This Won't End Well

[StrangerOrders]

Chapter One: Prologue I​

I cannot tell you who I was.

His name, if indeed a 'him' it was, is lost to me.

But he had lived a fine life by most reckonings, acquiring every mandated achievement his society had ordained as fitting of a 'life well lived'. He had sought and acquired position, a mate and a legacy. Not out of any real desire or ambition, but from an unbending certainty that he must meet the expectations laid out before him and the ability to do so.

And then he died.

I died.

Death had come peacefully enough and with no just regrets to speak of, for the things I had been missing had been willingly sacrificed, but I had been expecting an end when my eyes had closed for the last time.

That was the way of things, humans were meant to grow lined and grey. To gain and lose loved ones, then they themselves passed of some malady or another. I had no reason to think it would be different for me. I had neared a century of life, enough to have passed any reasonable desire or expectation of yet more time.

I had not predicted the pain however.

Yes, it was in that pain that the life I had lived had become indistinct and faded in the way that the wear of eons makes a page grow weathered and brittle.

Even the memory of that pain became brittle, whether from being repressed or from the cannibalization of its own memory. It still escapes me whenever I try to think of it, a lick of destructive fire stroking my consciousness until it jerks back like a child might pull their hand away from the fire.

But from the first, I remember my surprise at what came next.

As I said, one tends to expect an end or perhaps some sort of verdict at their death.

Most do not expect their eyes to open again.

I had certainly not been expecting my eyes to snap open after my mind and soul had been ravaged and twisted out of shape.

Nor for the body that bore those eyes to be something so far from what I had once been.

Strangest was that my ignorance was incomplete, I was uncomfortably sure I knew what I was in fact.

Normally that revelation coupled with my mind frantically trying to adapt to its new circumstances would have been sufficient to drive anyone into a fit of panic.

But it did not come.

Instead, I felt an icy curiosity.

Suppressed fear reaction, I mused.

I felt distress only as a dull echo which faded away as quickly as it had come.

Where I should have been crying or screaming, I could only sit there with an idle curiosity.

"Hmm", The voice that came from my lips registered as distinctly unfamiliar to me. "Where am I?"

The lighting was bad enough that under normal circumstances I would be quite blind. But my new eyes rapidly compensated for the lack of light, registering several spectra simultaneously, something I had only ever seen through goggles before.

It was quite bizarre really, but like everything else I felt it quenched to a mild surprise at most.

I guessed that I 'knew no fear’ so to speak because I still felt everything else quite well; I felt confused, surprised and curious well enough after all.

I looked down at my enormous, bizarrely proportionate hands and let out a breath which almost immediately made me feel the beat of a second heart while the expulsion of air caused me register the oddity of the respiration within my chest.

One hand ran down the tough skin of my chest, fingers pressing to feel the movement of plates over stretched skin where one should have felt the soft give of the flesh between ribs.

It might have been a confirmation bias, but the changes I registered resonated with something in my mind.

The instinct felt correct, even if why that particular strand of knowledge alone had survived where everything else had become hazy was an irksome question.

There could be little doubt, I was stuck inside of a Space Marine. A name which I supposed would mean an assortment of different things to the people that I had once known.

To me though, it meant the modified supersoldiers of a version of humanity divorced from sanity and reason.

Which, if true, unfortunately meant that I stuck in one of the most horrible places one could find themselves in.

The twisted reality known as Warhammer 40,000.

A world of screaming gods, twisting realms of abomination and forgotten fits of madness.

:cuss. I observed.

Other possibilities were still possible, that I was in some sort of fevered death-dream or in some circumstances that merely bore some arcane resemblance to that accursed universe.

But no narrative fit as well as the first had.

A Space Marine, an Astartes.

But something in the back of my still unwinding and re-knitting mind suggested that I had not quite hit the nail on the head..

No, I peered down to study the body in finer detail.

There was nothing of the swollen gigantism-riddled appearance of an Astartes there. The body, my body, was almost right... with the stretched skin and enormity I could expect.

Yet it was also proportioned entirely too much like a man. A man scaled beyond reason and with oddities to be sure, but with none of the heavy-set overbulking, mass of scarring or the jagged pseudo-tumors that would engul an Astartes' chest.

No... Not Astartes.

There was another possibility though, one that fit to near perfection.

"Primarch," The word slipped through my lips with my new voice. The prototypes and demigod ancestors of the Astartes, abominations wrought in the image of human perfection.

Like their 'children' but yet somehow more and less human.

It was an egotistical notion but something within my mind clicked at the idea.

A Primarch. Yes. That assumption would work for now.

I was not sure of the given value of 'me', I had already noted that I could not quite feel fear or panic and odder still was the new shape my mind was taking.

Even the sheer data influx from having every sense magnified and altered was muted, as if they had always been that way and it was only now that I took note of them. It was like a room whose walls were collapsed but the floor and ceiling remained perfectly still, my mind felt like it was impossibly expanded and empty, waiting with bated breath to be filled.

This new formulation even robbed me of the bliss of my youth being restored after a fashion, I had been old after all, that seemed certain. The only reaction I could summon for that fact was little more than take note of it with mild disinterest.

What I felt more than any natural reaction was an intense craving for context and knowledge. A deep and abiding need to gain an orientation of my surroundings.

Well I was in the right place for it at least, leaning against a broken bookshelf of immense size and countless tomes scattered around me since I woke up.

The shelf was joined by more in every direction which suggested I was in some sort library.

There was also a peculiar stink, something displeasing yet peculiarly alluring. Like rotten waste one moment and like sickly-sweet honey the next.

I opened my mouth on instinct and flicked out my tongue as if to scent the air by reflex and subsequently made two discoveries.

The first was that I had a rather heavy beard, tangled and matted in an uncharacteristically unkempt fashion.

The second was that my lips and chin were stained with the source of the scent.

I rubbed a hand over them and saw that the perpetrator was a peculiarly grey substance.

It was sticky like syrup and after a moment I flicked out my tongue again to taste it experimentally.

The next thing I knew I had licked my hand free and was in the process of licking it off my face.

The taste was strange, fluctuating wildly between honey and spoiled milk. It did not seem to fill me to any degree, but it seemed almost instinctual that I needed to consume it.

My reaction disturbed me somewhat after I had finished, the lapse in control adding a curious sort of uncertainty which saw my eyes turn back to the books around me.

I needed information.

Yes, data was good. The first thing I needed was data, data to give context as to where I was, what had just happened and how I could secure my survival.

I reached down for one of the scattered works and gingerly plucked it up to look at the inscribed steel on the thick leather cover. I idly hoped that the leather came from an animal while reading the title, On the Matters of Trans-Dimensional Travel & Its Dangers-

I tossed the book aside.

Anyone who was knowledgeable enough about this reality would know that the chances of picking that book up randomly from a pile without it being according to the plan of a certain blue schemer were nil.

Instead, I opted to pick up a book on early human exploration next, that seemed like a less ominous subject.

In retrospect, it should have been obvious that I would start flipping through it at a great pace (with one over-sized finger as the book could easily fit into my palm) while noting that I could somehow read what I was fairly certain was High Gothic despite it looking nothing like any alphabet that I could read (and I knew that I could read a few). More importantly, my mind seemed to be filling in the gaps where the books or my own limitations should have stopped me. I mildly made note that this was likely an inbuilt quirk of my new breed which were portrayed as being almost auto didactic in their learning, provided I was indeed a Primarch.

Their maker probably imprinted all the knowledge he deemed important into the constructed minds to be triggered by stimuli. A clever creature, their maker. Strange to say, but the more the idea lingered in my head, the more something in me assured that my initial feeling was correct and that I had somehow been transplanted into a Primarch.

And also, that my brain could manage several entirely different trains of thought without any difficulty as I poured through works of various fields while dwelling on my situation.

I finished the book within about a minute, the entire thing internalized before moving on to the next and the one after and the one after that, my reading speed getting faster as I went.

Part of me realized how ridiculous it was that I was eating through the collection around me like the reading equivalent of a woodchipper, managing to recall much less understand the entirety of what I read. After what must have been hours I had not only a rough idea of where I was but a solid understanding of the Technology, Culture, Language and History of this planet (provided I was not on some sort of stellar installation). Well, give or take a few centuries to go by the obvious age of the literature.

I figured that I must have been in the private collection of someone who must have held a wide array of interests due to the diversity within and given the undeniable wear of my surroundings (despite the books being in remarkable shape), the place and its information was probably ancient, a shame as the people of this colony had been rather interesting.

It had always struck me as an amusing coincidence that every single Primarch had come from an incredibly unique and interesting world with none of them coming from one of the countless unremarkable planets which seemed to later constitute the norm for the Imperium. It seemed that I had not been made exempt from that pattern as I too had been deposited on a world as intriguing as each of those which had had the fortune or misfortune of hosting a Primarch. In as much as one could attempt to fathom the strange and mercurial minds of sentient amalgamations of emotions I could not make even an uneducated guess as to why they would have sent a tool of their hated ‘Anathema’ to this world however.

