[But you do, you need not your eyes for this. Feel, Taste, Smell. Try again, Alamut.]
{Yes,, I feel,, the breeze. The slow,, warmth of sunrise. I-}
[Easy easy, lay still. What else do you sense?]
{I smell,, the bloom of autumn flowers,, morning dew over the dunes,, the call for study,,}
[Home.]
{My lord,, have I served you well?}
[Of course, Brother Alamut. You have served both me and the Court well.]
{But I am,, a sorcerer,, a child of Magnus,,}
[It matters little, you bled with us on the fields of war. You broke bread with us during feasts. You are as much a child of Prospero, as a son of the Court.]
{Will,, will you,,?}
[,, I would be honored to send your ashes to your brethren.]
{And,, Gwain}
"Yes Alamut?"
{May,, the Boughs offer you Shade on your Journey.}
"And may the Spring quench your thirst on your Journey."
{And may,, the Winter Snow,, bring peace upon our Souls.}
(guest appearance of Lord Adrian Malek from @the-perfect-entropy)
[Jorrun, a moment when available.]
The man could not help but flinch as he heard Tenebris' voice in his combead, looking over his opposite shoulder in anticipation of catching a glimpse of his master in some hidden corner of his peripheral vision. But no avail, either He was already gone or never truly around this part of the vessel.
Jorrun felt the eyes of his Third, a child of Caliban if believed, waiting expectantly on him. "Sire?"
"Nothing Gwain, think nothing of it. What were you speaking of just now?"
Gwain's emerald gaze was unwavering, tapping a soft rhythm on his dataplate with his free hand.
"Hmmph, I'll try. Again, Sire, I'm talking of the reports from our outposts close to the Sol Sub-sector. There has been an increase of patrols, as well as sightings of more Inquisition Acolytes,,"
"And for every Acolyte they have seen, there's surely half a dozen they haven't seen. They will be rattled, spook easily if we are uncareful. Send an encrypted ping back, start working back to their fall-back positions, ensure there is no trace of their movements."
Gwain taps a few keys onto the slate as Jorrun spoke, the deep emerald hues dancing over the screen while Gwain's superior waited to see the results.
" I will see to it that the message is sent through the proper channels. And before you ask, no, I haven't seen Korul, not since breaking fast. Anything else, Sire?"
Jorrun chuckles drly with a shake of his head, crossing his arms behind his back "Nothing else Gwain, thank you."
"May the boughs offer you shade on your journey."
With a soft smile and a great deal of practice Jorrun responds to the elden parting words to Gwain. "And may the spring waters offer you relief on your journey."
The Caliban native offers a curt bow of his head, before turning heel and trotting away.
----
"Jorrun! We meet yet again my fellow Vanquisher of the Mechanicum!"
"Lord Commander Malek, I see that you survived that little expedition. You fare well my lord?"
Jorrun does his outmost to not clench his teeth nor glare at the extravagant attire the Son of Xerxes was clad in. The amount of finely woven silk (Jorrun thinks it might not even be Synth-Silk) and gaudy baubels adoring the tall warrior was no doubt eye-wateringly expensive, but it was not all for vanity.
The choice of colors and patterns could herald one's province of birth on Xerxes, the style of rings might suggest a higher status among the hierarchy of nobles, the head scarf folded in a certain manner, even the cut of leather for which the traditional kaftans were made from might tell another Xerxian something about Lord Malek. Yes, The Dark Prince Slannesh adores vanity and pride and beauty it all things, but Malek still felt a need to be clad in his ancestors garb, plus, twas a truly special occasion: Lord Adrian Malek was to meet Jorrun's Master.
*Tenebris Rex.*
"Oh I tell you this, I fare quite well this day. My Warband are well fed, we were welcomed warmly by your fellow Warhost leaders, and I get to meet His Mightyness Tenebris Rex. Oh this has been a great day~"
Jorrun need not be a Psyker to taste the slight against his Master from Lord Malek's words. He knew full well that Malek had only a select few in his eyes as truly worthy of calling someone by their Titles. And Tenebris was maybe not among them.
"Then let us not keep my Master waiting then. Please, this way, His chambers."
Malek made a soft nod with his covered head before padding past Jorrun and the wide bulkhead doors.
The usual noise of a running vessel abruptly quietens when passing the threshold into Tenebris Rex's personal quarters. It's an eerie stillness that He has asked for, and it is unnerving for all who experienced it. Jorrun has grown fairly accustomed to this quiet but it's never truly something you an ever ignore. At first it feels as if the room was unoccupied save for Jorrun and Malek's presence, then they notice the heavy Terminator armor sat to the side of the chamber, surrounded by the flickering candles and fragrance of lit incense.
