The Golden Message

Roderic marched through the halls of The Emperor’s Oblivion, moving as fast as he could without breaking into a run. He passed dozens of battle-brothers, but did not stop to converse with any of them. As he passed one group of Astartes in discussion, one peeled off and walked alongside him.

“Brother Roderic.” Came the deep, slightly coarse voice.

“Brother Eurex, I am just on my way to meet with Lord Theoderaf.” He tried to convey in his tone that he did not have the time for length discussion.

“Good, I hoped to join you there. He is on the command bridge determining where we are headed next.” The two walked quickly, Athanius glancing at Roderic. “So is it good news?”

“I do not wish to get your hopes up, Athanius. It is news, that is all.”

They reached the bridge in no time, no one daring to slow them down. In the centre of the room, standing over several read outs and maps of the segmentum. He was conversing with the golden Custodian standing at his side, who remained helmeted so neither Roderic nor Athanius could make out the conversation. The fleet admiral stood behind him, standing bolt upright even though Theoderaf could not see them, waiting for his orders. Serfs would run up, bring a new piece of information, and then scurry away out of the doors, forming a swarm of data that was constantly added to the plans. Theoderaf looked up as they approached, looking ever so slightly haggard.

“Roderic, Athanius, I assume this is important?”

“My Lord.” Roderic handed over a data slate he had brought with him. “Our information network has heard reports that a backwater world that has yet to be brought to compliance is proclaiming that a golden god came to them.” Theoderaf nearly leapt across the table, walking around it in an instant and taking the slate from Roderic. He scanned it in an instant, and added it to the table. Roderic continued. “Apparently the god conversed with a local leader in private, and then disappeared. The leader is proclaiming to be the prophet of the new god, and the world has fallen under his sway. The world has been designated 47-16.”

Theoderaf took a step back from the table, analysing all of the maps. “Then we head to 47-16.” The admiral saluted and hurried back to their station, barking orders at the serfs as the order went out across the fleet.

Everything was chaos in the streets. Waithira was unable to make out what people were excited chattering about, but the street outside her house was busier than she had ever seen it. People were running around, busily bringing out supplies as the grey clad militia patrolled, though they had their weapons holstered. Everywhere the buildings shimmered with brilliant sunlight, with the decorations that now covered the street catching the light in a sparkling display. Waithira saw a friend of hers in the crowd, who ran up to her smiling ecstatically.

“Waithira! What are you doing, come on! We have to help get things ready!” She grabbed Waithira and pulled her into the crowd, which swallowed them both.

“What’s going on, Wokabi?”

“The Storm King! Word is that he has returned!”

Theoderaf stood in his chambers, finishing putting on his armour as Master of the Forge Visimar aided. Theoderaf could tell from Visimar’s manner that he was displeased with Theoderaf’s decision, but was unwilling to argue the point unasked.

“Out with it, Visimar. You do not think I should go down to the planet alone.”

Visimar courtly nodded, attaching the final shoulder pad. “My Lord, we have seen so many times humans pretend to accept us and then attack. These could be the same, and our scans have identified several large constructs that we have been unable to determine their abilities from this range.”

Theoderaf gave his armour a quick look over and then moved to the door. “Visimar, the Emperor has visited them. I am coming in peace to trade information with them, they will not attack me. Do not worry yourself, this is merely a diplomatic mission.” Theoderaf smiled. “Am I not known for my diplomacy?” Theoderaf chuckled, whilst Visimar snorted slightly and joined Theoderaf at the door.

“Will you not at least bring some weapon?”

“No, I will not be needing a weapon. Now, I am heading to the teleportarion, you are dismissed.” They both left the room and headed in different directions.

-

Militia Commander Kũngũ anxiously tugged at his collar, his other hand lightly brushing against his bolt carbine pistol. He wished he could be allowed to bring more of his militia with him, as he felt exposed as he stood with a single regiment outside the city. He took some reassurance from the two large obsidian constructs that stood guarding the main gate to the city, yet their lack of movement did not fill him with confidence. A sudden flash of light followed by a loud boom echoed from the field in front of them, the militia grabbing their guns and Kũngũ grabbing his pistol. The strangers had at least been trueful in their promise to send only a single figure, but he had not expected the figure to be a giant.

By the Storm King, it’s huge. Kũngũ felt a lump in his throat as he considered how much help his pistol would be against such a creature. Perhaps even the constructs could not stop it...

“Hold, my friend, do not draw your weapon.” Came a strong, calm voice from his side. Kũngũ slowly put the pistol away, looking at Grand Elder Gĩchũki out of the corner of his eye. His attention turned back to the field, and his eyes widened as he saw the golden giant standing there. “It is him.”

---

Theoderaf took a deep breath, identifying the composition of the air and the feel of gravity for a second. He took a step forward, activating his vox-link to The Emperor’s Oblivion’s propaganda speakers. “People of Ishkur, I have been sent by the Storm King. I am Theoderaf, Lord of the Red Eyes and Son of the Storm King, and I have come to talk with you, as you have been chosen by Him.” He raised his arms, as if embracing the city in front of him. “Rejoice, as the Imperium embraces you!” A roar came from the city, a rousing cheer that was echoed by the militia out in front of the city. Theoderaf saw a central figure in the militia begin walking forward.

There you are, Gĩchũki. Theoderaf thought to himself as he began walking forward to meet him. Theoderaf moderated his pace, reaching Gĩchũki just out of bolt carbine range. Grand Elder Gĩchũki looked to be in his late sixties, with a heavily lined face and shoulder-length grey hair. His long, grey scraggly beard was tied into his clothes of office, long crimson robes embellished with gold. The man bowed as he reached Theoderaf, and Theoderaf inclined his head in response.

