Košava: Operation Fürstin
"W...wha..."
"Guys, please, help me!"
"W-why is no-one...I don't want to..."
"Isolde! Dairi—"
Isolde snapped to a seated position atop her bed, torn from her night's rest in a fit of uncharacteristic horror. Reflexively her hands gripped her sides as she silenced the terrors that had played before her sleeping eyes moments before, the screams of her fellow Schola student she had grown up alongside still echoing in Isolde's mind as the nightmare's aftermath lingered, just as it had many times before.
"Always the same..."
The quiet utterance was to no-one in particular despite possessing Bo by her side, Isolde's personal quarters devoid of Dairine, Verita, or either of their Ixolotl companions since her 'kin' were out fulfilling their own duties. It was when they were absent that the nightmares gripped Isolde most often, and she dared not bother her father over such trifling matters when he was tirelessly working for their future.
Perhaps as a sign of her relative youth and unique upbringing a selfish part of Isolde dared wish to rest by her father's side like she would years ago, comforted and affirmed by the one person she aspired to be like. She might now stand almost a head taller than the Commandant but he still was her father, the man who had protected and guided her all these years, and so she would continue looking up to him metaphorically if not literally now.
The words Isolde had spoken to herself carried a disgruntled tone at once again being reminded of Umida's death, a haunting vision waiting for her at night lest she find inner peace with what she had done. Her voice was only just above a whisper given that she had no reason to raise it for her idle comment, and though it was not a new sensation she could not shake the sorrow that gripped her.
Despite mulling over it a thousand times Isolde struggled with the knowledge that under her circumstances she had done everything she could to ensure the survival of her team, and despite failing one of them she had done what was necessary for the rest. That perhaps was what scared the youth most, rather than the grisly memories of her classmate's demise or that Isolde Umida to her fate once she was already good as dead: that despite the cold calculation she made acting on reason rather than emotion Isolde would do it all again if it meant the survival of Verita, Dairine, and Clausura, not to mention herself. As terrible as it was to use Umida as bait to wipe out the Yormungaros and distract it from her team, it was the right call, and for that she held no regrets.
That Isolde did not carry the weight of true remorse on her shoulders was indicative of her world's attitudes on such matters, but despite her altered nature she remained Human at the core: she might not regret her decision but the experience was not one that a developing mind could endure without some trepidation, for it showed the fate that awaited those beyond the safety of their Fortress Cities and signaled the type of decisions Isolde would have to make down the line if she were to continue as a commanding officer. At times, the life of one was not equal to that of another, and weighing those costs would be vital.
The massacre she endured when visiting the Mechanicus similarly would leave its mark thanks to the grisly fates of the other defenders, but by then Isolde had been further primed to handle such horror. Given that, despite witnessing a greater scale of carnage she was less burdened by it: the losses incurred were regrettable, but those who fell did so in battle rather than one-sided slaughter with the horde of Yormungaros perishing in return. This was further compounded by the retribution which followed against the cowardly traitors that comprised the Conomor regime's reinforcements, the so-called "Sons of the Emperor" or whatever they considered themselves to be, when their attempt to bring Isolde into custody instead resulted in a small civilian uprising of those ingratiated to those who laid down their lives.
Umida…
There would be others like her down the line, of that Isolde was certain: those who she had to sacrifice out of necessity even if in an ideal world they might all survive. In doing what must be done Isolde's resolve remained firm, for what she said to Dairine that day was the truth. It was difficult now perhaps, but in time that unease would lessen, and even if it meant sacrificing a piece of what others called 'Humanity' then it was a fine price to pay for survival.
Isolde was left with such pondering as she remained atop her bed, her mind wandering to the questions and possible doubts that arose when such nightmares ripped her from the hours she used to rest each day. In the darkness of twilight it was easier for Isolde to focus on her thoughts rather than be lost in the sea of training, operations, and other obligations that filled the daytime. Kimarans might be quiet and stoic by nature but they still engaged in activities throughout the day, so much so that they kept idle conversation to a minimum thus driving them to further silence, and those activities helped distract them all from the deeper implications of the Death World they lived and died upon.
It had all once been so simple, but life had grown in complexity as Isolde matured and came to realize more and more about Kimara. Such was Kimaran's society's nature to lack subtlety or complexity where survival and efficiency took priority, but with the past century of reforms heralded by the Conomors that no longer was the case.
Isolde was the Commandant's daughter, a citizen of Kimara, and a subject of the Emperor of Mankind yet only the former could remain a constant in the ever-shifting political status quo on Kimara. What it meant to be a Kimaran now was called into question by the relatively recent introduction of the "New Kimarans", those from Wostyn gradually being granted status at the cost of those who came before them. They reaped the benefits of ten-thousand years of struggle they and their ancestors did not partake in except as an antagonistic force while the native Kimarans were subjected to a slow death via cultural erosion and the planetary governor's unspoken pogrom made manifest by the removal of Kimara's men. It was inevitable that they would collapse in the years to come, so just what was it that made one 'Kimaran' now?
The same question could be levied towards being a member of the Imperium, as Kimara had joined into the Imperium with the understanding it would receive protection and be a part of a greater whole: now through their own isolationist nature combined with the Imperium's scorn and corruption there was little benefit to speak of and plenty to condemn. The Kimarans had once joined in the spirit of their Iron Warrior benefactors and cast aside the Imperium that had abused their loyalty, and for that attempt at independence they had suffered for millennia without reprieve. High conscription rates had kept Kimara from truly growing in population, and what for? Had their debt not been paid for already? They might look up to the Emperor of Mankind himself, but the rampant corruption within his decayed Imperium formed the avenue the Conomors had been able to sink their talons into Kimara.