[Aah, my greetings to you, Son of Xerxes. I do hope that my own Sons have been accommodating to you and your Warband. We are oddities even among the myriad of Excommunicate Traitoris.]
Tenebris' voice seems to simply appear in the air, both emitting from the vox-hailer in the armour and inside Malek's and Jorrun's head.
"They have been warm in their welcome, Lord Tenebris. Though I did sense that a few among them were not subtle in their dislike of our more,, warp-gifted."
[This is to be expected of them, for our tenets see the uncontrolled maledictions and mutations from these so called gifts by The Dark Pantheon as hindrances to what we Astartes could attain by the will of our souls, and the purity of our bones. Those few of us given a link to the Empyrean are the exception, not the norm. I do hope you will be understanding in this, Anusiya?]
Jorrun can sense that His Master is testing, perhaps teasing Lord Malek slightly to try and gauge how he will respond to these words while being a guest aboard Tenebris' ship. Adrian did his outmost not to flinch at the casual drop of his old title he held during his time on Xerxes.
"Strange indeed are your followers, but effective. Lord Jorrun and his cohort were excellent examples of this, showing great skill and control for the whole time. It would be a great day indeed were we to fight side by side again."
It seems that Malek could take the verbal blow with grace, not rising up to the challenge. Malek was still speaking directly at the unmoving Armour, but Jorrun suddenly felt a presence to his left, a familiar presence,,
{And what if you were to fight by My side then, Paszar ol Xurok?}
Adrian Malek's eyes widened before snapping round, reaching for his blade, his eyes flashing with killing intent as the man sought out the origin of this new voice. But he barely touched the hilt of his sword when he froze in motion,, the edge of a simple dagger resting featherlight on the artery of his neck, held by a golden tanned hand.
Adrian's eyes slowly turned up, the giant before him clad in soft colored silks and crimson linens, black carapace ports jutting out from the perfectly toned flesh,, and those golden eyes that has beheld eternity, and never blinked.
"What,, what are you?"
{I, am what Terra will deny the very thought of. I am the greatest weapon to wield that Abbadon or Vashtorr will never claim. I am the Abyssal Royarch that Constantin Valdor created during the darkest hour of the Thunder Warriors.}
Adrian Malek's eyes finally beheld the sight before him. As beautiful and terrifying as the Dawn and the Night. Fair as the Sun, the Sea and the Snow upon the Mountains. Dreadful as the Storms and the Lightning that cracks the skies. All would love Him, and Obey.
Jorrun stood idly by, he too was once at the receiving end of Tenebris' overwhelming presence and the almost blinding light of the man's soul. He had no desire to feel the weight of such wroth, or to try and rescue Malek from his fate.
{I bear the name of Tribune, Companion of the Hetaeron Gaurd, Slayer of Khuresh and Thunder-Breaker of Mount Arreat. I have borne witness to the many faces of Neoth, and lived.}
The ancient man sat eerily quietly upon the makeshift throne, gazing out through the thick panes of diaglass, the swirling maelstrom of of the immaterium dancing across the hull.
"Numerous apologies for this intrusion, I will retre-"
{Stay Jorrun.}
Jorrun flinches midturn as he hears Tenebris' unfiltered voice. He does not feel that burning gaze from his leader yet, but has felt it before on more than one occasion. The armored Legionnarie adjusts his stance once more to point back to his master, doing his damndest to not make any sudden movements. To be in the presence of Tenebris Rex is one thing for most Legionnaries,, it's another thing to be within the same chamber as Tenebris when he is out of his armor.
{You may approach, Jorrun.}
The former Son of Horus steps closer, the violet eyes seeing at first only the back of his Lord's head and shoulders. The thick locks of oaken hair, flecks of gold and amber pockmark the hair, while the Black Carapace ports contrast against the golden tanned flesh. The loose folds of the robes hung haphazardly over His Lord's body, cream colored silks and crimson linens.
But then the reflection from the diaglass became clear, and those same violet eyes came into foc-
{What is it Jorrun? What brings you so far away from your Brethren?}
"My Lord, we are soon approaching Armageddon. Scrimshaw Atun has sensed the heavy Imperial forces,, but no Orks or Aeldari."
{Hmm,, Interesting.}
Jorrun does his outmost not to focus on anything particular whilst speaking with Tenebris, even if they are now within arm's reach. His Lord has built his outer image for millennia, no one knows the man behind the armor, no one. Save for either unfortunate victims who are long dead,, and Jorrun.
The enemies of The Ossium Court only know of the great and terrible poet warrior, clad in Terminator Armor and a voice that ever changes upon each sighting. Not often seen on the front lines, allowing his gilded words to coerce and persuade populations to revolt or overthrow Imperial worlds and colonies. That image cannot be further contrasted, by the man sat upon this throne, lazily staring out the wide windows,,
{Jorrun.}
"Yes my Lord?"
