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Ser Ciaphas of House Cain Ch.1
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 16:14:20 +0000 UTCCIAPHAS I: ... STILL ALIVE!
Editorial Note:
Those who know of the Cain Archive will likely also know of me, Ordo Xenos Inquisitor Amberley Vail, to some degree. At least, in reference to the Archive. I have long been associated with this amusing and bemusing collection of memoirs, as both editor after the fact and something of a recurring character within.
If you are stumbling across the Cain Archive for the first time with this, I would ask you to brace yourself. On the surface, no such precaution is necessary. But the truth behind one of the Imperium’s most venerated and legendary heroes may be considered unpalatable to some.
That, in my unfortunately expert opinion, comes down to Cain’s point of view. Let none say it is heretical. But it is certainly unorthodox. By my reckoning, Cain is a faithful and effective servant of the Emperor, perhaps one of the best I’ve ever known. By his reckoning… Ciaphas Cain is a scoundrel. A self-preserving rogue. A craven who cannot seem to catch a break, despite his self-professed ‘best’ efforts to the contrary.
Thus, I would also ask any reading this to see his narration for what it truly is: unreliable. Cain is many things. But though he may claim it, he is not the best judge of himself.
Actions, in this case, speak louder than words. And few would discount the feats and benefits for the Imperium that Cain’s actions bring about. The thoughts and motivations behind those actions are to be taken with large grains of salt, never forgetting the actual successes and victories that came of them, despite Cain’s fervent confessions of cowardice, self-preservation, and unworthiness.
This particular tale, one that resulted in some of Cain’s most impressive contributions to the Imperium, is an odd one, even by the Archive’s standards. Threefold: in situation, deed, and formatting. Great pains have been taken to give the tale a wider context than just Cain’s self-centered narration. Truly, it is no longer just Cain’s memoir, but mine as well, and many others beyond.
It is my opinion that this particular tale stands somewhat apart from the rest of the Archive, for it concerns not just Cain’s history, but the history of a whole world, one of the newest worlds reintegrated into the larger Imperium. The reuniting of Humanity, in any form, cannot be merely relegated to the amusing and insightful collection of an unluckily lucky scoundrel.
One day, I hope that Administratum scribes (carefully chosen and vetted for their censoring task) will use this varied recollection to write the histories and introductions of the lost world Cain comically dubbed ‘Planetos’. But those are possibilities for the future. For now, my compilation will have to speak for itself.
Something of a pyrrhic scene preceded the true grox meat of this tale. The kind of ‘no-win’ situation that Cain so liked to avoid. But the mission we were engaged in beforehand is, ultimately, of little note. Not to say it was uninteresting, as few events concerning Cain truly are. However, it was merely the inciting incident that set the stage for everything else you will come to read.
Said stage is, of course, the core cause I would give for this compiled recollection. In our current era, few worlds are rediscovered wholesale for the Imperium, and certainly not by so few. Only three of the Emperor’s loyal servants found themselves stranded on that previously lost world: myself, Commissar Cain, and Cain’s aide-de-camp Ferik Jurgen. We had little to our names, and even less clue as to the situation on the new ground we tread.
My Inquisitorial Rosette successfully sent out the last-ditch distress signal that many of my fellows will be familiar with, burning itself out in the process. It would have been of no further use in our newfound surroundings. I remember reassuring Cain that rescue was sure to come for an Inquisitor and legendary Commissar, even if it would inevitably arrive at its own pace. We simply needed to wait, and to survive, the latter of which Cain has always been quite good at.
Meanwhile, even stranded on a lost world, the work of the Emperor’s loyal servants never ceased…
Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos.
IIIII
“You speak of placing faith solely in providence, but sometimes, the best we can do is roll with the galaxy’s punches.”
— Ciaphas Cain, to a particularly sheltered and ineffectual member of the Ecclesiarchy.
— Ciaphas Cain —
I frantically ducked back into cover. A moment later, the wall behind where my head just stood burst into dust and debris, with the distinctly accursed whir and buzz born of Eldar shurikens.
Damn-near instinctively ducking for the nearest cover was always my first course of action in a fight. And if I wished to continue living my lie in service of the Emperor (I did like living…), it would continue to be so. I preferred to avoid getting shot, even if doing the same for being shot at was frequently less likely than I would like. Unfortunately and unavoidably, I often found myself thrust into frontline combat.
