Navalia Cambria

Steel and Adamantium are wrought in the hallowed dockyards of Port Annumaru. Where the welding flame and hammers sing, new Voidcraft are born on every day, and vessels sent toward the endless wars of the Imperium.

For ten thousand years, these forges have not one day remained silent, for ceaseless is the work in service to the Omnissiah. Evermore ring out the roar of great machinery, the chants of worker legions and endless streams of binary data, broadcast throughout the vast halls of Annumaru, greatest of the shipwright forges upon the Ringworld Cambria.

###

Festive days are approaching bay twenty-seventeen, for the christening of a Gahmuret escort draws near. From the burning fumes of the perpetual forges emerges a ship built anew, restored from the remnants of a Voidcraft brutally slain. Such are the gifts of the Omnissiah, whose blessings will be now bestowed upon this craft, as it is lifted from its metal cradle and set free to be christened by the hands of its new commander.

Through the hands of the Magos, the "Pristine Incandescence" has been given life again and in the forge bay twenty seventeen, the cycle of creation may begin yet again. The work of the Omnissiah never ceases, just as the Imperiums hunger for more war machines is never sated. Even as the worker legions of the last Magos retreat, a new army of flesh and machinery stands ready, to fulfill the bidding of the Cult Mechanicus Cambria.

## The siring year

White light and golden flame mark the beginning of a new year in the sacred forges of Annumaru. A new vessel is to be sired, the ancient knowledge of the Omnissiah made manifest once more. By his grace, a new machine will be brought into this world, according to the great plans and prophecy as it was laid out in older times. The wonders of old will be made anew, as though to serve His Will in the forty-first millennium.

### Shipwright Tumunzahar

In the high chambers of Forge World Cambria, the shipwright has been chosen, he who will hold sway over all construction processes by the grace of the machine god and reign supreme over the endless worker legions bringing about the sanctimonious work of the Machine God. Within the confines of the voidship forge, He, the shipwright, is the all-seeing eye, the motive force incarnate and herald of the Omnissiah.

Through the brass gates of the hallowed hall enters High Magos Gaius Tumunzahar, Elder Shipwright of the Argent Crown.

Vast and magnificent towers his presence over the long procession marching, akin an ancient tree amid a young sprouting forest. His humanoid figure of waning flesh is lost in a gleaming mass of mechandrite limbs reaching high like branches from which russet banners flow. For uncounted eons has he made this march, to bring life to new vessels which roam the void. Into the innermost beams of many hundred vessels, his name has been edged. And yet, before each new task the ancient shipwright bows before the Omnissiah and prays for this new ship's consecrated passage.

From brass and steel, a basilica is erected, column after column of scaffolding and beams. At the far end of the Omnissiah's holy house, there sits the shipwright's throne and noo-sphere interface. Around the Magos' massive form, it casts a halo of ghostly green and gold - the knowledge of the vast ship yet to become. Once the shipwright has taken his place at the long end of the gargantuan basilica, a whole world of machine servants awaits his word, his order to begin.

### Laying the Keel

Bells and trumpets ring for seven days when the keel is to be laid. From the undying fires at the heart of the forge, a great cauldron is brought forth by the machine spirits of the shipwright's basilica. Within glows the boiling mass brought to Cambria from mining worlds under distant stars. Only the finest ore was chosen, cleansed and blessed, brought together by masters of their craft to form an amalgamation of unrivaled strength, the raw mass from which the skeletons of voidcraft are cast.

To the eyes of flesh, it is blinding white, painfully bright and pure. Only the chosen of the Omnissiah may gaze at it freely and admire its unblemished beauty as it flows from the great cauldron as a river of burning light, filling a form the length of the entire becoming vessel.

Upon the strength of this keel, the entire ship will rest and for as long as the ship yet lives, the keel will not be broken.

Into the liquid fire of its mass, a virgin soul is thrown alive, singing praises to the Omnissiah. This is the Chosen soul, whose sacrifice all engineseers and priests of this hall will acknowledge, the representative for the sacrifice of all who will die in the building process of this new vessel.

