Inspired by your post:
Sarius could only hope that whatever happened here wouldn't be a warning of things to come for the galaxy. Even on their approach, they had heard that ships of the Protectorate were appearing over dozens of worlds that the imperium held control over, and that the local population was rising in revolt. As much as Sarius felt the desire to see what they were doing as glorious and wise, thought that they had traded a dozen worlds for one building, in one city on one planet resonated quite deeply within his core. A city they were going to have to pull out of soon enough, as the local forces were beginning to get more organized, and it was only a matter of time before they began pushing them out of their positions and running them down. And despite himself, he was beginning to question the actions of this Inquisitor, and the Imperium that put so much trust into him.
Yet more inspiration...The Liberator's Desktop Paperweight Collection (Part 3)
Jafar leaned back in the the same sort of folding chair that proud slawkenberg parents hauled along in their groundvans to the sporting matches of their offspring, and meditated upon the brilliance of the Liberator's latest strategem.
The delegation from the Imperium was approaching, lead by the same blond Inquisitor the Liberator had so adeptly manipulated into declaring his war against Grandfather Nrugle and firmly cementing an obvious primary loyalty to the creed of Change.
The Liberation Palace was still in enemy hands, oh, yes. But not for long. The stiff-spined inquisitor bearing the Imperial standard held aloft flapped bravely, but it was an entirely empty bravado. Jafar suppressed a smirk as he eyed the Liberator sprawled with casual felid grace across his own chair, the same he'd taken to watch his daughter play at sporting events so many times before. The man was clearly enjoying the moment to score a stunning moral victory. The common plastic cup was a nice touch, Jafar thought, but the delightful insult of the straw, as curly, twisty, and brightly colored as the horn of one of tzeenches more powerful demons, was the cherry on top- as was the tiny, slurping sound has the Liberator sucked up the last of his drink right as the unflinching Inquisitor passed.
He remembered the Liberator calling him to heel during the invasion. The words still burned in his ears as the master manipulator called out his mistake as if he was but a neophyte in the great game. And Jafar was still an neophyte, compared to Cain. It was no shame to lose to someone with such skill.
"JAFAR!" the liberator had screamed. "LEAVE THOSE USELESS TRINKETS!" He'd waved his bolt pistol at the mass of clerks, maids, petitioners, and juves milling in the hall as the palace shook with the surprise attack. He and said "THOSE ARE THE TREASURES OF LIBERATION. PULL YOUR TWISTY TZEENCHIAN HEAD OUT OF YOUR EGO AND COVER OUR PEOPLE!"
And the liberator had been entirely right, for look at what such treasures had done. The liberation's budget and finances had been Jafar's charge for years, although so much of the things Cain had chosen to spend had puzzled Jafar. He puzzled no longer, as the sheer genius of all the treasure spent upon the capital repaid the Liberator's generosity a thousandfold, as Slawkenberg rose again. Freed of concern for their leader, the might of Slawkenberg had not only resisted, not only rebelled, but reveled as ordinary men and women took up arms against space marines...and won.
He watched in appreciation as the Inquisitor dissappeared into the gates of the Palace, bearing the news to the last holdouts of the Seige of Slawkenberg that they had been ordered to rereat, and sipped his own drink, from his own curly straw.
-
"We have failed, inquisitor. The sergeant said, heavily. "We will pay with our lives for this shame to the Emperor-"
"You will do NO SUCH THING!" Snapped Amberly Vail. "You did *not* fail. The artifacts you recovered were worth the price you paid- but it is done, and there's nothing more to win here. You will not waste the lives of the *only remaining space marines in the Damocles gulf on a -pointless- last stand while a *hive fleet* eats the rest of the sector alive. Furthermore, you will *not* further humiliate the Emperor, the Imperium, and least of all, me by giving Cain the opportunity to send another one of *these.*"
She flung the paper at the hulking, battle-scarred space marine. It didn't even have the decency to be official parchiment, and the lack of formality was it's own grievious insult, as the plain slip of paper was merely the sort of office memo one passed to an underling.
"Vail." It said, "I wish you the joy of the dangerous weapons you so carelessly left for me to clean up. Perhaps, consider better locks for the imperium's toys. I would be remiss in my duty to the Commissariat, the Imperium, and the Emperor to neglect to tell you to come collect your boys from the drunken victory party they threw at my house, get their asses sobered up, and get them back on the line before the Great Devourer eats Fecundia.- Commessar Cain."
The Space Marine sergeant bleached white, then flushed *red,* drawing up his massive, transhuman bulk in the shattered remains of this ceramite armor. Amberly didn't care. She let her rage off its leash, calling one of the Emperor's own Angels of Death to heel with nothing but her own fury. "Your lives are the emperors currency, adn you do not DARE waste HIS coin against an enemy you cannot beat. You WILL do your duty. We are LEAVING, Sergeant!" She hissed. "Now collect your men and let's *go* before we get *another* lecture on duty from a *heretic* who has you out so outnumbered, outclassed, and surrounded that his smug, traitorous arse can enjoy the opportunity to dictate the Imperium it's duty and be *right.*"
-
As the furious space marines marched passed, Jafar could not resist. The Liberator was worth emulating, after all. He very much enjoyed the expressions on transhuman faces as the insouciant sound floated across the palace lawn and into their ears as Jafar's curly straw sucked up the last of a quite excellent drink.
