#solemnace gallery
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The Solemnace Galleries are a museum, and therefore, they must also have a gift shop.
#Solemnace Galleries#trazyn the infinite#this is how museums work#theres a fanfic idea here somewhere#and i will write it
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Appreciation post for Sannet the Light-Sculptor, Arch-Cryptek of Solemnace... the hard-light architect of the Prismatic Galleries, and the one responsible for its maintenance, with or without Trazyn's presence. An old man at once sososososososo tired of his overlord's shit, yet fully dedicated to Trazyn's work, and the first to greet him back to his silent planet. Not always the most dignified, yet diligent, even where loose hive tyrants and drukhari torture implements are concerned. One of the only crypteks mentioned to have changed his profession entirely, and is just as lauded in this life as he was in his old one, despite having to work at a physical disadvantage. A cryptek serving under one of only 2-3 necrons known to understand the concept of disability accommodation... a scribe, in his own way, like his master used to be before biotransference. Loyal and respectful, but unafraid to bicker with Trazyn or call him out on his assumptions, and respected by Trazyn in return. The only necron so far canonically deemed the 'companion of Trazyn'. In this house we love Sannet, eight-fingered hands and all 🐙💖
#warhammer 40k#wh40k#sannet#trazyn the infinite#the infinite and the divine#fall of cadia#war in the museum#necrons#necron#i have Feelings for him. he and trazyn have such a jeeves & wooster energy going on
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Imagine if you will,
Trazyn spreads a rumor about owning the research journals of one of the crypteks that made the C’tans’ outer shells.
Orikan, being the meddler that he is, goes to steal it. Little did he know that Trazyn was in quite a mischievous demeanor, and actually made a little trap for any sneaky thieves, who stick their tails where they shouldn't be.
Our intrepid astromancer expertly dodges Solemnace Galleries' traps and guard, making more tears in the spacetime continuum than a bolter gun into a Lamenter Space Marine.
When he finally reaches the research data, the trap triggers and spits out a thousand little chrono-proof threads that manage to ensnare and subdue the cryptek.
After returning from a bountiful hunt, Trazyn comes to the gallery and sees his rival entangled. Amused and quite spirited, he starts gloating while poking with his digit an angry and completely immobilized Orikan.
By accident, he managed to get a thread snagged into his finger joint, and trying to remove it only managed to tangle it further.
After two days, Sannet comes in search of his Master and finds Trazyn, all tangled up alongside Orikan, both engaged in a duel of elbows, trying to land blows in any body part that they deem most painful or accessible.
The arch-cryptek smiles as the two bicker, stuck ankh to ankh, in a tight embrace.
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somewhere deep in the solemnace galleries is a tesseract labyrinth containing a single furby
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"Average necron acquires 3 artifacts a year" factoid actualy just statistical error. Average necron acquires 0 artifacts per year. Trazyn, Overlord of Solemnace, Lord Archaeovist of the Prismatic Galleries, and He-Who-Is-Called-Infinite, who lives in a museum & acquires over 10,000 each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted
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Fulgrim Selfcest is a very real possibility
let Slaanesh break into the Galleries of Solemnace and bring back Their favorite Primarch something nice
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from @magister-trazyrae
To Whom it May Concern,
I have been made aware of Lord Trazyn and his extensive galleries with wonders of all kinds contained therein. A few of these artifacts in particular are of great interest to me, and I felt I should ask if the master of Solemnace would be willing to part with them.
At your convenience, please find out if he is interested in sales or trade.
- Magister Aldus Trazyrae
To Magister Aldus Trazyrae,
While I do not believe I am the one to make this request, as I am technically an exhibit myself, I have passed it on to daddy Trazyn anyway. I have enclosed his reply along with mine.
Your friend (I hope?)
Fulgrim
(A second, folded piece of paper flutters to the floor when you go to read this one. Will you look at it?)
