The palace of the autarch rose into the sky, dominating an avenue of towering building built in monumental style. Statues of heroes and eagles stood in niches and great bolts of lightning were working into the stone. The architecture was large and blocky, with a hint of curves. It was meant to convey this was the abode of giants and heroes and in most respects it succeeded.
Men took the reigns of the Mazenjar horses and their surrendered their guns to the House Guards, who inclined their heads with respect. A dark robed functionary in what appeared to be his late fifties bowed to them. "Might voivode, the autarch awaits the presence of you and your guest. If you honourable warriors would follow my humble self, I will convey you to his presence."
Zoltan bowed. "As always, your service does the autarch credit. His hospitality is without compare." The man bowed and lead them down corridors of of shining white walls and multicoloured rungs on the floor. Electric lights hung in brass sconces.
"The autarch must be eager to meat you," Zoltan said under his breath. "There are many demands on his time and his realm is vast. The Mazenjar are far from the greatest people under his command."
"He wishes to defeat the Shazu who outnumber him ten to one, have atomics he lacks, and command the sky. His need drives him. Why all these different rugs?"
"Eh?" said Zoltan momentarily thrown off track. "Oh, these are part of the taxes. Every people must contribute to the furnishing of the autarch's palace and the buildings of state. A reminder that all are ruled and protected by the autarch."
Maladar's mind raced. A symbolic gesture of unity, but one not without power over honour obsessed warrior classes. And this autarch did not try to rule everything from his palace, but had an army of bureaucrats, his own Administratium, to aid him. More signs that his ancestors at least hadn't been fools.
The palace functionary bowed to two warriors and then flung open a pair of double doors. Maladar noted that every guard in the palace differed from the ones elsewhere in the realm by wearing a red cloak. Zoltan lead the into the room.
Two dozen men and women were arrayed along the sides of a long table. Some of the men wore the garb of tribal chieftains, similar to Zoltan. Others wore tunics in the style of the soldier aristocracy, marked with the autarch's lightning insignia and medals of honour and rank. Savants, men and women both, wore brocade robes and waited on the word of the man at the head of the table. A single figure, draped in ruby silk, stood near the back. A psyker.
Zoltan bowed low. "My autarch, may I present the traveller from the void above who has slain the battlemaster of the Siskani. Maladar." The voivode stepped aside and Maladar got a good look at the autarch.
He was not a big man, to Maladar's surprise. A little taller than an ordinary human, but lacking the size and bulk of the infantry caste. His hair was dark and neat and he wore plain black. Faint lines were present around his eyes. His gaze was laser hot and he did not flinch as others did from the horror of Maladar's scarred face. "Autarch," Maladar said and inclined his head.
"So you are the man who has plunged the Siskani into confusion and fear and caused our neighbors to fear us more. I am not without gratitude."
"I ask no favor autarch but that you listen."
A smile ghosted across the autarch's face. "I have every intention of doing such, Emperor's man. I have many questions for you."
"Ask them autarch."
A women inclined her heard and presented a slab of transparent crystal to the autarch. She touched a part of the slab and then laid it on the table. Azure runes were projected in the air by the autarch's head, just off to the right. Archaeotech, still functioning, undoubtedly a priceless treasure and symbol of power. The autarch had questions prepared in advance.
"You say you came from the stars, that you serve an Emperor?"
"The Imperium of man covers a thousand thousand worlds. I serve the immortal God-Emperor of Mankind."
"Your Emperor is not here. Where is your loyalty?"
"This world is not beyond his reach. We, his servants, are here. Our loyalties are to Him on Earth, as always. You wish to know if you can rely upon us autarch and I answer you in this way: when the world lies at your feet, when all bow down before you, I will ask you to pray to our protector, the Emperor, with me."
One of the general's laughed. "I make no boasts," said Maladar. "I am not a charlatan who requires payment in advance. I am an Imperial Inquisitor. I shall deliver and then you shall judge. And what I deliver will be total, crushing victory."
"He's insane," another general said.
"You asked my intent you have it," the inquisitor said with the finality of a tomb door closing. "I will give you proof. Give me a command to shape as I will. Let me show you what I can do on the field of battle."
The autarch was silent for a moment. When he spoke his voice was low and even. "I grant you command of the Fifty Seventh Legion and all its rights and auxiliaries. You will have your opportunity soon enough."
Maladar turned to Zoltan. "How many men in a legion?"
"Ten thousand, not counting the auxiliaries."
"Ten thousand?" He turned back to the autarch "Against an enemy whose territory spans much of two continents and commands at least a hundred million men? You are too cautious autarch. The old ways will not save you. They will doom you."
"You have received my word," the autarch said firmly.
"Grant me the Mazenjar as well."
"Done."
Zoltan looked at Maladar with wide eyes. "I will make the Mazenjar more powerful than their enemies ever feared they would become," said Maladar. "It is only fitting for you to be the first to benefit."
Maladar looked across the room at the autarch. Not bold enough, he thought. That was a problem Maladar had a solution for. He grinned and his skin mask grinned with him. Slaughter would serve him well, as it always did.
Under this Sign (40K-Maladar)
Moderator: LadyTevar
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Imperial Overlord
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Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2009-02-23 02:31pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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NecronLord
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Ah, a tale of a proper Imperial psychopath. Always a pleasure. Lightning bolts, eagles, and gene-enhanced warriors in power armour, was this planet meant to have ever had contact with the Imperium?
Superior Moderator - BotB - HAB [Drill Instructor]-Writer- Stardestroyer.net's resident Star-God.
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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Imperial Overlord
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Yes. It was incorporated into the Imperium just as the Horus Heresy broke out and was then lost.NecronLord wrote:Ah, a tale of a proper Imperial psychopath. Always a pleasure. Lightning bolts, eagles, and gene-enhanced warriors in power armour, was this planet meant to have ever had contact with the Imperium?
