Fuzzy Logic: the Tale of Imotekh the Stormlord

“My lord?”

“Speak.”

“There is a transmission coming in.”

“Source?”

“The ID matches Nemesor Zahndrekh.”

“Ignore it.”

“But, my lord-”

“I said ignore it.”

Imotekh looked down impassively. Zahndrekh. Always Zahndrekh. The Gidrim Dynasty was powerful, yes, and a glorious weapon for the Sautekh Dynasty to wield, but its leader tried even Imotekh’s patience.

“My lord, transmission coming in.”

“Source?”

“Trazyn of Solemnace.”

“Put him on.”

At least Trazyn knew what was real and what wasn’t, even if his priorities were completely cockeyed. It was almost a pity the two were rivals. Trazyn would make a splendid Nemesor if he weren’t already a Phaeron in his own right.

“My dear Imotekh, so good to see you again. I trust you are doing well?”

“Get to the point, Trazyn.”

“Can I not simply call in for a friendly conversation?”

“No.”

“Oh, well. In any case, do thank Zahndrekh for me. That Ork bosspole was perfect, just what I needed. Ciao!”

“What do you mean ‘chow’?”

The screen went blank. Trazyn, as usual, was just being annoying, but he mentioned Zahndrekh and something about a bosspole.

A bosspole…

“Is that transmission from Zahndrekh still waiting?”

“No, my lord, it looks like he stopped when–”

“Call him. Now.”

The screen crackled for a moment, and then the image of Vargard Obyron solidified into view.

“Obyron.”

“My Phaeron.”

“Trazyn extends his thanks.”

“My lord?”

“The bosspole.”

“Oh. Yes, my lord, he requested it after the battle. Speaking of which, I tried–”

“Explain.”

“Of course, my lord. An Ork fleet entered Gidrim space and attacked a world on the fringes of our territory. We put down the invasion, with some help from Lord Anrakyr. I–”

“LORD Anrakyr?”

An unusual slip of the tongue on Obyron’s part. Imotekh knew that it was most likely simply a misguided attempt at showing proper deference, but it was important to keep Vargards on their toes about this sort of thing. He also would have questioned the phrasing had Obyron simply referred to him as Anrakyr.

“My apologies, my lord. I did not mean to imply that my loyalties had shifted.”

“See that they do not.”

“I attempted to contact you a short while ago to inform you. I received no response.

“I mistook you for the Nemesor, Vargard.”

“Understandable.”

“How big a part did Anrakyr play in this skirmish?”

“Negligible, my lord, though you would not think so to hear him tell it. He turned a decisive victory into an overwhelming one, but we were going to win regardless.”

Imotekh turned this over in his mind. Of course, the Vargard could simply be telling him what he wanted to hear, but that did not negate the possibility: perhaps the Stormlord had been giving Zahndrekh too little credit.

“Bring your master. I wish to speak with him about how he defeated the…?”

Obyron did not respond for a moment, then looked down, unwilling to meet Imotekh’s eyes as he answered.

“‘Ohr’kssh’ Dynasty, my Phaeron.”

“Yes. Bring him, that he might enlighten me on how to properly fight the…’Ohr’kssh’. Their strategy has eluded me for far too long. It is time I corrected that.”

“Immediately, my lord.”

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