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My lord, have you ever had a chance to visit the galleries of Solemnace? I've heard there is an exhibit on the Battle of Calth even.
Why and how would he visit them?
He would wreak shop trying to save as many people as possible.
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Glad to see you’re enjoying my recommendation of 40K: Buddy Cop Edition. I don’t know how familiar you are with the wider world but if you have any questions I’d be more than happy to answer them. Luckily it’s a very self-contained novel focused on one or two factions with most of its concepts explained by the characters. Can’t wait to see what you think of the rest! I’m already interested in how you find Trazyn relatable, given how to most people he’s kinda the funny meme man of the setting it’s cool to find someone who appreciates the more serious side of him and his works.
Oh its you! I cant thank you enough! I always loved the Necrons as a faction. Theyre so deliciously smug but masking a deep existential pain/sense of loss.
As for Trazyn, I absolutely see a kindred spirit. Im also a bit of an irreverent meme man, but that's not it. I'm a lifelong classicist and historian with a huge respect for archeology and preservation of relics from the Western tradition. Any loss of even the least potsherd is a terrible irreplaceable loss that would drive me into a rage. I actually have nothing but admiration for what he's doing in the Solemnace Galleries.
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Trazyn sneers down at the blood angels.
“Every wretched being in the universe think they’re all serving the ‘greater good’ when there’s nothing ‘great’ about them and they’re not ‘good’ at anything!”
He chuckles to himself
“I can’t believe the Silent King allied with these fools”
'As a wretched being that lives in this universe, I take it you believe you're serving a greater good as well?' Sanguinius asked as she descended from on high to land behind the great and terrible curator of the Solemnace galleries.
'Or have you lost even that basic function?'
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Bookkeeping: Tags and Related, v 1.0
List is to be updated and subject to changes. Does not include generic tags, such as fandom ones, faction ones, or ones of canon characters.
Yes, I do know those are pretentious and cringe, and barely useful.
GENERAL TAGS
of hopes and daemons - general tag used by this blog. Also used in my main blog to denote content related to Fuzzverse
solemnace latest exhibitions - general tag used to denote reblogs
pamphlets and alpha priority mail - informational and bookkeeping posts. Like this one!
CONTENT TAGS
art galleries and crysdrawsthings - tags used for art and art-related posts. Sketches, WIPs, finished works, prompt requests, etc
as it was foretold - tag used for "lore" of the Fuzzverse and related. Character stories, random bits and facts, overall plot, etc
the choir speaks - tag used for in-character ask answers or commentary. In case this will happen at all
CHARACTER TAGS, MAIN CAST
the spark of hope - used for Lacedrace aka Tzeentchian Fuzz, the Lord of Change
the hunt comes for you - used for An'Hangra aka Khornate Fuzz, the Bloodthirster
to the bog we return - used for Balthrag aka Nurglite Fuzz, the Great Unclean One
chasing perfection - used for Shanakay aka Slaaneshi Fuzz, the Keeper of Secrets
the horizon's in my sight - used for Sanya, the precious ex-Guardsman
CHARACTER TAGS, SUPPORTING CAST
the last in line - used for Charlotte, who is a small, but very brave Scion
heads of the hydra - used for Al, who is dad first and space marine second
cogs and bolts and ancient lore - used for "Billy", old and grumpy tech-priest
by his edict forgotten - used for Oona, 10-ft tall lady with a gun, who is super irrelevant to the plot
the dragon awakens - used for C'toaster/Blinky, who is, well, Dragon
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Second prompt fill for @beril66! Let's have a little fun with this one XD
"Please hold me" for Trazyn/Orikan
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Solemnace was a planet constantly perched on the precipice of disaster. The wrong stasis breach or mechanical malfunction could spell instant doom for the great museum world. Ashkut faced that reality each day as Solemnace’s Royal Warden. But if Overlord Trazyn decided in his wisdom to house every possible superweapon, demi-god, and monstrosity in the galaxy in once collection, it was Ashkut’s job to ensure he and Solemnace survived the process.