In times of such uncertainty Isolde took refuge in what
was clear: she, as expected of all offspring upon Kimara, would dutifully meet her father's expectations as her only living kin and thus the source of her familial piety. To that end she had to succeed and perform at a level that would not disgrace him as leader of the Schola, and despite her misgivings Isolde's lessons would bring her to service of not only Kimara, but Humanity itself, for those were the governing bodies to which she belonged and owed her life to...at least on the surface. Beneath she was complicit in helping her father grow his powerbase gradually beneath the notice of the Conomors so that Kimara would not be solely subject to their despotism, though of course such activities were not above suspicion given their high profile.
In the utmost prudence as with nearly all Kimarans she would marry young and start a family to ensure that in her continued service the Kohlenstoff lineage did not disappear. At present Kimara distinctly lacked a male presence, and Scholas segregated their male and female students which meant Isolde did not even properly know the young men who had been raised there. One day, upon proving herself worthy, she would assume her father's position in the Schola and raise her own family there as well, continuing on his legacy of service and ensuring that Kimara's pupils would be ready for the harsh realities of existence in the Imperium of Man.
To that end Isolde had toiled and done everything asked of her within the Schola, meeting her father's high yet unspoken expectations and excelling through determined effort. The meaning it brought to her had been fulfilling and she did not question it once in those formative years, for what was there to be confused by in the utter lack of ambiguity presented? She was never commanded to do so, but the spirit of Kimara permeated through everything around her and saw Isolde readily apply herself every step of the way. In her earliest memories she knew vaguely of the folly of the Conomor regime, of the injustice beyond the Schola's walls, but it was separated from her life to such a degree that it was just another piece of life that she had never known to be different in her time.
The sadism and wicked inclinations of others saw Isolde possessing no regrets when she, Verita, and Dairine fought members of the regime while reclaiming their family relics. Her father had ruthlessly gunned down three intruding mercenaries for their actions, so it was simply another fact of life she accepted and took as normal...but to strip Umida of her ability to escape the Yormungaros, to lure it into a killing field with a dying comrade, and then wait as it devoured her alive was different. It was a senseless death, but Isolde had done what she could to make certain it was not meaningless. Learning that the situation had been engineered by the Conomors had inspired her to further act against them and had informed her actions in the weeks and months which followed.
Isolde's furor had carried her, but it was not a true purpose. To simply carry out her father's will was no longer enough as the depth of her experience grew. This was not because she saw no meaning in such filial duty, but rather because she came to understand that whatever her purpose was it was not solely to stand at the top of her class at the Schola. Her father had brought her into his plans, but she was one piece of an organization, one rebellious soul among many, and while she acted as his proxy on occasions and met with those he could not she remained in the dark as to the full picture.
Whatever his reasons the Commandant was as impenetrable as Kimara itself when it came to secrecy, and while unspoken Isolde got the feeling that his refusal to speak with her about certain things was somehow for her own good. Verita knew more than she spoke of given her line of work as an Inquisitor, her natural talent for rooting out information making her a natural even if she obtained the role years before she could have without nepotism, but Isolde did not pressure her close friend to reveal what she was not ready to. It likely gnawed at Verita's conscience enough as it was and Isolde would not burden her with pleas she could not fulfill without betraying the Commandant's trust, and for that she admired the young Inquisitor's efforts to quell her inner turmoil for the sake of their efforts.
Eventually it became evident to Isolde that there was little use in trying to drift to sleep again, her mind too active now to find peace. On nights such as this restlessly laying in bed would yield no results and instead keep Isolde from using those hours to get a head start on her training or duties. The horror that breached her typically unflappable façade would only subside if her mind was clouded by other thoughts and minutiae, and so she set about preparing herself for her day quietly so as to not disturb the still sleeping Bo.
Once dressed and ready Isolde sought out a specific place within the Schola that could grant her some peace of mind: the library with all its innumerable texts, dataslates, and recordings to best train Progena. While ignorance was often seen as a strength throughout the Imperium, for those future servants of its administration and armed forces knowledge was unmistakably required to succeed, and so Isolde had never stopped utilizing the wealth of information it offered.
The myriad of materials available were sourced from across the Imperium, an oddity given Kimara's relative isolation, but most notable among them were the remnants of Kimaran history rescued from the purges led by the Conomors this past century. It was rumored in the Schola that a copy of every Kimaran text was preserved within the library's dataslates, but even a top student such as Isolde was not granted the proper authority to access them all: only the Commandant himself seemed to hold that right, not out of a desire to horde information but rather to protect it from possible damage. With how such information had been purged elsewhere entirely on Kimara there would be entire chapters of Kimara's history lost to the ages should such texts be misplaced or damaged now, and so they remained under strict surveillance for the time being.
Given the Commandant's personal guidance of Isolde throughout her childhood she possessed a greater degree of knowledge regarding Kimaran culture and history than was deemed legal by their present overlords. Learning of history, both cultural and military, granted Isolde insight into her work that she might not otherwise possess, and for that she was grateful for the opportunity...though that was not all that caught her interest To be lost in the history of their people could perhaps put her mind to some ease, but on such nights she had instead taken to a habit
The many materials available had sources from across the Imperium, but most notable among them were what remnants of Kimaran history were rescued from the purges led by the Conomors since their rise to power. Even Isolde was not granted access to them all, only the Commandant himself appearing to have that right, but his personal guidance of Isolde throughout her childhood had led her to possess a greater degree of knowledge of Kimaran culture and history than what was deemed legal by their present overlords. To be lost in the history of their people could perhaps put her mind to some ease, but there was something else she had taken a habit to doing that she sought on this occasion.
Through the permission of her father Isolde was able to play the recordings of Iron Warriors from history and learn from them. On paper it was to learn about her enemy, but in actuality it was a result of her own curiosity. She had been fascinated by the culture which helped shape her own, and while she did not possess a full archive of their exploits she was able to watch the training carried out by a set of their Neophytes. From the context she possessed the recordings were made without the Neophytes' knowledge, affording the video feed's content an authentic quality it might otherwise lack.
