MLP 30K: Rebel Dawn

Armored footfalls in synchronous lockstep echo down the polished marble hall. The pair of figures pass by the leering terminator wardens, themselves stationed in twos lining the hallway beneath the enormous wolfs head plaque dominating the narrow corridor. Twenty pairs of ruby red eyes cautiously leer at the duo of demi-gods that walk briskly to the enormous ceramite blast doors separating the bridge from the rest of the warship. While the blood stains and burn marks were gone, the menace still lingers in the halls of the Vengeful Spirit. The mistakes and optimism of yesteryear have long since fled.

A pair of hulking onyx Justarian warriors stand on either side of the blast door, not giving a centimeter as the pair of cloaked individuals approach. Their glittering halberds crackle with pulses of dim blue light, electric bolts flickering across the naked blades, a new and intimidating weapon heralding back to archaic glory.

One of the two cloaked figures flashes a silver disc, and with a silent nod, the Justarian terminators part for them as the door yawns open. The din of the command bridge assaults the pair, and even the presence of the demi-gods does little to quiet the noise of hundreds of fleet officers and servitors that go about their routines.

The pair both take in the tiered decks of the Vengeful Spirit's massive bridge, but another sound steals that rhythmic hubbubs sound. Voices like thunder are raised through the bridge, and the mortal crew keep their heads down as the lords of the legion gather.

They were late.

“I am not saying that we should not be seeking vengeance, we all know that a wolf without fangs is no wolf at all. I'm saying that we have no proof of wrongdoing by anyone except Erebus. We can not assume evidence, and we can not prosecute actions that will bring us into conflict with another legion. It is unthinkable. We should be opening up channels with Terra, the Sigilite's informants doubtlessly will be better prepared for this than us.”

“Your caution treads the line next to cowardice, Iacton.” A voice rumbles with a low basal growl. “We should be recalling the entire legion and going straight for Colchis!”

The duo of figures round the corner, staring up at the strategium where even from the lower decks, they could tell it was packed. Dozens of armored forms gather by the rails normally overlooking every instance of the bridge's operations, but each face inwards instead.

“And how precisely are we going to bring Erebus to account?” Iacton Qruze's voice still keeps its soft grace, never rising to the Cthonic barbs and snarls though he and his opposite each spoke the same language. “Lorgar has already denied that the seventeenth had any knowledge of the attack-”

“It's still his damned legion! He's responsible whether he likes it or not, and we're justified in taking our due if need be!” Abaddon's voice rises to a roar. A litany of voices rise in support, a few familiar ones mingling with others.

A low, guttural growl breaks the sound of agreement. “My brother's leash has been loosened for quite some time, but I will not hesitate to snap it taut if need be.” Horus's tired voice frames the sound of the two officers footsteps up the marble staircase leading up to the strategium. “Russ did the same to Angron at Ghenna, Gulliman to Lorgar at Khur. But these were sanctioned by the Emperor, and we have been told-” There's the snap of fingers.

“Further investigation of the situation is permitted, though censure may not be enacted without direct order of the Council of Terra.” The signals master continues the sentence as if just replacing the Lupercal's voice with his own, without so much as a gap.

“And thus we come to an impasse.” Horus sighs, “Abaddon's plan may well work, and those are not my father's words: his sigil appears nowhere in these orders. It comes from Valdor and the master of the Administratum. Even though my father is silent on the matter, we would face some reprisals. Though, it may well be worth it to snub his glorified page boy.” It gets more than a few derisive laughs.

The pair of officers reach the summit, and after a few glances back by a mass of line officers, the two are allowed entry to the inner ranks.

Abaddon slams his gauntlet on the hololithic projector, having occupied the center of the floor with dozens of other field commanders. The other three members of the mourneval stay at the foot of the raised dais surrounding the Lupercal's throne. “We're being hamstrung by scriveners and book keepers!" he shoves off the projector and turns, appealing to the astartes crowding around the perimeter of the room, "Who are they to question us?! Damn the consequences; we should take this to them with a blade, not to Terra with a missive! They can ignore a letter, but they damned well can't ignore our blade at their throat!” Again, calls of agreement come from the packs of Cthonic warriors crowded around the strategium's outer ring, crowding the immense upper deck of the flagship as a misty veil of red-lit stars pass them by in the silent void.

