Editing Story:Warhammer 60K: The Age of Dusk (section)

==Additional Background Section 25: A Time of Contraction: The Cult Forgotten and The Necromundan Alliance [Part One]==

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''My memories; they are not my own. No, I oversimplify; they are mine, but I possess the memories of others as if they were mine. As I read these archives, these histories flow into me like some terrible torrent. I recall things history couldn’t know, yet I remember them alongside the historical accounts; I am participant and observer.

Has this twisted den of living bone finally taken by sanity? Or was my mind never my own? I do not recall how I first began this chronicle; I do not recall how I came to be here, besieged and surrounded by things I cannot fathom. I recall my allies, but why do I know them? Are all my memories ripped from these pages and etheric repositories?

There was another voice in my head. Is that my true voice? These thoughts disturb me; I must continue. Knowledge and the reiteration of history will quell my dread. Asurmen promised...

Sweet knowledge, caress me...'' 
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The period of Contraction was a controversial policy enacted by various galactic powers during the rampaging conflict brought to the galaxy by the Dragon Tides. The Vulkan Imperium concentrated their forces around each of the worlds of the empire densely, combining powerful patrol fleets with regiment upon regiment of soldiers. This allowed each world in the Imperium to weather the Dragon Tides effectively. This policy was taken up by some of the neighboring empires to the Vulkan Imperium. 

Yet, in exchange for security, the Vulkan Imperium paused in its gradual, methodical expansion. Contemporary scholars likened the action to that of a bear hibernating (''or a cockroach being frozen, according to less sympathetic historians''). Interplanetary traffic was reduced to a minimum; any vessels which were permitted to travel between worlds had to remain in the warp for vast lengths of time in order to reach their destinations without risking entering realspace and suffering raids by either the Dragon Tide, or the demented fleets of the Storm Lord, that crackled with strange energies both in realspace and the immaterium (''due to the present of his Angyllic allies onboard those corrupted Necron craft''). This was obviously more risky, and meant only the most essential and important missions were undertaken as otherwise this would represent a waste of resources if trading fleets had to constantly risk enhanced warp threats every time they left their systems.

Luckily, a significant fraction of the worlds pacified and administered by the government of Armageddon were self-sufficient worlds, each well-stocked for centuries of isolation. A slow pace of expansion had been a wise move on the shrewd Primarch’s part. For a hundred years into M56, there was paranoia and subconscious unease within the populations of the Vulkan Imperium, but relatively few direct wars. Ironically, the threat of sudden and arbitrary destruction fostered a form of wary peace (''how history runs in its little cycles...'').

In this climate of reduced military campaigning, those few major events have since gained increased prominence, and the heroes of this time became legendary. There was Temestor Braiva, the handsome General of the Federation of Justice’s rapid counter-incursion taskforce; tales of dashing heroism and bravery that still stir the blood. Darnal Taq was another legendary figure, but his fame was as much for his politics (''and his personal championing of the now-famous figure of Iacob'') as for any personal feat of arms. There was the notoriously fearsome Warmistress of the Ryza-Catachan Plasma Commandoes; she was famously unattractive, but also phenomenally formidable in combat (''a legacy of her mythical namesake, Saint Harker the indestructible''). And of course the Brethren of the Willing under Imogen, who had become almost completely bionic by this point due to her advancing age (''Some speculate Vulkan himself devised a means to keep her alive, for she was a most useful servant and friend to the Primarch''), and limited Astartes kill-teams operated throughout the period. The exploits of these famous figures are intrinsically linked to the major events afflicting the Imperium during this century of tension.

As the Contraction drew on, the Vulkan Imperium began to lose contact with neighbouring empires and trade partners with alarming regularity. Some just entrenched themselves like the Imperium had done, while others simply vanished. Large predators were consuming these realms. The Western and Eastern Imperiums of Chaos consumed worlds by the thousands. Rumour trumped truth in these cases. Some claimed Abaddon had united the two realms and had begun an offensive, others claimed he had been usurped and even darker forces were at work.

A new power was growing within the carcass of the Theologian Union; a realm of deathless titans clad in runic armour conquered worlds and enslaved their populaces. Flickering warp fires burned multi-hued in their former witch furnaces. The witch-hunters were themselves hunted, by the very witches they had once destroyed. These liberated psykers and warp witches all bore the sigils of the Godmaker Ahriman. The Sorcerer King was growing in power and no human realm dared challenge him, for he possessed the Obsidian Cube; his grand fortress of forbidden knowledge pillaged from Terra itself. Any Astartes kill teams were rapidly humbled by his Rubric; simply adding to his mounting power. He was becoming something new, something terrible. He wished to see as Magnus had seen, and avoid his former master’s mistakes. He would become omniscient (''or so he desired''). The only one brave enough to challenge him, Crolomere the Grey Sensei, had been cast from his sight. She was presumed lost for many years, but this was untrue.