The presence of Ixolotls in the background tied these Iron Warriors into those who hailed from Kimara just as Isolde had noticed years prior, but further context was elusive beyond the presence of a few War Hounds training alongside the Neophytes. She did not dare ask how the Schola came to possess such 'heretical' documents as these lest she receive answers she rather not know: like many at the Schola Isolde held little reservation about staying on a need-to-know basis with things, and it was typically only Verita and Boudica who were suspicious enough to push further on issues.
Instead, by immersing herself in the culture and wisdom of others Isolde found herself able to drown out the anguish that fed her insomnia, particularly as she brought one recording to a specific moment she had memorized by heart. Alone within the library's private and soundproof lecture hall, Isolde indulged in empathy towards someone she had never met: the recording was long and possessed within it a full day's cycle of training for the Iron Warrior Neophytes, and in it she had noticed that one of them suffered from nightly torment akin to her own.
Even her notable height was unable to compare with the writhing Neophyte despite being of roughly comparable age, it being one of his most notable features alongside his raven hair kept long compared to the others around him. His unkempt locks formed a noteworthy contrast with his pale face as it was illuminated by the moon shining into the technologically backwards lodge the Neophytes all rested within, the lack of general amenities apparently part of their training. What should have been a moment of peace for the Iron Warrior was anything but however, and it was evident from the Neophyte's movements that even in the dead of night rest continued to elude him.
From prior observations Isolde noted he was the quiet type, rarely engaging in conversation with the others present or seeking their company, and this carried over to his pained sleep: if he had been the sort to scream he would have no doubt been howling to the skies as his body wrested itself from where he lay, his limbs thrashing as his mind forced him through some horrid nightmare. Such night terrors would continue until his own body's movements stirred him awake, the otherwise stoic Neophyte possessing haunted eyes that lasted throughout the day all the while serving as markers to whatever trauma he had just relived.
From watching various training sessions Isolde gleamed that he was not the most reflective of individuals, lacking any seeming care for grooming or being bothered about how others reacted to him, yet as he rose from bed and set about training his body further Isolde found a kindred spirit. Just as she would use the time forcibly granted to her in the quiet of the night to train so too did he, and in observing him Isolde had been able to actually improve upon some of her own techniques...though notably his skill with polearms mirrored the training Verita had recently undergone with Torian of the local Deathwatch members, so perhaps they were just general Astartes actions rather than unique to the Neophyte. After all, it was doubtful that an Imperial Fist would otherwise share the same techniques as an Iron Warrior in close-combat.
The horrors that an Astarte would witness in their career outshone any Isolde had yet to bear, and accordingly this 'knightly' youth would spend the remainder of the recording fighting for his life against the Orks which awaited him in the gladiator pits. It was objective fact that he was the worst of his group at such combat drills, lacking the grace of the short but burly peer who led them, yet the tall youth's tenacity was unparalleled.
Kimarans of old possessed such an indomitable will from everything Isolde had been told, yet now so many were simply resigned to the fate they had been dealt such was their stubborn loyalty and servitude. In contrast the spirit conveyed through the Schola and its teachings of true Kimaran ethos felt wholly alive in this Neophyte, a welcome reprieve to a viewer disgusted by the submissive nature of their culture towards an unjust ruler.
A softer piece of Isolde wished she could comfort the Astarte who channeled deep-seated pain and hatred into endurance, his innate toughness seeing him overcome the Greenskins that he towered over even as they viciously tore into his armor and flesh. With a spear in hand he kept one at bay as he kicked back into another's torso, slow in movement with the heavier armor he wore to his fellow Neophytes but shrugging off attacks all the easier for it. In constant battle without a single sign of respite, Isolde's chosen Neophyte battled through everything the War Hound overseeing them saw fit to unleash. Even if it meant slowly whittling the Greenskins down in a struggle of attrition the youth fought on relentlessly, his once measured strikes giving way to the savagery of an unyielding spirit lashing out and retaliating in any way it could.
The Neophyte pressed the horde around him back as he swept his spear around him, hair splayed out beneath his helmet as he kept his momentum going, the movement carving one of their number until the right moment presented itself for a decisive thrust into the beast's throat and into the bare chest of the Ork behind it. That a cleaver buried itself in the Neophyte's back at this moment did little to stop him from ripping the spear out of the Orks before him and twisting it around into the offending Greenskin behind him, gutting another of their ilk through the motion by pure happenstance given their careless proximity.
Each incoming strike would impact a different place upon the Neophyte's armor, a cursory look making it appear as luck that the Orks could not finish breaking through any one piece of the plating while a careful eye would note the precision of the Iron Warrior's timing. There was no doubt agony as primitive blades and tools crashed against him, yet as small pieces of his armor broke off it showed that he knew how to best take the unavoidable strikes coming his way. There was an unquestionably savvy mind behind the 'Knight' Isolde spent years studying and learning from just as the Tempestus candidates had, practicing his very same spear movements and also keenly noting ways the Neophyte minimized damage to any one piece of his body mid-battle. What would be wounded beyond usage was utilized in other ways, such as a numb arm swinging around like a club or dislodged plating being shoved into the flesh of those who broke it, acting with both desperation and ruthless cunning without regard to 'fairness'.
While the least skilled of his peers in raw melee potential, the 'Knight' was a blooming Astarte still, Humanity's defenders and finest warriors, and from the attention granted to them Isolde's gut told her that this group were the elite of their ranks: the Neophytes who had been filtered out from the chaff so as to make the most of their aptitude. Put with more common Astarte stock he likely would be average at best, but it was obvious from every recording Isolde had seen of him why this particular Neophyte made the cut regardless: nothing would stop him except death itself, and with his reach and prioritizing defense such a prospect appeared unlikely so long as he kept fighting on.
