Chapter Text
When was the last time he truly felt fear? It had been many cycles.
Before I joined the Scorpions, he thought. When I lost her.
He fought back the memories as the last of the candles were lit by a few passing priests in red robes, gold symbols across their fronts. The two large braziers at the door burned, illuminating a dozen or so of his kin that waited on the steps leading out of the chamber. It was rare that any would be in attendance for this ceremony, but he had many friends and loyal family. Even this great burden and honor would not be considered grim enough to watch the spectacle.
“Approach,” the wizened priest called out.
His gravely voice compelled him forward, the green armor of the Striking Scorpion barely making a sound as he laid the dreadlocked helmet he used so frequently to his left. He looked up at the Shrine guardian, one who long served in a position he was to join today. Seeing that all was ready, the priest spoke.
“Kallen Socher, son of Kaen, follower of the path Karandras cleared for all who Strike like the Scorpions whose patience was always rewarded, you have passed the trials set before you, and now only ask for the blessing of Khaela Mensha Khaine to see your Path set for the rest of your days.”
Kallen bowed his head before raising it again.
“You have proven your worth as a warrior time and time again. All who maintain the Ducaish Shrine and have studied the ways of the Striking Scorpion have judged you worthy to join our ranks in perpetuity. ou have sworn off or understood the great power and sorrow that comes with forever being put on the path of the Warrior. You will earn the honor and respect of your kin, but they will fear your eternal bloodlust. You will be a savior to those of the Two Brothers who guided our species, but a portent of doom to any who oppose us. The glory of victory, and the sorrow of recognizing your bloody acts. You will live a life of paradox, but one you know few can tolerate and is greatly needed in our long time of crisis.”
Kallen lowered his head in acceptance, the priest turning to one of the younger acolytes who moved in front of the kneeling warrior. He was holding a large bowl filled with a darkish mixture that smelled noxious.
“You bring this offering of blood to show your loyalty and devotion to the god whose hands run everlasting with it. Tell him what you bring.”
The Scorpion’s raven hair lifted, cold grey eyes burning in defiance.
“Khaela Mensha Khaine,” he called out. “I bring you the life essence of my trophies from my battles, its hue changed by the many it was drained from. It is dark from the murky heart of Ghazak Rockcrusha, a boss of the vile Orks. I ran my Chainsword through his meaty neck and ended his planet destroying Waaagh in a single, sudden blow. It is lightened by the blood of Captain Crasus of the Soul Drinkers Second Company. The Astartes may be the greatest warriors humanity has to offer, but even the greatest of gene therapy and bioengineering can be outstripped by arrogance. My ambush, and the single firing of my Mandiblasters into his unprotected head, now shows my willingness to only follow the Path of the Warrior.”
The priest nodded, staring at the bowl a few moments before raising an eyebrow.
“There is one more.”
“Yes,” Kallen hesitated. “There is also blood from the most foul and wretched of sources, a kill that should bring honor, but only reminds us of our great shame. In that bowl is the blood of a creature that was once of our kin, but deserved only death and eternal damnation. In that mixture is what little blood could be recovered of Emersha, Haemonculi of the Drukhari. No sooner had I torn her head off her shoulders did human artillery obliterate what was left of her physical form.”
A few gasps from the back of the room and the widening of the priest's eyes spoke to the trophy. Haemonculi were incredibly hard to attack, let alone kill, and to bring one down was not only seen as a holy duty to the Craftworld Eldar, but a sign of great skill.
“He will be pleased at this news,” the priest said with approval.
Kallen bowed his head again as the acolyte cautiously plunged his hand into the mixture. Thankfully, the amount of protection that was required for this act meant that he was safe, but the Haemonculi’s vitals stung his fingers even through the glove. Using every last drop, the acolyte painted the multi-winged symbol of the Bloody Handed God, finishing it with a tail-like swoop on the ground before them. Quickly returning to his place, he stood behind the priest who began chanting.
“Khaela Mensha Khaine! Through your form of Murekh, judge this Warrior! Pass down your ruling upon him, tell us if he is worthy to serve you and follow this one Path!”
