Ezekiel

Warhammer 40k - Brave New World [Shipwrecked Colony RP] (Looking for more Survivors!)

Lady Alessaria Tae'Naros

Name: Lady Alessaria Tae'Naros
Age: 39
Gender: Female
Role: Undetermined. Currently a fairly useless, very sassy, noble.

Summary:
Lady Alessaria has led a life of luxury up until the dramatic turning point of the recent crash. This is not to say her life has been easy, she has persisted with great expectation placed upon her to further the standing of her family alongside the general tedium of sensation that most nobles eventually feel given the extended lives of their forebears. Few of her many skills are viable in the current situation. While unlikely to be considered to close to the worst of the spoilt brats of the Imperium's nobility, the cultural shock of the current moment is unlikely to be an easy one.

Appearance:

As is the case with almost all nobles of the Imperium who have yet to reach the truly dizzying heights of age, Alessaria's features have been frozen in time from her early twenties, so far maintained with less invasive forms of rejuvenant treatment that will likely sustain her in her current appearance for several decades to come. In any other situation, her golden blonde hair is always extensively styled, complimenting the cold blue of her eyes and the elegance of her features. Unlike so many of the starving waifs of the hives from which she hails, she sports a curvaceous figure, far from starvation but equally not descending into the overtly overweight opulence of much of the nobility.

Records:
Alessaria Tae'Naros was the third child of the current Lord of the Tae'Naros Family, a house of nobles closely related to the Great House of Sokta upon Holy Terra itself. While not quite so grand as to claim a place of prominence upon the Throneworld, various members of the wider Tae'Naros clan have established holdings throughout a number of systems, Alessaria's father, in particular, being the fifth generation to hold the Lord Governorship of the hive world of Scutara-Primus. While a third child in the sprawling web of family politics is close in the terms of Imperial politics, both Alessaria's older siblings are 'substantially' older and well established themselves as separate political forces, thus she has found herself somewhat irrelevant from the moment of her birth, albeit still with access to the luxuries and privileges of her prominent position. In certain matters of her education and preparation for the possibility of an important role on some world, somewhere, she has excelled, but in others she has shown no aptitude at all, seemingly relying on whether it is a subject matter she is not entirely bored by. She now finds herself aboard the Fortune's Dominion as she and much of her family attend to a pilgrimage, albeit in the usual affluent style of those who can afford to do so.

Personality:
Alessaria is certainly someone used to getting her way, at least in matters of the day-to-day and one who is not afraid to wield that fact to full effect. While certainly spoiled, this is not purely down to her name alone, already being something of a widely accomplished manipulator for decades by this point. Behind her self-importance is a surprisingly capable mind that once she applies herself can certainly be considered intelligent and quick-witted. Perhaps the only aspect of her upbringing which has prepared her well for the current situation is the ruthless streak so commonly found in the slightly more switched on of the noble populace.

Skills:
Broadly and indepthly educated in the fine arts of upper Imperial society, Alessaira has been considered a notable prodigy in terms of dance and song, a fact her family have often boasted of. For academic matters directly relating to her family and their holdings she has shown great aptitude as well, although wider concepts often bore her. Her knowledge of High Gothic is fluent, confirmed with personal recitations of the sacred texts of the Imperium's faith and law, as well as the poems and songs of the ancient language. As with many individuals expected to travel widely, she also knows many more forms of Low-Gothic than one might initially guess from the arrogant noble. She has next to no primary skills suitable for survival in the current situation.

Equipment:
A las pistol recovered from a dead member of the crew. An exotic and elegant ballgown she happened to be wearing at the time of the crash, a slightly less over the top but almost as finely made set of nightclothes. An extremely tasty and expensive pairing set of chocolates and red wine.

Misc:
N/A

Warhammer 40k - Brave New World (Shipwrecked Colony RP)

Ooooooooh

Much interest so wow.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Collab with @grimely and @FrostedCaramel



Gloriana Class Battleship Ultus-Solis
High Orbit Anchor Over 20-63. Locally known as Praxia

Sekhmetara allowed herself to rest her eyes as she waited, allowing the blessed darkness to reign over her senses for the short while. For countless hours she had poured over reports, the flickering of cogitatal data shimmering in her mind even after her separation from it. The War for Praxia had continued to steadily fall in the favour of the combined Legions, even with their surprisingly advanced technology, the rebels were outgunned, and could not rely on the presence of the Emperor’s gene scions. The steady churning war was beginning to become a rout, the last bastions of resistance would soon find their hastily projected void shielding failing. She did not see the need to throw the lives of the daughters of either legion away through the shock assault when direct bombardment had become an option, now they simply waited for the final decisive blow to be made open to them.

Her mood had not improved, however. The origin of the rebellion’s technological surge had not been identified. Those captured from the rebellion and intercepted transmission spoke of a benefactor from beyond the stars, one who had swayed them with the chance to throw off the yoke of their oppressive local government, which had become synonymous with the Imperium during the brief contact with the world. The Imperial Auxilia Commanders who had saw fit to not address this issue in the world’s initial compliance had already been identified by the primarch, although she had yet to decide how best to address this failure. They were on the cusp of victory, yet the conditions had not effectively changed from their arrival beyond the simple consideration of strategic objectives. Her victories were won in the heart and mind as much as in the seizure of assets, and this felt hollow.

She had forced a reprieve upon herself not out of a need for rest, but due to the arrival of yet another sister. The party which gathered for the arrival of Daena was not quite so grand as the ceremonial meeting of the Tears of Dawn and The Serpents of the Sun. Even those Primarchs she was not closest with, Sekhmetara had spent significant time studying for behavioural preferences. The Emperor’s true angel was not one for such pomp, and besides, they were now involved in an active warfront, even she would not recall her key staff for pomp and ceremony when they were executing her wars. Still, it was a worthy enough occasion that those aboard the Gloriana for their duties alongside their Primarch had assembled in full, the observation tier just as crowded as it was for the arrival of the Serpents, those who had been allowed down to the surface to document the war being in small enough number it had no effect on the crowd density. Now, however, two primarchs stood where there had been one, their presence united almost enough that their smaller retinues could hardly be noticed as significant.

Nelchitl stood beside her sister with an uneasy conscience. Her Legion was planetside, continuing the campaign against the traitors of Praxia without her. The mysterious weapons and technology had yet to be identified, and a benefactor from the stars appeared to be the culprit but still who they were was unknown. With more questions than answers and a planet hanging in the balance Nelchitl yearned to be anywhere but here, and yet here she stood in the massive bay of the Ultus-Solis her duties as Primarch, and as sister, out weighing the cost of the momentary withdrawal from Praxia.

She turned to survey the bay, once more the same one she had landed in on her own arrival, yet being on the receiving side she was able to take in the atmosphere far beyond the scope that she had when she stepped off her shuttle. The sounds of battle were replaced with the ever incessant hum of her dearest sisters favorite Remembrancers packing the catwalks and observation windows, clicks of pict-machines and the whirring of holo-devices easily discernible over the noise of the crowd as the moments were captured to be forever ingrained in the memory of the Crusade. Not a day earlier she had been advancing the fight with her daughters, now she found herself the focus of hololiths and pict feeds like some famous socialite while her daughters fought and bled beneath them. She found the thought disconcerting.

The questions in her mind threatening to completely overshadow the occasion, Nelchitl did her best to shake the thoughts from her mind and readied herself for another sister's arrival. The Emerald Priestess had counted herself blessed by the Emperor’s goodwill in being close enough to assist Sekhmetara, just seeing one of her prized siblings reward enough for her. But now she would be united with a second. She took solace in the fact that the Emperor Himself must certainly be orchestrating such a reunion, His Will moving beyond the stars allowing for such a rare joining to manifest was the only explanation for such good fortunes.

Bolstered by the idea that He had allowed this reunion of three sisters, the gnawing thoughts at the back of Nelchitl’s mind seemed to subside and she allowed herself to relax where she stood and enjoy what was to come. With a radiant smile and a conscience lifted by His intervention, Nelchitl turned and offered the myriad pict-machines an easy wave before turning back to watch the dark beyond the integrity shields.

Away in the dark, the expected Primarch sat within her shuttle with the same impassive serenity as ever, the vessel hanging in the void between her host’s Gloriana and her own. Though surrounded by her entourage, that collection of Astartes and civilians was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment, Daena’s thoughts instead focused on the sisters she was moments from meeting. The mere fact that such a meeting was occurring rankled every pragmatic bone in her body, a portion of her mind calculating how quickly she could get her daughters planetside now that the Redemption was in orbit. A ghost of a smile crossed her face at the thought that both of her siblings might agree with that assessment - albeit for vastly different reasons. Her smile vanished as she teased on that thought, unfurling it as every passing moment brought her closer to the waiting hangar bay.

Nelchitl was an easy read, the woman as brash and impulsive as the day she was found. No doubt she wished to return to the battlefield and put the enemy to flight, to earn the victory rather than pose for photographs. Sekhmetara on the other hand… everything Daena had learned of her made it clear that in almost every other situation she was a lover of pomp and parties, but this wasn’t any other situation. No, something told the Deathseer that even she would not be content to feast with her pride so sorely wounded.
Whether she thought correctly would soon be found out, the Primarch’s head snapping up as soon as she felt her vessel make contact with the deck. Her gaze took in her entire retinue as her thoughts receded and the now became paramount. The Praetors and technical analysts sat silently as they waited for the order to disembark, having donned power armor and dress uniform for the occasion. Meanwhile the horde of Remembrancers took every opportunity to record it, Daena’s face seamlessly shifting from dull mask to gentle smile as they were finally able to catch a sight of her. Hidden within that crowd of humanity sat a man in the humble robes of the Order Elucidatum, whom the Primarch scrupulously paid little heed to and asked no questions of. And then, there were them. The same two who had seemed to always shadow her, the cherubic twins constantly following at her heels, remaining ageless despite the centuries.

“Come now, Daena. It won’t take as long as you fear,” the pair say in their unearthly synced cadence, fulsome grins splitting their faces as they continue, “Trust us.”

Refusing to give any response, Daena simply stood, her Praetors immediately falling in rank behind her at the wordless signal. Though pomp was not her preference, she understood that such displays of pageantry still served a valuable purpose for the Imperium’s citizenry - and for that, she was all too willing to put on a proper show. First out the hatch was her Praetor Primus, Asha banging the ornate silver spear upon the ground with her every step. Following were a pair of lesser ranked Praetors in whom Daena’s lineage ran strongest, their flowing white hair contrasting with the void black of their armor. And then came the Angel herself, her wings unfurling in a majestic display as she stepped off of the shuttle and onto the Ultus-Solis proper, a dusting of pure white feathers trailing in her wake. A final two Praetors round out the honor guard, hoisting banners decorated with the honors of the XIVth.

That she was then followed by an ungainly assortment of scientists, Remembrancers, and whatever other officials had managed to tag along was of no concern to her. She had created the impression she needed to, the images that would inspire dread and awe. That was all that mattered. But the show was not over, not so soon.

The sight of another sister-primarch in such a short space of time was still one to lift Sekhmetara’s spirit despite the situation on the planet below. While she responded with less overt familiarity to the arrival of Nelchitl some time before, warmth still radiated from her as she smiled, and her retinue saluted with the sign of the Aquila. She had always personally preferred the traditional Mithran salute, but she was proud of her Legion-Daughters for adapting as directed by the cultural norms of the Imperium.

The arrival of the Emperor’s angel rippled as a wave of anticipation through the civilian onlookers above. To already be in the presence of two daughters of the Emperor was one thing, but they were an overbearing presence one could hope to survive, the sudden arrival of one another matter entirely. To see three at once at a distance one might be able to throw a stone? Almost too much for even the most well prepared of onlookers, a phenomenon even the marines themselves were not entirely immune from. For Sekhmetara’s part, she felt impressed herself. Part of her had always thought the stories of a sister-Primarch forged in the image of humanity’s old clingings of faith to be an exaggeration, she felt flutterings of joy to know this was not the case. If she had been slightly more (or perhaps less) vain, she might have even felt envious. Envy, however, was not an emotion she felt particularly capable of.

“Greetings, Sister, a fortunate day for us all that are unified in location, as well as purpose.” Sekhmetara’s tone was cordial and without excessive formality, however her voice naturally carried across the room giving it the air of a diplomatic speed in quality of volume alone. “And we are so very pleased you could join us.”

Nelchitl felt her mood rising further as the Doomsayers honor guard made their way out of the shuttle. A display of calculated threat and awe as representations of raw power strode forth ahead of their Primarch, armor as black as the void beyond the integrity shields. She found herself drawn to the striking resemblance that the two shared with the being that would soon step out behind them. The two Praetors flowing white hair and porcelain features appeared to resemble Daena far more on this day than they had last Nelchitl had seen them years before. An interesting trait inherited from their gene-mother no doubt.

The click of pict feeds and the whir of new holo devices coming to life filled the ears of the Emerald Priestess as she watched her sister put on a show for all those assembled by spreading her wings to full as she made her otherwise subdued entrance. Nelchitl stood slightly taller as her own honor guard saluted with the sign of the aquila in lock-step with the Tears opposite of them. The view of her sisters' arrival enough to completely dispel the earlier misgivings of the campaign below, Nelchitl knew for sure that no foe; no matter how well armed and supplied; could possibly stand against the combined might of the three beings assembled in the bay of the Ultus-Solis.

With a smile and a surety of action in her step, Nelchitl broke from the side of Sekhmetara only moments after her sister had finished speaking. With arms held wide at her sides in a friendly gesture Nelchitl spoke as she approached the Angel of Death.

“Fortune bears no weight here, the Emperor surely brings us together!” she spoke easily, her voice carrying to all within the bay, an infectious joy within them turning the hushed whispers and stunned expressions of the Remembrancers and assorted crew above seeing Daena for the first time into unsure smiles and excited buzzing. “Were it only under more desirable circumstances.” she finished, her final words only carrying as far as Daena and her entourage, lost to the space of the bay with the same casual ease that had carried across its entirety.

The perfect porcelain smile on Daena’s face broke into a true grin as her ‘younger’ sister rushed forward, the emotionless judge permitting herself to truly indulge. Had it been anyone else, the Praetors would have cut down such a brazen interloper where they stood - but Nelchitl had always seemed to break such rules. Nearly all Doomsayers present had been there two decades past when they had first met, but even they were surprised by what happened next.

Bringing her sister into a tight embrace, the Angel’s wings descend over the pair, hiding them from the sight of the crowd and the whirr of pict captors. Looking Nelchitl in the eye, Daena seemed as if she was about to speak for a moment. And then it began again, the Primarch freezing in place as visions overtook mundane sight..

Oceans of blood boiled beneath an oppressive sky, the supply continuously renewed from the filthy gutters of a fortress of gore and bone. A citadel home to atrocities beyond counting, witnessed mid-fall. Gleaming figures in silver and gold assaulted its battlements and tore down its horrors in a maelstrom of death and destruction - and at the center of it all a gleaming sword punctured a woman’s chest. By some accident or with what little strength remained, her head moved to stare directly into the phantasmal viewer’s eyes, Nelchitl’s staring into Daena’s once more. The vision changed almost as soon as it was seen, the Primarch of the XVIIth staring vacantly into the sky as creatures with horrid limbs cavorted around her dying form. A smile erased in a heartbeat by an unseen assailant. A monster righteously destroyed. A hero dying for her people. A tyrant despised by her followers. But in them all it remained, the oppressive sight and stench of blood.

Wrenching her gaze away from Nelchitl, Daena’s wings flap frantically as the overwhelmed woman attempted to escape her accursed sight - and succeeded only in changing the subject of her visions. Locking eyes with Sekhmetara, the blood mercifully faded away, replaced by visions of opulence and gold. She lay recumbent in a palace decorated in her own style, dying a slow death from an impossible wound in her stomach that refused to heal. A woman offered salvation, warning that only death awaited inaction. This, too, soon faded, replaced by yet more entries in the parade of ill fate. A hunt gone awry, her body broken beneath a monster with the face of one of their brothers. A hunt well fought, the victorious heroes putting an end to a monster with the face of Sekhmetara. Beloved and despised. Worshiped and profaned. Conqueror and conquered.

It took only a moment for her mind to once more be hers, Daena’s face sliding back into the inoffensive smile of a statute as her wings came to rest upon her back. Such foolishness had nearly cost her dearly, the Primarch’s mental walls reinforced to ensure that such childish notions as joy would not interrupt what remained of their show. Perhaps in private, away from the demands of duty, but never here. Not while her performance was still required.

“My sister,” she spoke softly, voice pitched just so to ensure that the breathy whisper could still be detected by the devices of the Remembrancers. “It is good to see you once more. And my sister, a pleasure to meet at last,” she continued, voice growing in strength as she turned towards Sekhmetara again. “Father sends his regards, and his fondest wish that we deal with these misguided fools swiftly. Malcador sends his Tallymen to ensure it,” she said with a sweeping gesture towards the Elucidators still disembarking her shuttle. “But there will be time enough for us to speak of war. My sisters,” My murderers?, “would that we could always travel together,” she said in a carrying voice, hoping that none noticed her momentary pause, before beckoning towards the mistress of the Tears to join her and Nelchitl.

The onyx skinned form of the third primarch closed the distance between her and her united sisters in a few brief steps to embrace them. While she wore her battleplate in most of its entirety, her gauntlets were not in place and the bare touch of her hands held to her sisters’ faces, the gold of her sub-dermal metallic markings sparkling lightly in the artificial light.

“When our father first told me I had kin among the stars, this was the moment my soul longed for.” Sekhmetara spoke, her tone remaining private in tone, but public in volume, a moment of intimacy between demigods standing in the hold of the faithful. “War may bring us together, but it is the building of our father’s realm for which we are born.” The intense orbs of her eyes focused finally on Daena even as she spoke to them both. Her fellow Primarch had not faltered visibly to the sense of lesser humanity, but the cut and thrust of politics were her domain and she was not a lesser human. Her sister struggled with some private thought, worth mentioning at a different time.

