It was useless then, to think the compliance had gone perfectly. It had simply gone well. A cruelly regular outcome, especially considering the amount of force Curze has provided him. The hammer had been large, enormous even, and in relation to that Melkor had taken the worlds at a relatively leisurely pace.
To say he failed wasn't what the Primarch thought, rather perhaps he felt like he had higher expectations of him. For what reason he had absolutely no idea. It felt like it was something purely emotional and not the rational and logical thought process he was used to. He was beginning to be rather emotional for some reason. His emotions were more and more being felt and not the numb cold sensation they had been.
They were still cold, of course, that was hardly unexpected, but he felt them more keenly. A strange sensation, an old sensation.
"You are aware of the liberties you enjoy." The Primarch quietly spoke, the rain sliding down his dark hair.
To his side walking slowly, with a hood covering his face shielding the mortal from perpetual Nostraman rain.
"I am." He said looking around, almost ignoring the Primarch´s presence. It was his first time in Nostramo, and he was more interested in seeing this world than speaking with his lord.
The avenue was large, the largest in Quintos in fact, all round them enforcers were lining up people, putting in cuffs but not outright killing them, not yet at least. The smell of industry even here, in what was clearly City´s Edge, could be felt, almost like it permeated the entire hive. The buildings were tall, taller than he had ever thought, though reasonable even as the distant sound of air cleaners below worked endlessly.
From time to time the mortal looked below, when on a bridge, and saw the endless expanse going to the planet´s heart, and even with his bionic eye, that thing which allow him to walk these sunless streets without any night vision equipment, he did not see the ground, in fact he saw simply darkness so far away it made him think it was kilometers below. The mere fact that something could be so deep, or in this case so high and yet be this sunless would have shocked him, if he hadn't prepared himself before.
"Explain to me then how you lost five companies?" The Primarch continued half ignoring the mortal´s apparent indifference.
"5 companies, for five regiments," was the answer that had been given, almost uncaringly. "But you knew that would be its end, did you not?"
The Primarch did not answer that question. They simply walked in silence in the avenue. The gothic architecture of the world, something that had barely changed when it had joined the Imperium, gave the street an almost oppressive feeling even as Neon billboards lighted the ground barely. Almost as if everything had been made to scare man, even before the Primarch had arrived, while being adaptable used by man, in whatever way they could.
"Trees," the mortal said after a while, a wheeled vehicle passing beside them in the street as life slowly returned to civility after the Primarch took the decision to reinstate order. Something the population took far better than it had been expected.
"What do you mean by that?" The Primarch almost sneered. Nostramo was almost lifeless and all life that existed was bound to the heat sources of the hives. Nostramo did not have forest for that reason beside the obvious metallic soil in the cities. Outside of the hives the adamantium rich soil was similarly anathema to flora.
"Trees, fungi, plants. It would be pleasant if there were some, in the avenues and squares."
"Plants have never prospered in Nostramo. No sunlight enough for them to grow." The Primarch answered hardly positing the idea.
"What about Fungi? Could the Mechanicum develop a bioluminescent fungi that could live under these conditions. One that preferably ate the industrial output, something to help the air cleaners, and give the light this world sorely lacks."
"This is your first time here. Why do you care about this world, Melkor?" The Primarch asked, far too honestly perhaps.
The mortal stopped and turned to the Primarch to his side, Neon from a grocery store beside them flickering in their faces. "It is dark Curze. This would be midnight on a winter on Terra millennia ago, and yet here it's the peak of summer and we should be reaching midday. For you it may be normal, it isn't. Humanity was not made to live under these conditions. I have been watching your people since I left the stormbird, I have yet to see anyone with the barest smile. A smile!"
"So?" Curze´s brow furrowed, genuinely confused.
Melkor sighed, hardly caring about the explanation, especially not to a Primarch. "I'm not going to tell you what a smile does to a human, biologically, I don't remember enough for that, but I am sure you can read a book about it somewhere. In the end it just helps people. Happiness tends to do that."