Eventual traitor or not, it was admirable, and so Isolde had retained her fondness for this particular piece of history. He possessed the mental fortitude and pain tolerance of a man who had known death and suffered through intense agony without salvation, yet because of whatever daemons haunted him he fought onward through it all. The far more muscular and swift Neophyte who seemed his elder was of little interest or consequence to Isolde, as while gifted it came easily to him: he improved further and further as he trained, but he was a born killer rather than someone who had been forced to truly toil and survive with every ounce of their being. It was perhaps uniquely Kimaran to admire adversity to this degree, or rather overcoming it, with the unskilled yet colossal Neophyte proving far more intriguing than the objectively superior soldier of the two.
Beyond sharing the inability to properly sleep through the night, there was another particular piece of this recording that saw Isolde return to it time and time again: the final training exercise of the day when the Neophytes were at their most exhausted. The corpses of Orks surrounded them, the blood of Greenskins spilled not only on the arena's field but upon these young men who aspired to be true Astartes. At the brink of collapse, the Neophytes were made to face one another in duels to first blood, seizing upon the exhaustion of their opponents to find openings and land the first strike. It was a sight Isolde was all too used to by now, but one she savored still.
The endurance which saw her 'Knight' outlast the Xenos also saw him able to deal with his collapsing fellow warriors, his body battered and bruised but years of endless conditioning seeing his 'wind' still in him. It was not by talent or skill he reached the final match, solely his determination and cunning abuse of his reach to narrowly eke out first strikes, and as one might expect his final opponent was the natural barbarian who lacked the fatigue of the others not due to raw endurance but from his swift victories all throughout the day.
Despite his reach the taller Neophyte could not turn in time to keep up with the rapidly shifting positions his opponent adopted, and so near immediately found himself knocked down with a maul to the side.
Then he stood up again, and while Isolde could not hear his words from the recording she could tell what he was saying.
Again.
Intent on further proving his superiority, his rival sneered and accepted his challenge, his face easily read thanks to his lack of helmet. In his arrogance he seemed to not feel the need to wear such a useful tool, and so they fought once more.
Within seconds the colossal Neophyte fell once more, a swift darting around his spear's thrust leaving him open to the astonishingly fast movements of the boy twice his width. The hit damaged some of his abdominal plating, but such were the layers of armor worn that it was barely noticeable.
Again.
This seemed almost a ritual to the two, their exercise finished yet continuing onward through sheer stubborn pride. It was indisputable which of them was the victor of the competition as the War Hound hailed the stout Neophyte the day's champion, but, regardless of that, right after the next bout began.
Again.
Futile as it may have appeared, the knight bearing a blue rose as his personal sigil continued to try even as his body failed him more and more each time. For the first time all day his rival was taxed of his energy as he faced a relentless foe who could weather his attacks, and despite his foe's accrued damage a tinge of desperation was noticeable in the victor's eyes. He could not retire for his nature did not allow him to back down from a challenge, and though he threw more and more weight into each round's strike he failed to prevent his fellow Neophyte from forcing himself back up on his feet.
It was on the twenty-seventh round that his maul swung with too great a force to control its arc entirely and just barely scraped past Isolde's 'Knight' rather than shatter his ribcage, leaving the brute overextended in the face of a juggernaut. While exhausted of his reserves of strength the barbaric Neophyte still possessed the skill to use his swing to carry his body past his opponent and just narrowly avoid the spear that would have otherwise slashed him, but it was a close call that left him on the back-foot as he began to rapidly parry punches and spear thrusts in close quarters. One particularly painful moment for Isolde's chosen combatant was when his fist collided directly into the maul's head, only to fight through that pain and slash his spear upwards into the maul to lock it into place.
Or it would have if his opponent did not choose that exact moment to try and retaliate, shifting his grip on the maul just as the spear's metal collided and incidentally caused them both to smack across the smaller Neophyte's face.
This sudden impact knocked the unexpecting combatant off his feet and broke his nose, not rendering him unconscious but stunning him as he scrambled to his hands and knees weakly. Twenty-six matches in his favor and one in his opponent's clearly showed him the superior duelist, but as these young Astartes no doubt realized in that moment it was the final match that mattered in battle: he had failed to keep his opponent down, and now lay bleeding profusely from his hubris driven decision to not wear a helmet.
Perhaps in a less constrained set of rules he could have unleashed a flurry of blows to begin with that would have felled his foe, but the damage had been done to his body and pride: the hatred radiating from him was wholly unrestrained, and this no doubt was just another day in a longstanding feud. Too stunned to fight just yet, the group returned to their quarters, an affable Neophyte aiding another in dragging their now collapsed tall peer back to where he could find rest...and unlike before, what remained of the recording showed the exhausted Neophyte Isolde favored undisturbed by the terrors from the night prior.
It surprised Isolde herself, but seeing his personal daemons excised for even a night through sheer force of will helped keep her own at bay, if but for a moment. His was the will of Kimara, or so she had told herself. In the aftermath she tired her body with hours of physical training to match her now quieted mind, and as she found herself drifting back to sleep in her room Isolde found herself regretting that Kimara did not have ten thousand such men to set things right.
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It took time to navigate the streets of Kimara given the political elections being held, as well as deal with the crowds of Wostyn soldiers posted everywhere to make certain the populace 'voted correctly', but ultimately Isolde returned to the Schola at noon after receiving covert intel from the 'Well Bread' bakery as the Commandant had ordered her to that morning. The jeering and actions taken by the Wostyn regiment and their affiliates in the Conomor government overseeing the elections had been hard to abide for Isolde, but focusing on her mission and on the joy Bo possessed in eating the bread given out to Ixolotls at the bakery helped simmer her rising temper.
In most ways Isolde possessed strong restraint and the stoicism one could expect of her people, but when it came to seeing harm inflicted upon them or disrespect her innate pride chafed each moment such indecent actions were allowed to continue. She did not have to worry much about her personal safety these days now that the Commandant held a higher position of authority in the local area and could deploy Scions as guards when Isolde left the Schola, but they were so focused on Isolde's safety that Cordelia and Boudica who also were sent as security were briefly accosted before the Mithril-armored men could intervene.
