#archmagos prime

[titanomancy]

The new Mechanicum Battle Group looks legitimately fantastic, featuring plastics for some desperately needed Martian infantry like the Tech-thralls and Thallax.

I'm thrilled to see the Triaros Armoured Conveyer getting plasticized as well. It doesn't appear to be quite 1:1 with some changes to superficial details, but nothing appears so offensively off-model as to render the legacy resin kit unplayable.

Ditto the Castellax Battle Automata, and the fact that they come as a pair has me hopeful that their standalone kit is similarly packaged - and, therefore, a savings over the $83.00 solos from Forge World.

Like the Solar Auxilia and Legiones Astartes Battle Groups, the HQ is sold separately so none of the sticker price is being diluted with duplicative commanders - but the commander that they have coming out with the standalone kits does look pretty sharp.

The real star of the show, however, is the standalone plastic Thanatar Siege-Automata. The resin version is an old kit and the quality of the casting is highly dependent on the condition of the mold at the time it's poured. You're likely to spend a lot of time digging out recesses where resin has globbed because the last guy to order one got a piece of the mold with it.

I certainly won't miss pinning all those plasma flasks in place.

[jakey-beefed-it]

Legitimately annoyed that like two weeks after I decide to maybe get into admech they preview a load of super-cool minis that I would love to use if they weren't Heresy-era only.

[minweber]

" 'You know, Aristaeus-Theta, you are not like most tech-priests I've met before. Much more... free-thinking. Why is that? Are you some sort of youthful rebel among your kind?'

'Not quite, lord-captain. Age is a factor here, but it is the other way around - I am actually considerably older than most magi you'd meet today.'

'That's the first time I hear of age making anyone more open-minded.'

'And you still haven't. The march of time has only nurtured in me a conservative streak, as it tends to do. But me and many of my generation - we are the children of the last CBR, brought up in what one might call a more... liberal era of our kind.'

'The last what? I am unfamiliar with this abbreviation.'

'Cawl-Based Renaissance, my lord. How to explain...' "

So, going through the Genefather again, a bit that jumped out at me was one where Alpha Primus notes that Cawl seems to be approaching one of his "solitude phases". This manifests through him starting to divest himself of excess of followers and resources. Which I think is cool for two reasons.

Firstly, from the meta perspective, it seems like a sneaky laying of groundwork on Guy Haley's part, done so that any future Cawl stories can be written without having to constantly explain why he is having death-defying adventures on the ground somewhere with his sad psychic super son and nervous immortal not-husband, while literal legions of techpriests, skitarii and Taranis knights sit in the orbit above twiddling their thumbs.

But secondly, I love the lore implications of the idea that Cawl has these looong phases of either acting like the Archmagos Dominus and Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah, or just a lil' guy who chills in his lab doing his own thing. According to Primus, at the dawn of the 42nd millennium Cawl is in the process of switching from the former to the latter, which he does, among other ways, by slowly disbanding his court of weirdo followers which he has accumulated over the years. And Genefather specifically confirms this idea - one that seemed so natural to me but never was really validated before - that Cawl seems to act as a sort of rallying beacon for all manner of radicals, weirdos and malcontents within the cult Mechanicus. Weirdos that he, after one hot summer (or a few hundred years) of them all brewing together in this big pot of radical ideas, is in the process of releasing back into the wild...

Hey, isn't this a part of how - some would argue - the actual Renaissance started?

And with Cawl having apparently done this enough times for Primus to intuitively know the pattern, I can't help but imagine that, say, about every thousand years the galactic community of Adeptus Mechanicus get these spikes of radical and heretek activity. It causes tensions, purges, sometimes civil wars - but also a general liberalization of AdMech political climate for a time. Because if everyone is busy arguing about this particular attempt at pushing boundaries of the Lore by overly ambitious smartass of the week, a dozen less flashy projects can fly under the radar.

And with Mechanicus' love for recording of things - I also believe this pattern would be recognized! At least enough so that when Cawl emerges from another one of his "solitude phases", ready to present the galaxy with the hottest takes of M36, senior magi across the galaxy make a collective sigh and start preparing to deal with a fresh wave of bright-eyed mad science college graduates in a couple hundred years' time...

[the-techdub]

This is Anatoly Kuznetsov, archmagos of the forge world Kholetnyy Prime in the segmentum obscurus. He's a heretek (if you couldn't tell) tech priest who has an obsession with the Necrons, after his army got absolutely trashed by attempting to loot a partially awakened tomb world.

He is my oldest (both in lore and irl) character, as he was born before the great crusade even began, he was a person of high power in his planet’s technocracy which closely mirrored that of the Martian mechanicum. And when the mechanicum found their planet he was the first to accept their religion, and was rewarded by being made archmagos of the new forge world.

This is him during the Horus heresy, I may buy a cawl model to make him as he is during M41, but idk if I want to run cawl yet.

[greatbigfuckoffpowerfist]

Tumblr hasn't seen my darkmech Ordo Myrmidax archmagos prime yet so here you go

Still wip, and he needs a name

[bitter-goober]

ADMECH REVEALS

Technically not admech since it's hours heresy mechanicum but they look AMAZING nonetheless, especially the archmagos prime who has a pope hat on his head that could actually be a car battery or something. @stygiantechpriest @prodomius

[deimos-awaits]

The Prime Conduit

The Fabricator Minoris tries to access memories very long ago moment in her life that have never quite been recorded correctly.

Adepta Aleph-Gimmel of Deimos in those days was only a young tech priestess. She had left the flesh vats of Deimos over a century and a half ago by standard reconing. Against her own desires she had been assigned as a diplomat to the First Deimos Explorator Fleet, to meet with both representatives from other forgeworlds including both extremes from beautiful Metallica to wonderous Sanctum Novis as well as members of other imperial organizations such as the stalwart Imperial Guard or frustrating ecclesiarchy. Such a position was, in her thoughts at the time, a waste for an Adepta of her aspirations. She often wondered if she would have been better staying on Sanctum Novis and actually getting to work as a Magos. Maybe Metallica would have been a better choice due to her more stringent orthodox practices and beliefs. There was something to be said about the pure white robes.

The diplomatic corp was of course was deeply insightful especially for the practical applications of the lessons of the Sciences of Charisma but it otherwise held little long term attraction.

Unfortunately her duty tied her to her home forgeworld and its fleets and to her dear friend Adept Tsephor-10.54 was not someone she wanted to leave behind! He was too important to her to leave behind or abandon. Maybe when she eventually was about to break away to pursue her long goal of technoarcheology he would come with. She dearly hoped so; Aleph-Gimmel could not imagine life without her closest friend. Technoarcheology, however, the wild adventure on the fringes of the galaxy to recover humanity's sacred past was her dream. The adventure! The excitement! The sacred duty and dreams of it filled her cogitators down time. There is course was supporting to be said about the glory of discovering an STC fragment that is as of yet unknown to the greater Mechanicus. It was all part of her duty to show the superiority of humanity's technology against the failures of xenotech.

