Thousands of years in the making.
Setback after setback.
One goal always in his sights.
His most important test, the proof of concept that'd either mark his triumph or the need for more steps into his unending strive… Was a success.
The only time He'd seen humanity reconquer its Galaxy so quickly was when the Lextimorum Munitiat; proud ally of his, had used his formations of True human troopers to annihilate the men of iron after their culling campaigns shortly before the Long night.
Yet, whenever He uttered that name… Test, it made Him irk. As a coalescence of souls he knew His purpose, and theirs. Yet, maybe because of that, other words felt more appropriate to call them.
Tools, experiments, concepts made flesh, artwork; even hopes. All hiding the faintest cry of what they were not: Children. His Children.
To uplift humanity, approaching His species to the heights they Had been robbed of by the taint, such was their purpose. The Astartes were only a useful byproduct to reclaim what was lost.
He let them call Him father. He called them His children, letting them share a lie across the stars that everyone ate like desperate children holding to the scraps of kindness strangers provide in mere smiles.
Only a few out of them all were even meant to live along with Him, perhaps eventually finding the kinship He had shared only with other perpetuals.
Once before He had indeed been called father, and He'd smile without any facade overshadowing the truth His soul bore. This wasn't that time, nor were they born from any real love other than the one He had for His species.
At one point He might've smiled at their forms with a joy other than the one an engineer has for perfect blueprints, but seeing their flaws overstep His design brought Him to the cold reality enveloping Him.
Erda had warned Him that it would be His refusal of His own humanity that would lead to Him doubting, thus failing.
Malcador served as an anchor that prevented that, or so He thought.
After all, wasn't He just the vessel that humanity would use to arrive to their golden age?
Or should the ship be remade into a memorial, forever cherished by those He helped ferry across the now-tamed ocean?
One cycle ago the 17th had pleaded for just His voice to resonate in its ears. Such devotion wasn't from religious zeal, rather the need to feel the pride of the all-knowing father.
They asked for something He refused to provide, lest it make Him fall into the depths He knew they would want Him to crash onto; ready to be devoured. It was as much a refusal of His humanity, as it was a protection of the same gift He bore.
This was an issue that soon would expand into every confine of His creations' minds. So He needed a solution, now.
Malcador seemed to be the first answer; serving as a closer authority than him; sharing details He would not, should not.
Yet now, particularly after the 11th's betrayal, that bridge had burned down. The name Sigillite flaring from their mouths instead of Malcador as they fondly used to call him everytime they visited the Palace.
Introducing Erda would be what the taint wanted. She had already made one mistake. It was better if she was left in her namesake, protecting the cradle of Humanity until the end of her days.
Ollenius indeed had the heart for this mission, He knew he was the best choice; but he had ideas that if introduced to the Primarchs would be too dangerous, spreading the same seeds of civil war in the future He sought to prevent.
Most other perpetuals had fled Him across the ages; for His pride, as Erda claimed. By the 7th millenium most had gone hiding. Through the years He had killed them as they challenged His ways, or kept them in a tight leash. And none of them had the closeness to aid Him in this.
If only Astarte were still alive.
He needed someone who understood the perils, the dangers; and yet carried the torch of humanity in a way He wouldn't allow nor had the time for; as the webway project called Him.
Someone who He trusted. Not to infect them with ideals incompatible with His plan. Not to use them, but to love them.
While He thought about this, He had moved with grace across the room, His hands working tirelessly across wires, crystals and plating, diligently working along with his closest team of engineers from the Custodes in this beacon for the future of humanity.
Only one person knew what torments clouded his gaze. And so he spoke, wordlessly, the message reaching His mind telepathically.
"My Lord, what is that thou seeketh?"
There was no need to turn around to know who was in the heart of the Imperium.
Nor was there a need to hide his preoccupations; he likely had felt them already.
"Indeed, there is something that worries me, Malcador." - He admitted, without any movements other than the ones to refine an actuator in one of the conduits of the throne. - "It is related to the Primarchs."
He wanted for him to understand the plea silently, maybe offering less resistance for his telepathy to understand His thoughts.
Thousands of years of companionship… Friendship… Had given him the insight to indeed understand what he meant without needing to feel anything but the rain within the ocean that was the Emperor's soul.
He walked closer to the Emperor, with slow steps.