Sometimes he simply wished the job was easier.
The planet’s alarm system alerted Ashkut that there was unusual activity deep within the galleries. Not the display areas, but the “stacks” as the crypteks called the network of storage rooms and study areas near the planet’s inert core. What alarm did not tell him was what kind of unusual activity he might face.
Ashkut summoned a company of immortals to accompany him down the labyrinthine hallways. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. The alert might be nothing. Intruders did not make it this far without Lord Trazyn’s approval—whether or not they knew they had it. Most likely it was a stasis field failure causing the planet to think there was an intruder where there was only a loose exhibit, which more likely than not was harmless. He thanked all the stars they were nowhere near the tyranid wing.
As he turned a corner he stopped short. Two figures stood before a door, arguing in hushed tones. The first was Sannet, nervously rubbing his fingers together. The other was the Huntmaster, who turned towards the warden and his retinue.
“Ah, warden. Perfect timing,” Huntmaster said. “We need a vote to break the tie.”
“Tie?” Ashkut looked between the two fellow members of Solmnace’s court, alarm glyph still flashing in the corner of his vision. “What is going on here?”
Sannet pointed a shaking hand at the door. “Lord Trazyn is inside.”
“Alright,” Ashkut replied slowly.
“He isn’t alone,” Sannet stammered.
That wasn’t exactly unusual. Lord Trazyn occasionally showed people his collection. How willing they were to view it varied, but it was hardly a danger.
Huntmaster jerked his thumb towards the room. “The Diviner’s in there with him.”
“WHAT?” Ashkut roared. “And you two are just standing there?”
He moved to shove past the two fools, but Huntmaster grabbed his shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We heard clanging.”
“Clanging,” Ashkut repeated, trying to figure out how that could possibly be relevant when his lord was currently stuck alone in a room with his mortal enemy.
“Clanging,” Huntmaster confirmed, as if that explained anything.
“It could have been a fight,” Sannet said. “Or…”
“Or not a fight,” Huntmaster said.
“Or that.” Sannet shuddered. “But still, we should check!”
“There’s been no call for aid.”
“That could mean Lord Trazyn is in danger and unable to summon any!” Sannet cried.
“Good point. After you then.” Huntmaster extended his arm. Sannet did not move.
Ashkut snapped, “What are you two talking about?”
Huntmaster tilted his head. “Why warden, I did not think you were so naive. Has no one explained amorous affairs? They can get awfully noisy. I also feel obliged to tell you that typically those engaged prefer not to be disturbed.”
“Are you two trying to tell me that you know Lord Trazyn is inside that room, with a well established enemy, and you two are standing here doing nothing because you cannot decide if they are fighting or….” Ashkut stared at the cryptek and the deathmark in disbelief. “Have you not scried the room?”
“Disabled.” Huntmaster shrugged.
“We did hear something break,” Sannet offered.
“Well there you have it!” Ashkut said. “Lord Trazyn would never allow an artifact on Solemnace to be damaged.”
“That’s the storage room for spare Astartes helmets,” Huntmaster pointed out. “Even his lordship knows he could stand to lose a few of those.”
Ashkut shook his head. “Enough of this. You two may be content to stand out here bickering and neglecting your duties, but I am not.”
He grabbed each one by the shoulder and pulled them apart, clearing the way to the plain, sliding door. He supposed he should not be too harsh with Sannet. Orikan the Diviner’s last intrusion on Solemnace had nearly ended with Sannet torn apart by a hive tyrant. It was only natural the old curator would not want to run into him again. Ashkut had nearly been killed at the astromancer’s hands himself, but that was no excuse not to face him if he threatened Solemnace or its overlord.
Although on the off chance Huntmaster was right, Ashkut left the immortals behind as he commanded the door to open.