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Ford Prefect
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Imperial Overlord
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Flags and standards whipped in the wind as ten thousand armoured warriors stood at attention in the muster field. Their armour gleamed in the weak sunlight and their hands were closed around axes, maces, and rocket rifles. A thousand more men on horseback stood on the left, their cavalry auxiliaries. Another thousand, the warriors of the Mazenjar, were on the right. A dozen battle wagons, drawn by oxen into position, were quiet, their engines idled. There inner workings were fickle, or so the local tech adepts had said, and prone to frequent breakdowns. Their engines were rarely activated except on the field of battle.
More troops were arrayed. Legion armourers, artillery men who handled the cannon and rocket batteries, scouts, quartermasters, and all the men for the host of unglamourous but necessary jobs that kept the legion operational. A legion had the paper strength of ten thousand knights, but Maladar found that his command numbered more than twenty thousand men.
The inquisitor stepped forward, to the edge of the review platform. It was a simple wooden structure overlooking a somewhat muddy field. Microphones were arrayed in front of a podium to carry his voice to transmission horns.
"I will be brief," he began. "You may have heard many rumours about me. Some will be true, some half-true, and others false. The truth will be known soon enough. You may have heard I come from beyond the sky. That is true. You may have heard that I am loyal to a foreign god. That is false. The Emperor is your god as well, even if you know him not. That too is for another time.
"I am here to give you victory. I will teach you new ways of waging war and I will give you new weapons to fight with. I will throw down the enemies of the Northern Dominion, even the Shazu, and I will make the autarch sole and undisputed master of the world. Those who follow me will become the heroes and leaders of a new age and their names will live forever in story and legend. Those who stand against us will be trampled into dust and have all their chattel fall into our hands. I require two things from you: courage and obedience. So I ask this question: DO YOU LOVE YOUR AUTARCH?"
"YES!" roared from twenty thousand throats.
"WILL YOU FIGHT FOR HIM?"
"YES!"
"WILL YOU DESTROY HIS ENEMIES AND SEIZE THEIR LANDS?"
"YES!"
"WILL YOU FOLLOW ME TO VICTORY?"
"YES!"
"FOR THE AUTARCH!"
"FOR THE AUTARCH!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Both techpriests joined Maladar in his command tent. The inquisitor had doffed his power armour, wearing a tunic, pants, and cloak in the local style that had been gifts of the Mazenjar. "Report," he ordered.
Tech Priest Avan Egol began. "Inquisitor, both Condors are flight worthy. Electrolysis is yielding sufficient hydrogen for use as reaction mass and fuel. We can keep ship's system operating as long as repairs and parts last. We stand by at your orders."
"Tech Priest Draglos?"
"The local industrial base is adequate for the production of certain parts, chemicals, and fuel which should help extend their service life, but they will eventually fail."
"Will it allow me to modernize these forces?"
"Yes, inquisitor. In this we are fortunate. Much of the existing technology seems to be degenerate descendants from purer STC designs. Armour, power systems, and materials technology survived better than others. An ancient geothermal tap provides power to the capital and battery systems allow power armour to function for the duration of a battle. The rocket weapons are descendants of bolter weapons. Their entire order of battle appears to favor the direct descendants of STC designs, instead of local derivations or adaptions."
"Understandable," Maladar rumbled. "The battle wagons are crude descendants of super heavy tanks. Power armour. Bolters. Artillery. These are their weapons of choice because they are the link to high technology. They work well enough, in their fashion, but only because they are not challenged by technosorcery. That changes now. Status on production?"
Draglos answered. "The Fifty Seventh Legion receives a tithe of industrial production, which is how all military forces are supplied."
"A variation on barbaro-feudalism. Continue."
"Using the authority of the autarch, we can alter the tithe we extract from the factory lines according to your specifications. I have readied the prototype designs."
"Show me," Maladar ordered. Draglos placed several papers on the desk. He pointed to each in turn.
"A fairly simple item, an automatic rifle with a twenty eight round magazine. Easily constructed. Next, a flame thrower for use by the infantry. Distribution of these items will be limited by the output of the lines which is inadequate for a rapid rearming."
"I will handle that. What about the last?"
"This will be difficult inquisitor. It is a brand new vehicle, well outside my experience. There will be flaws. It requires a new weapon and ammunition."
"Adapt an artillery cannon."
"That may help inquisitor, but production and testing of a prototype, one not in a form ordained by the ancients and the Gods of Mars. . . ."
Maladar looked him in the eye. "There is no question that this design will be inferior to one derived from Standard Template Construction. That is not at issue. We are limited to the resources at hand but we also must face the enemies found here. You must use the sacred knowledge of Mars to help claim this world for the Emperor so true and pure designs can take its place. And that means we need superior machines to the locals, no matter how inferior they are to the true path. Can you deliver or will you fail the Mechanicus and the Emperor?"
"I will not fail," said Draglos.
"See to it," Maladar ordered. "Begin work on all of these immediately."
More troops were arrayed. Legion armourers, artillery men who handled the cannon and rocket batteries, scouts, quartermasters, and all the men for the host of unglamourous but necessary jobs that kept the legion operational. A legion had the paper strength of ten thousand knights, but Maladar found that his command numbered more than twenty thousand men.
The inquisitor stepped forward, to the edge of the review platform. It was a simple wooden structure overlooking a somewhat muddy field. Microphones were arrayed in front of a podium to carry his voice to transmission horns.
"I will be brief," he began. "You may have heard many rumours about me. Some will be true, some half-true, and others false. The truth will be known soon enough. You may have heard I come from beyond the sky. That is true. You may have heard that I am loyal to a foreign god. That is false. The Emperor is your god as well, even if you know him not. That too is for another time.
