**Author's note: Slower updates for awhile still, but thank you everyone for reading! Brief refreshers because this fic is gigantic and things get lost: The Librarian Tay'Vahl is featured in chapters 59, and 66. Saint Germain is featured in chapters 100, and 120.**
Elsewhere:
The charismatic Word Bearer sorcerer held the priceless trans-dimensional book in one broad gloved hand as the hatch of the shuttle began to open before him. He watched in wonder as its words miraculously appeared on the pages before him. This book described the actions of humanity's nascent Warp god as she traveled through the cosmos to her destiny. Presently, the book was describing his actions at this very moment!
*The mysterious shuttle opened, and I sensed a whispering wave of people calling for the blessings of the "God-Empress". Hearing this sent a peculiar shiver of energy down my spine. I continued to focus, and to my great surprise, I saw a familiar large and dark soul dressed in white robes step forward. He, I could tell, was a Space Marine. He wore a familiar smile, and his long black hair was flowing behind him in the wind in a majestic and picturesque manner. Behind this individual, I could see more armored Astartes (all with dark souls) wearing armor of white and gold watching this event unfold.*
Word Bear smiled widely. This was incredible! A true miracle! He continued to read as the words wrote themselves in flashes of gold light.
*My attention was brought again to the Astartes in white robes. In one large black-gloved hand, the familiar marine appeared to be reading from a sizeable blue book. As he read, he held his other hand up in a gesture in benevolent greeting to the people gathered in the field that sang my praises. Keeping the book open in his hand, he fixed his amber eyes toward the cheering crowd before him. He began to speak.*
It was here that the words stopped writing. Oh, what a pity. No doubt, he would have to offer more souls to this artifact once again to continue reading. And, there were plenty of spare souls left imprisoned on the Malicious Compliance. Word Bear closed the book, and began to speak to the rapturous mortals ahead of him.
"Greetings, blessed lambs of Rhadabus," the genial Chaos Marine spoke to the adoring public gathered before him in a warm welcoming voice. The mortals were all dressed in white in honor of their new goddess. From what he had gathered out of a short scrying session, many of them had been experiencing dreams of a gold angel cloaked in the power of divinity. Those who had beheld this vision had taken to wearing white robes as an outward declaration of their faith. "We come in peace, and we mean you no harm. We are emissaries of the great God-Empress, the Dark Queen of Heaven." Behind him, the Word Bearer could feel the emotion of joy positively radiating from the souls of his previously doubtful Brothers as they waited behind their newly-proclaimed Cardinal. They happily whispered praises and repeated holy mantras directed toward the Four Powers and humanity's new beautiful god! The sorcerer smiled, and continued. "Your world has been seen by Her divine eye, and you have now all been saved! We come to bring you the good news of your salvation!"
The people before him cheered ecstatically, their souls bright with a miasma of hope and change! In the Warp, the Chaos Marine knew that the Architect of Fate was smiling down at them. To feel the warmth of the hope for a brighter future was greater than any high delivered by the embrace of the Pleasure God, he had to admit. No offense, Slaanesh, but it was true!
While listening to the praises and adulations of the Rhadabans, the sorcerer's psychic senses began to prickle with effervescent excitement. In a pocket within his formal white robes, Word Bear felt the enchanted scrying compact mirror blaze with heat, indicating that he was being observed by a very special someone which had been foreseen in the book earlier. When he had been having a pleasant conversation with the larval godling at Langwidere's costume party, Word Bear had given the Traveler woman a mirror compact that would facilitate psychic scrying through mirrors and other devices attuned to its metaphysical wavelength. This specifically included one other paired compact, and the Chaos Marine happened to be in possession of this artifact, which he kept with him at all times.
Since leaving Tar Vigaz, Word Bear kept his compact open in hopes that he would sense his new God-Empress's eye upon him if she made use of her paired artifact. Due to a nice happenstance (and probably a nudge from the exceedingly helpful God of Fate) Erika's compact actually seemed to be struck in the "open" position after she carelessly disrobed one evening a few days ago, tossing her clothes aside after undressing. This action caused her compact mirror to pop open as it remained on the floor of her bathroom. Using his own linked artifact, Word Bear had been able to sense his new Empress with clarity, even from a vast distance. Even if she was not physically close to the compact, the Divine Retribution operated as a psychic amplifier for his Empress' unique soul, enabling the Word Bearer sorcerer to sense and perceive humanity's new Dark Queen with excellent accuracy!
The people before him continued to radiate with ecstatic praise for the representatives that had come in the name of their God-Empress, and the Chaos Marine basked in their pleasant words. Forget the mindless pain and misdirected worship from his parent legion; Word Bear had discovered the true Primordial Truth of the galaxy, and it brought him joy to contemplate.
"Praise the God-Empress!" a man in white robes shouted ecstatically. The crowd echoed his exultation in whispering voices.
More pleasant psychic shivers raced through the Chaos Marine's soul which briefly caused the tattooed runes on his skin to simmer with a delightful heat, exciting him. Word Bear's amber eyes fluttered as he psychically suppressed the visual glow of his hidden tattoos as to not upset the sweet little lambs gathered before him. The compact in his robes warmed further, and the distinctive feeling of being under the gold eye of a uniquely powerful individual passed through him. It felt indescribably glorious to experience such a feeling again after thousands of years of silence. Was this what it felt like to be a Primarch under close attention of the Emperor of Mankind during the glory of the Great Crusade?
A metaphysical connection presented itself as the eye of humanity's god further focused on him. Word Bear smiled, and transmitted a message to the young Empress: Ah, you can hear me! And so far away as well! The prayers of your lambs draw your eye. Your cult grows! I witness even more proof of your nature, Dark Queen, divine creature that was foreseen by the visions of Lorgar Aurelian. I and my Brothers bask in your holy Sight, blessed one!
She, from what he could sense, responded to this with perplexity, no doubt wondering how he could communicate with her with such clarity from across the galaxy. The ignorance she seemed to exhibit about her condition (and the amount of silly stumbling mistakes she made along her road) would hopefully make it obvious to her later that should need a wise advisor, Word Bear thought gratefully. While Grand Advisor Grigori did have wisdom, it did not approach the amount of vast historical, religious, and military knowledge that Word Bear held from his ten thousand years of existence. And, of course, his pedigree that came from being related to Kor Phaeron and working under Lorgar himself on occasion...