That trend began with the first assignment of my Commissariat career. It continued to that fateful day and beyond. Someone, somehow, somewhere along the way, seemed to get the idea in mind that I was rather good at it. Legendarily so. As in, all my feats of just trying to survive had formed a legend that I was stuck trying to live up to.
My fame was blown utterly out of hand; just utterly undeserved, in my opinion. It’d brought me trouble. Not only trouble, but more than enough trouble for me to consider the other consequences inconsequential when my much preferred continued existence was (almost constantly) put on the line.
Alas, most people I encountered had a certain idea of me in their heads. The wrong idea, to be clear, but dissuading them from it would be ill-advised now. People tend to like a hero. Soldiers, more so. It was a fondness I was not above taking advantage of if it kept me in one piece.
Then again, when my reputation was half the cause that pushed me into constant danger, a not insignificant part of me felt I would’ve been better off without it entirely.
That much was not to be, I knew. Shattering my fame and legend would reveal the lie I constantly lived. The kind of people I most often associated with wouldn’t look kindly on me then. I might as well outright ask to be shot in the back or in the head, depending on whether I was in battle or in rest at the moment of shattering.
So I put on a strong, composed, and heroic face, fitting for ‘Commissar Cain’ and his ‘feats’. I dissembled subconsciously, lying as easily as I breathed. I twisted just about everything attributed to me, intentional or not, in my favor as best I could, and thanked the Emperor that He’d bestowed me the skills in manipulation to do so. I doubt He’d approve. But at the same time, He had much more important things to worry about than little ol’ Cain.
Completely avoiding combat was a fever dream from any hive city’s most corroded and corrupted pipes. I liked to think I held my own in most situations, aided by almost paranoid precautions for every way shit could go tits up… but the galaxy didn’t lack for heavy, heavy hitters. So when the galaxy’s punches came fast and furious, I ducked for cover and did all I could to simply survive.
‘Eventually,’ I prayed often in those distressingly frequent situations. ‘I’ll get my glorious retirement…’
That ultimate goal of mine certainly wasn’t helped by the scene at hand, however. As was so common in my active career, I found myself involuntarily volunteered for a most dangerous mission. Only this time, I didn’t have a whole Guard regiment at my back (or front, preferably…). No Valhallan 12th Field Artillery, no scattered and varied force assigned to me by Commissariat Sector HQ, and certainly no Valhallan 597th, where I was most loved and consequently, most protected.
No, I’d been lured into this danger by the prettiest of faces. Though, to be fair to Amberley, it was less her (still, very pretty) face, and more the ultimate, unchecked power she wielded as an Inquisitor. I found it best to keep on her good side, for more than just personal reasons.
Preceding that latest foray onto the Imperium’s frontline was what began as a delightful campaign of little consequence. Almost (but never quite) a vacation on one of the Imperium’s many pleasure worlds, Bucolia IX. Then, I ran into Amberley, and knew things on that garden world weren’t what they seemed on the surface. They rarely ever truly were, in my experience…
That relaxing deployment turned into a murder mystery in the decadent halls of many a noble’s pleasure tours.
Then, into a wild grox chase through extravagant scenery that I wish I could’ve taken the time to enjoy.
Then, into ruins of xenos decadence that surpassed any Imperial noble’s best efforts; still set on that same pleasure world, but seemingly a world apart from even its grandeur.
Finally, we found ourselves in a cultivated grove of unimaginable pleasures, even by a Planetary Governor or Rogue Trader’s standards. The hedonistic remnant of an empire before man. Was it any wonder those despicable xenos had birthed a god and doomed the galaxy with themselves when even this opulence lay mostly forgotten?
We started with more people, the ‘good’ (read: useful) men and women of Amblerley’s retinue. Not as many as noble meatshields as I would’ve preferred, but we worked with what we had. They fell behind one by one during the wild grox chase until only Jurgen, Amberley, and I remained. To make matters much, much worse (in my mind), I couldn’t shake the itching feeling that our quarry was toying with us.
We’d seen only bare signs of them — just enough to pull Amberley into a chase, and me, unfortunately, after her. A bit of impossible warp-cloth here, a flash of long ears and inhuman masks there… But until we came to the center of that grove and the fighting started in earnest, they remained a mystery. Now, I wish they’d stayed that way.
“Eldar!” I swore.
“Worse,” Amberley said, ducking into cover next to me. “Harlequins.”
