Ciaphas Cain: Hero of the Koronus Expanse

[Hjonk]

Editorial Note:

The following is, I must admit, a rather stark departure from the preceding contents of the Cain Archive. It marks an unpredictable upheaval in the life of Commissar Cain - one that comes just at the cusp of the 13th Black Crusade and explains Cain's absence from any other Imperial accounts of that time.

This is, as I'm sure all my readers well know, due to the sudden and unexpected revelation as to exactly why no-one had managed to track down the true homeworld on which Cain had been raised, and trained for the Schola Progenium, despite considerable efforts to do just that.

Of course, while it comes as no surprise that Cain's parents were more than hiveborn lowlifes (he'd never have been selected for the Schola if that were the case) I dare say I speak for all of us when I say I never could have guessed the true origins from which he stemmed.

Nor, I'm sure, could Cain himself.

Nonetheless, I have continued to move through the contents of Cain's memoirs in an effort to put his often slapdash ramblings into a more coherent narrative. The very nature of this new 'chapter' of his life has, however, made this a more challenging endeavour. I have therefore decided to supplement these writings with some less scholarly sources. I shall do my best to ensure the largest and most important events are told in Cain's own words, however some must be reconstructed from whatever I can find of security footage, eye-witness accounts, or simply retelling from third-party sources.

Rest assured that I maintain the same standards for historical accuracy, and so even these additions have been curated to be as close to the actual events as I could manage. Cain himself has occasionally assisted in this, though as I'm sure my readers are aware, that could influence the perception of events to be rather less impressive than they may have been. The testimonies of his eventual Companions have been invaluable to push things back into a more accurate retelling.

As it stands, I shall do my utmost to ensure the Inquisition has a full and complete account of the life of Commissar Cain.

- Inquisitor Amberley Vail, His Holy Inquisition, Ordo Xenos

---

Soldiers, as a rule, make exceptionally poor Nobles. They spend so much of their lives looking ahead to find the enemy, that they forget the deadliest blade is the one that strikes from behind. Unless they're used to the attention of a particularly irritating Commissar, of course.

- Governor Bethany D'tois, High General of the Astra Militarum, Retired - 984.M41

As I stared out over the truly massive ship-borne Cathedral aboard the Eternal Vigilance, flagship of Rogue Trader Theodora von Valancius, I wondered what in the world I had done to become the Emperor's favourite joke. I'd never been the most pious man in His service, often of the opinion that He likely had much more important things to worry about than whatever sorry plight I had gotten dragged into, but surely a good two centuries of continuous bowel-clenching horror should have been enough for me to earn my peaceful and uneventful retirement.

Alas, that was not to be.



I'd been having quite the nice evening at the Schola, toying with the few suckers among the faculty that had yet to learn not to bet high against me over a tarot deck, when we were interrupted by my faithful and long-serving aide, Ferik Jurgen. He knocked quickly on the door before stepping inside, clearly considering whatever he had to say a high priority for me to hear - which told me instantly that I wasn't going to like it at all.

"Commissar," He began in the unbothered and phlegmatic fashion I'd grown so used to, his attention locking on me and ignoring the mildly disgusted look of the other teachers as his rather nauseating bouquet washed into the room. "There's a squad of rather insistent navy-boys out here, saying you've been summoned." Well, that was rarely a good sign, especially considering my retirement. At best, I was about to give some stern lectures and punishments to students who messed around and somehow got a Captain on their case, at worst... well, at worst I was about to be pulled right back out of retirement so the Emperor could once again see about the most amusing situations in which to torment me.

Which turned out to be the case, though in a far more confusing and terrifying way than even I could have imagined. As it was, Jurgen had understated the importance (and clear self-importance) of the 'navy-boys' who had come for me. Indeed, it turned out they were not just any old procurators, but the House Guard of a Rogue Trader dynasty come to collect me on the direct order of their Liege. They even had a signed transfer order from High Command of the Ultima Segmentum! As such, I was barely afforded the time to collect my kit and a few select private items before I was shipped off-world, and only then was I told where exactly we were heading.

I baulked, staring in bewildered confusion at the nervous guard that had shown me to my room on the ship, his eager-to-please attitude likely influenced by my ever-present Commissarial cap, sash, and the reputation that had earned me an undeserved legend as a Hero. He seemed at a loss for words, not quite sure what about his answer had brought my undivided attention onto him, an undesirable position to be in for any guard who knew of the Commissariat. Finally, I found my wits and asked what I, at the time, thought was the most relevant question I could ask.

"Where the frack is the Koronus Expanse?"

---

On the ass-end of nowhere, as it turned out. The Koronus Expanse was a large subsector on the opposite side of the galaxy from the Ultima Segmentum where I'd spent most of my career. It was so far away, in fact, that it took us right up past the Cadian Gate. Not my first visit to that Throne-Forsaken fortress world, but definitely not a place I'd wish to linger, lest Abaddon decide to launch another Black Crusade so he could really screw with my day. (1)

We were forced to make a short stop there however, both for the ship to refuel before the final leg of the journey and because nothing could so much as sneeze above Cadia without a dozen reports filing and inspecting it for any threat of Chaos. That didn't help me much of course, cooped up on the ship as I was, endlessly moving through my chainsword routine to pass the time, but it did afford me a moment to send out an encrypted astropathic message informing the Inquisition of my whereabouts. Not so they would come and save me of course, but Amberley tended to get cross with me if I up and disappeared on adventures she herself had no hand in orchestrating. (2)

Then we were off again, sailing through the warp for the very edges of Imperial space and then beyond even that into territories that could only be called part of the Imperium if you were being rather generous. The domain of Rogue Trader, pirates, heretics and xenos empires yet to be brought to heel.

Frustratingly, the House Guard on the ship were either too well-trained or too loyal to tell me why exactly I had been pulled right out of retirement at the behest of the Rogue Trader, so I was all but clueless up until we actually arrived. (3) At least the captain of the merchant ship we were hitching a ride on provided some better company, sharing his collection of well-aged amasec over dinner, the regicide board and even a tarot deck once or twice, all in exchange for some watered down tales of my own adventures.

