#intothevoid40k

[ameasureofpower]

Into the Void 40K

Before the Storm: Intro Part II

@tearofisha

The light of a single, pale star filters through Neueroi's rings and heavy clouds, speckling the planet's western hemisphere with alternating shades of blue, grey and autumn gold. Sunbeams glitter between buildings of reinforced glass and heavy stone, illuminating the palace's branching walkways in calming twilight even though the clock struck midday and the capital city was anything but calm.

Through adept audials and global vox feeds, Icarus could hear the flurry of human life all around him. From the din of interstellar ports and intercontinental traffic, to the soft promises made between lovers and the excited chattering of children, the spymaster's surveillance feeds captured all. ...Albiet not without limitation and tremendous sacrifice.

Icarus, however, was not one to regret his life's choices. The removal of his eyes in favor of colourless digital feeds and calculated physics projections in place of his sense of touch were only strides towards what he believed was the ultimate existence. He did not need to see the glitter of sunlight upon the underlit tiles he strode upon, nor did he need to feel the kiss of wind, rain, man or woman to do his job and to do it well.

Cancelling out the roar of burning engines, the song of religious choirs, and the cries of those he kept under lock and key, the towering mechanicus focuses on the monotonous drawl of his lord's voice. He follows it to a quiet alcove within the gardens and, indeed, beneath the flowering vines that grew naturally on the gravity heavy planet, he found Lord Simons with his favorite statician discussing patterns of loss and gain.

The statician reacts to Icarus's presence first: leaping to his feet and angling a hand to his head. The mechanicus reasons Simons had already known he was there, for the lord had a habit for acute observation and stillness, which made the statician's hurried salute all the more exaggerated.

"Sir! -"

Simons stops the man before he could go on a formal tirade, waving him away with a flick of two fingers. "News?" Simons asks casually, indicating the spymaster to sit in the now vacant seat.

It was an unnecessary courtesy. Icarus never sat.

"MISSION LIASON ACQUIRED." Nor did he mince words. He did, however, place a datapad before his lord with the same reverance others reserved for saints, making Simons wonder what sort of stiffled mood his lieutenant was in today.

The Governor's dark, silver ringed irises flit over the pad. Then flicker again. A line furrows between his brows as the words upon it sink in. "I require a dependable ship and crew, Icarus," he grits, hand rising to rake through his cut of black hair. "This is a artifact recovery expedition, not a trip to a zoo."

"THIS AELDARI RATES DEPENDABLE," the mechanicus readily spits out. "ALL HUMAN OPERATIVES TASKED WITH OTHER PRIORITY DIRECTIVES. ALL REMAINING AGENTS "NOT DISCREET". THEREFORE, "NOT RELIABLE"."

"Reliable? I remain unconvinced." Simons takes a deep breath and runs through the dossier again. Rishaeron. The name tasted familiar upon his tongue - a diplomatic run gone well. Still...

"We cannot afford to leave this task in the hands of thrill-chasing vagabonds," he mandates, rising from his seat. "This choice forces personal involvement, which I would have preferred to avoid for the risks it poses." The burning glare he then shoots from half-lidded eyes shudders even the stoic spymaster with doubt. "Reach out to him. Then get me Manderley. We have our work cut out for us."

In an instant, a flicker of red light illuminates the darkness beneath Icarus's hood, stamping a fleeting impression of a warped, metallic skull amongst its shadows. The loose threads on the spymaster's cloak raise upwards as the hairs on Lord Simons's arms prickle with anticipation.

"INITIALZING COMMUNICATION WITH SATILITE HUBS," Icarus's vocaloids churn.

"CONNECTING..."

[ameasureofpower]

Into the Void 40k

Cast Member: Walton Simons, Governor

@tearofisha

Outwardly, there is nothing truly remarkable about Lord Simons. He stands as tall and healthy as the rest of his company in his middle-aged years. Even his facial features, which could be described as sharp, tired and shadowed, are not seen as uncommon amongst the overworked citizens of the Imperium. Truly, the man could easily slip into obscurity were it not for his status, his penchant for formal attire, and the aura of unease he omitted by simply existing.

Half his staff jests that the crawling, instinctual desire to both fixate and turn hurriedly away from his visage is due to his unattractive, scowling demeanor. The rest blame his genes. Though the Governor never tested conclusive for being below "Rho" on The Assignment scale, many still suspect he is not quite like the average human man. Perhaps he was void born, or born to a tribe below Neueroi's stormy surface - raised with different social norms and customs. Regardless, only a few individuals truly know the details of his past before his sudden, ruthless takeover of the superplanet's underdeveloped military some twenty or so solar years ago.

But besides a few exceptions here and there, no one really complains. Under his ruling and eventual acquirement of Neueroi's central leadership, the once overlooked planet has blossomed into the successful industrial, research, and trade eden it is today.