Except perhaps as a murder attempt.

As I moved to look for a way out of the old library, I reflected on the world it spoke of.

It was colonized during the early expansion of humanity, at the dawn of the so-called 'Dark Age of Technology' by one of humanity's countless sleeper ships. Its inhabitants were mostly wealthy men and women from around the breadth of ancient Terra who had hoped to establish a civilized world that suited their desires and which they could shape to their pleasure. An interesting convention which quickly rose in their naming schemes however suggested that they had begun to rapidly adopt ancient Welsh and Irish names, mythemes and customs not long after their initial landing where before they had come from a multitude of different cultures.

There was a distant urge to chuckle as the idea of it percolated, the very notion that a collective of enthusiasts of Irish and Arthurian mythology would decide to make their own little Camelot, that my ravaged memories could recall both in rather fine detail sharpened my unease.

It was bizarre but I decided not to dwell on the fact that I could not recall the look on my granddaughter's face as I read those tales to her, but that those tales I had read to her remained rather clear.

Or had it been that I had merely wanted to read those stories to her? I considered. Was it a granddaughter or was it a grandson?

At any rate, from the reckoning of the books they succeeded rather well in their aims… until they very suddenly and violently didn’t. They settled alright but a flaw in one of their design databases, more commonly called 'Standard Template Constructs' had left them without a rather key component to human space travel, the predecessor to the Gellar Field, the dimensional bubbles which allowed ships to safely sail the tides of the demonic parallel dimension which enabled interstellar travel.

Quite predictably this meant that they had some rather horrible results to their early attempts to replicate the technology and expand into resource-rich systems that their initial probes had determined neighbored the world. Oh, they eventually reverse-engineered a drive from the ones on their colony ship, but it was one with less than ideal stability, this meant that the colonists had become considerably more familiar with the literal hell beneath reality than most.

They called it the 'Void of Souls' in their increasingly divergent dialect of High Gothic but I knew another name for it.

The Warp.

I reached a door after some searching; it had been hermetically sealed but quite fortunately I was literally over a ton of pure awesome in the classical sense. It was quite simple to place hands on the broken glass surrounding the door and pull until I ripped through the weakened steel and continued into what were likely the hallways of what seemed like an abandoned hive city.

It came as instinct to navigate the twisting maze of passageways and it took little effort to almost glide over the rusted metal.

The original colonists had found a rather ingenious work around to their issues with the Warp problem though, they figured out that the nasty reality-migraines otherwise known as the creatures of the warp did not really like some of the least popular folk in the colony. Some of the weaker entities seemed to suffer extreme existence-failure when around them in fact, it was with this in mind that the handful of individuals (eight in a colony of now millions) ‘volunteered’ for experimentation to better understand this resistance, by which I of course mean that they were dissected like frogs pinned to a table.

The work isolated a strange quirk in their genes, a rare one that was previously dismissed as just several of the pieces of junk-D.N.A. which we could not determine the nature of since it seemed to serve no purpose. Very much stumbling through necessity and blind luck into the solution to one of the great riddles of humanity in this reality.

I walked past what must have been a large plaza at one point, the roughly hundred-meter-high chamber was illuminated by sunlight, the floors where littered with truly enormous shards of glass from the shattered dome that once topped that chamber. I appreciated both the light and the flow of fresh air coming into the chamber before moving towards that largest chamber, moving towards what I hoped was the exit because the ruined remains and the state of this place did not bode well. It had unnerved me that I had almost forgotten to take note of the ancient, ruined bones that had littered the chamber’s floors.

All the reaction which I could muster however was idly noting that it was a shame given how ingenious they had been about their problem (and mentally piecing together the bones as if to rebuild the likenesses of their former owners, which I only belatedly recalled should not be so simple as to do idly).

They had tinkered with the 'gene', reproducing it on an enormous scale with far more muted effects while breeding a select few to carry the gene in its full strength. Something which the collection had spoken of vaguely and leaving a great number of questions as to how they had succeeded in the deed beyond some ominous mentions of 'the fruits of the world'. But the relevant fact was their unprecedented success.

In a more familiar light, they made themselves into Psi-grade Nulls while generating a smaller group of Omegas or Blanks. The result was that they had managed to produce an enormous population capable of resisting the creatures of the Warp with a core of weaponized pariahs… and they quite obviously screwed it up.

The books had done quite a lot to suggest something would inevitably go horribly wrong, the newer works had an intense pride in their ability to resist the tides of the Warp, pure idiocy if you had the amount of forewarning I did. The things in the Warp were both denizens and masses of sentience, a chaotic infinity of soul-forged daemons most accurately called 'Chaos', a mass directed by a pantheon of vicious and cruel gods. Things that a comprehension of frankly almost discouraged the mere effort of attempting to fight them.

Maybe that was why the Chaos Gods had sent me here, assuming of course that they did which I personally considered to be a safe bet. After all what better way to demoralize one of their foe’s tools than to show them that even a people whose very nature was a weapon against them were still annihilated?

They attempted to harness the warp to their own wills, unable to fear it or truly understand or be tainted by it like other men. In retrospect, I doubted they had encountered anything akin to a Greater Daemon when they began tinkering with it, just because it cannot corrupt you into being its loyal servant or drive you insane with a glance does not mean that it is any less a thirty-foot-tall monster with an axe as big as it is after all.

There was proof of the cost of their foolishness as I walked beyond the obvious ruin.

Like age.

My senses picked at the walls, noted the conditions and measured the decay naturally. And it readily made it obvious that every second area was a different age. Some halls were much like the library I began in, seeming a sparse few centuries old, while others seemed to have endured countless millennia. Another dome I passed seemed almost impossibly new while I sometimes evaded the dead-ends formed by areas having aged so heavily as to have disintegrated.

There was life in the ruins, I could smell and taste distant scents as easily as I could see the marks of passing and hear distant steps. Nothing human but enough to persuade me to leave.

I emerged from the ruins a few hours later by my reckoning as I noted the sun setting and extrapolated from the light I had occasionally seen during my walk, it shockingly seemed that the planet was in a rather good shape. The only real oddity was the few mathematical incongruities from a logical perspective with my oddly hazy memories of a Terran sunset. My mind quickly worked them out while aligning them with my knowledge of the considerably larger nature of this planet before I could return to a more natural appreciation for the scene before me.

Beyond the overgrown fringes of the ruins rose idyllic rolling hills dotted blanketed with a thicket of trees leading into a great forest which seemed to rise in every direction outward broken only by the blue lines of rivers which raced out from the ruined overgrowth.

There came a hint of a smile on my lips as I looked out at the beauty of it.

I did not look back until I had reached the first green hill since I did not much relish the prospect of staring at more ruin and death, but my curiosity won in the end (as I suspected it often did).

My head traced up and took in the sight of the ruins me, I had emerged from a dead hive as I had theorized but the vast sprawling structure that consumed my entire field of vision made it abundantly clear that I must have awoken in the outskirts of the structures.

The entire thing was migraine inducing, as my human-self's incomprehension and my Primarch-brain's casual ease clashed against each other. I struggled to properly come to grips with the shattered metallic spires reaching miles into the air, great roots rising and sinking across depressed towers the size of cities which I had only ever seen in the most disproportionate of media. It was as if the planet was attempting to swallow the works of man in its efforts to heal, things had clearly gone south a while ago… although the latest book I had read cited M23 and the world might well have been worn by the Warp as well...

That made the most conservative estimates for how long it had been was seven millennia past if I am anywhere around the M30, I thought as parts of my brain forced themselves awake and rapidly evaluated the scene to confirm my guess. My lips parted as I tried to grasp the grotesque scale of the scene, closer evaluations made me realize that vast branches and vines were overgrown hab-segments worn away and fallen, only to become trapped between lower spires. Impossible vertical forests sprouted titanic arms outwards through shattered domes which would have been able to contain the hearts of my time's greatest metropoles with ease. It was hard not to be awed by it, even as my less human side was rapidly clamping down on that awe.

My musing was interrupted when I noticed small lights within the ruin begin to brighten from far away, my inhuman eyes could see well enough to know the fires were moves and I could tell some were assuming shape. To my growing unease, the light gave way to vaguely humanoid forms that did not quite seem real like some wild nightmare was slowly infringing upon reality as the night grew darker. One was at the entrance where I left and it was staring at me, it had a shape with tall pale horns and-

I turned around and began to pump my gene-crafted legs hard as I ran away, not from fear surprisingly but rather from a very logical conclusion that I was both screwed if I stayed and that I did not in fact want to meet my demise yet again. My every experience and instinct told me that I would not do well in a confrontation against a creature of the Warp if I was lucky enough for there to only be one much less when unarmed and in a less than ideal condition. Such was my certainty that I even managed to crush the upsurge of confidence that tried to impose itself over my good sense.