“Sister.” Nelchitl beamed as a smiling Daena pulled her into an embrace. Her sister's wings wrapping around the form of the two Primarchs shrouding them in intimate privacy, she looked upon her sister ready for warm words of kinship from the Angel before her only to find her sister's gaze vacant and devoid of the life she had just witnessed. In silence she stood for the briefest of moments as the wings surrounding them fluttered as if overwhelmed by some private thought. Yet as quickly as the episode had begun it was over with Daena offering the words that Nelchitl had expected.

Knowing better than to mention in such a setting what she had just witnessed, Nelchitl maintained her delighted composure as Daena addressed her sisters. “Time enough for war indeed, there seems no lack of it beneath us as it stands.” she agreed with the Angel before she eyed over the entourage that had disembarked and took note sourly of the Elucidators in the crowd. The Emerald Priestess turned her view once more to her sisters and the approaching form of Sekhmetara, adding her to the embrace with a smooth shift from her place.

She brought a hand up to clasp that of Sekhmetara’s at her cheek as she spoke, offering an affectionate grin to her favorite sister. She nodded in agreement and added her own words to the end of her sisters, “To build His realm as He has envisioned it is the singular purpose of us all, and the binding ideals we strive for in His name secure our bonds as the bedrock of this the Great Crusade.” Content that she had indulged the need for propaganda and morale across the Crusade’s thousands of fleets and here amongst the myriad of mortals and Astartes assembled in hushed excitement Nelchitl was about to speak privately again when the sounds of soft singing began to drift from the honorguard of Tears.

It was then that the quiet voice drifted from Sekmetara’s entourage, from the honour guard of Tears of Dawn selected to accompany their Primarch. They were fresh, those with more experience or prominence still attending their duties on the planet. The most promising new recruits from the latest generations of Tears of Dawn. Exceptional individuals in their own right, but not yet used to the presence of even their own Primarch, let alone three. Distorted only slightly by the Astartes helm worn by the individual, the halting Mithran words reached Sekhmetara’s ears and a warmer smile brushed her features as she turned from her embrace with her sisters to approach her own honour guard. The voice continued, even more quietly and hatling as the primarch drew closer.

”Baba yetu, yetu uliye….Mbinguni yetu, yetu, amina.” The young Astartes continued to practically gasp out the words as Sekhmetara herself placed her hands on either side of the Astartes helm, lifting gently, her own programmed presence as genesire overriding the mag-locks within the armoured suit. The features which looked back at her were almost a more solidly built mirror of her own, although with an element of fresh youth the Primarch had shed long ago before she was even half the age of the being before her. Finally fully exposed, the voice came to a halting stop, a look of awe on the golden brown eyes gazing up at the Primarch’s own.

“...Sire….I’m sorry….forgive me.” She stammered, now returning to the Low Gothic the fleet communicated with, words which only extended Sekhmetara’s smile.

“You have done nothing wrong sister, but our helms are not made for expressing such joy.” Sekhmetara spoke as she offered the helm back to her gene-daughter, her eyes rising to the observation gantry as a much more sonorous voice took up the melody which had begun.

”Baba yetu, yetu uliye, Mbinguni yetu, yetu, amina, Baba yetu, yetu, uliye, Jina lako litukuzwe.” Before this new female voice had even finished her first few words, a cascade of voices joined them. The native Mithrans in attendance, from marine to rembrancer to landing crew, and those who had served long enough beside them all took up the song of celebration from their home, one that had long been adapted since the arrival of the Imperium to Mithra.

”Utupe leo chakula chetu, Tunachohitaji utusamehe, Makosa yetu, hey, Kama nasi tunavyowasamehe, Waliotukosea, usitutie.” The voices rose in celebration, cascading over the landing bay. The gantry shook with the melodic stamping of those who knew the rhythm. The people of Mithra regarding the three Primarchs with the tones once reserved for the holiest of beings in the old Mithran faith, made new for this new era of Enlightenment. All but one of Sekhmetara’s current honour guard removed their helms to join in, the first daughter now rejoining the song she had inadvertently begun. To that last helmeted daughter, the Primarch nodded. The helmed figure, garbed in the black and orange of the First Company, moved towards the shipward entrance to the hall even as the song continued.

Such was the force of joy carrying the song that the mechanical churn of the bulkhead opening caused no pause, revealing an assembly of individuals proceeding forwards. Many were in fine, if unfashionable by Imperial standards, garb although others were dressed akin to the common workers from a million generic hive cities across the galaxy. All had been taken from Praxia below in the fighting, some expected to be taken part in some form of diplomatic talks, most had little such hope having seen the furious fighting of the Astartes and wider Imperium in person. None expected to be brought into the crucible of awe that was the presence of three primarchs and the assembled crowd. As they did so, Sekhmetara swept forwards. With a blink, her eyes were alight with molten glory, the mane of her hair changing from dark brown to the superheated white of flame, surrounding her features in a halo of light and fire. For a moment all were stunned. Some were frozen in places, others fell to a knee or even prostrated themselves as she drew closer.

“People of Praxia. You have been led astray by those who seek to rip you from the love and protection of our Lord Father, of Our Imperium.” Her tone was warm, but no longer soft, not hiding the imperious nature of her tone. “Your warriors are might and brave, you have earned my respect and you will be treated as brothers and sisters united with us anew, those of you who accept the truth and justice of our eternal realm. One Galaxy, A United Humanity.” Finally she reached the line of the assembled Praxians, her hands reaching forwards upturned as she spoke. Several of them shrank away, unable to bear the force of her presence. Two of them stepped forwards, shaking with fear and awe, reaching comparatively small digits to brush her palms, like the faithful reaching for a Messiah of old. As two did, more joined them, kneeling before the burning demi-god who brought the vengeance of the galaxy with her. “In his name.” Sekhmetara sang, in her native tongue, to bring an end to the song which had once been a prayer.

Though Nelchitl had heard the words before, and had learned Mithran many years prior at the insistence of Sekhmetara, there was no doubt in her mind that her own Serpents were likely just as confused as the assembled non-Mithran mortals present. With a serenity falling over her features, she watched as the Primarch of XXth moved to her daughters and removed the helm of the one who had begun the quiet song. The reverence of Sekhmetara’s movements, and the peaceful words she spoke to her own gene-daughter only served to sway Nelchitl’s mood further into joyous peace. When the song was then picked up by all of the Mithran’s present Nelchitl found herself keeping pace in her mind as the song ebbed and flowed to its completion on the lips of Huntress herself.

“In His name.” the Emerald Priestess echoed the words of her sister beneath her breath, the words spoken with the devotion of a true believer.

She brought her gaze away from the astonishingly moving display of Sekhmetara, noting the adoration visible on the faces of all of her daughters as she moved to focus on the assorted prisoners that had been escorted into the landing bay.

Once more her sister called forth the power that sent shivers down Nelchitl’s spine every time she witnessed them. The Emerald Priestess felt the attention of every Serpent in the bay focused onto the Primarch of the XXth, their breath bated as she displayed her mystifying powers. The image of the Emperor once more before Nelchitl on the battlefield of Ixhun, hovering above her with His hands outstretched in offers of acceptance and annihilation all at once swam back to her mind in such vivid detail she couldn’t help as a tear streaked down her cheek. She felt her hearts beat faster as Sekhmetara moved amongst the prisoners offering the same assured outcomes to the traitors, and Nelchitl herself offered the sign of the aquila as the display in front of her offered nothing less than proof of the divine. For what else could create a being so perfect as the deity she was watching before her own eyes?

Daena’s heart sank as she realized that they knew, doubt gnawing at the back of her mind as she wondered who else noticed aside from her sisters. Indecision and inadequacy raced through the cracks in her mental defenses until they were banished with a burst of will powerful enough that the psykers in her retinue looked at their mistress with genuine concern, before they too mastered their emotions. It is a still and placid face that turned to greet the swell of song, whatever human part of her that may have been moved buried deep below the weight of duty and station.

Where the Tears rejoiced and the Serpents were happily confused, the Doomsayers feared. All in attendance had traveled with their lady for long enough to recognize what had occurred, the subtle indicators of Daena warring with herself - and losing. An angel without mercy or remorse strode forth as the show reached its climax, examining the prisoners with neither pity nor hate. Where Sekhmetara used grandiose displays, and Nelchitl had her fearsome reputation, the Angel of Death was far more direct.

She stopped before the row of Praxians, pulling herself to her full height, wings outstretched so that the only light that shone upon them was her sister’s own. A blank gaze swept across them as power gathered within her frame, the twin cherubim in her retinue looking at their mistress with clear distaste before muttering something unheard to her mortal followers. Her Praetors by contrast remain unmoved, Asha and the four trailing battle sisters wearing the same impassive face as their mistress - an effect made altogether more disturbing on the nearly identical faces of the pair who had walked directly before her.

When Daena spoke, it was a single, undeniable command. An order that could not be disobeyed, that even the strongest willed of the rebels could not endure. So forceful was her decree that even the weak willed among the Imperium’s own could not help but kneel or bow as they obeyed her iron will.

“SUBMIT.”

A ripple of submissive silence passed through the throng of both the gathered prisoners and the Imperial crowd watching from the higher observation tier. Many fell to their knees involuntarily, and many more followed by choice watching their fellows fall to the indomitable will of the primarchs. One who did not kneel was Isabis Khafre, her trembling form watching the presence of three demigods in faithful rapture. One hand splayed over her heart, the prongs of her fingers formed into four distinct points, her thumb clasped into her hand. Despite herself, her role was important, coordinating the recording of the event to be projected down to the populace on Praxia, both for the loyal and recovered cities, as well as ideally reaching even those who held out against the Imperium. Such a display from the sacred scions had momentarily pulled her away from her focus, however. How any could doubt the divinity of such beings, she did not know, but she would do her utmost to spread their word across the stars.
“That angle, yes, framed together.” She spoke in a hushed whisper to the closest of her crew, watching a large dataslate presenting a window from each camera in the hold, some co-opted from the cameras of the ship itself, others from fellow remembrancers. There were few, if any, in the Imperium who could challenge her skill of directive vision, and all of her ability went into selecting the perfect moments and angles to craft into the final vision. A monkey could make an impressive film from this footage, she felt. A master of her ability could craft a pict-series which would bring the galaxy to its enraptured knees, much as the hold now found itself. With a content smile she nodded, before pressing a runic device on her gauntlet. An unseen communication to her adopted sister to mark that they had all they needed.

Sekhmetara herself received the alert as the smallest runic blip from the interface of her armour, her hands finally lifting from those who still grasped for her presence. “You are dismissed.” She spoke plainly, but it was undoubtedly a command to all present, prisoner and Imperial alike. With a shimmer of her inflamed mane of hair, she turned, nuclear eyes falling on the agents of the Regent. She did not repeat herself, but her focus made clear she included even the highest agents of their father’s most trusted advisor within the scope of her command. If it rankled them, it was not so obvious as to present a public suggestion of rebellion to the will of the Primarch. As the landing bay emptied, Sekhmetara approached Daena again, moving to cup her cheeks before placing a kiss to her forehead.

“Calm, sister. All is well.”

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Collab with @Bloodrose



Morgan awoke in what seemed to be the back of some battered old van. She could feel the road bouncing beneath her, whilst the truck’s metal walls rattled and shook.

“Fuck…” she hissed, wincing in pain. She could feel the fresh gouge in chest pounding and burning.

Ghostly nerve endings cried out in torment.

The wound was healing, dead flesh knitting itself back together, fighting to seal up the bloody hole that stake had left in her bosom.

“I could never decide if it was more painful to be with you, or without you, amica mea.” Calantha murmured, sitting across from her, in the back of the van.

The Tzimisce gazed at Morgan with tortured, yearning-filled eyes.

“You’re not the one with a fucking hole in your chest.” the Malkavian hissed back.

Calantha was splayed out across a seat, which looked as though it had been converted from someone’s timeworn sofa.

The towering Brujah and the flame-kissed nosferatu sat on either side of her.

“Where are you taking me?” Morgan demanded, still cringing in pain.

“Our little club house.” The nosferatu tittered, in her raspy, grating growl-of-a-voice.

The Malkavian heard one of her hushed, fluttering ghosts whispering in her ear, through the gashes in her mind.

”Down, down, down, beneath the earth,” the voice told her, ”however far light travels, darkness has always traveled further. The sun will wither, and die, but darkness is eternal.”

It wasn’t long before they reached their destination.

The giant, dark-skinned Brujah forced Morgan out of the van, pressing the tip of his mammoth broadsword into her back.

They drove her out into the San Francisco night, and up the stony steps of Grace Cathedral, the Nosferatu disguising herself beneath a dark hood.

“If you charlatans were half as brave as you made out, you wouldn’t skulk in the shadows.” Morgan spat, earning her a sharp slap across the back of the head.

The Sabbat shoved Morgan inside the cathedral, guiding her past enormous white pillars, and rows upon rows of polished pews. A myriad of colourful, glistening stained glass encircled them, passing soft beams of moonlight into the cathedral.

The enormous chamber was deathly quiet, and as empty as a water tank, which had been drained down to the final drop.

“Take her into the pit,” Calantha instructed her subordinate, “bring her before El Conde. Through the will of the dark father, he shall remake her.”

“They call my kind crazy,” Morgan snarled, “but you’re the ones who are fucking insane. Does it hurt, having a brain filled with the Sabbat’s poison and lies? Does the madness ache? Do you suffer?”

Calantha let out a sharp eruption of laughter.

“Madness doesn’t hurt, amica mea,” she cackled, “it makes us whole. I treasure every delicious second of it.”

Calantha Teohari was the product of unimaginable torture, and indescribbably suffering. She had been ripped apart, and put back together, over and over and over again, by her demented sire.

In the decades since, she had glutted herself on a banquet of the most deranged, and psychotic souls. Her favourite pastime was embracing particularly sadistic serial killers, before diablerizing them, and gorging on their essence.

She stalked them, trapped them, and feasted upon their insanity.

Those crooked splinters of malice and monstrosity had embedded themselves within her, burrowing beneath her skin, and drilling into the psychic tissue of her mind.

Morgan doubted that any of her treasured friend was left.

Secret passageways webbed out of the Cathedral, and burrowed down into the darkest echelons of the earth. The Sabbat forced Morgan down, into a spiraling corridor, and marched her through their underground network of hidden tunnels.

“How typically villainous of you,” Morgan chuckled dryly, and without humour, her tone dripping with scorn, “an underground lair.”

“It has its uses.” The towering Brujah replied, curtly, his voice bouncing off of the craggy walls.

Jagged stone underpasses surrounded them, carved out of crooked rock, and engulfed in complete darkness. Without their supernatural night vision, the vampires would have been unable to see even marginally infront of them.

“El conde will transform you, beloved,” Calantha promised, as the group stepped out of the shadowy hallways, and into the Sabbat’s colossal, underground chapel, “we will become one in -”

The Tzimiscie stopped, dead in her tracks.

“Points for presentation, but the substance is lacking.” The voice sounded bored as it rose from the pews lining the chapel. The figure sat among them, his feet up on the row in front of him with a typical lack of reverence as the figure beside him finally crumbled to ash, consumed by his ministrations.

“I remember when the Sabbat didn’t scurry in holes in the ground, when all of Europe bowed beneath the whims of your Popes and Bishops. They called you Anarchs back then. By the Dark Sire, that was a ‘real’ war.” The figure continued as he stood, buttoning closed the jack of the three piece suit he wore, even hidden in darkness. The ash didn’t stick to him this time, tumbling away to leave his appearance painfully perfect.

“I wasn’t going to kill you all, I really do promise, but then I found this little rat, and it really sullied my mood.” Lubbock half-growled as he stooped to lift the exsanguinated body of Andy Warhol from the floor beside him, examining the stricken kindred with a look of pure disgust. “Moden art was such a terrible mistake.” He bemoaned, before casting the body aside, striking a pillar with such force the kindred simply came apart in a cascade of bone and corpse-ash, the last of the undead will holding it together collapsing entirely.

“Come on then, I haven’t got all night.”

Morgan’s head was swarmed with the shrieking, screaming voices of the unseen. Countless invisible kindred cried out, begging her to turn, and run.

“You don’t belong here,” Calantha snarled, striding forwards, with fire blazing in her eyes, “these dark halls will be your tomb!”

The Tzimisce raised one long, slender hand, and her underlings rushed forwards.

Gracie and Tate charged towards Lubbock, the giant Brujah hoisting his broadsword up above his head, whilst he roared like some ancient berserker.

“Calantha, please!” Morgan grabbed hold of the Tzimisce’s hand, slipping her fingers between those of her former lover.

Calantha Teohari was so stunned that she didn’t ressit, caught off-guard by the sudden display of affection.

“Down into the jaws of the beast,” Morgan whimpered, re-conveying what the shadowy voices were whispering to her, bloody tears welling in her eyes,”a child of the minotaur, in the skin of a knight. Dancing on roses of ash, and mountains of bones.”

A burst of panic flashed across the Tzimisce’s pale features.

Lubbock didn’t even move as the Kindred charged him, he closed his eyes, opening his mouth to taste the rage, and the building fear. His tongue lapped around the emotions like a thirsting animal, savouring the hot tangs of their mayfly lives. Then he spoke.

“Kill each other.”

When the words slipped passed his lips, Lubbock’s eyes blazed in the darkness, leeching the colour of ichor into the air itself, the words pulsing through the air like a shockwave, the very darkness itself fleeing from him. The pair of kindred didn’t miss a step, their charge turned on the next motion, barreling them into each other in a tumble of claw,fang and body. To kill a kindred was not a swift or easy thing with brute force, even to another kindred, and the pair were still fighting, cutting visceral chunks of each other away as Lubbock stepped over them.