By the time we arrived in some unnamed system and I was transferred over to the Eternal Commerce, an enormous, golden Cruiser and flagship of the von Valancius dynasty, I'd managed to dig a little info on the Rogue Trader herself from the captain. Supposedly, she was a daring and demanding ruler who demanded nothing less than excellence. A woman with a taste for the finer things in life, along with the power and authority to demand it. A terrifying mistress in all respects.

And she had gone through the effort to summon me, specifically. I could feel the palms of my hand tingling at just the thought, even as I put on a humble smile and assured the captain that it would be an honour to meet the noble Lady.

"Oh I'm sure the honour will be all hers!" He'd assured boisterously, shaking his head in humour as the shuttle door closed and ultimately sealed my fate.

My arrival on the Eternal Commerce was rather subdued - the guards simply handed me over to their comrades on the flagship, who then herded me through the monumental ship only to leave me on a balcony overlooking the outer doors of a full-sized, honest-to-throne Cathedral in the bowels of the ship. I will admit the sight impressed me a little. Certainly, it wasn't the biggest or most absurd thing I'd seen in my, by then, two centuries of service, but it truly put into perspective just what kind of person I was dealing with.

"Impressive place." Jurgen commented with his usual penchant for understatements. I nodded agreement, my gaze wandering over the doors that could have fit nearly two Leman Russ tanks abreast and the statues that stood on either side, massive skeletal saints standing eternal vigil over the Holy site. It was enough to give even a cynical old man like some pride in the God-Emperor.

"A bit much for a ship though." My aide continued, and I let out a low chuckle. "I suppose the space could be used to hold another armoury, or perhaps a depot for macro-cannon shells." I suggested, though I knew my sarcastic tone was lost on Jurgen. We were interrupted before he could reply, a polite cough making me turn away from the grand view.

What greeted me was a spook if ever I'd seen one; slight build beneath a decorated, ornate blue uniform with neat golden highlights, all of it cleaned and fitted to perfection. Clearly not front-line combat gear, lacking in substantial armour or anything other than what I assumed to be small concealed weapons of some kind in his pockets. Cables connected to minor augmetics ringed his skull, peeking past short dark hair, while one of his ears seemed to have been entirely replaced with a bulky vox-link. His face was sharp, with the natural look of a man used to political mind-games. Meeting my gaze, he gave a polite smile and walked closer, hands clasped behind his back. He looked every part the conniving diplomat, though his gait gave him away - he walked with the grace and lethal intent of a prowling predator. I would not be turning my back on him anytime soon.

But, at the very least, I would soon be given some answers as to why I was here.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" He asked, voice smooth and almost honeyed to my ears. He came to a stop a respectful distance away, just barely past the range of Jurgen's pungent aroma I would guess, and nodded towards the cathedral. I made a show of giving it another look over with a scrutinising eye, before giving my best commissarial nod of approval. "Really glorifies His might and the vastness of His dominion." I answered diplomatically, my hand going down to rest on the hilt of my chainsword.

The man nodded slowly, as if my answer was confirming something for him. "As is the purpose of all such temples - to inspire awe and reverence in all his subjects" He mused on that for a moment, eyes moving past me to examine the structure below before focusing back on me. "I am Kunrad Voigtvir, Master of Whispers in the service of the illustrious Theodora von Valancius. It's a pleasure."

The introduction was given with the slightest bow of his head, though his eyes remained locked on me and Jurgen, flitting occasionally between us but seeming to largely dismiss Jurgen's presence, as most tend to do when they're not close enough to smell him. I returned the nod, drawing myself up and lifting my chin to look every bit the heroic figure I was used to pretending I was. "Commissar Ciaphas Cain, assigned to the Perlia Schola Progenium."

Kunrad nodded again, his lips quirking into a smirk as he looked me over. "Believe me, even out here you don't need much introduction. However..." Trailing off, he gave me a hard look, like a pre-Schola instructor telling a juvie not to eat the sump-rats. "Know this; You are now on the ship and in the service of the Valancius Rogue Trader Dynasty. Any loyalties or duties you held before are hereby null and void."

Hah, that was almost cute. I didn't even have to fake the amused grin I gave in response even as I nodded understanding. If this 'Master of Whispers' or, hell, even the Rogue Trader herself demanded it, they could all go to the warp before they had me turning my back on the Guard, let alone the Inquisition! Still, I knew how to play the game and would go along with it until I saw fit not to. (4)

So, I simply nodded along, masking my true thoughts with the ease born from centuries of practice. "Of course. I am retired, after all - I wouldn't dream of betraying such a powerful patron." Kunrad watched my face for a moment longer before seeming to find what he wished for and accepting it. "Good. But in case you should ever forget, keep in mind." He glared, leaning forwards slightly as he made sure I heard him clearly. "I will be watching you."

His piece said, he let the words hang for a moment before whirling around, beckoning me to follow. With his back turned, I rolled my eyes and made to follow, only to stop next to Jurgen and lean close (ignoring the heightened potency of his bouquet with hard-earned practice. "Keep an eye on him, and stay at a distance." Then I followed, trusting Jurgen's unshakeable loyalty and lack of doubt in my judgement.

Now to be clear, it's not that I was directly threatened by the man - Emperor knows I've faced more terrifying men in my time, and Kunrad lacked the understated lethality that would pick him out as a true threat to my person - but there was something about him that just didn't feel quite right. Beyond just making my palms tingle, I felt almost slimy when he talked to me, as if walking through the upper-hive runoff. And considering how my life had gone so far, I'd trust my gut instinct when it was telling me that something was off.

---

After a quick trip through the corridors and halls of the ship (including a short stop to have Jurgen melt a malfunctioning servitor and leaving him to join in securing the upper decks in case of further 'malfunctions) I finally reached the head honcho herself; Theodora von Valancius, the woman who wielded more power than most could comprehend and who had gone through the trouble of dragging me across the galaxy seemingly on a whim. Kunrad had been remarkably tight-lipped just like the guards that had collected us from Perlia, and to be honest the uncertainty was starting to seriously tick me off.

I've been pulled around on errands and life-threatening missions more times than I can count , more often than not earning an ever-larger reputation for surviving them (the ones that weren't classified with the 'talk and you'll be erased' seal, courtesy of Amberley(5)). I'd grown proficient at weaselling out of boring duties I'd rather not bother with, Jurgen serving as quite the valuable road block in that sense, but it wasn't new that sometimes, some high-ranked officer would 'insist' on a meeting or my attendance to some ceremony. It's a part of life in the Astra Militarum, and especially as a man with a reputation that others want to profit from.

