NationStates Jolt Archive

Situation Report 10.1
We have taken refuge in a nearby debris field in the hopes that the electromagnetic field emitted by the derelicts will mask our presence while we conduct surveys of this sector. As we are far from the Coruc-Tel system and, by proxy, reinforcements, it is the opinion of the ship's tactical officer that the use of subtlety is required. This is still largely unknown space. Even the old Empire's star charts did not document this sector. It is my hope that the salvaging of this debris field, along with the surveys being conducted by our scouts, will aid our people as we begin our great journey.

***

Personal Log
Though my colleagues may disagree with me about this region's significance, I believe that we may be on to something. An old trader has informed us of a world seemingly made of black stone, with strange glyphs visible from space. Many traders avoid the world, for fear of destruction. Unfortunately, this was all the information we could get out of him, even with the immense bounty paid. It is my opinion that this may be one of the markers of Qwar-Jet, left behind to guide His chosen. I know the military tends to look down on letting faith get in the way of duty, but I cannot shake the feeling that what I am doing is right. History may see me as a crazy old spacer, but if this find can lead our people to their destiny, then I will risk all to get there first.


Karen grit her teeth as another chunk of metal bounced off the SENTINEL shields of the Purifying Flame and cut her communications before the foreman could reprimand the Workbee crew that had let it slip.

Three weeks, she thought, groaning at her chronometer. We've been out here three Qwardamn weeks, and still no sign of the marker.

As if reading her mind, the image of a chiseled young man appeared at her side.

"The latest salvage reports are coming in. No new techs to speak of, but the alloy out here is very dense. Our holds are almost full."

"Thanks, Skeelan. Tell me when the latest patrol reports get here. I'm going to take a nap."

The holographic image of Skeelan, the Flame's primary A.I., bowed and wavered from sight.

---

Captain Karen Al Samir groaned as the liquid steel voice of her holographic companion coaxed her from sleep.

"What is it, Skeelan?"

"Sir, you may want to look at this."

Karen lazily rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ran a hand over her close-cut hair before focusing on what was now hovering a few meters in front of her. The image caused her to bolt upright in her command seat.

It was a planet, jet-black and carved with blazing sigils that were visible even from the high altitude from which the image was taken.

"What..."

"It was reported back to us from one of our scout patrols not two minutes ago. They are returning at maximum burn now. Estimated time to arrival is three hours."

"I want a full report, Skeel. Set a course the moment they're aboard. We may have just found what we're looking for."


Three hours and fifteen minutes later, the five-and-a-half kilometer command vessel Purifying Flame burst into existence on the outskirts of the system, shuddering from the deceleration from Slipstream for mere moments before the rest of her fleet appeared beside her in perfect formation.

It was time to find a god.

The world pulsed and crackled with barely contained energy, the seething power of the warp. Long ago, the Chronosians had come here, carving the worlds into their current shapes, twisting them with immense runic patterns to form the Glyph Worlds, edifices to the Gods, given over utterly to a power of Chaos.

The world which the fleet now approached was the Glyph World of Tzeentch, home to Severino, Primarch of the Black Fist. Star Forts hovered about it, immense fortress-structures manned by his faithful, edifices of Chronosian might, now driven mad by the wailing of sensor arrays and alarms.

Weapons were readied, troop deployments called up as the surface was alerted. Marines, cultists, pilgrims, all readied for the possiblity of war, all canted their faith to the sky. The Changer was with them, and they would not be denied their victory, nor their worship.

Severino sat idle, his eyes drifting over the glorious surface of his world. Runes burned at his senses, incense drifted upon the air, blazing in censers carried by servo-skulls or blazing figments of warp-form. Sigils seemed to dance and twist in the air, bulging outwards into the seeming shape of eyes to percieve the world. A smile tugged lightly at the immense Primarch's lips, a contented smirk as he leant into his ornately carved and crackling force staff.

"Let them come..." He snarled lightly, tightening his grip about the intricately marked metal. "Let them come, and know the wrath of Chaos."