Horus's hooded glare rises from his imperious stare at the procession, and notes the two new arrivals. He forms a weak grin, beckoning them with a single gesture without ever rising from the throne. “Ah, Marr and Ahazzar, just who I wanted to see. Any news, my faithful Bloodhounds?”

Tybalt Marr slips into the inner circle, feeling the eyes of more than a hundred legion officers follow him. He swallows once, approaching the center as Abaddon's sanguine pallor melts into a glow of vicious anticipation. Marr pushes the edge of his indigo synthskin cloak aside, the crescent moon shimmering on its inner weave as he places a data spike into the hololith receptor.

“Less than I'd like.”

A detailed map of the Golgotha Wastes flares into wire-framed brilliance, bathing the Lupercal's court in a sharp viridian glow.

“The Hand of Fate is a lone ship but it is fast. Fire was exchanged between it and the Wolf of Cthonia near Lastratii, forcing our pursuit frigate to break off. By the time the Lupercal Pursuivant and Judicature arrived it had already slipped away, no doubt further into the wastes. We were harried by several Orkish raiders and lost them in the Maelstrom nebula's northern spiral arm. All indications are that they are not fleeing towards Colchis or even Anvillus, but rimward. We can't derive anything from their zig-zag course, and neither were our auguries or astropaths were able to discern a direction. It's like they simply disappeared.”

His crimson cloaked companion nods, offering a clipped nod to the Lupercal in fealty. The wiry north Afrik commander's hooded eyes traverses the familiar mass of warriors, “My Lord Lupercal, we are at a distinct disadvantage in speed, even if we outnumbered Erebus in both ships and displacement. The Orkish raiders were successfully dispatched, but we lost the Hand of Fate in the nebulae. He could be almost anywhere by now. There is little to do but keep a vigil, after all, there are precious few of the Cardinal-class heavy cruisers at the moment.”

“It's understandable, but not excusable.” Horus growls, looking back and forth between Marr and his slightly shorter accomplice. “Marshal, I will not pretend to be apathetic in this, he was within your grasp.” The abash warrior bows his head. “Look at me-” the marshal's head snaps up and he barely manages to hold the Lupercal's golden gaze. “I will not let this stand. Your battalion will continue the hunt with the Wolf of Cthonia, and you will not return to the fold until you find the Hand of Fate or Erebus himself. I will accept only his head or his hide, nothing less, unless I deem it prudent. You will continue into the Golgotha wastes as a task force, do you understand?”

“Yes, lord.” The Marshal bows his head again and strikes his chest with a clenched fist before taking a step back, quickly retreating to the outer circle of legion commanders.

Horus looks over Marr, sparing Abaddon and Aximand a glance each before nodding and making a lethargic gesture for Marr to approach. “It was a difficult task but I was expecting that my new envoy could manage it.”

Seeing the blink of surprise and confusion cross Marr's face, then the rest of the mourneval, save Torgaddon who stands with one foot propped on a dais with his plumed helmet on his knee.

“It is not a time of congratulations, this is a time for action, Captain Marr.” Horus waves him over to his left to a spot just a little further out than Torgaddon and Loken.

“So, what are we to do about this now, Commander?” Luc Sedirae pips up, leaning on the railing near the stairwell right next to Targost, the grizzled assault captain looks worse for wear as his skeletal bionic hand clutches at the rail. “Seems we have lots of opportunities.” he makes a whirling gesture at the wireframe hololith projection. “Help Ahazaar's 'illustrious' Cerberus battalion in clearing out a few greenskins in Golgotha, or do we finally answer the summons and head into the Auritian hornets nest?” Despite the mocking derision to his comrades second-rate task force, Sedirae's wolfish grin morphs into the sickly smile of a bloodthirsty shark.

“While entirely possible, my brothers are both dealing with the Auritian situation. Maloghurst, how long will it take to deploy the fleet and arrive in the Auritian Hegemony?” Horus looks to his equerry.

Maloghurst the Twisted looks up, hand still on his walking cane, breaths hissing out through a rebreather mask over his scarred face. “Eleven weeks, three days. Time enough that Fulgrim and Angron may well have the matter resolved.”