“I’ve never killed a clown before,” I mused, adopting a mask of humor and confidence, even when I knew Amberley could see right through me. “Do you think they bleed confetti? Or would multi-colored rags they pull from the wound be more appropriate?”
“While both sound right up their alley, I wouldn’t know,” She dryly drawled. “I’ve never seen one hurt, much less dead.”
My faux-cocky smile strained, “… Wonderful. Potentially immortal clowns. I knew the closest thing that passed for a vacation by my standards was missing something.”
At the very least, that drew an honest laugh out of Amberley. It didn’t make me feel much better, but the beautiful sound did help a bit. I could think of much less dangerous, much less pretty, and much less personable people to stand beside against potentially immortal clowns.
I fired blindly over the block of cover we shared — something that looked to have once been an altar of some terrible description. Hitting something was unlikely in the extreme, especially against Eldar, but I was a firm believer in the age-old wisdom of covering fire. The less an enemy could be shooting at you without fearing for their head, the better off you often were.
These Harlequins seem to know that ancient lore, too, however. My laspistol snapped off only half a dozen shots before being shot from my hand in turn. A masterful shot, I would loathingly admit, for my hand came away entirely unharmed while the laspistol was ruined on impact. Any good soldier of the Imperium would rather the opposite. I, on the other hand, would rather have a hand than a likely useless gun.
Swearing under my breath, I drew my trusty chainsword, chipped and worn and still just as brutally effective as the day I got it. Seeing the warning I’d gotten, Amberley kept her bolt pistol inert in her hand. Good. The more potent weapon would be useless to us (specifically, my odds at survival) if it were lost in the same way.
We were pinned for now, but Jurgen was still unaccounted for. Knowing his tendency to seemingly pop out of nowhere in a way that should’ve been impossible for someone of his odor gave me hope that things weren’t wholly hopeless. Until that is, Jurgen’s weapon of choice was thrown behind our bit of cover, already rent in twain, and an unmistakably xenos voice spoke in perfectly fluent Gothic.
“Up you get~!”
“Up you pop~!” A second xenos voice joined the first.
“The three of you~, are still on the clock~!” And a third, in perfect rhythm.
The rhythmically rhyming voices were accompanied by something terrible. Just awful for my heart’s health and chances of further living. The sources of the voices suddenly appeared in front of each of us: one for me, for Amberley, and I can only assume, for Jurgen as well.
They easily and almost lovingly stood us up as I imagined a parent might, horrible as that thought was. My xenos even went so far as to brush imaginary dirt off my shoulders. In that moment, there was no fight to be had at all, for they already had us in their cruel and unknowable alien grips. They herded us like hive rats. I could only take heart in the fact that they hadn’t immediately killed us and that even Amberley seemed baffled by the sudden turn.
“You seem to have us at a disadvantage,” I said frankly.
Amberley shot me a look that said, ‘Cain, don’t engage them.’
But still, she addressed the Eldar as well, “Indeed. What could the enigmatic Harlequins want with us?”
Jurgen did nothing but glare at our seeming captors. Normally, I would say the expression was appropriate and right and even potentially useful if I could set him against the Emperor’s enemies while I escaped. Considering the few weapons we still had and the caliber of our foes, that idea for escape seemed a touch too ignorantly optimistic for my tastes. Right then, I would rather he didn’t provoke the unknowable xenos with our fates in their hands.
“Inquisitor, Commissar, and Aide~,” The Harlequins singsonged in turn.
“They shall walk a path yet laid~!”
“Something old~, and something new begins~.”
“Lost kin~, and a tapestry brocade~…”
“Something to be bound~, and a whole world to be refound, you said~?”
“We haven’t said anything,” I, quite frankly, deadpanned.
The Harlequins tittered and giggled and chortled at that.
“Nonetheless~.”
“Old, old wrongs must be redressed~… Of Ice from the North, Fire from the East, and all around: much, much noblesse~.”
“So a journey into the dark, a working vacation, we shall bless~!”
Despite myself and our situation… I did like the sound of a vacation…
Amberley scowled, “Forgive me if we must run roughshod over your riddles, but what does that mean?”
“We shall see~…/We shall see~…/We shall see~…”
“Until then, we leave you with just one advising decree~…”
The Harlequins’ masks grinned as one, “Do be sure~, to mind the trees~.”
