequate stop-gap. It was blue, just as before, except a single red right gauntlet.
He had long since learned that the best way to communicate to the tech-priests as an outsider, was with blunt honesty. Acting open and backing your claims with robust supporting evidence, while deliberately not touching on topics of religious nature. Make a priest consider you in terms of calculation and not faith, and they were much easier to predict.
"I am Malum Caedo. Son of the Emperor of Mankind. I have come to discuss terms. Ideally for alliance, at minimum for a pact of non-aggression. I have ambitions of conquest for the southern segment of the galaxy, and the Gryphonne Forge-Empire is one of the greatest tactical considerations in this region."
All completely true, while being subtly flattering. Honesty in aims and nature.
"We do not recognize an Emperor of Mankind. Such a figure is not known to us." Carolus replied blankly, staring at him behind a shadowed hood. Guilliman nodded.
"He is the current ruler of Terra, and of the Sol system save Mars, which remains in the hands of the priesthood. He has made an alliance with them, and the lighting of the Astronomicon is their first collaborative work. The Great Crusade has just begun, and with it will be the conquest of the galaxy. I am conquering this section of the galaxy, with intentions on joining with my father in forty-seven years."
"Define Astronomicon."
"The great light that appeared to the senses of all psykers. Built by the priesthood, powered by my father's psychic might. A psychic lighthouse, built on Terra."
"You claim he is allied with the Priesthood of Mars. You bring xenos with you."
"The Eldar are divided into three broad categories. The city-dwelling, the nomadic, and the frontier-dwelling. The Exodites I am allied with are the frontier-dwelling, and they have access to a critical technology and a critical material that will make the expansion far more effective."
"The trans-dimensional gates you moved through, and the psycho-plastic you bear." Carolus declared, Guilliman assumed it was a guess, but one that was likely backed by many minutes of predictive analysis fed into cognition-machines. "The alien-mechanism is a perversion of the truth path." The declaration was firm, solid, and spoken from the tongue of a pragmatic zealot.
"I know little of the laws of the machine-god, I shall not claim otherwise. I am a statesman, a general, and a man of logistical incline. I am not a priest, nor an engineer, nor a man of science." Guilliman spoke plainly. "I request to make my proposal in full, at least, and allow ye learned men to cast judgment upon it once it is fully explained."
There was a long silence between the parties, the hum of binaric in the air revealing a series of rapid communications between the fabricator-general and his select priests behind him. Eventually, he inclined his head.
"Speak, o' statesman."
Guilliman nodded, and placed a holographic imager upon the table between them. Turning his head back, he nodded at one of the seers to step forwards, and operate the device as Guilliman willed it.
Stepping to the side of the display, which grew to fill the air next to him in a large map, with diagrams and broad strategic concerns writ adjacent to it, Guilliman began to explain his overall plan for the southern segmentum in terms the priesthood understood.
Numbers, and the raw calculus of conquest.