Isolde knew why her father had begun assigning Cordelia to work alongside her, and it wasn't just due to the fact that Dairine and Verita were no longer available: Cordelia was a near perfect match for Isolde physically, lacking some of her scale but still being quite tall for a Kimaran woman and possessing the same facial features. Kimarans possessed a very limited range of appearances thanks to their gene-crafting to fit a certain 'ideal Kimaran' template, and so it was unsurprising that despite not sharing Isolde's lineage that one of her fellow Schola students would happen to so closely resemble her now that they had reached maturity.
Cordelia was a perfectly competent Progena in her own right, but of the many students at the Schola it was telling she was the first one assigned to Isolde's retinue after Dairine was officially labeled as 'deceased' to cover her activities and Verita was busy in her new line of work. By merely being around Isolde she offered a degree of protection, and as shown by the Commandant constantly assigning different groups of Tempestus Scions to guard Isolde her safety was a top priority. Allegedly it was to train them, but in truth it was clear he was concerned for Isolde's safety now that she had entered the public eye.
As for Cordelia herself, Isolde respected her dedication to her tasks and loyalty to their cause. Cordelia was quiet as one would expect of a Kimaran, much like Isolde herself, and simply did as told without question. In that way she was perhaps a natural stand-in for the average Kimaran in ways the strong-willed Isolde could not be, but for many missions the two had functioned effectively together through their shared stoicism. It was not a deep bond like the kind shared between Isolde, Verita, and Dairine, but it was an efficient dynamic that saw Isolde lead and Cordelia follow without issue, the latter's personal feelings unspoken and irrelevant to both of them.
Boudica's assignment as a part of the retinue was a bit less obvious, but Isolde got the feeling it was because few others at the Schola could figure out how to best use her...eccentric nature. Bo was fine with Boudica though, perhaps due to sharing part of the same name, and so Isolde was at ease with her fellow Schola student even if the girl was prone to long rants about seemingly random things. Whereas Verita was predisposed to discussing matters she had looked into and discerning the truth therein, Boudica was far less bound by facts and logical reasoning, yet from listening to her she did appear to possess a natural intuition that wasn't entirely off-the-mark.
If Boudica did not possess an aversion to medical personnel out of her native paranoia perhaps she would be able to sort out her issues, but such matters were not discussed on Kimara under most circumstances. Boudica was functional and so she was put to use, and right now that use was as an armory expert who maintained the gear of her fellow Progena at the Schola and in the field, putting her anxious nature to use by checking everything over and over again such that nothing was overlooked. Her personal fondness for firearms helped as well, something Isolde had become aware of near instantly after beginning to work with her given Boudica's inability to be quiet.
Upon her arrival at the Schola's external fortress Isolde did not expect to find her father at the training fields, but that was exactly where he was. She was meant to bring him the data she obtained in her outing and so had been prepared to search for him at his office, the library, or a classroom, but it would appear that just like her he was taking time to hone his physical abilities where possible.
That he was honing them shirtless outside on Kimara while facing ten fully armored Tempestus Scion recruits was the part that brought concern to Isolde, though such worries calmed a moment thereafter when she noticed the shimmer of the air beside the Commandant which announced the presence of Iota.
The Commandant appeared unaffected by the intense cold of the air around him, displaying resilience to the elements that spoke to his own training at the Schola once upon a time as well as the innate resistance possessed by the inhabitants of Kimara to the cold. Selective breeding and gene-crafting across thousands of years to engineer a population capable of braving the Death World would of course in part focus on enduring frigid temperatures, though it did come at the cost of leaving Kimarans particularly weak towards the scorching heat of certain Imperial worlds. Such a tradeoff was inconsequential to the ones determining what traits to focus on as Kimarans cared about their homeworld and people, not the conditions of faraway planets they held no ambitions towards traveling to.
Resistance did not mean immunity however, and while the Commandant did not give outward signs of succumbing to the frost-kissed air around him it would claim him eventually if he did not don his shirt and coat. That he was calm meant that he was confident he could overcome the trainees facing him before that eventuality, radiating the self-assured pride that emblemized their people. The scars upon his body spoke to the conflicts he had already survived over the course of a century, some of which would be considered mortal or crippling blows to lesser men, but even more than the average Kimaran the Commandant was built to endure. Some appeared surgical, though their purpose was unknown to Isolde, and as he did not mention them at all she did not bring them up.
Unlike his shirt and coat that had been cast aside the Commandant carried two Mithril 'gauntlets', the metal's resistance to changes in heat allowing him to touch what would otherwise freeze his flesh without issue. Their design held the form of two shields that covered his forearms and hands in the shape of an 'L', widening out by his elbows like a traditional kite-shield but ending with a flat surface with spiked in front of his hands. In this way the gauntlets were part-shield, part-fist-load weapons that by surrounding his arms and hands protected them, but also granted him the flexibility to hold other objects and in fact secure them to the gauntlet so that they could not be readily dislodged by a foe.
Some trench-fighting units like the Death Korp of Krieg utilized semi-similar fist-load weapons that meshed metal knuckles with knives to both strike and slash a foe in close-quarters combat, but the unique set of gauntlets worn by the Commandant were more designed to deter strikes and create openings for his pistol or a Power Sword to deal with his foes. His service had largely seen him engaged in such combat, and so by acquiring the rare resource of his world he formed gauntlets most would mistake for being made out of more common materials and surprise foes when their cheap blades broke on their rigid surface.
When used for offense though the hardy nature of Mithril made the spiked ends capable of punching through even carapace armor with ease, though they were not so large as to be fully effective against Power Armor. Few foes within the Imperium wore such heavy armor though, so for the most part they could cave in armor and impale the flesh inside with a proper thrust forward. The weight of the gauntlets together was about equal to a common Storm Shield used by Crusaders but fortunately split between two arms instead of one which let them be worn more akin to Combat Shields, with this weight granting each strike further strength than could normally be achieved by a man even as rugged as the Commandant.