"I am here to give you victory. I will teach you new ways of waging war and I will give you new weapons to fight with. I will throw down the enemies of the Northern Dominion, even the Shazu, and I will make the autarch sole and undisputed master of the world. Those who follow me will become the heroes and leaders of a new age and their names will live forever in story and legend. Those who stand against us will be trampled into dust and have all their chattel fall into our hands. I require two things from you: courage and obedience. So I ask this question: DO YOU LOVE YOUR AUTARCH?"
"YES!" roared from twenty thousand throats.
"WILL YOU FIGHT FOR HIM?"
"YES!"
"WILL YOU DESTROY HIS ENEMIES AND SEIZE THEIR LANDS?"
"YES!"
"WILL YOU FOLLOW ME TO VICTORY?"
"YES!"
"FOR THE AUTARCH!"
"FOR THE AUTARCH!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Both techpriests joined Maladar in his command tent. The inquisitor had doffed his power armour, wearing a tunic, pants, and cloak in the local style that had been gifts of the Mazenjar. "Report," he ordered.
Tech Priest Avan Egol began. "Inquisitor, both Condors are flight worthy. Electrolysis is yielding sufficient hydrogen for use as reaction mass and fuel. We can keep ship's system operating as long as repairs and parts last. We stand by at your orders."
"Tech Priest Draglos?"
"The local industrial base is adequate for the production of certain parts, chemicals, and fuel which should help extend their service life, but they will eventually fail."
"Will it allow me to modernize these forces?"
"Yes, inquisitor. In this we are fortunate. Much of the existing technology seems to be degenerate descendants from purer STC designs. Armour, power systems, and materials technology survived better than others. An ancient geothermal tap provides power to the capital and battery systems allow power armour to function for the duration of a battle. The rocket weapons are descendants of bolter weapons. Their entire order of battle appears to favor the direct descendants of STC designs, instead of local derivations or adaptions."
"Understandable," Maladar rumbled. "The battle wagons are crude descendants of super heavy tanks. Power armour. Bolters. Artillery. These are their weapons of choice because they are the link to high technology. They work well enough, in their fashion, but only because they are not challenged by technosorcery. That changes now. Status on production?"
Draglos answered. "The Fifty Seventh Legion receives a tithe of industrial production, which is how all military forces are supplied."
"A variation on barbaro-feudalism. Continue."
"Using the authority of the autarch, we can alter the tithe we extract from the factory lines according to your specifications. I have readied the prototype designs."
"Show me," Maladar ordered. Draglos placed several papers on the desk. He pointed to each in turn.
"A fairly simple item, an automatic rifle with a twenty eight round magazine. Easily constructed. Next, a flame thrower for use by the infantry. Distribution of these items will be limited by the output of the lines which is inadequate for a rapid rearming."
"I will handle that. What about the last?"
"This will be difficult inquisitor. It is a brand new vehicle, well outside my experience. There will be flaws. It requires a new weapon and ammunition."
"Adapt an artillery cannon."
"That may help inquisitor, but production and testing of a prototype, one not in a form ordained by the ancients and the Gods of Mars. . . ."
Maladar looked him in the eye. "There is no question that this design will be inferior to one derived from Standard Template Construction. That is not at issue. We are limited to the resources at hand but we also must face the enemies found here. You must use the sacred knowledge of Mars to help claim this world for the Emperor so true and pure designs can take its place. And that means we need superior machines to the locals, no matter how inferior they are to the true path. Can you deliver or will you fail the Mechanicus and the Emperor?"
"I will not fail," said Draglos.
"See to it," Maladar ordered. "Begin work on all of these immediately."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Ford Prefect
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He knows just how to talk to the TechPriests as well... "No, it's not what you lazy bums would like, but once you get this up and running *then* you can purify it to Mars Standard Bullshit"
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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technomage
- Padawan Learner
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Maladar is a member of the Adraxis conspiracy, after all. He knows the truth of the Cult Mechanicus. Chances are, the TechPriests will never truly get their hooks deep into this world.LadyTevar wrote:He knows just how to talk to the TechPriests as well... "No, it's not what you lazy bums would like, but once you get this up and running *then* you can purify it to Mars Standard Bullshit"
Overlord, is this sidetrip of Maladar's going on at the same time as Gix's little heresy infiltration, or some time before or after?
"Mother, implement Case Omega."
-the last time Colin MacIntyre gives an order without thinking it through.
-the last time Colin MacIntyre gives an order without thinking it through.
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Imperial Overlord
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Sidewinder
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- Contact:
I tried looking up "Maladar," "Adraxis," and "Jolan Gix" on Wikipedia, but they don't have articles on these subjects. Can I please have a brief description of what the Adraxis Conspiracy is, and who Jolan Gix is?technomage wrote:Maladar is a member of the Adraxis conspiracy, after all. He knows the truth of the Cult Mechanicus. Chances are, the TechPriests will never truly get their hooks deep into this world.LadyTevar wrote:He knows just how to talk to the TechPriests as well... "No, it's not what you lazy bums would like, but once you get this up and running *then* you can purify it to Mars Standard Bullshit"
Overlord, is this sidetrip of Maladar's going on at the same time as Gix's little heresy infiltration, or some time before or after?
Please do not make Americans fight giant monsters.
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
Those gun nuts do not understand the meaning of "overkill," and will simply use weapon after weapon of mass destruction (WMD) until the monster is dead, or until they run out of weapons.
They have more WMD than there are monsters for us to fight. (More insanity here.)
.... His own creations, actually. Look for the other 40k stories that ImpOverlord's written and you will have all your questions answered.Sidewinder wrote:I tried looking up "Maladar," "Adraxis," and "Jolan Gix" on Wikipedia, but they don't have articles on these subjects. Can I please have a brief description of what the Adraxis Conspiracy is, and who Jolan Gix is?technomage wrote:Maladar is a member of the Adraxis conspiracy, after all. He knows the truth of the Cult Mechanicus. Chances are, the TechPriests will never truly get their hooks deep into this world.LadyTevar wrote:He knows just how to talk to the TechPriests as well... "No, it's not what you lazy bums would like, but once you get this up and running *then* you can purify it to Mars Standard Bullshit"
Overlord, is this sidetrip of Maladar's going on at the same time as Gix's little heresy infiltration, or some time before or after?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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NecronLord
- Harbinger of Doom
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Ghost_of_Vonrilyental: I resent that. The Adraxis conspiracy is mostly my creation! In spirit, if nothing else.LadyTevar wrote:.... His own creations, actually.