But rarely have I been so thoroughly kept in the dark at the behest of someone not even in the Chain of Command. I'd met Inquisitors more willing to keep me informed or at least to tell me what they need me for when they pull me into some horrendously risky mission! the thought that this could all be for some elaborate ceremony, boring parade or the whim of some highborn, inbred aristocrat who wanted to 'meet the legend'...

Needless to say, I was a little miffed when I approached. As it turned out, I probably would have been delighted at any other option. At least a mind-numbing party with haughty and inbred nobles would have been within expectations.

In any case, when I approached the Rogue Trader herself, easily identifiable by nature of being the most expensively and intricately clothed person in the room (with the most outrageous hairstyle, I might add), she was in the middle of lecturing some poor sap on planetary governing. That had little to no interest to me, so I decided to survey her entourage instead of listening in.

To the left of Theodora was a distinguished old man, one who had clearly seen service in the Navy. Even if not for the perfectly maintained Navy Officer uniform, I'd have been able to clock that by the sheer aura of Discipline and the way he stood alone. His whole demeanour screamed pride in his service and the order he maintained of his command, while a greying beard, slicked-back hair and a large augmetic eye gave him the kind of elder wisdom and authority that you almost couldn't help but respect.

On Theodora's other side was what could only be a Death Worlder. Now, Death Worlds come in a multitude of shapes, sizes and levels of Frakking You Up, but there were certain traits that let you pick them out from a crowd with incredible ease, especially with firsthand experience. This one made it all too obvious by the fact he wore more weaponry than most people wore clothes. A Hellgun at rest in his hands, a crude pump-action shotgun hanging on his chest along with a clutch of grenades, two holstered pistols on each thigh and a Melta slung over his back, the man was more of a walking arsenal than a soldier. From the barely-controlled aggression in his stance even at rest, I had no doubt he knew how to make perfect use of every single bit of it as well.

"And what's this? You let just any Militarum rabble interrupt your conversations, Lady Theodora?" The man speaking with the Rogue Trader spoke up, his voice carrying that note of noble snootiness that just rankled my Hive-World pride. I looked away from Theodora's companions to level a glare at the man, giving him my third-best commissarial glare and relishing the way he flinched back slightly, though he rallied with commendable speed. Electing to ignore him, I instead gave a shallow nod of respect to the Rogue Trader.

"I'm sure the Lady herself can determine who is worthy of her attention, no?" I asked rhetorically, the snarky condescension just barely hidden in my tone as I slip into my usual role, giving the lady a charming smile while my hand goes to rest on the pommel of my chainsword in a relaxed, confident pose.

Theodora gave me a piercing look at that, the corner of her lip twitching slightly before she gave me a nod. "Indeed I can." She noted, a harsh rebuke unnecessary due to the frigid tone of her voice. Her gaze swung back to the other man, and I watched with mild amusement as he stiffened visibly. "Now, Edelthrad, why do you remain here among the Officers, instead of attending your duties in the middle decks as I instructed you?"

"Ah- It seems your radiance has distracted me. My apologies, Lady Captain, I shall get to it at once!" The now named Edelthrad hastened to excuse himself, whirling around and rushing off with such speed he didn't even care to give me a look. Or perhaps he deemed me too far beneath his holy and noble attention?

Whatever the case, I turned my attention to the Rogue Trader, who in turn was scrutinising me with something like the fascination of a noble appreciating their newest pet rodent. Before I could think of some way to politely ask why she'd ruined my rather peaceful retirement, she nodded to herself and spoke up. "Commissar Ciaphas Cain." It was not a question, her gaze boring into me as if reading every detail of my history. "I have certainly heard much about you - almost hard not to, when the 'Hero of the Imperium' is shown in every Militarum broadcast I pick up." She chuckled, a hint of mocking amusement in her tone. "Though I dare say I'd doubt you'd do the rumours justice."

Perhaps she expected me to take offence to that? In truth, I knew all too well how ridiculously exaggerated my own Legend had become. If she wished to get me angry she'd have to do better than that, as I simply gave a placid smile and a self-conscious chuckle. "Oh, I'd have to agree. Sadly, the pictcasters and newsreels always have this annoying habit of ignoring the truth in favour of a good story."

Ironic really, that I could wholeheartedly dislike such a thing when, as a Commissar, making propaganda was part of my job description. But then, considering the life I'd lived I found it quite appropriate. (6)

Theodora seemed to agree, giving a cold smile as she either found what she was looking for in my response, or expertly covered up how she didn't. "Indeed. As it stands, you will have to prove yourself worthy of your reputation - I shall have nothing less from an Heir to the Volancius Dynasty."

I nodded along, about to offer some platitude or other off of sheer reflex only to stop short as I processed the words. Mouth open in shock, I stared at the Rogue Trader for an embarrassing (but utterly justified, I'd argue) moment only to cough into my hand. "I - I'm sorry? I must have misheard." I stated, mounting horror barely concealed in my voice as I came to understand exactly why the secrecy of my purpose here was kept for so long.

For some reason, that only made Theodora smile wider, until she seemed like a predator tormenting her next meal.

Which made it all the more fitting that Chaos chose that precise moment to strike, setting off the chain of events that would see me barrelling face-first into war, politics, and Cosmic Horrors beyond my comprehension. (7)

---

1. Had their ship been just a little slower, this would actually have been the case - and Cain would likely have been lamenting an entirely different, though perhaps equally unlikely sequence of events.

2. I do not. I may take some slight offence should others presume to mess with my favoured operatives, and thereby my wider operations, but I would not be so petty as getting upset a Commissar was fulfilling his duty. That said, however, his message arrived at a rather inopportune time preventing me from tracking him down. As things turned out, that was probably for the best.

3. More likely, they simply hadn't been told. After all, why give valuable and possibly dangerous intel to the disposable commoners working for you?

4. Given his general attitude towards altruism and any actions that do not serve his own immediate survival expressed throughout his memoirs, this may seem like a curious deviation. However, despite his self-professed cowardice and cynicism, I would note that he rarely if ever went so far as suggesting Treason outright, and with his actions showing the pinnacle of loyalty in service, it is reasonable to assume Cain held his true loyalties as a point of seldom-expressed pride. Of course, the fact betraying the Inquisition would spell the end of his life rather swiftly may also have had some influence.

