 Good evening. Is it? You must forgive me. I've been here rather a long time. You expect an apology? Quite frankly, I don't know what to expect. Good. And just who are you? Who is your master? Which of the Ordos do you represent? My... so many questions. It is my job. We share that in common then. I must say, you don't exactly seem perturbed. Are you naive or just plain stupid? On the contrary, ma'am Sel, I am entirely terrified. And why is that? You know who I am? What I am? Hmm, what do you think? Then you will be aware I should expect of what usually happens to people like me when they meet people like you. And so very much more besides, will betraying your terror to me help you? I have nothing to hide, madam. But I do not know if that will help me. The Oculus Investigatus of the Logos Historic Averita. Born according to a Minstratum Census Stax on Threscian Primaris, Scarra Sector 975M41. Your mother was a Medicare nurse, your father a mid-high of haberdasher. You are an only child, because that haber you lived in above a street food dispensarium simply could not permit another. Your father died of Hestune Pox when you were eight. Your mother did her best to provide adequately for you, sending you to the best column she could afford, which is not saying much. After Standard Adeptus a Minstratum Training, you became a company archivist for the Bastingard Rogue Trader Dynasty. At the step up from the logistic and menial you were no doubt destined to become, even if the Bastingards are at best a minor trading family. A family in thoroughly reputable standing, model imperial subjects. I am far from done. You were then acquired by the Logos following its formation during the aftermath of the Lord Regent's return. On the relocation to Tethys you contracted a cough you believed to be the fault of your lodgings in the old freight hauler that delivered you. Then you have not quite shaken it off even decades later. You pray to the Emperor in public twice daily, accounting for any lapse with longer subsequent visits. You take your caffeine as hot as possible with no additives. You do not consume Amosek, no matter the vintage. Your personal archival collection contains eleven explicitly prescribed texts that you believe you are better at hiding than you actually are. You all have something to hide, Oculus. You are none of you innocent. I believe you would claim that innocence proves nothing, regardless. Quite. I make no apology for my work, nor my efforts to maintain a personal librarian too better pursuant. I am nothing if not diligent, madam. Clearly neither are you. And yet you feel you can simply carry on as you have, down there in your dingy little archive, and expect...what exactly? I did not and do not know what to expect. I am simply carrying out that which I have been ordered to do. You must see that. Just following orders. Do you know how often I hear that? In my line of work? I imagine rather a lot. I can see why the Regent likes you. I feel to see what the Lord Regent's feelings upon my work have to do with anything. Hmm. I had heard that those of the Logos saw the importance in...details. Well, yes, but... Nothing is unimportant, Oculus. Not you, not your personal history, not your position, nor the Regent's reasonings for permitting your organisation to even exist in the first place. And all of that, shall we say, is why I'm here. Inquisitive Verity Calendra, Ordo Hereticus of his Imperial Majesty's most holy inquisition. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Glad you could come in for a little chat. Is that all this is? I was seized in my library of matter, blindfolded and gagged. I have been in here an seemingly interminable amount of time. Or for a chat. That's as good a title for it as any. Let's start with the basics. Prove to me who you say you are. I believe you will find my documents to be... Documents can be forged. My seal of office should... Your organisation is barely a century old. Depending on what calendar you subscribe to. How is anyone to know a supposed Oculus Investigator from a dangerous academic renegade with delusions of grandeur who squats in the depths of terror in secret pursuit of extremely forbidden knowledge? Now see here, Inquisitor. You have done quite literally nothing to convince me. And what would it take to convince you exactly? The truth, Oculus. What else? Truth. There's a pleasant concept. Do you believe you know what the truth is, Inquisitor Kalendra? I have an inkling, but I expect you're about to attempt to enlighten me otherwise. Everyone thinks they know what the truth is, but they are all of them deceived. Truth is no simple concept, no pithy platitude. Many would believe, or have you believe that it is a binary, true or false, black or white, a purely rational absolute in a rational terrifying universe. This is indeed the ideal, Inquisitor, please understand. It is something I strive for with every fiber of this mortal shell. It is something I yearn for, something I desperately desire to see. To be well true. But alas, ever have I longed for the perfection of faultless actuality, but ever has it slipped through my fingers. Something, Inquisitor, always muddies the waters. Such as? You said it yourself, not minutes ago. I cannot even date this conversation. The calendar I use is subjective. I can name a day in a year, and you will tell me I am wrong. I will state it as the 42nd millennium, and you will state it as the 41st, and condemn me a blasphemer for being so wrong. I cannot, in all honesty, entirely countermand you. Consider this in its ramifications for a moment, for I do not know if enough of your kind has. In the millennia since its introduction, the imperial dating system has degraded. It has been splintered and fragmented, torn asunder by petty revisionism, wanton redaction, and outright ignorance. Imperial standard means nothing anymore. The Lord Regent himself bent his mind to finding out the correct date. Do you know this? His mind. His mind woven by the God Emperor's own hand. And what did he find? That we are, at best, calculation, lying anywhere within a discrepancy of 1,000 Taren years. This is what I mean when I say the truth is no simple thing in these times. It was no easy thing to define even before we allowed things to get to where they are. Now we cannot even say with certainty what year we