“You are right, broken thing, your myths and legends, I am them, when humanity was young and barely knew the bones of gods it scrabbled upon, I was there. When you elders croned about the dangers of the ancient ones, they spoke of me.” He continued to walk closer, the burning brightness of each eye a mote to lose the soul in, utterly transfixing the Kindred before him even as their comrades limply still tried to fulfill his orders, dying, bleeding ash on the floor.

“Do you see now? Your Sabbat is not truth, you are just the children who needed the greater lie.”

The pounding in Morgan’s head was like the beating of a hundred thousand thundering war drums. The beast within her was thrashing, and fighting, and screaming in terror.

She felt her dead body growing stiff, and cold. She was frozen to the spot; petrified by the transfixing touch of unadulterated dread.

“We prepared for this,” Calantha hissed, her fangs unsheathing, “the sword of caine has planned for your awakening, monster!”

The Malkavian could feel ancient fires crackling against her skin. The scent of smoke, long since extinguished, flooded her nostrils.

Mary’s dying screams filled her ears, threatening to engulf her, as they had done all those years ago.
Then, suddenly, a single voice cut through the wailing.

Do it for me, Morgan. Do it for Calantha. Do it for yourself. A brighter future is counting on you.

Morgan Holloway let go of Calantha Teohari’s hand.

The Malkavian took a step forward.

“Its my fault that the Angel found you, Calantha,” Morgan said, locking eyes with the mighty demi-god infront of her, “its my fault that you got pulled into this fucked up world of monsters and demons. You could have had a normal life, but I took that away from you.”

The Malkavian drew her claws.

“It's high time I did something about that.”

Without warning, Morgan Holloway soared forwards, racing across the ground, in a sudden burst of swiftness.

Her mind’s eyes opened, and the ethereal fires of London poured fourth. A raging inferno of insanity bled out into the world, bursting out of her head, and smothering Lubbock in a cacophony of cackling madness.

“RUN, CALANTHA!” The Malkavian roared, throwing herself upon the Antediluvian, “RUN!”

For a few glorious moments, Lubbock was drowned in madness. His mind plunged into raving lunacy of a London long passed. His consciousness danced in the flame, pirouetted among the damned and dying of the city he had once called home. Kindred had a natural revulsion to flame, but instead his soul craved it, seeking the glorious final absolution the fire offered. A chance for blessed annihilation. There, in the smoke drenched ruin, he found her. The dallying mayfly spirit of the Malkavian. He felt her desperation, her fear, and most deliciously rare among the souls of his kind, her love. She had been brave, admirably so, every inch of her being had been thrown into this final act and his heart would be stone to be unmoved by such a thing.

Without even a sigh of effort, he scattered her mind. Her being was already an amalgamation of broken shards, barely held together by a fading will. His presence unleashed her entirely, the glass breaking and spiralling away into madness, then nothingness. That was when his physical form took her, his fangs sinking into her neck, pulling her very essence into him in a span of moments, even as his soul still danced in the London of her creation. He would not let a spirit so motivated from something as beautiful as love been condemned to unreality, he brought her into himself, melding her spirit to his, without consuming her. There she would swim until he grew bored of her, or found a final release a fitting reward for her actions.

Reality crashed against him like a dark tide, the cold bite of the living world bringing a snarl from his features as he was himself again. He could not fault the Tzimisce for not being able to flee either. Her lover’s sacrifice had bought her a single second. He was upon her before she could even blink again, a hand to her throat driving her into the ground with enough force to crack the stone beneath them, leering over her, his eyes bore into her own.

“I feel her thoughts, Calantha, did you know at the end she still loved you? After everything you’ve done.” His fingers flexed, feeling the weakness of her bones beneath his grip. The memories were his now, and what had brought fear to the Malkavian inspired only rage in the ancient Toreador. “It is a shame I need your little, twisted, soul.” He mused, before his own features began to swim. To the kindred he pinned, the form of Lubbock twisted, murky, rippling. At first in the now, but then her memories swam as well, being remade as surely as they were in the present.

Eventually female features looked down at her, pinning her just as effectively with hands the colour of one who had been born under the Mexican Sun, long before there had been a Mexico. When Lubbock spoke, it was with the voice of a grandchilde’ not his own.

“Find me, have your vengeance.”

Then the thing that had been Lubbock vanished.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Collab with @FrostedCaramel



Gloriana Class Battleship Ultus-Solis
High Orbit Anchor Over 20-63. Locally known as Praxia

The Ultus-Solis turned with the world below, keeping the sensor-scrambling surge of heat and light from the system’s sun at its back for now. This gave 20-63 the illusion of static behavior from the Citadel-observation deck of the Battleship, the vast ocean of the world’s Western hemisphere sphere sparkling in what would be its midday sun.

Unusually, Sekhmetara rested alone, reclining on a cushioned bench made for her inhumanly grand physiology, her eyes on the dataslate in her hand as opposed to the cosmic view. Her mind blitzed through the information available, a task she had done several times since the alert had reached her fleet. 20-63, known by the locals as Praxia, had seemed to be a routine compliance, notable only in its ease of transition. A splinter fleet of her own expeditionary fleet had encountered the planet while scouting for offshoots of the Xenos enemy she had still been engaged in scouring from 20-62. The local leadership had been more than willing to incorporate into the Imperium and the society had needed only limited restructuring and no deployment of Astartes forces. That was until a recent uprising on the planet that had seen much of the traditional ruling caste murdered, along with the Imperial administrators which had begun to initiate full compliance. The sudden turn had been something unexpected. What had been far more worthy of note was the technological capability employed by the uprising, several stages beyond what had previously been observed in use by the inhabitants. Enough to threaten even Astartes forces on the ground. What the rebels had perhaps not counted on was the proximity of not one, but two, Legion Expeditionary fleets as reports of the revolution reached Imperial command, passed on in dire warning by the last survivors of the Administration on the world, likely now presumed dead.

Initially, Sekhmetara did not wish for support from another Legion, while 20-63 had been brought into compliance by only a recon splinter of her own fleet, and without any of her Legion taking part, it was still a world brought into the fold under a digital signature at least associated with her. She specialized in ensuring enduring loyalty to the Imperium, this was her problem to solve. That was until the identity of the reinforcing fleet had been revealed to her. The Serpents, Nelchitl. It had been too long since she had met with one of her favored siblings, and she relished the reunion, even under the circumstances. She set aside the dataslate, and rose in a shimmer of silk, the gown she wore wafting gently around her form as she closed the distance between herself and the observation glass, her fingers pressing to it as she examined the world beyond. Serene in its axis. A slight grin tugged at her features as she considered how long this serenity would survive the vengeful rage of two daughters of the Emperor united.

“Sire, we are detecting warp-transition at the system’s edge, hail-codes are responsive.” The voice of one of the Mithran deck officers aboard the Bridge chimed in her ear. She spent relatively little time while deployed aboard the Ultus-Solis, preferring instead to lead from her De-Facto Flagship, The Ashanti. It was a smaller battleship, more suited to the rapid turn of warfare she orchestrated. The crew here were more reverent with her, as befitting a ship that functioned more as her mobile palace and bastion than steed of war.
“My sister?” She responded simply, her eyes remaining on the planet as her hand withdrew from the glass.

“Yes Sire, Enemy emplacements are also tracking their entry.” Such a gesture was futile for the moment, the rebels had their hands on dubiously advanced technology, but they remained a substantial threat only to craft in Low-orbit. The edge of the solar system was undoubtedly well beyond the effective range of all but their most advanced weaponry, which could not be fired in substantial enough payload to convincingly reach any targets through the Imperium’s countermeasures. Every now and then the void shields of her own fleet, remaining at High-Orbit, would flare as brief impacts made it through the web of interlocking countermeasures, but never enough to risk damage to even the shields themselves.

“Ready the ship to accept them.” Sekhmetara turned as she spoke, in another elegant swirl of silken robes, her bare feet padding on the carpeted deck as she made her way to leave and prepare.

Hours Later

Sublight travel across a solar system was not a sudden affair, and so by the time the Expeditionary fleet the Serpents had arrived with and meshed with that of the Tears, preparations for a reunion of Legions had been made for some time. The largest, and grandest, of the Ultus-Solis’ landing bays, resplendent in Mithran artifice of orange, gold and brown, had been a hive to activity. The upper gangways had been cleared for the remembrancers and artificers attached to the fleet so that they might spectate the grand event, while the deck itself was lined with cohorts of the Tears of Dawn and their Auxilia allies. They did not attend in as large a number as could have been present within the space, as some of her siblings might have, robbing all sense of personal intimacy from the reunion. Instead, she had handpicked notable formations from the last campaign on 20-62, favoring newer members of the fleet who had blooded themselves well in their first actions.

At the forefront of the gathering of might, the primarch herself stood in her warplate, the predominantly black armour, highlighted with golds and emblazoned in places with orange and red. Her inner circle stood with her, an eclectic group of figures of varying builds. Two were true female astartes, her First Captain in her own plate coloured to match her Primarch, her Chief Librarian in the more traditional orange plate of the Legion. Alongside them, the rather more human and male individual, Kvasi Khafre, garbed in the uniform of the Imperial Questoris rather than the robes of a Mithran noble. He was tall and solidly built for a human, but remained decidedly the shorter of the four.

“I should invest in stilts.” He mumbled to Sekhmetara as they stood at the head of the procession, awaiting the immediate arrival of the Serpents, adjusting some of the service medals pinned to his chest, his thick Mithran accent cloying harmoniously across the Low Gothic words. “That, or I could simply attend all these in hunter’s skein.” The Mithran term for the Questoris suits still caused some amount of tribulation among the more inflexible of the Imperium.

“Such tricks are beneath you brother, I know you have enough pride in you to more than make up for such silly practicalities of physical existence,” Sekhmetara whispered back, her face barely moving in the process, her lips in a slight smirk. In the next moment, the preparatory claxons sounded, the initial layer of armoured plating retracting to open the vast expanse of the landing bay to the void, the atmosphere held in by the shielding.

Within the Stormbird Tzompantli the Primarch of the XVII Legion stood resplendent in her battle plate. Newly restored from the fighting on Arel, Nelchitl’s armor shimmered without the faintest blemish to give away the combat it had just endured. Dim red running lights revealing only freshly painted and polished plate that any mortal would gaze upon in awe. The Stormbird turned gracefully as it approached the Ultus-Solis, the unmistakable transition of an integrity shield giving away the fact that they had entered into the Gloriana’s hold even before the pilots voice sounded in Nelchitl’s ear to tell her what she already knew.

A sense of thrill filled Nelchitl’s senses as the Stormbird touched down gently on it’s landing legs and the engines began to power down. There was a hiss of hydraulics and a subtle release of locking mechanisms as the Stormbirds ramp slowly fell away. The thrill of what was to come only began to build as the ramp slowly lowered to the deck, revealing the magnificent interior of the Ultus-Solis. Before the ramp had fully lowered the honor guard of Serpents began their descent. The bulky figure of First Captain Nenetl in her terminator armor exited first followed closely by the form of Captain Mayalen, recently recovered from her wounds sustained in the final assault of the Arel capital and carrying a pride obvious to all even as she exited the Stormbird on a brand new augmetic leg.

Next was the Emerald Priestess herself followed closely behind by an unmistakably beautiful human female even in the presence of the two Primarchs. The woman wore a brilliant dress of emerald and was followed out of the stormbird by another pair of Astartes splendid in their turquoise armor, helmets in the crooks of their arms.

The newly painted and polished rising sun on Nelchitl’s chest plate appeared to be blazing as she entered the light of the embarkation deck, its vibrance only outdone by the smile of the demi-god that wore it as she laid eyes on her favorite sister.

“Sekhmetara! My sister! It has been too long!” Nelchitl boomed as she leapt off the final half of the ramp making the crossing to her sister and her retinue in a matter of seconds. Stopping before the group of Tears she surveyed them all in turn, watching as pride swelled in their eyes and they stood a little taller at the opportunity to represent their sisters in this meeting of beings beyond them. Her eyes passed over the figure of a human male and continued on as if he were no different than the assembled Astartes before her.

“What a host you have gathered, young too they seem.” she turned to look upon the two Captains she had brought with her and smiled as she laughed, “Nothing like the skeletons I drag around with me!” she turned back to her sister and motioned for the human woman to come to her side.

“Lady Catalina Cadaval, of House Cadaval, Questor Imperialis.” the woman introduced herself with a dignified curtsy to the Primarch of the XXth Legion, the emerald of the woman’s dress flowing softly as she did and wavy locks of brunette hair shimmering around her head as she rose to stand fully aloft at nearly equal height to that of Khafre.

“Would that I could fight alongside your ‘Skeletons’ on every planet.” Sekhmetara jibed in return, her face set in a beaming smile as she closed the remaining distance to her sister. First their forearms met in the respect sign of the warrior, before she pulled Nelchitl into an embrace, resting their foreheads together in an intimate familial greeting from the noble houses of Mithra. “It is always too long, and forever too short.” She spoke more softly, before stepping backwards, her smile turning on her sister’s entourage with the full force of a primach’s emotion. At the greeting from the human women, Sekhmetara’s already infectious good mood seemed to extend further. “An honour, my lady. The Questor Imperialis are held in the highest respect here.” She replied, before inclining her head towards her adoptive brother, who closed his fist over his chest in a dignified salute.

“Lord Kvasi Khafre, Questor Imperialis.” On technicality, her brother had rejected his rightful mantle as Lord of their Household upon his decision to ‘ride’ with Sekhmetara’s first expeditionary fleet from Mithra, and while by all official Imperial accounts his leadership of the Knights Lances was synonymous, such was not the case in Mithran culture. While more martially dressed than his counterpart, the smooth coal of his skin and intricate braiding of his hair more than spoke for his noble heritage.

As the introductions were made, the cohorts of the Tears on the deck turned in lockstep, both saluting the primarchs and clearing an overly generous channel for them to reach the exit from the landing bay, the excitement of the motion seeming to pass through the crowds of remembrancers above, albeit in a far less organised fashion.

“As ever, we have a war to plan.” Sekhmetara spoke, motioning with one arm down the column of space, offering her sister the first stride to the exit.

“Such is the price of the things we do for Father, for the Imperium.” Nelchitl responded quietly to her sister before the two stepped away from their embrace. Stealing a glance back at her Captains, Nelchitl could not help but notice the liveliness in their steps as they attempted to hide the swelling of pride they felt at the Primarch of the XXths words.

“Careful Sister, you may steal some of my best if you keep up your praise.” Nelchitl quipped as the two Captains made their way up to the group.

Quietly turning her head to Khafre she smiled and let out a laugh of amusement, “That you still stand since the last time we met is a tribute to your abilities, though I must admit that it was never in question given your position. I feel the Lady here and you will have much to learn from one another.” Nelchitl responded directly to her sister's adopted brother. Turning her attention back to Sekh she nodded in agreement and took great pleasure in leading the two out through the perfect formation of Tears before them.

The War Room of the Ultus-Solis was perhaps not quite as grand as one who knew the Primarch of the Tears of Dawn by reputation alone might expect. The stylised ambience associated with Mithran culture was still present, but in a more understated, personal way. The central holoith dominated the room, with furnishings all around for an intimate inner circle of Astartes and other such officers to speak their piece in the waging of war. Refreshments were always well stocked beforehand, reducing the need for any unnecessary hangers on, but also serving to highlight a sense of equality among those present. No one waited on anyone, within Sekhmetara’s most private council.

The holoith projected a full image of 20-63, static in its placement as opposed to accounting for rotation. The even blue light of the projection picking out key details on the surface, from geographical notations to the known details of enemy forces. 20-63 was a world a few percent more aquatic than Terra during the bygone age of Humanity’s first forays into the stars, comprising a number of separate island-continents and smaller bodies of land.

“Bombardment is next to ineffective.” First Captain Ahonsa was the first to speak anything of tactical importance, motioning to the pin pricks marking out the urban centres of the world. “Whatever previously concealed artifice this rebellion has implemented, it includes void-shield technology to at least match our own, and they’ve projected them over the cities that have joined the uprising.” The First Captain’s hand drifting to note three green dots on the projection, marking out the only urban centres which had thus far remained loyal to the Imperium, already under desperate siege. “The Loyalist forces are outmatched, almost as badly as if they had attempted to fend off Astartes the first time we found this world.”

The use of ‘we’ brought a slight frown to Sekhmetara’s features, while she had accepted the slight to her pride in order to reunite with her sister and the Serpents, she was still deeply uncomfortable with the idea this new insurrection could be placed at her own feet, or even the Tears, and it took her force of will to not bring this petulant clarification up. “What our ships cannot reach, we must sweep clear then. A true war for the Astartes if there ever was one.”

Nelchitl sat reclined in a chair of such craftsmanship that she could practically feel its cushions through the ceramite of her armor. Absentmindedly she spun a small knife that had been provided with a dish of fruits around her forefinger and listened to the First Captain speak and the response from her sister. There were a great many questions lingering in her mind, though the want to actually ask them escaped the Primarch’s attention. Instead she inclined her head to that of her entourage, now augmented by the arrival of a second Stormbird and several human officers.
The first to speak up was Lord Commander Mandred Leben, a craggy old man of considerable weathering that even the best of the Mechanicum’s rejuvenat treatments could not erase. He leaned forward, the mass of metals on his chest clinking quietly as he did, “Though I have not an answer for the overall campaign, as too much remains yet unknown,” he shot a glance sideways to Nelchitl as he spoke, the implication of his comment threatening to boil over the Primarch’s relaxed visage as he insulted his sister so publicly, “what I can say for certain is that we must reinforce what we hold. To have to launch a planetary assault on such a formidable foe as this? Certainly would be worth far more than what I can give these holdouts in the next cycle.”

Nelchitl, not leaning forward from her position dug daggers into Leben with her eyes as she nodded approval at his suggestion.