5. I never put it in quite those terms, but accurate.

6. Though he had a reputation for being exceptionally easy to work with both in the Militarum and among the various propaganda mills that had spread his heroic image across the galaxy, anyone who was truly close with Cain could attest to his fondness for ranting about the tedium and annoyance he felt at having to spend hours posing and reciting pre-written lines for the pictcasters. Of particular focus was his disdain for the gaudy golden Bolt-Pistol he always had to hold, as well as the constant dismissal of Jurgen's presence entirely.

7. Indeed, his lack of comprehension serves Cain well - or else it'd be a matter to take with the Inquisition.

 

[Daemascus]

Well this will be an interesting time for Cain

 

[0110001]

This is brilliant! Thank you for this, cannot wait for more. Will cain affect the opening moves or is the prologue/act 1 on rails?

 

[Tranquil Zebra]

Now this seems interesting, keep up the good work!

 

[Hjonk]

This is brilliant! Thank you for this, cannot wait for more. Will cain affect the opening moves or is the prologue/act 1 on rails?

Click to shrink...

Thank you, I'll be doing my best!
I've not decided 100% quite yet - I'll be doing a playthrough of RT as I go to remind myself of specific scenes and to get the creativity flowing, so some parts of the story will probably be relatively on rails. That said, Cain isn't exactly the inexperienced newbie, so there will definitely be certain changes beyond the canon choices from the game!

Not yet to the scale of entirely changing the plot though, pretty sure I'd get instantly overwhelmed at controlling that lol.

 

[Hjonk]

Trust is the luxury of the ignorant, the moronic and the unimportant. It is a Sin which no person of proper Standing can afford to indulge.
- Rogue Trader Hectobar von Bossa, 942.M41

With a flick of my wrist and a flourish, I shook the remaining blood from my chainsword and sheathed it at my waist, once again glad that I never got out of the habit of carrying my weapons with me at all times. Around the room, the dozen or so mutineers lay dead or dying, the Lady Captain's Arch Militant going about the work of ensuring each man would remain dead. Theodora herself simply holstered her plasma pistol with a haughty sniff as if more insulted that this rabble would dare dirty her ship with their bloodstains than that they would attack her.

"Seems I arrived at the opportune moment." I called out to her, striding across the floor casually, though my eyes were scanning for every entry or exit. A century and more of practice had honed that particular skill rather well, I'd say. (1)

"Indeed you did." Theodora agreed, turning to bark orders at the squads of House Guard that came rushing into the room conveniently after the fighting was over. In the meantime, I moved to inspect the mutineers. In my years of facing xenos, rebellions, cult uprisings and traitorous rabble, I had gained a knack for understanding the nature of my foe - mostly because understanding who you were facing was crucial for understanding how exactly to avoid facing them again. And also because if this was a genestealer infestation, I needed to know so I could book it for the nearest shuttle off the ship. I'd escaped genestealers able to tear through Astartes Terminator Armour like it was wet parchment once before, there was no way I would bet on some Rogue Trader having forces more capable than that.

What I found wasn't all that surprising. They wore improvised uniforms, just enough similarities that they could identify each other and avoid accidentally crippling their own uprising. Lots of breathing masks and miscellaneous equipment, indicating that at least these ones came from somewhere in the lower decks as opposed to being nobles or officers with a grudge. What stuck out most was their weapons - autoguns of rather decent quality, meaning they'd either managed to overwhelm and break into an armoury, or they had insider assistance.

By the time I'd made the rounds, Theodora beckoned us all to follow her only to predicably order me to the front. Testing the 'heroic commissar' I suppose, but I didn't mind at that time. After all, it's a common misconception that leading from the front is always the most dangerous position. In actual fact, during uprisings or mutiny in places like the lower hives or the bowels of a voidship, the most dangerous position is the back owing to the sheer amount of crevices, hatches and rooms in every direction, and the resultant probability of walking into an ambush. (2)

Of course, likelihood does little in the face of my monumentally lousy luck, so we did end up barging into several more groups of mutineers on our way. (3) Not that they posed much of a threat - armed they might be, but it takes a bit more than an irate factory worker with an autogun to match the disciplined, controlled violence of a soldier. My pistol had scored a kill before they even knew we were there, and Arch Militant Mott's melta took care of the rest rather swiftly - while reminding me that I really would have preferred Jurgen at my shoulder as the heat of the weapon felt distressingly too close for comfort.

That said, I wasn't all that worried for Jurgen's safety. You wouldn't know it from looking at him, but Jurgen was a true and proper Guardsman that had served with me for over a century across a dozen campaigns against the enemies of Mankind. He'd make it through this just fine, and probably have a pot of tanna ready by the time it was sorted out.

Our little crusade through the ship came to a halt as we rounded a corner of the grand walkway, for once meeting more House Guard and none other than Kunrad Voigtvir instead of mutineers. The smarmy spook swiftly moved towards the Rogue Trader, his severe gaze sweeping across our group with an intense focus as if making sure we were not some cleverly disguised spies. Theodora didn't give him much opportunity to check or report though, simply storming forwards and shouting out.

"Master of Whispers, what is happening on my ship!? The vox-net is silent, the Vox Master not responding, armed assailants have stormed the officers' deck and we just destroyed several more heretics on the way here!" Her rant halted for a moment as she drew to her full height (substantial, when you counted her hairdo) in front of her subordinate, her voice brimming with anger at this entire event. "Is this a sever case of warp madness? Have some of my crew lost their minds and forgotten who they are and whom they serve? Report!"

If he was shaken by his Lady's clear fury, Kunrad didn't show it as he obeyed, relaying what he knew. "We have no word from the enginarium regarding any Geller field failures... but communications were already unstable half an hour ago and have now ceased altogether." He stated matter-of-fact, hands clasping behind his back. "Whatever this is, it's spreading fast - already I'm receiving reports from the middle decks, and the only vox-casts from the lower bays are one-way heretical gibberish."

"Typical." I huff with a shake of my head, only for the silence to stretch. Glancing towards the pair, I realised that Theodora was staring at me with a raised brow, expression halfway between insulted at the interruption and intrigued by whatever insight I might offer. She made a gesture for me to keep going, so I cleared my throat before explaining my own observations.