Adraxis Conspiracy
The ultimate product of the success of Inquisitorial investigation of heretical activities centered on the planet of Adraxis, in the year 953.M41. The conspiracy aims to strengthen the Imperium of Man by reintroduction of Dark Age knowldege and science. They keep their discoveries secret from the Adeptus Mechanicus for a number of reasons, and work instead to propagate technology and understanding through other means.
Spoilers: The conspiracy was 'started' by one Lord Inquisitor Vonrilyental, who discovered the most most valuable piece of archeotech in existance. A functioning Dark Age teaching machine. A full STC archive, essentially. Jolan Gix is one of the founders of the conspiracy, which started, in truth, after Vonrilyental's apparent death in combat against a greater demon. He was in fact, sucked into the depths of a hive city that had been burned by a lance strike. Gix, and various others, escaped.
Ah, that brings it all back. I'm almost tempted to write more of Vonrilyental now. Poor Vonrilyental: Killed un-heroically for the cause of creative freedom of player characters. They're all originally characters from the board's Inquisitor/40K RP. Chronologically, to my knowledge, the most recent events in this continuity are in the Forty Second millennium, about fifty years at least, later, when Gix et al are busy trying to enact a master plan to destroy the Tyranid and Chaos menaces. With a crusade fleet. And their Living Saint (Whom I also must right more about) was just confronted by Cypher and had some sort of fit...
One of these days, I've got to sit down and read all the stuff IO and others (nah, mostly him) have produced from that, and then go and give the sequel RP a kick up the pants.
Superior Moderator - BotB - HAB [Drill Instructor]-Writer- Stardestroyer.net's resident Star-God.
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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Imperial Overlord
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I should say I always wanted Lord V. to survive and remind the Lord of All Necrons of the psychic power known as "teleport" and the fact that no one actually saw him die.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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NecronLord
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He wasn't anywhere near that powerful (at least, not back then), to my memory, at least. But yes. He's watching over you all. Either from the left hand of the Emperor, or from some secret lair. Quite possibly the latter. Y'know what... I think it's time I posted more to the sequel.Imperial Overlord wrote:I should say I always wanted Lord V. to survive and remind the Lord of All Necrons of the psychic power known as "teleport" and the fact that no one actually saw him die.
Now, where did I put that ressurection orb...
Superior Moderator - BotB - HAB [Drill Instructor]-Writer- Stardestroyer.net's resident Star-God.
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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Imperial Overlord
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There's also the tech device known as a "teleporter" and I would remind the Lord of All Necrons of the inquisitor's mastery of daemonology (demonstrated by slapping around a possessing force) and the fact that teleportation is classified as a daemonology power.NecronLord wrote:He wasn't anywhere near that powerful, to my memory, at least. But yes. He's watching over you all. Either from the left hand of the Emperor, or from some secret lair. Quite possibly the latter. Y'know what... I think it's time I posted more to the sequel.Imperial Overlord wrote:I should say I always wanted Lord V. to survive and remind the Lord of All Necrons of the psychic power known as "teleport" and the fact that no one actually saw him die.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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NecronLord
- Harbinger of Doom
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A fair point... The balance of probability suggests he's alive and well and living in Droitwich then. Or possibly horribly burnt and scarred, and going around in a dreadnought, pretending to be a Space Marine. Either way.Imperial Overlord wrote:inquisitor's mastery of daemonology (demonstrated by slapping around a possessing force) and the fact that teleportation is classified as a daemonology power.
Superior Moderator - BotB - HAB [Drill Instructor]-Writer- Stardestroyer.net's resident Star-God.
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
"We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, argument and debate and most of all freedom of will." ~ Stargate: The Ark of Truth
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Imperial Overlord
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Maladar turned away from the tank thrashing in the mud. The prototype was far smaller than the battle wagons he intended it to replace and should have been a lot more mechanically reliable. This was not turning out to be the case.
There was something wrong with the drive train. The tracks were barely turning. For a design that should have placed a lot less stress on the frame and machinery it was breaking down a lot.
The inquisitor waved off the tech priest. "I don't want to hear it. Not your field. Untried design. I'm aware. Just make it work."
"Y-yes inquisitor," replied Tech Priest Draglos. "It will be done."
"Are you sure you can fulfill your boasts?" Zoltan asked. He had joined Maladar on the hill overlooking the test course.
"Yes," said the inquisitor. "The new tanks will prove to be ten times superior to their weight in battle wagons."
"Despite being untried designs and a fraction of their size?" the chieftain said skeptically. The tank was a much smaller and sleeker design than the huge and clunky battle wagons. Instead of giant wheels they were propelled by tracks and instead of multiple large guns, it had a single long barrelled cannon mounted in the top turret. A pair of heavy stubbers in the forward hull completed its armament. The lower profile and sloped armour gave the war machine a sleek appearance when compared to the clunky behemoths.
"Yes," said Maladar, visions of a sea of grass, burning, filled with the shattered hulks of thousands of battle wagons. Fleet tanks swept up the around the side, coursing forward to finish off the enemy. "Yes," said Maladar. "I'm confident they will work as intended." The inquisitor began walking away.
"Is he mad?" Durzen Iszu asked when the inquisitor was out of earshot.
The Voivode of the Mazenjar turned the commander of the Fifty Seventh Legion. The genetically enhanced warrior was almost as tall and broad as Maladar. Like the Mazenjar he wore long mustaches and kept his hair shoulder length. White peppered his hair. "Ask the Siskani if he is mad," the voivode replied. "I myself do not doubt him when it comes to the in these matters."