"You think my people need happiness to survive? They need order, justice. Those keep them breathing in this lightless pit. Tell me, how does a smile help them when the gangs return to take everything they've clawed for?"
"It helps them live, not survive, live. That's what happiness, a smile does. Once you wanted them to be happy, do you still do?"
Curze did not answer back, he simply watched as Melkor turned his back towards him, fixed his hood and then entered the store to their side. The Primarch did not.
The door opened with a slow silent movement, a bell ringing quietly as it closed behind Melkor. It was small, comedically so compared to the towering gothic spires and arches of the avenue outside. Its shelves filled with things that in truth Melkor had no idea what they were. The counter was just beside the door and there seated upon a small stone chair was a woman that seemed to be calmly reading something from a data slate.
Melkor took a few steps forward, his hands going up to his head, softly pushing the hood down. The cloak he used was dark as the void, something that easily masked how different he was under the barely lit streets. However here it would be only suspicious.
He slowly walked in, passing over the shelves, noticing the fact that the Primarch had not entered the story, until he reached the drinks sections. He passed his hand over them, the Nostraman runes slowly being read as it elucidated the contents in each bottled drink.
He picked the most simple, the bottle crafted in some plastic derivative filled with a transparent liquid that was so ancient. Water. He grabbed a bottle of water.
By the time he returned to the counter, the woman was eyeing him intently, her hand beneath it almost as if it feared an assault. Melkor put the bottle on the counter and spoke with his improved Nostraman even if it was clearly accented for a native born like her.
"Just a bottle, how much is it?"
Her dark eyes, the enlarged pupils all Nostrman possessed eyed him carefully in the same manner one would assess a threat.
"Just a bottle?" She asked carefully, eying the movements of Melkor´s hands who by now were on top of the counter, as a sign of non threat.
"Yes, just a bottle."
For a few moments she spoke nothing, and then she sighed, grabbing the bottle scanning its code before speaking.
"Three thrones," she said softly, her accent markedly different.
Melkor removed his hands from the counter, reaching into his pockets for his card, only to realize it wasn't there. His brow furrowed as he searched each pocket, finally sighing and looking upward in exasperation.
"I forgot my card," he muttered.
"You lost your card," she corrected sharply.
Melkor glanced at her and repeated firmly, "No, I forgot."
She smiled sheepishly, shaking her head. "You're clearly not from here. In this city, you don't forget things you lose them."
"I assure you, miss, my card is still aboard the Nightfall at this moment. Thievery is not tolerated on the Primarch's vessel."
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, restrained excitement broke through her guarded demeanor. "You're lying. No Legion officer would come down here, especially not one not from Nostramo."
Melkor smirked. "Let me guess—much less with the Primarch in tow for a leisurely stroll of Quintos?"
Her excitement curdled into anger. "It's Dominus Nox to you, outsider," she snapped, her tone tinged with possessive defensiveness.
"Right…" Melkor rolled his eyes, visibly unimpressed.
Faster than he expected, she reached under the counter and leveled a stub gun at him.
"You will not disrespect the Night Haunter," she said, her voice trembling as she uttered the Primarch's title. It sounded more like an obligation than conviction, but the danger in her shaking hands was all too real.
Melkor raised both arms slowly, speaking with measured calm even as his heartbeat quickened. "Look, the Primarch is just outside. You don't want to pull that trigger."
"You lie."
"Melkor."
The voice was calm but icy, and it froze her on the spot. Slowly, she turned toward the door, where the towering form of a king now stood inside the shop, though she hadn't heard the door open.
"You are taking too long," Curze said, his dark gaze resting briefly on Melkor before shifting to the shopkeeper.
Melkor sighed before speaking again. "Do you have three thrones on you?" He asked the Primarch.
Before the Primarch answered, the woman spoke again, her long raven hair flying in the air as she turned from mortal to god and back to mortal again.
