Half Pint
Bingelly
Fuzzybootz
Simple Unicycle
Sep
Heat
Nightwing95
Izurich
kittyluna45The Council of Nikaea
Interim
The Great Reception Hall
Interim
The Great Reception Hall
Almost silently, three more figures entered the room. Two Astartes of the Daughters of Iron, headed by the representative of the Sixteenth, made their way through the ornate doors of the chamber and took up positions near the wall, mutely observing the proceedings. They were bedecked in raiments inspired by traditional fashion of Kayaamat, preserved and cherished even through its many wars and the degradation of its natural biosphere. Ayushmatki, standing well below the heights of her two companions, wore an elaborately embroidered dress that hugged her form. Intricate layers of silken thread in a dazzling array of reds and blues, golds and silvers snaked their up to rest upon her shoulders and hips in a low cut, provocative display of bare skin and ornate tattoo work. Behind her trailed a strip of the same fabric used to secure the garment around her waist, its painstakingly woven patterns forming a shimmering trail that seemed almost as a living river of stars when she moved. The Astartes, her bodyguards upon Nikea, were clad in similar attire. Their heads and bodies likewise adorned with the same unusual swirling tattoos, and the distinctive hairstyles favored by many in the far distant stellar empire were striking to see worn by the Astartes of a space marine Legion - a tribute to the origins of the first inductees to the Legion, drawn from the underhive gangs of Kayaamat on which the Primarch herself had built the foundations of empire.
Though they had come dressed for the occasion in such ostentatious outfits, the three seemed visibly ill at ease. Ayushmatki had set herself a mission that night, a mission in blatant disregard for the orders of her own Primarch. Instead of lying low and in wait, she had donned the most flamboyant of clothing in hopes to seem as if she belonged at the party - keenly aware as she was of the growing resentment of her presence in the absence of Eiohsa. As well, Saravata was a region that had seen the near annihilation of its noble classes - and with them, high society such as this. Regal clothing, opulent rooms, such were utterly foreign to the women from Saravata, and Ayushmatki alone seemed comfortable with even the clothing she wore, let alone the sights now arranged before them and the task at hand. As such, Ayushmatki and her guards, Kumari and Devaki, remained almost motionless against the wall, seemingly hoping to blend in and go unnoticed.
For once in his life the Primarch of the Eighth sought to match those representatives dispatched from the Sixteenth Legion, entering the hall of light and sound without fanfare and indeed without his usual boisterousness to go before him.
As was his wont he had come alone - his subordinates having better things to do with their time than attend functions - his olive complexion nonetheless offset by a knee-length tunic of the purest white, edged at cuff, collar and bottom with a shimmering cerulean blue, his upper body meanwhile encased in what his people termed a lorica musculata, an armless cuirass formed into the shape of the Primarchs own torso bearing upon its silver-faced surface scenes of battle and victories in miniature. On his head remained perched the laurel wreath, a sign of his legion and his people, while his feet continued to be covered by a pair of sandals sized for his towering personage.
Moving into the room at a pace and speed that likely seemed somewhat overactive to others, though perfectly normal to himself, Kaelianos plucked some Mithran dainties from a nearby table, smelling them and then allowing them to circulate within his mouth for some moments before swallowing, all very much to his taste he had to admit; a goblet of something found its way into his other hand, and upon further inspection he found it to be a wine not too dissimilar from a vintage found on his own homeworld! A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
Grasping a few more pieces of food, he proceeded to take a seat not completely out of the way, but instead from where he could observe everything…
There he could see dancing couples, a number of his siblings included, while his brother Augor availed himself of a select group of rather important individuals, and Ayushmatki continued her duties of apparently doing very little but remaining still… no, that wasn’t right… she and her sisters were doing much the same as he now did, watching and noting everything.
Popping another foodstuff into his mouth he momentarily forgot to consciously keep track of things, even if his subconscious still continued to run and absorb as it always did, finding that the food here was delicious and that he would need to acquire more than one recipe before the gathering was over.
The crescendo of the first waltz of the evening ended with as much flair was one could expect, the elegant form of Sekhmetara tuned into another spin by her brother, longer then the last with the shimmering cloth of gold of her gown catching the lights about her, before she fell sideways, carefully choreographed so in the moment, into a catch from the other primarch, the Mithran primarch laughing and patting Wode’s arm at the success of the dance.
“Well danced, brother, though I shan’t keep you forever, I would not like to risk Nelchitl’s claim of having the most noteworthy dance of the council.” She chuckled, returning to her full height, just as the momentary lull in music was replaced with a voice she knew well, but never grew tired of hearing in song.
Wode took a step back, and bowed to his sister, a gesture that was as sincere as it was consciously poorly executed. “I don’t believe you about not wanting to risk that, but, dissemble if you must, Dear Sister, I know the truth - you’d love the attention either way. I’m going to make sure my boys aren’t trashing the place.”
Sekhmetara was silent for a moment, regarding Wode before she drew in closer again, her voice a pleasant, but dangerous purr. "We all want it, we were born for war and glory, some of us just feign ignorance." As she pulled away from her brother-primarch she placed a kiss to his far more grizzled cheek, drawing away with both warmth and a strange sense of menace. In another blinked was moving away, the long trail of her gown shimmering behind her.
He laughed, striding away to where Grieg was attempting to climb a table, Saul egging him on. The smaller man was wearing an empty punchbowl, and the Astarte’s service khakis were smeared with the sauce of god only knew how many dishes. Wode’s laughing turned into berating, shooing them away from their hijinks the way one might shoo a cat.
As the dance had reached its crescendo another pair of dancers moved in fluid motion, from skill of movement and learning rather than the gifts of superhuman ability and recollection. Even as Wode had spun Sekhmetara, Kvasi led himself and Catalina into a true waltz spiral, their feet gliding around each other in a motion which turned ever faster. While his hold may technically have been bad form, that had been entirely deliberate and in all other details he performed as well as any High Terran noble. He released her only right at the end of the dance, coming apart to bow to Catalina, right at the heart of the presence of the dancing primarchs, even as the song of his true born sister began.
The excitement of the moment, of sharing the dance floor with such divine beings as the Primarchs, would have been enough to drive any Terran High Noble to tears where they stepped. But Catalina was not Terran born, and she was no regular noble. Rather than collapsing into a puddle of shear emotions like most mortals would have been liable to do in her position, she summoned up the same mental shield she used when she piloted her exalted machine. A shield of her own soul, strong enough to keep the murmurs of the minds of untold pilots that had piloted her Knight before her from devouring her mind. Though only this time she used it against beings of such dazzling existence it was nearly not enough.
As Kvasi spun her faster and faster, she began to lose sight of the demigods surrounding them, though the feeling, and the knowledge that they remained proved nearly as dangerous as the sight. With a start they came apart, her dress whipping around her as she came to rest bowing her head to her partner. Lifting her gaze she couldn’t help but to smile as she huffed for breath, the beauty of the woman before Kvasi, though far outscaled by the beings surrounding them, was undeniable in her radiant smile, the brilliant sparkle in her eyes and the rosy red filling her cheeks.