Running straight into the forest seeking the cover of the trees, I weaved my way deep inside until I finally registered that I could hear no sound but my own breathing and the leaves rustling in the wind. With my inhuman senses the dark shadows of the forest were minimal at best while the sounds and smells of the forest were easily cataloged and fortunately natural. I found a great deal of comfort in the lack of movement in the forest and after pressing on a few more minutes to be safe, I began to look for a spot to rest. It did not take long as I located one of the streams that I had spotted entering the forest.

Relatively safe, I mulled over what I had witnessed.

It was a safe conclusion that the ruins were Warp-infested, frankly given the sheer amount of bones in the ruins, the temporal damage and the works I had read it would not be surprising if the damage was severe enough that something akin to a small tear into the Warp had opened somewhere in the hive and let them slip into the material plane.

Which of course raised the question of why I had not been attacked earlier, while it was entirely possible that I was allowed to escape that did not really seem like the standard approach of the Blood God that called such creatures and I somehow doubted that a single Primarch would be worth him and the God of Change cooperating in such a fashion which left me with the conclusion that the Warp creatures were probably not a part of any real plan.

Then there was the fact that they neither seemed to pursue but revealed themselves regardless when the sun set. Maybe they were somehow bound to that place? The library had been a private collection so it hardly had the full scope of this place’s technology so perhaps they managed to trap the creatures known as 'Daemons' despite destroying the hive, which was certainly impressive even if they had allowed the monsters in the first place.

I sat by the stream to take a moment’s rest while contemplating what to do, or at least that was my intent but for some reason I collapsed into unconsciousness the moment I sat down.

Some distant part of my head seemed to register that I felt as if it had been months since I had ingested real food.

…

It was not the most dignified start to my story in retrospect, but it is the best way to start this recollection.

 

 

Excerpt: The Hollow Maid

The Hollow Maid,
The Hollow Maid,
Within Whom the White Dragon is Chained

Once so Mighty,
Once so Fair,
Now Broken and Striped Bare

With Authority You Were Blessed,
Cleaved of Weakness but Never Pride,
You Sought to Make War Upon the Divided Sides

So The Void of Souls,
Alone is Not to Blame,
For Your Sorrow Nor For Your Shame

For in Your Pride,
In Your Vanity,
You Brought About This Calamity

By the Grace of the Tenfold,
You Yet Live,
By Your Own Vainglory,
You Yet Suffer

The Hollow Maid,
The Hollow Maid,
The World Forgot You in its Disdain.

-The Hollow Maid,
Nursery Rhyme.​

Edited September 20, 2020 by StrangerOrders

[StrangerOrders]

Chapter Two: Prologue II​
 

The first thing that came to my attention when I awoke was the smell of cooking.

Almost by instinct, I started mentally dissecting the scent.

Boiling meat in some sort of broth, minimal spices but some vegetables. Some I could recognize and others had my mind spiralling into attempts at estimating an answer that almost overwhelmed my consciousness, which I forcibly boiled down to the key point.

I was hungry.

And more importantly, I was in some sort of settlement.

Of course, my less than ordinary senses were also registering several humans.

Oh, I noted with some relief. There are still humans in this world, that is certainly welcome.

One was close by and several dozen more were further away which, combined with the lesser noises I was picking up, made it obvious that I was in some sort of settlement. Heartbeat, step patterns, taste, smells and a litany of other data which would have threatened to overwhelm me again until I clamped down on that as well.

What my inhuman-physiology did prevent me from immediately noticing was the fact that I was on the ground, on a fairly soft mat, but definitely on the ground. I groaned as I opened my eyes and pushed myself into a sitting position while hearing a startled squeak, I looked around to take note of my surroundings.

I was inside of a small and decidedly medieval house with an earthen floor overlayed in weathered mats and walls of some sort of wood (my mind quickly supplying that it was a form of cedar), the house was furnished but the small bed, table, chest and what I thought was meant to be a kitchen space hardly counted as well-furnished despite the anachronistic oven which was clearly the source of the meaty smell.

My attention fixed on the source of the nearest sound, a young child, probably nine or ten at most with her hands clasped over her mouth and pale green eyes shot wide-open in shock, the spilled earthen jug at her feet (and was miraculously not broken by its fall) indicated that she had dropped it in surprise.

Data compiled as I took in the child.

Most obvious were the oddities of the girl's appearance, the gene-alterations that my waking place had made mild mention of.

Muddy red hair and freckles over clearly Asian features, to say nothing of the incongruous colour of her eyes.

Other conclusions from her throat musculature indicated some atrophy in her vocal cords which explained the unusually croaking character of the grunt and a host of other observations which would be a violation of privacy in a conventional situation. Most disturbing of which were the series of observations as to her potential offensive parameters and countermeasures which would most easily eliminate any such threat.

I immediately concluded that I should attempt to calm her as she was probably either related to whoever brought me there or was monstrously strong considering my enormous body had been moved there from what must have been a considerable distance (the muscle density beneath her worn wool shift making that supposition unlikely). It was obvious that the girl was unlikely to be capable of speech, given her throat, but nothing indicated she was deaf.

And the language should have been fine, provided that the language drift had not been terrible.

“Do not worry, I mean you no harm. Were you the one that helped me?” I attempted to smile reassuringly, but I was a little surprised as to how different my voice sounded. Whereas my old voice had grown reedy towards the end I faintly recalled, my new voice was sonorous and vital.

It was also… well, not reassuring to a human. It was a cold and mechanical thing, that voice.

I was fortunate that she did not scream, in hindsight.

Instead, the girl steeled herself before shaking her head with a determination that made me make note to forcibly modulate my voice in the future.

As she shook her head, I considered how to make my voice less frightening.

It was a good sign that she seemed to understand what I said at least.

I was considering a response but someone else opened the door which was behind me and continued towards the child while speaking.

“That would be me actually,” A female voice, contralto to my new ears, said good-naturedly as she walked around me and I got a better look at her.

Before any other features registered, I instinctively ran a threat-analysis.

She was tall, about two meters at a guess (although 'tall' was a relative word, given my state), with the wiry frame that spoke of deliberate cultivation.

The sword sheathed by her hip was worn with habitual readiness, the clink and oily taste of well-cared for chainmail suggested that she was a reasonably practiced fighter in mortal terms.

A killer then, I assessed with certainty. A competent one at that.

Maybe more than that, the manner of her walk and traces of scarring suggested that she was an irregularly dangerous fighter by mortal reckoning.

But still a minor consideration, the same track of mental calculus concluded that she was not a threat.

All surmised in a heartbeat.

And it was only in the following heartbeat that I picked up on the natural features a human would pick up on first. The severely shorn, muddy-red hair, pale green eyes and features that matched the small girl, it was obvious by that and her scent that she must have been a relative of the girl. It shocked me to conclude from my evaluation that she was prepared to attempt to engage me if I behaved with hostility, which spoke of either great valor or great idiocy.

It also made me curious.

She picked up the spilled jug and handed it to the girl before nodding down at her and indicating for her to wait outside.

I watched the exchange without comment as I was evaluating the fact that I could in fact dismantle her if the projections in my mind were to be trusted.

Another interesting realization was that she was giving her best attempt to glare literal holes into my head.

It was rude of her, but it was best that I be diplomatic since there was no need to burn bridges.

It was also endearing because it was not difficult to 'read' that she knew which of us would win.

She also wore well-maintained leathers beneath her mail with what seemed to be a large sack in one hand.

Overall they were a rather incongruous pair, the mute child and the warrior. Despite their obvious relation.

It was actually vaguely disturbing to look at them as my senses took in far more detail than I was comfortable with, from the scent of sweat to their heartbeats I could analyze just about everything within a few moments before making my best effort to suppress the feeling before I was lost to it again. I shook my head deliberately and remembered my manners.

I took a moment by my reckoning to evaluate my tone, dredging the criteria for a human voice.

“You have my thanks then, Lady...?” I felt a surge of satisfaction at my bored but recognizably human voice.

Yet, I again seemed to have made a mistake as she snorted.

“Sorry to disappoint, but no lady I’m afraid. Just a Seeker, like you,” She said the words slowly, with mild amusement. The way one side of her lips curled upward, meshed well with the laugh-lines on her face. In contrast with the rings around her eyes.

She speaks as if I were a dullard. The thought struck me as funny but she was admittedly not mistaken.

I did not know anything about the world around me after all.

Like the meaning of the word she used to refer to herself.

“What is a ‘Seeker?’” My attempt at naive confusion came across more like a terminal responding to mistaken input than a confused human but I felt some satisfaction at the gradual improvement to my modulation.

And pleasure at the capacity for satisfaction.

It was good to retain some emotion.

My question seemed to not just stir emotion in myself however.