During the latest part of her stint as a diplomat the young and hopefully rather unoutwardly augmented tech priestess received to communicate from further up the command chain. She was to meet with the delegation from an Ark Mechanicus ship.

Aleph-Gimmel sat down with her morning cup of recaff. It was nice to enjoy this quiet moment in the cramped quarters she shared with Tsephor, though his notes on the pttreaxii spiraled across the room. She began to go through the dataslate of assigned diplomatic tasks; there was always more to do. Meet with the archmagos of the Zar-Quaesitor, give the greetings from Deimos, and other standard information exchanges that occurred whenever the First Deimos Explorator Fleet met up with other Mechanicus ships. There were protocols, there were always protocols. Such protocols were what superated the Mechanicus from chaos worshiping fools and perfidious xenos.

The young woman took a moment to savor her recaff and enjoy the sweet taste present after she had added some synthesized sugar. She still had her stomach and taste buds intact mainly out of sentimentality. An odd trait among the mechanicus but given how stringent she was in all other matters of faith it was accepted as a foible that has occurred as a result of diplomatic duties. In truth Aleph-Gimmel simply enjoyed eating. The diplomatic path had led to many hidden augmentations however as she quickly learned other members of imperial organizations were likely to react better to say only one false eye and some cog tattoos rather than an entire steel face, and it was her honor to do her job efficiently and well.

Adept Tsephor-10.54 stirred from his own bunk. His rest cycle had finished. He like many other in the mechanicus has removed the need for direct sleep but still needed to plug directly into a nutrient recycling system in order to receive some rest. “Good morning Aleph, you look nervous.”

“Good morning, Tsephor. I'm not nervous just intrigued.” She responded calmly while scrolling through the rest of the data slate about the archmagos she was supposed to meet.

“Really Aleph? Your eye has that twitch it does when you get stressed.” Tsephor said now as he began to gather up his scattered notes on his beloved birds.

“Fine. I'm just a bit stressed because frankly I don't know who this Belisarius Cawl that I'm meeting is supposed to be.” She huffed out at him. Her organic hand reached up to cover her brown eye. She would need to get that fixed.

Tsephor stopped where he stood though mechandrites kept moving. “Aleph. Be serious with me now. You,” there was a pause. “Don’t know who Belisarius Cawl is?”

“No? Should I? I mean he's an archmagos so probably. I simply haven't heard of him in reality cage studies so he can't be important can he?”

The other techpriest simply stared at her as if feathers had begun to sprout from her robes. “Aleph, he is, look, did you ever install a dataport? It would be easier to send you the information.”

“No. I don't have one yet. You can send it over the noosphere. Having a direct connection like that to my brain seems unwise to me.”

Tsephor simply sighed and did his best to send over all he knew about the Prime Conduit to Adepta Aleph-Gimmel through a noosphereic packet though he was frankly confused how she knew so little about him, when even he himself did.

Her eye winded. “Oh. Fuck me.” That was not the reaction Tsephor expected. “That's…certainly going to put a damper on today but he is still an archmagos. Hopefully, hopefully there won't be too much technoheresey.” Tsephor could not tell if that was a joke or not.

“It all depends on how much you see of him I suppose, now I do have to report to Magi Barks-Sof 23/3, so meet up with you after your important meeting?”

“Yes, I'll probably be by the midship cathderum for prayers, based on the average time it takes to finish these diplomatic meetings. Let's meet there.” Adepta Aleph-Gimmel put her half finished recaf cup on the shelf mainly absentmindedly. She would finish it later.

She said a prayer of thank you to the machine spirits in the shared dormitories before quickly hurrying out the door and towards the docking bays where Deimos’s Cog would connect with the Zar-Quaesitor. Using the most express methods she would be able to arrive approximately within 14.6731 minutes of when she left the dormitories which would give her about 8.9523 minutes until the expected meeting time. As she walked, the usual accompanying swarm of servoskulls began to flit around her. It was usually a congregation consisting of incense carriers, datapslam speakers, and a few pic recorders. It was always welcome to feel the choir of machine spirits around her reaching out through the noosphee.

Arriving at the bulkhead doors, Adepta Aleph-Gimmel had little to do but wait. Her cogitators began to whir wondering exactly how this meeting would go. Most Archmagi she had met would usually not meet her here, but would such a flouter of time honored traditions and rituals follow that? Maybe not, but she has no idea what this so-called Prime Conduit would do nor how she would be greeted. Anxiety began to creep into her circuits and she did get beat to shut that down. The bulkhead doors were the standard Adeptus Mechanicus steel embossed with the cogwheel and skull and countless purity seals affixed after every inspection. Focusing on the waxen prayer seals helped get focus and banish any of the remaining thoughts from her head about way the upcoming meeting could to badly. She did not want to disappoint the Fabricator Minoris of the Fleet Omega Bellerov-1.0. Battleline duty awaited those who disappointed her and Aleph-Gimmel liked keeping her head.

After about 7.85781 minutes had passed with Aleph-Gimmel nearly frozen in place simply thinking about how to extol the virtue of the fleet she called home and the greatness of their human technology to such a heretic. The bulkhead doors between the ships began to open and creak their way open. Someone forgot the proper rites of maintenance was the main thought in her head, as she heard the metal groaning as it moved.

In the vast hallway between ships instead of the normal getting party there was a small what she assumed to be tech priest, it was a small box with a swarm of mechandrites attached, treads reminiscent of a tank from the Imperial Guard, and a human head atop it all. All of this was draped in the standard red robes of a Martian techpriest. This was honestly the least surprising form a tech priest she would have seen has taken but she did question the treads when so many more efficient and effective modes of transport were known to the Mechanicus. Once the lone figure had approached her fully, Adepta Aleph-Gimmel bowed deeply and transmitted the following message.

<<<Greetings to the Zar-Quaesitor, to Archmagos Dominatus Dominius Belisarius Cawl. We wish all the blessings of the Omnissiah upon thee. I am Adepta Legatia Aleph-Gimmel of the First Deimos Explorator Fleet and bring gifts and the welcomings of Fabricator Minoris Magos Dominia Omega Bellerov-1.0. I would be eager to aid you and your Archmagos in whatever way I can on behalf of the Synod of the Fleet and Fabricator Minoris>>>

The gifts were data packets and discoveries sent over to this newcomer by several of the floating servoskulls. In less than a millisecond after her own message has been received the techpriest in front of her transmitted a simple response. The simplicity of it annoyed her.