All these great foes were beyond the scope of the contracted Imperium. However, the Vulkan Imperium had troubles within its own borders. It would be easy to trivialise such conflicts, but they meant life or death for billions and the small strike forces sent forth to deal with these problems were tremendously brave, for they knew no support would come to their aid should they fail.

First, we must talk of the Cult Forgotten. The Cult was as ancient as it was secretive. The Temple of Vanus had been destroyed many millennia previously, but their agents had remained; dissolving into society. They were tailors and surgeons of media and information. Originally, they had been created to eliminate political foes completely; to not only kill them, but to erase their very existence from all documents, records and even the memories of their closest friends. It would be as if they had never existed at all. And the Vanus did this so discreetly, most members of the Old Imperium never knew of the Vanus at all; they were data-ghouls, ghosts in the machine, errors in computation and cogitation.

But they were real, and they survived. The Cult was founded upon the idea that knowledge was the route of evil; under the God-Emperor, the populace stayed ignorant and it was relatively safe. Heresy would be impossible for a mind made small by ignorance and fear. The Cult Forgotten spread like an illness; they destroyed any libraries that even mentioned C’tan. They killed scholars and erased their teachings about chaotic pantheons or the manifest forms of the xenos.

Darnal Taq (''remembered fondly in many histories simply as ‘the Wyvern Scribe’'') and his political disciples had decided that the Vulkan Imperium would best serve its people if they knew the nature of the threats they faced. Ignorance caused fear, and ignorance was seen as a blight upon the first Imperium. The Cult Forgotten had to be challenged. Thus, thorough psychic relays and urgent delegations of scribes and scholars began to travel the Imperium, risking life and limb to rekindle the knowledge being lost.

As this went on, the Brethren of the Willing began to search for this hidden cult. In conjunction with the Order of Heracles, they engaged in a covert war of espionage and discreet assassination. The Vanus were cunning and devious. Sometimes their enemies would forget they had ever seen them, or were subtly reprogrammed to hunt down other assassins on the Cult Forgotten’s behalf. Yet, slowly, the Vanus were hunted down and destroyed. The final official Vanus was slain by The Wyvern Scribe’s own retinue, after it transpired that one of his closest friends was a Vanus grand master. Though he nearly died in the attempt, Darnal himself put a bolt between her eyes, but not before she had put half of his personal staff into paralytic comas from which they never recovered.

It was said that the Vulkan Imperium was a realm of valiant comraderie and good nature. But there were elements of their population who were just as sordid, greedy and cruel as they had ever been. There were some people who were always the lowest, base figures in history; the cowards, backstabbers and thieves that plagued history books with squallid tales of petty criminality and violence. This was the ugly underworld of Vulkan’s semi-utopia. This amorphous force was later known as the Necromundan Alliance.

It began with the Savlar Chem Dogs way back in the Second Age of Strife. Their homeworld had been destroyed, but they themselves were spread out across the galaxy as former guard regiments. The Chem Dogs were drug-dealers and criminals and they took advantage of any period of hardship and weakness. They formed protection rackets on countless backwaters and in the stinking underhives of more civilised worlds. They smuggled in illicit spices and narcotics, all the while bullying and brutalising the weak. The Chem Dogs became a loose dynasty of vagabonds and filthy crime lords, overshadowing even the most infamous of Malfian families.

When Vulkan swept out on his new crusade of Unity, the Savlars resented his concepts of helping their common men and building a new world of justice and dignity for the human race. Like cockroaches, their empire hid itself from the scrutiny of the righteous; infesting the dark places where law was but a memory. Their diseased influence spread throughout the new Imperium, expanding after allying with the Necromundan Spiders, a similarly brutal culture born of ex-Guard lineage.

However, it was not until the Contraction that these crooks and villains resurfaced. For some reason, their ambitions had grown massively. They not only dipped their snouts into petty planetary crime, but they began to rob from forge worlds and raided the vast storage units of the most important of Imperial organisations and clients. This was especially bizarre, for no one could explain how they could pull these crimes off. Each crime scene looked like a horrific warzone; guards were ripped to shreds, pulped by bolters and whirring blades. Investigators of these crimes knew only one force was capable of such swift and brutal destruction. A Space Marine Free Company must still have existed (''even though, at this point, these companies were believed to be extinct''). The Promethian Council dispatched an Astartes Kill Team to locate this rogue criminal Astartes organisation. The kill team consisted of ten Marines selected from across the Commanderies for their knowledge of Mk I Astartes lore and their infiltration abilities. This new investigation took them from world to world of the Imperium.