The woman arched a brow when I spoke, her half-smile becoming bemused in a way that suggested I had diverged from whatever she had been expecting.

“Well, this might be more complicated than I expected,” she whistled, “That treasure hit you really hard, didn't it?”

I briefly considered whether the dialect she was speaking was the problem.

While written and spoken language could vary wildly, what she was speaking only vaguely resembled the books from my… birthplace?

Yet I was fairly sure I understood her.

Wait… Was I able to workout their language from just listening to them speak while they carried me here? That was an insane notion, but one to be dwelled on later.

I did understand her words, but I was critically lacking in context.

“I do not recognize that word either, could you explain them?’” My voice that time came more naturally, if perhaps still a bit off-tone.

She stared at me for a moment, one gloved hand reaching up to scratch her cheek and making an audible ‘hmm’ before seeming to reach a conclusion and nodding to herself before speaking.

“You awoke in a big metal place, right?” I nodded, weary of her perhaps reaching a bit too far in lowering her estimation of my intellect. “Alright, a 'Seeker' is what you call people whose coin-making it is to dive deep into those places, 'ruins,' to retrieve the Treasures of the Fallen Ones, the people that once lived within them, we sell those that we can recover to nobles or upstarts who pays enough and sometimes.” She pointed the finger that had been scratching her cheek at me with a newly apologetic expression. “Those Treasures can really make a mess of your memory.”

I was certain that my mental processes were not quite in line with baseline humanity, I felt inordinate pleasure at the rather mundane thought that entered my mind by her conclusion.

Wow, that is convenient. I had been placed in a world that not only gave a remarkably credible, if somewhat flawed, excuse for my condition but also one with a stereotypical role-playing setting which apparently included their own version of an ‘adventurer.’

It also pleased me to recall what 'role-playing' was, although the impression was admittedly somewhat blurred.

I allowed an audible pause for a moment to look convincingly shocked before nodding slowly.

“So I found something that changed me?” She nodded while smiling with the false confidence of someone who was not quite willing to admit their ignorance on the subject. I decided to push my luck a little further. “Are there supposed to be… things in these ruins? Things that do not seem natural?”

It seemed prudent to ensure that I was not actually on a world of Chaos Worshipers, because that would be less than optimal.

Even as I asked the question, I felt my muscles tensing in the slightest ways. Winding just enough to blur into action if the answer was unsatisfactory.

Fortunately, she scowled at that, “That doesn't narrow it down. But I think I know what you mean. You likely saw the voidspawn, they're monsters plain and simple like, travel in packs and will reassemble themselves if you give them a chance. They are the main reason why we Seekers have a living in the first place since they make the ruins perilous and you need quite a bit of experience to fight them effectively.” Her scowl defaulted back to a half-grin. "Well, it is more complicated than that and all but I am not really what you'd call a scholar of the void, ask a priest if that's your fancy."

I arched a brow at the relevant part of what she said, “You fight the... 'Voidspawn?’”

I rather liked the sound of it, it sounded contemptuous and demeaning and revolted. Although the english translation would have lacked the snarl of hate in the pronunciation.

She seemed surprised by my question, “Of course, I wouldn't be able to make much of a profit otherwise.” She pulled off her right glove and showed me a strange brand on the palm of her hand. “While you need to know how to do it, most figure it out if they do not go mad or become possessed, some like me can fight them much more easily. I… I can't believe I am saying this aloud but the term for those like me is 'Voidbane,’ it sounds a bit proud but that is the name.”

So it seems the colonists did not get themselves wiped out by their idiocy after all, which if my deductions were correct meant I was speaking to a super-blank without smashing my head into a wall.

I wondered if it was due to my new nature? Primarchs were able to withstand Blanks well-enough as I recalled.

Well, it was a question for another time.

“Well then you have my thanks, although if you do not mind my asking, why did you save me?” Regardless of unique characteristics, it was still a world in one of the most horrible realities imaginable and I did not think I was one to trust in altruism.

“Well to be fair, my Band and I were preparing to venture into the City-Like-Woods when we found your overgrown ass laying by a stream,” she chuckled at that, lips pulling back into a toothy smile which revealed slight crookedness to her canines. “We need a guide and I figured that you could give us some directions to navigate it by way of thanks. But I guess that is not a very viable option now though.”

“I recall the corridors I navigated to get to the stream, so I think that I can repay your aid yet,” I affected as slight a smile as possible.

I spoke perhaps too quickly but I felt that I had little choice, I needed wealth and resources, so it seemed that I had very little choice but to make an attempt at this ‘Seeker’ profession.

It was strange to act so quickly, to not give time to hesitate and fear and doubt. It was so painfully simple to reach a conclusion and act since I awoke.

The woman's smile brightened further at my quick response.

The imperfections to her teeth lended a sort of pleasing asymmetry to her expression.

“I had hoped that you would say that! Let’s get to the tavern and we can fill in the rest of our little group,” She said as if to seal the arrangement, I was grateful that she was straight forward enough to not waste time. As I began to stand up, I came to realize why I had been covered in a blanket when she let out a choked cough.

“Not that I am complaining but you might want to try some of the clothes I brought you,” She tossed me the sack that she had been carrying. "Wouldn't do to have you waving your bear ass around in public."

Reflexively catching it, I froze with the sack in hand for a perceptible pause as my mind grinded to a halt when I realized what she was saying.

It seemed embarrassment was still intact as I felt something like a blush crawl onto my cheeks.

I had been naked since I awoke, I had walked through the ruin and ran through the forest completely naked and was currently standing naked.

After a very awkward moment, followed by a more awkward and sheepish apology and the even more awkward, but thankfully private, peculiar satisfaction I felt at being able to be awkward. I tried the ‘clothes’ she had brought with her.

It turned out she just meant the robes made from knitted together sheets that she had had a local woman quickly sow together as quickly as she could which resulted in me looking like an exceptionally big and shabby monk (which I had to admit to myself was incredibly ironic given what I was) before setting off to the tavern.

"How did you manage to get me within your home?" I asked as I awkwardly knelt and slid my way sideways through the door of the small 'house' ('hut' felt rude, if accurate).

"Your neck does not hurt and you can walk straight enough," She said with mock defensiveness as she bade the younger girl goodbye. "So I don't think it's particularly important."

That is not at all reassuring, I thought while subtly incorporating minute stretches into my walk to test for unnoticed injuries.

As we walked through the village I noticed the rampant anachronisms compared to an actual medieval village were everywhere, much like the primitive stove in the house there were simple electric lamps and even some pieces of more advanced technology scattered throughout the homes we walked past.

When I asked her about them she shrugged and said that the more simplistic concepts of ‘ancient knowledge’ were never completely forgotten by ‘our’ people.

As we began walking past shops, I inquired after some of the more advanced contraptions such as the distinctly advanced equipment at the blacksmith I saw. She identified them as the result of either knowledge or larger Treasures salvaged from the cities in past times.

Another thing which I could not help but take notice of was that the people seemed surprisingly clean by and large and if not particularly healthy still in far better health than I would have expected from a village this small as my guide indicated that it only numbered a few over two hundred people.

When she commented that I realized that I had made a major oversight.

“I just recalled that I never heard your name, Lady...?” She demured from holding the position but it still seemed proper to attach some honorific to the one that had aided me.

She laughed a bit before answering, almost obscuring the discomfort she evidently felt at the use of the title, “Name’s Morygen and I already told you that I am not a noble, my giant friend. Now that I told you what I’m called, why don’t you repay the favor in kind if you can remember.”

I could draw reassurance for the continued use of slightly different variants of mythological names for the world at least. 'Morygen' sounded like someone could not make a choice between Welsh and Celtic myth for a name before giving up and going with a blend.

“I am afraid that a name is one of the things that I do not recall. If I may however, what offense is there in my calling you a lady?” I knew that it would have been wiser to abandon that line of conversation but I unfortunately suffered from both a strong sense of curiosity and an inability to abandon a line of questioning.

She looked over to meet my eyes while we walked (which I considered mildly impressive given the four feet of difference at least between us) before answering, “You really don’t remember much do you?” I shrugged, admitting my ignorance, “Well let me tell you that it won't get you far to go around using unearned titles. I understand you're trying to be polite but I wouldn’t go about repeating that to people since they might take it wrong. Don't have the hair to make the words believable anyway.”

The last was emphasized with a gentle tug of her short-shorn hair, the meaning was somewhat lost on me but I supposed it related to the rather severe cuts the men and women sported as a norm to my studious gaze (rudeness that was understandably repaid by the mix of gawking and evasion from the villagers as we walked past).

Still... that my attempts at courtesy managed to fly in the face of local customs was not a fantastic start. “My apologies, Morygen, but it does seem that I am unable to remember a great deal.”

I scratched my head awkwardly while making a mental note to try to collect more information about the local culture in order to prevent more such errors.

