The Wight Lord

*Record of Remembrancer Lukas Artoss, Scrivener assigned to the Wisps of Archeon.*

I recall the first moment my eyes witnessed the grandeur of a vessel that one of the Emperor’s sons commanded. I must admit, I was disappointed to have been assigned to such a legion. Out of the twenty possible, I hated the unlucky twist of fate that had befallen me. When I had finally been accepted into the Remembrancer Order, I had pictured myself writing the tales of the greatness of the Scorpion Guard or perhaps under the Twin Primarchs of the Brothers Encarmine, where many of my order had already been attached. Hell, I would rather have been sent to the Light Bringers, as it would have been interesting to understand how they view the galaxy. I would have truly taken any other legion than this one, its reputation among the Imperial citizens was the lowest of all the others.

Back during my studies, the tales of the legions brought joy; however, with each new story that was received after compliance of this legion, only caused hushed words of their deeds escaped, ones that the Imperium was too frightened to question. The legion in question was proud of their actions; in their eyes, their father represented the cruelty he enacted to those that refused to accept the Imperial Truth and even worse fates for those that resisted them. Some tales of entire cities being reduced to ashes to instill fear into its remaining populous as never has a world that the Wisps of Archeon brought into compliance even uttered a word of treachery for the fear of them returning.

The Wisps’ vessel drifted in the bleak darkness of the void, their ship almost camouflaged in the emptiness of space, the only way one could tell that a ship was there was the flickering of lights and the icy blue flames of the ship’s engines. I recall the intake of breath and the hushed tones as I and my fellow remembrancers got an even better look. The ship’s hull was one of an artist, a wicked one at that. Its depictions akin to nightmares of the most deplorable mind, I thought to myself, “They even try to instill fear in the void, I truly am unlucky.” My heart increased in its beats as I grew more anxious about entering the ship, my imagination going wild as I pictured myself been sailed into the bowels of hell.

The ship’s bay opened letting out its light into the void. At the time my mental imagery of some form of hell was true, the piercing bright light reminded me of fire. In comrades, I could see my fear plastered on each pale face as they pictured the same horrors as myself. One almost fainted while another bit their lower lip causing it to bleed as they tried to fight their crippling fear. Moments passed that felt like an eternity as I breathed more heavily as I awaited my certain death, shutting my eyes to embrace the flames of hell. I was surprised as a voice spoke in heavily accented High Gothic asking if I was alright. The speaker’s face was not that of a monster as I had envisioned but that of a naval serf. They sported the legion’s icon on their left breast; the uniform was a pale white, the contrast compared to the ship they lived in was startling. They looked at me for a few more moments before sighing and walking away uttering a word in a dialect I had not heard before.

It took me a few brave steps to walk down the ramp, my eyes opening wide as I stared at the grand size of the ship’s bay. Never had I seen such a large area on a ship. I heard the click of a pictograper’s camera going of which brought me out of my thoughts and back into the present. A legion serf arrived and asked us to follow them to our assigned quarters. The legion serf had begun to tell us about our new home and how apparently when the Wight Lord had been found, he had requested that his ship’s bring the same terror him and his sons would instill in those who denied his Father’s grace.
Another intake of breath would fill me and my fellow remembrancers as we entered a hallway which caused the serf to stop for a moment. A low chuckle escaped as he enjoyed the reactions of new people who joined the fleet. The hallway was akin to a temple on the floor, made of dark stone and neatly crafted pillars were at the side of the walls every few feet. Tapestries hung behind statues with a plaque telling that of compliance along with the number of Wisps that fell in battle. Standing in front of this statue was of a fallen captain whose words were engraved onto the bright marble of the plinth “Death pays the toll.” I wondered what this meant, as this was not something talked about, as most never cared to know much of the Wisps of Archeon.

My room was quite lustrous and larger than I had expected. I was inspecting my bed as a serf entered unannounced, giving me a smile that I reluctantly returned. A small twinge of fear returning as I began to feel that I was expected to wait until morning to know who I would be writing for.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but your presence has been personally requested.” the serf said.

Thinking over the rude manners this individual had just shown, I reluctantly got to my feet and followed the serf. I became increasingly confused as he led me to larger and grandeur places, these outweighing the area’s I had already seen. I abruptly froze as I watched an armoured giant encased in black like that of the ship’s hull, my terror returning as I saw a skull face looking down at me along with the serf. Once again speaking in a tongue I had not heard before. The serf spoke with the giant who returned the conversion in kind, nodding down towards me before walking away, causing the ground to shake with each step. The serf smiled at me in a mischievously horrid manner that made my skin crawl and in that moment, I hated him.