Word Bear continued to beam as an older thin man with long grey hair wearing white robes approached him from the crowd. From what his more elaborate robes and a crown of flowers displayed, this man was some kind of authority figure. He now stood bowing before the group of Astartes. When the man straightened up again, the sorcerer noticed a scar of a cleft lip on his face below his nose. "Honored lords," the mortal said in a quavering voice and wide delirious eyes. "I am High Confessor Aeacus, newly chosen shepherd of the planetary capitol, Lythe. You are the first visitors we have allowed passage to our world after the Wretched Scouring. I and others received visions that you ally yourselves with the rising God-Empress of Retribution." The manic mortal bowed deeply again, even going as far as to kneel on the ground. "We... we welcome you in love and light to Rhadabus."
"Ah, and what a kind welcome you offer us, sweet Rhadabans!" Word Bear demurred while slightly bowing. The Chaos Marine made a gesture with a gloved hand, and behind him, his Brothers walked forward. They had repainted their power armors white and gold in order to cover any arcane marks that could be misconstrued as obscene or frightening to a naive human populace. The more mutated of their number wore their helms, of course. "To introduce myself, I have many names, but you may call me the White Cardinal, the speaker of the will of the God-Empress of Retribution. I travel the stars with my Brothers, the..." Word Bear turned around, and narrowed his eyes. He actually had not thought about what he would publicly pronounce what his Brothers should declare themselves as. While the chance of these people knowing what a "Word Bearer" was appeared to be slim, the sorcerer did not want to run into the wayward refugee from a world fleeing the actions of his deluded legion. "You... can call us the Sons of Retribution," Word Bear quickly improvised.
Behind him, Word Bear's psychic senses informed him that his Brothers enjoyed that name. Brother Azsi Thruss even transmitted, I am proud, Cardinal, in approval. For the first time in eons, I am proud to be a part of something beautiful. Thank you for bringing us to the light of truth. I follow your command.
Hearing this, Word Bear's amber eyes even began to wet in emotion before he began to speak again, projecting his voice outward as to be heard by the crowd before him. "Lambs of the God-Empress, we are here to spread the good news to you, and to assist you in rebuilding efforts in this difficult time. You are a proud people..." The Chaos Marine took a breath before continuing to speak, and it was then that he noticed that many of the mortals gathered before him possessed minor (or in a few cases, more severe) deformities. Word Bear was reminded of what the sacred Wizard of Molech book had mentioned about this world's inbred past, and shrugged. A soul was a soul, anyway. "Your time of pain and suffering is now past, and now, your future will brighten. The beauty of the Primordial Truth now embraces you, oh blessed ones. I have foreseen that you will become our God-Empress's first and most beautiful legion of angels at her side."
Cheers again rose up from the crowd, and Word Bear continued to genuinely smile, basking in the emotion of hope pouring into the Warp. The Chaos Marine did not deign to tell the gathered Rhadabans just yet that the monstrous Verpestyn Daemonhunters were already on their way back to this world, and what they were likely to experience at the hands of the Inquisition after their blasphemous worship (and the murders of their family members) was revealed. Truthfully, this didn't matter terribly much. Soon, these sweet and rare humans would be at their Empress's side as literal angels if everything went well here, anyway.
"Praise the God-Empress of Retribution! Praise the true Empress! Death to the False Emperor!" a young woman cheered in the crowd, which began to raucously swell in praises again. Aszi Thruss's armored hand gripped Word Bear's shoulder in encouragement.
She would thank him, yes. Of course, she would! She would thank him for his piety, his wisdom, his empowerment of her. She would learn, and become what they needed of her, yes. A fantasy of seeing himself leading a legion of Astartes in battle in another Great Crusade almost caused the tattooed runes to glow visibly upon Word Bear's skin again.
"Blood for the Blood God; souls for the Dark Queen," Word Bear whispered as he swept his amber eyes hungrily across the gathered masses of delicious tender little lambs, ripe for butchering to feed an exceedingly hungry god that ached to be born.
Elsewhere:
"Calm yourself, friend. We're not Malleus; we're only trying to understand what you have experienced. Take your time," the Inquisitor Lord encouragingly spoke in a soft tone to the anxious Librarian wearing plain black robes within a secret room deep within Fort Pykman.
"I've seen... strange things," the Librarian responded as he sipped a cup of warm (and secretly blessed) water. The Deathwatch Librarian named Venerable Tay'Vahl was being gently interrogated by Ordo Chronos Inquisitor Lord Saint Germain and his assistant, Inquisitor Sura. "I do not speak solely of the encounter with the Necron fleet and its mad woken Overlord. Their behavior was particularly aberrant for these xenos. As I had mentioned earlier, we had been sent by the Watch Master on short notice to investigate a location that had been divined by myself and two other Librarians as the origin of the phoenix visions many of us had been seeing. When we arrived, we saw that Kolch had been destroyed, and that the xenos were mustering themselves over the remains of their world. My senses had directed me to that location, but I knew then that we were not seeking Necrons."
"You were seeking the gold eagle, yes..." Saint Germain added in a low voice. He clutched the three-eyed gold eagle head of his cane. "The one you witnessed here in collective visions, correct?"
"Yes, that's correct, Inquisitor."
The Inquisitor Lord reassured the Librarian with, "Continue whenever you're ready. I'm not on a set schedule here."
In the past hour, Tay'Vahl answered the earlier questions asked of him by the Ordo Chronos Inquisitor Lord as best he could. A short time ago, Saint Germain had been treated to a remarkable tale about how the Fidelus Oculous had been seized by the xenos, and that the Kill-team had been stripped and bound for torture in a Necron harvest ship. Fearing the worst, the Librarian revealed that he had prepared to meet his end, but surprisingly, the mad Necron Overlord in charge of the fleet simply let them go via teleportarium onto a pleasure cruise that had been hosting a wedding party near a picturesque nebula. After numerous tests for taint and foreign Trojan devices within each member of the Kill-team, it had been discovered that each Deathwatch Brother was completely unharmed and untouched; the only losses were of their experimental spy ship, and the death of their navigator. Tay'Vahl described that the addled Necron Overlord had enjoyed his presence so much that he had been given a large flawless emerald. This jewel was undergoing more thorough testing, but Saint Germain made a mental note to investigate it personally later.
As the Librarian sat before him gaining his composure at a small metal table, the Count noticed that an aura of unusual anxiety wreathed the Astartes in an uncomfortable grip. What he had seen had been enough to disquiet a six-hundred-year-old Librarian's mind. This both impressed and worried the Count.