"Guidance?" - Was his simple question, to confirm his thoughts.
It was odd, after all. While indeed he was an advisor, and so were His closest custodians, the necessity of such aides implicated that the last shines of proper care beyond utilitarianism was shining.
"Indeed." - With only that word he knew what should be his next dialogue.
In him there was little knowledge of those close to Him that weren't lost across the stars or already within the grasp of His eyes.
Though he could've sought anyone, even a mortal; he understood that the Emperor in truth sought a surrogate to perform the duties He couldn't perform. Much like the 'parents' the 13th had before being found.
For this duty, there should not be any window for death, as it could lead to sorrow, and thus to distress, rage; to the taint. No window for absence, as it'd lead to desperation once the hearts fluttered with that which made them still humans; despite their artificial origin.
The only one he knew that could fit such a description was one the Emperor had told him about a long time ago; and who he had met once his fiefdom joined the Imperium without any resistance; and walked through the halls of this very palace every century.
A perpetual, yes, one that hadn't dared defy the Master of Humanity… Or at least had survived after doing so. Someone who had been the sword while He was the quill.
A protector of humanity who dared always be public, unlike any of their peers. With psychic might not even comparable to his own; but still noticeable to seek into the souls of the Primarchs.
Old enough to be wise, and experienced enough to be smart.
As the image flared into his mind; He rose up from his knees and immediately smiled, proudly. - "Thank you." - He said, clearly, from his own mouth rather than psychic might.
Malcador nodded; and bowed himself, getting on his knees to work in what his master was; as he strode to the communications room within the castle.
The Sigillite was taken by surprise. Out of all the stories of times long gone; He always spoke of this man as a constant source of mediocrity that only sought perfection in banal opportunities, never aiding in the grand plan beyond what He called "tokens of grace".
Yet, he would not defy his wishes. Let him choose that man as his champion for this trial.
Unbeknownst to him, in his inner monologue before he came; He had already thought of His aide for this test before Malcador had summoned his image.
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The Athena sector had been taken quickly.
When the first hordes of Imperial ships left Mars, an enigmatic "We were expecting you" came along.
Though primitive at first sight, the splendor of human cities spread across hundreds of worlds, fortresses built in each system, had been a surprise the Imperium didn't take lightly.
The Emperor himself visited its capital, talking to the one who dared claim it as his 'Empire'; finishing with a reunion between the two, and the signature of a concordat, annexing the Aethenan Empire as the Athena Sector, a 'Duchy' of the Imperium.
It quickly became a bulwark of Imperial logistics, granted permissions to develop arcane technologies thought lost; a core of pragmatism that tried to emulate the 20th millennium they remembered fondler than the 25th.
To many, it had been a surprise, but all the Lords were prohibited from doing more than collecting tithes. The Master of Mankind ensured so.
No outside forces other than hordes of Imperial knights could enter and do 'tours' against an enemy no one but them knew.
All visitors to it, be them Imperial Regiments seeking mass medical services or envoys approved by Malcador himself, told of something only comparable to Ultramar. Vehicles different than the ones they knew, troopers clad as scions; Hive Cities they called 'Arcologies' instead; and swaths of ships patrolling a seemingly unsuspecting speck of Imperial space; a fully militarized sector of space that constantly cheered for victories both within the great crusade and in an inner conflict they just knew was against Chaos.
The foodstuff, alloys, batteries, and other products flowing from the system had become coveted even as they poured constantly. Rare vehicles meant for duties no one coud understand soon being paid for by some planetary defense forces; sometimes even complete frigates of odd designs.
Some asked why did this sector of space rival even the mightiest places on Terra. Only to point to the leader of this alien place within the Imperium, the "Quartermaster", as he titled himself; for it was Amadeus the name everyone knew, but felt not the right to speak it out loud.
Those lucky enough to know about the innards of the system knew that he was supposed to be immortal; leading them through the Long Night through a series of quantum computers he had installed in the capitals; and sublight ships keeping them united through the millennia. They had regressed, but never fallen into chaos as other cradles of humanity had.
They relished this reputation. After all, even if they didn't understand the name of their system; they knew the face of their icon; the helmeted woman holding a spear and a scroll: Athena, what she meant; and how they reflected it. Thus, they coveted having a living embodiment as their mandatorum, someone who was under the only mightier than him.