A few moments of silence passed. All inside knew that this could take hours, the Bloody Handed God judging their kills and achievements. Kallen had been warned about this, having been advised to put some cushioning in his kneepads and sneaking in a water skin with a tube that led up to his lips. The priest and acolytes began singing devotions to Khaine as a way to gain his attention and to make the wait a little more bearable, but no sooner had they begun singing the second stanza of their first hymn that the priest stopped. The acolytes continued a few words before realizing what happened and looked to him in confusion.
One of the candles in the back had gone out.
“Should I light it again-” One of them said before going pale and just as silent.
Another candle went out. And another after that. In no time at all, every single candle was out, and to the surprise of the watchers in the back, the braziers went cold in only a moment. The chamber was silent and pitch black as if one could hold their hand right in front of their eyes and never notice. Kallen breathed as quietly as he could, both anxious and excited. If this was what he thought it was-
The bloody sigil of Khaine, painted in the blood of Kallen's enemies, lit up in a blazing inferno. The entire hall turned an orangy-red, the heat stinging at his eyes. But he did not notice that as a voice that echoed through his entire body spoke in judgment. It was a hissing, vicious sounding tone that unnerved him deeply.
YOU.
ARE.
WORTHY.
Just as quickly as it began, the fire extinguished. All that was left was ashes that etched the sign of Khaine into the Wraithbone floor.
“Remarkable,” The priest muttered. “I have never seen Khaine choose one so quickly.”
He motioned the other acolyte forward, and she quickly began to paint the same symbol on Kallen's forehead. Her fingers were gentle and soft, and he found himself focused on her slender legs and well-shaped hips.
Even Khaine’s approval cannot fix everything, he chuckled to himself. As she finished, he looked up to the priest.
“Khaine has chosen you! You are under his guise, his protection, his righteous fury! May your enemies flee from you! May they fear every shadow they pass, every valley they trek through, every forest they clear! And may all who serve with him, and all those who oppose him know this in equal measure!”
Kallen stood, placing the helmet on his head. It lacked the protective facemask as ordered, revealing his handsome Eldari features and the blood of Khaine that dripped from his forehead.
“This servant of Khaine, Striking in the Scorpion form of Murekh, who stopped Vaul from completing the Hundred Swords, now follows the Path of the Warrior! Let it be known that Kallen Socher-”
He threw his arms up into the air, the psychic force he used turning both brazier and candle into a roaring flame.
“Is Exarch!”
“Make sure that pulley is working, damn your eyes!”
“Boss, it’s fine-”
“For now! When a ton of bloody rocks crush your soft fucking head you’ll wish you listened to me!”
“Aye,” the worker grumbled.
James Stoneman did not have any noble blood, but his name was as recognizable as any of the knightly class. The Stonemans had gained the nomenclature from their quarries and construction work, even being called on by no less than the Planjous that ruled Anglerre. It had been through their son Edmund that he had been sent into this rural and quiet part of Susich County.
“Looking good Jim,” his foreman grunted. “Should have it done within a few weeks.”
“It’s not the Lundun tower, that’s for sure.”
“Aye. I just don’t get why have it at all. I doubt anyone’s going to attack here, and the manor was fine enough.”
“We’re being paid for it, so why should we bloody care?”
“True.”
The two watched the castle style tower being added to the manor house, satisfied with the work.
“I hear it’s the lord being paranoid. Got knighted while serving offworld in the Guard. God-Emperor knows what he saw.”
“Aye. But as I said, he’s paying us, so why should we care?”
“Suppose. Speaking of, I think that’s him over there.”
“Sure is. Hopefully he likes it too. Keep the boys in check.”
Heading towards his tent and the table strewn with papers in front of it, James slowly approached the man standing near it. His eyes were focused on the tower, hand over his mouth in deep thought. He was dressed quite plainly, a simple pair of shirt and pants with unremarkable shoes, a large straw hat shielding the mid-summer sun from his eyes. One could only tell of his knightly status by the sword that dangled off his left hip.
“I have to say, Prince Edmund did quite a favor recommending you, Mister Stoneman.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Sir Roger Wessyng cringed slightly at the term. He was entitled to it, but he barely felt like a knight, let alone a lord of even something as small as a manor and much of the lands around it.
“Please, Sir Roger is fine.”
“Either way, I am happy you’re satisfied with it.”
“I understand some of your men don’t understand why I’m doing all this.”
“You know how laborers are sir. Bad as women when it comes to gossip.”