After the Verpestyns of Ordo Malleus had recently departed Fort Pykman to race toward Rhadabus, Saint Germain and the Ordo Chronos Inquisitors of the Tempus Infinitum swiftly began to filter through the Watch Fortress. It was good fortune that the Verpestyns had conveniently screened all the lower priority Watch Fortress inhabitants, which reduced their investigatory work load significantly right from the start. As Saint Germain had been given the official paperwork calling for the investigation of Fort Pykman from Watch Master Utorian Denash, the Inquisitor Lord had discovered that this was, yet again, an overreaction by a Verpestyn Inquisitor (this time, Dolorez herself) seeking to investigate "local Warp disruptions". Dolorez had noted that many of the Deathwatch of Fort Pykman were experiencing strange disruptive dreams and visions of a gold eagle, but since none of these dreams were followed by any sort of daemonic manifestation whatsoever, Saint Germain could, after an afternoon of questioning, easily completely dismiss the claims of the Malleus family as unfounded. The dreams were quickly explained as a spiritual side effect of both the appearance of the Great Rift, and the Phoenix Anomaly (now officially named by Holy Terra, if the astropaths here could be trusted in these dark times).
And that was good, Saint Germain contemplated, gripping the jeweled eagle head of living gold of his sword cane in his hands. If Malleus found out about the Divine Intervention, then then Imperium would likely move to completely destroy one of its only chances of salvation. The stupidity of the modern Imperium was infuriating. Before this bloated corpse of a human empire even came to be, Saint Germain remembered a kind, empathetic, even timid young man that served as the soil that nourished the monstrosity that was the contemporary Warp aberration that became the God-Emperor of Mankind. The Inquisition had actually been an idea of Mal's during a particularly diabolical drinking session many thousands of years ago when Sebastian had still been mostly human. Saint Germain still couldn't believe the old bastard actually went through with the idea when put in a position of power. Mal really had been a son of a bitch, he thought, still angry over their confrontation after all these years.
The Librarian quietly began to speak again, his voice small. "We remained at the location that had been previously divined for a time. We observed the Necrons swarm over the ruins of their world until a peculiar intuitive sensation gripped me, and I felt drawn to an area further to the galactic southwest. The Broken Desert of Nubua, or, the Deadly Desert they call it, I believe. My intuition guided my mind to that location."
"Both terms are correct," Saint Germain added with a smile. He motioned for the Librarian to continue speaking. "Go on."
Tay'Vahl steeled himself. "No doubt, you have or will hear similar confessions from my brothers, but what I saw, with my physical eyes, was the brightening of the Broken Desert of Nubua. Captain Tullen and the rest of the Kill-team will admit to witnessing this event as well. For a short time, it brightened with holy light, blazing with the heat of the..." Tay'Vahl closed his grey eyes, briefly pausing before continuing. "Astronomican. Yes, it was the light of the Astronomican fixed directly upon the Deadly Desert."
Saint Germain raised an eyebrow. "And you're certain of this? You do understand the existence of the Great Rift presently, do you not?"
"I stand by what I saw, Inquisitor."
The Librarian wore a grim expression on his lined face, possibly thinking that he had doomed himself with this confession. To make such incredible claims would be highly suspect, especially for a high-potency psyker like Tay'Vahl. However, the Count had just reviewed two reports that had come in this morning detailing this very event. A monitoring station manned by three Tech-priests had nearly overloaded their poor astropath in the excitement to report that the "Deadly Desert had been anhillated by the holy light of the Omnissiah" to Fort Pykman. And, not only that, unusual eagle-related visions were being reported by no less than three remote Imperial outposts in the general galactic neighborhood around Fort Pykman, troubling the psykers among their number. It was true, Saint Germain thought with excitement. As dangerous as this was, the Divine Intervention was active again!
The Librarian drank the rest of his holy water, and shifted in his seat.
"So, if I'm to confirm what you're saying, you are claiming that the annihilation of the Deadly Desert came from, what you say as you sensed, as a... holy force? Is that absolutely correct?" Saint Germain asked. Despite the many vision-sightings of the Divine Intervention, holy forces of genuine holy power were exceedingly rare these days, and the Chaos Gods were ever inventive, searching for ways to deceive mortals into ruin. One could never be too cautious, really.
The old Librarian nodded again, and his face then twisted into a scowl. "I speak the truth of what I have sensed. When we were examining Kolch and its breakage, I sensed holy light scouring the Deadly Desert. I ordered our craft to point southward so we could witness this light, and that is when it was seen."
"And you understand that harrowed energies can mask as hallowed, Librarian?" Inquisitor Sura asked as he stood beside Saint Germain.
"Yes, and I still stand by my words," the Librarian responded with a sniff and an upward angling of his chin in a somewhat defiant expression to the two standing Inquisitors. "I have faithfully served the Emperor for six centuries in some of the most dangerous spaces known to mankind. From daemon worlds, to Necron tombs, I have fought and divined the futures to aid mankind's supremacy. The sensation of holy power has only come upon me twice. Once, during the resurrection of an Imperial Saint during the battle of Dela 7, and now, my observation of the Deadly Desert." Tay'Vahl said pointedly, making eye contact with both Sura and Saint Germain. "Tell me, Inquisitor, has a survey been done on that region in the last week? Does the Deadly Desert still exist?"
"I am afraid that I am not at liberty to confirm or deny such information at this time," the Inquisitor Lord offered.
"Of course you said that," the Librarian chuckled, shaking his head. He began to tremble anew, as if speaking of this took great courage. "That's what they tell all of you boys to say. But, heed me, I speak truth. I saw and sensed the light of the Emperor over the Broken Desert of Nubua." Tay'Vahl's face drifted into a faraway expression, and he closed his eyes as if reliving a particularly poignant memory. After a few moments, the Librarian opened his eyes again, and began to curiously study Saint Germain's sword cane. "It was as if... if something had called the holy attention of the Emperor to the region," he said softly, continuing to fix his gaze to the three-eyed eagle atop Saint Germain's cane. "And then, I- I saw something else..."
"I... see," the Inquisitor Lord breathed cautiously, drawing his thumb across the beak of the eagle's gold head. The Librarian blanched slightly, and gazed upward at Saint Germain, clenching his jaw heavily. "Interesting..."
The Inquisitor Lord turned to his assistant, and spoke a short string of letters and numbers. This caused the Inquisitor serving under him to leave the interrogation room. The door closed and locked behind him.