The Purifying Flame and her fleet continued to close, beginning to spread out into a disjointed sphere formation with a battlecruiser at its head.

"Ships detected, reading weapons-grade energy spikes. Unknown classification. Suggest switch to condition one throughout the fleet."

"Agreed. Set condition one."

"Condition one set, Captain."

The lights of the holotank dimmed, giving Captain Al Samir a clearer view of the system floating around her. Pinpricks of red light dotted the orbit of the marker world. Many were already moving rapidly to and from the surface. Troop transports, no doubt.

Her neural lace screamed as information regarding the Flame's own marine compliment, now beginning to awake from cryo, was uploaded into her mind instantly. She hoped she did not have to use them.

"Skeelan, pull up the database of ancient Forerunner language. Prepare a message."

"Database ready. You may begin, Captain," whispered the A.I. in her ear. He was obviously preparing the fleet for whatever was to come - a monumentous task even for his impressive processing power.

Attention, Keepers of the Marker, Guardians of the Lord Qwar-Jet. We come as pilgrims seeking the knowledge of the Trinity. We ask your passage.

Of course, in the Forerunner language, it sounded like little more than...

Tténtionäth, Éeperscé foën hëten Árcërmï, Uärdiansgé foén héten Ordló Qwar-Jet. Ewen ómecä säen ilgrimspú ëëcingsá heten nówlédgecú foén hëten Rinitytä. Ëwën scáen óuryë ässägëpë.

...and it was transmitted on all known frequencies with a synthetically-generated deep bass voice.

((Thusly bumped))

Severino smirked lightly, almost bemused by the turn of events. Here was a foreign fleet, waltzing into Imperial territory and thinking that this, his masterpiece, this canvas upon which he had crafted a glorious edifice for the worship of the Gods, was some beacon...Some sign, calling from beyond time. The xeno tongue that came next seemed to grate against his formidible psyche, an abomination upon language...

He rose, tapping his staff against the ground, almost impatient before he finally began to speak, carrying his orders to his men. Hold all weapons fire, for now. He chuckled lightly, feeling utterly fascinated by the entire situation. How could they be such fools?

Foreign vessels. You trespass upon the domain of the Chronosian Imperium, god-blessed and touched by the Warp. To venture further is to enter deeper into our space.

By all means we will enlighten you, heathens. But do not think that you can trespass without identifying yourselves and what you seek...

I am Severino, Primarch of the Imperium, a servant of the divine Emperor Remiel. Do not risk our wrath by displeasing us so carelessly.

The Captain simply blinked as the message, not in the ancient tongue but in an easily translated form of Common, assaulted her ears.

Who were these heathens, and how dare they defile the work of the Gods.

The green light blinking, indicating that Skeelan was waiting for her to record her response, snapped her from her contemplations.

This is the Intergalactic Feazanthian Vessel Purifying Flame to Chronosian Imperium. We are explorers on a mission of peace, and have come to seek the knowledge of the God of War. The temples of Qwaar-Jet shall open to the worthy, and we shall pass. Are you the Keepers of the Three?

We are the Chronosians. We are the sons of Mankind, the truest warriors of the glorious Imperium. We are the servants of the Four, the great powers of Chaos. These worlds are ours by right, created by us with the blessings of the divine.

I think you find yourselves lost, little ones. These worlds belong to Chaos.

Severino laughed. This was almost too delicious. Here they came in search of religious enlightenment, and found the glories of Chaos merely waiting for them, whispering in the cold void.

What fortuitous circumstance, to deliver them so....

"Heresy..."

The word was like poison on the Captain's lips. How DARE they! To proclaim that the marker of Qwaar-Jet was created by them. Mere mortals! Unaware of the Trinity and the Prophecy of Sajuuk!

An image of a man, salt and pepper dotting his hair and mustache, appeared to Al Samir's right.

"Captain, that last transmission was heard throughout the fleet. We must destroy these heathens!"

Another image appeared above her. The Cleesan's young captain.