As illuminating as the conversation was (that is, not at all), I didn’t quite like the idea of it coming to a close so quickly. If they were talking, they couldn’t be killing us. And once they stopped, there was no telling what the mysterious xenos would do. I tried to protest, to buy time, to do something.
Any attempt was futile, getting stuck in my throat as all three of us were bodily picked up by a Harlequin. Even Jurgen. I almost felt pity for that xenos. Nevertheless, in a flash, a skip, and a cackle, we were taken to a queer arch of shining bone and cast through with little more ceremony than I used for my morning trip to the privy.
Then, the world went dark.
IIIII
I awoke rather suddenly. Maybe I wasn’t even asleep at all. Some wicked xenos curse that robbed me of all awareness of self or surroundings. That sounded about right for my luck.
But, to my great relief, I could confirm that I was still alive. Always a good thing; waking up not dead. You would think that was just about the least someone could ask for upon waking up, but… it really wasn’t.
Especially considering I was dealing with Harlequins beforehand, I could’ve very well woken up in Commorragh. At the mercy of the Eldar’s dark kin, that would’ve been much worse than waking up dead. So I found that it was always nice to count the not-so-little blessings.
Of my surroundings, the first thing I noticed was the smell of shit. Distant but still potent enough to do a hive city’s sump proud. Compared to that scent, even Jurgen’s distinct odor started to become almost palatable-…
No, that was a lie. A bold-faced deception, even by my standards. Jurgen’s odor would always be singular in its olfactory atrocity. The smell of shit and poor urban planning were just that. The smell of Jurgen was… Jurgen, made only somewhat bearable through long, hard-accustomed familiarity and just how damned useful he could be.
Staring up at a clear and peaceful blue sky, I heard my surroundings next. A significant bustle, but not comparable to any hive I’d been in. Curiously, there was no sign of the Emperor’s blessed machines. No idling engines, no active air-con, no pained groans of servitors; no sound of blessed advancement at all.
Instead, the bustle I could hear was one of man and beast. Chatter and work and boots walking to and fro. It wasn’t a busyness I was particularly familiar with. I knew the sounds of a hive city, or a regiment’s camp, or a battlefield best. Not… whatever, wherever, we now were.
At the very least, I was relieved to understand the chatter. It was High Gothic. To a point… Bastardized and degraded High Gothic, but not in the usual, varied way Low Gothic was. For that, I would’ve heard the signs of primitive languages that had mixed with the standard High Gothic over time, and maybe one in particular taking prominence. This language was pure High Gothic, just less formal and more functional than how the Imperium’s nobles and institutions would speak it.
“I need the well, goodwoman-… Risa, is that you? Good fortune! How do you fare?” A man’s voice said.
“Lyx! Well met!” A woman’s voice greeted him kindly. “I am well, myself. Lady Sunglass wishes to take her bath this morn. I was sent to fetch the water she will need.”
“Good to hear, good to hear,” The man laughed, his voice pitching lower in a way that spoke of easy and inconsequential insubordination. “Lord Celtigar and his heir could certainly use a proper washing themselves. They seem to think camping outside the city’s walls with so many others means they must act as if they’re on the war trail.”
The woman giggled, “Your tongue wags and wags, goodman!”
“Aye, it does~…” I knew the sound of a man flirting when I heard it. “Wags and wags and wags, but you weren’t complainin’ none ‘bout that during the last tourney we met~.”
“So early, you scoundrel? There is still work to be done!”
“Put your lady’s water on to heat, Risa. That should buy us a few free moments together, eh~?”
“Oh, you’re just terrible, Lyx… You’re mighty lucky I am the same~.”
Strangely enough, hearing two people flirt and plan to steal away for a hidden tryst was rather comforting to my ears. Wherever we’d ended up, it wasn’t so different than a Guard regiment’s camp. Or maybe that familiar scene could be put down to the consistencies of human nature. Either way, I took it as a good sign.
Slowly, carefully, I pitched myself upward at the waist, from flat on my back to a seated position. As I did, I saw canvas tents as far as the eye could see. A grand campground, one that was far from strict and orderly. Any self-respecting Guard quartermaster would’ve been ashamed to claim this mess.