Next to speak was her own First Captain, the Terminator armor hissing quietly as Nenetl raised a gauntleted fist to point at the next nearest cities to those of the remaining loyalists planetside, “Has the feasibility of an assault been tested? I could personally lead a capture mission on an outlying rebellious city, gain some breathing room for those we still hold.”

The eyes of the Primarch of the XX legion fell on the wizened human as he spoke. The famed golden orbs of her iris showing no obvious tells of her emotion at a response which came dangerously close to a rebuttal. The Tears of Dawn themselves were used to open dialogue within these chambers, but guests were so rarely among them here, it was a protocol all in of itself. The only noise for a few moments came from the humming of the hololith and the tink, tink of Sekhmetara's armoured fingers drumming on her own arm, before the Serpents' First Captain spoke.

"The only forces planetside, without including the Loyalists and whatever garrison forces may remain, are our recon teams." It was the Primach herself who answered the query, her eyes returning to the spherical map hovering in the air before them all. Her arms had been crossed before, but the gesture now seemed more guarded than casual, before she extended one gauntlet, flexing the fingers on her hand. The motion turned the world, before magnifying to a specific region, the world's equatorial island continent and home to the remaining three green dots, albeit with a fair number of red 'hostile' markers as well. Whatever the case, the Primach had not responded to the near-rebuke with either acceptance or rage.

"The main starport remains loyal to the Emperor, which is at least one blessing, we can set down whatever we require at least in this region." Ahonsa continued her appeasement of the details shown before them, one of the three green dots temporarily highlighted. "The rebels know this as well, as their greatest focus is currently set upon the city, Ilos. If we need to relieve pressure anywhere, it's there." The dark-skinned Astartes continued, her features almost miraculously free of scarring for one of her rank, in part due to the freshness of the title. Her hair, usually a stark white and styled in the war braids common among the tears, almost looked blue from the reflection of the Hololith.

"Very well, a test of their defences then." Sekhmetara spoke again. "The first wave of our deployment will reinforce the loyalist cities. First Captain Nenetl, the most pressing target to fall first is the city the locals know as Fios, its position allows them continuous bombardment of Ilos." As the Primach spoke, one of the red dots closest to the highlighted green point flared with an outline. Even on a digitised map, the distances seemed obviously proximate. "If my sister agrees, that is the first strike I believe you should make, The Adzera will support you, and I'm sure the Khafre Lance will be eager for the glory." Using the colloquial name of the Tears 6th Chapter, the Primach of the XX Legion moved another finger, adding the notation to the map, notably clearly marking the Serpents First Captain as the clear overall commander of the engagement.

Finally, the Primach's gaze settled on Leben once again, before, in a dangerously friendly tone, Sekhmetara asked, "If I may ask, my Lord, do you consider me a complete fool?"

“Of course Lord, the honor will be mine to lead such capable forces planetside. I assure you that you will not regret your choice.” First Captain Nenetl thanked the Primarch of the XXth before shrinking back into her seat as the demigod took on Lord Commander Leben’s seeming petulance.

The old man however, did not shrink at the comment, in fact there was barely a hint of any sort of reaction at all on the age-weathered features of his face as Sekhmetara brought her attention back to him. Though Nelchitl would have been delighted had Leben managed to hold his composure in any other situation, she was furious at the insult he had given her sister and she as well waited anxiously for his answer.

“Quite the contrary Lord.” Leben began as he sat a bit straighter in his seat, medals clinking as he did, “I think you a Primarch. A perfect being of war and diplomacy, molded by the Emperor’s hands in His image. I think you Fleetmaster of grand armadas that stride the cosmos themselves. The Head of 75,000 of the Emperor’s greatest warriors to ever live, and the leader of inexhaustible Auxilia.” he deigned his head at the hololith as he spoke, “I believe you in a position to awe a mortal such as myself with your strategic knowledge, your understanding of the world we sit silently above and the forces we call our enemies below.”

“You have not met many of my siblings, then, if you think such traits make us impervious to the odd foolishness.” Sekhmetara spoke flippantly, matching the man’s resolute nature in the face of her Emperor-crafted superiority with a casual nature as befitting their surroundings. “Your comments are noted, my Lord, and should I request or suggest such a broad action in one swoop, I shall hold your council in mind.” The Primach of the Tears of Dawn at last moved in full, taking one step and lowering herself onto one of the available seats designed for a Primach’s build, her hand wafting through the air again to pull the holographic display back to a full display of the world.

“I have been given no reason to doubt your capability, First Captain, and I do not anticipate any action upon this world showing me otherwise. While you test their defences, I believe my sister and I shall have to see to the defence of the Starport, loathe as I am sure we both are to such war, it is paramount to the war effort should we wish to land the entirety of our forces. My Legion’s aeronautical formations will keep the enemy on their toes planetwide, while we forge a ‘beachhead,” She spoke now with the imperious authority she was known for, albeit not among the more personable quarters within which they currently sat, at the last moment, dipping her head towards her sister. “Unless you have any suggestions?”

Nelchitl sat silent for a moment as her sister gave her a chance to make any motions of her own, but instead she waved a dismissive gauntleted hand at the thought, “Anything that I could suggest would merely burden your plans, simply point me at what needs to die or be ours instead of theirs and it shall be done.” Nelchitl offered before sitting up fully in her seat. She quietly surveyed her officers and held her gaze on Commander Leben just a brief moment longer than the rest before she was satisfied that none had anything to add.

Planetfall

The war began with as much force and severity as could be expected of the two aggressive legions spearheading the assault. The greater portion of the assault touched down in Ilos. A defensive action in name, neither Legion, or their primarch, was inclined to sit back or dig in. The surge of force and movement became a counterattack rushing to sweep the besieging forces away, the air roaring with the engines and firepower of Stormbirds and Thunderhawks as the wrath of the Emperor was brought down on those who rejected his word.

Under the cover of the vast arsenal of firepower unleashed and the more than distracting presence of two Primarch’s in the field, a splinter force of the assembled legions and their supportive forces diverged from the initial objective, striking at the smaller nearby city of Fios. Situated much higher on the slopes of one of the world’s few mountain ranges, it’s position in rebel hands had allowed continued bombardment of the loyalist city. Unfortunately for the rebels, terrain was no great bastion against the fury of the Astartes. The first strike would no doubt have to be fast and brutal, carving out a significant portion of the city to allow for the Knight Lances to be dropped into position.

In most cases, any member of the Tears of Dawn would be loath to find themselves beneath the direct command of any Captain from another legion, perhaps seeing it as a blow to their martial pride. The bond between the Tears and the Serpents, while not the most ancient of Legionary relations, was fierce. Every Astartes-Sister assigned to the command of the Serpents First Captain was as dedicated to showing her the strength of the Legion as they would be to any of their own commanders. This was no different for Captain Bahati Khafre as her forces blazed into Fios. The young captain felt not only the urge of all sisters of her Legion to prove the capability of the Tears despite the generally small scale of the Legion, but also the weight of her dynastic name. She was the only member of her sire’s adoptive family to be young enough to join the Legion, and each day sought to prove herself and her bloodline anew. Right now, her task was to move in support of the Serpents main thrust into the city. As was common for the rites of war the Tears held most dear, the encarmine forces of Mithra’s Legion had struck deep into rebel territory, deploying via air assault to cripple key installations while their sisters in The Serpents of the Sun acted as a more decisive, crushing strike. Bahati’s company, the 5th of the 6th Chapter, had destroyed the first of the enemy macro-anti-air cannon bastions, paving the way for the bulky dropships of the Knights Questoris to make an approach. Now they simply needed to fight their way through fierce enemy resistance to unite with the main force.

The marines, emblazoned in the orange and gold of their legion, pushed through the besieged city with great speed and purpose, sycthing through enemy formations before they even knew the threat was at their back. The foul xenos-like technology of the foe enabled them to pose great risk to even Astartes, sleek energy based weapons which hummed with a force similar to their own plasma guns, and discharging bolts of power just as fearsome. Ultimately, however, those they had fought so far were still rebels, disillusioned armed militia. For all the advanced technology they had, they crumpled beneath the advance of the Tears, particularly while caught unawares. The sky above the Legionnaires still screamed with the jet engines of Stormbirds, the gunships venting the Imperium’s ire on the city continuously, preventing the enemy from moving into position to threaten the isolated pockets of Tears of Dawn forces before they could reunite with the Serpents. It was not a strategy without risk to their pilots, and Bahati momentarily threw herself into cover within a crumpled ruin of a building as a gunship detonated in the air above her forces, streaking the streets below with superheated metal and plasma. The Tears were masters in aeronautical warfare, however, and such events were rare.

“Two minutes until contact, Captain.” The vox system within her helm relaid the message from a passing Thunderhawk tracking their motion along with the allied forces they were fighting towards.

“My thanks, hunt well, Sister.” She voxed her own response, before redirecting the tactical alert to her whole company. Unusually, the majority of her forces were on foot or equipped with assault jetpacks, the longer form of their jetbikes less useful within the tight confines of mountain city. At the brief command passed to them, as a whole they reloaded, preparing to engage with the greater bulk of the enemy forces. A moment later, and with a leonine roar of combustive jetpacks, the Tears of Dawn surged into the fray.

The flames of a burning Land Raider licked at Captain Nenetl’s Terminator armor as she took a moment to reload behind its shattered carcass. Several bolts of energy from the rebels down the thoroughfare slammed into the blazing wreck with force enough to shake it slightly where it had died and the First Captain took pause at the fearsome power of the weapons they faced. Turning her attention back to the task at hand she quickly surveyed the status of the First Company before emerging from behind the wreckage of the Land Raider with her bolter barking at the positions down the road. Several of the closest of her Sisters joined her as she made her advance on the rebels’ positions, adding the fierce sounds of their bolters to the already deafening din of combat raging within Fios. In moments the rebels at the end of the road were nothing more than suggestions of organics plastered within the blasted out buildings they had used as their ambush positions.

Displeased at the loss of a Land Raider, Nenetl voxed for the column behind her to dismount the rest of the Fourth Company to push the assault on foot, leaving the Land Raiders behind the thick of the fighting. There were no dissenting responses to the order, and Nenetl smiled as the full weight of a second Fighting Company of her sisters was added to the already nigh unstoppable First Companies Terminators.

As her Terminators advanced with her, the First Captain received a packet of encrypted vox traffic from the fleet in low orbit above. With pride and a hint of rivalry in her voice she opened a vox connection to both companies close enough to receive from her suits caster, “Sisters, the Tears report destruction of the anti-air batteries further within Fios! The Knights descend from above as I speak, and our sisters in the Tears close on our position with every passing second, don’t let their glory outshine that of the Fifth Sun!” In response to these words her helmet was flooded with the animated responses of more than a thousand Astartes practically in unison, “For the Fifth Sun!” they bellowed as the Serpents cleaved their way further into the city.

A bolt of energy burst harmless on the pauldron of Nenetl’s armor as she relished in the war cries of her sisters and dispatched the rebel that had dared to fire upon her without even a stutter in her step. The report of her bolter and the ever present whine of Stormbird and Thunderhawk engines above were drowned out by the hiss of static as a line was opened between the Serpents First Captain and that of the Tears Fifth. Silence lasted for only a moment as the connection stabilized and Nenetl surveyed the newest obstacle her Serpents would face ahead of her.

A wide parade avenue stretched perpendicular to the Serpents’ direction of advance, some 600 meters across and littered with the wrecks of civilian and military vehicles alike. On the far side of the avenue hab blocks of considerable height stood vigil over the Serpents’ only approach across it, the rebels' energy weapons and a considerable detachment of far heavier weapons reaching out across the open area to bring death to the halted line of Serpent Terminators and Astartes.

“Captain Khafre, we have met heavy resistance,” within her helmet Nenetl spun a three dimensional holoprojection of the area, marking out the positions of the rebels on the far side of the avenue and those of her own Serpents, “I believe that your sisters would be most successful in taking the rebel positions across from our own. How you do it is yours to decide, you know yours better than I.” a round of something far heavier than a bolter round exploded against the
wall a few meters from Nenetl, showering her in debris and hot shards of rebar.

“Though whatever you decide, make it fast Captain.”

Bahati paused only to vox a code based affirmative to the First Captain of the Serpents, before her company set itself into action. The enemy position was heavily defended, but largely focused on the more overt force of the Serpents First Company bearing down on them. The Tears would exploit their corridor of focus.

Even over the cacophony of battle, the roar of a company’s worth of jetpacks surging into life carried over the war torn streets of the city as the Tears of Dawn leapt into the sky. Each became a mote of light and a centre of motive force as they lunged upwards, only to crash down in a shudder of weight and power.

The first to move were the Support Squads, their jump packs used to power them into firing positions among the taller buildings overlooking the enemy emplacement. Those in these squads equipped with bolters soon turned to clearing enemy resistance found among them, while the rest, shifted rotor-cannons into position, the heavier plates of their modified armour locking into place, before the weapons began to blaze away. The faces to the buildings they occupied erupted into a cascade of power as the rapid firing weapons bore down into the enemy emplacement, ripping apart human, rocrete and lighter armour at the surge of suppressive fire. The support squads were firing even as the majority of their sisters were still in the air, keeping the enemy from being able to turn their weapons upon this new threat even as the main descent began.

Bahati Khafre slew one of the prominent looking foes among the enemy position simply by landing upon him, the mortal’s body compacting in a spray of arterial gore as they came apart beneath the sudden application of her ceramite bulk. Before those around her first target could react, two more of them were bisected, the curved blade of her power-ankh passing through them with a sizzling flare of the power field. All around her and among the enemy, the assault squads of her company were crashing into the enemy. The retort of bolt pistols and angry roar of chainswords heralding the slaughter that commenced. The enemy here were heavily armed and armoured, but not close to enough to shrug off Astartes assault squads on initial impact. Perhaps given time they might be able to reorganise and fend them off, but the Tears were not striking alone, they simply needed to hold the enemy’s attention for long enough for the Serpents to catch up.

Thoughts of the wider tactical situation were momentarily pushed from Bahati’s mind as a surge of green energy wafted past her. Even without striking her, the cogitatal display of her helm registered dangerous heat exposure, and the bolt crashed into one of her sisters as she landed, turning even the Astartes armour liquid and annihilating her on first impact. Bahati’s eyes traced the arc of fire to one of the enemy’s heavy guns, having been turned swiftly to face the flanking assault of the Tears. Bahati snarled, before unleashing a warcry over the vox system, and leaping forwards, a cry that her whole company soon echoed.

“For Aurelia! For the Emperor!”

From her position across the avenue Nenetl watched the brutal opening of the Tear’s assault on the hab block with a sense of pride welling in her chest at the chance to share such moments with her sisters in the name of the Emperor and the Imperium. There was a sudden and expected lull in the volume of fires reaching out across the parade avenue and Nenetl had no need to vox orders for what came next.

The Serpents, battered by the entrenched positions but not yet broken, surged forth across the avenue. Bolters barked and distorted war cries resonated from the vox amplifiers on the suits of hundreds of Asartes as they covered the distance in mere moments. Their movement covered by the glow of plasma and detonation of heavy bolter rounds from Devastator squads, and aided by the confusion being sown into the enemy by the Tear’s assault, Nenetl and her companies were across the gap with only a handful of losses to show.

Nenetl grinned in satisfaction as a squad of Astartes from the Second Company made entry into the nearest hab-block and the interior lit up with bolter fire. Not wanting to miss out on the action herself, Nenetl and another of the First Company Terminators pushed hard for the nearest wall adjacent to what appeared to be an entrenched heavy weapons system that was still answering the Serpent’s advance with iridescent death.

The wall of the hab-block gave way easily to the powered forms of two Terminators as they simply ran through the minor obstacle. Debris still falling around her, Nenetl mag-locked her bolter to her thigh and shrugged the lightning claws from their rails in her gauntlets as if second nature. Her helmet display easily cut through the dark interior of the hab and outlined the enemies just meters from where she entered the room and the First Captain was quick to cover the short distance to them. Letting her lightning claws loose on those foolish enough to betray the Imperium, the Nenetl and the second of her Terminators left the heavy weapons team in ribbons and the weapon itself in a similar state.

The blades of her lightning claws sizzling as the fresh blood boiled upon them, Nenetl opened the vox between herself and Captain Khafre once more, “My Serpents take the hab interior and we continue our push onward for the city center.” she began as she calmly burst through a wall into another room and let her lightning claws loose on a second group of unsuspecting traitors, “My gratitude for the assist Captain.” She cut the vox as she pushed into a long hallway and began her advance on a barricade at the far end of the hall, iridescent energy beams reaching out to greet her as she unlocked her bolter from her thigh in answer.

Angels on High

The dropship shuddered violently as it made its combat descent towards Fios. Catalina had been on drops before, far too many to count at this point, but even still she fought down the sinking feeling in her stomach as she sat reliant on another to get her to the battlefield below. She took solace in the fact that at the very least she was at the helm of Paramis, the Throne Mechanicum humming behind her as she pulled up a scrolling list of information on her retina. She felt the familiar sinking feeling in her stomach loosen as she flash read the information scrolling by, two of her Knight’s Paladin had already made it to ground and were almost immediately engaged with a small formation of enemy tanks, and she herself would be joining them in less than a minute if the data readout was correct.

The interior lights of the dropship’s bay changed from a cool amber to blood red as the disconnected and careless voice of a servitor began to count down to deployment. “Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve,” it rasped as Catalina ran one last check of all of Paramis’ systems even though she had done so a hundred times over up to this moment, “Nine, eig--” the servitors voice shifted suddenly to agonized screaming as the far wall of the dropship tore open in a hail of spalling and liquified armor. For a moment Catallina watched in awe as the tear in the ship ripped down into the decking and traveled across the bulkhead exposing a rift to what could be compared to something like hell below the dropship as beams of crisscrossing energy and explosions filled the small window into the battle taking place beneath her.