Just because Kimarans were not renowned for close-combat or even middling at it did not mean they did not need to train for such scenarios, and that appeared to be half the reason the Commandant had these ten Scions ready to fight him: the other half was to train himself and keep his skills sharp, as even at over a century of age he held pride in his abilities and looked no older than a few decades thanks to a mixture of genetics and physical care.
Shifting the gauntlets up into a boxing pose was the Commandant's first act when their training exercise began during Isolde's approach, covering his face and upper body with the twin shield-gauntlets as he rushed towards his pupils and they braced to retaliate...only the Commandant's strike was not the first one thrown.
In a flash Iota appeared as she twisted over one of the heavily armored Progena and struck them in the joint with a stun-baton, targeting a point of vulnerability in their Mithril carapace that would be difficult to properly strike at range. The weight of Mithril armor did not just slow down the general movement of its bearers, but also their capability to respond to actions so close to them, soaking damage rather than avoiding it entirely. This allowed it to be near impenetrable when it was used in ranged combat where any weaknesses would be absorbed by refractor shields or other mitigating factors, but was less productive when it came to skilled foes in melee.
The Scion's arm went limp with the precise application of a debilitating blow, in turn allowing the Commandant to punch straight into the student's chest and knock the young man off his feet with the momentum of his charge. The Commandant's strike would have impaled a lesser suit of armor, but the Mithril on both sides proved resilient with both the gauntlets and chest armor undamaged: rather the true damage came to the Scion from falling down in such a heavy suit of armor onto the hard ground, knocking the wind out of the man as the Commandant moved past them to strike his next opponent.
It was a beautiful display of trust and coordination on the part of the Commandant and Iota as they both began to dismantle the trainees one after the other in-tandem, not missing a beat even as they were surrounded by the nine remaining Progena. When Iota disarmed one of their training sword the Commandant swiftly plucked it from the air and bashed it into the helmet of another approaching from behind her, then allowing Iota to thrust her stun baton into the briefly-stunned student's neck and kick off him to flip over yet another rushing her in a display of agility akin to Dairine's own.
The charging trainee accidentally struck his fellow student he was trying to protect from Iota, their armor clashing as they both fell and the Commandant struck low to punch one of his legs out from under him. Their movements had kicked up some of the freshly fallen snow into the air, though this natural display was quickly outdone by the Commandant twisting one gauntlet across the ground and hurling more into the air as if his shield was a shovel. The snow collided into the faceless helmet of another Scion, blinding them as they cleared their visor and disabling them as a threat for the moment so the Commandant could instead parry a strike from two others.
While seemingly average in physicality for a Kimaran male the Commandant was actually quite capable when it came to combat, possessing a mixture of reaction time and native skill that would have likely seen him recruited by the Iron Warriors had he been born ten-thousand years prior. At under six and a half feet he blended into the crowd, and his face did not particularly stand out either, but in battle he was as brutal as Isolde had witnessed when three mercenaries made the mistake of trespassing upon the Schola's grounds and endangered his staff and Progena.
What faults could be found in his direct, efficient strikes were covered up by Iota's own, the Commandant drawing attention to himself through raw force and disallowing his opponent to even consider the fleeting figure that was Iota. As they tried to fend off the immediate threat they then were overwhelmed by a two-pronged strike, one side pummeling them as the other inflicted debilitating attacks that in a real battle would be replaced with deadly hits to vital points. The Commandant's shadow was ruthless in her role protecting him, and despite never saying a word Iota's loyalty was unquestionable with how she threw herself at each foe as if a single scratch to the Commandant would spell the end of the world.
The last of the Scions hitting the ground and groaning in pain spelt the end of that round of training, allowing the Commandant a reprieve from lifting his heavy gauntlets. Knowing their sturdy nature, he let them drop to the ground below without fear of damaging them, freeing his arms to slip into the shirt Iota held out for him and to put his other official regalia on. While he had not acknowledged Isolde or her group's approach it was obvious that he was only putting his clothes back on to appear official when greeting them rather than for comfort, as he didn't seem cold in the slightest: it was not particularly cold by Kimaran standards at the Schola at the moment, so it likely felt refreshing to him to have his flesh kissed by the cold embrace of their homeworld.
Isolde stood at the head of her group, Boudica and Cordelia each standing behind her while their Scion retinue led by Glaube held a defensive position around them. Just because they were on their home-ground now did not mean no threats lurked about, and so they remained vigilant until a gesture from the Commandant told them to stand down and step away: he was going to speak solely with Isolde, and in noticing this both Boudica and Cordelia fell back to aid the Scions with guarding the perimeter.
"Commissar Kohlenstoff," Isolde's father greeted her, noting her title that she had been granted quite freely for one her age in no doubt due to nepotism. Proving that she was capable of the tasks granted her, whatever they might be, was how she would repay that favor just as Verita was doing within the Inquisitorial ranks.
"Commandant," Isolde knelt before her father, showing him respect that the others present repeated now that their immediate superior had. Isolde did hold some degree of rank within the Imperial structure, but they followed her lead as if she were royalty which always struck her as odd, though their complete obedience and loyalty to the Commandant likely had something to do with that.
Once their official greetings were finished the Commandant beckoned Isolde to stand up and approach him. As she stood before him Isolde handed over the device she recovered from their agents and the Commandant coupled it with a dataslate Iota handed him from out of nowhere. Such was their bond that she was not even visible when granting it to him and yet the Commandant knew to hold out his hand to receive it, Iota being as if an extension of his own being.
The Commandant took a moment to mull over the data playing before his eyes before handing the dataslate in turn to Isolde, his voice betraying little in the way of emotion as he spoke.
