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The command suite was typically a buzzing riot of commotion and activity. Servitors were slowly walking or rolling into the room with updates. Piles of data slats, printouts, and charts were stacked across every surface and pushed into the corners of the room from the never ending stream of information. Commanders and subcommanders, captains, and even sergeants had been taking their rounds, updating their newest orders and preparing for the upcoming battle.

Once the commotion had subsided, a lone figure was left in the room surrounded by mountains of data yet alone with his thoughts. Lufgt Huron stood staring out through the only window in the suite, a two foot wide octagon that looked out over the prow of his ship. It wasn’t the view he preferred but in the distance he could still make out an eerie colored mass in space.

“What have you done?” he asked the distant cloud. He had asked the same question countless times and never expected a response, yet a part of him wished he one would come.

With a deep sigh he turned away from the window and back to his throne. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his heavily calloused hand. Taking up yet another report from the recently recovered listening post he looked at the latest sitrep.

It looked dire. He hated to admit to himself but in these moments of quiet he allowed the full weight of the situation to fully sink in. Typical of Imperial military doctrine, at the sight of a superior foe, send in superior numbers. He knew the tactic. He had administered it countless times against the hated foes that hid from him in the maelstrom. Now however, he was on the receiving end.

“How many chapters must I fight? How many loyal citizens must die?” Huron began, “Emperor please help me against the bureaucrats that usurp your authority and use your power unjustly against me.”

A low chime echoed throughout the room. Without waiting for a response Captain Laileb entered the room. The impetuous captain wore his terminator armor. His massive bulk easily filled the door frame. His tiger pelt was draped across his shoulders and his bastard sword gleamed with a fresh coat of oil.

“Chaplain Ketros of the Executioners just zoned in. Both the Lamenter and Mantis Warrior Librarians are already present.” Huron paid him little attention, he was fully aware they were all waiting for him. His once loyal comrades were now getting anxious. In the beginning the chapter masters of the Lamenters and Mantis Warriors would have greeted him with smiles and warriors grasps. Now, they send their seconds and their psychers. Huron was once again reminded of how much things had changed over the past few months.

“Very well,” Huron said as he stood. Laileb turned and pressed several buttons in the door frame. The frame expanded before sinking into the floor. The command suite was now fully open to the adjacent war room.

In the other room the psychic shadows of the two librarians stood side by side, their physical bodies both stood on their respective ships. One wore yellow armor the other green; both were cloaked in the blue of their office. Beside Laileb, a static rendition of a black armored Executioner chaplain stood tall. Chaplain Ketros Gron was perhaps the ugliest marine Huron had ever seen, yet there was no doubt he was a serious man. His dour expression could cause lobotomized servitors to look away and create fear amongst the ranks of even the most stalwart foe.

Huron took his place amongst the assembled commanders. He looked to each in turn and nodded his thanks for their presence. “Gentleman, I know time is running short, but we…” Huron began.

The hologram of Ketros snorted, interrupting his sentence. Huron wished he was here so he could back hand him. “…but we need to secure the Golgotha and get it to Badab,” he finished.

The librarians shared a look before Ketros spoke, “I don’t think there is any doubt we need to secure the ordinance but why do you need all of us? Does this magos not work for you? Has he not been supplying us with weapons this entire time? Isn’t there an entire planetary defense force there waiting for you to call on?”

Ketros rattled the questions off in typical executioner fashion, straight to the point, no small talk or beating around the bush. Huron would like nothing better than to tell them all about his relationship with the selfish Magos Falchen. He had been trying to control the Magos for decades but the wiry half machine had his own agenda and only assisted Huron after being plied with flattery, power or credits… as the situation dictated.

He knew it had only been a matter of time before the mechanicum forge master turned over his supplies to Huron’s enemies. Huron had forcibly removed many of the supplies under the magos’ control in hopes he would be out in time, but when he heard the magos had actually completed the Ordinatus……. A smile crossed Huron’s face. The thought of controlling an Ordinatus brought him much joy.

“Please tell us what you find so enjoyable, Lufgt?” Valgorian the Lamenter librarian said, his smooth voice receiving a nod from the Mantis Librarian.

“My apologies,“ Huron began with a bow. “Ketros you are correct, the Magos and his forges have been steadily supplying us since the beginning, however, Magos Falchen is loyal only to himself and whoever gives him what he wants. The moment I had to remove my men to protect other strategic points he contacted our enemies and gracefully turned his forges over to them. Before Laileb could return the forges were already reinforced by those damnable Fire Hawks.”

Valgorian laughed, his psychic shadow flickered with the movement, “I’m surprised any of those astartes even survived our first encounter. I would not concern yourself with them.”

“I am not,” Huron quickly responded, “I am more concerned with the Marines Errant and the Red Scorpions that have also been sent to protect the forge world.”