Saint Germain now stood genuinely smiling at the Librarian, his eyes twinkling with happiness. Yes, he would do nicely, he thought. Tay'Vahl continued to study the Count's eagle-headed cane. "You seem quite taken with my cane," the Inquisitor observed. He tapped the center eye of the eagle. "It is a unique piece. What do you sense from it, I wonder?"
The Librarian soul was a mixture of conflict and curiosity, and he didn't immediately answer.
Saint Germain laughed, hoping that the expression of emotion would diffuse Tay'Vahl's anxiety. "This isn't a trick question, Librarian. I genuinely want to know what you sense. I like to think that we of Ordo Chronos aren't as prickly as the firebugs of the Verpestyn flavor of Malleus."
Tay'Vahl continued to observe Saint Germain's eagle cane, his wise grey eyes unblinking. The Count then took a sly sniff of the Librarian's soul. He felt an echo of power rise up within him as he pulled upon a secret ability.
You recognize this, don't you? Saint Germain mentally transmitted to the Librarian, who proceeded to flinch at the Count's powerfully heightened telepathic voice. As a former copilot of the Divine Intervention, he possessed a few bonus abilities that normal psykers could not normally attain. While he wasn't nearly as potent as a full Inheritor-pilot, Saint Germain did have a modest command over the remarkable discipline of Sight along with his distinctive dark gold eyes. The usage of Sight to resonate one's physical and psychic voice made it very useful in interrogations and memory alterations. The Count saw the Librarian's eyes widen in surprise, and smiled. He "lowered" his psychic voice, and said, You've seen or perceived something like it. An eagle similar to your previous visions. I can smell recognition on you. Speak in mind if you're concerned of privacy. And, I'm sure you'll know that someone of my rank will know if you attempt to mislead me.
The Librarian straightened up. Yes. Yes I have, he responded in mind. Saint Germain held his cane forward to display its head to Tay'Vahl, who observed it with wide eyes. I saw many things. I witnessed a flood of visions when I looked upon the brightening Deadly Desert. I heard two names, or two honorifics. A Weeping King, and an Omega. From what I could intuit, the Weeping King represents the Emperor, but I know not who this Omega individual is. I directed my senses to understanding the Omega, and in my mind, I saw a woman bathed in gold fire astride the an eagle brighter than a star. Almost like.. our Emperor, but female! She had white hair and twin swords in my visions and wore a crown of golden leaves. Her gold eyes like miniature suns! The sheer brilliance cascading from this Omega woman! I... I even saw as she challenged the Despoiler of the Black Legion himself, and I saw fear in the Despoiler's eyes!
With a short encouraging psychic nudge from Saint Germain, Tay'Vah's telepathic words continued to stream out of him, and great emotion echoed from his heart. The great eagle! It is a stunning void ship of incredible potency, like no vessel I have ever witnessed! It exists! It is a construct built by hands of unimaginable power during the War in Heaven! It is ancient beyond understanding. The Nome King, the mad Necron Overlord, spoke with hatred toward it. He claimed that the eagle, which he called Gir'Auda, Equerry of the Old Ones, had destroyed his world, Kolch. The Overlord then told me that he wished the Imperium to know that he was on a quest for revenge against the great three-eyed eagle and the woman who pilots it.
The stoic Librarian took a deep breath, and Saint Germain spied a small tear meandering down the cheek of the overwhelmed Librarian. The Nome King told me that in a forgotten language that... that the name "Gir'Auda" translates into "The Anathema". The Anathema!
Saint Germain nodded encouragingly. Tay'Vahl continued to speak. The xenos wishes this Gir'Auda destroyed for its actions against him, and I believe he was claiming that the captain of this vessel stole from him. The xenos king claims it is a weapon, and a flaming chariot that rides through the stars. He called it a sort of "kingmaker", but I know not what that means. But... I know it now. Its image has been burned into my mind. I even see it during my waking hours!
The Librarian reached forward, and gently tapped on Saint Germain's cane with a broad finger. The eagle... it looks just like this. Three jeweled eyes. I heard the Warp whisper that it was a chariot for God...
The two powerful psykers regarded each other in this small room. The implication of what you say is serious, you must understand, Saint Germain spoke telepathically.
I understand well enough, Inquisitor. I also understand that speaking such things may likely lead to my end, but I will continue to serve truthfully, even if the truth is difficult to speak. I'm a proud Librarian, and I will tell you again: I sensed holy power over the Deadly Desert, and two holy individuals. A sort of Emperor and Empress. I consider myself blessed to have directly witnessed these events.
"And you were," Saint Germain said audibly, still wearing a wide grin. Now, a question. If you had to make a guess, where would you think this bird might be flying next with its shiny new golden Empress?
Tay'Vahl took a deep breath, and swallowed heavily. I heard a nonsensical song when I focused my mind upon the gold eagle woman. Something like, "She's off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of-"
"Molech," Saint Germain interrupted in a quiet voice as his intuition spoke to him. Of course she's going to Molech, the Count thought with a shake of his head. Poor girl probably just wants to get the hell out of this universe just like Sebastian had attempted so long ago. Unfortunately, this reality and its foul gods hungered for suffering, and if it had a new source of emotion to draw upon, it would hold onto you like a drunk Space Wolf looking to wrestle.
The Librarian's eyes brightened in surprise at hearing the name of the planet vocalized. The Inquisitor stretched casually, and decided to telepathically add: The Warp Gate of Molech, my friend. That's where humanity's unfortunate new hope is going. It's happening now, and it has happened before with another golden pilot...
The Librarian's jaw dropped slightly, and the Count could perceive a wave of tension washing through his soul. Saint Germain sensed that, and stood up straight, tapping his cane on the floor. So, now we're at the point where you have to make a decision, my friend. You can either stay here at Fort Pykman, or you can be drafted into service by Ordo Chronos. You'd have a supportive role aboard the Tempus Infinitum, and you'd still remain an official Deathwatch Librarian, but you'd be under my direct and personal command instead of your Watch Master. You have a strong heart, and your clairsentience is impressive. I give you an offer for knowledge that not even many of my own Inquisitors possess.
And you will kill me if I refuse? the Librarian asked.
The Count shook his head. I'll simply have to erase all memories of this meeting and your encounters with the gold bird. We of Chronos are quite adept at this process, so you'll be no worse for wear. I warn you of this, however: You have stumbled upon a very deep secret, and the less who know of it- Saint Germain tapped his cane against the floor again. -the better.