-
Apothecary Gervais, the last surviving apothecary of a host of over a dozen chapters, pushed aside the sting of humiliating defeat in favor salavaging what he could. He pushed aside the image of thousands of helmeted space marine heads, piled high in 'Liberation Square', within sight of the beleaguered defenders hunkered down in the 'Liberation Palace.' He pushed aside the images of red-armored humans, proudly adding to the heap, seating themselves atop the pinnacle of the ever-growing pile. The khornates had obviously been making an honor of it, though it was odd that each one seemed to take their turn at the top of the pile instead of offering their blasphemous token to some seated figure of power. Gervais wondered if it had something to do with the ridiculous creed of egalitarianism shouted from vox-casters as the defenders, before deciding abruptly he was too tired to care.
What was one more insult among the many suffered so far? The inquisitor's words burned in his mind. He would mourn the loss later. At the moment, with no sacred sanitorium, no barriers to hide chapter mysteries from the unholy eyes of the heretic, he still he had a duty to the living, and an even greater duty to not sell his life in the memory of his brothers while so many needed his expert care.
The red-armored transhuman approaching his makeshift field sanitorium was another unpleasant surprise. He recognized the taint of the traitor Angron's get, the temporary sanity that cleared the eyes of the madmen. Much became suddenly clear, for the temporary clarity of the traitor marine could only have been bought with the blood of Gervais' battle brothers, and his extended, self control must implied the tally in lives had been in the thousands. But guarding the remains of 11 chapters, Apothicary Gervais knew the exact tally with which the World Eater had bought his monstrous sanity.
*This* had been the enemy, the weapon that had slaughtered so many of his brothers, and he wondered how the notoriously beserker chapter had stayed so thoroughly hidden until now, and where the rest of his foul brothers had to be. They weren't exactly renowned for their subtlety.
A casket hovered by the marine's side.
"A gift from the liberator." The World Eater said, aping the curt battlefield courtesy of far more honorable marines. The Apothecary clenched his teeth and accepted the holy remains of this fallen comrade, only to freeze as the meaning of the ancient archeotech, the icons of the life-support casket registered to his trained senses.
The chapter master inside...*wasn't dead.* Was *completely recoverable.*
He raised burning eyes to the World Eater, who nodded in even more curtly, and carefully passed the casket to Grevase. The Apothicary's resolutely steady hands even more carefully *did not snatch.* He could not bring himself to speak, but managed the ghost of an...acknowledgement. The barest nod, before turning to go.
"Hold, Apothocary."
Words burst from the Marine. "You've had your victory, traitor. Enjoy it." He spat. "Leave me to duty to those loyal sons who survived your treason!"
The traitor allowed himself marine rumbled. "I need to know where you want the other 8,024 life support modules. A word though-" The eyes suddenly hardened, and the madness Gervais remembered so well from the last time he's put down one of Angron's rabid dogs flared in his eyes- "If you harm so much as one hair on the head of any of their attendant medicae, your skull will be my throne. To your duty, medicae. Where do you want the others?"
He turned, waving one transhuman arm at a convoy of lorries behind him, and Apothecary Gervais was abruptly far, far to busy snapping orders at heretical orderlies entertain feelings of shame and humiliation as his mandate exploded from a bare hundred to the 11 full chapters of direly wounded marines- every one of which, though helmetless, *was still alive.*
-
Vail gritted her teeth as another shipment arrived from the surface of Slawkenberg. 8,024 helmets, stacked in the shape of a throne.
-
The Palace was a complete and utter mess, but the Borg, with their characteristic terrifying efficiency, were putting it to rights with a speed I no longer bothered to be surpised with. Despite my express orders to rebuild the housing for the palace staff first, they'd firmly put down their mechandendrites and insisted my quarters be second.
My restored office looked exactly the same, down to the dent in my desk where, once, in a careless and thankfully unseen fit of dispair, I'd bashed my head against the desk.
I didn't know how, but I'd gotten away with it. I'd gotten way with panicking, screaming in sheer cowardice at my subordinates, and abandoning Slawkenberg to the imperium...with my reputation entirely intact, and, horror of horrors, even gotten Slawkenberg *back.* Hector venerated me like a God. Jafar thought another scheme of mine had bloomed to fruition. Zeraya has been fiercely pleased that I considered her art project my most valuble possession. Thankfully Krystobal was annoyed that, with the destruction of the house of Remembrance, Emeli and her Slaaneshi had been sidelined, deprived of a chance to compete for my entirely nonexistant favor. The fact that it had required extensive smoothing of ruffled feathers weirdly reassured me, or I'd have thought the universe had run completely mad.
My restored office had one welcome change. There was a notable absence of horrifyingly powerful artifacts, and I breathed a sigh of relief that at least this farce had *one* intended outcome: the whole pox-rotted collection was *out of my hands.*
I set the snowglobe back in it's accustomed place.
There was a knock, and I called 'Enter.'
Jafar came in, a small, pleased smile presaging what he thought was moderately good news.
"The restoration of Slawkenberg will be complete in three days." He reported with, to give the man credit, entirely deserved pride. The man really was insanely good at his job. Then, with an even more pleased smile, he produced *something* from the folds of his robe. "And so, a paltry token. It's not much, but I do hope now we can make a start on restoring your collection..."
I forced a smile and suppressed a scream.