"The Admiral would never agree to us eliminating these heretics, no matter how great their sin! We cannot plunge the Dominion into war when we are so close to our goal!"

"But these infidels bar our way to the Marker," retorted the older captain. "Let us fire the siege cannon and be done with them!"

"I...have another idea," came the sly voice of a third captain, leading the third Firelance squadron assigned to the Flame's fleet. "These...Chronosians, whatever they might be, surely have done extensive surveys of the Marker." His words flowed like liquid silk, betraying his aristocratic upbringing amongst the inner planets of the Dominion. "Those stations, in orbit around the planet. They would have the records we need. We can get our information without firing a shot."

"A bold plan, Seran," said Al Samir. "But surely they would notice an Infiltrator squad on board?"

"Why kill an enemy to take his credits, when one can simply slip them from his jacket while shaking his hand?"

"A trick?" asked the old captain, skeptically.

"A diversion." stated the aristocrat. "The Purifying Flame has a Gifted on board, does it not?"

"Yes," said Al Samir. "Daniel-1014, of the Acolytes of Qwaar-Jet."

"Daniel-1014," mused the aristocrat. "I know his record. He tested very high amongst all three of the temples, did he not?"

"Aye, but highest amongst the Lord Qwaar-Jet's," said the Cleesan's captain.

"His armor. It could carry one of our intrusion A.I.s into the enemy vessel. A simple touch on a computer console. A slip of the foot. That is all we would need to get the information we seek, and these fools would be none the wiser. Let the Admiral send his fleet to burn them later."

"Let it be done, then," said Al Samir with a tone of finality to her voice. I shall make the transmission. All weapons to standby, arrange the fleet in a formation similar to noncom, but remain at combat stations."

The various captains nodded, and their images winked out of existence.

Attention, Chronosian Imperium. This is Captain Karen Al Samir of the Purifying Flame, commander of this fleet. We greet you on behalf of the Dominion of Feazanthia, and request an audience with your leadership in this sector. May the Gods smile upon you.

*coughs and kicks it up stealthily*

The Gods already smile upon their faithful, Captain. Their blessings are upon us every day, every moment that passes upon this world and its brothers are offered to them.

You stand before a living altar, Captain. A world consecreated to the Changer of Ways, almighty Tzeentch-

The word was anathema in itself, a hissing twisted name that spoke of the warp and damnation. Already the crew could hear something scratching at the edges of the signal, at the corners of the message, a maddening whisper that spoke in a thousand voices of ruination and debasement.

I am the leadership in this sector, Brother-Primarch of the Emperor himself, blessed with the touch of the Architect of Fate. You may dock with one of the Star Forts, Captain. I shall expect you and your men there presently.

Goodbye.

The message ended, leaving Severino to close his hands together, smirking almost impishly.

They wanted to play did they?

"Assemble my honor guard...I have a meeting to attend." He hissed to the servants that swiftly scuttled from his chambers.

Vapor wafted around his face. A spot on his arm burned like the fires of Kharak.

"Sorry for the quick thaw, mate. Things getting a bit hairy out there. We'll have ya ready ta go in a sec."

Techs. He was being awakened. Something had happened.

"Chief," it was the Captain. His Jak'sa. "Get your suit on. We have a party to attend."

---

The marine frigate launched from the Purifying Flame, initiating a full burn towards the designated orbital installation. Aboard sat Captain Al Samir, in her full dress uniform. To her side was Master Chief Petty Officer Daniel-1014, fully armored and standing despite the hard acceleration of the frigate.

<You really should sit down, you know,> said the cool, feminine voice in his head.
I know what I am doing, he replied.

And so the frigate began engaging its magnetic locks to the Star Fort's docking ports, and as the seemingly stagnant air of the Chronosian fortress assaulted the Jak'sa's nose, Daniel tensed. His metal-covered hand brushed the hilt of his plasma blade emitter instinctively.

<Act natural. We don't want these guys pissed off at us.>
I am.