A few hours later, the Count stood upon the bridge of the Tempus Infinitum informing the people under his command the situation within Fort Pykman. He was detailing their findings and their next orders. Officially, Ordo Chronos had been called upon to investigate "dimensional abnormalities" by the Imperium, but at the same time, he did not want the greater Imperium understanding what the Divine Intervention actually was. Officially, Saint Germain would send word back to Terra that this gold eagle was a "trans-dimensional" object with a broad Warp shadow. The Count decided that he would tell much of his crew only what they needed to know, and no more, for as long as he could. The fifteen Ordo Chronos Inquisitors directly serving under Saint Germain stood gathered in a semicircle around their Lord, who gestured with his cane to punctuate his words.
"We have ordered 128 Astartes and 320 human residents of the Fort into informational quarantine," Saint Germain announced, projecting his voice to be heard. "The prescribed removal of memories should be taken with delicacy, and I will personally attend to the more difficult cases. I do not want all memories of this offending gold bird removed, only stifled; I only wish for the removal of more specific visions which depict the woman astride the eagle, and any mention of any sort of "Weeping King" or an "Omega", as these honorifics seem to be irrelevant under my investigation, and would only confuse or distract the Deathwatch from their duties. I wish that some positive impression of a gold bird remains within their minds like a half-forgotten dream, but remove the specifics."
Inquisitor Sura raised his hand, and the Count gestured with his cane for him to speak. "A pity about the Librarian, my Lord."
Inquisitor Sura was Saint Germain's right hand man and chief henchman. He was a clean-shaven intelligent man who appeared to be in his mid 50s with bronze skin, short salt-and-pepper black hair, and dark eyes. Rejuvenat treatments kept him looking slightly younger. Sura was also a very minor psyker who had been discovered (and not properly reported nor sanctioned) when he was a new Acolyte twenty years ago. In return for Saint Germain's secrecy, Sura often worked clandestine jobs for the Count and his personal interests. This professional relationship worked for both parties, and Saint Germain had been recently considering telling Sura about his full history and perpetual nature.
"Yes, a shame. To those that have not heard, the Deathwatch Librarian known as Venerable Tay'Vahl opted to have his memories removed when I gave him the offer to travel with us. He claimed to see this gold bird in his waking hours, and truthfully, a vision of that strength can be debilitating. A shame, really. He would have been an excellent asset, but he stated that his place was with his Watch Fortress at his age."
"A shame indeed," the young blonde-haired Acolyte named Iris observed. "I saw his file. He's an excellent psyker."
"Do we still have that poor Verpestyn lad?" a hot-headed and red-headed Inquisitor woman named Riana asked with concern.
Saint Germain nodded. "His name is Yuri, and he's no longer a Verpestyn. He's in the medical wing aboard here. He should be feeling well enough for questioning after a day or two. I've taken the liberty of drafting him, so he's already agreed despite not being conscious yet. Frollo Verpestyn has already annulled his existence from any Imperial records, so officially, this young man doesn't even exist. In that way, he already has a head start as one of us."
A murmur of dry laughter rose from the crowd. Most of the people in this room didn't officially exist due to the secrecy of Ordo Chronos.
"A real damn shame that we have to clean up after the blunders of Malleus again," another Inquisitor, this one a bearded older man named Jarrin, growled harshly. "This was an irrelevant visit. We flew all the way up here chasing a ghost!"
"Not so irrelevant, my friends," the Count stated with a bright smile. "Thanks to the mind of the Librarian, we now have a lead on where this trans-dimensional construct is bound. We will find it, and understand it in good time." The Inquisitor grinned widely at his useage of the word "time", and said, "After we're finished with our questioning of the rest of the Fort, we're off to Molech, everyone."
A strong wave of disappointment washed through the minds of the more well-traveled Inquisitors present. This trip was going to be rough and long, they no doubt knew. While the Tempus Infinitum was a fast and very capable vessel, Molech was tens of thousands of light years away to the southeast from Fort Pykman, and they would have to dodge Warp disturbances, war zones, and maybe even Tyranids without being able to see the Astronomican for guidance. At the very least, Saint Germain knew that his own designation as a Traveler gave him a bit of an edge when it came to luck and bending fate to his favor. He would certainly need it in the coming weeks.
The Inquisitor Lord simply had to get to the Divine Intervention again at any cost. Whoever this new woman Captain was was going to be in for a rough future in this universe; the Count felt as if it was his duty to advise whoever this unfortunate individual was as to not make the same mistakes that Sebastian made. Sensing that her hair was gradually turning white was not a good sign at all for the galaxy. The phenomena of bleaching hair in an Inheritor had been noted in a singular old text discovered over ten thousand years ago involving Sebastian's predecessor. This cosmetic change was postulated to communicate instability or encroaching corruption in an Inheritor, so no time could be wasted.
And above all, he needed to get to this new Inheritor before her Discorporation...
Elsewhere:
"Is everything to your liking, my darling?" the Nome King asked the ravishing human-adjacent alien seated at his grand gold table within the Grandiloquent Abundance's royal dining room. The entirety of this massive room was adorned with perfect gold columns and abstract wall frescoes depicting ancient battles upon the walls. Chandeliers encrusted with emeralds suspended weightlessly high above the diners, scattering pale light and offering sophisticated ambience. However wealthy this room was, the greatest treasure sat before him, Roquat considered with a dreamy grin on his metal face. Presently adorned in wine-colored jewels covering a dark silken floor length dress, governor Langwidere sat with practiced poise at the Nome King's dining table. Her milky shoulders were bare, and a thick emerald choker hugged her pale neck. Her skin, Roquat noticed, was simply too fair to be of typical humankind, and a clandestine scan by a sneaky Cryptek confirmed that the skin on her body was mostly artificial, sculpted and crafted by an unknown masterful hand. Langwidere wasn't only a treasure in body, no! After speaking to her of her desires (and in the Necron tongue!) over an appetizer of palladium cakes, the Nome King discovered that Langwidere's mind was a puzzle that he simply had to plumb, her psyche an enticing mystery of eldritch halls and secret rooms. He had simply never met anyone like this stunning individual!