"Take it. I couldn't possibly take money from you."
Melkor glanced at Curze, who seemed entirely unsurprised.
"You would give it freely simply because I am here?" The Primarch asked the woman, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
She started visibly nodding quickly, her breathing shallow.
"Konrad, just speak normally. Don't scare her—she's not used to Astartes, much less you."
"I am speaking normally," Curze replied, sounding both confused and insulted by the suggestion he should change his tone.
Melkor rolled his eyes and turned back to the woman. "It's fine. Curze isn't going to hurt you."
Her breaths came quick and ragged, and she began whispering a single word, over and over: "Nighthaunter, Nighthaunter, Nighthaunter…"
Curze regarded her with faint disinterest. "Just put it in the Legion's expenses. Don't waste time."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and vanished into the shadows, his departure eerily silent. Neither Melkor nor the woman heard the door open or close. Even after he was gone, her breathing remained shallow, the word continuing to spill from her lips in a dazed mantra.
Melkor placed a hand gently on her shoulder, and the touch seemed to snap her out of her trance. She blinked up at him, though her voice still wavered with shock.
"I'm sorry about that. Miss…?"
"Anastasia," she whispered, her hands trembling.
"Anastasia," Melkor repeated softly. "Don't worry. He's… not what you think."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, her voice shaking but filled with the first spark of defiance. "Who… who are you?"
Melkor smiled faintly, attempting a reassuring tone. "Just a man who forgot his card aboard a Primarch's flagship."
The attempt did nothing to ease her fear, and Melkor sighed inwardly. Comforting others, it seemed, was not his strong suit, especially from what could be called Curze encounters.
When Melkor finally left he was suddenly grabbed by something. Well not something, someone, and was brought to its eye level. Curze.
"Do not forget the liberties you enjoy, Melkor." He said, sneering, but even then there was no hostility, if there was his presence would have battered the mortal like a harsh frozen blizzard.
He put him down then, almost too softly, before they returned to their stroll, silent for a few minutes, until the Primarch spoke again.
"Recruitment from Nostramo will stop." He stopped looking at the sky, the heaven's tears sliding down his pale face.
Melkor turned to him looking slightly confused, but he spoke nothing.
"Nostramo has to change, I have to change it, and this time blood is not the solution." He said watery tears falling from his eyes. If it came from him or the heavens Melkor did not know. "There won't be any recruitment from here to the legion until…" he let the word hang in the air, signs flickering on the street walls.
Then with a movement that looked almost too mechanical, too fast, he turned back to the road and started walking again, Melkor simply accompanied him for the minutes until he reached the borders of City´s Edge.
When they reached it, Konrad saw, in the distance, people hiding away. He turned to Melkor, his face strangely peaceful. Almost as if standing at the border of the place that he grew in.
"Go now." He said, his words strangely somber. "I know the meeting you called using my authority. I trust you have a good reason for. Go, brief me after."
Melkor´s eyes did not grow wide with surprise, but rather his heartbeast grew slightly faster, slightly apprehensive. "Konrad, I didn't mean to undermine you." He said neither pleading or excusing himself, rather he said it sincerely.
"I know," the Primarch said, not looking at him. "Do not forget the liberties you possess, Melkor… Do not forget."
The mortal nodded, something the Primarch did not see but almost surely knew and left. Each had their own plans, each had their own paths, and even if the mortal wished to see more of Nostramo. If…
If he wished, City´s Edge was more than Curze would have liked already. He had seen the best of what had survived Old Night in this sunless world, and Curze did not wish him to see the worst. After all he already knew enough to picture it, he did not need to see it with his own eyes. However, even as Melkor turned back, Curze did not, yet he did not stop speaking.
"My father called a triumph." He said, Melkor stopping cold in the rain, his back turned away from the giant. "For the Ullanor campaign."