"The mutineers are uniformed, but barely enough to tell friend from foe. They all have thermal and gas protection, the kind you see on low-hive dregs. No officer or noble would need that, let alone choose to wear it, yet they've got proper weapons instead of improvised clubs and shivs. Not lasguns or even PDF-grade autoguns, true, but they clearly had access to some form of armoury or outside source to arm them." (4) I explained calmly, slipping into the same tone I had used when discussing command in my former units.

Or perhaps closer to the way I instructed my commissarial recruits. Come to think of it, that might have explained the irritation of the Seneschal...

"For the rabble to get this high in the ship, at such speed that you didn't know well beforehand? It suggests organization and planning, something heretics and cultist are regrettably rather infamous for. Worse, it means it's a near certainty that some unfortunate idiot has been corrupted by the Ruinous Powers to aid in their coup, smoothing their access to the inter-deck lifts and armouries."

The Seneschal visibly bristled at the insinuation that an Officer would let themselves be swayed and made to speak, only to stop as Theodora lifted a hand to stop him, considering my deduction. Clearly, she didn't like whatever conclusions she reached from that herself.

"Blast it! Master of Whispers, find Edelthrad immediately. A psyker on the loose during a heretical coup while in the Warp could spell the death of us all!" She exclaimed, Voigtvir nodding tersely. She nodded back, before turning glancing over her shoulder. "Seneschal, locate Tlass and the Sister - they are to be at my side. Arch Militant with me, we make for my study and will likely encounter heretics along the way."

Both men straightened dutifully, ready to spring into action. For a moment, I thought they'd all rush off and forget me - something I wouldn't actually have minded too much, as it'd allow me to find some nice bolthole to wait things out in while contacting Jurgen - but Theodora caught my gaze again.

"Cain, go with the Master of Whispers - find Edelthrad and bring him here. This elevator..." She ordered, pointing to a massive set of ornately decorated doors. "leads to to restricted sections of the ship, namely my personal chambers and the Bridge. I require you both, do you understand?" Her demand was clearly not up for debate, as she pinned me with a stare that might have had me intimidated if I hadn't been on the receiving end of Amberley's ire on a few particularly rough days. Still, I nodded my assent and gripped the hilt of my chainsword tighter, feeling the worn grip itch against the tingle in my palm.

"As you wish, Lord Captain."

She held my gaze for half a second longer before turning on her heel and rushing off into the secret passage, no doubt one of many she could use to avoid seeing the Lesser crew while on her ship, leaving the guards to fan out across the deck while Voigtvir and I made our way towards the regular inter-deck stairways.

"I presume you are ready to head down, then? It is a long walk - and with heretics about, your laspistol might not suffice." Voigtvir asked conversationally, slowing his walk just enough that he ended up slightly behind me, casual as can be - and yet the tingling in my palm only got stronger the more he spoke. With a huff, I made a show of adjusting my commissarial cap and coat, the ruffling cloth muffling the sound of my chainsword coming loose in the scabbard. (5)

"I shall make do." I answered him with feigned confidence, putting on a cocky tone. "I've faced worse foes than some foolish, traitorous voidborn, and with less gear to boot!" Which wasn't actually a lie, making it all the easier to sell my confidence and subsequent lack of suspicion.

"Of course you will." Voigtvir agreed easily, reaching into his pocket as we reach the doors leading to the stairwell. My hair stood on end already, and I made sure to just barely keep him in the corner of my vision. "Lady Theodora would never have someone she couldn't rely on as one of her heirs... but that is no longer relevant."

I was already moving before his hand cleared the pocket, my chainsword whirring to life as I swung it in a defensive pattern. There was a shriek of metal on metal as Voigtvir cried out and stumbled back, hastily dropping the needle pistol that he'd been about to shoot me with. I gave him no time to recover, advancing as he fumbled for a backup weapon. He pulled it out just in time, managing to deflect my next strike with a clearly reinforced knife - but he was no duellist or frontline fighter, and his strength failed him as his guard brok, the knife ripped away by the spinning teeth of my sword.

I heard the sound of rushing boots on decking then, the guards likely being drawn towards the sound of combat, and Voigvir clearly heard it too. He made a lunge towards his dropped weapons, diving low to dodge my next swing, and hit the ground with a thump and a scream of pain as his right hand landed a few meters away, severed at the wrist.

"You cretin!" He screamed past gritted teeth, glaring at me as he clutched the bleeding stump. Holding my sword ready for another desperate attack, I loom above the man and consider how best to restrain him when the doors behind me open. I was about to remark on the guards' ability to arrive just after the danger has passed when the sound of autoguns preparing to fire made me whirl around to find that they were not guards at all. A dozen men and women surrounded me hastily, uncoordinated but eager, all aiming centre mass with fingers on triggers while yet more cultists came running up the stairs.

"I need him alive." Voigtvir ordered as one helped him stand and began dressing his wound, the man hissing in pain but keeping his glare locked on me as if daring me to make some daring last stand.

Reluctantly I lowered my chainsword, then slowly put it and my laspistol on the floor. At a gesture from one of the cultists, I kicked it over to them. As much as it pains me to give up my weapons at any time at all, having them wouldn't help me much if I end up filled with more metal than a manic techpriest's latest pet servitor. (6)

When his wound was properly tended to, at least momentarily, Voigtvir retrieved his needle-pistol and came to stand in front of me a safe distance away. "You will come to regret your resistance, Hero." He sneered, lifting the weapon to point straight at my head, lips twitching into a smirk despite the pain he's surely feeling. Then he fired, and the world went dark.

---

I woke up in pain, being carried through a large candle-lit room. My head was pounding, a constant aching like I'd spent the day before challenging both Kasteen and Broklaw to a drinking contest at the same time. I groaned, which did nothing to help with the pain, and struggled to open my eyes and get my bearings only for whatever frakhead was carrying me to toss me to the hard metal floor, my cap knocked from my head by the shock of impact.

"Careful, careful!" I hear Voigtvir in front of me again, his voice tense. "He has an important mission to complete during our little visit to the Warrant Chamber, and for that I need him breathing." He berated his men while I tried to breathe normally, my chest aching almost as bad as my head. When my vision finally cleared enough to see more than blurry outlines, I found Voigtvir glaring down at me with pure, unmistakable hate. "You are back with us I see... delightful."