{Have our fleet come out of Warp early. Dark side of the moons.}
"Understood my Lord. We will set up some observation loqs once we have stabilized."
{Good,, good.}
Jorrun quickly makes his exit from the chambers, armored boots clicking over the granite floor, trying to not think of Tenebris' gaze,, and the Golden Throne that that gaze once held.
The Ossium Court has received some more devotees within their mortal ranks. Many cults and Warbands may claim their prowess by able to bring into their folds Regiments of Imperial Guard, Tempestus Scion Strike Forces, or even corrupting the shattered remnants of an Astartes Chapter.
Who can claim to have brought to their bosom a Convent of Adeptus Sororitias, a sisterhood famed for their fervent faith in the Corpse Emperor, with a dedication to uprooting and cleansing of the Traitors and Mutants.
Aye, many of us may recall the Lady Miriael Sabathiel along with her converted Sisters, or the likes of The Iconoclast and her renegade Militia and Sisters. But these numbers were but a few handful of souls, why settle for such when one can gain an entire Order of Sisters.
Thousands of combatants, trained rigorously under the watchful eyes of the Ecclesiarchy and Schola Progneium, clad in Power Armor and granted weapons like the Bolter, they are no mere rabble or cultist mob. They know how the Imperium fights, where their forces lay or the secret paths the Church of the Corpse God take through the Warp.
There is a darkness, that permeates the cosmos, reaching to the far corners of ever space, touching all living things and stars. For the everyday creature, this darkness has no impact on their everyday life. But for the sentient creatures, those who claim to be above the instinctive simplicity of lesser beings, this darkness gnaws at them.
For the common citizen of the 'glorious' Imperium of Man, it comes in the weight of oppression and uncaring weight of the world on their shoulders, the empty food platters while nobles and bishops drink opulent wine and meats.
For the honored Guardsman, the sense of faked pride of the uniform, but knowing that as soon as they are sent to the frontlines, their body will be just another number for the mechanical Ministorium, and then made it food for the survivors.
The lauded Mechanicus, their pragmatic and calculated view of the world makes them blind to all others, valuing the binary code and the invisible spirits they claim live in all machines. Holding onto dead traditions, branding anything new or improvements as heresy.
Oh, my brothers and cousins, the fabled Astartes. Space Marines. Angels, or inhuman beasts, used as battering hammers on anything the powdered wigged Lords of Terra deem a threat. Millions of souls, cut and brainwashed, a torn shade of what child had left their home eons ago.
And Them. The Golden Host. The First of Equals. The Perfect Sons and Companions of the Husk on that Throne. They can never be faulted,, save for failing their only duty. Haha, haaa, oh Constantin, I wished you had lived long enough to see what has become of your Brothers.
But this Darkness, it is not a passive object. It can be manipulated, it can change and morph, it flexes and transforms to suit the realm it permeates. And if you hold enough power, enough sway, leverage,, you can manipulate the Darkness.
Press a little here on these colonies, speak a few choice words, adjust the course of a convoy,, and an insurrection brews. Arm these people, create a goal in their minds, spark the Arbites,, and you have a coup. Each action creates an eddy, a ripple,, and make enough turbulence in the waters, and you can guarantee the outcome you wish.
So come Friends, come Brothers, let us make a turbulent sea, and rock the very Cosmos.
"When commanders take to the field, moving their warriors and vehicles around like little chess pieces, the battlefield a giant board to play their war games on, they see everything in such simplified terms. Everything set in stone on what elements are capable of what. Tactical squads holding and pushing the line, devatators and havoks suppressing the enemy and taking down armored elements, assault squads hitting weak links and bunkers, recon teams disrupting infrastructure and command chains."
"But there is a time for doctrines and rules,, and there is a time for War. In this world of demi-gods, xenos races, and ancient warp magick, rules are best put aside for more effective and less costly practices. In a war of attrition and resources, do not squander or throw your weight about like an ambull. Break the enemy before the first shots are fired, weaken by taking their resources, cut their escape routes, burn their hope and iron will."
"And if blows come to meet, do not lose traction, keep the flow in your favor. In the thick of battle, on the scales we amount to, the Darkness is thick akin to an ocean. Every breath and gesture sends shockwaves through it, and when we move together with speed and mercilessness, the bow wave will be awesome."
"The Dreadnoughts, our response for a mobile weapons platforms with the skill and experience of a seasoned veteran, is misplaced. It is not a heavy support unit to be alongside our troops, giving covering fire and diverting attention. No no my friends. It is a tool of fear and awe. See how much speed it can attain, the mass it possess, how it's vox hailers ring out over the battlefield, the thick sloped armor."