Melkor did not need to hear more, he understood where this was going. He would go to the Triumph at Ullanor, and see for himself, against his will, the first found as he was before his death. Before his fall. He had never wished to see him. He knew enough to know what that could mean in his heart. Emotions were ever the hardest part to control. They always were, that something so utterly human. So human…
"You will go in my stead, Melkor."
Before the mortal started to walk he asked a single question. A single minute question that perhaps was more important than it seemed.
"If people ask, which name will I refer to you as? As Konrad Curze or as the Nighthaunter?"
"As which name you think me deserving the most. As the monster or the man." The Primarch said seemingly ignoring what it truly meant. Ignoring the implication for himself.
Melkor simply nodded to the darkness, the rain of this accursed world sliding down his cloak as it streaked the Primarch´s face and then he left. To that meeting he shouldn't have called and yet had.
The Primarch, however, did not return, instead he slid into the shadows of the streets, his enormous frame, far too big to remain unseen, disappearing like leaves on the wind.
He moved through the hive proper like a soft breeze, unnoticed, uncared for, but nonetheless there. He did not need to move far from the edge until, from atop a building, he saw a gathering of people.
He had yet to send his enforcers out into the hive. Like a tsunami wave, he had sent them from their headquarters and slowly spread throughout City´s Edge, a wave that had yet to hit the hive proper. A wave that had nearly gotten there, nearly.
They gathered around, men holding two people seemingly chained with rope in front of a table under the heavy rain. Around these people almost like a U shape were what could only be spectators, while behind the table was a group of about half a dozen.
Who these were he had no idea, what they were doing he had no idea, for the moment, but for some reason he felt no quiet internal push for him to intervene. No, he in fact, felt that simply watching would be more appropriate than breaking this auspicious gathering of people. A gathering that had chained men, a gathering that seemed to be far too organized to be random.
"As our Dominus Nox commanded," the woman said, rising from the chair, removing her hood, her hair pale and dark as volcanic sand flowing in the rainy wind, speaking loudly. "We stand here to take what he offered us since our fathers and grandfathers, and their fathers too were born, Justice."
There was a slight murmur of agreement in the spectators just enough to be noticeable yet quiet enough to allow the women, that he now noticed he had met before, to continue.
"And so, as his the Nighthaunter´s will, we shall start this tribunal. May justice be found under his night."
The Primarch closed his eyes then, his heart hurt then, for some immaterial reason he did not know how to define. However he remained there listening as with each sentence something tore his heart. Something that could almost start with the question of.
"Why had he not trusted his people? Why had he only seen the worst in them? Why?"
His heart ached, but still he could not stop listening to the crude and undeniably terribly balanced attempt at justice.
He had trusted the words of the Sin Eater, he had trusted them enough to give this world a chance. He had heard Melkor´s words about mankind´s monstrosity, about its past full of sin, just like his own. How apt that mankind´s monstrosity was reflected on him, after all if the Emperor was mankind in its grandest form and therefore Primarchs shades of humanity just as they are shades of their father, it was so apt that its monstrosity was reflected on him. He was a monster and still with simple words, no demands, no threats, no subtle indications of pain soon to be received, just with simple words. Nostramans, the people of this world, scarred and battered down by his methods and the sins of their nobility still did what he had told them.
Even if small, even if in the grand scheme of things it was such minute percentage of the hive´s people, it was somewhat organized, with a procedure that invoked some sense of respect, like people thought of it, like people rose through his simple request and did their best to overcome his truthfully low expectations.
They did all of that, and simply hearing them going through it, even flawed, tore an open wound in his heart open, of self imposed guilt, yet at the same time he felt something else. Something almost could soothe that gaping pain. Something almost like…
.