The storage room was dark, lined with shelf upon shelf of astartes helmets in every imaginable color. Ashkut could not see the end of them. He stepped forward and drew his warscythe from its dimensional sheath, letting its glow light his path.
His foot hit something solid. A helmet, knocked from its place. There were more littering the floor before him. Ashkut increased the energy flow to his perception suite. Then he heard it. A definite…clanging sound. Ashkut ran towards it, keeping his tread light. He wanted to keep the element of surprise should he need it.
When he rounded a corner he again saw two figures. Though it took him a moment to realize it was in fact two and not one mass of metal. Limbs tangled together, nodes flashed, and loose tiles torn from mantles fell to the floor.
“Bastard,” hissed an unmistakable voice. One of Orikan’s claws raked across his Trazyn’s back, rending his cloak and leaving a shallow gash in the necrodermis below. The warden gripped his weapon tighter.
“Now Orikan.” Trazyn hoisted the cryptek up and shoved him against the wall. “Is that any way to speak to your host?”
Ashkut prepared to charge.
“I want to hear you ask nicely.”
Ashkut paused.
Orikan’s legs wrapped around Trazyn’s waist. Trazyn pressed him harder against the wall, holding him in place as his tail curled around one of the overlord’s legs. Beyond that, Ashkut could not see, but he did hear a noise that he could only liken to a poor quality recording of an animal in heat.
“Please,” Orikan groaned.
“Better, love. Please what?”
“Touch me.”
“Of course.”
“Please, hold me.”
Ashkut suddenly felt the need to check if the ambient temperature in the room had risen.
An interstitial alert appeared in the corner of his vision. He would have ignored it, had it not been appended with Lord Trazyn’s personal seal.
“I am quite sure,” the overlord’s voice said in Ashkut’s head. “That I am currently alone with my guest. But if I turn around and find that we are not alone, whoever I see will be permanently reassigned to cleaning the slaugth exhibit. Do I make myself clear?”
The royal warden believed he managed to break some land speed record in his haste to vacate the room.
When the door slid shut behind him, he was met with two expectant monoculars.
“Lord Trazyn is entertaining a guest,” he said, refusing to meet either of their gazes. “He is not to be disturbed.”
The immortals thankfully continued to stare forward without any comprehension of what was going on. Ashkut envied them. As he marched away he heard Huntmaster nudging Sannet in the ribs.
“I told you so.”
In that moment, Ashkut was sure he became the first necron in history to develop a migraine.
#prompts#necrons#wh40k#trazyn the infinite#orikan the diviner#orizyn#ashkut#huntmaster#sannet#the solemnace crew#i've been wanting to write some silly stuff for the solemnace court for ages i couldn't help myself#these poor guys dealing with Trazyn's shit#is Orikan here to kill everyone or is it a bootycall?#Is it both?#we just don't know
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Magnificent Scoundrels- The Shadowed Lords
I know I keep throwing new characters and places at you. Sorry. Scoundrel shenanigans will return next story. However, this is important for the story progression, and, to be blunt, these are some of my personal favorite characters I wrote in here. Enjoy the story, and if you are interesting in it, please read the end note.
“Nine heroes and their colleagues.
Six Shadowed Lords and the assets they bring:
One Ghost.
One god.
One collector.
One Man
One Cypher.
One Leader.
Six Stones.
One Weapon.
One Crucible.
One Ring.
Seven Lords:
One Lion
One Phoenix
One Warhawk
One Wolf
One Son
One Salamander
One Raven
And a little luck.” -A List of Items Required
Titanfall Galaxy
The Outlands
Hammond Robotics Lab 365-772
It was night out, and Dr. Lisa Wiltalker sat in the same chair, in the same office, as she did every night. But this time, she didn’t really mind. It was a wonderful night outside, crisp and clear, with the stars shining through the window, creating an ambient atmosphere of peace. Though, in reality, it was actually due to her work that she didn’t mind staying late.