Atop her shoulders, the former planetary governor wore a pale head with long straight black hair with eyes as black as dead stars. He could lose himself in those eyes, the Nome King considered. She was incredible all around! Earlier, Roquat discovered that she had miraculously developed a procedure to manipulate her consciousness in order to "root" it to her body, and not her head. With her command of the sciences, she had even uncovered how to change her head according to her moods! Roquat's Crypteks bristled with excitement to hear about Langwidere's incredible soul-manipulative abilities, and they once again begged to be permitted to tear the beautiful creature asunder in order to discover her secrets. Of course, while the Nomes retained their souls, this transference knowledge could be sold at a great profit to other, less remarkable Necrons who had carelessly misplaced their old souls. Roquat had commanded that no one lay a single metal claw upon Langwidere, and with another scold, he forbade anyone from being rude to their pretty guest. The Nome King would be a gentleman and simply ask the former governor how she was able to manipulate her soul in such a manner instead of utilizing vivisection and soul flensing. Roquat had also decided to utilize her as their ambassador to the humans of the galaxy, so treating her poorly was unwise.
Roquat caught himself dreamily staring at Langwidere with love-struck glowing green eyes, and straightened up. Staring like that is rude! Where are my manners, he thought.
The stunning creature seemed to be listlessly picking at her gold plate of protein paste as she sat across from him at the table. Perhaps the alien was watching her figure? Being in the flesh had its drawbacks, he remembered. Roquat knew that the food aboard his capitol ship was fantastic, so he remained saddened by her reaction. Even though the Nomes themselves had special diets to account for their unique nutritional needs, the Nome King knew that other fleshier aliens had different dietary requirements. He had ordered some of the deceased captives be reconstituted into a highly-nutritional slurry paste, but he had to conceded that this concentrate was likely highly caloric. The Nome King disregarded his guest's pickiness. After all, he was ultimately a civilized, tolerant, and non-judgmental Necron. He knew deep within his soul that he was an island of sanity and serenity in a galaxy of chaos and murder.
The two Flayed Ones at the right end of the long table gnawed noisily upon a youthful headless human torso with their sharp metal jaws. The attending Nome Crypteks seated on the Nome King's left startled when one of these Flayers messily bit down on a particularly sturdy femur, which caused a loud crack and a small splatter of congealed blood and marrow to arc across the gold table. Kaliko, who sat on Roquat's right side, cringed away from yet another stream of viscera that had shot across their eating surface. Oh well. Accidents happen!
Roquat had retained a handful of Flayed Ones after his brother Valgûl had departed with his fleet earlier with his haul of Flayer rations. Valgûl had assigned these Flayed Ones to attend to his brother, even when the Nome King had insisted that he was fine, and not "mentally unwell", as he had said. The two Flayed Ones were actually pleasant guests once he had gotten used to them. These carnivorous Necrons possessed higher sentience than his brother's typical subjects, and sometimes even spoke in complete sentences, which was nice.
To demonstrate the Nome King's cosmopolitan, tolerant, and evolved mindset, he had invited Langwidere and two of the senior Flayed Ones he had retained to a sophisticated dinner aboard the Grandiloquent Abundance. The Flayed Ones seemed to be enjoying their carcass with relish as they sat at their end of the table, laughing and praising Roquat's chef. That was nice. He always enjoyed seeing gratitude, which was why he was now somewhat disappointed to see Langwidere not eating her gold platter of brown mush that had been set before her. He would have to ask her specifically what her alien bio-mechanical systems required.
"What?" She suddenly said, looking up at him. "What are you looking at, xenos?"
Oh no, he was staring again! The Nome King hallucinated the sensation of blushing and straightened up before saying, "My dear, you haven't touched much of your food. Shall I have my chefs prepare you a different repast? I can offer you a Nomish meal more akin to what we enjoy, but you aren't made of necrodermis."
"I'm not really all that hungry right now," she said, pushing the plate away. "I want to talk about my future."
"As we discussed back on your world, we Nomes are looking for an ambassador," Roquat purred in his most charming affectation of his voice. "You speak our language, your pedigree as the child of a leader of humans is most delightful, and while I can see that you deviate from general humanity, you are very much a beautiful portrait of humankind's template."
Langwidere peered over to the Flayed Ones, who were now enjoying themselves with burrowing their long bladed fingers into the ribcage set before them. The Flayers paused when they noticed the rogue planetary governor watching them, and then, one even smiled a wide bloody smile at her. Even the Flayers like her, Roquat observed appreciatively. Langwidere asked, "Tell me, what has transpired of Tar Vigaz, my world?"
"We are far from there now, my dear. But, if you must know, we turned around and departed just as the Imperial forces were within striking distance to us. While the Grandiloquent Abundance can easily outgun a single Imperial warship, I wanted to spare my Nomes the trauma of the desecration of our jeweled hull. We've simply been through far too much too early in our waking to deal with a dreadful firefight at the present."
Langwidere continued to observe the Flayed Ones tearing at the carcass before them, her expression unreadable. She turned, and gazed at Roquat with those deep dark eyes. "I assume that you've taken more prisoners aside from this dinner dish being torn apart at the table."
"Plenty... plenty more flesh... Time of... bounty..." one of the Flayed Ones growled like an animal, its face twisted in an expression of mad feral joy.
"Not all of the flesh is for you, my dear guests," the Nome King tutted to the Flayed Ones, waving a long metal finger in their direction, almost scolding them like naughty children. Roquat turned back to Langwidere. "We've left a large portion of humans alive on your planet, fear not. But, my Nomes requested experimental subjects in order to continue their biomechanical studies. We've taken captives to be used in these processes."
"How many... subjects have you taken?" Langwidere asked, watching the Nome King from across the table.
"A few thousand, I think, going by your numeration system. Not a large amount, considering the capacity of the Grandiloquent Abundance. From what I understand of the Imperium, they are probably going to destroy your old planet anyway, so we Nomes have essentially rescued these individuals."
Langwidere laughed. "Rescued?" she asked. "You just told me that you've taken these people for your Crypteks to tear apart or for these Flayed Ones to eat. Be reasonable here, xenos."
The Nome King felt put on the spot, but he continued to explain himself. Deep down, he very much wanted to impress this beautiful treasure of an alien. "Allow me to expound further, my dear. We Nomes are on the cutting edge of technological innovation for the Necron race. Our natures as ensouled creatures, as opposed to our other soulless cousins, give us a unique and vibrant perspective on the universe. My scientists have been tirelessly at work in perfecting their craft in order to benefit all the galaxy, not just the Nomes, I am proud to say. Yes, I know this is somewhat uncouth, but unfortunately, the human saying goes, 'you can't make a grox without breaking a few eggs', and we need to break a few eggs in order to make the grox. These humans would have died anyway to the Imperium's wrath, and that would have been a true waste. Their lives hold purpose now with us!"