“You do indeed look like the Storm King, the beard is a little different and the eyes are… striking. Do you have any proof that you are indeed sent by the Storm King?” Grand Elder Gĩchũki stated matter of factly, not showing any fear at the giant twice his size in front of him. Theoderaf was taken aback by this, though kept a straight face. He reached up to his armour and removed a talisman that was hanging around his armour. He reached down and showed it to Gĩchũki, the golden eagle with rubies embedded glowing in the sunlight.

“This was given to be by my father when he told me I was ready to take command of my legion. It is one of my most cherished gifts, as it is a symbol of his role for me, to be his wrath.” Gĩchũki examined the talisman, and smiled.

“Theoderaf, it is an honour to meet with the son of the Storm King. We welcome you to Ishkur.”

Waithira felt the near intolerable crush of the crowd, the constant jostling for a better view of the street and the occasional cry of a person looking their balance and falling to the ground. The trumpets of the militia had been blaring for over an hour now, and Waithira was starting to worry about the Storm King deciding to take a different route through the city. A cry, far louder than any that had happened yet, went out, coming from the far end of the street. Waithira jumped upwards to see what was happening, and caught a glimpse of gold. She joined in the shouting, joy overwhelming her as she saw her god walking towards her. The golden figure walked with Grand Elder Gĩchũki, with militia lining the route making sure the crowd did not spill over. It took at least 20 minutes for the pair near enough to Waithira for her to make out any firm details of the figures. The energy of the crowd was reaching a fever pitch, as everyone fought to gain the attention of the god, shouting prayers and praises and holding up their religious iconography. The god seemed unaffected by it all, watching the crowds with a steely look on his face and seemingly in conversation with the Grand Elder. Waithira felt herself begin to cry, both from jubilation and extreme sadness, that this would be as close as she would ever get to her god and that in a few seconds he would move forward without her. The god’s sweep of the crowds reached her, and for a split second his red eyes locked with hers.

''The Storm King, himself. I...''

Waithira awoke in her room, Wokabi fanning her. She didn’t remember getting there, and the bruises on her arms and legs all aching.

“How did I get here?” She asked weakly.

Wokabi gave her a sympathetic smile. “You fainted, I had to drag you out of there. Did the heat get to you?”

Waithira wistfully remembered the last few moments of the parade. “No, He noticed me.”

Theoderaf crouched down, squeezing through the doorway of Gĩchũki’s private chamber. The amount of eagle iconography that covered the room reminded Theoderaf of home, stone eagle busts and engravings on columns around the outside of the room. Gĩchũki moved to try and find a chair sturdy enough to hold Theoderaf’s weight. The furniture was rather sparse, a lavish carpet on the floor with the pattern of Gĩchũki talking with the Emperor woven into it and a plush sofa, which Theoderaf judged he would probably break under his weight. Gĩchũki could not find anything, offering Theoderaf a cushion.

“I will remain standing, thank you.” Rumbled Theoderaf.

Gĩchũki sat on the sofa, motioning for a servant to bring them some refreshment. “So, Lord Theoderaf, you have yet to explain why you are here. The Storm King did not inform me that he would send messengers.”

“The Storm King appeared to you several months ago, correct? What did he tell you?”

Gĩchũki waited until his servant brought the drinks, took a long gulp and wiped his face with a damp towel. “Yes, he appeared several months ago, wreathed in flame and burning with divinity. I was terrified, and bowed before him. His voice echoed like a thousand voices all speaking at once, the force of it knocking me back.” Gĩchũki took another drink. “How come you do not know what He said? Can you not ask Him yourself?”

Theoderaf looked rather uncomfortable, his eyes boring into Gĩchũki and the slightest red glow growing in his eyes. Gĩchũki could not help but sink into the sofa, the room suddenly feeling hotter and more claustrophobic. “He is occupied at the moment, and I wished to investigate whether you truly spoke to Him or you are a charlatan peddling false promises.”

Gĩchũki stammered “I… I am telling the truth, he a...appeared to me. He told me that he needed the help of humanity, that humanity would need to be strong until he can return. He… he told me that people need not worry, that he would return and humanity would be saved.”

Relief flooded Theoderaf, his face calming and he downed his drink in one gulp. The servant hurried forward to refill the drink, and Theoderaf passed him his glass.

Ermanaric studied the map of the world for the fourteenth time, even though he did not need to due to his perfect memory. Athanius grunted and walked across the bridge to join him, the legion serfs repeating their checks whilst trying not to seem idle.

“Ermanaric, the maps have not changed, there is no need to keep checking them.” On the last word, Athanius glared at him, and Ermanaric reluctantly turned away from the display. His eyes were subtly glowing a dark red, darker than the others within the legion and with more lines under his than most.

“I know, Captain. I have served alongside Theoderaf for almost two centuries, but something about this world feels off.” Ermanaric instinctively moved his hand to the eagle on his chest. He walked over to the viewing platform, moving out of earshot from the legion serfs. Athanius followed him and they both stared out at Ishkur. “Father’s attitude of late is unlike anything I have seen, he is desperate for good news.” Ermanaric whispered.

Athanius stared at him impassively. “We all greatly anticipate the Emperor’s forthcoming return, and we shall be the ones to find Him. We are the ones with the dedication and belief to do it. I hope your faith is not beginning to wane, Ansis.”

“Of course not, Eurex. Do not try to shame me, you have noticed that Father is more haggard than usual, less well-shaved, more likely to lash out and jump at scraps of information. We need to help him.”

Athanius’ eyes grew in brightness, his face tightening into a scowl. “We will help Father by following his commands, and he commands us to find the Emperor. There is no other way.”

--- [[Category:G]]