“Well at least your vocabulary was not damaged, so it’s not all bad.” Morygen said with a chuckle.

It was a pleasant sound, high and lyrical against the depth of her manner of speech.

I offered her my latest grin, “I do not suppose that there is anything else I should know? I would much rather not repeat the same mistake twice.”

"Well…" She pointed at a sign hanging from some sort of shop, a square of wood with runic characters painted in gold. "Do you still have your runes?"

I frowned at the sign.

Definitely pictographic, but even the new brain in my head could not work free of context.

That literacy was expected was rather interesting however.

"No," The admission cost me nothing other than the discomfort of not being able to start learning that instant.

"Huh," Morygen nodded. "We can work on that…" She scratched her cheek as she walked in thought, “What else… I am not what most would call ‘polite’ but I guess I can give you some pointers.” She tossed me the glove from before, I caught it and noticed a pattern on the back. I could not easily discern the purpose of the design, although at least one part of it looked identical to the brand I had seen on her hand.

Its composition was interesting, silver thread on fine leather. Valuable and at odds with everything I saw in the home save the stove and mail. The quality of the stitch and weave reaffirming the impression.

“I suppose that there is some purpose to this symbol? It is the same one you showed me earlier,” I figured that it was somehow associated with her blank status. I noticed that the

“That would be my guild brand- why are you chuckling?” She stopped and stared at me with a raised brow. I waved for her to continue while attempting to force composure onto my face. I did not wish to come across as mocking but I could not bite back the quiet chuckle.

Frankly, it was the greatest show of emotion I had been able to muster since becoming a semi-inhuman entity. I would not have held it back if I could. “Well if you can contain your need to be an ass, guild brands mark your affiliation with the guild and status as a Seeker.”

Plenty of organizations used markings to give themselves an identity, especially ones that had an implication of status. There was no reason to laugh at the cliche-ridden world I had been trapped in after all, or at the sheer ludicrousness of it existing within the crime against reality that was the Milky Way. It made me want to smile.

“I suppose that I would have lost mine,” I offered.

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” Morygen waved a hand. “These things happen and Sects are not keen on losing Seekers because they lost their brands or names. Ah, 'Sect' is what you call a regional Guild… waystation?”

She nodded as she said the word after hesitating, seeming to find the description to her liking as she committed to it.

“So I might recover my identity if I go to a local guild then?” I deduced. That struck me as a potential problem, my excuse relied on my not having a memory to speak off and so no past to worry about justifying.

“Local Sect, and well, there is a chance, at the very least they can consult with other close Sects,” Morygen scratched her cheek again while eyeing me with a perplexed expression. “I hope you don’t take this wrong. There won’t be much left to match you to.”

That was a relief at least as was the large structure we were nearing with a pleasantly broad (if damnably low) door. I caught the heady scent of liquor and the taste of human sweat along with the sounds of men and women making a raucous. I would broach the subject with her again but I needed to find a more subtle method of learning about the world.

“Ah,” she said as if to distract me. Perhaps she mistook my silence for nervousness? “Well I am sure that we can figure it out, let’s hope you remember how to drink, eh?”

“I recall that well enough,” I made my lips curve into a confident ‘smile’. Curiosity and enthusiasm as to what food and drink would be like now lent some genuine emotion to it.

The interior of the tavern was a cacophony. Dozens of conversations ringing at once in close proximity would normally not be an issue but my brain could distinguish them all and make sense of them. The rush produced a dull sense of sickness in my stomach, enough to visibly hesitate at the door of the establishment.

I supposed that the sudden silence that crept in with me was a good thing then, enough to let me get my bearings even though their eyes turned to my form instead as I ducked in, my height did not let me fit easily.

The pause gave me a moment to get a look at those within.

At least the mutated mass of my mind was well suited for looking over the group and making some general gains in information. They conformed to my rapidly growing framework for the world that I found myself looking at the stereotypical adventurer tavern. A riot of colors in eye, hair, skin, garb and that was the most uniform feature they shared. One woman had a red lens for a right eye, another had a massive musculature straining under plate that did not look natural and I was certain that I saw fangs in the mouth of one old man. Their arms and armor ran the gamut from boiled leather to patchworks of motorized armor with grinding servos, weapons running a similar range.

Even their expressions went from stupefied to only somewhat interested much like the villagers before.

So much for reducing mortals to tears with the mere sight of me, I observed sardonically.

Morygen followed behind me and made a show of laughing at the men and women within, “Come now, you lot! Can’t be too envious at a good find, never knew envy to bring luck!”

Her laugh was met with a few chuckles and interest in me seemed to largely disperse quickly, emphasis on ‘seemed’ as my senses told me that they had their eyes on me still. It wasn't hostile, just wariness of a potential threat and burning curiosity.

...I would need to move past my surprise at how much I could pick up from a glance. It was terribly close to being self-impressed.

“Come on now,” Morygen chuckled by reaching up and slapping my lower back. “No use blocking the door, eh?”

I nodded and fell in step with her, staying stooped to avoid an unpleasant encounter with a rafter. “So this is a Seeker’s tavern?”

“It's the only tavern,” she chuckled while scratching her head. “It is a good season for expeditions and our reputation for spending too much on drinking is not completely undeserved. Tinta'gile is not even the biggest center near the Ruin.”

That seemed reasonable, the tavern only held approximately forty eight people, including the staff. It would have been unsettling for that to form a sizable portion of a caste.

More interesting was the inconsistency in her words though.

“Yet you have a home here,” I noted lightly, careful not to push too hard.

Natural instinct aside, the dwelling had been heavy with her scent and she had been looked entirely too at home in the village. To say nothing of her younger relation, such a sedimentary style was at odds with both the image of a pseudo-adventurer and now her own words. Especially if the settlement was not even large.

“Ah, you're right there,” she admitted with an awkward laugh. “I have a strong enough gift to do shallow dives on my own into City-Like-Woods so I do not typically follow the seasonal cycle.”

The Blank looked sheepish, “You met Ymer, my little sister. A home and a reasonable life are better for a child than following the cycle.”

“You keep saying ‘cycle’ and ‘season’ as if I would know the term,” I pointed out, imitating a light smile. Her evasion on the settlement choice, I let be.

“Just trying to see if I can tug a memory or two,” she held up her hands in mock-defense as we made our way down the benches. I noted that what I had thought to be the hill behind the tavern had been hollowed out, the simplest explanation for the size of the tavern compared to its exterior.

“The presence of Voidspawn in the ruins waxes and wanes with the seasons, the difference between finding a Treasure worth a title and getting torn to bits,” she shrugged. “I think you came in with the season probably, not really any others that live here year round.”

“I think you are right,” Well that was technically correct, the sort that wouldn't hold to scrutiny. Some, like my 'brother' Primarch Rogal Dorn, would call it a lie. I was still unhappy at the realization that I was now trapped in the same world as that as that blunt son of a sociopath.

She nodded, “Oh! There they are!”

The red-maned woman waved at a table with three of the motley advent-seekers waving in return.

A woman and two men, none seemed particularly old. My mind categorically concluded that the larger man was in the last years of his third decade by human standards while the lankier man leaning against his chair and the robed woman rubbing her thumbs thoughtfully both seemed considerably younger than that. Their only shared characteristics being the red cloth of their scarves lined with golden thread.

The scarves had a meaning, a few others in the tavern had them. I ran the idea against my memory before I could really consider it and realized that the tavern could be divided into approximately three groups.

Silver gloves, red scarves and green tabards. An interesting delineation.

Morygen pointed to me with a confident smile, “Our friend woke up and he has already agreed to guide us, an auspicious start wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah yes, my mother always said a naked giant was lucky,” The youth said as he rolled his rich blue eyes. His playful tone was at odds with the tension at his shoulders and the sword at his waist was angled as if ready to be drawn at a beat. “Does he have a name?”

“It would seem not,” Morygen admitted with a rueful sigh and a scratch on her cheek. “Ector had the right, his Treasure ate his memory.”

The big man nodded and put his mug down onto the rough-hewn table.

“Treasures can be nasty things,” He said with what I imagined was supposed to be a sagely nod but the man swayed from his drink. “If you aren’t careful they can be as much a pest as a prize.”

“So it would seem,” I offered with a diplomatic smile or the best that I could simulate, a literal giant was never comforting. “But for the time being, my name is of no great consequence.”

They gave me looks of confusion while Morygen coughed, “I will explain it to him later, for now let’s get some drink in him and plan.”

She took a seat and called a passing boy for some name whose meaning was beyond me but I assumed was some sort of drink from the fact that she ordered two. She turned to me and was about to offer a seat before she hesitated.

My weight would rumple the wooden chair easily enough so I sat down on the straw floor beside the table, fortunately the massive size of a Primarch resulted in my still being at eye level with most of them (more honestly, I still towered over them).

…It almost made having to keep a wary eye on the ceiling should I have to stand up worth it.