Nostramo was dark, comically so, like a perpetual midnight sky that looked almost like a background scene of a sad, depressing artistic expression, of a masterful painting. It was dark, it was rainy, it was cold and it was dreary. Its people were odd, their enlarged pupils unnerving, their snow like pallid skin unquestionably eerie. They looked more like ghosts than men wandering around the corridors of the palace, especially as they moved with such concern for silence that on more than one occasion I was scared. I mean almost scared, for I am Roman, Pilot of Remnant, High Sovereign of the world of Grymm and Lord of Torch´s House, a jewel of emerald and sapphire in the void, and I could never have been scared.
Anyway, thankfully the room they provided me was adequate for my station. Something I confess might be ignored by the fact I would be meeting a Primarch, one of the Emperor´s own sons. That had been who called me here. If it hadn't been so I confess I wouldn't have come. I mean I am a High Sovereign who would dare demand my presence without expecting to give me anything, without gifts.
The room was adequate, though truthfully I thought it austere and somewhat small for one of the Emperor's sons. The furniture was big, but it looked more for oversized mortals, i mean it could be for Astartes but I confess I haven't seen any in my stay here. A curious thing. I thought they would be guarding the Primarch´s residence on his homeworld.
Anyway, the table was a blackstone, probably obsidian or onyx, there was enough adamantium in the walls already. I guess that was something, alot of it was of that material this world was known for, its hue like the living depths of Terra´s ancient oceans if recreations or tales could be trusted. It was smooth, cold and it shone with an eerie tone as the light that at home I would call sleeping light cast its freezing glow.
The music playing was soft and could be relegated to background noise, if I hadn't been so bored. There was so much bonewine could do, a local variety and honestly something I´d never drink again, and I drank the shitiest amasec my father allowed me to taste in my youth. He was a bastard, the old man, well that's what I had gotten for being his tenth son. Those were sad days.
Still I was going to meet a Primarch… A Primarch. If it had been any other Primarch, I confess I would be excited. To meet the Angel, just imagine, to speak face to face to the Angel Sanguinius and have his undivided attention for a few minutes… Or the Phoenician, what artistic miracles would he show me. Perhaps I could even ask for pointers for my own artistic projects, though I confess they are rather personal. However I would not be meeting either, I would be meeting Konrad Curze, THE NIGHTHAUTER. If there was a scion of the Emperor, beloved by all, that made me pause, to sap away any excitement at the prospect of being the center of attention was him. He was not the Angel, he was not the Phoenician. He was not even the supposedly blunt and no nonsense Lord of Medusa. The Nighthaunter was a monster. A monster and a son of the Emperor.
By sheer galactic position he had known the modus operandi of the Night Lords, by sheer galactic position and the fact that his ties to Triplex-Phall and the Mechanicum in it meant he was very aware of what happened in Nostramo´s neighbouring sector. Very aware that the eighth fought not like honorable knight pilots like those of his house, but rather with the use of fear.
It would have made his stomach turn if he was not on Nostramo, and the simple act of looking into a native´s eye already did that and more. Native nostramans looked so much like voidborn, their skin of the same parlor, their pupils so enlarged there was hardly any whiteness, but they were all too human. They were no mutation, no oddities that could justify it, they were like wights, with their eyes almost like the depth of the void, their skin giving them an otherworldly expression that made the skin crawl, those ancient spirits of the dead that his and many other worlds had tales about. Things that did not exist.
Still this was Nostramo, a Primarch homeworld, and the extremely few pict feeds that existed of him showed that his Imperial Majesty was just like them.
Suddenly after a long deep rumbling the music rose up rapidly, energy pooling like the stars in the heavens in the cold void. That was surprising, that brought a smile to my face. It seems that they do have a good taste of civilization, this cold depressing world.
"I am glad you enjoy the song, I picked it myself," a voice spoke.
I turned quickly to where it came from, for I hadn't heard anyone enter. I was met by a hooded man half a meter inside the room, the ornamented door behind him. It was clear he had just entered the room from the outside, as silently as the cat that now meowed a few meters from my side.
"Who are you?" I asked, raising Neo to his direction. An heirloom of my house it was a volkite weapon, small and portable it served just as well as my warmount.