But such success always warrants more attention, and some attention is not so desirable. The Imperium, either impressed or skeptical of the man's and planet's rise into power and influence, continually raises their expectations, demanding ever increasing tributes at the threat of suddenly finding Neueroi's unorthodox, experimental practices heretical.

To this problem, Lord Simons believes he has found a solution...and will do whatever it takes to secure it.

[ameasureofpower]

Into the Void 40K

Before the Storm: Intro Part I

Lightning arcs blossom across stormcloud smothered skies, fringing the city's cool summer air with the scent of ozone and static. There would be no rain tonight, nor for several weeks to come, but a heavy mist would descend in its place, and blur the sprawling city lights like fading memories.

Neueroi, a gravity-heavy superterran classed planet, with thin dust rings in place of a moon, teased the promise of rain as much as it did sunlight, making the reliance on artificial light and water capture all the more paramount. Many a wealthy denizen thus flaunted their status via brilliantly illuminated fountains and lightning pylons that reached far into the sky.

The high governor's palace was no exception. The smooth, monolithic-like series of jet coloured buildings towered over the rest of the metropolis, breaking through the thick mists that plagued the populated streets below. The spires crowning each rising roof had no competition when it came to harnessing Neueroi's electrical storms, thus the underlit tiles lining its public halls, hydroponic gardens, and corridor floors were always bright.

The glare gave Lord Simons a headache.

Like most people living on the planet of near perpetual twilight, the middle aged man had opted for visual augmentation - glass, nanotronics, and circuitry to see beyond deep shadow and haze. The discrete instruments, which often gave his dark, grey eyes a thin, silver-ringed glow, now pinched his brow with a sharp, electric pain and soured his already humorless mood. Canceling his evening visitations, the governor slouches in voluntary darkness behind thick pains of sound-reducing glass, and sips a medicinally spiced tonic in hopes of culling the pain.

If only he could disband the Imperium emissary meetings just as easily, he wishfully laments, turning the glass vile counter-clockwise between his scarred hands. Their increasingly frequent demands were a migraine all their own. Neueroi was not a designated forge world, but the dry southern hemisphere's experimental tech industries yielded such commendable outputs that jealous neighbors wished their success could be called heresy.

Simons sighs, running a hand over his sharp, pale features at the thought. He suspected someone in the Imperium did believe the superstitious slander, but chose to ignore the accusations of blasphemy as long as Neueroi helped maintained an edge in the cosmic wars humanity raged.

A heavy pounding suddenly thunders at his study's doors, and turns Simons's vision red.  “What is it?” he hisses, drawing himself straight. A hand instinctually reaches for the firearm hidden beneath his evening robe. “I distinctly remember saying that I wanted to be left alone for the rest of the night.”

The door opens anyways and a lone, hulking, figure unapologetically intrudes on his quiet.

Simons, glancing over the newcomer finishes his snarl, but otherwise relents and relaxes to the newcomer's presence. There was no real stopping of the mechanicus named Icarus, for machines, he reminded himself, stopped for no one. Thirteen years Icarus's senior, Simons had watched the once Adonis-like lord and spymaster systematically hack off his flesh and bone in favor of hydraulics and armor plated steel. Likely, the lower half of his face and his upper left arm were the only human parts left, though Simons never cared to ask about his transformation now. "Human flesh is weak and inefficient," the younger man would drone while flexing a new artificial limb - perhaps bored of repeating this answer after years of practiced interrorgating.

With unnerving speed for something so large and brooding, the crimson robed Icarus halts before his master's table before the echoes of his heavy boots and snake and talon-like appendages dissipate across the polished floor. "LORD," he addresses in dark, vox-coded monotone. "LOCATION OF WORLD DESTROYER OBTAINED."

Simons quietly sets his glass down, letting those words hang on silence. "Are you certain," he asks but out of habit. Icarus would not have bothered over inaccuracies.

A clicking much like the sound of an upturned beetle emanates somewhere beneath those heavy robes as a clawed coil dips beneath them. It returns a second later and drops something round and coated with thick, clotted blood between Simons arms. The governor's lips recoil.

Although Simons did not appreciate the mechanicus's lack of hygiene, it was not the blood that disturbed him as much as the connotation. The recorder Icarus had dropped so unceremoniously was the sort often implanted behind the user's eyes. Nestled within the brain. It would hold no lies.

Simons tilts his head and purses his lips. The hem of Icarus's robes were, indeed, unusually dark...

"We'll need a ship," he whispers, plucking the small instrument up between his fingers, "and a crew."

"THE MAJESTIC ILLUMINATION," suggests or states the towering other.

Simons shakes his head and drops the sphere into his tonic. The fizzing drink instantly turns a ruddy pink as organic tissue dilutes. "No," he replies, pulling it out once more: a silver, bolt studded disk. "Something discreet."

@tearofisha