As I’d discerned from the lack of mechanical noise, there wasn’t an Emperor-blessed machine in sight. There was little to no sign of any advancement past the proverbial Stone Age. Not literally, for it was all certainly civilized in a way. Just the kind of civilized I would expect from an undiscovered feudal world…
Beside me, I saw Amberley sit up in the same way as me, a wary and assessing gleam in her eyes. Jurgen was the slowest of us to stir, but he did so without a seeming worry in the world. Undoubtedly trusting that Amberley and I had everything well in hand, and that all he’d have to do was as he’d ever done: continue following orders. Ah, to be so faithful and simple-minded.
“Still alive?” I asked. The question was only half rhetorical, for I was still trying to discern that truth for myself.
“I think so, sir,” Jurgen answered earnestly and unironically. “As the Emperor wills.”
“Lucky us,” I mused. “To escape potentially immortal clowns unscathed.”
“That remains to be seen,” Amberley said seriously. “Any idea where we are, Ciaphas?”
I shook my head. “I’m working with the same information as you, Amberley. That is to say, next to none. At the very least, though, there are humans here. And we can understand them.”
“I heard that,” She nodded. “A dialect of High Gothic. One left to develop in isolation, I would say. I don’t think this world knows the wider Imperium.”
“So it seems,” I agreed. “I wonder, will we be a great introduction or a poor one?”
“As the Emperor wills,” Jurgen nodded, completely assured in his simplemindedness. Must be nice to not have to think… Couldn’t be me.
“I don’t think either is a pressing concern right now,” Amberley said. “We need to look out for ourselves first and foremost. Get our bearings. Establish ourselves. We’ve been cast into an unknown world, with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and no one we left behind will know we’re missing until it’s too late.”
I felt a tight knot of fear and cowardice settle in my gut, “… God-Emperor, they won’t even know to look for us, much less where! We don’t even know where! Damned, damned xenos clowns! We-!”
Halfway through my panic, I managed to muster enough composure to avoid alerting my comrades to my ever-present cowardice, exhaling the rest of the words slowly with a calm I certainly didn’t feel, “-We might just be stranded here for the rest of our days.”
Really, I shouldn’t have been so worried about that. Jurgen was ever-loyal and faithful and wouldn’t question me even if the warp came knocking. And Amberley… well, I was almost certain she knew… But force of habit still had me putting on a fragile facade of composure.
“It seems this is no simple situation we’ve found ourselves in,” I said as confidently as I could manage. Judging by Jurgen’s determinedly devoted stare, as if just waiting to carry out any order I gave him, it worked well enough.
As expected, however, Amberley was less fooled. She stood on her knees at my side and looked me dead in the eye with fortifying hands on my shoulders. It was a stern look she gave me, but thankfully, not one that spoke of me being burned at the stake for my lived lie in such a delicate situation.
“It’s not,” She said. “It’s really rather complicated, as far as situations go. But not much worse than anything else you’ve faced, Ciaphas. And not hopeless or permanent, either. My Rosette can send out a distress signal that can be heard across half the galaxy. It will be heeded. And the Imperium will come for an Inquisitor and its Hero. Then, we just have to survive and thrive until they arrive.”
“That, yes,” I nodded, hoping the motion wasn’t as frantic as it felt. “Let’s do that. That’s the foundation of a plan I can build from. I can survive. I’ve done it well enough so far. Thriving remains to be seen, but if it’s only a matter of time…?”
“We’ll do our best, all we can, as the Emperor wills,” Amberley nodded back at me, borrowing Jurgen’s favorite phrase.
Amusement struck me, and I took a moment to simply breathe. If I were to be stranded with anyone, Amberley was just about the best choice I could ask for. After only, say, the Emperor in his prime? But there was wishful thinking, and then there was that. Amberley was more than good enough for a ‘second’ choice.
I shot her a smile, laying one of my hands over one of hers, “As the Emperor wills.”
If I were an arrogant man, I would say I saw a bit of extra color dust across her cheeks. Alas, I am not an arrogant man. Both by way of habit, for arrogant Commissars tend to suspiciously expire in the backlines even quicker than the already quick norm for our line of duty, and by way of knowing in my very core how much of a fraud I was.
“Shall we send off that distress signal and take stock of everything we have at our disposal?” I suggested.
“Well, we have to start somewhere, don’t we?” Amberley teased lightly. “The distress beacon can be lit from anywhere. But a fire pit is probably for the best.”
“A fire pit?”
“It’s a rather dramatic affair.”
“Then, ‘up we get, up we pop~!’, no?”