Having said that, one thing only a few people had ever heard, were the words of the Emperor: That one day, the favor of letting the Quartermaster have his own duchy would be paid for.
That day came now.
He stood in the bridge of the Acropolis; answering the doubts of the local governors. Long before the Crusade had initially been declared after the Unification wars were over; they already had solved their scarcity, and fled into the arms of times back to the 3rd millennium. Thus, their only preoccupation was keeping the governors as proud warhounds that sought only glory in sending token forces to aid in the countless wars around them; to ensure no sedition peered through.
Gone were the years in which he actually stood as the leader of an Empire, now he was just the overseer of an institution that outgrew him.
Yet, it was the best possible outcome, for now.
Now he could feel that rest was soon to come, after finishing with today's consultations; he hoped.
"Only nine armored divisions from the deep reserve, nothing more, we can't let out first-grade maneuver units stretch away from our frontlines." - He corrected, to one system governor clad in furs like an ancient Beowulf; a crown befitting from his system's culture. The man looked stern, and nevertheless nodded gracefully if begrudgingly.
"I assume we are only to use Imperial equipment, are we not?" - His voice had a tint of sadness. After all, they had entire moons filled with stockpiled equipment meant to arm a general mobilization; why couldn't they tap onto it instead of the machines made by their only Mechanicus' ordained Forge world?
Thus, the Quartermaster reminded him why they were kept alone. - "And leave the Singing Palace guarded by something other than our best?"
The very name shook the man. It was anathema to speak of that world. Their men were sent as tithes to the Imperial Army only to be returned so they could then be sent there. That the Quartermaster reminded him of it meant that he wouldn't budge, he was slipping out from his favor. A core of evil that even the Emperor couldn't eliminate, thus why he allowed the duchy to exist.
"I will only take five, my Lord, you will see, this and the Regiments you've provided will sate the Council of Terra." - Proudly proclaimed the man in the furs, placing a hand on his bearded chin. - "When we come back, I will lead my men straight into the Heart of Madness myself if needed."
Admiration flared across the quartermaster's olive brow. He warmly smiled at his son, as was everybody within his duchy.
"I will allow you, however, to take one Cavalry regiment and its airwing from your system's quick reaction forces into the crusade, contact your benefactor immediately after this."
This was his reward for remembering his place, and duty. A token that would lead him surely to victory.
"As is your will, Father Munitorum." - The name came out with delight. That would be enough to ensure that his sluggish Imperialis-patterned forces tore through well-scouted pores in defense. He bowed, almost to his knees. To do so to a man who seemed only half his age was seemingly odd at first, but the Quartermaster let his position be known with grace; as he replied with a warm tone.
"Do not disappoint me, or the Emperor, child, and come back to your brethren a Champion to defend us against our enemies."
The people in the bridge felt a shiver go down their spine; as soon enough a flare of psychic might turned the console off; the officers and bureaucrats working with the man going still, eyes closed, ears clenching. The bridge oversaw a city reminiscent of Ultramar itself, but the buildings didn't reach for the sky, but their own perfection in geometric pursuit: flared with golden light.
The doors were closed, and the guards behind the ornate gates; despite their 'Scale-Pattern' Power armor and genetic perfection second only to the Emperor's own Astartes; fell to their knees, weapons on the ground.
Nevertheless, the Quartermaster remained still, standing, hands behind his back, gripping eachother's wrists. He knew what this was, what it meant; privacy.
For whom?
For he and the only person capable of doing this,
"High Munitiat. Third Asceolate of the Human Mandate, Duke of Athena."
His echo loudly made everyone, if they were not already frozen in stasis; unable to even live through this segmentum of space-time being warped through sheer psychic might.
Time ago he'd try his best to counteract this energy souring through his entire body. Time ago he also learnt the futility of it. When Terra was called Earth, Tierra, Erde; he might've had a chance to at least flare his own portion of the gift; now he only waited for his message.
From the projector that just a real-time second ago had shown one of his prodigal sons from the Stella Nors System; a mining centre; he now had the image of none other than the Emperor himself.
The sight was awe-inspiring, for while most others saw the idyllic facade he'd learned to brand; he had known him for longer than most. A golden visage clad in armor as ornate as it was protective.
Amadeus knew what was behind those eyes, his idealized version was barely human, a creature, a maelstrom made from pure unadulterated psychic might condensed behind a mask.
There was no need to hide himself. Not even to give him the same respect others did. After all, they knew each other far too well for that.
So the Quartermaster smiled, giving him a warm look that spoke of fondness; and he muttered:
"It really takes you twenty years to talk to your family, doesn't it?"
For a second he saw the maw behind the mask contort into a smile, only for it to disappear.
"I've come to reclaim our deal." - He spoke, unmoving, telepathically lashing out his message across the stars.
Oh, the condition to keep this as his own segmentum to rule, rather than take it by himself and appoint his astartes or even a son to guard the Song of Songs.
He was surprised he had no answer for his call about them being 'family'. They were not related by blood, and only after the Quartermaster during his days in the ages of Emperors back on Earth saw the Anathema having families did this game of calling himself his little brother came about, even if only between each other, never to be heard by anyone else bar a few other perpetuals.
This only ensured that he feared what he might ask. So he gently nodded, waiting for the judgment.
"Tell me, is your duty within your duchy finished?"
The question was rhetorical, they both knew it was a subtext. The Quartermaster however didn't know for what it was, so he merely said: - "No. But my sons know already their duty; if I died today, we would keep progressing, expanding, securing." - There was an underline of pride along his words; but they were truthful; not only because thanks to the psychic might subduing him he could not lie: but because there was no reason to hide anything.
"Why?" - He added, after a few seconds of pondering.
Slowly the mask dissipated to let the maelstrom of the warp form into a visage, a pair of eyes staring into his soul, the golden light turning a dimming blue.
"What is your next step?"
Plain, yet effective in making him keep talking. The Quartermaster used this moment of warp-stillness to walk across the room, caress the faces of his appointed sons and daughters, to see what they were working on, smiling with pride. And then, figuratively baring his back to him he said: - "I'll take some vacations." - Slowly, his head turned, short hair bristling onto the robes his people had long ago made for him. - "Wanna accompany me?"
The visage, no longer burdened by the mask indeed showed a simple smile. This was as much sentiment as he had ever truly seen from him. The Emperor was trusting him with this, not only with the anger from the times they fought each other; not with the disdain from when he was in his lowest moments; not the pride from his campaigns against the Men of Iron.
No, he was genuinely glad he had said something like this.
So, as bound-breaking as he was, he turned around with a little jump and asked, hands to his sides, almost comically so. - "Is that a yes?!" - He loudly let out, the warp flickering for a bare second under the emotion of pure joy that invaded his words.
And just as the smile grew, that same flicker made the Emperor turn into the mask once again, and his directive to be laid bare: - "Kneel, Polt Amadeus, please."
For a brief moment, he'd let himself be distracted, a privilege he didn't have, as much as this little man would desire so.
The Quartermaster gulped, the usage of his first name akin to the feeling of the utterance of the name of the Singing Palace for his brethren.
This wasn't just the Emperor talking to him. It was a man he'd met once, walking through Cicilia shortly after he'd achieved immortality through the gift of his lance touching the true divine… That man was talking to him, not the Emperor. That last word hammering the gravitas of the situation.
Immediately he gulped and fell to his knees to properly pay respect to Him, the same way He had for him ever since He took the mantle of mankind openly.
Hands on the floor, head bowed down.
The situation had been the inverse some six thousand years ago when He requested his protection as only his protection would allow his experiments to continue. Now, it was time to properly do things.
Under the mask, a slight frown appeared. - "I have a destination for your vacations." - The metaphor irked His 'tongue', nevertheless, the man understood and nodded. So he continued echoing: - "It is time indeed, for family."
Polt could sense that this was not what He truly felt, but if this was the language He'd chosen, thus he would bow to it.
No words followed, he expected him to be clearer to understand his message.
"You dare call humans lesser than you, sons; cheer for their achievements; give them tools to prevent their death. You are a father." - He retold, with a tone of melancholy He tried to hide but couldn't from someone who had the visage of His soul imprinted onto countless memories. - "You are what I show."
The admission made the Quartermaster recoil, shifting his head to meet the gaze of the Emperor head-on, brows raised, fingers curling. This was as if one of the horsemen of Apocalypse was riding in the distance, prophecizing his demise.
To admit what he had observed, what Erda had observed, it was unfathomable. So there must be a reason why He sought to elate him with that mask of preoccupation.
Some words crashed onto his vocal cords but dared not come out, so he opened his mouth and just pleaded silently for clarification once more.
"Ridiculously uncaring sometimes, too lax, without ambition, trying for the future we both know our kin deserves in such small scopes that they are in the end just a kilogram more on the slave's back." - He turned to chastise him; more to soothe his own mind after his previous words than anything more; if he knew Him as well as he thought.
After finishing, even the mask blinked, for the final request came: "I need you to take care of the Primarchs just how you've cared for just a speck of dust in space protecting a hole in reality a shield of custodes would've kept at bay for millennia."
This was as much praise as it was a berating notion. A waste of resources, that nevertheless proved effective, done with care.
There was also a threat there, though. He could replace him if he wanted; He didn't see an issue in using His mightiest force to do the job he was currently performing; so he had to listen.
Inside the Lord of Athena, there was an awe as his only superior wanted this, wanted him.
He wanted to lash out, say that he was not prepared, there's a reason he never knocked on wood and took fatherhood for more than the tries that prove that the immortal soul of any perpetual can be shaken by the unstoppable force of another human's heart.
To take care of the Primarchs… It was unfathomable, not only did he doubt their humanity, but he doubted how could he ever do this; most importantly, why should he do this.
In times gone he'd insult the Master of Mankind and berate him for not knowing what to do and push the burden onto him. The Emperor knew this, and so his gaze was unforgiving. Thus the only thing he could do was ask Him: "Out of all the motives, what moved you to ask this? And, why me?" - Spoke the man without permission to do so.
Nevertheless, he saw the mask turn onto itself, to show the laces tying it to the improbable face it clad. - "There is a cloud over them; but the lightning will strike soon, and I know not whom to protect."
Chaos is what He was talking about. The fall some perpetuals had gone through, people he accompanying Him had slain through the ages.
To anchor them to reality, to humanity, to… There it was, his answer to the second question; guided by the lullaby of the psychic might of the Great Lord. He needed to give the Primarchs the paternal figure they never had, to give them the love the Emperor had only for humanity, thus couldn't focus in them.
He saw the joy of the inhabitants of his domain as proof that his touch could drive them closer to having what they sought, and never could grasp.
He had to be honest, his whole project was basically unknown to him; indeed he had talked to the Emperor and even walked within the throne, jesting with Him, sharing what he saw as a friendship. The bare knowledge he had in biology had been used too to aide in the program, the one lead by Astarte and Erda.
Yet… hadn't he been the one to be as loyal as Malcador, to betray his friends to follow the Emperor's plan? To betray HER?
The guilt made him gulp. Summoning all of his efforts he shielded his mind from his faraway probing, allowing him to stand.
He had a purpose, a debt to pay the Primarchs. This was his chance; and maybe this is why he got chosen beyond what he could do.
Faces he still remembered as vividly as before, heartbeats and kicks from times he was under a lethal oath not to share… They now were the leaders of the Imperium.
The 19th had designs eclipsing the Athenian ones in the stealth department, truly becoming a master of warfare that made him jealous in how the concept of strategic destruction had been mastered so throughly. The 3rd's worlds were as splendorous as they could be, even if the conquers fell short compared to the rest; they produced true houses of art that kept the rest of the Imperium sedated with songs, movies, delicacies, and tools proper for any respectable engineer. The 13th even had an Imperium bigger than his Duchy, with its own client states; controlling a strict 1% of the Imperium within its civil core; and the legion of the Ultramarines holding a surprising 8% percent of the gains from the crusade.
He could've kept counting each one, with ever-growing accomplishments for every last one of them, even the 8th's worlds had no rebellions, being safe to trade, unable to lie; the preferred target for Athenian merchants; despite the tales of the Night Lord's inhumanity.
These thoughts were not protected, though. The Emperor knew what he was thinking, and precisely made a point to think of the 13th, outlining it heavily in his mind.
"You will start whenever possible, bring as many gifts as you can. I will alert them of your arrival. Take any supplies you might need, and ensure, they are at least servants of humanity." - He commanded, and one of the brochures, a medal from the first campaign in the wake of the long night; turned suddenly onto a golden Aquila with nothing more than the number "0". The symbolic meaning was obvious, but when he tried to protest; something the Emperor said shut him up totally: - "Let them meet their uncle."