But the Lupercal slowly pans his gaze to Garviel Loken, the steadfast 10th company captain on his left next to Tarik. “And what would you say, Garviel?”

Sensing his master's gaze on him, Loken focuses squarely on the hololith display as it flashes from Golgotha to a bright swirling star cluster. A complex miasma of red and green arrows overlaying data points, sparkle to life in a flickering ribbon across the star systems. “Sir, if I had to guess, I'd say that the forces arrayed are enough to handle the entirety of the Auritian operation. It may take time, potentially several months, but our presence may well represent a waste of time and resources that I feel we could use elsewhere.”

“Like parading around the boundaries of pacified space?” Abaddon interjects. “We're headed away from Colchis, we're headed away from Davin, we're headed away from Erebus, so where are we headed too?!” The First Captain shoots a quick overt look of irritation at Horus himself, though Aximand at Horus's side merely wrinkles his nose and elevates his gaze.

Sensing no support, but hearing no argument against him, the First Captain looks around the circle of officers as he repeatedly clenches his hand into a tight fist, “What are we doing? Davin is dead-”

“Which we are certain to be called to account for.” Iacton Qruze airily replies from only a few feet away, never meeting the First Captain's steely glare.

“Don't you start that again, Iacton! If we did nothing, we're weak. If we did something, we overstep our bounds. We were damned either way, but when they try to bring us to our knees then we'll cut theirs out from under them. Is that not right, Half-heard?” He turns, using his size to stalk up, chest to chest with the elderly warrior.

But the wispy haired elder turns his weathered face up, peering at Abaddon like a disappointed school teacher. “If we act without clarity, we act without knowing how they can strike us. After all, if more than Erebus were involved, then we may be presenting them more opportunity to strike.”

“Harden our fleets, be ready for any enemy. Any. Enemy. Iacton.” Abaddon points around the room, “We know Erebus, so now we know what to look for. What he did was impossible, so something happened... obviously something happened!”

Serghar Targost takes that opportunity to unclasps the rail and push himself forward into the spotlight, “Yes, and at this point, we don't know who is involved or how far it goes. That means we should be wary of all outside influence. From any source. I say we should question our prisoner more thoroughly, extract what we need, then we can perhaps trace this back to some genesis. All of this has the mark of a Xeno power-play. It wouldn't surprise me if this is the start to a second Rangdan. Commander,” Targost looks up to Horus, approaching a few more feet to stand out in the open of the round, bathed in a viridian glow. “I implore you, strike the enemy now without mercy and ignore the petty mumbled complaints about Davin. This is obviously trickery, and I'd bet my rank that Xenos are involved. We should not be bound, or held, or counselled by anyone outside the legion.”

“This edges close to treason, Serghar.” Iacton mutters darkly, getting a few scoffs from other Cthonic commanders.

“It's true. That's insubordination, Targost." Loken's voice enters the rapidly degenerating arena of voices, "Valdor may be pompous, but he is the voice of the Emperor, beloved by all. Thus, what Valdor says is law.”

“Valdor is a lap dog, Horus said it himself, there's no insignia of the Emperor anywhere near that communique.” Abaddon snorts like a bull before turning to Horus, “Ignore him.”

Aximand picks up the cry, talking over Iacton who takes a step towards Targost, “My lord Commander, the Emperor would surely understand our plight when it's explained to him. But we may lose Erebus's trail if we don't act swiftly.”

“We'll look like we're flailing around in the dark, Little Horus. It'll be a pretty pathetic sight when someone flicks on the lights and finds we're fighting imaginary ghosts. And that's what'll happen if we set off and don't even know where we're headed.” Torgaddon shrugs, getting a low growl in reply from his fellow mourneval captain.

Marr stays silent, shooting a glance over towards Horus who slumps back further in his chair as the argument erupts into a chorus of competing voices drawing lines.

The Warmaster was still a resplendent figure, bedecked in his white ceremonial armor newly fixed with lapping powder and polished to a pearlescent gleam. His charcoal rogarou pelt atop him still seemed to gaze over the legion's officers through its cut glass eyes. But for all the world, Horus Lupercal looked tired. For 'the Lord of Man who conquered death' that was proclaimed in the months after Davin, he was far from his effervescent self.