"I hope you know a faster dance, my lady, I do not think my sister would summon my other to have her sing the drawl of a Terran waltz." He grinned, resuming his hold of her, his fingers tracing softly down her back rather than simply resuming their position. "Although you do dance as dangerously as you hunt." He spoke with a grin.
“I can dance more than a waltz Kvasi.” she grinned as he came back to her, his hands proving to be even more scandalous than earlier as he spoke. With a laugh Catalina took herself out of his hold and hooked an arm into his own before leading him from the dance floor, “I’d love to continue our dance, but I must admit, I don’t want to share the floor with the two of them dancing together.” she inclined her head to the forms of Sekhmetara and Daena taking the floor. “I’m afraid we could never compete with that, my beauty and your charm notwithstanding.” she joked as she grabbed a glass of something bubbling from a passing server.
For the first time in a considerable while Kvasi’s attention drew away from Catalina as she motioned towards the twined night and day of Daena and Sekhmetara. Even with the familiarity born of so much time with his adopted sister it was not a sight a mortal being could shake off easily and he was a moment behind Catalina in recovering as she stepped away. When he did turn to follow her, a warm smile had spread over his features. It was good to see his sister enjoying herself in the company of her other, grander family.
"I don't disagree that this is no longer the arena of mortals, but those are two things I could never discount." Kvasi grinned as he returned to her side, lifting a glass of amasec from a different tray as he did so, sipping the drink as they came back together. As if not time had passed and they were still dancing, one hand of his hold returned, as low as before, pressing to her well into the steady transition to emerald upon her dress. "One could suggest that if mortals have no place here any further, it might be our duty to find somewhere else to be."
Her drink swaying slightly in her hand, Catalina regarded the demigods taking the floor with a wistful envy as Kvasi returned. His hand slipping back into place she could practically feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as he spoke, “Surely you’ve misspoke Kvasi.” she said quietly as she pressed herself more into him, “You mean to miss such a spectacle?” she teased.
“When you spend much time with Sekhmetara, you begin to learn that every moment is just another spectacle waiting to happen. If you don’t find the time to find your own distractions, you’ll spend your life gawping at her.” Kvasi grinned, his whole form drawn close to Catalina as he sipped his drink, moving the glass languidly slowly as he did so, his eyes not meeting her’s, but instead nakedly moving up and down her form as he examined her as to the point of his words. “It’s a relief, in a sense. In their presence, we can do what they want, and no one will even notice. It’s rare people like us get to feel that freedom.” Even as he spoke again, his words were punctuated by sips of his drinks and further enjoyment of her appearance, his hand squeezing gently as he continued to hold her close, exhaustingly so in the crowded confines of the ball.
“So it would seem.” Catalina agreed as Kvasi came in close, all the tradition and decorum she’d been raised on simply melting away. Her hands moving to clutch at him as he spoke. Far faster than Kvasi, the Seneschal of House Cadaval finished her drink and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “So Huntmaster,” she began as she traced her fingers down his flank, “ let he find somewhere else to be.” she agreed with a laugh before she took the lead for the first time that night, her hand clasping his as she pulled him from the dance floor and toward the exit with a grin.
Before Isabis had taken up a greater role in the organisation of her fellow remembrancers, she had earned her particular fame through the art of music, composing songs that enshrined the great works and conquests of the Imperium. She did so on the merits of her own voice, and it had proven too great a waste for Sekhmetara to bear to not have her perform in some way. First her voice stood alone, a flowing song which shattered the usually rigid and archaic nature of the High Gothic she sung in. Then the instruments of the evening kicked in, and Daena’s prediction about Sekhmetara’s plan for a higher pace of music proved correct, even as Sekhmetara approached the lady in question.
“Lord Usriel, Beloved Sister, I trust your dance was not too much to bear?”
“I will say that I enjoyed it, despite my lack of knowledge of such dances,” Usriel answered, his face as stern as ever as he turned to face the Mithran Primarch.
“Our brother is a splendidly swift learner,” Daena praised, favoring Usriel with a smile. “And he even indulged me in my excesses,” she added, turning to Sekhmetara. The thinnest amount of power bridged their minds, the two sisters continuing the conversation privately. A discordant haze of amusement, frustration, and a flurry of images ranging from a martial parade ground to a pile of shorn rose petals flowed between them, resolving into words. One of his auxiliaries has eyes for him, the situation has developed more than he seems to realize, she thought to the Mithran, letting her eyes guide their mutual gaze towards the glaring form of Belloris.
How terrible for her, all this time and yet I am the one to peel him out of his armour. Sekhmetara fostered Daena with a wry grin as their thoughts shifted through the air, a practiced display of imagery that became words only through the depth of their bond and power of their geneforged minds. Despite her mocking tone, the Mithran primarch looked thoughtful for a moment, full lips pursed as she no doubt incorporated this new information into the web of social connections in her mind. I hear from Nodis that he will be attending us on the return to Obscurus. She mused to Daena, but did not add further to their psychic connection before she smiled to both Usriel and Daena, speaking again in the physical sense.
"I am glad you were both such good company to each other, although I do hope you won't mind me stealing our lady Daena, Usriel. She did make me promise." Sekhmetara spoke with unbridled joy and no little amount of mischief as she offered one hand towards her sister.
“I’m afraid she speaks true,” Daena said, smiling softly as her attention turned away from Belloris. “Even I can be moved to jealousy. It would not do for only one of the ladies of Praxia to have a renowned dance after all,” she explained, inclining her head towards the distant figure of Wode, who was arguing, loudly and with much profanity, with Grieg about the merits of sickle-pattern versus box pattern bolter mags.
“As you wish,” Usriel said, bowing his head to Daena before speaking directly to her, “I pray that all our future meetings be as pleasant as tonight’s, Daena. Now if you will excuse me, I must deal with my serf.” With those words, the Primarch stepped away from the two and made his way to Belloris, arms crossed behind his back.
“He will need to handle that, one way or another,” Daena said with a sigh, shaking her head at their clueless brother before finally taking her sister’s hand. “Now, what was that compliment you paid to me?” she asked in a far softer voice, her other arm pulling Sekhmetara close as the two moved their way to the center of the dance. “If the sun and moon each rule their own sky, then together we are sure to blind them all.”
"On Mithra it is known as the Kupatwa, when Sun and Moon dance, sisters who can only embrace after the turn of centuries, for mortals to look upon it would blind them." Sekhmetara spoke with both reverence and mischief as she drew closer to Daena, melding into her hold as the music swept through them, her adopted sister’s voice melding with the dance of her gene-sister. The pace was too fast for the formalised waltz, the music chosen to bring the guests together in a way they might refrain from usually. Sekhmetara and Daena needed no aid however, their closeness born in more than proximity. As they danced, Sekhmetaea found herself, in her mind’s eye, on Terra once more. When it had just been them, that was all that mattered. Despite her greater height, Sekhmetara allowed herself to be lead as the submissive half of the dance for now, her sister's wings more than making up the difference. She remembered well, Daena smiled far more often back then. When she gazed at her sister now, she felt a spark of joy as the ghost of that lost sister returned, inhabiting the mournful soul her sister had become. "I must give you something bright before all this is over sister, a piece of me to take with you, even when we fight apart." She laughed softly, just between them.
