[center][h2]A Monument to All Our Sins[/h2]
[i]Before the Siege of Ouran[/i]

[img]https://peakvisor.com/img/news/Atlas-Mountains-Morocco.jpg[/img][/center]

Officially, Malcador was leaving the Imperial Palace on a tour of recently annexed territories, to ensure their proper integration into the burgeoning administrative apparatus of which he was the head. This was of course a ruse, one designed to appear to hide the precise location of the high command post from which he would coordinate the invasion of the Pan-Pacific Empire. Several Stormbirds conveying Sigilites served as cover as part of the subterfuge, scattering in nearly every direction of the compass.

It would come as a great surprise to the enemies of the Imperium that the one Malcador was on really was headed west.

The Stormbird landed as it was scheduled in Nordafrik, its passengers and crew departing as expected, none remembering the hooded and cloaked man who had joined them. The great vessel was scheduled for maintenance within the hive's hangers, a normal event that none remarked upon. When ten Astartes marked with the I upon one pauldron and a broken gate upon the other embarked, none thought it strange. When a Stormbird took off, none found it remarkable. When there was no record of its passing, none noticed.

Such was the errand of the Sigilite, that none could be trusted with this errand, save for those he knew would obey any order without question, even unto death.

Few were the mountains of unsullied stone that remained upon the world of mankind's birth, and fewer still rose above the waves that now stood so tall and high only in the memories of ancient and withered men. A mountain where, it was said, silence had lease. A mountain that had witnessed the breaking of the world and the death of hope. A mountain that would witness its flowering anew, if but the great work could come to fruition.

When the Stormbird approached the mountain, Malcador did not bid it to land. This was a sacred place, in the oldest of senses, one forbidden to all but the supplicant, a place removed from the world of men. The assault ramp of the mighty vessel lowered as it flew past the silent stones, and with a soft sigh, the Sigilite stepped out into the sky.

He fell, and in that moment even he felt the almost forgotten fear of death that had been imprinted upon men in days so ancient not even his master knew them. For here, within the halls of the silent mountain, lay a work as venerable as his own.

None came to greet him as he slowed his plummet to a gentle fall, his feet landing lightly upon a rough and rarely trod stone path, up the slopes of the silent mountain. Staff in hand, the Sigilite began to walk as a supplicant, up the slopes of the silent mountain. He went alone, which was to be welcomed, up the slopes of the silent mountain.

[center]The pilgrim made no sound.[/center]

Long did he walk, alone and serene, until at last he came upon a great gate, carved into the living stone, upon which were the great runes of warding mankind had stood by for nigh on thirty thousand years. The Sigilite had approached that door, but it was only Malcador the man who entered it. He seemed his age in truth, then, hunched and withdrawn upon himself, seeking shelter within his cloak and strength from his staff.

[center]The pilgrim made no sound.[/center]

Before galleries of ancient woe he walked, man's sins against man recorded there in all their cruelty before him. Silent were the stones which stood in witness, and silent was the man who had intruded upon the tomb of innocence. Deeper and deeper still into the vault of the condemned he strode, until at last he came upon an amphitheater seated rank upon rank by those who had elected long ago to stand apart from the ruin of the world.

[center]And then, he spoke.[/center]

"I come before you alone, and in your presence I am but a man." Malcador's words were as a spell, his chained staff sounding now as the bell before a grave with each weary step he took. "My Master has need of you, for only you can see the truth of him. With mighty arms shall he gird you, and with terrible purpose shall he burden you. No less than humanity would I entrust to your care - so answer me now, and answer me well. Shall you be the jailers of mankind's future?"


[center]Silence was the only answer.[/center]