“Quite,” Roger chuckled. “Well, I thank you for coming out and doing the work.”
“Your pay is always welcome too.”
The two chuckled, Roger offering a wineskin that the builder happily accepted. He had worked for a variety of men, and it was a relief that he was as personable and close to his yeoman roots. He knew men who ruled less and had lower birth that acted like they were damned kings.
“We’re hoping to have it done by the end of summer.”
“Marvelous. I was expecting it to be winter by the earliest.”
“Well, with the pay you’ve given us, we had to do a good job, but getting it done before schedule is a bit of an honor thing.”
“Glad my investments paid off. And no injuries or… worse?”
“Just a few twisted ankles. Well actually one of the boys, Tim, fell off the top and broke his leg, but that doctor of yours did a hell of a job.”
“Bob always has been a natural. Glad your man is doing better.”
The two looked at the recently christened Wessyng Manor, banners flying over it. The first was a light blue with a golden chevron across it, three golden birds in the corners and below the golden stripe. It was the symbol of Lord Roland Moressley, who Roger swore fealty to before and after his knighthood. Next to it was a similar banner with a golden bird in the left corner, but with a silver chevron, a red sword in the right corner, and a strange symbol below. This last bit had been the subject of much rumor from the workers. In the few months they had been working on the tower, no one had bothered to ask.
“Sir, could I ask you something?”
“Er, yes. Sorry, I was thinking if I needed to have a garrison for that tower. More expenses to worry about.”
“Ah. Quite. But uh, I wanted to ask about your heraldry.”
“Oh?”
“What’s that symbol on the bottom? The weird squiggly shape?”
Roger smiled politely before he answered.
“Oh, it’s something I saw when I was in the Guard. I don’t know why, but it also stuck with me. When I was knighted and needed something to show myself off, I wanted to stand out a bit. Guess it worked, eh?”
“I see. Well, I think it did. Guess the lads will be a bit disappointed when they hear the truth.”
“Unfortunately, all too often the truth is much less interesting than the guesses or stories.”
“I suppose so. Well, if you wouldn’t mind, I need to make sure the stone delivery was done to satisfaction. As good as we can make the carts these days, the rocks have a bad tendency to crack or chip.”
“No problem at all, sorry to keep you away from your work.”
“You have a good rest of your day sir.”
“You as well.”
The knight grinned slightly as he walked back towards his mount patiently waiting nearby. Of course it was a lie: it was a symbol in an ancient language that few humans understood, and fewer would tolerate if they knew its Xenos origin. Translated, it roughly meant “friend from a lesser race”, which almost all humans would take violent offense to.
But when one knew the Eldar, it made a bit more sense.
“You ready Mustard?”
The light gold mare whinnied at him, curious as to why he had stopped riding halfway to the forest. She had been a gift from the King of Lotharia, a planet as far off in distance as it was in memory some days, named for the condiment they were famous for producing being of a similar color to her coat.
“Sorry girl, I had to see if I was getting my money’s worth. I’ll get you a nice stable if you’re patient too.”
The horse did not understand the words, but started moving forward as soon as Roger was comfortable in the saddle. Riding past a few of the houses, he received polite bows or waves from the tenants cutting through the wheat fields. He felt a sense of true peace, away from the wars and violence that had marked a third of his life. Only four or so years before, he would have ridden through lands similar to this, burning the same crops and houses, but the thought was quickly banished as nausea hit him.
“Hullo Roger!”
His mind snapped out of terrible memories and dread portents as he recognized the voice of the local gamekeeper. He slowed Mustard to a stop and composed himself.
“Ah, Alan, how are you?”
“Fine sir. I wanted to tell you about those poachers near the river.”
“Did you find them?”
“Aye my lord, it was just one man.”
There was a slight hesitation in the green clothed bowman that he picked up on.
“I take it there’s a complication?”
“I know the lad, he’s as poor as a monk and he’s got a wife and babe.”
“He should have thought about that before trying to steal from the county forests.”
“Aye, but…”
“Are you suggesting leniency?”
The gamekeeper rubbed the back of his neck.
“He’s not an inherently evil lad. Just desperate.”
“I’m sure the poachers we hung a few weeks ago had families and were desperate. With children too.”
“Of course, and they were criminals to the bone. But he isn’t.”