The sisters' thoughts remained in tune even with the closing of their psychic connection, Daena’s mind following Sekhmetara’s own. “None who have gazed upon the face of the sun can forget it for so long as they live,” she replied, her wings slowly lowering her down as they melded into the flow of the music, lead naturally passing from one to the other as her own memories of their time within the Palace welled up inside of her. “Do you remember our debut? Your first dance, with one of father’s generals. He had to conquer worlds for the right, such is Sekhmetara. So tell me, what gift could possibly compare to you?” she mused, by now having settled firmly upon the ground, forcing her to crane her head up to look into her sister’s eyes. “Not that I’m saying no,” she finished with a private laugh of her own.
“And how many worlds have you conquered since sister? Father sold me short.” Sekhmetara’s response mirrored her sister’s laugh, her form easily stepping into the role of the leading party, her hold easing the strain on her sister to remain looking up to her as they moved together, becoming the mote of motion upon which the other dancers turned.
“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?” Daena teased, relaxing as lead was passed from one to the other. “Father did give you the right to request who you wished to dance with, rather than giving it as a prize. You would never though, would you? You were ever the dutiful daughter, all too attuned to the needs of politics and court,” she added wistfully.
“You speak truly, but gifts are not replacements, they are icons. A standard of affection to bear. That is a much harder spoil to win than a dance.” Sekhmetara turned Daena into a graceful spin, before pulling her back to her, with enough grasp of her muscular arms to shudder the motion even through her fellow Primarch, but never enough to disrupt the fluid rhythm of the music and dance. “I preferred the nights we ran off into the city. Now those Terrans knew how to dance.” She laughed with mischief, a noise that would no doubt be described as a private giggle was it not reverberating through the gene-forged perfection and grand scale of a primarch.
Daena remained silent as Sekhmetara spoke, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder after being pulled back in. Memories of their wilder days put a smile back on her face, the shorter Primarch beginning to glide and skip across the floor as her wings slowly came back to life. “Of course you only remember the nights, and not the mornings afterward. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malcador so upset since, you’d think we had found something they were ashamed of,” she said coyly. But all of that only served to build her confidence enough to ask a question she had yet to voice. “Tell me though, what is a fitting icon for the sun?”
“Only because we were his favourites.” Sekhmetara spoke softly, in a conspiratorial whisper, a theatrical grin on her features as her lips brushed by Daena’s ear, as if they were all children hiding secrets from each other, how they should have been raised, together. “I think he feels a lot of pain for what Terra has become, something lost from the time of his own youth, or perhaps one of his visions.” She mused softly, their dance turning more gently as they discussed personal matters, the Mithran primach’s thoughts turning to the rarely considered emotional soul of the man who sat at the right hand of their father.
“That is the problem with suns, we are incomparable.” Sekhmetara’s whisper became playful once more as she answered her sister’s question. “On Mithra we have many symbols for such things, maybe I can make a gift of one of those for you.” Her tone suggested she felt that idea a little uninspired even as the turn of the dance continued, Sekhmetara stepping in and out of the trail of her own gown to cause the light of it to shimmer around her. A lesser being would surely simply tangle themselves, but the primach created a sea of silk and gold around herself with ease for a moment, even while holding her sister.
A distant part of Daena’s mind, ever thinking and ever calculating, worked unconsciously to weave her own body such that the light from Sekhmetara’s gown caught upon and reflected from the diamonds studded upon her own, the Primarch making sure to put on a worthy show even as the sisters whispered to one another. “It should remind me of those days,” she responded in a soft voice, her own mind focusing on the closest thing that they had to a shared upbringing. “When we were together, at home.” She made no attempt to hide the yearning in her voice, the desire to return to a when that never was. “Give me something to remind me of how things should have been, Sekhmetara.”
For a moment her words were delayed, not from a need to focus, but a desire from Sekhmetara to be in the moment, to watch her own light shine from her sister and to take in the admiration of those around them, before she drew close again to speak. "What should that be sister? A scornful portrait of Malcador….a recreation of those radbikes we stole….the entire contents of the Lex Imperialis as we read each day?" She teased, but not cruelly as they spun. "Maybe I shall conquer a world for you, all to build a house upon a lake so that we can be alone, together, again. Just us." She mused for a moment, before adding. "And maybe a select few others." As her good humour remained however, she took her sister’s request to heart, already deciding what the gift might be even as they danced together.
For a moment Daena too said nothing, exulting in a precious moment in which she could forget the horrors of unending war. The smile on her face only grew through Sekhmetara’s incessant teasing, fond memories coming to the fore with each one. “I’m sure that you can think of something,” she said offhandedly, too caught up in her own reminiscences to give a proper reply. As she did, the height disparity between the two seemed to vanish, the Angel shamelessly taking advantage of her affliction to glide off the floor and look her sister in the eye. “Do you remember the day I finally agreed to take you flying?”
The Mithran primach laughed softly as her sister took wing again, and her joy only extended at the question, her eyes settling evenly with Daena’s, "I remember more than that, I remember the struggle to convince you. For a while I thought you might be the only person who could refuse me something for so long." Sekhmetara’s eyes gleamed with a victorious mischief as she spoke. "Tell me of my final victory."
Daena rolled her eyes at her ‘older’ sister’s impertinence, taking a small measure of revenge by stealing the lead. The Angel twirled her sister about, her feet now freed entirely from the ground, as she relented. “We were supposed to be studying, but you had insisted we could do so just as well in the gardens,” she said in feigned outrage. “You somehow managed to convince me of that each day, and each day you somehow managed to find a different garden. But I remember the one we were in on that day. It was open to the sky, and you saw… how did you put it? ‘A mountain that yet defies me’,” she continued, her voice dropping into Sekhmetara’s huskier tone. “I have no idea why I agreed to take you there,” she admitted with a small shrug, rising even higher as she did, the floor becoming less firm underneath the Mithran’s feet. “Perhaps I was born to see you conquer.”
As Sekhmetara left the ground, the trails of her sleeves and gown descended, like swirling ribbons of golden silk trailing from her. With pinpoint grace, she allowed one hand to trail away from her sister, framing the swirling sculpture of their dance while her sister’s genehanced ability enabled her to hold the other primach aloft with but one hand. “There is none other with a better view, than the one who does so by my side.” She smiled, closing her eyes as she gave into the motion, her mind’s eye filled with an observer’s view of the two turning together, the psychic impression of the whole room washing over her as a tide of emotion. “There was no mountain on Terra that was worth conquering, only you.”
