As Nareth witnessed the powerful tribal chieftain Etrich's defeat among the Sorbor, he focused.
A layer of black mist rose in his palm. Then, an unassuming banner, 1.4 meters tall, appeared.
He placed it on his left shoulder. The Dionysian Spear on his right shoulder he had left on the weapon rack in the Shadow's Sovereignty's Primarch's Office.
The "Mentor of Disorder" felt his "Majesty" had little effect on the steadfast-willed Vessorines.
He decided to use the "Red Priest's" uniqueness, the authority of Charisma, to amplify "Majesty" and conquer the Sorbor tribe.
Authority is a deity's or high-sequence beyonder's control over a specific domain's rules, the key to the underlying rules.
The Burning One's control over fire. The Void Dragon's control over the mechanical domain...
But unlike the C'tan, authority is not limited to the physical domain.
Uniquenesses act on specific domains, not, like the Four, based on the soul. They also affect Blanks.
Whether it works, and to what degree, depends on factors like willpower.
Charisma and Conquest authorities are symbiotic.
Every "Red Priest" is the most charismatic of males, inspiring both a desire to submit and serve, and a "charisma" of extreme hatred, a desire to destroy.
He placed the banner, its iron-black shaft stained with blood, on his shoulder.
The uniqueness, sensing him as the destined master of the Kingdom of Disorder, submissively released a wave of heat.
He felt the warmth cover him, no longer limited to his shoulder as when he was a "Baron of Corruption."
Advancing to "Mentor of Disorder" had increased his authority over the source, in turn affecting the "Red Priest," which held the Ritual authority.
His Honor Guard looked at their Father. They saw his majestic form bound, constrained by Vessor's land.
Their knees slammed into the black basalt with a dull thud.
They felt their two hearts pound.
Power surged within them.
They longed to take the field in their Father's name.
They longed to win glory, to serve their Father.
SHH, SHH, SHH...
Over nine hundred faces turned to the black-armored, golden-winged giant.
The Sorbor men saw the majestic figure, towering over the mountain peak.
He was like the legendary Phuthu god.
The women were entranced.
In their minds, the manliest of men, the tribal chieftain Etrich, was like a firefly compared to the dusk moon.
He vaguely felt specks of red around him.
This perception was not from the Emperor's supernatural senses, nor the "Mentor of Disorder's" psychic intuition.
He understood: this was the charisma of the "Red Priest," those he had conquered.
He vaguely discerned: of the eight hundred twenty-nine adult Sorbor warriors, eighty-three of the four hundred fifty men submitted to his charisma.
Of the three hundred seventy-nine women, one hundred eighty were captivated.
'The "Red Priest's" primary authority also includes masculinity. Is this the result?'
'If I used the "Demoness," would the result reverse? ...Not necessarily. As a male Primarch, I would have less control over the feminine authority.'
'Hmm, even with only partial use of the "Red Priest's" power, it's still a uniqueness. After amplifying the "Mentor of Disorder's" "Majesty," the total affected is less than a third?'
He frowned. The Vessorines' will was even stronger than he had expected.
Hiring Vessorines who had not submitted would cost an astronomical sum.
He recalled that the vast organization targeting Inquisitor Gregor Eisenhorn, to obtain the items in the Daemon Prince's tomb, had only hired eight hundred men, seventy of them tasked with wiping out Eisenhorn and his followers.
That was three hundred eighty years of accumulated wealth, enough to hire the Sorbor tribe for only a few years.
Considering that organization's wealth, he deduced that a hive world's planetary governor could not sustainably hire more than five hundred Vessorine mercenaries.
That was a developed hive world, not the developing worlds of the Imperium, and at the cost of no asset growth.
A sub-sector governor could not hire more than three thousand. A sector governor likely not more than five thousand.
This was a huge cost for Imperial nobles, preventing large-scale Vessorine hiring.
With the same wealth, they could recruit millions of planetary defense forces and equip them.
Though the Vessorines were powerful, they could not fight ten thousand in most missions, like guarding assets or hunting rebels.
In his eyes, the Vessorines' greatest value was against Chaos.
Their steadfast will, widespread psychic dullness, and especially their many Blanks, made them immune to Chaos corruption.
They would be invaluable during the Heresy and in pioneering territory in the Formless Wastes.
But he was already feeling the heavy financial pressure, and his plan had just begun.
Unlike the nobles hiring Vessorines in the future, he wanted to hire thousands of tribes, tens of thousands of Vessorines.
This would inevitably affect the development of his many domains.
Though the Vessorines had not yet left their planet to become the most famous mercenaries in the Segmentum Obscurus, their pragmatic, materialistic nature would soon make them aware of their value.
'Hmm, at least I can pay with land conquered, and weapons forged.'
As he thought, he looked hopefully at the children on the black basalt columns.
Eighty-nine children, thirty-six submitted.
Slightly over two-fifths.
His eyes lit up. His brow smoothed.
'Indeed, children whose minds are not yet fully formed, who haven't spent long in close contact with Blanks, and haven't begun interrogation-resistance training, have weaker wills.'
His joy lasted less than three seconds before an orange-red light blazed.
'Hmm?'
His obsidian pupils dilated. The banner shaft grew hot, making his neck burn, the heat spreading.
The blood points of the Sorbor's submission rapidly decreased: less than a hundred adults, only nineteen children.
A word from a Sorbor's mind flashed through his: Dusk Moon.
His eyes deepened, fixed on the slowly rising orange-red moon.
'Like Fenris's Wolf Moon? A special moon?'
'Vessor's satellite. This orange-yellow moon does not seem to be reflected from the red star.'
'Could the Dusk Moon be the special source of the Vessorines?'
As he thought, he felt a complex gaze.
He looked at Etrich. He saw shock, appraisal, and a rising fighting spirit.
He gripped his falcon short sword and walked towards him.
"Your son is strong."
"How much stronger are you?"
He smiled calmly. "I'll give you a chance."
The moment he spoke, Etrich lunged, his short sword thrusting at his lower body.
Blue-white light suddenly blazed, blooming in the dusk light.
With a short, piercing crack, the gleaming falcon short sword flew from his hand.
The cold, gleaming blade stopped at Etrich's throat. The cold made it instinctively tighten.
The blue-white light dimmed slightly. The Sword of Vaul was slightly affected by the Blank, its psychic edge slightly reduced.
The falcon short sword spun and fell, its sharp blade sinking into the black basalt.
He sheathed his sword.
The cold, blue-white blade reflected in the Vessorines' eyes, chilling them, sweat beading on their skin.
The strongest Vessorine, the Sorbor tribal chieftain Etrich, had been instantly defeated.
The Phuthu god!
The name of the legendary god exploded in their minds.
He felt the blood points increase: submitting adults rose to one hundred forty, children to twenty-nine.
"Let's talk over a meal."
"Good." Etrich readily agreed. 'Perhaps the ancestor didn't kill the real Phuthu god, but his falcon.'
'The black-armored, golden-winged giant is the true Phuthu god.'
He glanced at the orange-red moon, pressed his communication bead, ordered fine food and wine prepared.
He ordered: "Auspex, full power. Scan Vessor's moon. That orange-red satellite."
....
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