“Drop drop drop.” came the disconcertingly calm voice of the dropship’s pilot over Catalina’s vox link while she watched in morbid amazement as the tear in the hull yawned open and the bow of the dropship began to peel away from its aft section. Her eyes stuck on the unfolding demise of the dropship Catalina felt a sudden and overwhelming need to jump as Paramis made it’s desire known.

Catalina fell, the storied honor banners of a hundred battles burning and smouldering as the Scion of House Cadaval and her machine dropped the final fifty or so meters to the earth below the dropship. She landed hard enough to be thrown forward in her throne, the neural sockets connected to the ancient machine throbbing in pain as they pulled and strained with her sudden motion. Paramis groaned as the Paladin rose to its full height, the dropship crashing to the ground in two separate explosions of fire and metal behind the impressive piece of Imperial technology as it sounded its warhorn above the cacophony.

Catalina received a short data burst as the remainder of her Court touched down nearby, an unmistakable grin spreading across the Scion’s features as she picked out a tank platoon on auspex and acquired a target lock.

“Paramis, engaged.” she voxed to her cohort along with an encrypted data packet containing an updated axis of advance on House Cadaval’s main objectives.

“Huntsmaster, the dropship containing the Paramis is enflamed.” The voice broke Kvasi from his enforced meditation, the calming rest before the storm. He sat within his own Throne Mechanicus, the data stream of the battle rushing to his mind even as he pulled himself from the centering of his mind and body. Even through the filter of vox transmission, the voice tone was notably level. A priority alert from one of the Tech Priest adjutants of his own vessel. His mind drifted to his brief meeting with Catalina prior to the war council. That would be a real shame. Thoughts of both the tactical situation and the particularly flattering cut of her emerald gown with the same thought.

“Confirmed engagement?” He spoke back, rolling his form within the tight confines of his vast warsuit, the Questoris knight mirroring the motion, albeit in a less fluid flexing of its shoulder mounted pauldrons.

“Yes, Huntsmaster, two….reconfirm, three House Cadaval vox-codes transmitting. Enemy engagement confirmed, hostile positions moving to respond, cordone established.” The tech priest adjusted their report mid flow with only a minor delay to account for the adjusting stream of data.

“Very well, adjust landing vectors for skyshatter drop, transmit new orders to the Lance.”

“By your will, Hunstmaster.”

At the mechanical tone of confirmation, Kvasi allowed himself a grin. No doubt the tech priests would lecture him again about the unnecessary risk of his favoured method of attack, but they did not have the call of war in their ears, the ghosts of centuries of Huntsmasters clamoring at them through the arcane code of the Throne Mechanicus. One could only restrain them so much. When he spoke next, it was to each and every member of his lance about to deploy.

“Bring the sky down on them.”

“Aye, Huntsmaster.” The call returned to him at once, before with all affirmatives acknowledged, the doctrine was put into place. It was not simply his sister’s Legion which favoured wrath from the air. A cogitator chimed once, twice, thrice, before the floor itself gave away, opened to the ground below. With a surge of motion, Kvasi Khafre and his warsuit, Ikenga dropped into the air below.

Even through the Throne Mechanicus, air and noise ripped at Kvasi, the speeding form of his dropship already roaring past him, practically throwing the precious ancient knight-suit like a projectile at the enemy it banked low over. The full weight of the suit slammed into the top of one of the enemy vehicles, pulping metal and the humans within in an instant. The force slammed the knight to one knee, but suit and pilot rose with a warcry and blast of warhorn. Ikenga’s right arm was unique, the limb fashioned into a colossal ankh, the blade of nobility from Mithra and its moons, the vast sword slicing through another enemy before the warsuits left arm, the churning assault cannon, ripped apart the front face of a hab block from which he was taking insignificant small arms fire, a contemptuous gesture of wrath in the face of ants.

“My Lady, we request to join your hunt, the killing here seems plentiful.” His vox opened up to address Paramis as his knight suit identified the foremost of the allied knights nearby, and its noble pilot’s survival.

Catalina turned in her cockpit as she tracked a volley of tank shells racing over the battlefield toward her, the battlesuit around her turning in tune with its pilot. With a simple thought she reoriented her ion shield to meet the incoming rounds as easily as she breathed. The several of the tank shells missed altogether, but two crews seemed to find their aim as a round whizzed harmlessly off the ion shell and up into the sky above Paramis shortly followed by the second shell being redirected in a similar manner.

With a short burst from her battle cannon Catalina watched as the rounds found their marks and the platoon of tanks met their end. Her mind once more pulled away from the sight of her handiwork, Catalina focused on a series of hab-blocks nearly three kilometers away. Auspex readings streamed into her mind and wire overlays automatically placed themselves over the form of a tank and several mechanized vehicles flittering between the structures.

“Lord Khafre,” she responded as she let off a loose volley of shells at the habs, “There is no need to ask, prey is plentiful and the killing easy.” she laughed with the laughter of a hundred of her ancestors echoing in her mind as a vehicle burst into flames with the hits of her first volley.

Catalina transmitted a quick data burst to the Lord Khafre and pinged her Court to form for an urban assault through the hab-blocks ahead.

“With you, my Lady.” came a swift response from the first of her Court, Stella Invicta, quickly followed by the response of the pilot of the Absentia. Sifting through the battle data in the breadth of a second Catalina decided that the portion of her Lance committed to the assault was operating effectively and required little need for her own personal direction.

She grinned, Paramis blaring it’s warhorn as Absentia and Stella Invicta rushed past her on either side, their battle cannons firing as they did. Falling into a loping run at the center of her Court, Catalina processed the information streaming through the Throne at a dizzying rate while they neared the habs. The vehicles were shifting and disappearing behind the buildings, and several were futally holding their ground and beginning to fire back. But the strangest of all was the hab-blocks, a handful of which were showing heat signatures too hot to be empty. “Care be taken ahead, I will not lose a Knight here to overzealousness,” she felt the disappointment of the minds of the pilots before her washing over her own thoughts, their desire for destruction and victory failing to overwhelm the Scion’s own desires, “but bring the Emerald Priestess her hearts!” she yielded to the Throne.

The Mithran Knights continued to strike like hammerblows into the stone and chrome of the city, leaping from their descent craft in terrifying displays of force and agility to bring their wrath to the enemy. Ikenga had been the first Mithran Questoris to land among the foe, but soon the whole Lance was in motion, forming up behind Paramis and its Court as they pushed forwards to their collective objective. The warsuits of the Mithran Questoris movies with the fluid gait of hunters and predators both, holding behind the wedge of their knightly allies as they closed the distance. As the Paramis detected the anomalous heat signatures, Ikenga’s own suite of sensors picked up the same impending threat, chiming in the mind of its pilots. Checking the advance of the knights wasn’t an option, for both reasons of pride and expedience.

“Bondsmen, preysight, targets adjacent. Good hunting.” The mind impulse Kvasi pushed into the lesser suits of his bonded armiger retainers flooded between Ikenga and the smaller questoris walkers. The tactical information and order preceded his words by microseconds, the latter a sign of the social bond the Huntsmaster kept with his retainers, the former the necessity of war. Even more so than the Knights honorbound to him, the Armigers were unable to disobey, the weaker machine spirits within their suits entirely overcome by the will of Ikenga and it’s pilot. The fact each would willingly follow the Huntsmaster into the fires of any conflict was entirely incidental.

“Acknowledged, Huntsmaster.” The voice of Bondsmen Elyssa nevertheless, confirmed the acceptance of the order, before the pair of Helverin Warsuits veered off. Even more agile than their Questoris masters, the Armiger suits spun on a dime to rush down a narrow side street, the crackle of their autocannons shredding the present enemy attempting to avoid the presence of the heavier knights. Once in position, the armiger’s lunged upwards into the air, with a surge of hydraulic pistons, the twenty foot tall warmachines crashed through the side of the hablock, rockrete turning to powder beneath the sudden force. Even as the building shook, the crack of their autocannons resumed as the warsuits plowed forwards. Designed to withstand the full extent of natural disaster, the hablocks swayed but did not break from the damage caused and the presence of the Armiger’s as they moved through them, hunting down the source of the potential threat.

As the second Armiger lunged from one hablock to the next, it was momentarily lit up by a surge of green energy, the powerful blast enough to stall its forward motion, rip through it’s shielding and scour the metal beneath. With a heavy clatter, the wounded suit crashed back down to the streets below. A costly loss, even if it would not prove fatal, but in turning the concealed heavy weaponry on the bounding armiger, the enemy had exposed their ambush to the remaining armiger as well as the Knights themselves from afar.

Bondsmen Elyssa’s suit was more fortunate, the agile warrior and warsuit able to sidestep the secondary shot, before opening up with both autocannons into the enemy hidden implacement. Rebels scattered to dive into suitable cover or bring more of the larger, Knight-Killer, weapons around to bear on the armiger. It was not a firefight the lone armiger would win, but that was not the aim, instead, Elyssa looked to hold their attention so the Knight lances might survive unscathed.

Pushing their way into the hab-block, the Knights of Cadaval unleashed fire and fury into the seemingly unordered retreat of the rebels. Tanks died, throwing their turrets into nearby buildings as their munitions cooked off in devastating explosions. Armored personnel carriers erupted in flame as fire from the Knights swept over them, their helpless passengers and crew stumbling from their carcasses engulfed in flames.

Catalina allowed Paramis a moment of satisfaction as she crushed an anti-armor weapon beneath her feet, her ancestors content with the simple brutality of the act she felt their minds pulling back from her own.

Several buildings over, Margrave Sebastián Torres of the Absentia was prosecuting his own personal war. Auspex read the locations of the heat signatures just forward his position, and if his datalink read correctly, so too were the positions of two of the Mithran Armigers, one still functioning and within the building itself. He blink stored the breadth of the tactical data to his cogitators for review once combat had ceased and felt his Machine move as if anticipating what he was to do next.

With the practiced precision of decades of experience hooked into a Throne, Absentia’s massive chainsword swept through the wall of the hab-block, turning rockrete, steel, rebels, and weapons to dust and gore as it swept through the length of the building passing narrowly out of range of the Mithran bondsmen within. With a thought he captured the name of the Armiger and pilot as he continued past the building and relayed a closed impulse to continue their assault to the surviving war machine.

Around Absentia the city was alight with the flaming hulks of armor and heavy weapons. A beam of some sort reached out to touch the Knight but deflected off of the crackling energy shield as an answering volley of rounds met the weapon with devastating effect. “Absentia reports victory, the rebels are crushed.”

“Invicta reports the same, the traitors are shattered. Bondsmen harass their withdrawal but are holding for your commands my Lady.”

Catalina felt the elation of victory flowing through her Throne but did not let it cloud her mind, there was still fighting to be done here. Of that she had no doubt.

“Consolidate and continue the assault.” she quickly answered with a databurst to her Court. She opened a private vox and directed her attention to the Lord Khafre, “Unless you have other plans, you are free to remain in step with the Knights of Cadaval.” she offered as her augors picked up further targets consolidating within the city ahead of her.

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Collab with @Ruby

Sunset, and the cold fire washed over him as the being that refused to let Henry Locke die took over.

Lucifer

The conversation had lasted an hour and 15 minutes on the dot, according to the smartphone once she ended the call with a touch of her index finger. Jenna Cross was upset, calling Eva in a panic. The fires had shaken what Jenna called "the community." What Cross had meant by that wasn't all of Kindred in the area, but the Thin-Blooded. There had been more disappearances within the community than usual. It was alarming, but nothing like tonight according to Jenna. The fires had caused emergency crews to go into warehouses near West Beverly Hills. How she got that information, in the speed in which she got it, intrigued Eva enough to pose the question. Jenna was coy, and while there was no denying Jenna her impressive circle of spies of and informants speed wasn't usually a hallmark of that.

As much as the thought diverted her mind, when Jenna finally got out with what it was that was before getting emotional.

"There are times I'm convinced you're secretly some fucking elder."

Eva wasn't even wrong, she noted. Just colder than Jenna could be in this kind of moment. Eva deflected with a reminder of Jenna's Brujah sire, yet half an hour later and Eva still found herself at the back balcony on the top level of the Lady Hollywood superyacht and staring into the obviously uncovered: a warehouse filled witThe memory of how he actually managed to get to the ship wasn’t clear. It was a rare but now unknown phenomenon. The worst time had been back in the greatest of wars, lying in the blown out shell of a building in Warsaw, surrounded by rubble and the ruin of his ambition for the human race. He had wanted to die then, to finally let the darkness claim him to whatever fate the cosmic force of his father had arranged for him. Something within him had forced him up, a presence buried in his deepest self which burned with a cold, ceaseless, fury. It had pushed his shattered form up and out, back into the war. His next memory was a month in the future. Nothing concerned him more than whatever it was that the old him had buried deep within the mortal shell of Henry Locke.

The fight had not lasted long. The first Wolf had gone down fast, in a hail of silver bullets it hadn’t anticipated. The next two had been cautious but furious, wishing to rip the human they saw before them apart in vengeance for their fallen kin. Henry Locke was a being of magic and supernatural power, but beneath that, his form was still human. It had taken everything to fend off the encroaching pack, the fury of tooth and claw that even all but the most powerful of kindred couldn’t match. He doubted what had occurred could have been considered him ‘winning’ but he was still alive, there was that. He didn’t remember how he’d made it to the waterfront, how he’d stolen the boat, or functioned enough to steer it. All he remembered was falling from the roof of the h Kindred in suspended and unconscious state. Hung and chilled like sides of meat on hooks zipped up in plastic. More specifically all the missing had been found there. When Eva asked about the others found there Jenna didn't know. Or even pretend to. As angry as she was, Eva advised learning as much as possible darkness at the Pacific ocean where water met sky and stretched into infinity. Am I getting cold? Am I getting lost in that game? The questions came in a never-ending repeat until the words finally hit her:

"Wake. Up. Woman. Damn."

It wasn't rare for Eva to find herself zoned out of reality entirely, lost in the voices, lost in visions, lost in time. She couldn't keep track of everything that was assaulting her at all hours. Even slumber only truly helped her physically. There was no mental refresh. There was no time the voices weren't there. Louder, more active. One absolutely screaming. Others murmuring so quietly it couldn't even be called a whisper. Like they were trying to hide.

Like Lubbock.

Getting snapped out of these states occasionally took persistence. Andre stood before her, broad shouldered and dark skinned, brown eyes tight with frustration. Rachel just waited quietly. Mateo made awkward one sided small talk. Yanci played with her phone and sighed and got visibly frustrated. Andre went farther than any of the others. By the time she was 'back' his large hands were wrapped around her arms and he was near shaking her. She knew. He had done it before. This time was right before he actually shook her. "Yeah?"

He blinked twice, and his shoulders lowered as his entire disposition changed instantly with recognition. "There was a boat. It's radio isn't on we're fairly certain. I decided not to fire until it got close because it probably wasn't a bomb considering Henry was driving. He ain't right and he's doing some kinda...it's making my guys unwell. Like he's sunlight."

"Your guys the only ones?"

Her hands were forcing his head down so she got a better look. She was tall, he was taller. "I'm fine, Eva. Tell me he ain't gonna go Biblical on all our asses or something."

The only thing Andre had any actual fear of: something he had zero defense against. She lied to him and told him they were fine before she was fast down to the First Level, at Henry in mere seconds. Smiling softly with a gentle tone to match as her bright brown eyes encased in the lines of thin eyeliner and the shadow of a faint faint purple surveyed Henry. "I thought I warned you about playing with furries."

It was her voice that brought him back. The thing which wore his skin could always do a remarkable impression of Henry Locke when forced to, but not to her. His weary eyes blinked, and consciousness returned. Everything hurt. His cuts were sealing fast enough to be visible, but he was almost certain his left arm was attached only by skin and good wishes. Henry felt the bone reknitting. It was sore, but that wasn’t the source of his pain. Unlike before, the cold force of entropy that had pushed him onwards had not receded entirely, it could not. It roared through every fibre of his being, keeping the human shell it was buried within alive, lest it burn supernova into life as its willing prison died. The force of it seared through every muscle. When he looked up into her eyes, he saw his own reflected. Motes of fire, the image of a star bursting to life played out trapped within his iris. He would be hurting her in turn, just by being close. No wonder there were no others.

Burn With Me

“When you get to my age, love, you start trying all sorts of weird shit.” He tried to stand and failed. The burning felt worse as he struck the deck again, the presence within pounding at the limitations of his form, he tried to focus on his own words, grounding himself in the now.

“Don’t think the fire was them, but they’re out in war numbers. Give them time to group, plan, if they already haven’t, and they might take the city….if they care to.” By and large it was geography and climate which kept the war between Kindred and Garou from spilling over, but it seems that was coming to an end.

His vision swam, and when he looked again at Eva, it wasn’t her, but the image of a woman he’d loved and lost in a different age, just before he had become who he was now. The last disciple. He blinked, and it was the Kindred once more.

“If I’d known we were going somewhere this fancy...I’d have changed.”

“Fire was the Kid’s sire.”

Her words were casual, her tone was razor sharp; splitting the hair of that bit of news between the two of them. Afterall Henry had plenty to do with the demise of the Kid in Hollywood. “It’s connected, somehow, I think, I just can’t prove it yet.” In a rather unusual move, Eva shrugged and admitted a bare thought: “I’m not sure I care enough to find out how. Depends on how difficult it makes life, to be honest. I never thought I’d be more anxious about an Inquisition than I was about a 4th Generation pissed off at me.”

Her pink lips twisted in a half-smile as she settled more comfortably next to him on the wooden and damp deck of the yacht. “We need to get you cleaned up. There’s a room down on the 1st Deck you can take, just ask the steward--he’s the middle aged Armenian guy in white. If you can’t find him, try the bar. He helps stock. “C’mon. Yance and Rachel are on their way, with everyone else coming later. It’s time for the coterie to talk some things out. Clear some fire warmed air from the privacy of a yacht, we’re not being pretentious with the location.”

A few beats later, and she smirked. “Not this time, at least.”