She was the head of the facility, one of the most important ones in the Outlands region of space, and it was her duty to advance the Hammond company by any means necessary. And, by God, the opportunities that presented themselves now! Eight new universes that had just materialized from nowhere. Eight! The circumstances that presented themselves for Hammond and herself were...endless.
She was currently studying everything she could about these new galaxies, trying to learn anything and everything she could…
She looked up sharply. Could have sworn something was moving in the shadows… No. She had been here for...fifteen hours, was it? It was nighttime, and it was a lonely, empty office building, so no wonder her senses were playing tricks on her sleep deprived mind. She stood up, stretched, grabbed a coffee from the machine in the room, and sipped it while looking out the window and the stars. Feeling better, or at least more caffeinated, she returned to the task at hand.
Eight new galaxies. Endless opportunities to sell the products of Hammond. Spectre robots, the latest and greatest in infantry fighting machines, faster, stronger, and tougher than a man; explosive Ticks, small drones that seeked out enemies and detonated; and, of course, Titans. She didn’t think that any of the other galaxies had technology like that, and where better to add to their arsenals but from the Hammond Corporation? Made perfect sense…
She snapped around sharply. She swore she could have heard something moving, swore she could see something just inside her peripheral vision… She shook her head again. The office was massively secure, with guards, both of bolt and steel, and flesh and blood stationed throughout it. When in a sleep deprived and lonely situation, everyone started seeing the boogeyman hiding in the corners. She shook her head ruefully and turned on more lights.
Where was she? Ah, yes. Opportunities. Who to sell to? Everyone, if possible. Who could turn down six meter tall war machines, implemented with the finest in A.I. technology, programmed in the art of death and destruction? Well, probably a few of the more dense and/or peaceful of the governments out there. She leafed through a dossier.
The Galactic Assembly? No. Has only had two major wars in the last century, both of which had ended within the year. The United Federation of Planets? Also no. Too regulatory, too jealous of their own technology. The Galactic Empire? This one looked promising. A pro-human empire that had been fractured and on the losing side of a major war in recent years, desperate for anything to turn the tide. Yes, this-
A cold, metallic hand gripped her throat, preventing any sound from getting out, and a horribly deep, rasping, grating voice sounded in her ear.
“You ever get the feeling you’re not alone in the room? It’s because you’re not.”
The extremely tall, spindly...thing stood over the corpse of Dr. Wiltalker. The body had a massive, jagged, yet precise hole ripped through the torso, directly where the heart was, and currently lay deep in a pool of its own clotting blood. The thing, made of cold steel yet looking oddly humanoid, stood above it, watching, savoring the sensation.
“One more off the list,” it said in the same rasping voice. It made a move to turn, to exit the room, but stopped. It stared at the desk. At the dossier. “Interesting,” it muttered. It picked it up. “Very interesting indeed.” It leafed through it. The machine turned.
It had once been he. He had once been living. He had been turned into this… synthetic nightmare by Hammond, against his will or knowledge. He snarled and suppressed a shudder of rage. Once the greatest hitman the Syndicate, Hammond, or anyone else had ever known, at some unknown point his mind had been altered, his body destroyed and replaced with… this. He snarled again.
He had been having his revenge against everyone and everything associated with the company… but this new knowledge. This changed things. So many possibilities. So many skinsuits. So little time. He was the boogeyman. He was the Revenant. And he would have his vengeance.
Warhammer 40k Galaxy
Solemnace, Necron Tomb World
The hallways were jet black, cut from a strange stone that seemed to absorb all light around it. The only illumination came from strange runes and lighting fixtures that seemed to blend into the halls and ceilings. The light was a pale, bright green, and cast strange shadows on the halls and objects residing within. It swirled throughout the space, as if it didn’t quite understand what exactly it was supposed to be illuminating. A human would have found the long halls exceptionally strange. Disconcerting. Creepy, even, if one were less eloquent. It seemed like something from a horror movie, with mad creatures waiting to leap from the shadows on the unaware.