<<<Greetings! I am Magos Qvo-76. A servant of Archmagos Belisarius Cawl. Cawl sends word he apologizes he cannot meet you here in person but has extended a warm welcome to meet you in his personal labs.>>>

<<<This will be acceptable I will meet him.>>> This was an understatement; the kind of invite shw was receiving was a rare accolade for an Adepta of her station and she was more than well used to being brushed off by various Archmagi and other senior techpriests to talk with functionaries. Suspected heretic by her estimations or not.

<<<Wonderful! I've transferred this information to Cawl. Please follow.>>>

And with that the tech priest known as Qvo-76 scuttled back into the ship where he had come from. Aleph-Gimmel knew better than to tardy and engaged the autowalk feature on her legs that she might better focus on what Qvo was saying. The rest of their conversation was concluded in a similar manner through noospheric messages primary, Aleph-Gimmel surmised, because Qvo-76 no longer had enough flesh to speak via the organic method and apparently neither had installed a vox box.

As they walked and rolled through the bowels of the Zar-Quaesitor, Qvo-76 and Aleph-Gimmel kept conversing, the she could tell simply by looking at the variety of purity seals on the walls of the ship and how old the walls themselves were that she was now onboard a truly ancient Ark Mechanicus.

<<<So, Aleph-Gimmel, what is your field of study? An adepta such as yourself surely won't stay a Legatia forever in the diplomatic corp.>>> Qvo-76 took an interest once they were according to him, half way through the journey to Cawl’s laboratory.

<<<Technoarcheolohy and eality fields, Magos, are my current study, and yes. I…do not wish to stay at my current position forever. Magos Dominia Omega Bellerov-1.0 has promised once I prove myself here, I might begin a new path.>>>

<<<Reality fields?>>>

<<<Yes! The distortion of the fabric of reality due to the immaterium can be hopefully through carefully study proactively counter acted through the application and discovery of the proper STCs. That is my current aim.>>>

<<<Interesting. Gimmel, if I might be so familiar, you ever thought about using other sources for You're research.>>>

<<<No. It's important to maintain the purity and lineage of human technology.>>>

<<<I see. I see. You offer to help earlier, would you be willing to help provide this?>>>

<<<Yes I don't see why not?>>>

And after that the conversation melted back into pedantic back and forth about the nature of technology and how to best please machine spirits. After a while they approached the set of brass stores embossed similarly with the cog mechanicus. They were vast, at least seven times the height of Aleph-Gimmel herself. The doors slowly and soundlessly opened at their approach and inside all she could see was a future that was a cross between an arthropod and centaur of old Earth myth. The entire place was backlit so brightly compared to the dim Halls that they had been wandering in. Qvo-76 rolled on in. The unknowable figure that smelled of death itself gestured her to continue in.

Aleph-Gimmel not know why and she did not like not knowing but she did not know why she was filled with the horror and terror that were the namesake of her home forgeworld. She thought such emotions had been turned off in her.

She was wrong.

ERROR. DATA NOT FOUND. MEMECORE CORRUPTION DETECTED.

ERROR. DATA NOT FOUND. MEMECORE CORRUPTION DETECTED.

ERROR. DATA NOT FOUND. MEMECORE CORRUPTION DETECTED.

RESUMING MEMORY PLAYBACK.

Aleph-Gimmel stumbled out the brass doors once more. She knew the way back to her ship. The back of her neck ached the way it did when you implant or augmentation had been done but there was no augmentation that she knew of according to her memecore memory. How long had it been though? Once inside of Cawl’s labs her internal clocks had stopped working. Probably some standard dread number-oh-dread number error.The last few hours did sometimes stretch on for days or maybe they really were days as she thought more about her time and his company either way it was deeply enlightening. Cawl was a genius she had to admit!

As she wandered back to the Deimos’s Cog, normal machine cult curiosity suppressed by the desire to get home and talk with Tsephor, she just dreamed and wondered about that application that xenos technology might have to the design of creating and enforcing reality cages… necrodermis and blackstone was the object to study du jour for those well first and what the sage magi of Sanctum Novid termed neotech. However her mind could only turn now with ideas of what The wraith bone of the eldar could accomplish when turned to several sanctified practice using its psychoactive properties to reinforce the physical world instead of drawing in on the Immaterium.

I'm talking about the same amount of time though how much she could not know to return back to recorders where she wished me dealing with her friend her oldest friend that dearest friend.

Come entering she saw that he had a wild expression on his face, some shocking mix of concern worried that she did not know why and could not have them on she was talking with one of the geniuses of the Galaxy the honor of conversing with Cawl to worry about really!

“Aleph! Aleph where have you been!” The young tech priest obsessed with birds practically crooned at her. She ran over to hug her and soon wrapped her in his arms and mechandrites.

A grin spread wild across her face as her mind tried to search for any record of what had happened over the past few days by and large came up blank or maybe it was only just hours. “I was at my diplomatic meeting!”

“Aleph. Aleph.” And his voice lowered with as much care and worry better follower of the cult mechanicus could have. “It's been over a week.”

Her head glazed at that and she shook her head but couldn't be true could it no it's simply wasn't she rubbed her neck that ache in her neck had not gone away despite everything. She ignored the statement. “Could you see what's on my neck?”

And as gently as he could, Tsephor pulled down her foot from the robe knowing that she very rarely let anyone, even him, see her like this, it was almost a form of nakedness most others did not understand. Recovering with all the signs of typical fresh augmentation on the back of her neck in the place where she would never be able to see it, there was a dataport connecting directly into her central nervous system.

[acornminiatureslog]

The lore of the Hounds of Terra space marine chapter, an ultima founding chapter of unusual providence, skirting the edge of imperial tolerance as they scrape out an existence on the eastern fringe in the imperium nhilus.

Based out of the heavily modified and heavily damaged Vengeance class grand cruiser, Remembrance of Hetzen, with a haggard attendant fleet, the Hounds are a fleet based chapter of uncertain heritage. When the great rift spread across the stars, the minor manufacturing world of Hetzen Four fell under siege by the traitors of the Red Corsairs. The planet's saving grace was that it was home to one of Archmagos Belisarius Cawl's primaris vaults. Once it was clear that any allied forces wouldn't make it to the planet before the chaos warfleet would arrive, supervising Magos Ven Rho-3 made the decision to rouse the suspended marines and prepare their wargear for the coming siege.

Over the course of the next thirty years of war, great tragedy resulted in the death of almost all of the original greyshields and the prime geneseed stocks, a strikeforce from the nearby Twilight Hawks chapter joined the war, harrassing the Red Corsair fleet in orbit, and, most critically, Magos Ven Rho-3 retrieved a supply of previously rejected geneseed to replenish astartes losses during the siege. The bearers of this geneseed were refered to as "hounds" by the other primaris during the siege. The faulty geneseed results in an overactive Larraman's organ, a damaged Sus-an membrane, an overactive Betcher's gland, and most notably, this geneseed has a 100% rejection rate in male subjects, with successful implantation only being recorded in female aspirants.

