This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
The inside of the Hall of Ancestors was unaffected by the fire, it seemed, though the smell of burnt flesh and cooked meat filled the air, overpowering even the holy incense that literally pooled around the floor in a mist it was so thick. At the head of the room there were two arma-glass windows with stain glass motifs depicting heroic actions of House Caledan since its founding nearly a thousand years ago.
Varlas heard feet shuffling from behind him. He turned to see his Uncle Brelor. His eyes were wet with tears and the side of his head was bleeding.
"Uncle," said Varlas as he moved to his uncle's side. His uncle held his hand up to Varlas and struck him with a thunderous bolt of purple lightning. Varlas fell. His skin smouldered with the heat of it as he fell to his knees and collapsed. The last thing he heard before he passed into unconsciousness was his uncle saying "How did you become a heretic?"
Of all the pain Varlas had endured getting here, it was as nothing to the pain he felt now.
He was dangling. That was the first thing that registered in his brain when he began coming around. He could feel gravity pulling him downward, his feet unable to touch the ground. His head ached like he'd been headbutted by a mad Grox. The room smelt damp. The air was scented with moss and mould. When he finally remembered how to open his eyes he did so slowly. He caught glimpses of some of the Elders stood at wooden lecterns, facing him. Flickering candlelight cast ghosting shadows of their withered frames. Some of them looked as though they had been in combat; one had his arm in a sling.
As Varlas's eyes focused, he saw that his Uncle Brelor was standing ahead of him, behind a lectern with the Crest of Caledan. It was at this moment that Varlas realised where he was - the dungeons below house Caledan. The dungeon was of a stone construction, the floor was cobbled, as were the walls. The walls ran slick with ichor from disuse and disrepair, and the roof was a vaulted dome with chains wrought with rust dangling like vines from a tree canopy.
"I…it wasn't…" Varlas tried to say with his rasping voice. His uncle held his hand up in silence. Varlas looked above him, his neck paining in protest. His hands and neck were held firmly in a black-stock. Around the wrist cuffs of the stock were psycho-reactive crystals. If he attempted to escape using his psychic abilities then he would be shocked with incalculable pain. He knew this because he had returned to House Caledan with many a psyker that had been put into these same stocks. Those poor souls had all met with painful deaths.
His Uncle cleared his throat before speaking. It was clear on his face that he was pained. Not from the bandaged wound on his head, though. This was more of a heartfelt pain. Though the other Elders looked at Varlas with nought but contempt, one or two were cradling snub pistols out of sight waiting for an excuse to execute him as a heretic.
"Varlas Caledan, you are hereby charged with the crimes of breaking faith with House Caledan and The Immortal Emperor of Mankind. You are also accused of Trafficking with Daemons and the terrible crime of Heresy." Brelor looked as though he were about to break down, but quickly regained his composure. "How do you plead?…And please remember that the Emperor shall judge your soul here after."
At first, Varlas moved his mouth wordlessly like a fish out of water until he found his voice. "Not guilty. Why would I foreswear my oaths and betray the Emperor and House Caledan?" Varlas Managed.
"Many less noble than yourself have fallen, and those more noble also. Why should it be deniable in your case?" one of the Elder's said. The others nodded their agreement.
"I would not betray my duties or you, my lords," Varlas said venomously, his rage building and a red mist descending past his eyes. He screwed his eyes tight as he felt searing pain rip through him. His toes curled and he gritted his teeth before crying out. The stocks he was bound in sensed his rage and had shocked him before he had a chance to use his powers.
As the electric charge subsided Varlas slumped completely, his head falling down to look at his feet. He openly wept, not for pity, not for leniency but because he had been stripped of his title, his respect, and his honour. Some of the elders looked at him in revilement as though they saw his current weakness as a pestilence to abhor. His uncle looked ready to cry but remained stalwart, allowing but a single tear down his wrinkled cheek. Brelor knew that Varlas was innocent but the other Elders were out for blood, and though Varlas was his nephew he could not be seen as weak in his position as head of House Caledan.
"The Daemon Sloreth shouted out your name in thanks as he…desecrated our ancestral home!" shouted one of the elders. The very mention of Sloreth's name caused the fires within him to blaze anew and he looked at the accusing elder with pure rage. If he were not bound in this stock then he would have flayed him to his bones for such an insult. He was a true and faithful servant of the Emperor and of House Caledan, he knew that, felt it in his bones, but they did not. They didn't want to know, as far as Varlas could see.
"I have come to a decision on sentencing," said Brelor, his voice wavering. It was painful for Varlas to hear his Uncle in distress; his voice was usually always strong and wise. Varlas had found comfort in confiding in his uncle when his father had died. Sorrow from that time welled up to join the sorrow he now felt. It was an almost tangible pain in his chest. As the pain and sorrow flowed through him he wished his Uncle would hurry and pronounce a death sentence.
"Death…if you ever return here," Brelor said with a faint smile. The other elders turned to him in dismay.
"You aren't seriously considering letting him go, are you? You would allow a heretic to leave? You forget yourself," said the elder that had been slinging all of the accusations. Varlas now recognised him as Severus, a malcontent in the leadership of House Caledan.
"No, it is you who forgets yourself, Severus. I am the head of this family and you shall follow my decisions, for I do not make them lightly," spat Brelor at Severus.
Severus seemed to consider his stub pistol before backing down with a glare. "That's as it may be, but the Tenet's of the Emperor state that we not allow the alien, daemon or the heretic to live. Am I to assume that you would join your nephew in heresy? If so then…" Severus stated impudently before Brelor cut him off.
"Then what, Severus? And I am not deaf to the Tenet's of our beloved Emperor. And I am aware of something you are not," Brelor stated, matter-of-factly.
Severus leered at Brelor, and some of the other elders shifted uncomfortably whilst the others stared in vulture-like fascination. "And what is that, pray tell?" Severus said in a mocking tone.
Brelor looked at Varlas as he spoke: "I am stepping down as head of this family and as I do I am allowed one final request that you must allow and follow." Brelor smiled at Varlas as though he was a child again. Brelor had made sacrifices in the past for him but this was by far the most important and also the one with most cost.
Severus made to speak, to try to quote some hidden loop or subsection to disallow this massive request, but eventually gave up. "Fine. We shall allow this, as much of a breach as it is. But you, Brelor, will be stripped of your title and remain in this house as its custodian. We shall leave you behind like the detritus of a forgotten age, whilst we move to the Manor in the northern hemisphere," replied Severus, with what sounded like a small amount of respect. Severus was a bureaucrat not a warrior. For him to be politically out maneuvered was unheard of.
Brelor nodded his acknowledgement. The elders all put their consent in the cogitators that were inlaid in the lectern's they were stood at. With a loud click, the stocks holding Varlas Prisoner disengaged and he fell to the floor with a thud. Brelor stepped down from his lectern and walked towards Varlas, smiling faintly, and his eyes looked as though he was wrestling with his inner emotions.
"Take it easy. You were hanging up there for three days," Brelor said as he put his hands on Varlas's shoulders. Varlas looked up at Brelor's old face. The candles in the dungeon cast his face into stark relief.
"Thank you," Varlas managed, his voice and mind broken.
"No need, my boy. Consider it repayment for all of your years of dutiful service." Brelor's smile beamed and his eyes spoke of the love he held for his nephew, but also the sense of loss that was to come.
Hive World Terra