I picked up some more information from their introductions.

Apparently the three composed a Seeker group that frequently contracted Morygen when the Ruintide (something to be said for double-entendre I supposed) abated in the local ruin.

“A void-bane makes our work much easier,” the younger man explained with an easy smile. “And dear Morygen is such fair company.”

Morygen snorted at that as two flagons were brought to the table, “He's certainly still slow Ector, thought you'd have worked out the edges by now.”

The boy did not seem bothered by the critique as he spread his arms in a gesture of mock-helplessness, “Ah, then I will gladly be a jester if that would please you.”

I forced a laugh to match the others before taking a drink of my flagon. The dulled emotions managed to inspire irritation which I in turn had to quell. I wondered what was the reasoning for neutering my positive emotional range while leaving my negative range comparatively intact, perhaps that said more for my ‘maker’ than anything else.

He could at least have made me able to enjoy the taste of ale, instead I merely found a half-dozen component tastes while my physiology moved to eliminate the poison.

I opted to not dwell on my disappointment and refocused on the conversation to distract from my eternal sobriety and continue building my mental profiles for the small group.

The younger man was apparently a nephew of the elder man, ‘Trystane’ amused me distantly as his name carried on the unfailing tradition of predictable names. He spoke confidently but the way his eyes went back to his uncle in confirmation every few words suggested that he was new to the trade. The more I looked at him, the more I narrowed on his age while accounting for the realities of a roughly medieval world. I would have guessed twenty one at most.

Aside from the swaying and stench of drink, it did not seem like misplaced trust. The man supplied advice and measured words in a manner that implied little could surprise him in the ruins, closer inspection suggested that he might well be older than I had initially thought. Unfamiliar scents and minute hints to his scent and musculature made it obvious.

“I got lucky some years back,” he responded when I asked. “Found an old place and came out with a decade lost for it.”

“Would you not prefer to sell such a find?” I asked, I was still uncertain about the details of how the profession made their fortunes.

The assumption that most anyone of means would have liked some revitalization was reasonable. Blurs of my past life, of age and illness, made such an idea personally appealing were it not for my present state.

Although I suspected he shared just a bit of my pain as observation made it clear that Ector's swaying and slight slur were nowhere near as genuine as he let on.

“Not necessarily,” Morygen supplied as she answered my query. “If you find something that is useful to survival, being alive is better than a few more coins.”

“Arms, armor and physical gifts,” Trystane counted off like a student going over flashcards. “You are typically going to keep while lesser examples and other pieces typically sell very well.”

I was only introduced in passing to the mousy, raven-haired woman that remained quiet as the others spoke. Curiously, she did not smell drunk, but her pale skin had a red flush to it that one usually associated with intoxication or embarrassment.

“Iseult,” She said in a light but disinterested voice when I noted as much.

Curiously, it seemed that the flush of her skin was not due to any sort of drinking.

“Don’t mind her,” Ector shook his shaved head. “You will not see many that know as much about the Fallen Ones and their oddities. She is a terrible talker though.”

“I do not speak for its own sake,” She rebutted quietly while eyeing me with surprisingly animated blue eyes before offering a small smile. "I do hope that our cooperation can be fruitful."

"Likewise," I returned the sentiment with a nod.

We slipped back into conversation as I recounted most of my route throughout the ruins and they shot ideas back and forth about possible routes. Their experience showed in their questions, more concerned with the details of possible threats and redundancies than interest in expedience or valuables.

They quickly came to the conclusion that if conditions allowed it, we would return to the ruins within a week’s time.

I needed time to acquire some ability to defend myself. At that point they devolved into idle chatter which I found of little use, so I only paid peripheral attention while trying to get a better grip on my inhuman senses.

By the time that Morygen was ready to leave I had comfortably integrated the scents and sounds into neat categories without it fading to memory too quickly.

It was still difficult to couple my awareness to the ready influx of things like the exact hormonal composition in the air, but progress was progress. I was far happier with the amount of data I had been able to collect from observing the patrons of the tavern and my own erstwhile partners to hypothesize on later.

So I was content to just follow my benefactor with the slight satisfaction of progress.

We were past the door before I felt a mild pang of embarrassment and realized my presumption.

“I have troubled you enough,” I told Morygen awkwardly, stopping as I was figuring out from my peripheral vision the best way to go for the village outskirts. “I will find a place to stay-“

“You have no coin,” Morygen quirked her lips and crossed her arms, evening her stance confidently. “And giant or not, my home is better than sleeping out in the cold.”

You would think, I mused as I recalled that one of my ‘relatives’ was literally raised by wolves, naked in the arctic cold of an ice-planet, without issue.

Primarchs are truly silly creatures, something like amusement sounded in my mind.

I took her point however and it would have been rude to deny the offer, “Then I will not deny your charity.”

“Charity,” She chuckled but reached up with one hand to scratch her cheek. “That is a funny word, wait until you try Ymer’s cooking before you call it ‘charity.’”

Edited September 20, 2020 by StrangerOrders

[bluntblade]

Consider me curious to see where this goes.

[StrangerOrders]

Chapter Three: Prologue III​

The food could have been worse.

That was not high praise given that I could scarcely taste anything due to my over-engineered tongue feeding me a series of ingredients to the point of pleasure or distaste vanishing in the process.

I suspected that it would take some time to beat back the flow of data on that front.

At present? I could only really process that my meal was some sort of stew with something similar to venison and buckwheat as the principal components. After that came a thicket of nutritional and compositional data that made anything resembling proper taste a distant impression.

“It is good,” I said while practicing a warm smile on the small cook from where I sat on the ground next to their small table. The 'house' only contained a single room and was not especially large, so I hugged against one of the walls while the child sat on the bed and Morygen sat across from me on their storage chest.

Pale green eyes blinked in confusion at my words while Morygen laughed from her own bowl of the yellow-brown stew, “You are a brave one.”

The girl gave him a hesitant smile and nodded with a skeptical brow.

“You will have to forgive her,” Morygen laughed as she pushed her sister's red bangs back behind her ears and petted her head. “I assure you that she appreciates the sentiment.”

It did not seem polite to point out that I had known from the second I saw her that the girl was mute for some reason or another.

And I tried very hard to ignore that my brain allocated the probable cause to some sort of trauma, despite my own curiosity it was not my business to delve into the affairs of those who were being so charitable towards me.

“I have no doubt,” I kept my attempt at a smile on while I raised another spoonful to my mouth. I was distantly grateful to my hosts for not laughing at the silliness of the proportionally tiny spoon clutched between two massive fingers to deliver a tiny portion into my mouth. “Does she cook often?”

“Since she had two years,” Morygen explained while a self-conscious finger scratched at her cheek. “Never been much of a cook, I’m afraid. Would not bet that you would consider my attempts edible at all.”

I might have asked why a child would have to cook but I had enough common sense to understand why and enough empathy left to not ask further. By some means or another, they did not have a mother or a father in all probability.

It was a natural enough course of events, their world did not have the tools to fight off every assortment of disease and there was always a possibility that their progenitors shared their eldest daughter's dangerous trade.

“Your experience shows well,” I said to the girl instead. My enhanced eyed noted the minute change in the temperature of her cheek at the compliment but then again, everyone liked to be praised, even shy and wary children.

“Now you are just teasing her,” Morygen said between mouthfuls, the elder sister ate with a fast and ferocious pace as if she was practiced at avoiding actually having to taste the meal.

“I mean what I say,” I shrugged my great shoulders, careful not to knock something over.

There were worse things than flattering one’s hosts, moreso when they were one’s only ties to the world.

The meal was occupied by a few other such comments while I used the chance to catch my reflection in the stew. It was interesting that my senses saw the reflection of my face as if it was a clean and freshly polished mirror.

What I saw banished the last doubts about what I was.

The books I had read had always made so much about ‘transhuman dread’ the phenomena that made the features of an Astarte’s strange and overwhelming to ‘mortals.’ Instead no one I had yet met was terribly bothered by my appearance, no more than the general surprise that my size had garnered from the villagers and professional curiosity of the Seeker-scavengers.

Yet for all that size, my features were not disproportionate. Which marked me as not being from that breed.

More troublesome was what lay in the remainder of my features.

All Primarchs had looked alike in the pictures of the old faux-leather books I vaguely recalled glancing over in some sort of sick-bed. Their features had all been alike at a core level, each a different iteration of the same fundamental schema which would have made all of them something like near-identical brothers.

And it seemed that I was no different.

As a whole, the face was roughly the right shape, if a touch narrow. The mouth seemed right if unusually wide and thin-lipped. The eyes were large under a somewhat large forehead and narrow brow, grey with pupils so light that they almost seemed absent. My rosewood-esque skin was palid to the point of being somewhat ghoulish. An effect which the somewhat wild mane of dirty grey did not help with, less so as it obscured my chin and general skull enough to make the shape a touch difficult to discern, but it did seemed fair to judge that I had the right chin (if not quite as broad and strong as those of the others).