"The Conomors erased most public records related to the Jarn Family and altered those which remain. Unfortunately for them, we are a cautious people: the amount of backup repositories and databanks that existed were too many for them to purge all at once. Collating everything that was lost has taken time, but it has proven useful: with this final piece we have honed-in on the location of a specific armory that has eluded Conomor possession for a century. Within are tools valuable to destabilizing their grip on Kimara, and which can turn the tide of our conflict. It is a stronghold once utilized by the Jarn Family to safeguard Kimara, and so possesses more than simple arms."
Isolde went over the geographical information presented on the dataslate as her father explained to her its purpose, and at the far reaches of their society by the raging oceans where Fortress Cities had long since been abandoned there was a location granted that fit when overlayed with old maps and reports. It was lost to their society decades ago and erased from most sources along with other symbols of the Jarns' dominion, but the information Isolde had retrieved seemed to prove its existence regardless.
The Commandant continued, shifting from mere explanation to detailing her next task, "Your deployment in the region will be masked by an official meeting aboard the
Ehernfürst, from which you will return on an unregistered Lighter. Any detection would see your craft as no different from the vermin who pilfer from the edges of our Fortress grid."
Wostyn pirates had long sought to pilfer from Kimara's riches and hard work, and the permissive nature of the Conomors towards them had seen many lost cities ransacked over the years. It would not be surprising if this armory had been raided as well at some point, though Isolde doubted mere scavengers could have thoroughly taken everything from a facility meant for the Jarn family of all Kimarans. Even abandoned the effort it would take to crack through certain walls and security would be too much for them, and so easier targets would take precedence.
"Cordelia will take your place aboard the
Ehernfürst and serve as your proxy with Boudica attending to her. Your current security retinue will accompany you, but no others. Dairine is indisposed, and time is of the essence," the Commandant mentioned their Schola's sole vessel, a twin to the
Eisernen of past ages and pledged to the protection of Kimara just like the lost ship of the original Trahaearn Jarn.
The
Ehernfürst mostly served as Verita's base of operations at the present moment as an Inquisitor who 'requisitioned' it from them, though this was mostly just to serve as a cover for it being allowed to act as they wished. It was the Commandant's personal ship, but his duties at the Schola and on Kimara largely kept him there, thus having Isolde serve as his proxy on occasions where Imperials met and he could not attend.
Right now there was a meeting between the Deathwatch and other Imperials on how to combat recent sightings of the Coryza, now armed with Tau weaponry as a seeming vassal species to the growing Tau Empire, and as they were in the general proximity of Kimara he ought attend to prepare their defenses against a possible invasion...but the Commandant did not believe the officials from off-world who were worried that the cowardly Xenos would attack Kimara, and so was simply using it as a pretense to have Isolde be away from the sight of the Conomors. The Imperials in this region of Imperial space were entwined with the Conomors, but they did not know Isolde directly: so long as a tall Kimaran woman donning her gear was present they would not notice, and as she was merely the Commandant's stand-in this 'Isolde' was not going to be expected to speak much compared to the centuries-old officials who loved to hear their own voices.
"Environmental factors should be straightforward: mountains line the terrain, and the winds which flow through their passes are the harshest to be found naturally on Kimara.
Košava was the name given to them by locals to the area, though none live there now to call them such after the Conomors abandoned the Fortress Cities in the region and migrated their populations to central trade hubs. Current data does not indicate any particularly notable weather phenomena in the coming days, but changes elsewhere influencing them as dictated by the Conomors remain a possibility we cannot predict. The nearby bodies of water are frozen over, but treat them as hazardous terrain all the same. The only known wildlife are Torice who graze in the region, but the roaming nature of Jormungaros leaves their presence undetermined."
Just because they had more information than before did not mean that they held complete knowledge of the situation, and so a deep reservoir of caution was necessary if one was to survive Kimara's now-uncharted terrain. Over a century ago every minute detail would have been known to them, but right now they had just enough scraps to piece together the location, not enough to plan for every possibility.
The weather conditions were of particular note, as while Isolde had training to deal with Kimara's horrid wildlife and endure its cold there was little a Human could do to survive a storm of such magnitude. Even with their gear designed for such circumstances survival was not a guarantee, the worst winds making Kimara's worst cold all that much more chilling. Kimara's cold was enough to slay Astartes, so even a Kimaran's enhanced resistance could only go so far.
It was a saving grace that no storms were expected in the region and the wind would not be at its worst by all their readings, but that could very well change as the Commandant said given the ability of the Conomors to shift the weather with their Archeotech device. Changing it in one place would effect another, such was the way of nature, and while Isolde doubted they would know to cause a storm there all it took was some nobleman demanding a certain type of weather in another region to possibly skew things for Isolde's team.
The Commandant showed Isolde another part of the information gathered on the dataslate she held, now focusing on what appeared to be a unique set of female armor plating held at the location.
"Your first objective is to acquire a specific suit of Mithril armor:
Laegjarn's Chest. The Conomors have all but deleted it from history, but it was the armor worn by countless Monarchs of the Jarn Family.
Laegjarn's Chest may serve as a symbol to oppose the current regime and rally support, though it is also a formidable weapon on its own. For ten-thousand years our planet's rulers have in its development as a form of protection for their monarchy, measures which have seen it improved to a level few other suits of Power Armor can boast. Its integrated systems are made to coordinate Kimara's defenses on a global scale, and the keys to our survival lay within."
Records within the Schola had made some mention of it, though Isolde had just considered it another piece of lost memorabilia of the Jarn dynasty like their statues and other symbols destroyed with the coup. She figured that their Queen would have been wearing it at the time of the coup, though perhaps due to having been confronted in their palace she had been clad in more comfortable garb than Mithril armor, leaving the suit at the frontlines of Kimaran civilization where she would don it during the day to help protect their frontiers from Yormungaros and other such beasts.
It was the Jarn's belief that just because one held power over another did not mean one was without responsibility: the weak ought serve the strong, but the strong ought protect the weak. That history of service was part of what allowed them to command the undying loyalty of their people for so many years, though now that lay dormant given their eradication.