It was only later I would come to realise that this had just been his way of attempting to calm newcomers to the fleet.

We arrived in another lavishly decorated hallway, the craftwork in the tapestries and pillars leaving me in breathtaking awe. At the end of the hallway stood two Wisps, however they looked different than the one I had seen earlier as they had red plumes on their skull helmets and held a flame weapon in one hand while the other was placed on the pommel of a large, curved blade. Behind them loomed a giant door, its engravings similar to the artwork I’d seen previously but once again took my breath away. Upon its surface was a figure bowing to the Emperor, that of a young man that looked eerily similar to the Emperor, and it was at that moment true terror gripped me as I finally understood for whom I was going to write.

Leading me by the hand, the serf told me not to worry and that the Wight Lord was in a good mood. Later I would realize he had been joking, but up to that point, all the tales of the primarch known as the Wight Lord, had painted him a madman that took joy in burning alive anyone he wished. As I gasped for words, the serf dragged me into the room, walking past the twin sentinels as their macabre visages glared down at me, their lifeless eyes seeming to bore into me before turning away and sealing the door behind me.

Unsure what to do, I lightly tugged at the door before a small clinking sound caught my attention. I knew I had heard the sound before but in that moment it was beyond my grasp. Before I proceeded further into the primarch’s room, I took in my surroundings. It was akin to mine but on a much larger scale, a gigantic suit of power armor stood to the side, its lifeless eyes making me shudder as I imagined how this had been the last sight for many of the Wight Lord’s victims.

More and more clinking sounds could be heard as I pushed away the fabric curtain that separated the previous room, a low hum suddenly accompanying the clinking as I finally beheld the primarch. He was not how I had envisioned him, considering the tales of his deeds. Charon was a handsome man, a weary look reflected in the deep pools of his tired eyes. Though glints of kindness could be seen, there lurked a malice within his gaze that could be awoken in a heartbeat, and I knew then I must not say the wrong thing. His raven hair touched the nape of his neck, its dark tones shone in the light giving it a sleek look. He smiled at me and but even in this act my fear did not shift, though it had a warmth to it, there was a coldness to it as he gestured for me to have a seat.

The chair was not designed for a mere human and had I been older, I would have struggled to get up into it. I was reminded of a child sitting in a parent’s chair and I could feel my face turn red as I imagined how I must look to this demigod. The primarch gave a playful chuckle as he returned to his fidgeting and it was then that I noticed what had been making the clinking sounds. Coins; larger than any a mortal could hold without effort and the primarch was effortlessly placing one atop the other as he hummed to himself, a sad look affecting his features.

“Remembrancer Artoss. I am pleased you were able to visit me at this time. I had to threaten quite a few people to get you into my fleet.” Charon said.

His voice was not the most pleasant given his looks; more akin to gravel churning upon itself, but it was not how one would have imagined a being known as the Wight Lord would sound. The stories always did seem to imply that of a monster from before Old Night. Thankfully these were not true as my composure began to fail me due to the strain of fear and awe from seeing one of the Emperor’s sons.

“My lord, I thank you for allowing this lowly remembrancer to catalogue your life. But, if I may ask, why would one such as yourself need coins? I would never imagine a Primarch having need of such a thing.”

The demigod ceased his movement, a small glimmer of sadness accentuating his heavenly features. Behind him, I noted for the first time that there were enormous shelves filled with more coins, hundreds of them stacked in neat columns. By the looks of it, they were equal to that of a wealthy man’s treasure trove.

“These, dear Artoss, are a reminder for myself. You see, my legion holds onto some traditions that others may think morbid. One such belief is that of the Ferryman who takes one's soul to the Underworld. Payment for such a voyage is required, and so I personally make a coin for each of my sons. If able to, I retrieve them and bring them here, so I can be reminded of those who have already made that journey.” he finished with a tone implying some form of formal grace.

I noticed that the primarch had a box next to him, much smaller and it appeared to have two coins already inside it. Even from how far away I sat, they looked more like fine works of art that simple coins. My mouth was dry as I took in another breath, the horrid stale taste of dessication filling my senses as I tried to form words.

“My lord, why do you have those two coins separated from the others, are they special to you?”

Charon looked at me, a great sadness overtaking him and the glint of malice vanished, replaced with a pall of mourning.

“You could say that I wish to keep these two close to my heart more than the others, lest I forget and do as they did in their fall. I am glad I could at least give them the payment they needed for the toll.” he sighed.
*-Initial meeting with Charon, the “Wight Lord,” by Lukas Artoss, Remembrancer of the Imperium and the Wisps of Archeon.*