Outwardly, the mechanical motions of keeping Sekhmetara aloft as the living centerpiece of the celebration proceeded with an almost mechanical precision. Such was the importance placed on the performance that Daena compartmentalized the act itself, leaving her mind to deal with her sister’s incessant teasing without impacting the show the two were putting on for the entire galaxy. “Sekhmetara the goldentongued,” she murmured back, attempting to regain her mental footing as their physical rapidly receded beneath them. “But you’ve gone too far this time,” she added in a sudden teasing voice. “What glory is there in a provincial heathen oracle more accustomed to barbarians than courts?”
"There is glory in everything I do, dearest." While her expression remained serene in the outward performance of their soaring dance, Sekhmetara’s tone was full of the usual smirking grin such a comment would be accompanied with. With languid grace, the Mithran primach arched her back, one arm outstretched, she plucked a glass of wine from a passing tray from above, downing the contents in a manner which still someone expressed elegance before setting the used goblet down on another passing gilded tray.
With a deft agility belying the greater size of a Primach, Sekhemtara seemed to spin and turn back up her gown to Daena’s hold, one hand touching her cheek again. “No court that would reject Daena io Azrael is worthy of Aurelia, none of them have wealth richer than the blessing of Onwa.” The name of the Mithran Moon goddess slipped from her lips in a particularly conspiratorial whisper, before the true grin finally returned to her features. “Let me go, Sister.”
For those with the eyes to see through the blazing light of sun and moon entwined upon one another as they neared the hall’s vast ceiling, a faint blush was visible upon Daena’s face. Stunned into silence, or perhaps merely choosing to remain so out of prudence, the Angel obeyed her sister’s wish. Eventually.
Higher and higher they flew, the light emanating from and enhanced by the Primarchs growing ever brighter as they neared the grand chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Only then did she obey, Daena spreading her arms wide as she released her grip upon Sekhmetara. Remaining within the air, wings splayed, the Emperor’s Angel could only watch as the huntress pounced.
Sekhmetara spiralled through the air, the height to which her sister carried her before releasing her hold allowing her to turn over in a full rotation before she landed. The sight would have been dramatic enough for such a gathering on its own, but the Mithran primach was not content with athleticism and grandeur alone. The soft silk of her gown seemed to ignite, shifting on her form. A mesh-weave underlayer forged by those of technological worth with enough whimsy to entertain such an idea springing to life, reforming the outfit in the time it took Sekhmetara to turn over and land on the dance floor.
As the weave swam over her form, gold shifted to a deep blue, the silken cloth becoming more akin to the more structured outfits of the Imperium. When she stretched to her full height once more, Sekhmetara appeared clad in an outfit of red and night blue more akin to officers of the fleet, or indeed the titan princeps, writ for her larger form. A hushed mumble rippled through the Princep onlookers who recovered their senses from the display fast enough. While more intricate in detail and ostentatious than any true uniform, the shades of the outfit were unmistakable to those familiar with titan heraldry.
Mortis
Sekhmetara glanced up over her shoulder. to her sister above with another grin. All matters of larger metaphor aside, the outfit was very much closer to her flying sister's own sense of dress from the evenings aboard the Ultis Solis, and Sekhmetara was not above enjoying the comparison. With a dip of her head to her dancing partner, she was back among the crowd, as much as a Primach ever truly could be.
Some distance away and to the side from where the Primarchs spoke, Saul Imogen and Grieg both recovered from their antics by the buffet table after having been dismissed by Wode for their revelry. The rest of the guests at the affair were giving the two a wide berth - between the Princeps and the retinues of the Primarchs, the most consideration the pair were afforded was a blind eye at best and dismissive scorn otherwise.
And then out of the crowd emerged the comparatively unremarkable Baron Sigveyr. He appeared to be having a quiet if animated conversation with his own servo-skull hooked to the base of his spine by a bionic tether. as he moved between the huddled crowds of attendees, but when he saw both Saul and Grieg standing off to the side of the chamber of their own he halted in his tracks and almost seemed to glance hesitating towards the skull. After a brief moment of indistinct murmuring he then approached the two, and despite the evident refinement of his own garb he seemed eager to converse with them.
“Hail, Lord Astartes.” He inclined his head to Grieg, seemingly not even remotely offput by his otherwise astoundingly grotesque visage. “And you as well, Adept.” He addressed Saul. “I am Baron Sigveyr Archarnon, a pleasure to have found both of you in all of this.” He gestured emphatically to the surroundings. “Forgive me if I am disrupting you, it is just as far as I can see we’re the only three proper soldiers here and I could stand to get away from all these Princeps and Priests and the like.”
When the newcomer had approached the Lancers and greeted them, Grieg almost lept out of his chair at the baron, his coal-train face in a rictus of anger. He’d opened his mouth to correct the man, but Saul, smiling faintly, placed a hand on Grieg’s chest, stopping the Astartes as surely as if it were Wode doing so.
“C’mon Grieg, no one gets the rank right the first time.” Saul said softly, “I’m, what? One of two humans in all the legions with Astartes rank? It’s a pleasure to meet you Baron, I’m Saul Imogen.”
“Grieg.” The Astartes said, calming somewhat and sitting back down, “Of the Tenth.”
“And I mean, I wouldn’t worry about disrupting us, sir.” Saul said, looking up at the man. “We’re mostly here to disrupt everyone else, it seems, but one weakness of the Pact is that we’ve put very little thought into diplomatic reception, unlike… well.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the beautiful, peerless figure of Sekhmentara. “It’s not Lord Wode’s style, nor mine, if I’m being honest.”
“It is a little bit more mine, as you can see,” Sigveyr indicated his immaculate bodyglove and long coat, “...but after I left Caelrumoste - my planet of origin. A Questor Mechanicum world - that sort of thing just...lost all real meaning. This is the first real social gathering I have attended in decades.” He treated the two Astartes to a morose smile. “What about the both of you? How has the voidborne lifestyle been treating you?”
Saul smiled back, and Grieg seemed to soften some from his initial hostility. It was still Saul who spoke, though. “I can’t lie, friend, it’s not great. I never did much spacing - in fact none - before ah… before Arnie met his father, I guess.”
“Gives me gas.” Grieg said, chuckling. “And a headache fit to split my skull in two.”
“Yea, that.” Saul said, laughing. “It’s not agreeable to my system. Some people were just meant to live on the ground I guess.” He cleared his throat.
“You said a Questor Mechanicum world, that’s…” Saul furrowed his brow. “That’s the High Gothic for the Knight walkers, right?”
“Yes - though not to be confused with the Questor Imperialis.” The Baron added hastily. “I am a pilot myself - although before that I was a muckslogger. Knight worlds are not quite so backwards as reputed, but we do indulge in a plethora of ancient traditions. Including amassed cavalry charges and bayonet lines.” His look went distant and his smile turned from morose to fond briefly as he recalled something before reorienting.
“Right. Right so it’s the Questor that’s the important part.” Saul murmured. He continued. “I mean, they can’t be that backwards, right, if there’s battle walkers like that walking around?”
Grieg chuckled, his ugly, diesel-engine laugh. He’d clearly had more experience than the human Lancer in that regard, but said nothing, letting the derisive response speak for itself. Saul rolled his eyes at him. He spoke again.