The Commandant grimaced as he continued to speak, now contemplating the loss of a man he felt he owed more than his own life towards, left to pay a debt he could never quite fulfill, "Our conscripted brothers and kin led by Turner should have returned by now: their arrival would herald rebellion and their forces and arms would see to our victory. Our network has been preparing us with weapons and tools in their absence, but not everything can be siphoned from the local Mechanicus and Administratum. Even a successful rebellion would not revive our people: within a generation our population will collapse, that is simple fact."
Shifting to a more resolute countenance, the Commandant looked Isolde in the eye with the sheer authority he commanded even though she stood well above him now.
"To this end, your second objective is to secure the area and its contents for our agents to process after. Possessed within Laegjarn's Chest is a complete repository of the genetic information belonging to the Jarns, from which we can re-establish the ruling family of Kimara in full. More than that, the facility it is housed within possesses similar data for the Kimaran population, allowing us to replenish those lost to us with the usage of Gene-crafting facilities."
Merely obtaining armor with a symbolic meaning could help them rally their people, that was for certain, but
this was the true worth it possessed. Whatever its abilities to tap into Kimara's defenses were, that could just win battles: replenishing their entire population starting with the Jarns was how they could win
wars.
Their kin were not returning, something the Commandant had been planning around, but this formed an opportunity to take their fates into their own hands.
Laegjarn's Chest and the Jarn stronghold could together see the rebirth of Kimara, if only they were located...perhaps that is why the Conomors, who at the time of the coup did not know the exact location of such material, had censored information even about its existence to prevent any immediate revolutionary intent to revitalize the Jarn Family. By destroying such information they prevented possible rebels from learning of Laegjarn's final location, but also crippled any attempts they might make at finding it as well. It had been successful for a century, but now those who sought their downfall had an opportunity they might not otherwise possess.
Tasked not just with the retrieval of a simple suit of armor but a fighting chance at saving her planet, Isolde snapped to attention and accepted her commands readily, "Understood."
Her father nodded softly in return, taking a small glance to his side where Iota stood before returning his attention to Isolde with the last of her orders.
"Your final objective is the most important, even beyond the dire matter of our planet's revival and rallying others to our cause. It is from this objective that the operation derives its name:
Operation Fürstin. The systems of
Laegjarn's Chest prevent it from being utilized by those its finely-honed sensors do not recognize as carrying the Jarn bloodline: even our recovery of the armor would be a hollow victory without a Jarn to utilize it. When you locate it you must reunite it with the Jarns."
While outwardly stoic the confusion Isolde felt must have been sensed by her father who swiftly offered the information to quell her doubts about any Jarns being left alive.
"The Conomors were thorough in their massacre, eradicating the Jarn Family all at once with the aid of their Imperial Assassins and others. Despite this they failed to finish the job: a single Jarn escaped their massacre, though such circumstance would weigh on them as if a curse. It would be easy for the Conomors to claim that a surviving Jarn is a false idol given the minutiae separating a Jarn from an average Kimaran on the surface, but
Laegjarn's Chest is capable of reading the correct genetic information to make such a determination. Your recovery of the armor will allow the Jarn Family to step out of the shadows and serve as a figurehead to a revolution: this is an opportunity we cannot pass up if we are to find true victory amidst the ashes of our world."
They were gradually building up a strong structure around their operations even without the arrival of their naval fleet, but they lacked a true 'spark' to their planned revolution: this would solve all their present issues in one stroke, giving Kimara an alternative figure to rally around and utilizing the fanatical devotion towards the Jarn family to turn public opinion against the Conomors. It would not bring them victory overnight, but it would set into motion events that could very well result in their success.
"For now I will refrain from divulging further details as to the surviving heir. Nations are built not just by their administration and people, but by the stories they tell: the discovery of our peoples' most ancient symbol of royalty and your part in the revival of the Jarn Family will become one such tale. The Conomors have denied us of our history and our cultural pride, so it is important that we weave our own narratives for the generations to come to replace those that have been lost."
The Commandant placed a hand on Isolde's shoulder as he spoke, a rare moment of public affection and recognition for the daughter he pushed harder than any of her peers so that none could question his favor. Now it was time to further expand her reputation and status, something Isolde realized could shape their family's role in Kimara's future once the Jarns were re-established.
"I am entrusting this to you, Isolde. You are my daughter, and while there is much I wish I could say and do my position restrains me..." despite his reserved nature and the distant relationship he had with Isolde in many ways he was still proud of her, wishing truly that he could have raised her under better circumstances than this. Even so, that pride was born both of her nature as his daughter and of her competence, and so he released his hand from her gently and rose it to instead form a salute, "Consider it your final test as a member of this Schola. There can be no mistakes...see this through to the end, am I clear?"
On another world such muted affection would be unremarkable, but on Kimara and to Isolde it was all she needed: she knew her father had to restrain his paternal love as her superior in their organizational structure, but when this was all over perhaps that could change. What mattered now was that he respected her, and she would not dare fail the trust placed upon her.
"Affirmative."
"Upon your team's return we will have much to discuss, but that is for then," the Commandant turned towards the Scions guarding Isolde and resumed his professional guise once again, "Tränen, Ärger, Mitleid, Frieden, Glaube, Zweifel, Kleiner, Vogel, and Mauer: you will continue accompanying her. Ensure the Commissar's safety above all else. Cordelia, Boudica, the same goes for you. She will grant you the specifics of what you are to do."
In unison the group saluted the Commandant, each calling out the traditional Kimaran cry as they did such was their training and near indoctrination as a part of the Imperial Schola Progena, even if such words would be considered heresy by many.
"Iron in Ice!"
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A/N: This update was going on like 30,000 words and I was still working on things so I have broken it into numerous updates that are large as well. The writing and such is done for almost all the rest, and I may even add in additional segments in future drafts given the importance of this arc (the pieces of which have Košava at the start), but for now have this to chew on!
I hope you all enjoyed and will leave your thoughts in the comments below!