“Anyway,” she offered her hand, and from the looks of it, he might actually need it for once. “C’mon, the shower is tiny but the wood is nice and the bed is super comfy if you need a few minutes to, uh...do less of the warm and toasty bits.”

“Too hot to handle for you, am I?” Henry’s hand clasped her’s as he stood, the shuddering strain of the motion rocking through him as he did so. He managed to avoid fully leaning into her support, but only just, making it to his feet with a muffled gasp of effort. Once he was up, it was easier, each step reknitting the damage to his form and enabling him to shove the pain down into the depths of his psyche.

“I don’t believe you and yours could manage not being pretentious if you tried.” He spoke as his eyes looked over the vessel as they passed through it. He’d been present before, but not for long. Her idea of understated was a far cry from his. His hand remained linked with her’s as he adjusted to a form not simply about to betray him, before coming to a halt before plunging into the interior of the vessel itself. His eyes still sparkled in the reflection within her own. He’d still want to avoid close confines with the other kindred for now.

“Don’t want to get that ash out of your hair? I’m sure we’ve been in more compact places.” It was definitely poorly timed, but necessary. Beyond the simple want for her, he needed to show her, show himself, that it was still him buried under his skin. At least for now.

The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Sekhmetara Khafre

Name: Sekhmetara Khafre
Titles: Sol Invicta, The Pakhetera, Khonvoumaret, Aurelia,

Gender: Female

Homeworld: Mithra

Inspiration Images

The Palace of Malika:

The world of Mithra sits in an ideal position within the life zone of its star, Rahken, with a somewhat warmer climate than Terra during the early era of human history. Whether this entirely accounts for the world’s dangerous megafauna is another matter, with various theories revolving around the world’s settlement during the Dark Age of Technology. The majority of the world’s land surface is covered in rainforest and savannah, ranging to desert and cold-tundra at the extremes. No continent on Mithra is permanently covered in snow or ice. The most obvious hallmarks of the planet’s original settlement are the space elevators connecting the world to its two moons, Khonsu and Thotha. While neither moon naturally possessed life or a climate, both have been reshaped into paradise estates through extensive terraforming and palace facilities. Mithra is a Knight World, with noble houses having formed around the original pilots of the Technological Warsuits. Local understanding of the technology of the warsuits, moons and elevators is relatively high for an isolated Knight World, with a Caste of Engineers able to maintain all three to a high functioning degree, if not able to recreate them entirely.

Being reintroduced to the Imperium has not radically altered Mithrasee society, with most representatives of the wider Imperium remaining upon one of the twin moons as opposed to the world itself. The frontier-cities that Sekhmetara established during her unification of the world and its moons remain and have steadily grown since the Imperium has instigated greater settlement efforts upon the world and there is a growing class of influential and wealthy Mithrasee upon the world itself as a consequence.

Appearance:

Standing over ten feet tall, Sekhmetara bears herself with an imperious stance even for her brother and sister primachs. Her skin is a dark nubile tone, and while her form is no doubt visibly powerful by any human measure, she is somewhat slender and feminine by Primach standards, the strength in her form not obscuring her curvaceous build or the softness of her features. Across her skin are various golden markings, unlike the traditional nobility of her home planet, these are formed from actual metal, so that her primach physiology does not remove the markings within the scope of days. Even still, they require rework every few years. Her long dark hair is often elegantly styled, although on occasion she will appear with shockingly white hair. How this is achieved is not immediately obvious, certainly not dye given the nature of Primachs.

As befitting of a Mithrasee noble, Sekhmetara takes great care with her appearance, especially when the occasion suits it and it is not difficult to understand, even visually, why the people of her homeworld considered her the likeness of their Goddess of the Hunt reborn.

Appearance Guides

Personality:

If one was being favorable, one might describe Sekhmetara as unwaveringly confident, a critic might call her arrogant. She likely falls somewhere in between. The product of success in both martial and political matters on a world where such things are prized with religious fanaticism. That is not to say she is abrasive, although likely some find her too self-aggrandizing. She is smooth of tongue in the extreme, a carefully presented character of whatever aspect of her pleasure or wrath she wishes to embody at the specific time. When she wishes to, she can appear the opposite of aloof, as invested in whoever she is conversing with as she could anyone else in the entire galaxy, but this can be replaced with cold fury in the next moment, genuine or acted. She is a being that has grown up with the pressure and benefits of divine rule and there is much in her behavior that is reminiscent of the divine beings of ancient myth.

Perhaps more unusually among primachs, she takes great interest in social and cultural arts, her ‘Crusade Court’ a font of such things, retaining the trappings of Imperial Nobility from her homeworld.

Skills:

-Martial Skills: All Primachs are dangerous, but Sekhmetara is so in a way which seems to balance between refined nobility and wild aggression. Having been raised a noble in the Knightly society of Mithra, followed by exile to the untamed wilderness of her home planet, she has fought both ritually and for survival against monsters that could fell a Knight Lance. In battle as a part of the Crusade, she wields the Glaive Encarmine, a masterfully crafted power glaive, Alongside this, her gauntlets house twin-volkite weaponry and retractable power blades.
-Charmer: Sekhmetara is a skilled diplomat as much as she is a warrior and tactician, her force of charisma motivation in the extreme, coupled with an upbringing in the cultured halls of her homeland, she is just as insistent to take in the cultural intricacies of other worlds, both for use in her role in bringing more worlds into the Imperial fold, but also simply as one who appreciates such things.

-Eye of the Huntress: Sekhmetara has a seemingly supernatural connection to both the natural world and the art of the Hunt, seemingly able to stalk prey where no other can find a trail, or implement the advantages of her surroundings with a capacity which exceeds even the greatest of mortal or astartes commanders.

-Refined Arts: As well as a simple observer of such things, Sekhmetara is well versed in the creation of artistry, be that art itself, dance, sculpture, song, the refined tactics of noble generals, she has delved deeply into them all, more than capable of impressing the greatest minds and performers of the worlds she encounters.

Assignment Grade: Delta: While not always immediately obvious, Sekhmetara has a strong connection to the Warp, her interactions with it often subtle. Her presence calls attention to her, or allows her to mask herself beyond what her form and presentation should allow. The most visually obvious use of her psychic power includes cosmetic changes to herself, hardly as obvious as those who can twist their whole forms, but using it often to change the colouration of her hair, to cause her golden markings and eyes to glow, and other such tricks which only add to the impact her presence can bring. As she has regained contact with the Emperor, her control of her psychic abilities have honed somewhat, and she has begun to be able to wield more directly damaging psychic abilities, however she still tends to avoid this.

Biography:

Sekhmetara’s arrival to Mithra and its moons was not a peaceful occurrence. As her lifepod was cast back into reality, the vessel struck Thotha, the pod crashing into the opulent artificial gardens of the Silver Court, the ruling noble body of The Empire of the Scale. Loosely known as a garden, these were instead vast grounds that varied from sculpted pleasure gardens to wild xenos-hunting grounds with deliberately challenging terrain. It was within the latter that the Primach life-pod landed, with enough force to register initially as a noteworthy meteorite impact. The Royal Bondsmen discovered the crash site with relative ease, within a day of the impact despite the vast scale of the hunting grounds. It was several weeks, however, before Sekhmetara would be discovered, by then as mature and developed as a child, albeit on a greater scale, having lived and hunted among the monstrosities that the nobility would hunt for sport.

The Bondsmen which eventually found her were not, however, the original Royal patrol, but instead the Men-At-Arms of House Khafre discovered the nascent primach. Rather than strike out at the unknown, the Bondsmen approached the young Sekhmetara with restraint, allowing her to see them out of their Armiger Warsuits as an exercise in trust. Rather than return her directly to Silver Court, Sekhmetara was instead spirited away to the Estates of House Khafre nearby, where she would shortly meet who would become her adoptive family. While Sekhmetara, as any Primach, quickly took on and mastered the linguistic skill of communication, the weeks she had spent surviving in the wild continued to define her for the early months of her time within the Estate of House Khafre, being decidedly unsafe to approach for both the noble family themselves and their bondsmen. While this presented as wild rage, in actuality it was from a place of savage cunning as the Primach assessed their goal in acquiring and housing her. It was the younger generation of Khafre nobles, then grandchildren of the House Patriarch, Kwasi and Isabis, who first formed a true bond with the Primach. It was through their social interactions that Sekhmetara accepted her place within the House, even if she surely already knew her destiny was beyond that of an adoptive scion of a Knightly House. Once she was properly ‘socialised’ her existence became known across the Silver Court, the prodigal adopted child of House Khafre, who quickly took up and excelled at any task, art or martial, brought to her. In her mind, the exchange was little more than a game to pass the time as she gathered more knowledge about the situation she, and the planetary system she called home, was in. It was a game she enjoyed, however, and as time passed, her bond with her adoptive family grew.

It was very swiftly apparent that it was more than just rapid maturity and increased capability which marked out the Primach, for she swiftly grew taller than her adoptive peers, and then taller again than even the most gene-enhanced of the Noble Men-At-Arms in the service of the Empire of the Scale. The House of Khafre hailed her as a prodigy, a gift from the Gods of Old, while the other Noble Houses that became aware of her either proclaimed that she must be a sign from the Great Serpent, or an ancient heresy to be extinguished. Most notably, her increased physiology meant that she would never be able to pilot the sacred War-Knights which were the sign of nobility across Mithra and its connected moons. Her admission into the Dance of Knives, the proving ground of the nobility, was therefore contentious. Many whished her bared, many among her own House through it folly to try, even her greater physiology would surely fail against the competition of nobles clad within their Questoris armoured demi-titans. Both were ignored, and with the support of House Khafre, no precedence was found to keep her from participating. The Dance of Knives embodied the wilder aspects of the Knightly Nobility, ritualised tests of combat deep in the bio-engineered wilds of the Silver Court’s hunting grounds. Each of the noble scions involved had trained all their lives for the contest, but to Sekhmetara, this was simply coming home, to the place of her first memories. The young primach made a mockery of the Thothan elite, the fastest dance that had been recorded, lasting scant days as opposed to the month long contest anticipated by the ruling caste of the Empire. Such a devastating upheaval was felt even among the planetside fiefdoms paying tribute to the Empire and the word of the Sekhmetara and House Khafre spread ever further.

The rule of the Empire of the Scale was not kind for those fiefdoms, and even the privileged nobility atop Thotha could wrankle under the power of the Serpent Priests. With such a challenge to the established order, these rumours of Sekhmetara soon became mythology, her name became synonymous with the ancient Wild Gods of Mithra, gods which many among the fiefs which still opposed them empire maintained as sacred. This was a challenge the Silver Court could not ignore, and so the plot to censure House Khafre began. The House, however, was not without its own substantial allies at court, and so when the first blows struck, they were prepared. Legions of House Bondsmen fought back against the levies of the Serpent Priests, the Inner Circle of the Household riding out within their ancient Questoris battlesuits. It was a fierce battle, but it was also a screen. As the greatest lords and ladies of House Khafre fought and died, the future of the house was stolen away by more subtle means, absconding down the great grav-carriers of the Star-Bridge to the surface of Mithra itself. Sekhmetara and her adopted siblings among them. With a handful of Questoris battlesuits, barely any more bondsmen, and the wilds of Mithra to face while well within the territory of the Empire, the future did not seem bright for the Household despite their narrow escape. Avoiding the population centres of the Scale-Fiefdoms, the survivors of House Khafre struck out through the wilderness of Mithra, crossing vast savannahs and great tropical jungles, encountering monstrous creatures with more than enough strength or brutal cunning to fell one of the Knight suits. It was the uncanny ability of Sekhmetara, along with her martial ability, which lead them through. Even before they had left Imperial territory, her legend had grown yet further. Evidence of the vast monsters slain by the Primach were taken as proof of her survival, and continued ability, by those longing for freedom from the Serpent Priests.

It took over a year of travel through the wilderness to escape the borders of the Imperial-Fiefs, the few survivors of the journey making it to the city state of Malika. By the time of their arrival, they were anticipated, and the opportunity to strike back at the Empire of the Scale brought a sense of celebration not just to the survivors of the exodus, but also the people awaiting them. After finally catching sight of the great huntress that the stories had famed, the Council of Merchants ruling Malika immediately swore their city to Sekhmetara, even before she could ask. Over the next weeks, the word from Malika began to spread. Several Fiefs swore loyalty simply through the insistence of the Council of Merchants, but even so, Sekhmetara travelled to them. To do so, the Techno-Smiths of Malika offered her one of their greatest relics, a hover-vehicle, said to pre-date the Ancient Dark. The Primach altered the mechanical wonder to suit her form, and for the first time, possessed a steed capable of bearing her at the speed she wished. Not all of the independent fiefdoms were willing to side with the growing federation on rumour or request alone, many more, however, were quick to correct this upon encountering the rapidly moving Primach, her energy and charisma leading the way, and her unrepentant fury propelling her further when the former was not enough. Few direct battles were fought during this stage, although there were many duels of honour in the style of the Mithra nobles. Sekhmetara herself fought some, although most were taken upon and won by her growing cadre of loyal Questoris Knights.

Malika had been the staging point of her efforts to unite the fiefdoms against the Empire, and it was here that all gathered to swear loyalty, not just to the cause to drive back the Serpent Priests, but now also to the rule of the Primach herself, the years of her efforts in unification solidfying that this was not simply a short term federation of states, but the formation of a new power. Some voiced concerns that they were simply trading one Imperial ruler for another, and the Primach herself did little to debate this. She instead set out to prove that at every opportunity, she was the ‘better’ choice. Her people were more prosperous, her armies more victorious. When the first stone of the foundations of the new palace at Malika were set, so to did the Crusade against the Empire of the Scale truly begin. It was a gruelling conflict, for all the nations and cities she had brought together, the Imperial forces sitll outnumbered them, and with the technological marvels found on the satellite moon that housed the Silver Court, were more advanced as well. The Khafre forces, however, made up for this with skill at arms and tactical marvel, launching daring raids and assaults through the untamed wilderness of Mithra. The elements themselves seemed to ride alongside the Knight Lances of New-Malika, and it was rumoured on several occasions that Sekhmetara lead hosts of the wild beasts themselves against the Serpent Legions. Fiefdom after Fiefdom fell to the sweeping advance of the Primach’s forces. These conquests were fast and fierce, but they did not seek to maim and burn. From the oppressive rule of the Empire of the Scale, chains were broken, and The Empire of Unconquered Sun was born. By now the old stories of Sekhmetara as the chosen of the Wild Gods, or even one of them reborn in flesh, how now swept through the populace. She never endorsed such things herself, but nor did she quash them. When it was this fact that brough the noble houses of the moon of Khonsu down to parlay with her, and lend their forces to the final defeat of the Empire of the Scale, she was more than willing to wield their faith as her weapon.

Once these fresh Knight Lances and their bondsmen joined her more electic force, the days of the Empire of the Scale upon Mithra were numbered. No longer forced to rely on hit and run tactics and the force of diplomacy, the Unconquered Sun utterly excised the corruption of the Empire of the Scale from Mithra, and preparations for a means to assault the moon of Thotha began.

They would never be completed, however, for during the celebratory feast to mark the surrender of the final Fiefdom loyal to the Empire on Mithra, the Emperor covertly met with Sekhmetara and revealed both himself, and her true origin. Little is know widely of what they discussed, but by the time the meeting had concluded, Sekhmetara had sworn loyalty to the Imperium and in doing so, signed the death warrant of the Moon that had been her home. The next day, Sekhmetara Khafre joined her father, and new Liege, in the systematic destruction of Thotha. Much of the Silver Court was annihilated from orbit, before The Abyssal Lurkers were unleashed on the surface. While the memories of all those present have since been distorted by the psychic might of the Emperor, this stands as Sekhmetara’s first interaction with Astartes and one of her siblings. Shortly, the 20th Legion was summoned to Mithra, to meet their Primach at last.

Sekhmetara took to her place as the Primach of a Legion with great enthusiasm and commitment to her vision. She remade the Legion, which had previously been renown for some of the most gruelling engagements of the Crusade, into a fighting force modeled off her successful campaigns on Mithra. The Primach took well to the greater technologies of the Imperium of Man, and the intricacies of voidwar. Ever since her ascension to command of her Legion, the Tears have specialised in the swift compliance of human worlds through decisive strikes and deft diplomacy, although much as with her time on Mithra, Sekhmetara now longs for a greater challenge to place herself and her daughters against.

The Meeting:

Night had fallen over Ghutan, scant hours after the Unconquered Sun had broken upon it. From atop palace battlements which overlooked the city, the blanket of darkness was pierced with a thousand lesser pinpricks of light. Most of the conquests of the campaign had been reserved, or simply diplomatic surrenders. Ghutan had earned its fate, however. The rulers of the city had been almost as devoted to the Serpent Priests and their lies as the Silver Court itself, they had long resisted the advances of the Unconquered Sun, performing ever greater atrocities in the name of their scaled god to summon his aid, or simply to infuriate those who fought to free Mithra. It had been futile, Sekhmetara had lead the final charge herself, they had crushed their armies, annihilated their defences, tore down their idols. She had allowed the sack of the city’s noble quarter with no reservations. The downtrodden of Ghutan had even joined her armies in doing so.