Finally, an element of the Indomitus crusade arrived in-system, turning the tide of the war in space, and chasing off the chaos fleet. After the last of the traitor forces planetside were mopped up, the various commanders active through the siege of Hetzen were called to report aboard the Armageddon battlecruiser Lady of Damnation. After several days, and the judgement of an Ordo Astartes Inquisitor among the crusade force, the surviving greyshields were sent to join other ultima founding chapters, and hounds were officially formed into the space marine chapter the Hounds of Terra, under now-chapter master Resia Avidon. The surviving elements of the Twilight Hawks strikeforce were made into the first company of the Hounds of Terra after they were informed that in their absence, their home world had fallen to chaos and the rest of their chapter was reported to have died fighting the incursion. Captain Tetys also saw folding his forces into the Hound's chapter as just recompense for his failings that nearly wiped out the original greyshields and necessitated the creation of the Hounds early in the siege. Also folded into the fledgling chapter, Magos Ven Rho-3 was tasked with overseeing the continued health of the Hound's geneseed and the training of the chapter's apothecarium in the procedures he had developed.

The new chapter retained the ships originally brought by the Twilight hawks, as well as several transports provided by the crusade, but their fleet was severely lacking in warships. After collecting as much of the surviving populace of the siege as they could fit, the fleet headed for a third line imperial navy reserve fleet yard known to Magos Ven Rho-3. It was at this facility that the chapter recovered and began refurbishment of the grand cruiser the chapter uses as their fortress monastery to this day, as well as a handful of other, smaller warships and heavy transports. After recovering what they could from the leavings in the fleet yard, the chapter set out to further bolster their manpower and secure use of active shipyard facilities to finish refits and deeper repairs on several ships in their patchwork fleet.

At the Cypra Zenith system, the chapter impressed personnel from some of the larger fisheries and mining stations while also aiding the Governor in rooting out and dispatching a subversive movement before it could become the bed of a chaos cult. After this, they moved on to nearby forgeworld of Potassiar. The tech priests of Potassiar allowed the chapter to repair the worst of their mainenance issues, but argued that further refits could not be overseen due to the pressing responsibilities that the planet had to complete for its own purposes. This eventually led to a deal being struck, in which Captain Tetys would immediately set out with a strikeforce to aid a mechanicus recovery team seeking to take advantage of the space hulk Intolerable Sloth's most recent appearance within a nearby system's gravity well. This action would secure the initial refit of Remembrance of Hetzen, before the rest of the chapter would be tasked with recovering several relics previously entrusted to the knight house of Ebo, which had been out of contact with the forgeworld for over a decade. Once the chapter had returned with the relics, the forgeworld would conduct full refits of the chapter's strike cruisers.

Tetys' strikeforce, consisting of the chapter's terminators and most of its gravis marines, faced no significant issues clearing the infestation of greenskins from the parts of the hulk requested by the mechanicus expedition. Within a few months, the strikeforce had established enough of a perimeter ahead of the mechanicus' reclamation efforts to free up some of their forces for their own exploration. It was in this capacity that the marines uncovered an ancient cache of relic astartes equipment buried in the half collapsed cargo bay, including suits of relic cataphracti terminator armor, and relic dreadnought components, all marked in unfamiliar heraldry. Knowing what a difference this wargear could make to the chapter, Tetys ordered the wargear that could be salvaged to be loaded aboard their strike cruiser and quietly repainted in the Hounds of Terra's colors.

Meanwhile, Avidon's mission to Scathora IV, the home of House Ebo, revealed a world covered in windstorms and noxious ash, the ruins of cities dotted with craters from fierce fighting. Locating and relieving the scant handful of House Ebo survivors, the Hounds of Terra joined the superheavy war machines in their fight against the chaos marines that had so ravaged their home, the Bleeding Eyes warband of the Thousand Sons. With the Hounds being able to provide a way off world to the knights, the sole goal of the campaign became securing and extracting any Ebo holdouts, as well as any equipment and relics they could. This became especially paramount as the Bleeding eyes began to field tainted knights raised from the fallen machines of House Ebo. The campaign eventually concluded after five years of skirmishing, with a deep strike into the heart of enemy territory to break into the forgotten vaults of House Ebo hidden within the ancient tombs of the kings of the house. Within the tombs were many relics yet untainted, including the last of the relics the Hounds were to recover for the mechanicus of Potassiar, a relic Porphyrion Knight, last used by the first High King of Scathora. The Hounds of Terra suffered greatly in this assault, losing nearly two whole reserve companies when the back line was assaulted by a host of demons summoned by the chaos sorcerers, but they were able to extract themselves and their allies with the lion's share of the tomb vault's contents.

As Chapter Master Avidon and the majority of the chapter's fleet returned to Potassiar, Captain Tetys was still aboard the Intolerable Sloth. Once the fleet reached orbit, Magos Ven Rho-3 as well as Engineseer Ebax van Harv of House Ebo were sent to oversee the loading of new systems and hardware onto the Remembrance of Hetzen for later installation, while Avidon and High Queen Rayna Ebo, along with their honor guards, traveled down to the planet's surface with the promised relics to report to the Magos council of Potassiar and finalize the arrangements for both their forces. Unfortunately, the techpriests of Potassiar had struck another deal, in secret, with the Blight Hawks chaos warband of Nurgle, the survivors of the chaos assault on the Twilight Hawk's homeworld, now fallen to the worship of the dark gods. Once the magos council had confirmed the handover of the relics, the Chapter Master and High Queen were set upon by an ambush. At the end of the day, the chapter master was mortally wounded, the fleet was limping, losses amongst the company elements onboard the Remembrance of Hetzen were heavy, but the chapter had survived, and sent word to Tetys, who in a rage, launched a surprise attack on the Potassiar recovery expedition, crippling their engines, and seizing a sizable portion of their work before fleeing the system to rendezvous with the rest of the chapter.

In the aftermath of Potassiar, the Hounds of Terra did what they could to rebuild after their losses. Chapter Master Avidon was interred in a dreadnought sarcophagus, and Captain Olympia was promoted to Chapter Master, and sergeant Zaporozia was promoted to captain of the third company. The chapter kept the bulk of its fleet out of combat for the next few decades, sending out smaller detachments, often including elements of House Ebo, to aid the imperium and secure necessary resources. The tech marines and attached techpriests focused on repairing what thy could, and installing the upgrades and systems that weren't sabotaged. This greatly aided the chapter, providing them with forge and medicae facilities aboard the Remembrance of Hetzen to allow for the complete training of new marines without needing to utilize as many resources or planetside facilities. no matter how far out of the way they went though, the Blight Hawks would eventually find them, leading to consistent skirmishes both in the void and on barren worlds as the Hounds of Terra were gathering raw materials or running their scouts through extra field training.