Langwidere's face wore an incredulous expression. No doubt, she was upset because of this development. She did seem to be human-adjacent, at least, so it could be understood that she might see a few necessary biology experiments as "torture", which was an overreaction! The Nome King continued to elaborate. "I know hearing this sort of talk from one of my kind must seems strange to you, but we're presently engaging in tremendous breakthroughs concerning the science of the soul. Maybe you could even help us and assist in our enigineering?"
Langwidere looked away from the Nome King, and drummed her fingers against the gold table. She tapped a gold knife against the plate that contained her brown reconstituted flesh pile. "You haven't forgotten about our deal, have you, Nome King?"
Roquat paused, his green eyes blank. Kaliko leaned over and whispered something to his monarch. "Ah, of course not! You wish to shatter and destroy Gir'Auda just as we do."
Kaliko politely raised a metal hand. The Nome King nodded, allowing the Chief Steward to speak. "My lady, my apologies for the correction, but the pilot of Gir'Auda is a female human named Erika. We Nomes encountered her on Kolch when our majesty's body was being subsumed by Trazyn's willpower. This Erika is what is called a Marii-Suze, Plane-Walker, Inheritor, or Traveler."
"Ah, er, Kaliko..." the Nome King spoke in a warning voice as he turned toward his Chief Steward, his jaw clenched. It appeared that the king found this memory uncomfortable, or even embarrassing.
"Again with this Traveler rubbish," Langiwdere hissed. "Now you're going to be like everyone else and tell me that she's the next Empress of Mankind."
"Actually, she-" Kaliko's words were cut off by a sharp rebuke from the Nome King.
"Erika, Evanora, the name of the pilot does not matter. The only thing that matters is that I wish punish this pilot and her hateful vessel for injuring my Nomes and cracking my Tomb World! Both I and this ravishing treasure ultimately possess the same goals!"
"I want her destroyed as soon as possible," Langwidere insisted angrily.
"Oh, yes, of course! But, before we enact such an endevour, we're going to need more power. I don't have the support of my very silly brother any longer, and his vessels are headed back to Drazak. In order to shatter Gir'Auda, we need more allies, more power! And, that is where our rescued humans come in to play!"
Langwidere's eyes narrowed. "What is it that you're actually doing with the captives? What sort of terrible sciences are your Nomish Necrons developing?"
The Nome King smiled very widely. "Terrible? Why, I don't think so at all! We're giving these humans a new and wondrous chance at life, you see! Freedom from mortality! They will thank us when we're finished."
Langwidere turned toward Roquat, her face pinched in confusion.
"We Nomes pride ourselves in our highly evolved natures. As Necrons who have retained our souls and vivacious natures, we do not suffer from the terrible ennui and yawning anhedonia that the rest of our kin suffer. And, since we are evolved spiritually, some of us began to wonder just how we could work for the collective good of all creation, and not just for Necronkind. We think big!" The Nome King smiled proudly. He moved his arms in a broad gesture communicating the enourmity of what he was taking about, causing Kaliko to duck out of the way. "We have mercy for all enfleshed aliens who have limited lifespans, so we bring them the gift of joining with us! It is a process that others of our kind have developed previously, but we have taken this process and recently, we have perfected it!"
Langwidere stiffened in her seat, and swallowed in an expression that could be interpreted as bewilderment.
"Hmm, still doubtful? Allow me to demonstrate. We just had our first successful transmutation a few hours ago, and the young fellow is already feeling much better, now that the fear of mortality or disease has been taken from him. Kaliko!" the Nome King said with a loud bark. The Chief Steward and Arch-Cryptek's single eye flashed in response. "Send for subject Xaea-Xii. Have the nice young man sent to this room via teleportarium."
"Thy will be done, your majesty," Kaliko said, his single round eye blinking twice. A few moments later, a bright green flash ignited with dazzling luminosity in the dining room, and now, a stooped Cryptek stood adjacent to a strangely shaped metal figure that trembled and chattered.
"Come forward, Xaea-Xii. And, uh, whoever you are, Cryptek, you come forward as well," the Nome King commanded, turning around to face the newcomers to the dining room.
Roquat grinned with pride as the strange figure staggered over toward the diners, some of which turned their chairs to witness this new development. "Folks, I'd like to introduce you to Xaea-Xii. This poor downtrodden human worked in some pointless job as a guard in a human megacity somewhere. Through our mind extraction methods, our Crypteks discovered that he had concerns that he had some worries about death when he was in our care."
The creature known as Xaea-Xii now stood before the dining table. He (if he could still be classified as a "he") was slightly taller than an average human, but instead of typical pliable flesh, plates of dark metal embraced his shaking form in a carapace. His trembling caused a slight metallic rattle to fill the room. Where his eyes used to be, he now possessed glowing green orbs of harsh bilious light which stared blankly into eternity.
One of the Flayers abruptly stood from its chair and began to slink forward, investigating the newcomer. The Flayed One dipped its head like a predatory animal, sniffing and observing Xaea-Xii as if he was some kind of beast. However, it did not move to attack, and turned to the Nome King with its head turned in an inquisitive manner like a curious canine. "What... creature...?" the Flayed One asked in a guttural voice.
"Now, normally, I have to watch my brothers subjects around aliens that have skin, but as you can see, this former human has no external flesh to hinder him, or cause him any pain or disease. His consciousness has been transferred to a mostly artificial form! All fear has eliminated from this lad, and now, he's much happier! Aren't you, Xaea-Xii?"
The unholy metal abomination that was Xaea-Xii opened his mouth, and a low rattling whine briefly sounded from his throat. Langwidere sat looking at the unusual creature, her expression fixed and unreadable.
"Ah, well, he was just ascended a short time ago. His soul needs time to settle, and his fleshy organs probably need time to desensitize in his new shell. He'll thank us for this gift of a healthy eternal life, you just wait and see!" Roquat chuckled.
"No... skin..." the Flayed One shook its gnashing head in what appeared to be disappointment. "Flesh... encased...?" the creature muttered as it sniffed Xaea-Xii's torso with interest. The Nome King shot a knowing warning to the Flayed One, who grunted in frustration, and ambled back to its seat. Immediately, the Flayed One chomped down on a fleshy area of the carcass before it. Yellow bloodied fat spilled everywhere on the table. A small gibbet was launched across the table, managing to strike Kaliko on the cheek. The Chief Steward simply reached up to wipe the flesh away.