exist in. And yet, here you are. And yet, here I am. Your statements seem to be at odds with your stated mission. I despair at the state of truth in our Imperium Inquisitor, that is correct. But that does not mean I have abandoned it. I'm happy to hear it. Truth is, after all, the business of the Inquisition. Some would disagree with that statement. And those who do tend to discover their existences are altogether briefer and more agonising than they initially expected. Which category do you find yourself in, Oculus? We are both of us on the same side, Inquisitor. We both serve the Emperor, and we both want what is best for the Imperium. Yet you believe tearing open sequestered archives and penning records of completely damnable knowledge is in the best interests of the Imperium. I have seen your work, Chronicola, to say that I question its worth is something of an understatement. The Lord Regent would disagree. Who are you to question the writ and wisdom of an actual son of the Emperor? We question everything. That is in a very real way our truest purpose. Yet, as with so many things, the purest intent is mired by the basis of human failures. Would you like to know how many Chronicles I have parsed that tell the tales of Inquisitors damned? Or worse, many, many more simply ending with no explanation. Because the God Emperor's most infallible Inquisition would rather put to torch an entire archive than let it be known that they are, in fact, human. Do not come to me with this talk of truest purpose. In my experience, there is no such thing. My, my. The Chronicle I find is spine. I have been resigned to whatever fate my life serves me for years now, Inquisitor. I live upon borrowed time and through the Lord Regent's good graces. There is always the possibility of that time being altogether more brief and painful. The avenging son's powers are far reaching a manifold, but do not think he has entirely robbed us of our teeth. The Inquisition's remit is, if anything, more vital than ever in these most desperate of times. When the night draws closer, humanity always comes crying to those who do not fear the dark. But not those who wish to understand its nature. We have ten thousand years of experience in the matter. Your craft is a relic of a time when we had the luxury of academic inquiry. A time long, long dead. Only necessity remains, Oculus, and it is a dreadful thing indeed. How is the study of that which opposes us in its myriad forms, the heretic, the mutant, and the alien? How is that not a necessity? If we cannot understand at least something concerning them, how are we to defeat them? How is our species to survive? And do you think this can be done by just anyone? You think minds unstealed against the sheer horrors that lie out there can cope with such a task? Someone must. Clearly the Lord Regent believes so, despite all the protests the Order stridently raised against such an idea. That is, after a fashion, why we are here today. A joint operation between the Inquisition and the Logos Historica of Vertia for the first time in our respective histories. This is cooperation. Cooperation? Just so. Your idea of cooperation may need some adjustment if it's to meet the standard definition. It's somewhat heavy-handed. You should have seen the original proposal the Inquisitorial Representative argued for. This comes from the Senate, the High Lords. The Representative has been deeply concerned about Lord Gilliman's approach in this matter. Ever since the Chronostrive, your organisation has been watched far more closely than you may believe. So this is what? Still a chat? Or is it an assessment of my suitability? The review of my performance? How about all three? Are the Ordos assigning every Historator one of their number? Are we all to have handlers? Those are absolutely not the questions you should be asking right now. Oh, and you're going to dictate what are? It's something of a talent of mine. Here's one. What is the fate usually reserved for someone who undertakes a study into the very nature of the ruinous powers? I have passed your work, commendable scholarship, and you show praiseworthy veneration for the Emperor's work and suitable contempt for the Xenos. It is your delving into matters both traitorous and esoteric that draw my eye, however. So many records upon the subject of the heretic legions. Their existence is a fact. That would depend on your point of view. Yes, yes, I know the line. The Emperor created nine Primarchs to fight nine Devils of the Warp. Do you like that one? I know the Ecclesiarchy should be especially proud of how completely it's believed. Amazing what the herd will take without questioning. Is it not? I will not deny that there is knowledge that common citizens simply should not possess. Throne knows I have gazed upon some I wish I did not possess. Regret? No, just... Oh, I believe there's some regret there. I have listened to your discourse on the nature of the ruinous powers. That record... You petitioned the Lord Regent personally for access to the requisite materials. Tell me, what was his rage like to experience? It was like the sun turning its gaze solely upon you. But I do not regret it. It was necessary. There's that lovely word again. Your experiences may tell otherwise. It would appear you barely scratched the surface on the nature of the arch enemy before the work, shall we say, took its toll? The record was committed as it stood for that very reason. You were what? Attempting to illustrate the great unwashed what would happen if such threads were pulled upon? I will not say it was intentional, not in so many words, but yes. That's spectacularly evasive for one so interested in the truth. I have no regrets of that record, Inquisitor, but that does not mean I'm not ashamed. Ashamed your own fortitude was not up to the task? Yes. Ashamed, worry, Oculus. Better and greater men than you have tried. And better and greater men than you have ended up much worse. Pride cometh before the fall and all that. Now tell me, will you be committing more to record? I had intended to, yes. My mandate is the study and preservation of not only imperial history, but that of the wretched enemies of humanity. I will inevitably draw one to the ruinous powers. They literally cannot be ignored if one is to... Ignore them is precisely what needs to happen. The Inquisition