“We’re learning, at least I am, that some forms of war thought obsolete on Salient, that’s where I’m from, mind, live on in other parts of the Imperium.” Saul continued, “Am I to take it that you rode a horse before a knight? Or were you leg? Ah, I mean… infantry.”
“Both. I was originally a spearman - not even powerspears like that Praetor of yours presented in that one hearing, just sharpened Adamantine alloy believe it or not.” The Baron nodded. “Back before our Compliance they were made of some common carbon-based metal I forget the name of and somebody like me would have rode an actual horse - I understand they use actual horses on Questor Imperialis worlds. On Questor Mechanicum worlds, or at least mine - I hail from Caelrulmoste by the way, although I doubt it is well known enough for you to have heard of it - we ride on sulphurhounds. A gift of sorts from our patrons in the Mechanicum. Ever seen them?”
“Presented.” Grieg smiled. “I spose that was a word for it. I heard Kohl drove the damn thing through the lectern he was given. Doesn’t like speaking tours, that one.”
“Does anyone in this mob?” Saul asked, though the question was rhetorical. Grieg simply shook his head. He took in the Baron’s explanation of his world, shaking his head to confirm that he had not, in fact, heard of Caelrulmoste. That was no great insult in the Imperium, as the Lancer was fairly sure Salient was similarly backwater.
“That’s fascinating, Baron, and yes, I have heard of the sulphurhounds. We actually had some on Salient, though we called them ah… auto-horses, if I remember right. A lot of technology like that survived on my planet, though somewhat degraded through years of copying and iterating away features we couldn’t understand. They weren’t as hardy as the ones you rode to war, the rich mostly rode them in the streets as a sign of status.” Saul laughed, “Ground cars weren’t flashy enough, I suppose.”
“Salient!” The Baron snapped a pair of fingers. “Yes, I suppose you would have to be from there - pardon my saying so. The name was eluding me, but that must have been Primarch Arnulf Wode’s planet, yes? I hear he rode to battle with the Omnissiah himself in his tank. Any truth to that?”
Saul blinked, not quite prepared for someone to recognize his planet, but, then again, he kept forgetting Wode was a lot more than just his friend and fellow officer these days. “Right, I’m still not used to people recognizing the name, sorry. I’m gobsmacked.”
“I can tell you one thing, sir.” Grieg spoke up, “He sure fought like a fury. Atop that old Baneblade of his. Never missed a shot. Killed the old Legion Master in his first shot, he did, passed right through his Predator like it was so much tissue paper.”
‘Yes, you must be talking of the Return to Sender.” Saul said, “Wode’s personal tank. It’s an old, old tank sir, I’m told it’s had quite the service life. It was ah, passed down in the merchant house army we served in since the Long Night as I understand. Destroyed when the Emperor found us, of course, but Wode had the thing repaired when the Lightnings became the Pact. I’m not sure how much of the Omnissaiah lives in such things, I’m not very spiritual in that regard, but it’s a relic all the same.”
“A relic baneblade. I’ve only ever seen the standard patterns in picts.” The Baron shook his head in wonder. “Can’t even fathom what his must be like…” Abruptly, a sly and mischievous expression flashed across his face. “Say, I do not suppose your Legion has any of its tank detachments down here in the depot area?”
Saul smiled. Ah, now he knew where this conversation was going. “Oh, of course. We’ve brought a surprising amount considering the diplomatic nature of the Council, but the plan was to bundle it up for transport once… certain deployments were confirmed. We’ve got the Sender here, as well as the Fellblades of the First Company here, along with a great deal of our Predators, our Sicarans, the gun motor carriages…”
Grieg cut off his friend with a hand on his shoulder. “He’s tryin’ to say we got a lot of it, if’n you wanna see. Includin’ the Baneblade.”
“I would be honored.” Sigveyr treated the two to a modest bow of the head and chest. “And, if you would be so interested - the Ordo Astranoma also has a full Knight Lance planetside if you have an interest in seeing them in return. Perhaps we could even bring a few of our officers with each other, have them broaden their horizons a little?”
“I think that would be lovely.” Saul said, standing up to shake the man’s hand. “You might even draw Arnie - Lord Wode, I mean, out of the depot if there’s a chance to see a Knight up close. He’d never admit it but he loves those machines, the way a child obsesses about prehistoric carnosaurs.”
“Carnosaurs - I don’t suppose those are like Wyverns, or Drakes?” The Baron mused as he gestured to the side, and the three of them began walking towards the exit, his words getting caught up and lost in the murmuring of the crowd.
A lot of murmuring. Too much, in fact. The Baron could only stop then, along with perhaps all others idle conversations, as the loud blaring of trumpets engulfed the hall.
Total silence followed, only broken by again another blaring string of trumpets disrupting the dancing again. The great hall’s main doors were swung open, and a teeming ensemble of characters - a combination of shining armour and bright colours, had ordered and filed themselves on either side, forming an arch aboves themselves with halberds carrying flamboyant colours and iconography.
Thorny Roses. Fleur de lis. Bees. The colours of maroons and pinks against backdrops of greys and bronzes. The Primarch of the Seventh Legion, Nimue Arcadia, the Fay Enchantress and Damsel of Engraila with golden light preceding her... had arrived.
Her arrival, far, far too late to be fashionable or appropriate could only be balanced out instead by the sheer outrageous audacity of it all. Free from the Emperor’s immediate gaze, Nimue could return to her usual, smug, all-attention grabbing self.
After-all, while regrettably perhaps she was too late for the dance and to greet Sekhmetara on more polite terms, it was never too late for a party-crashing.
The trumpet blew again for good measure.
“Yer right, now instead of this pomp and pageantry filled mess we can get a real event going now. Should we call her out on it and see how it goes now wee muffin?” the bear of a primarch growled out with a toothy grin down at the warrior woman beside him.
“Hail Nimue!” shouted the mortal guardsmen in unison, probably IA elements of Nimue’s own troops, as the Celestial Inheritor’s Primarch passed under the arch of polearms - more pikes really, so to actually form an arch above her superhuman height. The Primarch was still wearing the attire that she had attended the second session of the Council of Nikaea in, only it seemed that the armoured segments and curaisse had been removed and replaced with yet more frills, cleavage and a gleaming golden corset-bustier like combination designed to be as attention-stealing as possible, aquila birds engraved into the bustier so to deliberately draw attention towards them. This was Nimue in full “yes, Sekhematra, that piece is such a lovely design” modus.
Nimue, and the four Astarte retinue that followed, each with their own uniquely glossy, gaudy or provocative appearances, passed now into the hall proper. Nimue was glad to see the murmurs became nervous whispers or hesitant bows and curtsies. The Primarch and her retinue then quickly turned to scanning the hall for the Primarch of Tears, whom Nimue had her business with. Finding, somewhat irritably, that her elder sister was not immediately present, she instead drew her attention to the few mortals that moved themselves to the front of the throng - confident, rather than hesitant in her presence.