"Be at peace High Sovereign," he said, removing the hood of his cloak, moving around the table unbothered by the weapon pointed at him, and grabbed a cup and poured wine, bonewine, almost too calmly.
His face revealed something that was very clear, not Nostraman. His skin was not of death´s parlor but a healthy beige hue, his eyes were neither dark nor bearing the oversized nostraman pupils, but rather small orbs of emerald inlaid by hazel, something that far too apparent as the dim light from the bulbs did a poor job overtaking the life from them.
"I hope the voyage from Grymm was not too hard." He was seated at the table´s head, the host´s place.
By this point my finger was softly caressing the trigger. After all? Who was this man, and where was security? I was in a Primarch´s palace, ignoring the lack of Astartes that I had expected, where were mortal guards? They may move as softly as a ghost but I know for a fact it is not deserted.
He eyed me sipping from that freshly filled cup and then he turned to me as I gave a quick glance at the rest of his clothing. His cloak was simple, yet the quality of its weave spoke of high standing. The faint gleam of silver at his collar suggested rank, though no insignia that I could see adorned it, and in his hand, in the finger grabbing the cup he bore a ring of what seemed blue silver.
"I thank you for answering the request." I straightened my back, a volkite weapon pointed squarely between his eyes before I answered.
"It was a Primarch´s request. Any loyal servant of the Imperium would have answered." A matter of factly answer. I wasn't about to give him anything when he had given me nothing.
He put the cup down, before he turned to me. "It was a legion request, to discuss matters of trade. Not a summon or a demand. Still in the name of the Eighth Primarch, I thank you for your presence. Even though it was me who requested your presence." He extended his arm, the palm of his hand open. "Take a seat, my Lord."
I cautiously seated myself again, keeping the pistol trailed on him.
"I am Melkor," he then said, far too honest for a politician. "The Primarch´s representative in all things not dealing with war."
Melkor. I had heard about this name, anyone who prized information here on the eastern fringe had heard. The man who out of nowhere had gotten a command of an expeditionary fleet. A man who sacrificed Astartes to save regular army men, the man threw a frigate into the heart of a defiant hive city. If all of the reports could be trusted, the latter had been how he had gotten the surrender of a dozen worlds.
A man whose origins were a mystery. A man I knew,if even half the stories were true, was dangerous. And yet, he seemed unthreatening, honest, almost... ordinary.
"And I must apologize for my lateness. I was with the Primarch inspecting the streets of his world."
It was at this moment I saw the insignia on his cloak, just enough to see what it was, the skull and the wings, the eighth´s legions symbols. The eighth's symbols… So he was not lying.
I lowered my weapon, slowly eyeing him. I was in a palace, a Primarch´s palace, if he did not trust the security in such a place, if he did not trust the workers in here there was no reason he could not trust the security in his own walls back home.
Even as tensions lowered I was on the backfoot. This man clearly knew that he was untouchable, casually speaking of the Primarch and his whereabouts. How much influence he had I did not know, truly know that he had, but he had the Primarch´s ear, that was more than clear. For an outsider to be brought here to this dark world, his ear alone most likely was not the extent this man could speak to. He most likely belonged to his inner circle. That sent down shivers.
"Lord Melkor." I greeted feigning ignorance of the incident a few moments before as he seemingly did the same while I had my gun trained on him. "No need to apologize. It is an honor to serve a son of the Emperor in any capacity."
He smiled. "High Suzerain, I have called you to discuss a prospective mining venture"
That was insulting. I am High Suzerain, not a paltry merchant, yet I kept my face unreadable. This was a game of politics now, and he did not seem to have much experience on it, his face too honest, but then again, he represented a Primarch, so he definitely was not incompetent.
"I am sure there is something more than a simple mining venture, Lord Melkor." I kept my tone even, though in his eyes I could do something unusual. As if it was shining, like the dull light of a star.