Ketros nodded in agreement as the severity of the situation fully sunk in.

“Very well, when will you don your armor and join us?” Clothis the Mantis Warrior finally chimed in.

The slightest smirk crossed Laileb’s face before he too turned to regard the Tyrant of Badab. Huron paused and carefully chose his words.

“I will be donning my armor on my way to Badab Primus. Laileb will lead Hunter Stripe personally in my absence.” Huron looked around the room; he needed to convince them of his need to be elsewhere. ”He will be my spear in this endeavor while I prepare our next counter strike. Once we have the Ordinatus secured and sent to Badab, Magos Falchens forges will be destroyed.
For a moment no one said anything. Huron could feel the calculations and the strategies being formulated. He began to wonder if they would question him once again.

“Very well,” Clothis stated before his psychic image dissipated with a pop. Valgorian quickly followed, only Ketros remained. His static form wavered for a moment. His iron stare was momentarily interrupted.

“Lufgt Huron, our blood debt is coming to an end.” Chaplain Ketros plainly stated as his form solidified. “High Chaplain Thulsa Kane himself wanted to deliver this message but he is completing his destruction of a Space Shark vessel. This will be your final command to us. After this we are considering our blood debt satisfied. We will notify Cullin and return to our previous orders outside the Maelstrom.”

The blood in Huron’s face boiled at the words of the Executioner. He opened his mouth to remind him of his debt when the static form of Ketros disappeared.

This time Laileb didn’t smile or even give Huron a side glance. The terminator captain steadily walked away. He had a detachment to lead.

Huron didn’t know how long he had stood twitching in anger before the data slate in his hand cracked in pieces and dropped to the floor. With a forced deep breath he dropped all the remaining bits of the slate and paced around the room. If the Executioners leave he will truly be in a dire situation. The Executioner fleet had been instrumental in protecting Badab’s flank and harassing the enemies shipping lanes.

With another forced breath Huron paused. He was once again in front of the octagonal window. The purplish hue of the Maelstrom swirled in the distance.

“What have you done?” he asked the distant cloud. He had asked the same question countless times and never expected a response, yet this time, out of the blackness of the void… there came an answer..

It's no mean feat to pull off a sympathetic portrayal of the Tyrant of Badab - gratz on a job well done.

That's a nice vignette, well-crafted. Any plans for any more?

Thanks Necroagogo! I really appreciate it.

I don't actually have any plans for a sequel. This was something that I wrote for my Adepticon team this year. We have a book that we add to each year and this is my teams part for this year. I did write another section for another team. The other team is playing as the "loyalists", so the story is from a Marines Errant perspective. They are defending the Manufactorum that houses the Ordinatus that is referred to in the Huron story. If you'd like I can add that to this page if you'd be interested?

Love it, especially like the way you came back to the "What have you done?" part, pretty epic, good sir .

Thank you sir! Glad you liked it.

 IceAngel wrote:
I did write another section for another team. The other team is playing as the "loyalists", so the story is from a Marines Errant perspective. They are defending the Manufactorum that houses the Ordinatus that is referred to in the Huron story. If you'd like I can add that to this page if you'd be interested?

Yes please

Eighty nine stories up on the side of the Forgepoint Manufactorum the wind was cold and crisp. A normal person would be light headed from the lower oxygen levels or simply amazed by the wonderful view, either way it seemed a shortness of breath was common amongst the humans that disembarked and passed by. The promenade that wound around the refinery and connected the many landing platforms was a well traveled walk way with a built in shuttle system. When emergency protocol was active it would take thirty eight minutes to get from one end of the continent spanning refinery to the other.

Chief Epistolary Cyraxes, of the Marines Errant, had walked the promenade and taken the train dozens of times since he arrived. Yet for some reason something always pulled him towards this exact same spot. Directly above the humongous Upsilon Gate he stood on the edge of the promenade. There was no safety wall or railing, no protection from the terminal fall that lay before him.

Cyraxes stood on the edge, the bitter wind whipped his royal blue robe around his heavily armored form. For hours he watched the supply trains enter the gate and the cargo holders depart. The movement of vessels turned into blurry lines as he lost his visual focus and began to drift into the psychic realm. The feeling of the bitter wind on his face was slowly replaced by the bite of another wind, yet each time he tried to see the blurry lines of the future something repelled him. The feeling was frustrating. It was like trying to hold two magnets together by the same pole. No matter how he finessed them or forced them they would not touch.

When he released the psychic hold his gaze would still be over looking the gate. The concrete courtyard and the multiple defensive walls would still be there. Something was going to happen down there but he couldn’t get any more then that, so every day he came up to this promenade and stared.