"Voigtvir, you two-faced grox-herder!" I growled at him, maintaining the image of an enraged patriot despite the way my bowels clenched in terror. I could see no way out of here with my skin intact, and so I had to stall for time. Luckily for me, while heretics are notoriously proficient at scheming, they also tend to have an overinflated ego and a need to brag about that fact. (7) "You're the one backing these heretical scum!"

Voigtvir smirked at that, puffing his chest forwards a bit as he sneered down at me, his remaining hand clutching at a knife that gave me the creeps as it shone in the low light. "Oh, just figured that out now, did you? It seems it takes more brawn than brains to become a Hero in the service of the Corpse Emperor." He motioned to a man behind me, and I found myself hauled up from the floor and forced to stand on unsteady legs, stumbling forwards towards a set of stairs leading to a massive gate and a servitor set into the wall next to it. "No matter - we only need your blood for this next step. The Warrant Chamber, holding the sacred Warrant of Trade, is guarded by a Sentinel that will only allow a true heir of the von Valancius Dynasty. I expected to do this part myself, but..." He paused, only to shake his head with a frown. "Never mind. You will offer your blood, or I shall spill it for you. Come to think of it, I might even take some pleasure in doing so."

Sensing a chance, a weakness, I pounced on it. "What is it, inbred? Is your blood too thin for the Sentinel to recognise?" I mock him, the heretic behind me delivering a punishing hit to the back of my head that has me stumbling forwards, nearly crashing into the wall before I can grab the edge of the servitor's station for support.

Voigtvir bristled with offence before something flickered in his eyes and he calmed back down with unnatural speed. "On the contrary," he explained with that slimy, disgustingly self-assured ease that felt almost physical in how it unsettled me. "The warp's blessing has raised me too far above your kind, Cain. The Sentinel refused to submit to me... but you can help. After all, isn't that what family is for?"

"You're no family of mine!" I growled back at him, feeling foreign offence rise in me. I'd never cared much for my parents - they hadn't been much when they were around, and joining the Guard to run away from debt while leaving me behind in the hive sump wasn't exactly endearing even with the knowledge that one of them had apparently been related to a Rogue Trader - but the idea that this heretical traitor was family felt like an insult I couldn't bear. (8)

Voigtvir scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. "Well, I am afraid that you, Ciaphas Cain von Valancius, have no choice in the matter." He indicated the servitor, which on closer inspection had a heavily modified jaw that looked distinctly terrifying, like something straight out of a Thriller pict-cast. The goons holding on to me shoved me forwards, one grabbing my arm and forcing it forwards.
I would love to lay all blame on the grogginess left over after whatever Voigtvir had drugged me with, but to tell the truth I was far too aware of the pain and suffering I was in for should I resist overmuch, and so mostly put up a front as they shoved my hand into the gaping maw of the servitor before stepping away from me.

The moment I was in place, the Sentinel's jaws clamped shut around my hand, and I felt sharp, sudden pain as it's many horrific implements punctured my skin and sank into my flesh. Dark drops of my blood fell to the servitor's throat, activating the mechanism with a thrumming hum deep in the machine's core. Servo-motors engaged, starting pumps that feasted on my vitals as the cogitator next to the Sentinel flickered to life.

Minutes passed like that, the Sentinel remaining closer around my hand. I was getting sick, vision growing more hazy and dizzying the longer it's needles remained. I started leaning forwards, supporting myself on the machine to keep from crashing to the floor. It was only when I leaned closer that a faint, synthetic voice started to pierce the hum deafening me.

"-igh levels of caustic humours. The subject is in a state of heightened stress. Do you require assistance?" I remained still, what focus I had left turning that voice over. In the moment, I was half sure I'd started hallucinating, but as I'm sure you understand, I had very little to lose.

"Y-yes, I think I do."

The Sentinel whirred for a moment longer, processing the answer, before letting out a loud shriek. "Request confirmed, activating defensive measures."

"Huh? What did you-" Voigtvir was about to ask only to get cut off as the pillars around the walls of the chamber slid hidden panels open to reveal large autoturrets. His fellow cultists scream and roar in surprise only to be cut down moments later in a hail of bolter-fire. I didn't see what happened to Voigtvir as the room filled with smoke and fire, focusing instead on extracting my hand from the Sentinel as it's grip relinquished my hand, then stumbled over to the massive doors of the Warrant Chamber seeking shelter from the slaughter.

The doors opened without so much as a sound, allowing entry before closing with a bang behind me. Only then did I let myself collapse, my back hitting the door only to slide down to sit on the floor, clutching my aching head and bleeding hand and trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart.

Despite decades upon decades of life-threatening danger, the threat of my imminent and unavoidable demise was still a terrifying thing. In most cases however, the path to survival tends to be something like 'fight for your life' or 'run as fast as you can'. To this day, the one thing that gets to me the absolute worst is when I have no options - and standing there alone, surrounded by heretics and knowing that even pretending to fight wouldn't do anything for my chances, was among the worst experiences of my life. Not that it made near the top of the list, mind you - my luck has made sure that those spots had some fierce competition.

When I did get my breathing and heartbeat down to something approaching non-critical, I got up from the floor and surveyed the room, and then stopped dead as I realised what exactly was right in front of me. (9)

Words fail me whenever I try to describe it. That's not some religious Emperor-bothering drivel, it's a statement of fact . Nothing I have written down or said can truly match what I felt as I gazed upon the Warrant of trade. For there was an enormous document stretching from floor to ceiling and beyond, a scroll of such power and value that planets had been razed in it's name all for one single detail.

I walked over in a daze, mind utterly blank to the world as I read over the flourishing, archaic script put to the page over ten thousand years prior;

"Let it be known,
that by My will and by the true words of this document,
I appoint this person to be the bearer of the Warrant of Trade,
and bestow upon them and their dynasty the great Mission
to be the Paragon of Humanity,
Unbroken by adversity,

To walk bravely first into darkness,
To unite and reclaim what was lost,
To triumph over nightmares untold,
To hold boldly the reins of fate,
To walk steadily the road of thorns,
Through pain to Greatness."​

Haltingly, I stepped up to the dais, fearing for once in my life that my presence was sullying a holy relic. For there, beneath the flowery script and charges...

Was a single, dark red drop of blood. The binding seal of the Warrant, a seal of authenticity given in the God-Emperor's own blood when he still walked the Galaxy as a man.

I dropped to my knees and bowed my head, eyes clenching shut as if merely looking upon it would heighten my sin and see me struck down for the life of lies I had lived. But the strike didn't come, the otherworldly power that dwelt in the document and suffused the room simply settling over my shoulders as I, in a rare instance for my long and fraudulent life, prayed with earnest feeling. I do not know how long exactly I remained there, only that I was brought out of it the arrival of a Herald Servo-Skull, part of the Sentinel mechanism trying to offer me assistance.

Finally, I stood and turned on my heel, purpose and conviction driving me onwards as I strode towards the door. The chamber would need to be sealed behind me, and I could not remain there - not when heretics ran rampant across the ship. They'd surely find a way inside themselves, so it'd be better to face them where I was not isolated and unarmed.

It wasn't until long after the mutiny was concluded that I realised my hand was entirely free of injury after I left that Chamber.

---

Editorial note:
The events following Cain's beholding of the Warrant of Trade, such as what he did when he left, were for once not recorded in their entirety in Cain's memoir, despite him being central to all of them. Though these events are not necessarily vital to understanding how things turned out as they did, I have included extra material to add perspective so that one may understand the full story between Cain's own retellings. And to my great pleasure, I can inform that while some might get close, none of the sources I have found so far could match the butchering of the Gothic tongue that General Jenit Sulla would have subjected us to.

You may thank me, and the Emperor, for granting this mercy.

That said, this extract and the others like it should be read and analysed with some scepticism, as they were likely all written well after the events of which they tell, and therefore may have been tinted with the bias of experiences from after the events of the mutiny and beyond. In broad strokes I have confirmed their accuracy, but matters of opinion are harder to pin down - especially in publicly published memoirs that have likely been sanitised for the masses. Take from that what you will.

- Inquisitor Amberley Vail, His Holy Inquisition, Ordo Xenos

From 'A Senechal's Duty' by Abelard Wersarian, volume VIII chapter 4:

I had feared the worst when I got the message from the newest arrival on the ship, Ciaphas Cain, summoning me down to the Warrant Chamber post haste. For while I may have disliked the casual attitude he took with the Lord Captain, I nonetheless had to respect his reputation and service. Even in the Navis Imperialis, the name of Commissar Ciaphas Cain was lauded with awe, tales told on the picts and between crews of a man with unmatched competence and compassion, one that could turn a rioting crew around into a model of obedience and duty. He was a War Hero if ever there was one; one that must surely had earned a title as grand as Hero of the Imperium.

What I found when I reached the Chamber stopped me short despite it all. It had been an utter slaughter, plain and simple - cultists were scattered around the room by the dozens, bodies burned and blown apart and cut to pieces in a grotesque display of overwhelming might. And there, striding forth from the glorious light peeking past the closing gates of the Warrant Chamber, was the Hero himself.

His uniform was immaculate save the rumples gained through combat and use, his coat flaring out behind him as wind rushed forwards to the vacuum-sealed gate. His stride was one of purpose and intent, steps heavy with it as he gazed across the carnage that he had wrought on the traitors.
His march was only halted for a moment, Cain stooping down and snatching his Commissarial cap from the floor where it must have fallen during the fighting, only to remain perfectly untouched by the filth around it.

Fixing it into place, he finally turned to be with a brusque nod of acknowledgement, one that I admit made me straighten into a near-salute.

"Master Cain! What... how did you get to the Warrant Chamber? And what brought the filth even this far?!" I ask, horrified by the prospect that the heretics could reach even the sealed gates of the most precious relic on board the Eternal Commerce.

Cain gazed at me with an unreadable expression, one whose implied suspicion I must admit I would have been offended by if not for his impeccable reputation and the very nature of Chaos Corruption. Eventually he spoke, voice clear and grave as he delivered the horrible news.

"Kunrad Voigtvir is a traitor and a heretic. He and his conspirators disarmed and brought me here in the hope of laying claim to the Warrant. He openly admitted to being the mastermind behind this mutiny."

The news shook me, for I had spent many years in service alongside the Master of Whispers. I may have cursed him, with words that I shall spare the dignity of these pages, but suffice it to say that with the testimony of the Commissar, it was without question; Kunrad Voigtvir had sullied whatever dignity he had left, throwing his lot in with the worst enemies Humanity ever faced. (10)
"Then it is small wonder that the heretics are so well organised!" I stated, glancing around the dead around us. "I thought Kunrad's order to seal the passages between decks was his attempt to stop the attackers from spreading to other levels, but now I see the real reason: to stop enforcers from intervening! At least you are alive and well, Master Cain. Alas, I doubt we can afford to look for a compartment to sit out this disaster."

At that he gave me another look only to smile in humour, chuckling lowly as his hands clenched at his side, surely with well-concealed rage at the situation. "I'm afraid I agree - and as a man of the Navy, I'm sure you know all too well the dangers of remaining idle on a ship infested with heretics while in the warp."

Despite the subject, his tone was light and joking, the utter confidence of the man striking me as inspiring. This was what a Hero was like, I thought, undaunted and unbroken - as all proper soldiers in His service should be.

I nodded agreement, and was about to discuss our course of action when we were interrupted by the loud approach of half a dozen cultists bursting into the room. I whirled around, chainsword coming to a ready position as I positioned myself in front of the commissar. And then, to my utter astonishment, we were joined by one more man.

In he lumbered, wearing a heavy Valhallan winter greatcoat, his body festooned with a combat vest, utility webbing and other miscellaneous pockets. He looked like an utter mess, uniform filthy and grimy, his beard unkept and utterly beyond saving not to mention unacceptable to navy uniform regulations.

Most concerning though, was the large Melta (11) clutched in his grimy hands, held at the ready as he surveyed the room. It's mere presence seemed to give the cultists extra confidence, for such weapons were a death sentence to anyone who faced them in the cramped corridors of a spaceship. I knew not how I would combat it, and in hindsight must say I am rather glad that I never had to - for his eyes swiftly locked on Cain, his back approximating something like standing straight at attention after a few barrels of amasec.