They braved hideous warp journeys through suspended animation, and faced down the underworlds of the Imperium with particular relish. Their leader, Broxon Timbor, was a Steel Wolverine, a Commandery which particularly despised those who dared to carry arms against fellow citizens. His men were brutal and ruthless in their interrogations and their search for the heads of this amorphous criminal entity. But while their work was effective, it was also noisy. Somehow, the dealers and villains got word to their masters of a band of (''they assumed'') rogue Astartes who were apparently after their blood. Though the Criminal Alliance knew these superhumans were after them, they did not suspect these were men sent by Vulkan’s government itself.

After years of breaking heads and examining crime scenes, it seemed clear that the heart of the criminal enterprise was the Hive World Necromunda. Necromunda had been declared a failed planet centuries previously. The ruling Nobles had been toppled by warring gangland factions, bringing down the Brass-top Enforcers and even the Spryer families. Necromunda became a battleground of insurgencies and counterinsurgencies, as Goliath gangs clashed with Van Saar bands and even the mutant population muscled in on the uprising. Some suggested the world simply be bombed, but others argued that without any food imports, the world would collapse in upon itself. Yet, the planet had, unaccountably, survived; shipments were smuggled in from across the sector and beyond. The Kill team realised that the Savlar Chem Dogs and their allies had been the ones to bring in these shipments. This was the rancid heart of their corruption. The Kill Team hid themselves within one of these shipments and prepared to take down their foes.

Even amongst other hellish hives, Necromunda was a special kind of horrible, for the distasteful bowels of the underhive were no longer confined to the pit; they had risen up to infest the entire planet. Poverty and sickness was rife everywhere, and not one building was left undamaged. Sewage overflowed in the streets and every man, woman and child looked to each other in suspicion and hate. The Kill team fought its way through these endless slums, for the only way to learn new information was to beat it out of defeated warbands. Slowly, they came to learn of the Savlar families. No gang could take them down because their heavies were unbeatable, or so it was claimed. Even the Goliath admitted these thugs were harder than them.

Every gang pointed the Kill team towards their bastion, located high atop the hive spire. It had once been the opulent home of the nobility and the Lord-Governor; a glorious palace of fine furniture and lavish decoration. But it was no longer.

The palace had become a grim fortress, reinforced with stolen macrocannons and titan blasters foraged from across the galaxy. Iron spikes and battlements of riveted adamantium were bolted to the architecture garishly. The kill team chose to attack the fortress at the same time that a major Goliath-led assault was undertaken. As the Savlar emplacements slaughtered the gangers, the kill team smashed its way through the blockade, losing Broxon to a stray mega-bolt round that pulverised his body utterly. Callan the Fire Beast took up the team leader position and stormed into the fortress with a curse on his lips, lashing out with the blades on his armour and his own consecrated boltgun. The Chem Dogs and the tattooed spider Guardsmen couldn’t stand up to Astartes in such close quarters. Though Braman the Bull Repentent fell during the battle, they nevertheless pressed on through the mass of soldiers, until they reached the rotten heart of the fort. Beautiful tapestries hung in tatters, chests of treasure were torn asunder and even the fine carpets had been ripped out and unceremoniously tarnished by thugs and gangers. It was then that the Astartes met their match.

Rogue Astartes burst from concealed positions of ambush to assault them. Bolter met bolter and blade met blade in the close confines of the tainted palace. These Astartes were clad in patchwork power armour, crudely painted in garish yellow and black strips, while some sections of newer armour were still grey and unpainted; fresh from a liberated forge. Likewise, their looted weapons were diverse as they were deadly. Two more of the kill team fell, but not before taking a heavy toll on those Mk I Astartes that attacked them. After a short skirmish, the other six super soldiers were subdued and incapacitated, before being dragged to the governor’s throne room.

Their assailants were the Marines Malevolent. These posthuman warriors had rejected Vulkan’s rulership for as long as they had existed. They would not bow to weak humanitarians. It was they who had added their might to the Savlar cause, in exchange for dominion over the pathetic mortal beasts. Yet, strangely, it was no Marine Malevolent who leered at the captured Mk II Astartes. He was certainly a Space Marine, but his armour was the colour of midnight, streaked with lightning and dried gore. He bore no helmet, and his pallid features were streaked with black veins, as dark as his black eyes. The throne he sat upon had been smashed onto its side, and he merely perched atop it like a vulture.