As their numbers began to recover, there was a growing sense of frustration throughout the chapter, with many of the marines wishing they would stop running and truly fight the Blight Hawks. After nearly sixty years, a mutiny was waged on one of the chapter's strike cruisers over this issue, resulting in a brief battle before the traitors absconded, leaving the chapter down a company, and the master of the forge dead in their wake. These traitors went on to assemble a larger warband under the sway of Slaanesh known as the Heralds of Excess.

Smarting from this insult and failing, the chapter has been pursuing the Heralds, as well as the Blight Hawks, ever since. In this crusade, they have become more taciturn and their behavior has likely cost them allies they would otherwise have made when enacting joint campaigns against these foes. The ties they forged with House Ebo have been truly tested by this rudeness, but the bonds they forged, as well as the Herald’s use of the very Porphyrion knight once used by their king, has kept that particular alliance strong. Aaaand that's the state of the lore for my space marines! After writing this up, I'm fully intending to redesign the paint scheme I did for these guys and eventually, redo some of my models, while trying to strip and repaint others. This all is actually a lot of summarization for me, and I intend to write out focus posts on things like the chapter's geneseed flaws, culture, methods of war, individual ships, and particular named characters. Eventually, I would also like to commission art of these guys, though as with the redoing large parts of my minis for them, that's going to have to wait until I get a job and decent income again. Feel free to give me a shout if you wanna know anything about my lovely marines!

[garlicgoyle]

i really like the archmagos prime and its funny tall hat.. im thinking of getting one..

[transmechanicus]

Out of morbid curiosity, who is the mini on your pfp?

BEHOLD!!! Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah, Dominatus Dominus, Architect of the Primaris Project, the venerable and mighty Archmagos Belisarius Cawl!!

[creedomnissiah]

“Flesh is Weak”. How my comrades in the Mechanicus do so adore that phrase. How misguided. They think because flesh decays, it is worthless. Yet wood rots, metal corrodes, and glass crumbles to sand given time, and those are all in plentiful use. Impermanence is not a byword for weakness, nor is flesh. The mantra is not, as the Mechanicus believes, a lamentation. It is an invitation. Your flesh is weak. So is mine. So is everyone’s. So what are you going to do to be strong?

- Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl, Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah, Master of Masters, M<^*%ATA_CORRUP/ED\#>

[minweber]

So, it’s time to sexualize old men talk about Belisarius Cawl headcanons.

Today’s topic: the Sub-Cawls, or the Cawl Minors - not to be confused with everyone’s favorite non-AI Cawl Inferior.

In “In the Grim Darkness” by Guy Haley (who is the main Cawl writer currently) it is vaguely mentioned that Cawl has created smaller subordinate consciousnesses of himself, which he uses for some sweet multitasking. The way it is written in the text most likely implies that they are virtual things - like multiple programs running on the same hardware that is his brain, but it was vague enough for me have assumed that they also have separate bodies on my first read through.

Which is interesting - because for them to have bodies of their own there would have to be, well... bodies for that. Publicly Cawl infuriates everybody by balancing on the very edge of techno-heresy, not by outright breaking the greatest taboo of the Cult Mechanicus. So any thinking automaton of his, however subordinate to his will, has to have a human brain somewhere in there.

Which is not a problem - technically or ethically - for a Martian priest. Not very hard to get your hands on a human brain in the grim darkness of the 42nd millennium - what’s with everybody much more interested in skulls. It’s safe to assume that downloading a little sub-persona of his on a freshly scrubbed piece of grey matter is a child’s play for archmagos biologis - which can easily be considered an explanation, and an end to this particular tangent.

Except that Belisarius Cawl also has followers.

The big narrative mostly casts Cawl as this secretive and enigmatic genius, locked away in his lab or exploring ancient ruins with a handful of companions, so it’s easy to forget that he is a whole ass lord. A monumental political figure within Adeptus Mechanicus who has thousands, if not millions of tech-priests of all calibers working for him - some probably by circumstance, but many others likely by conviction. There were always radicals within the Cult, after all, and it’s not hard to imagine them flocking to his banner in the days of the Era Indomitus. Even those with not particularly revolutionary views don’t seem out of place in his entourage - tech-priests crave knowledge above all, and Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah has nothing if not knowledge to share.

In fact, he probably even has to share it.

It was stated in Cawl’s original release lore that he was mind-wiped many times by his enemies, and later expanded on by mentioning that he is so ancient and genius that even with all his augmentations he can’t hold all of his own knowledge within his head, having to regularly dump huge amounts of it to make space for new research. Both of these certainly align with the state in which he is shown in “The Great Work” (thank you, Guy Haley, for my life) - of sober mind, sure, but barely able to remember his life past a certain point, his personal memories fragmented and stored on a myriad physical drives across the galaxy.

But what strikes me as a little odd is that knowledge is sacred to Adeptus Mechanicus - they don’t delete anything, things both trivial and heretical included. So I find it hard to imagine that even Cawl’s political opponents would destroy anything extracted from his head - because of their own hunger for knowledge, if not because of religious reverence. And no less doubtful I find the idea that Cawl would just let knowledge (his own, no less!) sit around in storage, instead of being used.

And look, here comes good new old Qvo-88, talking about how to Cawl’s followers service to the archmagos is a great honor and a boon, but one that comes at a price. Ever sure of his intellectual superiority, Cawl likes to keep his hand in everything he can, so the price of his patronage is a part of your own autonomy. “The Great Work” doesn’t specify it beyond that, but to my drama loving ass the whole thing seems clear:

Cawl is a genius with a strong will, who came to be by consuming the personalities and knowledge of those who tried to consume his. He has to remove huge chunks of his precious knowledge from time to time, but would much rather prefer they be useful than just sit in storage. He is carrying out the impossibly large work of trying to seal The Great Rift and has many places to be - but he doesn’t really trust anybody but himself to do things the right way. And he has dozens of tech priests - perhaps geniuses in their own right - clamoring for his favor and the chance to work at his side. It’s great when a problem seems to solve itself is it not?

The price of service to the Prime Conduit of the Omnissiah is also it’s greatest boon. If you prove yourself worthy of it, Archmagos Dominus will pass his knowledge on to you - the part of it that relates most closely to the job he wants you to do for him, most likely. And knowledge is more than just data - it is also the way of thinking, the motivation, the will. The more of such gifts you get, the more of a genius of the mind that is ten thousand years old you take on... well, the less there is of you, isn’t there? Succeed enough times, be rewarded with enough parts of Cawl, and that is what you become - a smaller, compartmentalized part of a great genius. Not so much you as much an aspect of him. A Cawl Minor, if you will.