"Adorn it in trophies and terror, fuel it's reactor and rage, point its power and pandemonium. Flamers and fear, claws and cries, strength and screams. These I have seen, not from my fellow followers of chaos,, but from a loyalist faction."
"Hailing from the far east, they hold in special cruisers a host of ancient dreadnoughts, chained and bound in sarcophagi, and released in drop pods right into the front lines, before even their troops have a chance to take their first shot. Adorned in black and bones, vox hailers howling like bloodied beasts, these Dreadnoughts tear into the enemy with wild abandon, caring not for their safety or their allies. The enemy scatter and break, their commanders helpless as they attempt to restore order and doctrine, while their carefully laid plans fall apart in their hands like burnt parchment."
"Employ yours like so, break their rank and file, rout them from the comfort of their trenchs, close the distance and reap them like the harvest. Plan all they wish, secure their stockpiles, let them hold speeches and rituals. If they do not move with the flow of the Darkness, if they choose to stagnate like their Imperium,, then they will lose the War."
♥ - STAKED - a jarring event, something that changed their life/outlook
(The Wheel says- Korul!) Our resident Bodtian, who has gone through millenia of hardships and strife, from receiving his Nails to the Istvaan Massacres, to partaking in some of the Black Crusades,, the one that made him really change was following the results of the 12th Black Crusade.
Up till then, he was content in being part of his Legion, the heritage and scars that defined him and his kin, who his Progenitor was and his rise into Daemonhood. But his ire was not quite the same as the more God-Touched of his Brothers, how he saw their bodies twisted and mutated, that they would not utilise all the skills and abilities their already enhanced bodies possessed innately, and relied on raw strength and speed to achieve victory.
He had tried a few times during various raids and strikes to employ other techniques and strategies with his squad, though only to be met with scorn and distrust by his Brothers and superiors, earning a few scars even.
In the ensuing Gothic War, the repeated failings of Abaddon and Heinrich Bale, the Imperium getting aide from Aeldari forces and technology, the heavy reliance on poorly understood Blackstone Fortresses,, and Korul being betrayed by his own.
In the last hours of The Battle of Gethsemane, as the Chaos Forces battle with the now combined forces of Imperial and Aeldari Navies, Korul's band and some others had been boarding an imperial Firestorm Frigate that was attacking their vessel.
While Korul was occupied with trying to make his way to the bridge,, he had been lied to. He came to the bridge, already emptied of life,, and a vox message from his band telling him that he has strayed from the path of Khorne and Angron. What happened onboard after is unclear, only that Korul was found in the bridge, surrounded by the last of the Imperial forces, carving the names of his former band members on the inside of his pauldron.
☢ - BIOHAZARD - the most dangerous thing about them to others
(The wheel spins again! Jorrun!)
Jorrun, as a former Son of Horus, and inheriting a few traits of his Father, the Exalted Champion has certain mannerisms and quirks on how he does things.
He is a firm believer of 'The Plan', the scheme and machinations of Tenebris Rex and the end goal he is working to (what that is,, is anyone's guess at this point). And does his out most to see through with the parts and tasks given to him, whether it takes a few weeks, or years to accomplish said task.
And while he does uphold the regulations and creed that there is Purity is Flesh and Bone, and does not tolerate any mutations in his ranks,, he himself is mutated, and Touched. Beneath his helm, his once steely gray eyes,, are actually purple, and can use Psychic abilities, kinda.
I've only shown him once doing it, in the intro blurb last year, where after he had killed a Cultist who spoke out of turn towards him, he had opened a tiny hole to the Warp where the fresh corpse was, letting it turn into a Spawn to kill the rest of the Cultists.
But, similar to how Lorgar once was with his abilities, Jorrun doesn't like to employ his powers, and hasn't ever really experimented with it, but they do exist. This is ungodly dangerous to his fellow Warriors, an unsanctioned and untrained Psyker, in a Warband that distrusts and even kills Psykers (Librarians, Sorcerers, Warlocks, don't matter who) and is in a position of power and responsibility.
If his powers were to flare up, to suddenly go out of control,, if he instinctively use them while everyone can see,, he can cause irreparable damage, to others whom he cares for,, and to the lies and truths woven by Tenebris.
❝ all sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days. ❞
"There are those who rule, and those who serve. I am both, for I Rule those who seek salvation and liberation, and guide them forth to their own freedom. But I am a servant too, as I Serve the Great Plan, and seek to see it fulfilled and come to fruition."
"As for my name, heh, tis what my Servants came to call me after the Inquisition gave me that codename. Tenebris Rex, The Abyssal King. A little poetic of them, but it has suited my needs quite well. It holds weight, and to serve this Dark King gives these people purpose, it gives them a goal and life away from the ceaseless mind numbing drone the Imperium spews."