“Is this a favor? Tell me he’s not related to you.”
“Emperor, no! But I know a menace when I see one and he isn’t that.”
Roger frowned, tapping the hilt of his sword. He was meeting someone and wanted to get to it as soon as possible, but he was given the power and authority to mete out and enforce the laws of Anglerre.
“I can’t let him go, Alan. You know that.”
“Of course, sir. It’s your call.”
“But you’re the one holding him right now, correct?”
“Aye.”
“If he were to escape or vanish before you bring him to manor court… well, I couldn’t do a damn thing about it, aye?”
“I suppose not, sir.”
“Would be a shame if it happened. And a bigger one if we never heard of him poaching again.”
The gamekeeper nodded in barely concealed relief.
“Of course. But if he were caught again, I may just kill him before he was brought to court.”
“At your discretion, gamekeeper.”
“He was even trying to blame some forest spirit he saw roaming around here if you’d believe it.”
“Do tell.”
“You’ll love this. Tall, pale woman with red hair and a green cloak. What do you think of that utter shite?”
Roger tensed for a moment before smiling again.
“You can smell the desperation, Emperor on Terra.”
“I know! Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. And good news, the herd grew again thanks to the does you brought in. I’m actually doing my job again!”
“Excellent! Another good investment. Hopefully the manor pays off as well.”
“It’ll look good my lord. Promise you that.”
“Farewell Alan.”
He rode off again, silently cursing as he went. Someone was slipping up more than they would admit. Coming out here to the forests or keeping an open window had gotten old fairly quick, and despite her assurances, something had to give. The staff at the manor house were already whispering rumors of a hidden lover, and Roger had enough problems with that. The tower was the answer, not just in adding a bit of defense to his domains, but as a way the two could secretly enjoy one another's company. As he arrived at the small break in the trees, he began to take the saddle bags contents out. Food or drink mostly, even though she barely ate it. But as he finished doing so, he heard the leaves rustle near him.
Out of the foliage stepped a tall figure in green-white armor, a leaf colored cloak around it. Long, fiery red hair made into a ponytail completed their form with deep blue eyes. Her face was completely feminine, and even after all the years still startled him.
“What do you think?” He asked.
“It is not Wraithbone.”
“Well that’s bloody obvious. It would stick out like a sore thumb and getting the workers would probably get me killed.”
“But-”
She approached him from behind, wrapping her arms around and resting her chin on his head. They both stared at the construction workers toiling away, completely unaware of their audience.
“It will do.”
There were few things Jakob von Pomwald hated more than flying. Though his home planet of Hilege relied on aircraft and spacefaring vessels to allow for trade and to defend their de facto empire, he was never happy to do it. Had the news not been so serious he would never set foot in the maw of the Valkyrie.
“We’re landing now, Herr Oberst!”
“Gott-Kaiser sei dank,” Pomwald grumbled as he held in his roiling stomach.
“It’s alright sir. Remember Zandiel?”
“True. If I never see that forsaken hole again, I will die a happy man.”
Feldwebel Eugen Constanz was the highest ranking enlisted man of the thousand or so Guardsmen that served in the Infanterie Regiment Prinz Freidrich, recruited from the finest men in the Electorate of Vettin. He had spent his life in the white coat with dark green facings, remembering when the colonel trying to not vomit nearby was just a young ensign.
“It is bad enough I have to travel through space, but making me ride in this deathtrap-”
“We’ll be on solid ground momentarily, Herr Oberst.”
“If only it would be on a planet that is not in chaos.”
The regiments that Hilege provided the Imperium were recruited from across the Reik: high church southerners, low church northerners, Teutons, Bohmens, Polonians and more. Some were raised by elector counts, other free cities, and fighting alongside the Vettin’s was even a regiment raised by a prince-bishop.
“But we are here. It’s not that bad.”
“Feels like it.”
“The weather's better than back home for the most part.”
The Valkyrie lurched as it touched down, relief palpable on the obersts’ face.
“I suppose.”
The ramp lowered, and the stench of corpses, some of them burnt, filled the nostrils of every man inside. The colonel and sergeant-major both frowned at the same time, the faces on the tall, mitre-wearing grenadiers that guarded them grimly looking ahead.
“Vorwarts.”
