The Arkifane Meets the Liberator

If you told Me years before my arrival at Slawkenberg that I would be meeting two separate Daemons in my lifetime, I would have most likely died of a heart attack.

Unfortunately I didn't have the luxury. When Jafar had asked for the council to convene due to a visitor that had requested an audience. This was the last thing I would have wanted to speak to.

The Daemon in question is massive, the size of nearly two Astartes in height, perhaps two exactly if its posture was perfectly upright. Eyes and mouth a orange glow as though illuminated by bulbs. Body gray as ash. And with so many mechanical augments I'd thought Jafar's cabals had finally went off the deep end and started manufacturing some unholy conglomerate of Daemon and machine with the BORG. Despite this it is completely unmarked by the typical paraphernalia you'd expect of Chaos.

The council is eying the creature with as much caution as I, which certainly isn't helping my inner panic.

"Cain, The Black Commissar, Liberator of Slawkenberg. True Warmaster of Chaos. Bringer of Empyrean Tranquility. I am Vashtorr the Arkifane, Master of the Soul Forges, God in the Machine. I am here to offer my services to your cause." It proclaims.

Panicking, I quickly answer with a question to stall for time. "And what services are those, Vashtorr?" Unfortunately the Daemon laughed. Fearing the worst I braced for the monster to call my bluff.

"As unflappable as they claimed, wonderful. I am here to offer my services. Construction and gifting of Daemon Weapons and Daemon Engines for showing your power beyond imagining. Equipment even the Despoiler would not be given." It explained.

The council merely blinks in surprise, the jerk that Tesilon-Kappa released showed that the offer was a bigger deal than I understood.

"And at what cost?" I blurted, throat dry. Forcing my eyes to stay open as a squint rather than letting them close themselves completely.

The creature released a dry chuckle, is it playing with me?

"What you have done has already paid several lifetimes of service. Your Bringers of Renewed Greatness, everything about your territories. The life of your forges, the fire of your industries, the innovation. You have done what I could have only hoped could occur in a fantasy. Your acceptance of innovation, of building that which has never been instead of what has been. The technological upbringing you have foisted upon the Materium. Your actions have empowered me beyond even my own greatest attempts. I am beholden to none, but what you have done? You complete me. More than the finest of technological advancements. It grins. Tightening its grip on the hammer it has.

"There's also this." He says before laying a book down, one I recognized from the public library. In Defence of the Future: A Logical Discourse. A so-called heretical text that argued in defense of secular innovation (and the violent overthrow of Imperial authority, but mostly secular innovation). "Despite throwing your lot in with Chaos, you allowed religious freedom. Including the lack of faith. You proliferated my book. My ideals. Your life..."

"I cherish it." The creature finishes its praises. The mechadendrite-esque back implants shifting in delight with the Daemons words.

Suddenly it feels as though Emeli was back in the Materium. Matter of fact, Krystabel grimaced strangely when the monster completed its essay.

Oh by the Emperor, Emeli was listening. Not wanting her to throw a temper tantrum I quickly respond.

"I hope these constant platitudes aren't an attempt at replacing Emeli in my life, Arkifane." I say with a forced frown.

The creature blinks. "No."

The sigh of relief from the entire council was audible despite it happening in their minds.

"Good." I respond, attempting to sound brusque.

~PoV Shift~

"Good." The Traitor Commissar says. Disdain present in his voice. Vashtorr was hoping the platitudes would aid in the deal going smoothly, but it merely upset the Liberator. Damn it. He feels the perverse eyes of a Slaaneshi Daemon observing him through the supposed concubine, the "handmaiden" that is within the room.

"I'm certain you've noticed the rules I've ensured the council follow, why would I compromise them for your sake?" The Liberator asks, yes, the rules against sacrifices.

"I assure you such things will not be needed on your side of things, I can fulfill the necessary prerequisites to bring the aid directly to you without you compromising anything." He assures.

Suddenly the Mechanicus adept quickly walks to the Liberator, Vashtorr's imps quickly attempt to infest the Adept's vox to listen in...but they were halted by Tzeentchian wards. Turning his eyes towards the blue robed individual that accepted his presence here he notices a surprisingly direct glare coming from the supposed Trickster cultist. Damnation.

The Commissar nods and turns to him. "And the behavior of said Engines? The corruption of said armaments? Even if your proposition is truly one of thanks, there are always cheaper metals beneath Auramite leaf." Vashtorr was incandescent at the rusting vermin. But before he could lose control. He noticed a hound-like silhouette sitting upon a throne within the Commissar's warp-shadow. Before noticing the hues of a few other Greater Warp Denizens. Including gold.

This...this is no mere mortal. There are no strings here. No ploys. Khorne would have his head, Tzeentch doesn't want things changed against this man. And he has the true love of Slaanesh's newest toy. As well as the damned glow of the Anathema. Vashtorr, for all his powers granted by his neutrality; If a deal is to be made here, must be one of either true positive aid or one of pure neutrality.

How...how had he been so blind!? "I assure you, the Engines are as well behaved as a Daemon can be. The armaments on the other hand...protections admittedly would be required for those unused to such energies. Do we have a deal? Commissar?" Vashtorr truly just wants out of this terrible situation.

The Liberator walks to his council, hearing their opinions. The trickster cultist catches his attention, and listens closest to him. He then closes his eyes, and exhales. Before walking up to him with an expression that would put most Cadians to shame

"Vashtorr the Arkifane, God in the Machine, Master of the Soul Forges. As long as this deal is of benefit to Slawkenberg, its people, me and my Council. I accept your deal. In the name of Slaanesh, the Dark Prince of love. Tzeentch, The Architect of Hope. Khorne, The Hound-King of Honor. And the Anathema. As well as the bond I share with Emeli, Keeper Princess of Adoration. This deal shall be honored as one of aid and respect and may neither of us betray the other directly nor indirectly. Or suffer in eternity for breaking it." The Commissar finishes. His right hand being left out, swirling with an Empyrean Kaleidoscope. Openly grimacing in rage, Vashtorr accepts his hand. The damned Council sneering at his façade breaking.

~Months Later, Cain PoV~

"Zerayah, what did I tell you about being near these things?! Please stop chasing the poor creature!" She merely laughs as she runs after a Daemon Engine, a "Soul Grinder" (and wasn't that a wonderfully pleasant name) dedicated to Khorne. Which was strangely animated with mirth as it stampeded away from the comparatively miniature menace that was after it. Vashtorr didn't renege on the deal. The Daemon Engines were a lot more behaved than expected too. Matter of fact, they all seemed to have a strange happiness to them since they arrived on Slawkenberg. In the privacy of my own mind I've found myself admitting they're cute on rare occasion. No Nurglish (or whatever way you say it) ones though, thank the Emperor.

Maybe I should invite Vashtorr for some recaf? Wait, what in the warp am I thinking? By the throne, I've been around these fanatics for too long.

"Zerayah! Please get back here!" I yell. Following behind the controlled catastrophe of a demon machine that's letting a technical child chase it. Jurgen calmly following behind.

AN: How'd I do?