Were it not for the bizarre upward tilts at the edges of my lips, I would have observed that my features were cast with what I could only describe as 'studiously disinterested'.

So after a long life in the business of diplomacy, I had come into my new life with resting fox-face. Lovely.

Even my eyes and hair were not terribly distinct by a Primarch's standards.

Nor were the colors pleasing. Both were grey, not at all the color of steel or iron or some other flattering comparison, instead I had a mottled and frankly dull tone which was more like water one used to clean brushes.

Not only had I been reborn with the expression of a mildly-amused bureaucrat, I looked like an old one at that (if one ignored the lack of wrinkles).

As the meal neared its end I shared my observation, “I do not recall having the hair of an old man.”

“Maybe you are one,” Morygen noted wryly. “An old man out for his last seeking and found the Treasure to restore his youth! Romantic sounding, isn’t it?”

I snorted, somewhat surprised at how genuine the reaction was.

“It does sound nice doesn’t it?” She chuckled while the little girl collected the empty bowls and took them to the counter. “It does seem a little void-like I will admit.”

I stopped for a moment as I mauled the implication while recalling one of the stories that I so frequently read in another life. “I do not think that I am possessed.”

“Possessed?” Morygen frowned before shaking her head and holding her arms out in apology. “I'm sorry, that was rude. No, if it had to do with the void of souls we would not have found you.”

I almost blinked in surprise, “Why?”

Morygen seemed to match my own surprise before chuckling awkwardly, “Sorry for that. I should stop assuming that you know these things. Voidspawn and what they touch cannot leave the cities of the Fallen Ones. Actually, you’d be surprised how often they sneak into Treasures.”

“How?” I asked. Despite myself I was actually happy after a fashion, the curiosity was not a bad emotion and more to the point it was an emotion that I could enjoy without any dampening.

It also drew my interest that there was anything that could actually keep the grimdark-powered cheating that was chaos omnipotence.

But Morygen shrugged helplessly, humor at my sudden outburst evident. “Can’t rightly say about that. Seekers, priests and scholars have more ideas about that than I think are really important. As far as I can tell, well...”

She leaned back in her chair as in thought.

“I think a good story should come after a meal together, don’t you think?” Her smile had some mischief in it.

Given her profession, I suspected that she was used to attempting to rapidly build rapport with the bands that she agreed to work with. Mercenary or not, it was worth it to have some ties to those whose hands your life would be in.

“I like to hear stories,” I encouraged the willing font of knowledge. I wished that I knew how to force the amusement forward beyond attempting to broaden my best smile.

“Well if you insist,” she laughed. “I once saw a man, well more a boy but so was I back then. Anyway, he found this sword. It was a pretty sword lacquered in all sorts of fancy patterns and the others were insistent that it was real pretty. Void-stuff always has pretty colors for other people, perversions on the true colors.”

She shrugged, “It is all as grey as your hair to me. Anyway, he picks up this sword, next thing you know he is cutting through the voidborn like a scythe through wheat. And the next thing you know we were at the edge of the ruins. And then.”

Her smile turned to a frown, “He could not leave. We did not think it was corrupted at first, we did not know what it was. You never think that it will happen to you, you hear the stories but you ignore them when you are young and unblooded.”

I rested my chin between my hands as she continued to reminisce while the little one scrubbed at the bowls in a bucket.

“He started getting erratic, insisting that he would get out. It seemed like nerves but before you know it, he was on about wanting to conquer the whole of the world. He said that he would not sell it like we do with the better things,” She shook her head. “That is generally a hard to miss sign. A Treasure is a Treasure but that sort of talk is madness, more so when he started talking about rivers of blood and mountains of skulls.”

“And what did you do?” I asked when she paused.

The look in her eyes was a sad one.

“He tried to get them to kill me,” She sighed. “Blamed me for his inability to leave, some nonsense about me being a monster. That was all the sign we needed. They don’t like Void-banes and it always gives them away.”

“You killed him,” It was not a question.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Tossed the ugly grey thing back into the ruins and left his body where it was, it was as tainted as the sword. Bad business, I turned down the pay, we ended up without Treasures to sell and it left a bad taste to be paid for killing their friend.”

Her expression seemed a touch pained for a moment at the last before vanishing under her smile as she raised her shoulders and spread her arms, “So no, you do not have that sort of void-stuff.”

I offered another forced smile, “I hope that is not too disappointing.”

“I will live,” she said with an easy smirk. “But the point is that I would not worry too much about the hair.”

“I suppose that being dull is better than being trapped in some ruin,” I agreed.

"I tend to agree there," She said with a broad smile. "We will need to cut it though, can't have people think you are upjumped."

That drew my attention, one of the points of note I had yet to conclude was the uniformly short-shorn hair among the village adults. Especially in contrast to the varying lengths of the Seekers in the tavern.

"Is there some problem with it?" I asked.

"Well…" Morygen scratched her cheek thoughtfully. "You don't seem Gancean or like you are from Gwyar, but it's best not to tempt these things. Odd you would forget but commonborn should not grow their hair long after their fourth, that sort of thing is for those of higher birth."

Huh, I mused. "So I am making something of a rebellious statement at the moment?"

"More than you are going to have a time getting it clean," She snorted. "Takes a higher class to afford cleanliness like that, but yes it does present a less than ideal image."

"It would not be a problem," I shrugged. I did not think that long hair had ever been a preference of mine before and I had no interest in presenting the wrong idea.

The younger girl tapped my shoulder and I turned to see her offering me a smoking cup. The source of the herbal smell.

“Her tea is actually good,” Morygen suggested as I took the cup in hand while the little one darted back to the small kitchen and back with a cup for her sister with a maternal smile.

I sipped and tried to force back the rush of nutritional information with mixed results. It was not too sweet but there was a bit of a tang to it that my brain immediately identified as originating from a distant descendant of an orange. The flavor was still far removed, but I settled for enjoying the question of how something like an orange could grow in what seemed like a colder climate.

“Good,” I smiled at the little girl again, opting to keep up my practice. Her blushing retreat was amusing in its own way but I forced the emotion forward into a shake of my head.

I wondered how strong the impulses of the others had to be for them to be able to produce such great reactions? I would need to work on that if I want to be the least bit personable.

“So,” the elder blank asked as she sipped along happily. “All else aside, I plan to show you around the village tomorrow, if it is all the same to you.”

“You did not today?” I asked.

“Well I guess I did at that,” she admitted sheepishly. “But it is important to get to know some of the folk.”

I wondered at that. By rights I should be busy trying to conquer the world while attracting more followers than possible despite being all sorts of abrasive.

Then again, I was not a Primarch in truth.

“I would like that,” That time the smile was more genuine.
 

Chapter IV: Prologue IV​

2nd Day of Silver Fall, 936th Year Gwyar's Winter.

It was not that I could not sleep, I suspected that I could do that at will if I had the inclination.

But whether it was due to my new nature, or the time I had spent unconscious, I simply did not feel the need in me.

And time was a valuable thing. Time to think, time to plan.

Going over the past day's events, how I might have ended up where I was.

I could accept my situation with unnatural ease. I acknowledged that in all likelihood it was the work of Chaos as most any event free of explanation was inevitably an ill-omened thing and they were the most hostile party I could think of with the requisite mind.

I could even accept the missing faces of my blood; grandchildren, children and even my my long-dead spouse. Parents, siblings, friends, coworkers and family were an echo at best. More notions that I knew were applicable and loose associations than proper people.

The acceptance of all of it came so easily that it drew attention to itself in turn, as if prodding at the gap where a tooth should have emerged and yet none ever did.

Yet even that curiosity was harder to hold onto than my current circumstances.

I mulled over the world that I had been trapped in, both the planet that I did not have a name for and the larger galaxy. There was always a fitting element to the world that a Primarch was sent to.

But that had its own risks. This was a world where Chaos was a known part of life, an ill-understood specter to be sure but still something better understood than most. That meant that this was a world that could easily fall under threat if the wrong elements of the crusade found it.

By which I meant orbital bombardment.

But if they were the right ones… well Nulls do not grow on trees and neither does the ability to contain chaos outbreaks. A world where Blanks could steadily show up in bloodlines like the sisters and the technology allowed could be priceless if I could sell it right.

Which all begged the single pressing question.

What do I want?

It was a strange thought, I had not had to think about such things for decades and now I had to decide a great deal if I wanted to keep my head above the daemonic water.

And I seemed to be at something of a disadvantage.

By my estimation I was some 310cm in height, monstrously tall to be sure but about average compared to what I knew about the heights of my future peers. I had no way of knowing how I would weigh any other baseline characteristics against them but I could expect that I had some troubling deficiencies compared to the real Primarchs.