Without the use of his powerful psychic gift Cyraxes felt naked when it came to making strategic decisions but even without knowing the future he could see the best firing lines. Rapid deployment points and natural wall choke points that his men would easily hold came up in his thoughts. With a sigh he notated positions for his devastator’s Sergeants Argus and Garu on his tablet. Tactical units would be held in reserve for rapid deployment once the battle unfolded. Cyraxes looked at the last unit under his command. He put the tablet back into a well hidden fold under his robe as he imagined the Star of Vengeance flying through the refinery in between walls targeting enemy strong points.

The laugh of Brother Iason over the vox that he had heard many times always lifted the spirits of his fellow Marines Errant.

With planned deployment done he sighed. He had better be right.

He stepped away from the edge and turned towards the nearest train boarding platform. In a few minutes he was boarding the smooth windowless train and heading towards the desired car. As the train passed into one of the transfer columns the various cars broke off towards their desired destinations. His car took him down 72 floors at 200 miles per hour at a casual angle. The movement was smooth and quiet. Without windows it was very hard to realize the train was moving that fast, yet when it finally came to its resting point he had traveled to the other side of the island continent. The Forgepoint Manufactorum covered the land mass and as he stepped out into the transit hub on the northern side he witnessed the arrival of the next work shift.

On the seventeenth floor he walked past one of the security check points to get away from the oncoming crowds. The press of people arriving from underground trains and hover ships was truly impressive. They all stopped and stared at the sight of the armored space marine but Cyraxes ignored the tens of thousands of arrivals and instead focused on his intended target.

He reached out with this will, like a pulsing light at sea he felt the precise of his astartes brother. Librarian Edmiston was a short walk away amongst some of his chapter brothers. Cyraxes immediately headed that way.

Near one of the shipping gates, yet secluded behind protective bunkers and defensive spires, the sergeants of the Red Scorpions were gathering. The Fire Hawks were also present along with Magos Falchen himself. The spidery bionic man was larger then any marine due to his bulk enhancements yet his psychic presence was minimal compared to the astartes that filled the rest of the room. All of the men and machines stood in clumps around a metal replica of the Golden Refinery.

“Irrelevant,” the smooth voice of Magos Falchen repeated as he moved the icon of a Red Scorpion unit, “the Scorpions would be wasted there. The tactical implications of that sector do not warrant there presence as much as Manufactorum Rho or Platform Omicron Sector.”

“Wasted?” Sergeant Carmel questioned. “You don’t want my unit to bolster the defenses around the primary tower that holds most of your workers?” Several other Red Scorpions shook there head at Magos’s words.

The argument continued for several minutes as Cyraxes entered the room and paced the impressive replica of the refinery. The conversations and arguments were turning into a distant hum when silence pulled Cyraxes out of his thoughts. He looked up to see all of the other marines were looking at him. A psychic message reiterated the missed question, “Where will your forces deploy?”

Cyraxes nodded his head towards Librarian Edmiston, “My marines will deploy around the Upsilon Gate.”

He instantly heard the scoffs and the snorts from several sergeants, only Magos Falchen and Librarian Edmiston returned to the replica and thought on his decision.

“Cyraxes you must have a reason for deploying around that gate. I mean no disrespect, but please enlighten me as to why you wish to deploy your entire force there when the refinery has scores of better locations.” Sergeant Carmel asked.

The Marine Errant did not look at Sergeant Carmel, he simply walked around the replica towards the appropriate gate. The stared at the same position he had been standing at earlier that day. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Magos Falchen casually interrupted him.

“Pardon me, Epistolary Cyraxes, but I agree with your decision to deploy there. Your forces will be greatly utilized near the base of the gate.” Magos added. “I’ll grant clearance to one of the nearby platforms for your fighter so he can rapidly deploy as necessary.”

One of the spindly arms of the Magos produced a small thumb sized data disc and handed it to a child sized servitor. The servitor then rushed over to Cyraxes side to hand it over.

Sergeant Carmel looked appalled and shocked at the exchange. He began to argue once again with Magos Falchen and his staff. The Fire Hawks chimed in with their own arguments.

Cyraxes looked down at the data disc when the smooth voice of Edmiston filled his brain.

“He is hiding something from us,” Edmistons whisper of a voice washed through his thoughts.
“I agree, “Cyraxes responded with his own psyhic message.
“What could Magos Falchen have that Huron would be so adamant about getting?” Edmiston asked.
Cyraxes thought on the question. On the surface the entire refinery would be desirable. An entire planetary force could be supplied with weapons and ammo that this refinery produced in a manner of days, but Magos had an agenda. There had to be something else otherwise he would have sent marines to the other refineries that dotted the planet.

“I am unable to read him, but there is something in or near that gate that he wants extra protection for. He suggested Manufactorum Rho and Platform Omicron Sector. Both of those are relatively near the Upsilon gate.” Cyraxes sent.

Libarian Edmiston looked at the replica once again before listening into the conversation with Sergeant Carmel.

“Sergeant,” he began, “I suggest we listen to our host and defend Platforms. I think Magos will be quiet capable of defending his own employees from outside attack.”

