The Descent from the Spire
Victor slipped from a servant’s gate of the von Ulm spire, abandoning the marble balconies and sanctified shrines of his family estate for the choking arteries of Scintilla’s hive-streets. Alone, concealed beneath a plain travel-cloak, he pressed through the crowds.
The streets swelled with humanity: manufactoria thralls shuffling to shifts, ragged gangers prowling alleys, Ecclesiarchy preachers shouting litanies from soot-streaked plinths. Above them loomed corroded statues of forgotten saints, their features eroded by smog and ashfall. The air was heavy with promethium fumes, incense, and the stink of sweat.
Victor walked quickly, eyes lowered, hand brushing the weight of the concealed stub pistol under his cloak. His name and crest remained hidden; in this quarter, a noble’s identity was more danger than shield.
The Port of Endless Toil
The spaceport concourse opened like a titanic foundry, its high gantries echoing with the thrum of engines and the clatter of chains.
- Dock-servitors, stripped to bone and metal, hauled massive crates under the crack of overseers’ shock-staves.
- Cargo-lifters whined as they swung loads of stamped munition containers from a newly docked transport.
- On one side of the boarding platform stood a Navigator House retinue in full regalia: guards in lacquered armor, banner-bearers holding long poles of sapphire and gold, and silken attendants carrying an ornate palaquin, its frame chased with gilt and warp-wards. Servitors with hollow eyes waited motionless at its corners, ready to lift the palanquin when their master arrives.
Victor kept his hood low. The Navigators’ servants watched all who passed with sharp suspicion, and even unmasked, a noble of the von Ulm line risked recognition. He slipped into the bustle of merchants, petty officials, and crew awaiting transit, appearing as one more anonymous traveler.
The Shuttle and the Ascent
When his shuttle was summoned, Victor moved as though he were only another functionary answering a boarding call. The vessel bore no heraldry, only worn plating scarred from long service. A quick exchange of flight scrip and murmured codes cleared him past disinterested wardens.
The ascent was brief. Scintilla’s endless hive-sprawl receded into smog-veiled light, shrinking to a smear against the void. Stars emerged, cold and sharp, intersected by the glowing traffic lanes of orbital craft.
Then the Ignis Aeternus filled his view: a light-cruiser vast as a floating continent, bristling with cannon, its armored flanks studded with cathedral spires and void-shield domes.
Ignis Aeternus WH 40K campaign notes 