can at best stomach discourses on the history of the Imperium, even if it pertains to areas best forgotten. The Audazinos may even value treaties upon the alien in their own way, but to delve into the arch enemy, the sheer danger. Inquisitor, you will tell me nothing, my colleagues, and even the Lord Regent have not already said. Any further study will not end the way my first foray did. Precautions will be taken. You may rest assured. I never rest assured, Oculus. I do not have the luxury. That must be exhausting. You fundamentally have no idea. So should I expect an inquisitorial gaze upon all I may yet commit to record? It's frankly darling. You think that it would only begin now. You mean? Oh yes, the entire time. Oh my little chronicler. You really are that naive. What should happen? Should I fail? Will I even know what failure is by your standards? To your second point, no. No you won't. To your first? Well, that lies on a spectrum of options. Imagination of the Order Hereticus is diverse, as are its skill sets. We have a plethora of options at our disposal. If it will aid matters, you may consider me intimidated, inquisitor. Delightful. You know? I find myself curious. Of what? Of what your record pertaining to my own organisation will include. Will I even live to commit it? Entirely up to you. But humor me, what do you know? The Order Hereticus represents one of the three chambers majoris of his Imperial Majesty's most holy inquisition. It is a comparatively young Order, at best half the age of the Ordomelius and Xenos, having seen its foundation in the aftermath of the Age of Apostasy in the 36th millennium. Even subsequent to this, its existence was deemed a secret of most severe importance, lest the reality of the situation alert its quarry. For the Order Hereticus' remit pertains specifically to the discovery and persecution of traitors, apostates, mutants and iconoclasts. All those who deviate from the most holy strictures of the Imperium, or worse, actively seek to usurp it. They are the judges of crimes of faith and mind, the scourges of bodily corruption, the hammer of witches and sorcerers. Heresy, that most powerful of words, is the enemy. And the enemies exist simply to be purged. Shall I go on? I shall wait for your official work, and we will start, however. Most believe we've always been here. I suspect you prefer it that way. It certainly grants an air of gravitas that tends to open up locked doors and mouths. Well, I have what I need, so I should say it's about time we wrap this interview up and send you on your way. I'm free to go. In a manner of speaking, yes. Oh, but one last thing. Before you go, can you shed some light on this? Where did you find this? Oh, not amongst your works, fear not. We did look, extensively, but no. This sheaf is from the collection of another one of your colleagues. I won't bother to name who, that doesn't concern you. But it did play a rather substantial part in the precocious culmination of his terraqueous existence. He is dead? Quite certainly, yes. He deviated and deviated quite far from the remit of your order. It seemed that throughout his research he developed this curious notion that the Imperium of Man is somehow wrong. That we, the God Emperor's flock, have strayed from the vision he had for us when he walked through the borders of the mortal realm before his ascension. Why, Ludacris, you all no doubt agree, but I'm afraid his work had generated to such a degree that such rampant academic iconoclasm would simply no longer be tolerated. We had extended to him, and the entirety of the Logos, a patience and a leeway unheard of. But even that has its limits. I see. Read it. What? I do not need to repeat myself. Are you entirely? Oculus. It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the golden throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the dark age of technology. He is the carrion lord of the Imperium, for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. Yet even in his deathless state the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battle fleets cross the demon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars. They're way-lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name upon uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades-in-arms are Legion, the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition, and the tech priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, to name only a few. But for all their multitudes they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants, and worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods. You put a man to death for this? I have burned cities for less. This is heresy. It is an unconscionable damnation of the God Emperor's blessed realm. It repudiates his salvation of us, and spits in the face of his eternal torment for what? The naive belief of a better future, blinkered ignorance, and childish immaturity. It is the product of a feeble mind unable to accept reality. He failed in his duty, say you? Most utterly. This is the only surviving piece of his work. The rest has been torched, and his cogitators wiped. His name has been stricken from Logos' records, so I would not even bother looking. The Lord Kiliman will not- It was the region who sanctioned it. By his writ, this man's life was ended. The Regent would not count on it such a thing. It was deemed a... practicality. The Lord Regent is fond of his practicalities. Labour under no pretense, Oculus. He is not blind to the necessities of the times. If anything, he sees them and their cost more clearly than any of us. Such is the burden as the Emperor's avenging son. No words? No pithy remarks about scholarly freedom? Good. Then my work here is truly complete. I keep that, by the way, added to your little collection. It may yet keep you safe in its own way. In the meantime, keep up the good work. Just know that the eyes of the Inquisition are nothing if not perceptive. Ave Imperator, Oculus. You can keep up to date with Channel News, if you follow me on Twitter, at ButstuffKaiju. Nope, not changing that name any time soon. And new this month, if you'd like to support the channel with some merchandise, my very first t-shirts are up for sale on tspring.com. Join the channel on Discord as well. A link to all of this will be in the description below.