Amberley paused and shuddered at that particular attempt at callback humor from me, “… Too soon, Cai. Too soon.”
Her shudder spread to me after I said it, Harlequin trauma already running deep, even then, “… You’re right. That was ill done. Best to put those foul xenos completely from our minds.”
“I already have, sir. They don’t deserve to take up my thoughts,” Jurgen said.
“Good man,” I nodded. Once again, Jurgen’s simplemindedness was a blessing I somewhat envied. “There are more important things to be thinking on, right about now.”
All three of us stood, with me helping Amberley to her feet. She flashed me a brief smile that certainly didn’t take my breath away before focusing on her Inquisitorial Rosette. I left her to manipulate it however she needed to and turned my own focus onto the resources we now had on hand.
“Inventory, Jurgen?”
“Scarce little, sir,” He answered. “I’ve lost my melta…”
He sounded genuinely heartbroken by that fact. To be fair, it stung me too. Not for any sentimental reasoning, but for the loss of a weapon that could cut through Chaos Space Marine armor.
“Its sacrifice will be remembered, Jurgen,” I said, even half meaning it. “But now, we must focus.”
“No lasrifle or laspistol, sir,” Jurgen continued. “And no back-up, of course.”
Breathing a steady stream of air out through my nose, I kept my oh-so-valuable composure. “What do we have?”
“Well, you’ve got your trusty chainsword,” Jurgen said. “I’ve got the old combat knife. A canteen and some rations in the rucksack. Oh, and a pair of frag and krak grenades each, sir.”
After checking that Jurgen was right and my chainsword was indeed sheathed at my waist, I nodded, “Now, we’re getting somewhere.”
“Indeed, sir,” Jurgen agreed (because, of course, he did). “Now, I can’t speak to the Inquisitor, but we’ve also got the clothes on our back and the flak armor on top.”
“Yes…” I said, looking around with observant eyes. “I noticed they’re making us stand out from the locals quite a bit. But I’m loath to give up good flak just to fit in.”
Indeed, our little party was attracting more attention now that we were standing. The clothes here were all handspun and bespoke. Some simple and functional, others ornate and displaying great wealth by local standards. I honestly found myself somewhat surprised by the level of color available on what had to be an isolated feudal world. The likely nobles I saw in passing so far wouldn’t put any Imperial nobles to shame, but they were certainly trying their best to do so.
“A wise decision, sir,” Jurgen nodded. “As the Emperor wills.”
“I’ve got my own form of armor, Ciaphas,” Amberley said, returning Rosette-less from a nearby and now-crackling fire pit. “But we’ll have to worry about fitting in here soon enough. And consumption should be a consideration as well. I still have my bolt pistol, but only around 40 shots to my name. The same goes for your chainsword. We won’t be seeing a resupply for bolts or promethium any time soon.”
I gave a confident chuckle, patting my chainsword at my hip, “No, we likely won’t. But this old girl will drink just about anything that passes for liquid fuel. I’m sure this world has something lying around to quench her thirst. And if not, I can always start brewing grain alcohol as I once did in the schola.”
“Truly, the best education the scions of the Imperium can ask for,” Amberley smirked. “But wasted youths aside, the distress beacon is lit and set. All that’s left is to let it burn itself out in its duty and get moving.”
“Good,” I nodded. “I find that we’re sorely lacking information on our new surroundings. Best to rectify that before we can be unpleasantly surprised. I don’t think we can much afford unpleasant surprises right now.”
“We can’t afford a lot of things right now,” Amberley pointed out. “We don’t have any money. Or food. Or anything we can get away with selling to get either of those things. If we want to live by local standards, we’ll have to figure something out fast.”
My expression fell stoic and earnest as I said, “… I’ve been many things in my life. But never this completely, utterly, tragically, appallingly broke. It simply will not do.”
Amberley snorted a laugh; an adorable little noise that was as unrefined as it was perfect, “I suppose we’d better get to work, then. Especially if we want to avoid any worse unpleasant surprises than being ‘completely, utterly, tragically, appallingly broke’.”
I nodded, serious as can be, “Things could technically be worse, but I’m not quite sure how at this moment.”
I realized I was in for a rude awakening not a moment later. But it was already too late then. What had been said had been said. Fate had been tempted. And I could’ve kicked myself for my uncharacteristic lapse of good sense.