The two high rankers wore swords, their uniforms not as ornate as some of their countrymen preferred. Both wore well-shaped tricorn hats as their kneehigh leather boots squeaked at every step. Their grenadiers marched on with their Lasguns shouldered, their eyes scanning for any threats that could come to them. Jakob knew well enough that the bayonets on the ends of their weapons were not merely for show, as even the refined line combat that the Heligers preferred could easily give way to savage melee combat.
“Gott-Keizer im Terra, look at this place. And they tell us this planet is civilized.”
The town was on the edge of the great fields and plains, as beautiful as the rest of the planet. The oak trees swung calmly with the breeze, making for a surreal scene: what was normally a romantic village now saw burning buildings, dead bodies, and dozens of Guardsmen in similar uniforms to theirs milling about. One of them approached, a gorget dangling from his neck and a sword from his hip, both signs of infantry command.
“Herr Oberst!” The lieutenant said with a crisp salute. “I apologize for bringing you out here, but considering the circumstances-”
“What happened?”
“Three of our Uhlans made a patrol in this area. They were coming into town for some supplies and… they ran into something they were not supposed to see.”
“The ones who burned the town?”
“Er, no, Herr Oberst. Our men did that.”
“Hm.”
“They put up a hell of a fight.”
Seeing the bodies around, this was no exaggeration. Some were simple peasants who armed themselves with farming tools, others had spears, swords, or other bladed weapons. Worryingly, there were a good number of those armed with autoguns, and even one with a Lasgun.
“Casualties?”
“One of the Uhlans is dead, one seriously wounded, the last with minor injuries. When my company engaged, we lost a jager and a few of the line, but nothing else.”
“Ambush?”
“Of a sort. It is also why the men reacted so… harshly after the battle.”
Under the gold laced tricorn, Jakob could feel the anger and sorrow around him. He saw a few bloodied villagers crying over dead bodies, Guardsmen watching cautiously nearby.
“Not everyone here attacked us. A few came to assist. Most of the village unfortunately were not as loyal as these few. Took some prisoners as well, but there is nothing we can get out of them.”
The lieutenant pointed to about twenty people of various ages, some elderly, some children, all eyeing him hatefully as they stood with their backs to the wall. In front of them were an equal number of white-coated Guardsmen, Lasguns ready for firing. The points of their bayonets kept the rabble in order, but little else.
“We let them live so you decide their fate, you are the commanding officer.”
“I’m honored. Where’s Kaptain Mesnich?”
“In the town square.”
“Lead on.”
The group continued forward before Jakob noticed a soldier with an extravagant moustache standing over a blanket covered body. His left arm was in a sling, the other grasped tightly to a cavalry lance. The colonel tapped him on the shoulder to see the eyes of a man both grieving and furious.
“Czy umarł godnie?”
“Tak, pułkowniku. Szkoda tylko, że nie zabił więcej osób, zanim go złapali.”
“Dostaniesz swoją zemstę. Ty i inni ułani.”
He nodded at the Polonian, who could not hide how impressed he was at his knowledge of their tongue, before walking towards the town square. But before they could turn a corner, the young officer held up a hand to halt them.
“It is not pretty, mein herr.”
“War never is.”
“But what they did in the square-”
Eugen looked at Jakob, who shrugged. Very little surprised him anymore.
“Lead on.”
As the six followed, the stench of burning meat and flesh grew more and more choking. Then they turned a corner and saw-
“Dei-Imperator,” a grenadier gasped in High Gothic.
His comrades made the sign of the Aquila as they looked on, their commander blinking a few times as he was finally surprised after years of apathy.
“Well that’s different, eh sir?”
“I suppose it is.”
In the middle of the square was a large statue of a bull-headed man, his arms raised as if to accept an offering. Below that was a pedestal, a small opening in the lower part, big enough to fit a man.
“Oh no,” he muttered.
Standing in front of the statue was Captain Mesnich, his arms crossed as a few of his Guardsmen watched for any attackers. He turned his head and saw his commander approach, but did little more than speak a greeting. This was normally out of protocol, but given the circumstances, some things were better to leave untouched.
“Herr Oberst. Do you know what this is?”
“A pagan idol.”
“Correct. But do you know who?”
“Not exactly, Albert. Do you know?”
“This is an ancient Terran god, worshipped on early Terra apparently. The people who founded the colonies on this planet were descendants of their people before the rush of settlers made it a bit more varied. He is Bahlamon, chief of the old gods.”
“But the Emperor-”
Mesnich shook his head.
“They turned their backs on many gods before Him. This is just a return to the old ways.”
“But why now?”
“They built it fairly quickly. You can still see some of the plaster trying to harden. But they used it.”
“How?”
The captain looked at his commander sternly and walked towards the opening in the bottom, running his hand through the ashes, picking something out and marching back to the group. He handed the object over, and the colonel felt his stomach drop.
It was a small bone, some burnt meat still clinging onto it. But the bone was certainly not an animal, and something that small could only have been-
“Heilige Gott-Kaiser,” he muttered.
“Children. They were sacrificing damned children.”
“Al-”
“When we first got here, I thought it was just some shit-smeared locals who thought they could take us on. The moment I found out they were putting babies into this monstrosity… I told them to burn it all and kill every last one here.”
“What about the ones that helped us?”
“Too few of them to be of note, I’m afraid.”
Manuel looked up at the bull’s head, hiding his concern when he noticed a symbol on the forehead. Starting with a triangle, a slash ran through the middle of it and was topped with a “V”. He looked over at the captain one last time, seeing the fury still in his eyes.
“I need you to secure this area. Do you think you’ll need reinforcements?”
“No. But I think we need to start patrolling around here more often. It is bad enough that we have rebels, bandits, and Gott-Kaiser knows what else running around.”
“That’s why we’re here, for things like this. Can’t trust the PDF.”
“No, we can’t.”
Give me a moment. I’m going to report this to the feldmarschall.”
“Of course.”
The six began to move away when Mesnich called out.
“Do what you want with the prisoners. You know what I would do.”
As they continued back towards the Valkyrie, Eugen moved in close.
“On the bulls head. Was that-”
“Yes.”
“Damn.”
“Probably should have told Alex to come along, but mistakes happen.”
As was usual, whenever Jakob went away from his main command post, he brought a Vox-caster to stay in touch with his units and high command. This was a thankless but vital task, and IR Prinz Freidrich was lucky to have a good one. They had begun to move past the prisoners when he locked eyes with an older one.
“It had to be done,” the elder said flatly.
“What?” The colonel asked as he stopped dead in his tracks.
“The Emperor was no longer hearing us. The great one below is threatening to break out and destroy all! Bahlamon was ready to hear us, and the blood and bones were necessary to gain his favor!”
“You sacrificed children. There is no excuse for that.”
“He promised to keep the dark one below kept away if we delivered blood and skulls to his throne! Terra is too far away to hear our cries!”
He stared at the old man and shook his head, continuing towards the aircraft. He looked to the gefreiter in charge and made a quick slashing motion across his throat, the NCO nodding grimly.
“Ready!”
The sound of twenty Lasguns being lifted and charged to fire filled the street as a few prisoners screamed, snarled or spit at their executioners.
“Aim! Fire!”
The crack of lasers brought silence back to the town, only for the sound of twenty bodies hitting the ground to break it momentarily.
“That was harsh.”
“We have bigger problems than moral aptitude.”
Finally leaving the village, Alex was standing near the Valkyrie, discussing something with the pilot.
“Sir! Are we leaving?”
“In a bit. I need to contact high command.”
“Of course sir. Is something wrong?”
“In a way, yes. Let me do the worrying, eh?”
The Voxman nodded and began turning a few knobs and switches on the wristset he had. The higher command version of mobile Vox units were more advanced, but also rare thanks to the costs and necessity. He stopped fiddling with the device and pulled the handset off the main box before clicking it to life.
“Trefoil to Adler, come in. Yes, I have a priority. His ears and mouth only. Yes. Here he is.”
“Loud and clear,” Jakob said as he took the set. “I need to speak with Ocula. Immediately. Oh for-fine, fine. Authorization code 645-23-6.”
There was a brief silence as he cursed at having to change codes again. Before he could complain, he was met with a new voice. He was starting to become far too familiar with it for his liking.
“Yes sir. The situation is under control, but it is not good. There was an idol here just like the others we found.”
As he listened to the voice, he became more and more nervous. He nodded along with the information and then took a deep breath before speaking again.
“Well then Lord D’Uxford, we have a serious problem on Qardast.”