-----------------------------------------------------------
The council of the wise gathered around Zoltan's yurt. "My husband," began Ilona, "how committed are we to Maladar's plans?"
"Utterly," replied Zoltan. There was much muttering and stirring around the fire. The most prominent men and most respected women of the Mazenjar were gathered here. The power of the voivode was great, but he was not the autarch of his people.
"Then we should take steps to insure that we gain our full share should he succeed," said Cili. Others nodded in approval of the blonde woman's words.
"You have something in mind?"asked Torcal as he chewed on an apple. The old warrior knew the women had already discussed this matter and thought they had a solution. Best to get it out in the open so they could preen about how clever they were.
"He has no wife," said Ilona. "How fitting is it that such a great warrior should not have a woman by his side?"
"Unless he is like Bodis and prefers men," said Arjan, a middle-aged man much respected for his cunning. "And I have seen his wounds. He may not be . . . . intact."
"One does not simply ask a great warrior if he is a eunuch," said Cili. "We must be discrete."
"The scars do not travel so far," said Bodis. "He is as other men and does not care for the company of men in his bed.." The others looked at him. "I taught him our language remember. He had many questions on customs and bathed with him in the lake." The others nodded.
"So," said Zoltan, "it is settled. We will propose a marriage. The question is, with whom? She must be high born, sensible, and be ah . . . amenable to having a husband who is not beautiful."
There was something wrong with the drive train. The tracks were barely turning. For a design that should have placed a lot less stress on the frame and machinery it was breaking down a lot.
The inquisitor waved off the tech priest. "I don't want to hear it. Not your field. Untried design. I'm aware. Just make it work."
"Y-yes inquisitor," replied Tech Priest Draglos. "It will be done."
"Are you sure you can fulfill your boasts?" Zoltan asked. He had joined Maladar on the hill overlooking the test course.
"Yes," said the inquisitor. "The new tanks will prove to be ten times superior to their weight in battle wagons."
"Despite being untried designs and a fraction of their size?" the chieftain said skeptically. The tank was a much smaller and sleeker design than the huge and clunky battle wagons. Instead of giant wheels they were propelled by tracks and instead of multiple large guns, it had a single long barrelled cannon mounted in the top turret. A pair of heavy stubbers in the forward hull completed its armament. The lower profile and sloped armour gave the war machine a sleek appearance when compared to the clunky behemoths.
"Yes," said Maladar, visions of a sea of grass, burning, filled with the shattered hulks of thousands of battle wagons. Fleet tanks swept up the around the side, coursing forward to finish off the enemy. "Yes," said Maladar. "I'm confident they will work as intended." The inquisitor began walking away.
"Is he mad?" Durzen Iszu asked when the inquisitor was out of earshot.
The Voivode of the Mazenjar turned the commander of the Fifty Seventh Legion. The genetically enhanced warrior was almost as tall and broad as Maladar. Like the Mazenjar he wore long mustaches and kept his hair shoulder length. White peppered his hair. "Ask the Siskani if he is mad," the voivode replied. "I myself do not doubt him when it comes to the in these matters."
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The council of the wise gathered around Zoltan's yurt. "My husband," began Ilona, "how committed are we to Maladar's plans?"
"Utterly," replied Zoltan. There was much muttering and stirring around the fire. The most prominent men and most respected women of the Mazenjar were gathered here. The power of the voivode was great, but he was not the autarch of his people.
"Then we should take steps to insure that we gain our full share should he succeed," said Cili. Others nodded in approval of the blonde woman's words.
"You have something in mind?"asked Torcal as he chewed on an apple. The old warrior knew the women had already discussed this matter and thought they had a solution. Best to get it out in the open so they could preen about how clever they were.
"He has no wife," said Ilona. "How fitting is it that such a great warrior should not have a woman by his side?"
"Unless he is like Bodis and prefers men," said Arjan, a middle-aged man much respected for his cunning. "And I have seen his wounds. He may not be . . . . intact."
"One does not simply ask a great warrior if he is a eunuch," said Cili. "We must be discrete."
"The scars do not travel so far," said Bodis. "He is as other men and does not care for the company of men in his bed.." The others looked at him. "I taught him our language remember. He had many questions on customs and bathed with him in the lake." The others nodded.
"So," said Zoltan, "it is settled. We will propose a marriage. The question is, with whom? She must be high born, sensible, and be ah . . . amenable to having a husband who is not beautiful."
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Vehrec
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These tanks don't sound very much like a Leman rus or any other design in the Imperial arsenel. Fast vehicles with sloping armor makes them look like conventional MBTs in my mind. Which is good mind you. I have no doubts as to who would win a tank duel, a Vindicator or an Abrams if they were built with the same materials.Imperial Overlord wrote: The tank was a much smaller and sleeker design than the huge and clunky battle wagons. Instead of giant wheels they were propelled by tracks and instead of multiple large guns, it had a single long barrelled cannon mounted in the top turret. A pair of heavy stubbers in the forward hull completed its armament. The lower profile and sloped armour gave the war machine a sleek appearance when compared to the clunky behemoths.
"Yes," said Maladar, visions of a sea of grass, burning, filled with the shattered hulks of thousands of battle wagons. Fleet tanks swept up the around the side, coursing forward to finish off the enemy. "Yes," said Maladar. "I'm confident they will work as intended."
Now I can't quite recall what was done to Maladar while he was in captivity as a symbol of his father's fallen regime, but I do know that the majority of those terrible scars are a mask. The question is, will Maladar be willing to show his true face to anyone? This new passage is just full of plot bunnies."So," said Zoltan, "it is settled. We will propose a marriage. The question is, with whom? She must be high born, sensible, and be ah . . . amenable to having a husband who is not beautiful."