At his command, the Marines Malevolent began to carve open the helpless Astartes before him. Their geneseed organs were ransacked, one by one. The midnight-clad Warlord hissed with laughter as the deed was done. Codar the Son of Thunder was one of the last marines left and he spat curses at the Night Lord. The villain barely paid attention as he surveyed his kingdom of corruption from his grand panoramic windows.

The terrible figure muttered about ‘Nostromo reborn’ and ‘the realms of chaos falling into dissolution; a terrible fate for such a glorious enterprise’. Codar knew the foul marine was quite profoundly demented. The Night Lord spoke of quenching Necromunda’s sun eventually. 

“Then!” He hissed. “Then, these people shall know fear!”

But the kill team had been cunning. Their purpose had merely been to chase the unseen menace into the open. As the Night Lord watched, the smog-filled heavens of Necromunda began to glow. Then, like avenging angels, the Valkyries descended, unloading their cargoes on the move. Half-tanks and buggies clattered into the spire on grav chutes, alongside the Confederation strike teams of Temestor Braiva.

Codar took this moment of distraction to detonate his own armour's power pack. The blast floored his nearest assailants, but he rose from the fire first. Snatching up a bolter and a chainsword, he launced himself at the Marines Malevolent. It was an uneven battle, but he knew he had to act fast; if the Necromundan Alliance was not beheaded swiftly, the entrenched Necromundans would repulse the strike force. Far above, Braiva’s strike cruiser played a game of cat and mouse against the vast, decrepit Malevolent battlebarge in orbit.

Codar swiftly ran to Callan, releasing him from his bonds. The two Space Marines fought desperately against the rogue Astartes opposing them. The captain of the Marines Malevolent was armed with a mace, which crackled with ethereal energies. Together with the now-frenzied Night Lord wielding his claws, they began to overcome the two surviving Imperial Astartes. Callan’s throat was ripped out, but he spewed acidic bile from the wound which destroyed the optics of the Malevolent one’s helm. Codar was struck in the chest with the mace, flinging him bodily through the throne room’s window, clattering to a stop on the windswept balcony beyond. He watched with numb disgust as the Night Lord raised Callan above his head, and broke his spine across one knee.

Before Codar could follow his leader into oblivion, a Valkyrie hovered into view behind him. The two enemy leaders and their remaining squadmates dropped to the ground, before a sudden barrage of fire shredded the entire throne chamber with bolt rounds and scything beams from lascannons. Before they could recover, the Varseen deployed directly from the Valkyrie; jumping from gunship to balcony via high-tension cables clipped to their belts. At their head, Temestor Braiva charged, raising his laser gauntlets as he did so. The human soldiers battled with cool, calm precision, even as many of them were quickly slain. The combat was short and brutal; Braiva faced down the Night Lord, as both retinues lay dead about them. The Astartes was impossibly fast and the human hero struggled just to avoid the monster’s claws. His laser gauntlets merely carved smoldering lines in the Astartes’ battleplate. Sensing victory, the Night Lord closed in for the kill, but Temestor Braiva had a plan. As the Astartes grabbed him, he lunged forwards and slammed a grenade into the brute’s open mouth. The grenade was a mere flash-bang model charge, but it had the desired effect after exploding. The Night Lord recoiled, retching and oozing black blood from every orifice in his face. Using this momentary distraction, Braiva unclipped his harness and attached the cable to his foe, before rolling aside.

The Valkyrie pilot pulled back on his stick, dragging the Night Lord from the chamber violently. As his foe dangled helplessly from the wire, Braiva took up one of the oversized Astartes weapons laying upon the floor and gunned the villain down in three deafening volleys.

The death of that Night Lord tore the heart from the cowardly gangers, who were driven before the peerless elite of the Imperium’s mortal soldiery. The droptroops of Braiva had to extract themselves soon afterwards due to the enemy's overwhelming numbers. However, the damage was already done. It is said for the first time in millennia, the gangs of Necromunda rose up as one, sensing the weakness of the Savlars after their mauling. In the decade that followed, the Savlars were hunted down like the dogs they always claimed to be.

The Marines Malevolent were no fools; when they learned Necromunda was lost, they fled in the battle barge as fast as they could, after bombarding Necromunda’s main spire with nuclear fire. They later joined Abaddon’s exile fleet, participating in the legendary Battle of Palanium.

As for Codar, Braiva had him conveyed to Armaggedon. Meanwhile, Temestor Braiva remained active throughout the period, fighting alongside his elite taskforce. His many daring deeds could fill a library by themselves.

In the next part, we shall see some other notable acts that defined the Time of Contraction as a conspicuous period of heroism amidst a galaxy swiftly darkening with evil in all quarters.
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