Even more strange and disconcerting were the objects located within the halls. Strange devices, artifacts, and objects littered the space. Each one almost unrecognizable; completely unknown except to the most knowledgeable of galactic historians, and, of course, the curator. For this place, this entire planet, in fact, was so much more than strange alien hallways and lighting that did not agree with the human ocular system. Above all else, itt was a place that preserved history.
The massive galleries, for that is what they were, contained a great many strange, horrifying, and wondrous things. Everything, from inactive artifacts of history to living beings had their place here. Each was protected, frozen in status by eldritch technologies. A massive man in baroque power armor. Tens of thousands of Imperial Guardsmen, from many different worlds, (including some lost) scattered throughout different exhibits. Huge war machines, from almost every race to bestride the stars. A large, beautifully embellished bell. Korks, the ancient and ferocious genetic predecessors of orks. The ossified husk of some strange, jellyfish-like being. The preserved head of an Imperial Saint. The graceful Eldar of the last high council of the destroyed Craftworld Idharae. Space Marines, from almost every chapter and legion imaginable. Several Inquisitors that had been just a bit too nosy. A Custodian. Stange, undocumented blue crab-like aliens. Members of species thought to be long dead by the rest of the galaxy. The total list would probably take hours, if not days or weeks, to describe.
The long galleries were patrolled by odd beings, bipedal silver robots with elongated skulls, wielding strange spears. They seemed to be mindless, uncaring of the weariness that would affect any other beings by the constant patrolling.
On one of the wings of the planet-sized museum, an individual studied a huge sculptured head. It was old and grimy, its original and secondary colors lost to time. The figure was lost in it, its bulk taking up a huge display gallery. Once upon a time the head had been part a a figure called the Statue of Liberty, and had resided in the human hive city of Nuva York on the Throneworld of mankind. 38,000 years ago. It was a huge monument to human accomplishment. 38,000 years ago. It was a historical relic, a testament to mankind’s history. 30,000 years ago. It disappeared, never to be seen again, a missing piece of history. 24,000 years ago. Now it resided here. It mattered nothing to the individual. He was older than the statue. Older than the human race itself.
His body was similar to those of the gallery guardians, but much more ornamented and higher quality. Made of silvery metal, his legs were long but powerful. A metallic rib cage, with a strange symbol etched in the breastbone attached, the legs to similarly structured arms. His metallic skull had a largely elongated jaw, with a permanent mouth etched in the metal. A cloak made of interlocking metallic plates was thrown across his back, and in his hands was a strange staff, made of the same metal as he was.
A sigh of contentment, strangely synthesized, escaped his lips (or what passed for them). While he did often travel the galaxy, looking for artifacts and individuals to add to his ever-growing collection, it was nice to look at his gains. He turned and strode out of the gallery hall.
A vast open room stretched before him, much better lit than his galleries. Ornamented skeletal warriors, weapons at the ready, stood on guard. They were there not only to protect him (not that he needed it, mind you, there were plenty of tricks up his sleeve), but the massive museum itself. He surmounted the steps to his throne, ornamental carved from the black rock, and surveyed his domain. He was not here simply to oversee his galleries. No. A voice broke him out of his thoughts.
“My lord?” asked another metallic servant, this one bearing heavier limbs and more decoration than its fellows. The seated figure looked up. A huge holographic map, made of eerie green light, sprung to life, taking up the majority of the colossal room. It showed not one, but nine different galaxies. Each a treasure trove. Each begging to be explored.
Trazyn the Infinite, Phaeron of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archaeovist of Solemnace, curator of the Prismatic Galleries, and collector extraordinaire turned his head to the map. Eight new galaxies. Eight new sets of history. So little time. So much to collect.
Marvel Galaxy
Within the passages between worlds
There were ways. Passages between realms and planets, known to only a few. Some might call them ‘wormholes’, some ‘slip spaces’, others just plain ‘magic’. They were small, strange, holes in time and space. While naturally occurring, and while able to be explained by science, few ever found them. Fewer still ever used them.
Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief, was not among those few. He was with the tiny minority, the smallest percentage of all beings: he knew where they were, knew how they worked, and used them frequently. They were so incredibly useful; too hard to pass up. Not even Heimdall, all-seeing guardian of the Nine Realms, could not peer into them. Poor Heimdall. The man was a tedious bore, but he really didn’t deserve to die like he did.
Loki died that day too, choked to death at the hands of the Mad Titan, Thanos. Or did he? Was this the original Loki, cheating death yet again? Was this another Loki from the same universe, the same timeline, transported here? Maybe. Or was this a Loki from somewhere else entirely; the same individual from a different universe? It was possible. One never really knew with the God of Lies.
Loki wasn’t truly evil. He had a habit for causing mass death and destruction, but those killed were mortals, were they not? A few years taken off their miserably short lives wouldn't really affect anything. He liked power, enjoyed it, would use force to get it, but, at heart, he wasn’t malevolent.
But now, out there, seen in the spaces between time and space, there were new things. Things that truly were malevolent. Evil. Things that would enslave all sentients, destroy all life, rend reality asunder.
He was no hero. But things like this...they needed to be stopped. So, unfortunately, he would probably end up fighting on the side of heroes. However, that didn’t mean he still couldn’t find time for mischief...
Mass Effect Galaxy
Cronos Station, Headquarters of Cerberus
The room was bare, with only an ergonomic chair standing alone in the center. A huge window, sleek and curved, with no obstructions, gave view to a massive fiery star. Tendrils of fire, both red and yellow, spun into space, guaranteed to take any viewer’s breath away. The floor was black and polished, reflecting the star’s burning light. Sitting in the chair in the center of the room, surrounded by orange and blue holograms, was a single human.
He was wearing an extremely expensive, well-tailored suit, the edges perfectly cut to fit his frame. His brown hair was neatly styled, and his eyes glowed blue, replaced long ago with prosthetics. He stood, glass of incredibly expensive liquor in hand, the glowing tip of a cigarette sticking from the edge of his mouth, staring at the holograms. Somehow, he contrived to make the vices look incredibly elegant and classy, like a movie star of old.
He was the Illusive Man. One of the, if not the most powerful individuals in the galaxy. Creator of the pro-human terrorist organization Cerberus. He saw his duty plainly: humanity must become the most prominent race throughout the stars. He was not xenophobic. Far from it. He simply wanted his species to succeed, and if lesser individuals saw that as racist, saw him as a terrorist, then so be it. He cared nothing for the opinions of the weak. Those who were not willing to act were not worthy of inheriting the stars. But now...complications.
Eight new galaxies. He knew a great many things about them; far more than most. There were new threats. New problems. New factions and people of incredible power. But most importantly, humanity existed in all eight. His species.
Whether through the iron might of the Imperium of Man, or the peace and technological progress of the United Federation of Planets, humanity was in a prominent place in all of them. He would see them remain that rightful place. But now there were threats. Too many to handle alone. He would need help, and he would need it as quickly as possible if he were to succeed.
The holograms scrolled past, showing names. Faces. Dossiers. Heroes. Villains. Species.
The Illusive Man sat in his chair, cigarette dangling from his mouth as if forgotten. He was thinking. Planning. He needed more help, needed more people, needed more knowledge. Knowledge was power. Power was required to raise mankind to the top. Simple, but not easy. He thought some more.
Unknown Location
The faint light, cast by the glow of a nearby star, emanated from large floor to ceiling windows. The star was old, cold, but still let out a pure white light, enough to illuminate the room through the heavy, cathedral-like windows. It contrasted with the empty blackness of space, the only light beyond the star being faint pinpricks, barely enough to cast a second glance at. The room itself was dark. Nothing could be seen of it. Not its size, not its purpose, or any items within. The light only illuminated two figures standing side by side, staring out into the blackness of space.