That was to say nothing of the greater problems presented by my lack of any of the unique gifts that the others had possessed. I did not possess any intuitive knowledge of everything around me (for the most part), any urge to craft masterworks out of nothing nor did I even know how to fight and I certainly did not feel any newfound insights in strategy or governorship.

That left me with two options, either hope against hope that I was surrounded by enough nulls and blanks to keep the emperor from finding me or I would be left with no choice but to find something to be useful in and to try to acquire some sort of skill before I was found and jeered into oblivion.

Jeering which could easily lead to disdain, which to such a proud brotherhood could lead to... an unsavory demise.

There was a lovely thought to be sure.

A Primarch was brilliant beyond comprehension, making wonders out of scraps that had no place being given such purpose. They were researchers that could outpace civilizations in their projects, logisticians that could allow for galaxy-spanning empires run with supreme efficiency or assassins that could hide from the eyes of gods.

I was comparatively basic coding given infinite processing space, a civilian given in the potential for the greatest of martial prowess. Honestly, it seemed like a waste for someone like myself to wield it.

But that was indulging in self-doubt and shame. Neither were useful tools, I had time in all likelihood before I was found if I ever was and I at least had some potential.

My past life, as distant as it was, had not completely abandoned me. I still recalled the tools needed to navigate people, groups and political apparatuses how to please and how to threaten.

Not enough on its own, not nearly enough, but assets I might find a use for if I was clever. Things that would readily plug into place once I had proper control of my new senses.

Provided I survived long enough to master them.

I needed to focus on something and for the time being I had to worry about preparing for the expedition ahead of me.

Which meant fighting demons.

I had no illusions of avoiding them, I was well-aware that I was the juiciest steak in the world for a demon. Dampened emotions or not, I was still human enough that I would be distracted by the psychic resonance that they gave off although none of my ‘brothers’ arrogance and self-assurance to fend them off.

I would have to pin my hopes on Morygen for that, I had read a great many books on the world around me but that meant little due to the inconsistencies within. The effectiveness of a blank was one such example, sometimes a random null of minor potency could scare off demons easily enough despite having no training while in others the Emperor’s elite super-Blanks could be slain by lesser demons in one tale and in another they could inflict a true cessation of existence onto even the greatest of their numbers.

Narrative freedom, great for a corporation attempting to use several dozen authors to spread the appeal of an ancient franchise. Horrendous at best as an instructional tool whoever was left with only them as a lifeline.

It might be possible to question Morygen after her own experience, although that ran the possibility of being perceived as rude and it struck me as ungrateful. Less charitably, there was the risk the woman might misrepresent her prowess and experience. She did not seem the type though, certainly the story she had told suggested nothing of dishonesty.

My own inhuman senses had also indicated that she was an irregularly dangerous human, but I was not confident enough in them to take my assumptions as facts. Especially against an unknown set of parameters such as Daemons.

When the expedition was over, I could think about moving forwards, while I was lacking to survive in the greater galaxy, I might be able to make a good living in a fairly primitive world.

There was even the vague possibility of managing to reclaim and augment enough of my former skill to at least fake a Primarch's prowess and competence. Their creator was a negligent and practical enough being to spare me in such a scenario and I could at least ward off shame well enough to avoid an executioner's touch, especially if I could find competent enough leaders to take credit from.

A low move, but likely my best wager...

I sighed in the dark, a low grumbling sound that sounded like a distant avalanche.

This is all so ridiculous, I thought with some resignation while shifting my hulking mass enough to try and be comfortable.

I could not fathom what need there was for such a large and exaggerated body, it would be more useful to be as awesome in a less cumbersome form.

An idle thought wondered how grotesquely over-sized my taller siblings would be, or the Size-Shifter of Mankind. The latter being one of the litany of new names I had started to cultivate for my body's creator.

“Can't sleep?” I had heard her getting up of course but she was quiet in the night nonetheless, a good sign for her abilities.

There was hardly that much space in the house, my bulk occupied so much space that much of the furniture had to be pushed up against a wall in order to allow me to sleep on the floor.

“No,” I lied. I was wary of inspiring fear or worse confidence beyond my actually ability, it was better to portray myself as being as mundane as possible. “And yourself?”

Morgen snorted softly while she eased herself down to sit next to my head.

“I am not much of a sleeper,” she shrugged. “Sorry for Ymer, she's a good girl. But those like us tend to make for quiet children.”

Said child was completely asleep on the other hand, her breathing and heartbeat suggesting a deep REM sleep.

Although the use of plural was odd.

I very deliberately arched a brow, she saw me well enough in the moonlight and laughed quietly.

“Yes, even me,” she smiled before bringing a callused hand to scratch her chin. “You really got it bad, didn't you?”

That reconfigured my lips into a small smile of my own, “Perhaps a touch.”

“I have never gotten that kind of luck myself,” she admitted. “I am not sure I could use it myself.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“A good enough Treasure and you can move up in the world,” she laughed quietly. "At the very least it would mean that I could improve things for her."

She said the last with a nod toward her sister. "I owe her that much, with where I've got her. A good enough treasure and I could find myself moving up the ranks, coin and power."

“Is that so?”

“It’s only fair I tell you,” she shrugged. “My mother's father was an Oath Master. Second only to a Sect Master in all the senses that matter.”

“And you wish to earn a similar renown?” I suggested. Ignorant of the meaning or not, I would have to be dense beyond human to not understand some of the framework of what she was suggesting.

“Yes,” she chuckled. “We do not serve kings or republics, we hunt in the depths of the ruins and sell them to those who will pay a fair price. What they do with that is their business. And other Seekers tend to notice when you can find something worth getting those sorts all excited. Better than selling the small stuff.”

That sounds chaotic, “I am genuinely surprised that is allowed.”

“Well, it does depend on the strength of the ruler,” She scratched her cheek. “If a dynasty or council is powerful then they buy everything and if they are weak then their nobles and notables buy and use them against each other.”

I frowned at that, both the gut reaction of my body and my own consciousness were of a mind at such a messy arrangement.

“I can see the frown on your face,” She smiled in the dark. “You would have liked my father, he also liked the old tenets.”

I did not see a need to answer, she understood by then that she would have to explain everything.

“Seeker guilds, both those in our lands and those farther off were founded to try and reclaim the ruins. Founded by the greatest of the heroes to rise from the mud we were all cast into after the catastrophe that gave the Fallen Ones their name,” It seemed like she was reciting an old tale from the way her eyes unfocused. “It failed with time though, restoring the world and vanquishing the Conquering Void became providing for their people and then to selling it to survive when the people lost their patience. Thats the way of it with people, you know. You do not see much use in promises of tomorrow when eating for the day and keeping the things in the forests from eating your children matter more tomorrow.”

Some bitterness slipped into her tone as she continued her story, “So the Guilds broke down overtime, every country making its own Sect, every Sect caring less and less about some distant Guildmaster. By the Stars and Souls, some Seekers can't really be bothered with what their own Oath Master cares about. We became content to feed the wars for survival rather than strive for something better.”

She caught herself when she realized that her tone been raised, “Sorry about that. I always get too whingy, it's unbecoming. Gwyar is a better place than most, its old and deep into winter here.”

“I do not mind,” I said. It was good to know that my host did not subscribe to such a wasteful attitude. Although I realized that the decline probably had less to do with deliberate harm and more with hard circumstances and people doing what they could to make due.

I also cataloged the name she mentioned, the way she used those words had some deep meaning, I was sure of that.

“Then you are an odd one,” she mused. “But I would thank you not to mention it. Outsiders are my dearest customers and I would rather not have them speaking of my views. They are not great for business, especially if foreign Seekers decide I'm too much an oddity to put up with, its already hard enough to put up with a different Sect."

I wondered if that was prompting? There was a good chance that it was my que, a reason to move forward and take the world.

“I do not intend to,” No, it was only a thought. It was not my cause, I was not ready for that sort of grand ambition.

“Good,” She whispered her thanks.

"Why foreigners?" I asked mildly. "You said that you were part of the local guild. Will they not work with you?"

"Local Sect," She corrected absentmindedly. "Silver by Justice." There was a smile as she said the words like an often repeated prayer. "And... it is complicated."

"Very well," I said immediately.

"Not for any wrong I did," She said suddenly, more force in her voice than I thought she intended. “Sorry, I am not sure why I said that.”

Because Chaos? I chuckled internally, it was a reality of madness after all. But I did not mind to hear her story, I had only known her for the day and I found myself liking the Blank scavenger.

“Because you want an ally?” It was a reasonable conclusion. I was not averse to it, I did not have any real objective to helping her until I had a course of action

“Maybe?” She asked. It seemed more a general question than one for me in particular. “Well, I bothered you enough. Best get some sleep.”

She returned to her cot again, leaving me to think farther.

So I spent the night in thought, forcing myself into sleep only an hour or two in total while I puzzled out what course was appealing.

I came up with nothing.

Edited September 20, 2020 by StrangerOrders