Commander of the MFS Darwinian Selection Method (sexual)Maladar's still intact... but there is a passage about him being rough on woman.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Ford Prefect
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Imperial Overlord
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Dremelok Vuul tensed when he saw Maladar approach. The foreigner was attended by a single scribe, no retinue to speak of. His houseguard tensed at Maladar's approach. Hands went to the hilts of chainswords and flanged maces or touched the grips of rocket guns. If Maladar noticed this, he gave no sign.
"Tribune," the scarred man rumbled, "I would speak with you."
Vuul rose from his stool. Unlike Maladar he wasn't wearing full armour, instead wearing his thick wool uniform and a cloak of furs to ward off the cold as he watched his men drill. He was bald and half a head shorter than the Imperial Inquisitor, although he wore the mustaches customary to his class. He gestured. Ten power armoured troopers of his houseguard moved to the sides to let the foreigner approach. "What do you wish?" Dremlok asked. "I am busy observing maneuvers."
"I noticed. Your men move well without you. By local standards."
Vuul flushed slightly at the comment. "Did you come all this way to compliment me outlander?"
"I came to offer you a proposal. I need your production allotments for vehicles and artillery."
"Are you mad? Why would I sign them over to you?"
"You will do so because you wish to win the war that is coming. You will do so because you are wise enough to covet my good will. And you will do it because I will give you battle wagons in return."
Vuul's eyes narrowed. "How many battle wagons."
"All of mine."
"What advantage will you gain from that?"
"The production of superior machines. Cheaper, less resource intensive, more reliable, and more effective fighting vehicles."
"A bold claim."
"Truth. Ask the Siskani the value of my claims. Aid me in this and I will see to it that the next legion so equipped will be your own One Hundred and Ninety Third."
"Done." Maladar motioned the scribe foreward with his clip board. "You expected me to agree."
"You are said to be no fool. If you fight the Shazu in the conventional manner, you will be defeated. All hope of victory flows through me. And I shall conquer."
------------------------------------------------------
Maladar ducked his head as he entered the yurt. Cili rose from her sitting position to accept his weapon belt and lie it near to a set of cushions. The smell of garlic and lamb wafted through the yurt. "Dinner is almost prepared lord."
The inquisitor wasn't wearing his armour, of course. He wore the fine wool and furs of a warrior-noble, which was his established station. "Where are the men?" he asked.
"It is not customary that they be present for these discussions," she said. Maladar had assumed the dinner invitation had been for the purposes of political maneuvering, but the implication that it was women's business came as a surprise. Mazenjar tradition set aside a number issues, primarily spiritual and domestic management, as being the solely the perview of women.
The inquisitor sat down on the cushions and crossed his legs. Cili filled a mug with cider brewed from the clan's orchards and retreated to another partition. She returned with bread, olive oil, spiced olives, and cheese wedges. Maladar dipped a slice of bread in the oil and devoured it, washing it down with cider. He then had a handful of olives and two slices of cheese, before pushing the platter away as was their custom. Cili took it away.
Ilona, Zoltan's senior wife, entered the tent. With her was a tall woman with dark hair bound up in braids. She was slender and not in any way displeasing to the eye, although there was an air of sadness and resignation to her that Maladar did not need to be warp sensitive to detect. Gold rings glittered on three fingers and a fine gold chain hung around her neck. She wore an elaborately embroidered vest over a silk/wool blended blouse. Long skirts swirled as she walked. "Mighty inquisitor," Ilona began, "may I present to you Zsanett, daughter of my husband's brother?"
Maladar rose. He bowed. "I am pleased to meet you lady."
She bowed lower. "The honour is all mine, great Maladar." The women moved to sit opposite him. Maladar began to get an inkling of what was occuring. Marriage alliance, probably traditionally negotiated between women and then brought before the whole council for approval. Since he had no women, they had gone directly to him.
Cili brought in more food. Rice and vegetables grown in the terrace farms to go with the pita bread pockets filled with lamb, garlic, and onions. She served out a first portion to all and then sat on Ilona's left.
Maladar began to eat. The women would talk when they found the right time. "We have observed your ascent at court with great pleasure," Ilona began. "It is a great thing to have a friend of the Mazenyar raised so high. It has not escaped our attention that your position is not as strong as it could be. We wished to aid you in this." Clever woman, she knew exactly what track to take.
"Continue," said Maladar.
"You have no household and no one to manage the appointments and meetings that are essential to life in the autarch's court. You are too busy, of course, but you could use the assistance of someone who could act to garner support for you. Someone of the right social status and position."
"And that would be Zsanett." It was not a question.
"It is my belief that yes, she could aid you in this. If you find her acceptable, of course."
"And what do you have to say?" Maladar asked her."
"My lord," Zsanett said, "you would find me a loyal and untroublesome wife, one who could aid you in this. We are not so primitive and backward a people that we are not familiar with the court's intrigues. I would serve you in all ways."
"I have. . . .qualities that do not make me a good husband."
"The marriage would be an advantage to Zsanett," said Ilona. "If the proper public appearances were maintained and a . . . relationship of mutual respect is established, any deficiencies you have a husband could be dealt with in a discrete and private manner that is no one's business."
Maladar nodded. That much could certainly be done, not that he ever intended to abuse a woman related to one of his most reliable backers. "Why does she not already married?" Maladar asked.
There was a moment of silence. "My father was a voivode's son and a great warrior," Zsanett began. "He was cursed. He was touched by the same power that the Eyes of Fire and you wield, but he could not control it. It made him mad and he had to be slain. My blood is that of the voivode, but I carry my father's blood. Most have no desire to marry a tainted woman and my family's honour and prominence demands that certain standards apply."
"I understand. Any man of high enough rank had other choices. I, on the other hand, do not fear the psyker because I am one. You are wise Ilona. Yes, I will consent to this. Wedding preparations is the affair of women, yes?"
"Yes," Cili replied.