For a techpriest, one of those who proclaim themselves to be but a cog in the great mechanism that is Machine God - is that not a good deal, I wonder?

[machinespirited]

She has multiple bodies, some identical and some unique. The Archmagos Prime model i got is gonna be her base/default body and therefore i can field her whenever and wherever.

Making up my own lore so I can justify my choice of model for a character and get to just use whatever models I think is coolest.

[reddus-sideblog]

>that feel when ur Archmagos Prime eats the combined firepower of a Stormraven, Razorback, and a Dreadknight with only minor wounds

[empressofmankind]

Father - part 1/3: ‘Birder’

“My heart is happy, my mind is free. I had a father who talked to me.” - Schola Magister Hilda ca. M2

Fandom: Warhammer 40.000

Character/s: Magos Drusher, Interrogator Brooks, Inquisitor Genevieve Helve Allenbrisk, Inquisitor Gregor Eisenhorn, Lord-Inquisitor Tomàs de Torquemada-Coteaz (mentioned)

Location/s: Helter Fortress

Premises: An in-between chapter for the book ‘Magos’ which can be read between chapter 6 and 7. It functions as an introduction of the primary OCs Genevieve Allenbrisk and Cristine Brooks into the book setting. Third person but narrated from Drusher’s point of view.

Mood: Odd but not too odd, like the chapters around it. Drusher is still trying to find his footing amid this new crowd.

Warnings: N/A

How could Eisenhorn have known? The thought wouldn’t leave Drusher alone. Garofar and he had spoken but not that loud. Drusher certainly hadn’t mentioned his retirement. He wandered along the battlements of Helter fortress, towards the crumbling eastern watchtower. It was sunny but the wind came down the Karanines carrying the chill of winter. It had stopped raining, for the time being. He was glad for that, perhaps he would go out beyond the decrepit castle. He halted to look out across the forest sprawling below. From somewhere nearby sounded the chac-chac of Pica gershomi between the trees. Drusher smiled. Foul weather indeed. He squinted among the nearby foliage but could not spot the little fellow.

Drusher continued along the battlements and climbed the winding stone stairs of the watchtower. What else did they want from him? The Inquisitor had sent them all from the cold room after Drusher had shared his expertise. No one had bothered to give him any further instructions. He wondered what Eisenhorn was up to. Plotting his next move, no doubt. Drusher was all but certain that he’d been right in his guess: they had already identified one of the bodies. Someone important? One of their own? He suppressed a shudder at the thought of another Inquisitor present, dead or not. Unbidden, it brought an old Guard rhyme to mind:

‘One for trouble, Two for a plot. Three for an execution; Yours, more likely than not.’

Macks had taught it to him, years ago. They had been drinking and it had seemed funny then. Eisenhorn clearly knew more than he let on but how much more? And how much did he know about Drusher? More than Drusher liked. How had he known about his thoughts on retirement? Drusher tried to shake the intrusive thought as he reached the top of the watchtower. Its roof was gone and so was most of the wall facing Helter keep. He heaved himself up on the crumbled wall and leaned his back against its sloping, stony embrace. He could see across the neglected rear courtyard and onward towards the distant Karanines. It was an excellent spot to watch the seasonal birds. He was settling in and had taken out his notebook to remark upon the forest magpie he had heard when voices drifted up from below.

He couldn’t quite hear what they said but he recognised one of them: Eisenhorn’s flat baritone. The other belonged to a woman. She spoke with an accent he couldn’t place. Her vowels went unaspirated, her speech clear and fast. She strung her words with a melodic pitch and an r that rolled for days. He looked about the courtyard but didn’t spot them until he looked straight below. On the overgrown terrace at a cast iron table in the only strip of sunlight struggling past the cloud cover and fortress walls sat Eisenhorn, the woman across from him. She wore a high collared dress, or perhaps it was a coat, as dour in colour scheme as Eisenhorn’s attire. He couldn’t see her face for the tall, wide-brimmed hat she wore. They appeared to be enjoying lunch. Eisenhorn gestured with his fork as he spoke.

Drusher didn’t mean to listen in but found himself trying to understand what they said. Who could she be? Another retainer? Eisenhorn seemed to have brought with him quite the entourage. When she reached across the table to put her hand across his, Drusher snapped his gaze away. Of all the things he’d come here to spot, that most certainly wasn’t one of them.

“Why are you spying on mum.”

Drusher flinched at the intrusion. It wasn’t a question but a demand. Clear and to the point: a statement by someone used to having their enquiries answered. He turned around, towards where the voice had come from. In the window of the only remaining wall sat a young woman. She stared at him over the edge of a large, leather-bound tome. Had she been there already? She must have been, judging by the studying detritus around her: sheafs of parchment with crow-footed notes on them accompanied by several pens, styli and a quill; a battered iSlate with detachable cogitator pad between two clunky data-banks with tangled wires; and a half-eaten starch bar and a plastek drink container beside an empty Re-cyclic H2O bottle. She must have been here for hours.

“I, uh, wasn’t spying,” Drusher replied as he adjusted his glasses.

“Yes, you were,” she declared as she uncurled herself from her window seat. She was tall and ghastly thin, the ancient book clutched in her slender arms as she strode towards him. In her old, over-sized commissarial-style coat and pointed black hat, she looked more like a runaway scarecrow than a teenage girl.

“I hadn’t realised your mother and father were in the courtyard below,” Drusher clarified. The notion of Eisenhorn having a family seemed oddly bizarre to him. Cloistered by his job and dogged personality, Eisenhorn had seemed the type that would always be alone. Undoubtedly quasi-lamenting it while patting himself on the back for his sacrifice. Drusher looked at the young woman and tried to estimate her age. Her pale skin was smooth, her features without wrinkles and her hair a fiery red still. He thought she might be 19, or in her early 20’s? Perhaps of an age with the other bookworm, Audla. He wondered then if they might be sisters.

She leaned towards him from her great height, her expression as menacing as her posture. “My father is Lord Inquisitor Tomàs de Torquemada-Coteaz, deceased M41.382; 93 years, 72 days and 5 hours ago. The greater demon Tre Mor murdered him on Prima Fossa in the closing days of the St. Aquilina de la Coeur Serré Crusades. Inquisitor Eisenhorn is my stepfather. This was not my choice to make.”

They were all but nose-to-nose now. Well, Drusher thought. Definitely not in her early 20's then. That certainly explained a thing or two. Why did the name Coteaz sound familiar to him? Where had he heard it before? Or read, perhaps. He read a lot these days. “I wasn’t spying,” Drusher repeated. “I was merely curious as to whom Inquisitor Eisenhorn was speaking.”