The one on the right was the shorter of the two. It looked to be human, with two arms, two legs, and a head sticking out from a normal human frame. However, one couldn’t really tell what it was, for its face was hidden by an armored black mask and helmet. Two rectangular eye slits, glowing a dim red in the light of the star, looked out through the window. It wore black armor and gloves, stylized so as to allow the greatest range of motion possible. A heavy black coat, reinforced by some form of anti-ballistic material, reached down to the figure’s ankles. Holstered at its side was a large pistol, a human-made automatic of heavy calibre.
The figure on the left was massive. While the one in black was slightly taller than six feet, it towered a full eight feet tall. Its form was large and bulky, with joints of massive power armor poking through a plain white robe that hid the majority of its figure. A white hood covered its head, and while one might think this figure was some strange alien, the bottom of the face that could be seen through the hood and shadows was unmistakably human. It had a broad and chiseled face that fit the rest of its massive form, hinting that the bulkiness of its figure came not from the armor, but from the body beneath it. Two pistols were holstered at its side, both oversized to fit in the figure’s large armored gauntlets. One was blocky and black, and while heavily ornamented, seemed to be of the type that fired something akin to bullets. The other glowed a soft blue, coils replacing what would have been the slide on an automatic pistol.
An utterly massive sword was strapped to the figure’s back, and while beautifully adorned and seemingly crafted by a master, it was too large even for the tall man to wield it. Instead, it was kept in its place, resting on his back.
The taller man spoke. “You know what must be done, yes?” His voice was a deep baritone, rumbling with massive power and reverberating through the darkness.
“Yes.” The shorter figure’s voice was scarred and metallic, spoken through some sort of modulator in the mask it wore.
“Then we must move quickly.” The man on the left turned and stared down at the black-clad figure on the right. “There are those who would seek to stop this.”
“It is logical. I see no other way to make things right for everyone.”
“Good. Then it is necessary to do what must be done,” said the deep voice.
“The fate of the universe hangs on the shoulders of a few. But they have done it before. Proven their worth,” replied the black figure.
“This time there are forces outside of their control. Things they are not powerful enough to fight. This is why we must help them.” The red lenses tilted up towards the tall man’s face.
“Indeed. We have a mission, and for the good of all we must not fail.”
Hope you liked the story. I know that both Loki and the Illusive Man are kind of bad guys, and the the Illusive Man goes heavy off the deep end in ME 3, but that hasn’t happened yet, and I need all of these characters on the same side. Now, the message. If you have any ideas for stories you want me to write or any characters that fit in with the Shadowed Lords you want to include, please tell me and I will consider writing them if the fit in. If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, or questions, don’t hesitate to ask! I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope that you have a great day. Or night. Or whatever.
Edit: Also, Revenant is a sociopathic murderer, so he isn’t exactly a good guy either.
#magnificent scoundrels#story#writing#my writing#my story#fanfic#crossover story#mass effect#apex legends#warhammer 40k#marvel
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#faking it til i making it#tbf ive literally written more about half the necron characters than GW has#thats just numbers#you're welcome james workshop
you ARE king dick of fanfic mountain, the silence and the storm is the pinnacle of necron fic and belongs in a museum, and your character interpretations are so compelling and sexy
Aw, thank you 🥰 Genuinely, I doubt my work ALL THE TIME, so your kind words mean a lot. I will happily donate this work to the Solemnace Galleries as a prime example of human weirdness and hyper fixation. (Orikan reads it and immediately smites me for that one scene with Trazyn y'all know the one)
#necrons#warhammer 40k#answering asks#literally the best part of writing this has been meeting so many cool fun people#king dick of fanfic mountain surrounded by my knights of the fanfic table
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letting loose a squadron of Blood Ravens in the Solemnace Galleries like a pack of wolves into a butcher's shop
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