Artwork by Advisorium

“Your presence is demanded on Vigilus.”

The six words were delivered in the flat, impassive tone of an expectation rather than a requst, the heavy vox-grille of the speaker adding a machine-like bluntness to the sentence. The speaker in question was tall and broad, even for an Astartes, and was clad in baroque power armour black as spilled ink, its only colouration being the gold trim that curled around its edges in the shapes of serrated blades and snapping fangs. The stranger’s scarred face was a pallid grey, and the only colour above his snarling vox-grille were the bloodshot eyes that glared out at Senoth.