“He is speaking to my mother, Inquisitor Genevieve Helve Allenbrisk,” she said and gave him a look that made him suspect she thought him quite dim.

“Yes, you told me.” Drusher frowned. She looked at him as if she were expecting some sort of a reaction. Wait, her mother was an Inquisitor as well? This was becoming entirely too many of them. Unbidden, the rhyme surfaced in his thoughts again. “I am sorry, your name is?”

“Brooks,” the girl said. “Inquisitor Allenbrisk is a Chief Investigator of the Ordo Hereticus, Svarteldari Chamber, and a Radical Seeker Prime - those charged with the finding and solving of heterodoxal crimes within the Holy Ordos of the Emperor’s Inquisition. She has brought the radical Lord Inquisitor Costogue before the tribunal of Terra Formosa and arrested the fugitive corrupt cardinal Ivanka of Frostheim.”

A bounty hunter. The lady Inquisitor was a bounty hunter. Drusher realised Brooks expected him to know the woman’s name and what these evidently highly noteworthy deeds encompassed. He didn’t, of course. And presently thought that if she was on a friendly footing with Eisenhorn, Drusher would rather stay well out of her way. Birds of a kind and feather, flock and fly together.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Magos.” Brooks smiled in what she no doubt thought was a reassuring manner. “Mum only puts bad people on the pyre.”

“What a relief.” Drusher adjusted his glasses. He wondered if ‘bad people’ was defined in the same manner as ‘classified’.

“Why are you here?” Brooks demanded. She’d straightened to her full height and stared down at him.

“What? To be outside, watch birds,” Drusher responded, confused.

“No, why have you come here,” she specified impatiently. “Here, to Helter fortress.”

“It very much wasn’t by choice, I’ll have you know,” Drusher said, his tone indignant. “They lifted me from my bed in the middle of the night and forced me to come.”

“I don’t understand,” Brooks objected.

“To be perfectly honest,” Drusher conceded. “Neither do I”.

“Mum may be an Heresiarchaeologist but she has studied under Layla Lan, Archmagos Paleobiologis Genetus Prime of Glovoda. She could have joined the Martian priesthood as an Adjutor Tertium to Archmagos Lan, but she didn’t wish to leave her duties to the Holy Ordos,” Brooks explained in excruciating detail.

Now, thát was a name Drusher knew. Archmagos Lan was well known among Magi Biologis across the Imperium. She had unravelled the mysteries of palaeogenetic data-retrieval from ancient biological material. Her work had made it possible to return long fallen Astartes to their chapters. It had also led to controversy, as there were those who wished to use it on the Emperor’s mortal remains. If it had been in his nature to kill, Drusher would have killed for even a lay adapt position at the Archmagos’ feet. Adjutor Tertium? The vast majority of their colleagues didn’t even make it past Adjutor Quintus. It was an immense honour and Allenbrisk had declined it to do… whatever it is the Inquisition does, exactly. Other than strike fear into the hearts of perfectly law-abiding Imperial citizens such as himself. Were all Inquisitors like her and Eisenhorn? He had no wish to find out.

“She has the expertise necessary to identify what happened to these bodies, and where, and rule out the action of mere bears,” Brooks continued, quite unperturbed. “And I could have synthesised all additional data if she hadn’t already possessed this knowledge.”

So that was why Eisenhorn hadn’t been surprised by Drusher’s analysis: it had corroborated findings Eisenhorn had already established with a colleague. Despite himself, Drusher found he wanted to meet her - Inquisitor or not - for he hadn’t realised until that very moment how much he’d missed conversing with someone of similar expertise. “Can I meet her?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Brooks gave him a long look as if she, personally, was the metric by which it was decided whom Allenbrisk would or would not have an audience with. “Certainly.”

She picked up her iSlate, cogitator pad and data-banks, packing them into a battered suitcase along with her notes, writing utensils and foodstuff. She packed the tome last, wrapping it in a piece of cloth before putting it on top of her belongings. The brown, hard leather exterior of the suitcase was decorated with stickers and several purity seals. After closing its many straps she wrapped an exaggeratedly thick chain around it with a large, old-fashioned key lock. The suitcase looked heavy.

“Do you want help with that?” Drusher offered.

“No,” Brooks replied as she heaved it onto her back by the shoulder straps. “This way.”

Drusher followed her down the watchtower’s stairs. They traversed the battlements to the other side and descended another flight of stairs into the wall corridor. They passed several doors before entering a study. The room had been cleaned but not restored. The carpet across the uneven stone floor was threadbare but fresh straw mats had been put down. The gilded frame of the landscape painting had been polished but the antique wooden desk remained cracked with age. Several tomes, parchment sheaves, a map, dividers and compass laid on its scuffed surface. A second chair had been pulled up beside the desk chair.  The fireplace was unlit and free of ash, but the upholstery of the couches in the lounge corner had faded beyond recognition. On the claw-footed coffee table stood two glasses - one with an elaborately slotted spoon on it - laid an ornate bolt pistol and a deck of queer, crystal cards.  

Brooks crossed the study towards the opened patio doors. Drusher could see the terrace and its occupants beyond. He was struck by how seamlessly the Inquisitors blend into their surroundings. In her high, tapered hat and fashionably cut redingote, Allenbrisk looked as if she had just returned from a morning horse riding in the countryside, to have lunch with Eisenhorn. Who himself looked as if he’d stepped out of one of the great hall’s state portraits, meticulously dressed in vest and cravat as he was. His Inquisitorial seal was pinned at his throat, by way of a tie-pin. Only then did Drusher notice she sported a similar device, fastened to the decorative band of her hat. It was different in design but he recognised the thrice barred I. Without those sigils Drusher would not have been able to pick them out of a crowd of Karanine gentry, which put the wary right back in him. When first meeting Eisenhorn, he’d thought you’d know the minute he - or any Inquisitor - entered the room. To Drusher’s disquiet, that didn’t appear to be the case.

“Inquisitor Allenbrisk, Magos Drusher wishes to speak with you,” Brooks announced as they stepped outside.

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[lordhighlander]

Pearl

Hi there everyone!

So before i actually post the entirety of the story that I wrote, i’ll just drop few notes here:

 First off, these short stories i will write will most likely be one-offs and not related to each other, because i want to purposefully avoid writing longer stories as i have ill tendency of trying to build too big worlds (thanks to Tolkien for that) also they have a tendency to end on cliffhangers because i am a cruel person and i want you to imagine yourself how those stories would go on from there 

Average length will be 3-5 pages, this first one being 3 pages

I write a story based on a single word (preferably not name but i can work with those too) it can be either substantive or a verb, i can work with both. Feel free to recommend a word, i’ll just pick on on random and try to do story in about a week or so.