‘Salutations, good sirs and ladies’ Nimue said, more specifically to those confident few, but in politeness to the rest of the crowd. ‘I must beg forgiveness for my interruptions of this fine event’ she said, with little to no actual remorse aimed at the attendees. ‘Carry on if you will’. Even though she said these words, none continued, except a few at the back and, somewhat unsurprisingly, one of her sibling Primarchs who continued his dance.
‘Honoured Primarch, welcome’. Announced one of those who brought himself to the front of the throng. It was a man with well-disguised augmentics around the back of his head and wearing fashionable and ornately regal highborn attire - the colours, she knew, marked him as a delegate of the Knightly House of Devine, a house closely linked to her own Legion. She recognised this man, even, after some brief moment. The irritated heir, angered by her stealing his beloved half-sister and, as part of Molech’s customs, sister-wife for her own Legion.
‘It is a splendid sighting that you are present, Sir Raevan. I would have you know that your sister and Adoratrice Drakina of Molech, Lyx, is well and serves with glory and honour as thy own right-hand. It is unfortunate that she is not present here, however I assure you that this tragedy may soon be resolved in some manner…’ Nimue suggested, indicating her intention to assemble further Devine resources for her campaign, including perhaps Raeven and his Banelash Knight Errant.
Other than the Devines, and speaking to her sister concerning the matter of Augor’s contemptible lieutenant… She also intended to gather resources for her upcoming campaign against the Intcomese, Mitu and the mysterious Benefactors. Specifically - she required a Titan Legio, something that this party was, after all, designed to facilitate. It was for this reason, even as she spoke with the Heir of House Devine concerning the well-being of his sister-wife, she had psionically commanded her Equerry Elizabeta to seek out representatives of the Titan Legios so she may speak with them. Of those she sought, the most desired was the Legio Defensor, who she had worked with before during the Kynarzarid Campaign. She had, to some extent, fond memories of the Princeps and Ordinatii of that particular Legio, her talks of religious principles and philosophy with The Princeps Guillame Ferre being comparable to similar talks she had with The Sol Invicta while Nimue was on Terra.
Clad in her reforged outfit, Sekhmetara made her way steadily towards Nimue after her arrival. Unusually for her, she remained mostly hidden, quite willing to frustrate her sister's efforts to find her using the architecture of the room, and the forms of her own siblings to do so, given the remarkable inability of any of the Primachs to hide in crowds of the rest of humanity. Still, once her fellow primach was allowed to bask in the presence of the peacock-like Devine for a few further moments, she approached, moving into view with a smile that was both warm and edged with mischief.
"Sister I would bemoan you for lateness, but your timing is fortuitous, I was almost bored of the room's whole attention," It was of course a lie on multiple fronts, but the pleasant feeling behind it was true as she closed the remaining distance to Nimue, leaning to press a kiss to each cheek of the paler primach before leaning back, her eyes moving up and down the presented form of her sister, at first with a look entirely of appreciation before her eyebrow raised at the particular use of the aquila.
Nimue, too, having all but forgotten Raevan Devine's presence with her ebony sister's approach, smiled, and engaged the greeting kisses - her face showing somewhere between a self-satisfied smirk and genuine cheer. It was the shared expressions that the two sisters knew of each other well. They were... close friends and yet rivals. Companions of years on Tera yet always measuring each other's greatness against each other. Advisers and confidants, yet holding many secrets. Helpful, yet competing.
"Darling-Sister, you are looking marvelous as ever, and 'very' patriotic." The personal sigil of the Emperor was, of course, a great honour to bear, one that the Primachs themselves would fight over. Sekhmetara couldn't quite decide if she felt excited or slighted by her sister's choice for the party. She decided on the former as a slight smirk graced her features. "Such an honoured place they sit, too." She laughed slightly, almost a girlish giggle as one onyx-skinned finger traced over one of the eagles, albeit just shy of truly touching. "I am glad we could meet again without the room being filled with angered yelling, at least for now."
'It is as I have always said, Beloved Sister' Nimue announced, shifting into a pose, easily swayed by appeals to her vanity. 'That we should express our love of The Imperium just as its people express their love of us. Though, as much as it honours them... I would have you know that it honours you too' if Nimue was speaking of the Aquila or other things now, she did not elaborate. As she spoke and observed her Mithran's sisters' own eye-movements with a self-assured sense of superiority, she too made similar - if yet unspoken, judgements. She eyed the details of the golden markings across Sekhemetara's skin. While she did so, her mind's eye sifted through the crowd of onlookers, gauging them, measuring, to see who's attention their eyes fell more between them. It was how their game was played. Who’s name was more gloried, whose dress drew more eyes, even who’s bustline was more impressive, it was these infantile fights that characterised their sisterhood - and truthfully, it was one of the truer, humane relationships she had with her Primarch-born siblings.
‘’Yet still, indeed. I too am glad of this… good fortune” Nimue said. Her words were pleasant, but also conspiratorial. She glanced slightly and knowingly to the Primarch Usriel, who was doing his utmost best to ignore Nimue’s presence entirely. ‘I will deign to keep this peace, as it is not my intention to breach it here, not without cause certainly’. Nimue’s ‘peace’ of course, did not include her sudden and abrupt assault on the hall’s ears.
"Peace, sister? Never that, this is just a more civilised kind of hunt." Sekhmetara laughed quietly. Before her change of attire, while remarkably different, her outfit had been of similar approach to Nimue’s. Revealing yet grand had been the theme. Now she struck something of a contrast with her sister, the sleek military-lite look of her clothing against the more direct ostentation. In many ways, the contrast did more to highlight their similarities than conceal them, particularly as Sekhmetara slipped her own arm within Nimue's, standing together as she surveyed the room alongside her, allowing her to mutter an even more girlish, teasing comment, "The Emperor’s Eagles are noble indeed, they carry a great burden." It was evident in her tone that far from making fun of her sister but instead playing to their shared sense of mischief. She allowed the good humour to remain for a few moments, before speaking more seriously.
"You have something to say, Fairest, you were looking for me and much as we both appreciate a good entrance, there is much going on, do speak freely." Her tone remained friendly as she moved on to the nominally more important matters, even as her fingers squeeze Nimue's arm in a show of familiar affection. "Time to heed the wisdom of Sekhmetara once more? Or a more direct request?"
“It is, as you expect of course. While I would certainly never seek to miss a talk of beautiful things with the Mithran Sun... unfortunately, I come to speak of far uglier things”. Nimue glanced towards her sister’s eyes, giving a brief pause so that her sister would understand and brace herself. Her expression was still bright, the self-satisfied smile drawn but diminishing from Sekhematara’s particularly unique form of playful observations. Those who surrounded them and the few that dared try to pry knowledge only saw two demigoddesses, arms intertwined and likely reminiesciening of the past. But to those in the know, Nimue’s eyes squinted ever slightly in disgust, the slightest pull on the corner of her lips. Her pose no longer self-aggrandizing her chest but more neutral. It was a similar pose she took when speaking on ‘best behaviour’ in the presence of the likes of Micholi.