The palace, however, was incandescent in another kind of light. Once the ruling nobility and priests had surrendered, likely seeking a last change to spare the wrath of the Empress of Malika, she had ordained that the celebration of their great, and final, victory upon Mithra be held in the palace that had once orchestrated the greatest obstacle to their success. The great serpentine icons, statues and works of art had been pulled down, shattered, and replaced with the icons of Sekhmetara’s reign, the blazing symbol of dawn. They had turned this den of vipers into a house of light and joy. At least, that was the idea. As Sekhmetara stood on the great balcony overlooking her latest conquest, she could not hide from the hollow feeling which held sway within her. Her gaze rose up to the dominant figure of Thotha in the Night sky, and the column of light marking the great star-bridge connecting it to Mithra. The connection point was some distance away at this time of the lunar cycle, although she knew it to be heading towards them. Her eyes, keener than any human she had ever known, picked out the impossibly distant structures and artificial biomes across the moon. She recalled her memories, of her childhood, both wild and among her adoptive household. She held the image of her adoptive father, Techan Khafre, in her mind, shutting her eyes to do so. Sekhmetara would not be content until not just Mithra was free of the Serpent Priests, she would demolish their Silver Court, and carve the name of Khafre into their burial mount. Her sombre mood, however, was ruining the celebrations, and she knew she should return to the victory feast she had earned. Many of her followers, even her inner circle, we acting like the war was won, writing off any chance of being able to assail Thotha itself. She would have to dispel this idea, but, perhaps after one more night.

“A worthy view.” The voice surprised her, it was rare, almost unheard of in recent years, that anything could ambush her, even the great monsters of the wilds, let alone a human. Still, she turned her head slowly to the side. To her great surprise, she found her features level with another. For the first time in decades, Sekhmetara found her eyes level with those of another. There had been rumours of another being akin to her roaming Mithra of late. She had taken it to be headless superstition, no matter how much her heart yearned to hope otherwise. There were none like her. At least, she had thought so. “A worthy conqueror.” The man, dark skinned, as most with on Mithra, if not so dark as her own. He was handsome, in an imperious sort of way. That almost made her laugh, for her to think of someone else as imperious. He motioned to her as he spoke, offering her a golden cup, a twin in his own hand.
She accepted with a slight bow of her head, the scent of the wine wafted up to her immediately, with a subtle tone she did not recognise. “I often wish it had the same affect.” She spoke simply, speaking with this stranger with the assumption he knew her trials. “It looks like fun.” She motioned back towards the palace, referencing the revelry occurring.

“There is a plant, from a far off place. Somewhere quite different to this, to everything you know. You will feel it, now.” The man explained, before taking a sip from his own cup. His words brought a raised eyebrow to her features, attempting to process his words. A thousand questions fought for competition in her mind, but something about the stranger, more than simply the nature he presented, prevented her from asking, for now.

Instead she took a sip of her drink, savouring the taste of the wine, much as it always had been, before she swallowed. The effect wasn’t instant, but, after a few moments, it was there. The barest tingle, the smallest dulling of her senses and a soft surge of elation. She laughed, he look of deep thought breaking into a smile, as she looked down at the cup, then back up to the stranger.

“So, that is what it feels like…I understand now.” She laughed again, swirling her drink before taking another sip.

“Well, an approximation. You will never feel it entirely the same, for, you are not the same. You are so much more, Sekhmetara Khafre, and I feel such joy to have found you.” The stranger’s smile grew kinder, and, in a break of decorum, should he had been any other guest to her gathering, placed a hand upon her bare shoulder. She began to speak, not to challenge the gesture, but to ask one of her many thousand of questions. That was when the Light struck her. The man’s touch set her every sensation afire, he mind plunged into an incandescent so bright it robbed all other sensation.

When she finally spoke, long before she returned entirely to her mortal shell, her thoughts still glimpsing vistas of greatness, of the vast scope of the stars, she managed one simple word.

“Father.”

-------------

“You cannot mean to allow this!?” The words, uncharacteristically direct and openly emotional, chased Sekhmetara as she moved through the halls of the palace, the auric shine of her armour playing back the firelight of a hundred torches.

“I allow nothing, the Emperor, my father, your new lord, commands it.” The Primach responded simply, opening and closing the gauntlet of her left hand, watching as the unfamiliar new technology whirred to life within. She had fired the weapon within before, a gift from the Imperium upon its true arrival, but she yearned to see it in true practice.
“It is our ‘home’ sister, the Priests corrupted the message of the Great King, but they are the enemy not ou-”

“Do not speak of your snake god again, sister, not to me, and never to our Emperor or his subjects.” Sekhmetara whirled to warn the suddenly cowed figure of Isabis, the slender woman practically jumping back at the rare sight of true anger from the Primach towards her adopted kin. “And do not take my compliance for simple inaction, Thotha will burn because the Emperor wills it, but every moment will be deserved. If you blame anyone, blame the Serpent Priests and your foul god. I do not simply allow it, I relish it. I am the Unconquered Sun and my fire will cleanse all trace of those who have cursed Mithra.” The details of Sekhmetara’s eyes disappeared beneath the bright glow of her building power, starting gold before transitioning to the surging white-blue of plasma fire, the heat crackling through the air, forcing Isabis back another step.

“You were chosen sister, you ca-”

“Prophecy is a lie, we forge our own path now.”

The Tears of Dawn

Legion Name: The Tears of Dawn

Legion Number: XX

Legion Strength: 75,000 Marines supported by The Knight Lances of Mithra and a large contingent of Auxilia. The Legion maintains a much larger contingent of Jetbikes and aerial mechanised forces than Legions of equivalent size. The Legion fleet also provides greater firepower than the size of the legion would suggest, however it does so through large numbers of smaller, faster, vessels.

Armour Appearance:
Legionary:


First Company:


Warcry: “Sol Invicta.” “The Dawn Breaks.” “For The Light Encarmine!”

Dramatis Personae:

Ahonsa Mensu: First Captain of the Tears of Dawn, Ahonsa is the second individual to hold this rank since the unification between Primach and Legion. A native of Mithra, she is young for her position, ambitious and utterly dedicated to Sekhmetara’s vision for the Legion. Ahonsa has a particular dislike to the Terran members of the Legion who have questioned her Primach’s willingness to place important duties on the shoulders of non-Astartes from Mithra. Unlike many of the high-ranking members of the Legion, she opts not to fight from atop a jetbike, instead having forged her career in the recon units that are so key to The Tears War Doctrine.

Kvasi Khafre: The Primach’s younger brother via her adoption into House Khafre, Kvasi forsoke his natural place as the primary heir of House Khafre to join Sekhmetara’s crusade. Almost as impulsive, bold and brilliant as the Primach herself, Kvasi acts as Sekhmetara’s primary liaison with the Knight Lances which fight alongside the Tears of Dawn. There are few individuals closer to the Primach than her adopted brother, but even the knights of other houses that accompany the Tears have a grudging respect for the tactical doctrines he has assisted in writing.

Isabis Khafre: Younger sister to both Sekhmetara and Kvasi, Isabis never ascended to pilot her own Questoris warsuit, but equally was beyond the age to become an astartes by the time of Mithra’s compliance. Rather than remain upon their homeworld or try to find another military role within the XX’s fleet, Isabis has instead become a rembrancer and orator of impressive ability, already considered among the most favoured across the Crusade. Unlike her two older siblings, she comes across, generally, with a softer approach, although she is just as often in the Primach’s company as a warrior-brother.

Bahati Khafre: One of the youngest surviving members of House Khafre, Bahati was able to be fully inducted into the Tears of Dawn, the only member of the noble house to have done so. Despite Sekhmetara’s fondness for those of her homeworld, Bahati has received no among of benefit from nepotism, although years after compliance, is now a Captain within the 6th Chapter. Bahati is a bold and aggressive officer even by the standards of the Tears of Dawn, and feels a burning desire to prove the strength of Mithra, the Tears, and House Khafre to the wider Imperium.

Chief Librarian Elosha Turna: One of the few remaining Terran Tears with a position in close proximity to the Primach after the death of First Captain Jeriah some years before, Elosha has been instrumental in helping the Primach to hone her psychic ability. Elosha is typical in mindset for the Terran Tears, being far more stoic than their Mithran sisters, but no less dedicated to the Primach and committed to her change of vision for the Legion. Sekhmetara and Elosha seem to have a genuinely close bond, rivalled only by those with her adopted family.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: The Tears of Dawn combine an approach which favours diplomatic resolutions to human compliance with a surge of brutal, if elegant, force. Small in terms of numbers for a Legion, the Tears boast a far greater arsenal of jetbikes and aerial strike craft than their number would suggest, the pilots of their Legion being famed across the Imperium and their fellow Legions. The war-doctrine of the Tears is to combine the anvil of their Imperial Army and Knight lance allies with the hammer of the Tears aerial drop-strikes, deploying via Storm Eagles, Thunderhawks and drop pods while the tide of their jetbike mounted warriors continue to sweep over the enemy. This approach is a substantial departure from their role before Sekhmetara was discovered by the Imperium, having been a mechanised infantry force dedicated to gruelling campaigns in some of the most problematic warzones, with a particular focus on extermination campaigns.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: While before the Tears of Dawn were subdued and sombre, rarely fighting alongside their fellow legions except when circumstance demanded it, and with little support from the other wings of the Imperial warmachine, they are now a vibrant display of warrior-culture centre around the spirit of Mithra. The Tears of Dawn are encouraged to have pursuits outside of their combat role in the Legion, although many still use this opportunity to hone more specialised or ritualistic martial pursuits. While the Legion itself is on the smaller side, their fleet is substantial, bearing a greater amount of Imperial Army elements alongside the Knights and Bondsmen of Mithra. Alongside these, are a great number of rembrancers and other civilian roles, which has formed the Tears fleet into a cultural hub among the stars. Within the Legion itself, particularly the Mithran-Born, many of the trappings of their birth culture survive, with warrior sisterhoods arranged around the themes and concepts of the Mithran Wild Gods. The exception to this is the faith of the Serpent Priests, last acts of Sekhmetara on her homeworld being to instigate various purges of the Empire of the Scale’s religion, even if she had grown up among it.

Relationships: TBC

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A 24th century adventure in space

I'm here, sorry for the delay. Will plan something up.

Mass Effect: Phoenix | A search for a Captain and Co-GM

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The Grim Crusade - A Warhammer 30000 RP

Sekhmetara Khafre

Name: Sekhmetara Khafre

Gender: Female

Homeworld: Mithra

Inspiration Images

The Palace of Malika:

The world of Mithra sits in an ideal position within the life zone of its star, Rahken, with a somewhat warmer climate than Terra during the early era of human history. Whether this entirely accounts for the world’s dangerous megafauna is another matter, with various theories revolving around the world’s settlement during the Dark Age of Technology. The majority of the world’s land surface is covered in rainforest and savannah, ranging to desert and cold-tundra at the extremes. No continent on Mithra is permanently covered in snow or ice. The most obvious hallmarks of the planet’s original settlement are the space elevators connecting the world to its two moons, Khonsu and Thotha. While neither moon naturally possessed life or a climate, both have been reshaped into paradise estates through extensive terraforming and palace facilities. Mithra is a Knight World, with noble houses having formed around the original pilots of the Technological Warsuits. Local understanding of the technology of the warsuits, moons and elevators is relatively high for an isolated Knight World, with a Caste of Engineers able to maintain all three to a high functioning degree, if not able to recreate them entirely.

Being reintroduced to the Imperium has not radically altered Mithrasee society, with most representatives of the wider Imperium remaining upon one of the twin moons as opposed to the world itself. The frontier-cities that Sekhmetara established during her unification of the world and its moons remain and have steadily grown since the Imperium has instigated greater settlement efforts upon the world and there is a growing class of influential and wealthy Mithrasee upon the world itself as a consequence.

Appearance:

Standing twelve feet tall, Sekhmetara bears herself with an imperious stance even for her brother and sister primachs. Her skin is a dark nubile tone, and while her form is no doubt visibly powerful by any human measure, she is somewhat slender and feminine by Primach standards, the strength in her form not obscuring her curvaceous build or the softness of her features. Across her skin are various golden markings, unlike the traditional nobility of her home planet, these are formed from actual metal, so that her primach physiology does not remove the markings within the scope of days. Even still, they require rework every few years. Her long dark hair is often elegantly styled, although on occasion she will appear with shockingly white hair. How this is achieved is not immediately obvious, certainly not dye given the nature of Primachs.

As befitting of a Mithrasee noble, Sekhmetara takes great care with her appearance, especially when the occasion suits it and it is not difficult to understand, even visually, why the people of her homeworld considered her the likeness of their Goddess of the Hunt reborn.

Appearance Guides

Personality:

If one was being favorable, one might describe Sekhmetara as unwaveringly confident, a critic might call her arrogant. She likely falls somewhere in between. The product of success in both martial and political matters on a world where such things are prized with religious fanaticism. That is not to say she is abrasive, although likely some find her too self-aggrandizing. She is smooth of tongue in the extreme, a carefully presented character of whatever aspect of her pleasure or wrath she wishes to embody at the specific time. When she wishes to, she can appear the opposite of aloof, as invested in whoever she is conversing with as she could anyone else in the entire galaxy, but this can be replaced with cold fury in the next moment, genuine or acted. She is a being that has grown up with the pressure and benefits of divine rule and there is much in her behavior that is reminiscent of the divine beings of ancient myth.

Perhaps more unusually among primachs, she takes great interest in social and cultural arts, her ‘Crusade Court’ a font of such things, retaining the trappings of Imperial Nobility from her homeworld.

Skills:

-Martial Skills: All Primachs are dangerous, but Sekhmetara is so in a way which seems to balance between refined nobility and wild aggression. Having been raised a noble in the Knightly society of Mithra, followed by exile to the untamed wilderness of her home planet, she has fought both ritually and for survival against monsters that could fell a Knight Lance. In battle as a part of the Crusade, she wields the Glaive Encarmine, a masterfully crafted power glaive, Alongside this, her gauntlets house twin-volkite weaponry and retractable power blades.
-Charmer: Sekhmetara is a skilled diplomat as much as she is a warrior and tactician, her force of charisma motivation in the extreme, coupled with an upbringing in the cultured halls of her homeland, she is just as insistent to take in the cultural intricacies of other worlds, both for use in her role in bringing more worlds into the Imperial fold, but also simply as one who appreciates such things.

-Eye of the Huntress: Sekhmetara has a seemingly supernatural connection to both the natural world and the art of the Hunt, seemingly able to stalk prey where no other can find a trail, or implement the advantages of her surroundings with a capacity which exceeds even the greatest of mortal or astartes commanders.

-Refined Arts: As well as a simple observer of such things, Sekhmetara is well versed in the creation of artistry, be that art itself, dance, sculpture, song, the refined tactics of noble generals, she has delved deeply into them all, more than capable of impressing the greatest minds and performers of the worlds she encounters.

Assignment Grade: Delta: While not always immediately obvious, Sekhmetara has a strong connection to the Warp, her interactions with it often subtle. Her presence calls attention to her, or allows her to mask herself beyond what her form and presentation should allow. The most visually obvious use of her psychic power includes cosmetic changes to herself, hardly as obvious as those who can twist their whole forms, but using it often to change the colouration of her hair, to cause her golden markings and eyes to glow, and other such tricks which only add to the impact her presence can bring. As she has regained contact with the Emperor, her control of her psychic abilities have honed somewhat, and she has begun to be able to wield more directly damaging psychic abilities, however she still tends to avoid this.

Biography:

Sekhmetara’s arrival to Mithra and its moons was not a peaceful occurrence. As her lifepod was cast back into reality, the vessel struck Thotha, the pod crashing into the opulent artificial gardens of the Silver Court, the ruling noble body of The Empire of the Scale. Loosely known as a garden, these were instead vast grounds that varied from sculpted pleasure gardens to wild xenos-hunting grounds with deliberately challenging terrain. It was within the latter that the Primach life-pod landed, with enough force to register initially as a noteworthy meteorite impact. The Royal Bondsmen discovered the crash site with relative ease, within a day of the impact despite the vast scale of the hunting grounds. It was several weeks, however, before Sekhmetara would be discovered, by then as mature and developed as a child, albeit on a greater scale, having lived and hunted among the monstrosities that the nobility would hunt for sport.

The Bondsmen which eventually found her were not, however, the original Royal patrol, but instead the Men-At-Arms of House Khafre discovered the nascent primach. Rather than strike out at the unknown, the Bondsmen approached the young Sekhmetara with restraint, allowing her to see them out of their Armiger Warsuits as an exercise in trust. Rather than return her directly to Silver Court, Sekhmetara was instead spirited away to the Estates of House Khafre nearby, where she would shortly meet who would become her adoptive family. While Sekhmetara, as any Primach, quickly took on and mastered the linguistic skill of communication, the weeks she had spent surviving in the wild continued to define her for the early months of her time within the Estate of House Khafre, being decidedly unsafe to approach for both the noble family themselves and their bondsmen. While this presented as wild rage, in actuality it was from a place of savage cunning as the Primach assessed their goal in acquiring and housing her. It was the younger generation of Khafre nobles, then grandchildren of the House Patriarch, Kwasi and Isabis, who first formed a true bond with the Primach. It was through their social interactions that Sekhmetara accepted her place within the House, even if she surely already knew her destiny was beyond that of an adoptive scion of a Knightly House. Once she was properly ‘socialised’ her existence became known across the Silver Court, the prodigal adopted child of House Khafre, who quickly took up and excelled at any task, art or martial, brought to her. In her mind, the exchange was little more than a game to pass the time as she gathered more knowledge about the situation she, and the planetary system she called home, was in. It was a game she enjoyed, however, and as time passed, her bond with her adoptive family grew.

It was very swiftly apparent that it was more than just rapid maturity and increased capability which marked out the Primach, for she swiftly grew taller than her adoptive peers, and then taller again than even the most gene-enhanced of the Noble Men-At-Arms in the service of the Empire of the Scale. The House of Khafre hailed her as a prodigy, a gift from the Gods of Old, while the other Noble Houses that became aware of her either proclaimed that she must be a sign from the Great Serpent, or an ancient heresy to be extinguished. Most notably, her increased physiology meant that she would never be able to pilot the sacred War-Knights which were the sign of nobility across Mithra and its connected moons. Her admission into the Dance of Knives, the proving ground of the nobility, was therefore contentious. Many whished her bared, many among her own House through it folly to try, even her greater physiology would surely fail against the competition of nobles clad within their Questoris armoured demi-titans. Both were ignored, and with the support of House Khafre, no precedence was found to keep her from participating. The Dance of Knives embodied the wilder aspects of the Knightly Nobility, ritualised tests of combat deep in the bio-engineered wilds of the Silver Court’s hunting grounds. Each of the noble scions involved had trained all their lives for the contest, but to Sekhmetara, this was simply coming home, to the place of her first memories. The young primach made a mockery of the Thothan elite, the fastest dance that had been recorded, lasting scant days as opposed to the month long contest anticipated by the ruling caste of the Empire. Such a devastating upheaval was felt even among the planetside fiefdoms paying tribute to the Empire and the word of the Sekhmetara and House Khafre spread ever further.