For this first idea I want to thank my good friend @ladaur, sorry it took me this long to actually get real work done on it ^^

Without further ado:

Seagulls shrieking on the blue sky and waves crashing against the ship. This was the kind of life Pearl had lived for the past 10 years. She looked at her own image from the small hand mirror her stepfather had bought her from last port town they stopped in.

From mirror two deep brown eyes stared back at her. Surrounding these eyes were gentle graceful facial features and long midnight black hair. Her skin was light brown from the tan she had gotten from working on open-air ship for so long.

She smirked and put the mirror away, again wondering how such a small bauble managed to keep her entertained on these long travels from one port city to another. The Seas of Cirion were wide as the known land masses were split into bunch of smaller islands by The Great Turmoil over 300 years ago.

“Hey lass, quit daydreaming and go help Donnie over there with the sail, we need to take a turn to starboard here if we want to reach city of Strain by the evening, we don’t wanna get caught by the Naga around here after dark.” Voice belonged to Pearl’s stepfather, Angus McCrown who was well-known seafarer in this part of the world.

Angus was a 50 year old man of brawny character from all of his long years working the ships on the sea. His always smiling face was ringed by red hair and beard. Angus was not married nor did he have any kids, probably one of the reasons why he had adopted the young stowaway girl 10 years ago. Thinking about that made Pearl smile as she hurried to help Donnel with the sail.

Pearl did not remember that much about event all those years ago but as Angus told it he had noticed one of the coverings of the boat move when doing a patrol on the ship that night. After lifting the covering he had discovered a terrified little girl who was obviously starving. Angus had taken pity on the poor girl and taken her to ship kitchen to feed her. The girl had nothing except her rags on her and no memory of her real name, except for the small pearl she had in a simple necklace around her neck. Angus had decided that for the time being girl could stay with him and his crew on his ship, at least until they found the parents or at least relatives of the girl.

But years had passed by and no one had recognized the girl or looked after anyone matching her description, so by the time Pearl was 15 Angus officially decided to adopt her and gave her the name.

Lightly stepping with years of experience Pearl climbed the staff up to reach the robes that were used to adjust the sails. Up here the sea wind was harsh but Pearl was so used to it that it did not even affect her. She released the robes keeping the sails on place and shouted to Donnel to change their positionings. Donnel did as order and as Angus turned the helm so did the ship also take a new heading: the city of Strain.

Strain is a capital city of Dioran, one of the 2 states on small continent of Disalea at the eastern edge of the sea of Cirion. Dioran and it’s eternal nemesis Taus had been in war basically ever since the Great Turmoil and were showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Strain itself was large sprawling city, but the eternal war had taken its toll on it. Only parts inhabited by the truly rich and powerful were still in prime condition, rest of the city looked somewhat downtrodden these days. However Strain’s crown jewel was the palace of Archmagos, where the high warlock of Dioran resided. Dioran after all was what other nations referred to as Mage Tyranny, as in only mages were allowed to hold higher echelons of power and rule armies and offices.

Approaching Strain made Pearl always bit nervous as she had heard all the stories about sinister mages kidnapping foreigners who were unfortunate enough to get separated from their friends and using them on sinister experiments and spells. This of course as she well knew might not be true at all and could just be slander and propaganda from Tausian Inquisition.

Tausian Inquisition believed that all magic, no matter how or for what it was used, was evil and corrupting and therefore magic users should be either jailed or executed, Taus however even with their quite extreme views was a relatively democratic country with all men and women having a say in electing representatives to holy see which then elected Grand Inquisitor to lead their nation.

Pearl as a non-magic user of course would have prefered Taus if it was not for their very hostile and suspicious attitude towards outsiders, but that was a moot point as Taus was inland nation so there was no reason for Angus to do trade with them.

As sun was setting they finally came to eye distance of the great port of Strain. It was a truly magnificent sight: Storm walls made of purest marble with decorations that defined common sense and must have surely been made with aid of magic. The walls stretched up at least for 20 meters and only relatively narrow pathway lead inside the mighty walls.

As their ship Meriadock slipped into port the dock master came out to greet them and make sure they were not carrying any illegal cargo. Pearl took the opportunity to look around the dock while Angus was talking with the dockmaster, taking in the sights and smells of the lively dock. On eastern side of the harbor where Meriadock also resided were all the merchant and civilian ships, this was also the much more lively side of the dock with sounds of laughter and commerce everywhere. The western side of the dock was reserved for Diorianese navy but only few of the ships were currently on port as most of them were out on the sea patrolling or raiding Taurisian shipping lines. However those ships that were in the port were creeping Pearl out, they were all Black ships with dark purple sails but that was not what was so unnerving about these ships. Here and there she could catch a glimpse of one the magii of Dioran who were assigned to their specific ships, just lording over their crew. The creepy thing was not these haughty magii, it was the common sailors, for none of them sowed their face. They were wearing all black cowl from head to toe with their faces covered by white mask with black spots for eyes and no mouth piece.

Pearl tore her gaze from these silent men as she heard Angus call out her name. Angus looked more serious than normal and said with very slight undertone of worry in his voice: “Oi lass, good ol dock master here claimed that there is someone in town who claims to have recognized you”. Pearl froze. Could it be? That finally after almost 10 years she might find her parents or at least a clue about them? “Take me to this person, please!” She almost yelled out of anxiousness to hear about possible leads. Dock master smiled and signed over a young and handsome guard captain by the Name of Revallion. Revallion was tall lean man with athletic features dressed in the purple-gold Diorian royal guard armor and had a magnificent saber on his waist.

Pearl followed Revallion out from the docks and up through the city, first she thought they would head to one of the many taverns or inns or maybe even merchant houses, instead they kept going up and up through the city to very heart of the city. Eventually she realized they were standing right in front of the gate to the Achamagos’ palace. “What have i gotten myself into?” she though before the large golden gate were swung open by unseen magic somewhere out of sight.

In they headed climbing a spiralling staircase to the very doors of the magos’ throne room. These doors opened to them too and for the first time Pearl saw the Archmagos Perennion, the tyrant of Dioran. He was a magnificent man who did not look an year older than 40. He had long black as night hair falling from his shoulders all the way down to the ground. He also had kind and wise face, even if bit pale. On him he was wearing a full on gold-black plate armor etched with runes and symbols so odd yet somehow familiar looking to Pearl. On his left leaning to the throne was his magical halberd known as Deathbringer, rumored to be able to pierce any armor as well as channel arcane magics.

Archmage Perennion was looking right at her and he was smiling. Suddenly he started speaking on a deep yet soft voice saying: “Welcome home my child, long have i missed you”