“Would the name Corneceus Sicanus mean anything to you?” Nimue asked, the words spoken polite and formal to nearly any observer, but the sheer fact that it lacked her usual signature hauteur or gloat told the sole true recipient of the seriousness of her question.
"The Stargazers apothecary?." Sekhmetara’s voice did not drop any quieter, already a conspiratorial whisper, however her tone shifted from jovial teasing to the rather more serious matter of political intrigue, a battleground in which she had few peers. "I cannot admit to knowing such details about all legions, but that one has made quite the stir. Not the most popular of names. He is present, or so I have been told."
The intricate web of informants the Mithran had woven could do far more than pick out individuals at so grand an occasion as the council, a web whom the majority of actors did not even know they were a part of, tugging on the strings. "Do you have further secrets to spill?" The slight tease of her voice return now, a hint of a smirk as she drifted yet closer, more intimate, to her sister. Nimue was a capricious creature, and keeping her mood light would no doubt help to keep her own improved.
“It is quite simple, really.” Nimue suggested firmly, though her slight relief at being acknowledged apparent. “The man’s acts are abhorrent to any who hold values beyond those of mere utility. My daughters who were butchered by his grotesque meddling need be avenged… but you would know well that I cannot simply take this matter to Augor, for he surely must defend his charges as strongly as I must mine… however, nor can I bring this matter to The Emperor,” a brief pause, the aftershocks of the second council meeting, certainly “for reasons you, Beloved Sister, have likely heard of by now. For this reason, I wish to petition you instead, to speak on my behalf.”
"My my, sister, it is not like you to be shy." Sekhmetara jabbed, if gently, her lips practically at Nimue’s ear as their hushed conversation continued, before she craned back a moment, her face a picture of consideration even if her answer was nere truly in doubt. "It was a matter I wished to bring to the Emperor in any regards, although I would have otherwise left it to those more directly affected by his overreach. It is a matter I will seek a short end to." She nodded at last, further allusions as to the idea of her false choice, made well before Nimue had even spoken the suggestion.
“My desire is a duel against the man, Sicanus - so to teach him respect” Nimue finished, hand clenched into a fist for dramatic purposes.
At the suggestion and the gesture, Sekhmetara laughed with enjoyment, the gently pleasing notes of humour drifting much wider across the room than their quiet conversation, looking at her sister with genuine appreciation of the theatrical. "You do not need the Emperor’s permission to seek redress of honour, I am sure, but I will ensure that he does not seek to halt it for matters of unity. More pressingly, I will make sure he impresses upon the Stargazers this is not to continue with or without their chief stitcher." As the Mithran primach finished speaking, her fingers shifted to grip a drink from a passing tray, now a red wine, spiced with the modifying Fenrisian herbs, to which she took a drink, holding the servant in place with her half-attention so that her sister could claim her own should she wish, only to find that Nimue too had already taken a wine from the servant, the glass held dainty in a hand that had only moments before been clenched in righteous indignation.
"Is that all or must we ‘main severe all evening? I am in the process of teaching the joys of pomp and circumstance to our siblings but they still wilt in comparison to us, we must try to at least have some fun while duty permits." She laughed again, quieter this time and with no true suggestion that she did not equally enjoy the matters of dramatic justice they had been discussing.
With the matter of Sicanus now given certainty in the eyes of Nimue, as quickly as it came, the edge of seriousness vanished, sated with the promise of soon to be delivered justice and the further tasting of wine. “That will of course do, Dear Sister… though, perhaps, I question your endeavours here then, for our Siblings would always wilt compared to us” Nimue then joined her sister’s laughter with her own haughty peal, their arms not holding glasses of wine still intertwined, Nimue then redirected their gradual steps towards the general location of some of their siblings “but even if they cannot be taught, certainly, it is always an opportunity to demonstrate” Nimue shared.
"Sometimes there is honour to be found in struggle, even if the goal is ever out of reach." Sekhmetara flittered one eye in a wink to her sister as they moved about, arm in arm. The Mithran primach made sure to note any of the particularly important Princep guests as they passed, although the presence of these two particular Primachs had an impact on the wits on even the augmented minds of the titan legions. Nonetheless, primachs were not difficult to find in a crowd, and the pair did not have to hunt for long.
After their dance had concluded and Daena had done her part in Sekhmetara’s designs, the winged Primarch had retired to consult with her own lieutenants. Shortly after the trio had been dispatched to consort with those Princeps the Angel found most amenable, she had the peculiar fortune of raising her head to regard her two siblings sauntering towards her, arm in arm. Raising herself to her full height, she girded herself for the most formidable combat yet.
“Darling sisters,” Daena said as she approached, her voice more guarded in tone than its contents, “‘tis like we are back in the Palace.” Nimue’s pomp and ceremony, and her provocative dress, did little to upset her calm composure - it was, after all, expected. “I trust our host has been a fine escort?” she asked Nimue politely.
“Ah, Daena! There you are. I almost didn’t notice you” Nimue’s tone was saccharine and cheery, as Daena stood out obviously amongst the collection of Princeps. “And yes, of course, Sekhmetara has always been the most gracious of hosts…” Nimue then however looked over to her side, glancing to her arm-entwined sister.
“Though, if it were truly just us three once more, I am sure our sister would instead be hosting us to another of those ‘adventures’ into sewers and what-not, rather than the Palace”. It was, while less considered, a matter of fact that Sekhematara’s Terran adventures did not always include merely dragging along Daena.
"That is either an admittance that you enjoyed them, or that you were willing to do something purely because I wished you there. I will take either." Sekhmetara grinned to Nimue as she spoke, before addressing both of her sisters. "If only we could, much as that might be a tradition of ours to finish off a gathering in such a manner, I feel we would only find smoking rocks and primordial wasteland here. A stunning view, no doubt, but hardly one to replace what we have here." Her latest glass of wine was already finished, her now freed other hand adjusting some of the long sweep of her dark hair. "If I could go back I would instead suggest we go on a greater number of escapes from the Palace. Our lessons could be learned at any time, we had such a finite time, the three of us together."
“Perhaps another time then, when present concerns are less… explosive,” Daena said cautiously, taking her own glass from a passing servant. “I do hope that you’ve been enjoying yourself, I know how keen you are to make an impression,” she added, turning to Nimue. “Is there anything else that could make your time more pleasant, sister? I would like to think that we can be civilized.”
“Dear sister, your presence here has made this festivity pleasant enough already… although, pray tell, I did notice both your absence during the last session of this… spectacular Council. You two were up to something… civil… I hope?” Nimue asked with a quizzical narrowing of her eyes, and the motion of her pointing and middle fingers to her lips.