Marr catches the slight up twist of his lips as he mouths a single sentence, 'Luna'.

But something else pricks the captain's ears; the voice of Serghar Targost, though he keyed in on just one word, “-horse, I've never heard something so damned ridiculous! It's part of this, all of it!”

“And you are absolutely sure of that, more sure than the Commander?” Iacton's voice barely rises to an audible level over the din.

“Enough.” Horus's stern rumbles like a landslide over the assembly, silencing them all even if it wasn't some predatory roar. The Lupercal merely massages his eyelids and slowly draws in a steady breath, though Marr was sure he caught a nearly imperceptible twitch as Horus stretched his left shoulder.

“-Because you have no stomach for it anymore, Tarik!” Sedirae's trailing shout is the last thing that drifts out over the Lupercal's court. It does draw the most stares from the others, as well. But Torgaddon just points a finger at his own chest, making a face that asked 'who, me?' then glances back at Horus with a dismissive shrug.

“This is getting us nowhere.” Horus grumbles, slowly rising from his throne, “We are already embarked on an important journey, and I will not be dissuaded by Erebus. One man is not worth a legion-”

“Then let me find and kill him.” Abaddon implores, “If not for us, then for Vaddon, for Heskar, and for the hundreds of others of us that he had murdered.”

“Haven't you killed enough to sate your bloodlust, Ezekyle?” Loken looks across the dais, “See sense: we can't kill him if we don't know where he is, and splitting a whole legion up isn't a good use of our resources. A thousand troops here, five hundred there, spread over how many segmentum? It's just not feasible when we're talking about fighting 'them'.” Loken's voice did choke audibly when he had to mention their foe, unable to give life to the unnatural act of trying to kill another astartes.

“So you'd let him get away?” Sedirae spits back from across the round, only to get a sharp glare from Horus as he steps down onto the strategium round.

“We're not forgetting anyone." The primarch begins, voice booming across the assembly, "I am not forgetting anyone. But Garviel and Iacton are right, we need a plan and we need a target. We cannot flail madly in the dark, and likewise, one man could never have pulled this plan from thin air. No, there's something more to this. Something more, foul. We are headed to a destination to find answers, and I will not say what it is. It's not that I distrust you,” Horus's gaze falls upon the wrathful face of Abaddon, his melancholic son Aximand, then the loyal and personable Loken and Torgaddon, “I have faith and trust in you, all. I trust you more than I trust these walls, and unlike my father, my little secrets aren't done in a shady back lab guarded by a simpering golden retriever.”

The image at least brings a few suppressed cackles from the assembly, and even a sardonic grin from Abaddon.

“I've surrounded myself with true wolves. And I could not be any more proud of you, my sons.” The prideful grins that mark each and every one of the legion officers was evident. At least, all but one. Horus crosses over to the far group, clasping a hand on the chastened marshal that had arrived with Marr, “Even you.” getting a thankful, if perhaps pained, smile from the war leader.

“No,” Horus continues, “I'm not keeping anything back from you because I lack trust in my sons, but because something has bothered me about this place." The primarch glances errantly around the strategium, glimpsing into the darkened corners far above, even to the stanchions holding the glasteel panes that overlooked the void. Horus's voice slips to a stage whisper, something meant for all his officers though framed more like a monologue, "Something makes me uneasy, yet, I cannot put my finger on it. But I will, in time. And I'm sure Erebus is to blame.”

The Lupercal wanders back into the ground, hands behind his back. “We need answers. We need allies in the days to come. And we need a plan. Fortunately, we will have them. But it will take time for everything to fall into place. But it shall, and we will have an end to it.”

“Commander,” The master of signals looks up, a shock of emerging confusion written across his pale Terran features. “We have a priority message for you, relayed from Terra.”

The Lupercal sighs, looking up before giving the astartes a shallow nod, “Go on.”

“It's an edict of censure,” the officer starts, seeing Horus's nod of approval, “condemning Magnus.”

Horus spins on his heels, surging across the round as swift as a cobra to snatch the signals officer by the gorget. With an effortless heave, the Terran is pulled upwards, dangling a full half a meter above the deck as he's brought practically nose to nose with the primarch. Horus's manic golden eyes blaze with a flickering intensity as he bares his teeth.

“Say that again.”