Sergeant Carmel opened his mouth to speak but instead chewed his words and paused for a moment before responding, “Very well, I’ll notify the others.”

He quickly pivoted and stormed out of the room. The other red scorpions left with him. The Fire Hawks discussed their own deployment before being convinced they should cover Manufactorum Rho. Sergeant Evrard and Lexicanum Py’yar seemed much happier once they found a rapid deployment position so they could better utilize their transports and bikes.

As the last of Hawks left the room was eerily silent. The servitors were all motionless in their own cubbies built into the walls, only Magos Falchen was pacing the room. Eventually he walked over to the two librarians. The three of them stared at the icons of the astartes now protecting the gate and its neighboring complexes.

“What’s in there Magos?” Librarian Edmiston asked.

“Tools, weapons, tanks, supplies, many things are held within the Upsilon Gate.” The half machine began.

Both librarians sighed at the generalized response.

“Let me rephrase, what is behind that gate that Huron wants?” Edmiston asked, this time with authority in his voice. Psychic lightning danced around the corner of his eyes. Cyraxes smiled and the simple yet affective show of power.

“Ah,” Magos Falchen said as he stepped away from the replica and began to pace the sprawled out display. “Clearly the two of you have more wits about you then your brethren, yet words can not properly describe what Huron wants. He is a truly dangerous man. Someone with his cunning and an entire space marine chapter under his command can rarely be stopped once he focuses his attention on something.” Magos Falchen began as he walked towards a side door. One of his many arms beckoned them to follow.

“Huron wants what all commanders want, more supplies, more guns, more men, more tanks, all of these things we’ve been producing for hundreds of years to the Badab Sector. However, Huron is a man of true vision and one of the view things he ever gifted me was a piece of that hunger. That desire to create what others could not.”

Magos Falchen passed through the side gate and down a hall. The two librarians were right behind him as doors opened before them. Eventually they stood on a moving platform that carried them through an armored tube out of one tower into another.

In this tower there was minimal activity. There were no zooming servitors or the bustle of people that seemed to cover the complex in its entirety. Instead a cold calm filled the empty halls. The strong scent of incense hovered in the air. Magos Falchen opened a final door in which tables and bays of equipment were strewn about. Nearly everything was in different stages of assembly.

Magos Falchen strode through the room before pausing at a railed balcony. Beneath him, recessed into the floor, was a multi-tracked model of a unique design. Missiles the size of an astartes arm dominated its back and pointed up into the air. Edmiston and Cyraxes looked down at the modeled vehicle.

“That is what Huron desires?” Edmiston asked, the sound of confusion tainting his words.

“Oh yes, I call it the Falchen Missile Launcher.” Magos Falchen as he rubbed his two humanoid hands together.

Cyraxes exchanged a look of disbelief with Edmiston, this mobile racked missile system didn’t seem anything to be desired even by Huron. It looked almost unwieldy and the missiles were horribly exposed. Before either librarian could consider how to further ask questions Magos Falchen activated some runes in the railing surrounding the balcony.

A door to a storage area built into the floor opened, “I find this helps give it some scale, “Magos said as another model rolled out of the opening. It was clearly a chimera based hauler tank and when it rolled out and connected itself to the rest of the missile launcher the scale of the vehicle truly sank in.

A tingle coursed down Cyraxes spine as the missile launcher activated its own miniature void shield.

“As far as I know this is the only Ordinatus created in the past one hundred and seventy eight years.” Magos Falchen looked away from the model towards the two librarians. “This is what Huron desires.”

“And you’ve made that,” Edmiston said while pointing, “except bigger?”

“Oh yes, “Magos responded, “substantially bigger. It has already been tested and it works marvelously. Its current pay load could level this entire facility or any other facility on the planet for that matter. Its planet to space missiles could even destroy orbiting ships. The capabilities are limited to a commander’s imagination. Tomorrow we’ll complete the next wave of our servitor guided missiles which will bring our stock up to twenty four.”

Suddenly Cyraxes envisioned the Upsilon Gate and the path the Ordinatus would take as it exited the refinery. With minimal effort he shared his vision with Edmiston who gave a short grunt of acknowledgement, “we’re going to need more men,” he added as the imaginary attacking force of Tiger Claws began to multiply.

What I liked most about this was the sense of scale. Not the obvious one regarding the Ordinatus, but the casual elements in the narrative about the size of the refinery, the sheer drops and so on. Like all that's good about 40k, it's a basic concept blown up to a ridiculous degree.

So are we going to see Huron's raid?

No probably not. Now that Adepticon is over I'll be concentrating on finishing my Ice Angel book. The end is near and once I get there I'll then have to go back and actually edit the whole thing. It's amazing how different my writing is now from when I started the project several years ago. I'm glad you liked my two pieces though.