"Then let us speak of other things," said Maladar. "What do the other horse warriors think of the Mazenjar and of me? How willing are they to be lead into new ways of battle?"
"Tribune," the scarred man rumbled, "I would speak with you."
Vuul rose from his stool. Unlike Maladar he wasn't wearing full armour, instead wearing his thick wool uniform and a cloak of furs to ward off the cold as he watched his men drill. He was bald and half a head shorter than the Imperial Inquisitor, although he wore the mustaches customary to his class. He gestured. Ten power armoured troopers of his houseguard moved to the sides to let the foreigner approach. "What do you wish?" Dremlok asked. "I am busy observing maneuvers."
"I noticed. Your men move well without you. By local standards."
Vuul flushed slightly at the comment. "Did you come all this way to compliment me outlander?"
"I came to offer you a proposal. I need your production allotments for vehicles and artillery."
"Are you mad? Why would I sign them over to you?"
"You will do so because you wish to win the war that is coming. You will do so because you are wise enough to covet my good will. And you will do it because I will give you battle wagons in return."
Vuul's eyes narrowed. "How many battle wagons."
"All of mine."
"What advantage will you gain from that?"
"The production of superior machines. Cheaper, less resource intensive, more reliable, and more effective fighting vehicles."
"A bold claim."
"Truth. Ask the Siskani the value of my claims. Aid me in this and I will see to it that the next legion so equipped will be your own One Hundred and Ninety Third."
"Done." Maladar motioned the scribe foreward with his clip board. "You expected me to agree."
"You are said to be no fool. If you fight the Shazu in the conventional manner, you will be defeated. All hope of victory flows through me. And I shall conquer."
------------------------------------------------------
Maladar ducked his head as he entered the yurt. Cili rose from her sitting position to accept his weapon belt and lie it near to a set of cushions. The smell of garlic and lamb wafted through the yurt. "Dinner is almost prepared lord."
The inquisitor wasn't wearing his armour, of course. He wore the fine wool and furs of a warrior-noble, which was his established station. "Where are the men?" he asked.
"It is not customary that they be present for these discussions," she said. Maladar had assumed the dinner invitation had been for the purposes of political maneuvering, but the implication that it was women's business came as a surprise. Mazenjar tradition set aside a number issues, primarily spiritual and domestic management, as being the solely the perview of women.
The inquisitor sat down on the cushions and crossed his legs. Cili filled a mug with cider brewed from the clan's orchards and retreated to another partition. She returned with bread, olive oil, spiced olives, and cheese wedges. Maladar dipped a slice of bread in the oil and devoured it, washing it down with cider. He then had a handful of olives and two slices of cheese, before pushing the platter away as was their custom. Cili took it away.
Ilona, Zoltan's senior wife, entered the tent. With her was a tall woman with dark hair bound up in braids. She was slender and not in any way displeasing to the eye, although there was an air of sadness and resignation to her that Maladar did not need to be warp sensitive to detect. Gold rings glittered on three fingers and a fine gold chain hung around her neck. She wore an elaborately embroidered vest over a silk/wool blended blouse. Long skirts swirled as she walked. "Mighty inquisitor," Ilona began, "may I present to you Zsanett, daughter of my husband's brother?"
Maladar rose. He bowed. "I am pleased to meet you lady."
She bowed lower. "The honour is all mine, great Maladar." The women moved to sit opposite him. Maladar began to get an inkling of what was occuring. Marriage alliance, probably traditionally negotiated between women and then brought before the whole council for approval. Since he had no women, they had gone directly to him.
Cili brought in more food. Rice and vegetables grown in the terrace farms to go with the pita bread pockets filled with lamb, garlic, and onions. She served out a first portion to all and then sat on Ilona's left.
Maladar began to eat. The women would talk when they found the right time. "We have observed your ascent at court with great pleasure," Ilona began. "It is a great thing to have a friend of the Mazenyar raised so high. It has not escaped our attention that your position is not as strong as it could be. We wished to aid you in this." Clever woman, she knew exactly what track to take.
"Continue," said Maladar.
"You have no household and no one to manage the appointments and meetings that are essential to life in the autarch's court. You are too busy, of course, but you could use the assistance of someone who could act to garner support for you. Someone of the right social status and position."
"And that would be Zsanett." It was not a question.
"It is my belief that yes, she could aid you in this. If you find her acceptable, of course."
"And what do you have to say?" Maladar asked her."
"My lord," Zsanett said, "you would find me a loyal and untroublesome wife, one who could aid you in this. We are not so primitive and backward a people that we are not familiar with the court's intrigues. I would serve you in all ways."
"I have. . . .qualities that do not make me a good husband."
"The marriage would be an advantage to Zsanett," said Ilona. "If the proper public appearances were maintained and a . . . relationship of mutual respect is established, any deficiencies you have a husband could be dealt with in a discrete and private manner that is no one's business."
Maladar nodded. That much could certainly be done, not that he ever intended to abuse a woman related to one of his most reliable backers. "Why does she not already married?" Maladar asked.
There was a moment of silence. "My father was a voivode's son and a great warrior," Zsanett began. "He was cursed. He was touched by the same power that the Eyes of Fire and you wield, but he could not control it. It made him mad and he had to be slain. My blood is that of the voivode, but I carry my father's blood. Most have no desire to marry a tainted woman and my family's honour and prominence demands that certain standards apply."
"I understand. Any man of high enough rank had other choices. I, on the other hand, do not fear the psyker because I am one. You are wise Ilona. Yes, I will consent to this. Wedding preparations is the affair of women, yes?"
"Yes," Cili replied.
"Then let us speak of other things," said Maladar. "What do the other horse warriors think of the Mazenjar and of me? How willing are they to be lead into new ways of battle?"
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Imperial Overlord
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The lean and lethal tanks tore through the grass at speeds in excess of fifty kilometers an hours. The tanks turned hard as they moved towards the firing range. "Inquisitor?" asked Tech Priest Draglos.
"Impressive," said Maladar. "Can they keep it up?"
"Over thirty hours of use so far. And at higher speeds. No signs of deterioration. We'll test again after this demonstration, but all indicators suggest they should be able to take these stresses without damage."
The tanks halted and rotated their turrets. "The targets are two kilometers away and of the appropriate thickness and sloping to simulate battle wagon armour." The tanks fired. "Optics and laser rangefinders were easy to design and acquire. Supporting industry is adequate for such systems." The tanks scored direct hits on distant armoured plates.
"Good," said Maladar.
The tanks rumbled forward. "The tanks are also capable of firing on the move with only a moderate reduction in accuracy," the adept continued. The guns fired again. About ten seconds later they fired again. "The fire rate grossly inferior to that of Imperial autocannons, but they fall within your desired specifications."
"Antipersonnel capabilities?" Maladar asked.
"Two thirteen millimeter stub guns."
"It will serve," said Maladar. "Range?"
"Two hundred kilometers between refuelings using promethium fuel."
Maladar nodded. "You have delivered Draglos. In an area outside your field of specialization. You have done the teachings of Mars proud."
"Thank you Inquisitor."
"How have the crew responded?"
"Responded?" the Tech Adept asked in a puzzled tone.
"Never mind," said Maladar. The Adeptus Mechanicus would coax and placate the spirits of machines, but they treated men as automatons. An inquisitor and a general could never make that error.
"Never mind," said Maladar. "It is outside your purview. You have done well. Continue to supervise construction and consider which of the Legacies of Mars can be adapted to local construction capabilities."
"As you command inquisitor."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Maladar stood in front of five hundred men of his legion. They were arrayed in full battle gear. He wore full armour here, his voice augmented by the speaker units in his helmet. "You are the chosen men. Sergeants, officers, and veterans of renown. You are hear to learn a new way of war and then teach it to the rest."
Maladar paused. "Some of you will consider it dishonourable. You have fought the same way for generations. Your fathers, grandfathers and so forth going back more than a thousand years have made war in the same way. This will be new. Strange. Different."
"You will put that aside. Every innovation in the art of war has been strange. Every innovation has been called dishonourable. From the first time man forged bronze into swords to the use of the gun and the fighting machine to atomics and spaceflight. You need only understand a few things."
"There is no higher calling for a warrior than to earn a victory for the autarch or the God-Emperor of Mankind. We are resurrecting old knowledge to do so and it is right and fitting that it be done so. We will reclaim our rightful heritage as humanity with our victory." He paused.
"I will not fail the Emperor and in order to do succeed I must place this world at the autarch's feet. I will succeed and to do so I must overcome the Shazu who outnumber us ten to one and possess atomics. To defeat the Shazu I must make you warriors without peer. You will drill and you will learn and you will pass on what you learn to others. And then we will all crush our enemies into the dust."
Maladar raised his hand. "Officers, reorder your soldiers for drill." He slashed his hand down. "Commence!"
"Impressive," said Maladar. "Can they keep it up?"
"Over thirty hours of use so far. And at higher speeds. No signs of deterioration. We'll test again after this demonstration, but all indicators suggest they should be able to take these stresses without damage."
The tanks halted and rotated their turrets. "The targets are two kilometers away and of the appropriate thickness and sloping to simulate battle wagon armour." The tanks fired. "Optics and laser rangefinders were easy to design and acquire. Supporting industry is adequate for such systems." The tanks scored direct hits on distant armoured plates.
"Good," said Maladar.
The tanks rumbled forward. "The tanks are also capable of firing on the move with only a moderate reduction in accuracy," the adept continued. The guns fired again. About ten seconds later they fired again. "The fire rate grossly inferior to that of Imperial autocannons, but they fall within your desired specifications."
"Antipersonnel capabilities?" Maladar asked.
"Two thirteen millimeter stub guns."
"It will serve," said Maladar. "Range?"
"Two hundred kilometers between refuelings using promethium fuel."
Maladar nodded. "You have delivered Draglos. In an area outside your field of specialization. You have done the teachings of Mars proud."
"Thank you Inquisitor."
"How have the crew responded?"
"Responded?" the Tech Adept asked in a puzzled tone.
"Never mind," said Maladar. The Adeptus Mechanicus would coax and placate the spirits of machines, but they treated men as automatons. An inquisitor and a general could never make that error.
"Never mind," said Maladar. "It is outside your purview. You have done well. Continue to supervise construction and consider which of the Legacies of Mars can be adapted to local construction capabilities."
"As you command inquisitor."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Maladar stood in front of five hundred men of his legion. They were arrayed in full battle gear. He wore full armour here, his voice augmented by the speaker units in his helmet. "You are the chosen men. Sergeants, officers, and veterans of renown. You are hear to learn a new way of war and then teach it to the rest."
Maladar paused. "Some of you will consider it dishonourable. You have fought the same way for generations. Your fathers, grandfathers and so forth going back more than a thousand years have made war in the same way. This will be new. Strange. Different."
"You will put that aside. Every innovation in the art of war has been strange. Every innovation has been called dishonourable. From the first time man forged bronze into swords to the use of the gun and the fighting machine to atomics and spaceflight. You need only understand a few things."
"There is no higher calling for a warrior than to earn a victory for the autarch or the God-Emperor of Mankind. We are resurrecting old knowledge to do so and it is right and fitting that it be done so. We will reclaim our rightful heritage as humanity with our victory." He paused.
"I will not fail the Emperor and in order to do succeed I must place this world at the autarch's feet. I will succeed and to do so I must overcome the Shazu who outnumber us ten to one and possess atomics. To defeat the Shazu I must make you warriors without peer. You will drill and you will learn and you will pass on what you learn to others. And then we will all crush our enemies into the dust."
Maladar raised his hand. "Officers, reorder your soldiers for drill." He slashed his hand down. "Commence!"
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Ford Prefect
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