Sure enough, an eerie and unidentifiable sound was carried to my ears on the wind. It was a high-pitched keen, a whoop, and a trill all at once. Something undeniably alien and rather loud, spilling over the land below as it did. From on high, the beastly xenos cry echoed. And its source flew clear overhead.
It was a strange creature, reptilian yet flying as easily as any avian. The scales and face of a grox, the length of some great, unimaginable snake, and the form of a bat with a wingspan larger than its already prodigious length from snout to tail. Its body was sinuous and lethally elegant. Larger by volume than an Imperial Titan, but thankfully not heavier in mass if its flight was anything to go off.
The eerie xenos cry most certainly came from it, however. It announced its flyover with an open maw and terrible wingbeats like a fleet of Marauder Bombers. Only, the creature was more similar in size to an Imperial Starfighter than any atmospheric aircraft.
We heard chatter and cries from the people around us on the ground. Not of fear, but cheer and awe. As if the locals were well used to the terribly intimidating xenos sight.
“Dragonrider!”
“The Prince!”
“Closer to gods than men!”
“To the Rogue Prince and a new heir!”
“Hail, House Targaryen! Long may they reign!”
“Prince…?” I muttered to myself, barely keeping my jaw from dropping, then and there, in case it revealed how shaken I was. “… Please tell me that xenos creature doesn’t rule this feudal world along with a whole royal family of its kin.”
It was a desperate and strained plea Amberley felt fit to answer, slowly shaking her head, “I… dearly hope not… I heard ‘dragonrider’. There should be a man atop that beast, controlling it, taming it, ruling through it. This world is not yet lost.”
The creature, the ‘dragon’, banked through the sky, and I (thankfully) saw the truth of the matter. From that distance, I could vaguely make out a man perched atop the dragon’s back. I could’ve breathed a sigh of relief. Royal xenos would’ve been just about the worst outcome, but beast tamers were a fair bit more manageable.
Then, the dragon and its rider gave in to showmanship as if they could hear the cheering crowd below. The xenos creature pitched back, pulled up, into a flying stall with a flap of its great wings, tucking them in a moment later as it seemed to hang and coil there. At the peak of their flight, the dragon’s maw opened once more. Not for another eerie, keening, whooping, trilling cry, but to release something much worse…
Flames spilled forth from its maw, red as blood and likely more akin to warpflame than the mundane variety. It billowed out in a terrifying fireball that burst like fireworks high above. Even after bursting, the flames burned and burned. Lingering embers that fell away to nothingness, only after much, much too long. I shuddered to think of being caught up in that firestorm.
“Fire-breathing, flying grox the size of starfighters…” I said, not bothering to conceal my horror for once. “I would like to formally apologize for tempting fate. It was poorly done. I should’ve kept my fat mouth shut.”
“Somehow, I doubt the lack of a quip would change the fire-breathing lizards in the sky,” Amberley sighed. “Nevertheless, we push on. Dragons or no, our goals haven’t changed. The Imperium will find use for them when it arrives. Until then, we’ll just have to do all we can to prepare, consolidate, and thrive in this world.”
Jurgen nodded matter-of-factly; not an original thought in that skull of his, save perhaps a renewed longing for his lost melta after the sight of that dragon, “As the Emperor wills.”
IIIII
[AN: Ciaphas Cain is such a fun character to write. In a way, he’s kind of SI-lite, mostly ‘cause he’s an actually reasonable man trying his best to survive all the bullshit thrown at him (and ‘cause I relate to the imposter syndrome). Now, though, he’s getting something of a break. Not too much of one, considering the dragons (and other things the MCs don’t yet know about), but Westeros is still a much better situation than what he usually finds himself facing.
The trio landed in Westeros pretty much at the start of House of the Dragon (right before the tourney in episode one). I think it’s the perfect stage for the classic Ciaphas Cain levels of ‘misunderstanding to legend’ to bloom. Expect quite a lot of that. Just like the ‘point’ of the Dead End is the storytimes, and the ‘point’ of KYBERPUNK was killing Hutts, the ‘point’ of having Ciaphas Cain for an MC is the sheer number of misunderstanding shenanigans his luck usually brings him. But all of that will come in due time…]
IIIII
Bonus Pics (sauce below)
Comments
Michael Zalesny
Now imagine Caiphas and Tanya meeting! The misunderstanding singularity that would fofm would swallow entire GALAXIES!
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter
