"Who are they?" Asked Tarik, risking a glance in her direction.
"Sisters of Silence, Witchseekers," spat Abaddon as if it were a curse.
"Shouldn't we be happy to have Blanks around?" Asked Sejanus. He had never met a Sister of Silence, nor fought beside one. Still, the null spaces they were reputed to create didn't sound like such a bad thing.
"Maybe, but it means that someone suspects we will encounter psykers," Aximand said.
The glass doors opened again and booming laughter filled the room, driving those inside to silence. Through the doors came the mechanical figure of Adept Regulus of the Martian Mechanicum. His gold and steel armature still bearing some of his original flesh. Several mechadendrites extended from his back, each ending in a mechanical connection of some sort or another. The Tech-Adepts of Mars believe that flesh is weak, the body being nothing more than housing for information. Many have replaced their fleshy bodies with mechanical ones.
Behind Regulus came Kharri Van Eisen, her small frame covered in Golden robes bearing the symbol of the Adeptus Administratum, charged with overseeing tasks such as Imperial tithes and acquisition of supplies for expeditionary fleets. Her place here was merely in support of future planetary governors or aiding in diplomatic relations with new worlds. Adept Regulus placed a small cog inlaid with the symbol of the Mechanicum, while Van Eisen placed a small stamp used for sealing parchment wax. A personal item placed on the dais registers a desire to be heard and acknowledged.
Two giant forms entered behind Van Eisen, easily recognizable as Space Marines. Maloghust, tall and muscular with rough, angular features walked beside the Warmaster. Maloghust was once a captain before becoming Horus's equerry. He had a natural affinity for politics, extending assistance to the Primarch when needed.
The Warmaster was a full head taller than any of his sons, a product of his gene-seed mixed with the Emperor's own DNA. He easily stepped onto the raised dais as silence filled the room. Everyone acknowledged him with a bow, his Astartes sons - his Space Marines - dropping to one knee.
"Come now my friends, up with you. Enough formalities please," Horus said to the assembly before him. His voice like honey, with a subtle undertone of cold steel.
He rotated slowly around the dais, nodding to everyone, pointing out some with his infectious laugh. The mournival had moved to the shadows of the overhang and Sejanus felt his smile broaden as the Warmaster acknowledged them. As was the norm with these formal briefings, the mournival was back amongst the shadows, present, yet silent. Abaddon stood near the dais, his Luna Wolves coin on the dais, his position as First Captain granting him a position to be heard.
Warmaster Horus was the most perfect sculpture given life, a demi-god in human form. His face chiseled, yet soft. His eyes shone brightly in the light of the strategium, a tempest waiting to be unleashed. Sejanus felt a pleasant and familiar fear shudder through him, something only a Primarch can do.
"Once again my friends, we must face the tedium of briefings. This time I promise to keep you no longer than necessary." Horus's voice easily carried to through the room. Those who had regularly attended briefings laughed at his statement.
"Once again, we have come upon a segment of our brethren, our long lost family who have been separated since Old Night," Horus continued, referring to a time when Warp Storms had separated many planets outside the Sol System. "What do we know about them?"
Lord Commander Varvaras stepped forward. "These people are divided into clans, warring constantly for land. Scans indicate that the grasslands and valleys are populated, while the forests and mountains are largely devoid of humans."
"Their technology is primitive, lord," Regulus said, stepping up. His voice was metallic with a hint of static. "Estimates put them as relying on swords and bows, with only the most powerful warlords having black powder."
"My lord," Kharri Van Eisen spoke, her soft voice high, yet commanding. "I would be honored to lead an envoy to the surface and bring these people into the fold of the Imperium." Her tone indicated she was used to commanding such things, not requesting permission. She was used to being obeyed, not having to obey.
"Of course, Mistress Van Eisen," Horus spoke softly. "I shall let you assemble your team; however you will not go without guard. Lord Commander, would you be so kind as to provide the military escort?"
"Sir," Abaddon said harshly. "With all due respect, the First can handle this."
"Of course they can my son," Horus answered, turning to face him. "Nobody here doubts that. However, you will be kept in reserve, should your strength be needed."
Abaddon was fuming just under the surface; however there was no arguing with the Primarch, his word was law. "As you wish, my lord."
"What do we know about the indigenous life on the planet?" Horus asked.
Regulus stood a bit straighter as he spoke. "Our sensors have picked up large heat signatures coming from many of the mountain peaks. Our suspicion is that large creatures call that area home. The lowlands are slightly different, with many herbivores on the plains. Creatures living in the forests are still largely unknown, only occasionally coming up on thermal scanning," Regulus said. "Our biologis group aboard the
Mortis Probati
is studying what we can from this distance. As we move closer we should get more accurate readings."
"Thank you Magos," Varvaras said. "I shall pass this on to my men."
"Thank you all," Horus added. "Is there any other pertinent information to add at this time?"
The room fell silent, almost deathly so. The Warmaster looked at each person who had placed an item on the dais, receiving no comments as he went. As he scanned the room, he came upon the shadowy faces of the mournival, smiling at them. Sejanus felt an almost uncontrollable urge to bow to his father, though he did not have to at present. Such was the power the Warmaster commanded.
"Very well, let this briefing be adjourned. If any new information comes to us, those who have need will be informed as soon as possible," the Warmaster spoke as the assembly bowed and went about their business. Sejanus and his fellow mournival members met with Abaddon and Warmaster Horus.
"My sons, what do you think about all this?" Horus asked.
"Sir, I have a bad feeling about this place. Somehow I feel like a trap," Aximand said honestly.
"Why do you say that my son?" Horus followed Aximand's gaze, resting on the pair of Silent Sisters. "Is it because of them?"
"Partly so sir."
"Their presence should be reassuring, the protection they bring against psykers and witches may be helpful."
"Of course my lord, still something doesn't feel right about this."
"There is nothing we can't handle captain Aximand, make no mistake," Horus said before turning to Abaddon. "Ezekyle, ready the First, I want them suited and oathed to the moment, ready to deploy at a moment's notice."
"Yes sir," Abaddon replied as he bowed, moving to pass word to his men.
Ardarik Velas was the happiest man aboard the Vengeful Spirit. He had just spoken to Maloghust, the official equerry to the Warmaster, and procured a once in a lifetime chance. The chance to record the party that would bring compliance to another world.
He had received a pass that would grant him access to the gantry above one of the massive launch bays of the Vengeful Spirit. From there, he could capture images of the departing envoy, as well as several high ranking Army aides. His picter in hand, his robust body scuttled past Astartes warriors clad in shining white suits of Mk IV plate.
Ardarik Velas was short, his pot belly evident of the fortune his work had brought him. He had been an imagist for thirty years, working alongside planetary governors and scribes of the Adeptus Administratum. His works usually of an environmental nature, his landscape works featured prominently on Terra. When asked to join the Remebrancer order, he jumped at the chance, much to the dismay of his wife. He remembered how she had pleaded with him not to go, that they would spend the rest of their days apart. He couldn't turn down the opportunity, or the pay, so he had headed off to the Sixty-Third Expedition.
As Ardarik reached the stairwell leading to the gantry, his heart sank. A pair of other remembrancers had also been invited, unbeknownst to him and much to his displeasure. Melus Khol, a shapely young man with a sharp tongue and quick wit stood with Camille Gaines. Her tall, slender body and olive skin stood against the railing, chatting with Khol. His choler began to rise, not because of any romantic pursuits he may fantasize about, but about the fact that he wouldn't be alone.