"Indeed there is. Tell me, High Suzerain Roman, have you heard of something called Noctilith?"
.
Ullanor… Armageddon… Both worlds notable, both worlds that the Imperium would believe to be separate, wondering why at the end so many of the green tide would fall upon it, yet they were one and the same, or rather they would be. For Armmagedon was still Ullanor, a planet to be moved by the Mechanicus of Mars across the galaxy. A planet with hills and mountains that would be flattened to allow for a triumph as grand as it was vain. A triumph that would herald the end.
Roman, that High Suzerain of the Knight world of Grymm, unknowingly could be seating the soulless. A world of the people that shattered Gods. In the distant future in a time I hope to never come, over half of Forge and Knight Worlds in the Imperium would be assaulted from beneath their very soil, as the soulless armies of the Necrons waged war over their populated tomb worlds to scour them and turn them into a lifeless husk, and in that time, this eastern fringe would belong to the Imperium.
Statistically the likelihood a tomb sleeps beneath Roman´s house is high enough to justify looking for Blackstone, that material that if what I believe to be the best path forward is will be crucial. Necron technology in general will be crucial. A diagram of the Pharos or a sister device would be most welcome, even if the eighth is more than capable of sailing the void without the Astronomicon.
Ideally, the fourth could also decry the empyrean, Nostramo becoming a home for renegades who defy the bundles of warp energy that call themselves gods. If the Lord of Iron, after the breaking of his home and the siege of the Emperor's palace, something still more than a decade away, came to the eastern fringe… He would have a lot to build, freedom he never had under his father, to build the marvels he did on Olympia a thousand times over, to be the architect and not the siege master. With him lighting the eastern fringe with Pharos´ devices wouldn't be as hard. Still it is dependent if he comes to the eastern fringe, if he desires to become a soulless, emotionless weapon, if he believes the Sea of Souls is the answer to his problems. Something I cannot predict.
In the end, I have to go to Ullanor. I have to sit at a table, most likely not with Primarchs but with the Legion representatives of those sons away. I have to endure Fulgrim, see what Horus is before what will become, to avoid giving too much away to Alpharius who will most certainly be there. I have to endure the annoying imperial nobility, self assured and prideful. I have to do all of that and still give a book to Sanguinius, from a brother to a brother. Something Konrad wrote in the time I had my meeting with Roman, after he arrived from the hive spires. I have to give one to Sanguinius, and at my urging to Konrad give a job opportunity for Perturabo.
It will not be a fun ceremony, I think, unless Fulgrim surprises me with something, though I doubt he will bother.
"Is that all my Lord?" A servant asks, as he holds my cloak, of midnight clad silk and silver, up for me to dress, my position now officially as the Primarch´s trusted advisor and representative provides me servants, all nostramans as customarily of the legion. I grab it and with a flowing movement it covers me. Then a second after I felt a weight land on my right shoulder, the cat, Tevildo, that had annoyingly followed me since that card game turned into a death trap that I narrowly avoided. I still see the faces of those dead in my mind.
"Yes,Varl, that will be all." I had chosen to keep only one, I did not need more.
Even then, ignoring Ullanor, the majority of the eighth will wear the red gauntlets. They will wear the red gauntlets and Nostramo will cease providing legionnaires for a time. Cairn, Flent, Okki, and Rebus taking up that duty as they switched from Auxilia regiments to Astartes Aspirants in their tithe to the Primarch, and Nostramo… Nostramo will give nothing but cold hard rock. For how long. I truly do not know, but they will give nothing until Curze says so. And when that is i have no idea.
I confess, this was suposed to be Ullanor, after 16th Chapter 16th Primarch. I do like that symbolism, but then i started writing and we got this.
I would have had to tackle it either way soo. Have fun. Hope you like it.
Hope you had a great Christmas (obvioussly for those who celebrate it) and i hope you have a great New Year.
See you next time.