“Far more civilised than what occurred within the chamber no doubt.” Sekhmetara replied with a similarly mischievous expression, her eyes alight with taunting enjoyment. Rather than delve further into the issues, the digits of her fingers squeezed Nimue’s arm gently, as the Mithran primach nodded towards the general crowd. “On the note of civilisation and our great charge to spread it, we should certainly make sure you do not leave tonight empty handed, Busithanda.” Sekhmetara’s spoke to the sister she was linked with, the sweet Mithran delicacy something of a pet name for her elegant sister, her eyes already moving across the crowd in search of a prime target. Much as Nimue had predicted before, the evening continued with Sekhmetara dragging one of her sisters away, although this time back out into the crowd of the party, her warm smile a parting gift for her winged sister.
It would be impossible to say the sisters prowled through the crowd, the towering figures of the extravagant demigods entirely unable to hide among the shifting groups of those invited, but certainly a hunt was on. With a momentary pause, Sekhmetara’s focused narrowed on a small group of the more impressively dressed mortal guests, red and black dappled with yellow. The representatives of House Ignatum. They had few rivals and were largely uncommited thus far, a situation that had interested Sekhmetara greatly untill her as-yet-unrevealed master stroke. More importantly, however, they would be entertaining.
“My Lord Princeps.” Despite their scale, Primachs could move with quiet grace when they needed to, and with the help of the noise of the crowd and music by the time Sekhmetara spoke the pair where behind the Ignatum representatives as they spoke and laughed with those of lesser houses tied to them. The principle repressentative of the Legio, a not entirely unimpressive man by the name of Enkir Morova turned hastily at the sonorous tone of Sekhmetara’s voice. While no doubt used to a rather diffferent dynamic in social interactions, even a Princeps was stunned to engage with the sight of a Primach so close and so suddenly, let alone two, let alone these two.
“Your….. My Lady Sekhemetara Khafre, My Lady Nimue Arcadia, to what do we owe this honour of your company?” While his words momentarily failed him, his actions did not, the well kept posture of the man dipping into a smart and formal bow as he addressed them, taking after the fashion of Imperial nobility over the Martian Priesthood which some Princeps favoured. Sekhmetara smiled a little more kindly at that, a habit of greeting she much preferred, dipping her own head in a far less sweeping motion.
Nimue however, in typical Nimueian fashion, did not bow, rather she placed her hand out lazily towards the Princeps, her palm facing downwards.
“Why you, of course” Nimue said, gesturing slightly to her outstretched arm in expectation of subservience.
Nimue’s actions earned another grin of amusement from her sister, even as the Princeps, only slightly shaking, digits took the Primach’s in his own, tilting her hand towards him before his head bowed to place a kiss to the alabaster of her skin.
“A man like you, unclaimed? The indignity. I am sure I could put you to.. Far better uses” Nimue gently breathed, the meaning of her words muddled, perhaps intentionally, by the odd phrasing the Primarch used. This would hardly be the first time.
The unclear meaning of Nimue’s words no doubt passed through the mind of the Princeps like a thunderclap, a moment of doubt as to whether the situation could even be real. Nether the less, a mind built to withstand the rigours of bonding with the ancient machine gods was quick to recover, a gentle, if proud smile spreading across the man’s features.
"Our Legio fights upon as many fronts of the Crusade as any other, and we earn glory and honour upon each, but it is true, the maniples under my direction have yet to swear ourselves to any new deployment since Ullanor, although we are now once again at fighting strength." As with any of the greater titan legios, their order of battle was impressive even in the realms of demigods, and a princeps of his caliber could not forget to mention this, even when under the crushing attention of two scions of the Emperor. "Should we be assured that our talents would be put to good use, it would be our privilege to be directed in how we might do so by the Jewel of Arcadia."
"I just knew you two would get along." Sekhmetara practically purred, giving Nimue’s arm another playful squeeze as she spoke, her eyes drifted across the other princeps of the Legio that waited as their commander spoke for them. "And fine company to, I am sure."
Outside The Hall
"This is a breach of the covenenant, we should not -" The voice of the Moderati Primus was cut off by a dismissive noise from his Princeps. The command crew of the Dies Irae waited beyond the main hall, the decorative attire of their ceremonial uniform gleaming with the honours earned by their Titan and Legio, yet their mood was sour.
"Enough, Aruken, the time for such protests is past, we will not allow them all to see any weakness." Princeps Turnet did not turn to look upon his seconds as he spoke, adjusting the the line of allocades on his chest before resting the spoke of his cane upon the stone floor. As with any Princeps, his mortal body was weakened with every communion with the god-machine, and no more so than the enraged call of the Dies Irae. To be forced to walk the world in a fragile shell after spending so long joined with the ancient being of an Imperator Titan was particularly galling, and no amoung of music and fine wine could entirely distract from it. "We have earned honour upon honour, and will continue to do so."
"No Legio of our history has ever been assigned wholesale, we are supposed to be allies, not servants." Despite the warning, the Moderati continued, if only to be interrpted a second time by his peer rather than superior.
"Have you behled a Primach, Aruken? A moment in their presence and you will find it laughable we could ever see ourselves as equals." The pair were close friends, but in many ways could not be more different. Ambition against duty, Mars against the Imperium as a whole. Still, their differences aligned to create a perfectly functioning command team in the roar of combat. With a dismissive sigh, Princeps Turnet looked to his personal chronometer, before signaling the pair behind him with the tap of his cane.
"It is time."
The Grand Reception Hall
The entrance of the representatives from the Legio Mortis would normally have sweapt through a gathering such as this, of prime power and influence as they were. In this chamber, however, it was many moments before they were even noticed. The pull of charisma, personality and sheer physical force that the primachs represented allowed for the entirity of the room's attention. Eventually, however, the whispering began as they neared the epicentre. Where the primachs forged space without effort, the space cleared for the Mortis crew to move with ease through the revelling throng occured through reputation alone. The Legio Mortis had vassals and rivals, they possessed no peers.
In but a few moments the trio had reached their destination, coming to a half in the presence of Sekhmetara and Nimue as they spoke. The Mithran primach had but a moment to smile to her sister, knowingly, before untangling her arm and turning to face the group face on. In direct comparison it was all the more obvious that the outfit the Primach now wore was akin to those of the titan crew, writ large and stylised by her form and preference.
"Lady Sekhmetara of Mithra, Honoured Primach of His Majesty's twentieth legion, The Unconquered Sun." Princeps Turnet spoke with genuine respect, dipping his head. The withered man had remarkable stoicism in the face of one of the Emperor's scions. The rage of his god-machine burned in his mind and purged him of doubt. Whatever punishment the folly of his superiors had brought upon the Legio, there were few Primachs with the scope of conquest Sekhmetara could claim.
"Honoured Princeps, I welcome you to our father's halls, for there are no stauncher allies of his crusade." The Mithran did not bow her head, but the warmth of her smile still washed over the command crew, as she outstreched one hand, palm up, towards the Princeps.
Without hesitation, Turnet moved to place the cane he held in the enlarged palm of the Primach, who's elegant digits soon closed around it. There was a long pregnant pause as the identity of the rod became evident. The command scepter of the Legio, writ with the emblazoned skull of Mortis' heraldry. "We do so pledge our service to your fleets, your enemies shall be our enemies, your allies our allies, and none shall stand before the fury of our wrath."