"Commissar." He stated with a nod, voice phlegmatic and somehow matching his filthy appearance.

"Ah, Jurgen, perfect - I'd been wondering where you were." Cain greeted back jovially, surprising me and for a moment giving me doubt that he might be in league with these traitors after all.
"Oh, there was a lot of confusion after you left, sir - some changing uniforms and running back and forth. I tried goin' back for you, but before I knew it these guys grabbed me and said we were ordered down here." (12) The man stated matter-of-fact, the heretics to his sides seeming to loose some confidence at the casual rapport the pair had. The ones closest to this 'Jurgen' turned slightly towards him, raising their weapons uncertainly.

"Well, that sounds about right." Cain chuckled lightly, utterly at ease despite his lack of personal weapons. "Jurgen, deal with the traitors if you'd please."

There was a moment of silence, the grimy guardsman nodding with an entirely unbothered expression. "As you say, sir."

Then, with shocking speed and accuracy, the man turned to the side, his melta rising to aim and firing in one swift, smooth motion. The three heretics there were all caught in the blast, vaporised on the spot. The trio on the other side had enough time to leap towards him, but he was faster - turning out of the way of a club swinging for his head only to let loose another blast that robbed the heretic of his midsection.

I jumped into action as their attention was turned the other way, lunging forwards with chainsword roaring to cut down the remaining two before they reached Jurgen. The hum of his melta died down then, sparing me the fear that he'd keep firing regardless.

"Impeccable timing as always Jurgen, well done." Cain complimented easily, walking over and clapping the guardsman's shoulder. On his part, Jurgen seemed utterly unphased, though he preened slightly under the Commissar's attention. "Of course, sir." Then he seemed to remember something, letting the Melta hang over his chest as he fumbled for a chainsword slung across his back and a laspistol stuffed into one of his many pockets. "Oh, and I found these for you, sir - damn frakheads didn't even bother looting it before they moved on."

Cain took the weapons with obvious appreciation, holstering the pistol but keeping the sword unsheathed as he once more thanked his companion. I confess that, even long after that first impression, I held some disdain for Gunner Ferrik Jurgen - and perhaps still do, in some sense. He was almost like a manifestation of all I strove not to be as an Officer, from the state of his too-large uniform to the filth caking him and the stench that was nearly enough to make me retch. But no matter how much I may have disliked the fact, one thing remained undeniable after serving at his side and under Cain's command.

Unsightly he may be, Jurgen was an impeccable soldier to have at your side. It was just the rest that was a problem.

---

1. It was one of the many reasons Cain remained an exemplary soldier and companion for high-risk missions whenever I had need of him; even in the most pressing circumstances, if there was a way out he'd naturally lead you there so long as it meant 'leading from the front' and 'ensuring the Team can fight another day'.

2. Of course, Cain would have known that the probability of getting ambushed in such a way on the one deck where there were barely any hidden spaces and the attackers would have little time or reason to set up instead of pushing onwards was rather low compared to the chance of meeting the attackers head-on. I cannot guess why Cain himself would omit this from his own retelling.

3. Case in point.

4. While his deductions later in life are often accurate, at least in the major points pertaining to his survival, it should be noted that Cain's ability to analyse his foe was built more on experience than study, as he never attended any higher education after the Schola Progenium save as a teacher or guest-speaker. In some ways, that made his input all the more valuable, as every instinct and deduction he made was one borne from experience in the field.

5. Despite inquiries having been made, the Inquisition has found absolutely no psychic potential in Cain - not surprising, or he'd have been utterly incapable of touching Jurgen without severe reactions. As it is, we have found no way to replicate Cain's 'tingling palms', though studies persist among the more obsessive members of the Ordo.

6. I am reliably informed that members of the Cult Mechanicus do not keep pets, as such - the closest they have being small, round robotic floor-cleaners they seem mildly fond of, known as Circular Area Tidying units.

7. As any inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, Malleus or Xenos could tell you, this rings true for nearly all enemies of Humanity. And often, I must say, for Humanity itself as well.

8. Again Cain gives an account of his origins that are infuriatingly hard to verify - especially when at least one of his parents had in some way blood-ties to the von Valancius dynasty. The current theory offered by my savant is that one of Cain's parents or grandparents was a bastard of a previous Rogue Trader, leaving a loose heir that no-one else but the Rogue Trader themselves cared to keep track. The subsequent death of near every claimant to their Warrant, which was what prompted Theodora to gather those that remained, show that might have been deliberate; they may have had suspicions and so prepared to have an heir ready, although something clearly went wrong when Cain never received any teaching that would be required for such a role, nor even knew about his extended family at all. Personally, I'm still of the opinion that a noble had a fling and forgot about it, much like what Cain himself believes.

9. It is out of respect for Cain and his deeply personal experience here, along with respect for His Majesty the Emperor, that I shall refrain from commenting on the following event.

10. This statement is debatable - and indeed is hotly debated between members of the Ordo Xenos and Ordo Hereticus. I shall keep the factionalism outside this archive.

11. Having served as Cain's aide during his time at the Schola, there would be no reason for Jurgen to be issued such weaponry after their last deployment. However, like Cain, I have learned that it's best not to ask where Jurgen finds most things - and that one specifically, he had held on to for years after 'forgetting' to deliver it back to the PDF armoury he had taken it from.

12. Most likely, they thought Jurgen looked too out of place to possibly be in the service of the Rogue Trader - which wasn't terribly inaccurate, in any case.

 

[Revanchist]

Love the story! Just one small thing, the text for the second threadmark chapter is greyed out. Other than that I never knew I needed a story like this but now can't live without more chapters.

 

[0110001]

Honestly this is such a good idea i wonder why no one thought of it, also Cain reminding everyone he is litterally the most experienced person in the room is funny.

 

[Hjonk]

Love the story! Just one small thing, the text for the second threadmark chapter is greyed out. Other than that I never knew I needed a story like this but now can't live without more chapters.

Click to shrink...

Ah, thank you for pointing that out! Should be fixed now? I don't see a difference at least, but I'm in dark mode... Was probably a result of me copy-pasting the story from where I posted it first.
Glad you liked it! Been feeling the motivation for Cain soaring in general, so hopefully I'll be cranking out more soon enough!