The rule of the Empire of the Scale was not kind for those fiefdoms, and even the privileged nobility atop Thotha could wrankle under the power of the Serpent Priests. With such a challenge to the established order, these rumours of Sekhmetara soon became mythology, her name became synonymous with the ancient Wild Gods of Mithra, gods which many among the fiefs which still opposed them empire maintained as sacred. This was a challenge the Silver Court could not ignore, and so the plot to censure House Khafre began. The House, however, was not without its own substantial allies at court, and so when the first blows struck, they were prepared. Legions of House Bondsmen fought back against the levies of the Serpent Priests, the Inner Circle of the Household riding out within their ancient Questoris battlesuits. It was a fierce battle, but it was also a screen. As the greatest lords and ladies of House Khafre fought and died, the future of the house was stolen away by more subtle means, absconding down the great grav-carriers of the Star-Bridge to the surface of Mithra itself. Sekhmetara and her adopted siblings among them. With a handful of Questoris battlesuits, barely any more bondsmen, and the wilds of Mithra to face while well within the territory of the Empire, the future did not seem bright for the Household despite their narrow escape. Avoiding the population centres of the Scale-Fiefdoms, the survivors of House Khafre struck out through the wilderness of Mithra, crossing vast savannahs and great tropical jungles, encountering monstrous creatures with more than enough strength or brutal cunning to fell one of the Knight suits. It was the uncanny ability of Sekhmetara, along with her martial ability, which lead them through. Even before they had left Imperial territory, her legend had grown yet further. Evidence of the vast monsters slain by the Primach were taken as proof of her survival, and continued ability, by those longing for freedom from the Serpent Priests.

It took over a year of travel through the wilderness to escape the borders of the Imperial-Fiefs, the few survivors of the journey making it to the city state of Malika. By the time of their arrival, they were anticipated, and the opportunity to strike back at the Empire of the Scale brought a sense of celebration not just to the survivors of the exodus, but also the people awaiting them. After finally catching sight of the great huntress that the stories had famed, the Council of Merchants ruling Malika immediately swore their city to Sekhmetara, even before she could ask. Over the next weeks, the word from Malika began to spread. Several Fiefs swore loyalty simply through the insistence of the Council of Merchants, but even so, Sekhmetara travelled to them. To do so, the Techno-Smiths of Malika offered her one of their greatest relics, a hover-vehicle, said to pre-date the Ancient Dark. The Primach altered the mechanical wonder to suit her form, and for the first time, possessed a steed capable of bearing her at the speed she wished. Not all of the independent fiefdoms were willing to side with the growing federation on rumour or request alone, many more, however, were quick to correct this upon encountering the rapidly moving Primach, her energy and charisma leading the way, and her unrepentant fury propelling her further when the former was not enough. Few direct battles were fought during this stage, although there were many duels of honour in the style of the Mithra nobles. Sekhmetara herself fought some, although most were taken upon and won by her growing cadre of loyal Questoris Knights.

Malika had been the staging point of her efforts to unite the fiefdoms against the Empire, and it was here that all gathered to swear loyalty, not just to the cause to drive back the Serpent Priests, but now also to the rule of the Primach herself, the years of her efforts in unification solidfying that this was not simply a short term federation of states, but the formation of a new power. Some voiced concerns that they were simply trading one Imperial ruler for another, and the Primach herself did little to debate this. She instead set out to prove that at every opportunity, she was the ‘better’ choice. Her people were more prosperous, her armies more victorious. When the first stone of the foundations of the new palace at Malika were set, so to did the Crusade against the Empire of the Scale truly begin. It was a gruelling conflict, for all the nations and cities she had brought together, the Imperial forces sitll outnumbered them, and with the technological marvels found on the satellite moon that housed the Silver Court, were more advanced as well. The Khafre forces, however, made up for this with skill at arms and tactical marvel, launching daring raids and assaults through the untamed wilderness of Mithra. The elements themselves seemed to ride alongside the Knight Lances of New-Malika, and it was rumoured on several occasions that Sekhmetara lead hosts of the wild beasts themselves against the Serpent Legions. Fiefdom after Fiefdom fell to the sweeping advance of the Primach’s forces. These conquests were fast and fierce, but they did not seek to maim and burn. From the oppressive rule of the Empire of the Scale, chains were broken, and The Empire of Unconquered Sun was born. By now the old stories of Sekhmetara as the chosen of the Wild Gods, or even one of them reborn in flesh, how now swept through the populace. She never endorsed such things herself, but nor did she quash them. When it was this fact that brough the noble houses of the moon of Khonsu down to parlay with her, and lend their forces to the final defeat of the Empire of the Scale, she was more than willing to wield their faith as her weapon.

Once these fresh Knight Lances and their bondsmen joined her more electic force, the days of the Empire of the Scale upon Mithra were numbered. No longer forced to rely on hit and run tactics and the force of diplomacy, the Unconquered Sun utterly excised the corruption of the Empire of the Scale from Mithra, and preparations for a means to assault the moon of Thotha began.

They would never be completed, however, for during the celebratory feast to mark the surrender of the final Fiefdom loyal to the Empire on Mithra, the Emperor covertly met with Sekhmetara and revealed both himself, and her true origin. Little is know widely of what they discussed, but by the time the meeting had concluded, Sekhmetara had sworn loyalty to the Imperium and in doing so, signed the death warrant of the Moon that had been her home. The next day, Sekhmetara Khafre joined her father, and new Liege, in the systematic destruction of Thotha. Much of the Silver Court was annihilated from orbit, before The Abyssal Lurkers were unleashed on the surface. While the memories of all those present have since been distorted by the psychic might of the Emperor, this stands as Sekhmetara’s first interaction with Astartes and one of her siblings. Shortly, the 20th Legion was summoned to Mithra, to meet their Primach at last.

Sekhmetara took to her place as the Primach of a Legion with great enthusiasm and commitment to her vision. She remade the Legion, which had previously been renown for some of the most gruelling engagements of the Crusade, into a fighting force modeled off her successful campaigns on Mithra. The Primach took well to the greater technologies of the Imperium of Man, and the intricacies of voidwar. Ever since her ascension to command of her Legion, the Tears have specialised in the swift compliance of human worlds through decisive strikes and deft diplomacy, although much as with her time on Mithra, Sekhmetara now longs for a greater challenge to place herself and her daughters against.

The Meeting:

Night had fallen over Ghutan, scant hours after the Unconquered Sun had broken upon it. From atop palace battlements which overlooked the city, the blanket of darkness was pierced with a thousand lesser pinpricks of light. Most of the conquests of the campaign had been reserved, or simply diplomatic surrenders. Ghutan had earned its fate, however. The rulers of the city had been almost as devoted to the Serpent Priests and their lies as the Silver Court itself, they had long resisted the advances of the Unconquered Sun, performing ever greater atrocities in the name of their scaled god to summon his aid, or simply to infuriate those who fought to free Mithra. It had been futile, Sekhmetara had lead the final charge herself, they had crushed their armies, annihilated their defences, tore down their idols. She had allowed the sack of the city’s noble quarter with no reservations. The downtrodden of Ghutan had even joined her armies in doing so.

The palace, however, was incandescent in another kind of light. Once the ruling nobility and priests had surrendered, likely seeking a last change to spare the wrath of the Empress of Malika, she had ordained that the celebration of their great, and final, victory upon Mithra be held in the palace that had once orchestrated the greatest obstacle to their success. The great serpentine icons, statues and works of art had been pulled down, shattered, and replaced with the icons of Sekhmetara’s reign, the blazing symbol of dawn. They had turned this den of vipers into a house of light and joy. At least, that was the idea. As Sekhmetara stood on the great balcony overlooking her latest conquest, she could not hide from the hollow feeling which held sway within her. Her gaze rose up to the dominant figure of Thotha in the Night sky, and the column of light marking the great star-bridge connecting it to Mithra. The connection point was some distance away at this time of the lunar cycle, although she knew it to be heading towards them. Her eyes, keener than any human she had ever known, picked out the impossibly distant structures and artificial biomes across the moon. She recalled her memories, of her childhood, both wild and among her adoptive household. She held the image of her adoptive father, Techan Khafre, in her mind, shutting her eyes to do so. Sekhmetara would not be content until not just Mithra was free of the Serpent Priests, she would demolish their Silver Court, and carve the name of Khafre into their burial mount. Her sombre mood, however, was ruining the celebrations, and she knew she should return to the victory feast she had earned. Many of her followers, even her inner circle, we acting like the war was won, writing off any chance of being able to assail Thotha itself. She would have to dispel this idea, but, perhaps after one more night.

“A worthy view.” The voice surprised her, it was rare, almost unheard of in recent years, that anything could ambush her, even the great monsters of the wilds, let alone a human. Still, she turned her head slowly to the side. To her great surprise, she found her features level with another. For the first time in decades, Sekhmetara found her eyes level with those of another. There had been rumours of another being akin to her roaming Mithra of late. She had taken it to be headless superstition, no matter how much her heart yearned to hope otherwise. There were none like her. At least, she had thought so. “A worthy conqueror.” The man, dark skinned, as most with on Mithra, if not so dark as her own. He was handsome, in an imperious sort of way. That almost made her laugh, for her to think of someone else as imperious. He motioned to her as he spoke, offering her a golden cup, a twin in his own hand.
She accepted with a slight bow of her head, the scent of the wine wafted up to her immediately, with a subtle tone she did not recognise. “I often wish it had the same affect.” She spoke simply, speaking with this stranger with the assumption he knew her trials. “It looks like fun.” She motioned back towards the palace, referencing the revelry occurring.

“There is a plant, from a far off place. Somewhere quite different to this, to everything you know. You will feel it, now.” The man explained, before taking a sip from his own cup. His words brought a raised eyebrow to her features, attempting to process his words. A thousand questions fought for competition in her mind, but something about the stranger, more than simply the nature he presented, prevented her from asking, for now.

Instead she took a sip of her drink, savouring the taste of the wine, much as it always had been, before she swallowed. The effect wasn’t instant, but, after a few moments, it was there. The barest tingle, the smallest dulling of her senses and a soft surge of elation. She laughed, he look of deep thought breaking into a smile, as she looked down at the cup, then back up to the stranger.

“So, that is what it feels like…I understand now.” She laughed again, swirling her drink before taking another sip.

“Well, an approximation. You will never feel it entirely the same, for, you are not the same. You are so much more, Sekhmetara Khafre, and I feel such joy to have found you.” The stranger’s smile grew kinder, and, in a break of decorum, should he had been any other guest to her gathering, placed a hand upon her bare shoulder. She began to speak, not to challenge the gesture, but to ask one of her many thousand of questions. That was when the Light struck her. The man’s touch set her every sensation afire, he mind plunged into an incandescent so bright it robbed all other sensation.

When she finally spoke, long before she returned entirely to her mortal shell, her thoughts still glimpsing vistas of greatness, of the vast scope of the stars, she managed one simple word.

“Father.”

-------------

“You cannot mean to allow this!?” The words, uncharacteristically direct and openly emotional, chased Sekhmetara as she moved through the halls of the palace, the auric shine of her armour playing back the firelight of a hundred torches.

“I allow nothing, the Emperor, my father, your new lord, commands it.” The Primach responded simply, opening and closing the gauntlet of her left hand, watching as the unfamiliar new technology whirred to life within. She had fired the weapon within before, a gift from the Imperium upon its true arrival, but she yearned to see it in true practice.
“It is our ‘home’ sister, the Priests corrupted the message of the Great King, but they are the enemy not ou-”

“Do not speak of your snake god again, sister, not to me, and never to our Emperor or his subjects.” Sekhmetara whirled to warn the suddenly cowed figure of Isabis, the slender woman practically jumping back at the rare sight of true anger from the Primach towards her adopted kin. “And do not take my compliance for simple inaction, Thotha will burn because the Emperor wills it, but every moment will be deserved. If you blame anyone, blame the Serpent Priests and your foul god. I do not simply allow it, I relish it. I am the Unconquered Sun and my fire will cleanse all trace of those who have cursed Mithra.” The details of Sekhmetara’s eyes disappeared beneath the bright glow of her building power, starting gold before transitioning to the surging white-blue of plasma fire, the heat crackling through the air, forcing Isabis back another step.

“You were chosen sister, you ca-”

“Prophecy is a lie, we forge our own path now.”

The Tears of Dawn

Legion Name: The Tears of Dawn

Legion Number: XX

Legion Strength: 75,000 Marines supported by The Knight Lances of Mithra and a large contingent of Auxilia. The Legion maintains a much larger contingent of Jetbikes and aerial mechanised forces than Legions of equivalent size. The Legion fleet also provides greater firepower than the size of the legion would suggest, however it does so through large numbers of smaller, faster, vessels.

Armour Appearance:
Legionary:


First Company:


Warcry: “Sol Invicta.” “The Dawn Breaks.” “For The Light Encarmine!”

Dramatis Personae:

Ahonsa Mensu: First Captain of the Tears of Dawn, Ahonsa is the second individual to hold this rank since the unification between Primach and Legion. A native of Mithra, she is young for her position, ambitious and utterly dedicated to Sekhmetara’s vision for the Legion. Ahonsa has a particular dislike to the Terran members of the Legion who have questioned her Primach’s willingness to place important duties on the shoulders of non-Astartes from Mithra. Unlike many of the high-ranking members of the Legion, she opts not to fight from atop a jetbike, instead having forged her career in the recon units that are so key to The Tears War Doctrine.

Kvasi Khafre: The Primach’s younger brother via her adoption into House Khafre, Kvasi forsoke his natural place as the primary heir of House Khafre to join Sekhmetara’s crusade. Almost as impulsive, bold and brilliant as the Primach herself, Kvasi acts as Sekhmetara’s primary liaison with the Knight Lances which fight alongside the Tears of Dawn. There are few individuals closer to the Primach than her adopted brother, but even the knights of other houses that accompany the Tears have a grudging respect for the tactical doctrines he has assisted in writing.

Isabis Khafre: Younger sister to both Sekhmetara and Kvasi, Isabis never ascended to pilot her own Questoris warsuit, but equally was beyond the age to become an astartes by the time of Mithra’s compliance. Rather than remain upon their homeworld or try to find another military role within the XX’s fleet, Isabis has instead become a rembrancer and orator of impressive ability, already considered among the most favoured across the Crusade. Unlike her two older siblings, she comes across, generally, with a softer approach, although she is just as often in the Primach’s company as a warrior-brother.

Bahati Khafre: One of the youngest surviving members of House Khafre, Bahati was able to be fully inducted into the Tears of Dawn, the only member of the noble house to have done so. Despite Sekhmetara’s fondness for those of her homeworld, Bahati has received no among of benefit from nepotism, although years after compliance, is now a Captain within the 6th Chapter. Bahati is a bold and aggressive officer even by the standards of the Tears of Dawn, and feels a burning desire to prove the strength of Mithra, the Tears, and House Khafre to the wider Imperium.

Chief Librarian Elosha Turna: One of the few remaining Terran Tears with a position in close proximity to the Primach after the death of First Captain Jeriah some years before, Elosha has been instrumental in helping the Primach to hone her psychic ability. Elosha is typical in mindset for the Terran Tears, being far more stoic than their Mithran sisters, but no less dedicated to the Primach and committed to her change of vision for the Legion. Sekhmetara and Elosha seem to have a genuinely close bond, rivalled only by those with her adopted family.

Favored Tactics/Battlefield Role: The Tears of Dawn combine an approach which favours diplomatic resolutions to human compliance with a surge of brutal, if elegant, force. Small in terms of numbers for a Legion, the Tears boast a far greater arsenal of jetbikes and aerial strike craft than their number would suggest, the pilots of their Legion being famed across the Imperium and their fellow Legions. The war-doctrine of the Tears is to combine the anvil of their Imperial Army and Knight lance allies with the hammer of the Tears aerial drop-strikes, deploying via Storm Eagles, Thunderhawks and drop pods while the tide of their jetbike mounted warriors continue to sweep over the enemy. This approach is a substantial departure from their role before Sekhmetara was discovered by the Imperium, having been a mechanised infantry force dedicated to gruelling campaigns in some of the most problematic warzones, with a particular focus on extermination campaigns.

Legion Characteristics/Ideology: While before the Tears of Dawn were subdued and sombre, rarely fighting alongside their fellow legions except when circumstance demanded it, and with little support from the other wings of the Imperial warmachine, they are now a vibrant display of warrior-culture centre around the spirit of Mithra. The Tears of Dawn are encouraged to have pursuits outside of their combat role in the Legion, although many still use this opportunity to hone more specialised or ritualistic martial pursuits. While the Legion itself is on the smaller side, their fleet is substantial, bearing a greater amount of Imperial Army elements alongside the Knights and Bondsmen of Mithra. Alongside these, are a great number of rembrancers and other civilian roles, which has formed the Tears fleet into a cultural hub among the stars. Within the Legion itself, particularly the Mithran-Born, many of the trappings of their birth culture survive, with warrior sisterhoods arranged around the themes and concepts of the Mithran Wild Gods. The exception to this is the faith of the Serpent Priests, last acts of Sekhmetara on her homeworld being to instigate various purges of the Empire of the Scale’s religion, even if she had grown up among it.

Relationships: TBC