With that he glanced down to meet the icon bearing in his chest's right; but when he glanced up; there was no projection, his guards were standing, and everybody was working.
The light around him had suddenly been replaced by the light of Ra, sun of the Helios system.
Gone was the psychic might. And he could feel the weight in gold of the medal donning him. He turned around, if some might've noticed the change, they didn't voice it, merely showing him confused glances as he seemed worried.
This was the first time the Emperor had disappeared after talking with him. He knew he was able to do this but… The ramifications… He thought…
He wasn't supposed to tell anybody about this. This was his idea, not the Emperor. If someone knew he was sent, then the whole plan fell, there was no weight to it, no reason to be; it would only be a manipulation in everybody's eyes.
So he blinked and smiled, quickly reassuring half of the crew, who had began worrying over their usually joyful Lord, and resumed working. All save for an ebony-skinned worker, one of his ministers for Medicaid. And she, as old and as frail as she was, spoke youthfully, knowing the issues troubling him: - "Lord Father, might you tell us, what is in your mind?" - She sweetly cooed.
He couldn't help himself but sigh. Time to put those thoughts of ever taking a breather away.
The Athena system was safe, the Song of Songs controlled, he'd request further help from Him… And reassure himself, as he had a new mission.
Meeting her gaze, he gently replied: "I've got to meet my family, Miss Taurus."
Turning around, walking to the 'war wing' of the bridge, he said, gladly, almost proudly about this new endeavor: - "Your Quartermaster will secure the backbone of the Great Crusade! Prepare the quick reaction forces! A tenth is coming with me; and prepare the 9th ring of Imperial Surplus Emergency supplies, and those 5th to 14th prepare them for intake; de-mothball fleets 45th to 90th and prepare the Trachis fleet!" - As he approached some of his war ministers, he kissed the top of their heads while they began working frantically. - "Divisions from Pax Athenea 3rd to 105th to be taken, Include the 1st Regiment of Clothed Spearmen for my personal security detail," - He then turned around, to the guards of the room: - "and demand from Terra that they send a shield of custodes; plus a segmentum majoris of astartes; for I will make sure to make this visit unforgettable!"
As he began musing out orders to inform directives to the Systemae Lords and general outlines for the following four-year-plans; the same Medicaid minister leaned onto her desk, a hand on her chin as she rolled her eyes, making him giggle. - "Lord Father," - She asked for permission to speak, finding it soon enough in a nod from the enthusiastic man. - "who are you going to visit, who is your family?"
The unspoken had been shaken. After all, they didn't know that he had any family, other than the entire Athena Duchy.
"You." - Was the obvious. But he followed it with a: - "And does the name Ultramar, Prospero, or Nuceria ring a bell in your mind, dear?"
With that, a collective gasp soon made the news through the entire Imperium.
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I hope you guys liked the first taste.
And yes, while it'll be 'lighthearted' this will indeed try to show a real story that's somewhat plausible within the 40k universe, or rather, 30k. So don't expect the dumb dialogue I often write for my crackfics or old smutfics [that I've luckily deleted] that makes too much meta commentary. The interest is on the characters first, universe second, third, all the fluff of wish fulfillment that Warhammer's known for.
I have a lot of questions, of courses, just like you do. But this has some sort of planning behind it, do not worry, I do have a 'bible' from where to base myself.
The only thing is maybe a stupid doubt, but, do I make the Primarchs male or female? For obvious reason you know where this story is pointing to [no, not in that sense]; most likely wanted a new chapter of The Ultimate Ploy [And don't worry, you'll have it before this year ends, and many more if God allows me], but this was a writing exercise I wanted to get off from my chest and the inclusion of female primarchs will most likely drive a secondary but important side of the story that sadly will have to marked as M and serve as somewhat of a cope while you wait for a new episode of The Ultimate Ploy.
That said, do expect battles to come, both large scaled and between characters.
By the way, I left the appearance of the Quartermaster vague on purpose, you'll see why as the chapters progress.
Any notes on the story, writing, or ideas, are much appreciated.
God bless you people.
And sorry for being late, in everything, ends up the reason I drank Jagger and was all odd was because I had [previously] unmedicated depression, I left my girl, fell ill, I'm now on legal themes... Plus I have to study a lot for my law career.
So, I love you. God bless you again, might you have a wonderful day.
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Also, vote on what Primarch should be the first to be visited, please.