"You've-" the governor began before needing to compose herself once again. She was definitely impressed! "You have made Necron Pariahs," Langiwdere observed in a soft voice, her black eyes wide. "I was under the impression from the Imperium that the Necron race no longer utilized such creatures."
"This is why I like her! Educated, fearless, and beautiful, all in one treasure of a package!" Roquat grinned happily as he gestured toward Langwidere. His attending Crypteks all nodded in agreement. "Yes, there was sporadic use of Pariahs before among my people. I ventured far and wide in my many time of early wakening, collecting information and knowledge from other dynasties. A handful of my other Crypteks, like Kaliko here, also woke before the rest of my people, and they have been busily researching how to make the galaxy a better place and to enhance our numbers! Unlike the other Pariahs of other Overlords, this Pariah variant isn't what humans would call a Blank. This fellow is simply a typical normal human that has undergone a sort of bio-transference, freeing him from pain, suffering, and all the trappings of conventional mortality!"
Xaea-Xii made a low bestial growl that sounded like a cry of sorrow or great pain.
"This is... this..." Langwidere could not speak further, and held a fair pale hand to her face. No doubt, she was indeed very taken with what the Nomish scientists had perfected, and Roquat was proud.
"You see, if we are to war against Gir'Auda, we need more Nomes! We Necrons, even us Nomes, we cannot reproduce as other races can, so this is a good substitute. I'm so glad this works!"
Xaea-Xii then teetered forward, and began to fall before his attending Cryptek reached forward to steady him with a whispered, "Steady yourself. The hallucinations will calm soon."
"The science does need perfecting, I must admit," the Nome King said with an embarrassed shrug. "In due time, we Nomes will see our numbers increase, and soon, we'll be able to war against Gir'Auda all on our own! We'll destroy that pilot, just like you want!"
Langwidere looked away from the twitching metal abomination, and pursed her lips. She took a deep breath before speaking again. "I want to be included in the process," she added. "I want to learn how you are doing this. These are my people you are using for raw materials, and I have a right to their bodies."
The Crypteks in attendance turned to the Nome King, their eyes blinking and flashing in concern and what could be interpreted as disapproval.
"Forgive me, your majesty," one of the Crypteks added. This was the Chief Counselor, a frail stooped Cryptek with a name that the Nome King often forgot. He stood from his seat, and began his grievances. "The process is quite... unsightly to say the least. Our esteemed guest should not be inflicted with the sights and sounds of it, which could be harmful to her," the Cryptek spoke cautiously. No doubt, the Chief Counselor wasn't looking forward to getting thrown out of the airlock once again for having the wrong opinion. "As we can all see, our guest is most fair and wise, but this process has proven to be quite messy to many of us. Certainly, we can offer her information, and she can offer any words to add to our studies. Humans are not generally permitted to observe our processes. The creation of Pariahs and lesser Nomes from human stock is a mystery that should remain secret and away from the rest of the aliens of the galaxy."
Before the mad king could respond, Langwidere stood, and smiled beatifically toward the Nome King's high council, looking down upon them with a arrogant, almost feline expression. "My Necron friends, allow me to demonstrate something special..." Langwidere began before reaching up to her head with both hands. She clutched the sides of her head, and with a quick turning motion (and a sickeningly metallic wet noise) the governor had decapitated herself at her neck below her jeweled collar. She gripped her own head, and cradled it beside her torso. Despite her decapitation, Langwidere continued to speak in a clear voice from her head, which she now held firmly at her side. "...as you can see, I'm far more than a simple human. All I ask is that I be allowed to learn and grow along with your scientists. As said by the Nome King himself earlier, you Nomes are highly evolved with your... er... souls, and that you are also working for the benefit of the galaxy as a whole. I myself am a perfected human, an entwining of technology and Warp-adjacent sciences to create an ideal being using the finest and most secret technologies of Mars. The people of the land you call Ev are my people, my humans. I am their leader. It is only just that I be permitted to aid and oversee in their bio-transference to greater shapes."
"Now, I don't know about any of you, but I can't decapitate myself and remain speaking with such poise," the Nome King said appreciatively. "Request accepted. Of course, my dear. I agree with your sentiment that these are your people, and since you are their queen, it would make sense to involve you in their ascensions."
"Excellent," Langwidere responded with satisfaction before reattaching her head to her shoulders with another revolting wet sound. The Crypteks at the Nome King's side appeared greatly disconcerted by this news, but none were willing object to their mad monarch's wishes. "When do we begin? I'm most eager."
Kaliko observed the strange scene before him in this room as he sat to the Nome King's right. The Flayed Ones continued enjoying their meal on one end of the table, oblivious to what had just played out ahead of them. Supported by a Cryptek, Xaea-Xii continued to moan pitifully nearby, ignored by the rest of the diners, who were now enjoying their meal of gourmet metals and minerals again without concern. They had all seemingly forgotten that they had been highly suspicious only a few moments ago.
The Chief Steward watched Langwidere as she sat daintily at her seat to pick at her slurry again, grinning smugly. Along with having a mostly-unknown biological process, this Langwidere alien held many secrets. She had not submitted to an exam when they had brought her aboard, and the Nome King had not forced the process upon her. Through their intercepted communications between the human forces in the Ev system, it had been recently discovered that the Imperium had sent an armed warship to investigate the planetary governor's reign. This overkill made little sense, considering that she was only one individual, and while the Imperium often made stupid, silly mistakes from time to time, this felt dreadfully intentional.
From this, it could be discerned that the humans knew that there was something terrifyingly dangerous about this woman, and this concerned Kaliko.
Langwidere abruptly looked upward, and glared across the table at the Chief Steward, who did not turn away. A slow dark smile etched across the strange human-creature's fair face, and her dark eyes flashed. She even blew him a kiss from across the table.
"Kaliko, you're not eating. Are you well?" the Nome King interrupted the Chief Steward's thoughts, and placed a long-fingered metal hand gently on his shoulder. Kaliko apologized, and made a tepid excuse before turning back to his plate of limestone pie and melted silver. He began to eat, knowing full well that he didn't actually need to consume food, and began to wonder how he would eventually have to rescue Roquat from his own insanity once again.