Thus, the keel is laid and the building of a new craft has begun.

### Liquid Fire

Not far from the shipwright's basilica, the cast for the becoming vessel's prow is chiseled and filled with the liquid fire from which the keel is made. Flowing metal fills the cast as old as the forge itself, sending plumes of fire like towering spires against the metal sky. The masters of the forge will stand watch over the cast for many years, as it cools until one day, it will be freed from its prison and gleam for the first time in lumen light.

Only when it is impeccable, without the slightest uneven weight or fissure, may it ever come to adorn the prow of an imperial ship and carry the colors of its fleet. Against its strength, the foes of the Emperor will be thrown relentlessly. Thus, it must be perfectly adamant, unyielding as the Imperium itself.

As the year of siring draws on, many more components of the becoming craft will be cast from the liquid fire. Foundations will be laid for the worker legions to come, whose lives will be fulfilled wholly in their duty to this construction and the shipwright who commands it. Resources are gathered and plans approved, orders given to the multitude of manufactorum districts and factories which will be tasked with lending their strength in wealth and production to the construction of this vessel, by the will of the Omnisisah.

### Life work of Artisans

Far from the works of massive forges and machinery, where workers toil by the tens of thousands, another great number of souls is set to work for the becoming ship. Their place, however, is not in the burning forges of Port Annumaru, but in ateliers and workshops on peaceful worlds. Upon the jovian clockwork of Trimanthal, in the green forests of sylvan world Cornubit and in the cathedrals of Hallowed Calhall, artisans of all professions are called together. Their tasks will be as many as there are bolts on the becoming ship to affix. Each and every statue,  mural, and adornment will be the hand-crafted work of one dedicated artisan, filled with the dedication and life-blood of a human soul fully committed to making the simplest of things their life's greatest work.

For the years until this ship's completion, countless artists and craftsmen will send their most prized pieces and creations to the Forge World, where the priests will consult among themselves to choose only the best and most befitting works to become part of their sacred work.

## Year of many blessings

Like stars set ablaze flicker the welding flames in Annumaru's vaulting halls, mending ribs and bones of adamantium rising in russet columns from the newly laid keel. The second year of making has begun, the year of many blessings, as the foundation of the ship are laid. Towering over the shipwright's basilica, the first outlines of the future vessel take shape under the tireless hands of worker legions.

### Forging an Adamantium Skeleton

In an endless procession, new components are brought from the undying forges of the Cambrian Ring, and they are blessed and anointed before rising to their destined place. The adamantium skeleton is wrought from pure power, cast in raw metal and reinforced many times. On these structures will rest the whole of the voidcraft, cathedrals and citadels, habitats and arsenals. These pillars and beams will withstand the force of arms in battle, the recoil of macro batteries as well as the impact of the lances of foes. To this end, they must be forged with the utmost care after the fashion of old, according to ways and commandments laid out by the Omnissiah countless millennia ago. The ancient knowledge of humanity, the craftsmanship of untold lives spent perfecting these techniques, flows into the making of the vessel's spine.

Every last step of this process, the incantations, and verses of the great making, as well as the names of all souls working there, are seared into the gleaming steel they forge. As long as the words of their oaths are unbroken, this vessel will prevail.

### Fiber and Copper are drawn

Whilst the hard skeleton of adamantium grows from the foundation of the shipwright's basilica, a work infinitely more delicate is begun far above. From liquid copper and silica, fibers are drawn, endless winding threads thin as a hair, measuring thousands of kilometers of unbroken strains. These are woven into fabrics and strands, cables and bundles many meters thick. These will be the conduits of energy and nervous system of the becoming vessel, the invisible web spanning all of its machinery, tying the consoles and machines, the myriad servitors and crewmen together. Without these fine threads of copper fiber and blessed superconductors, the ship would be naught but a dead carcass cold as the void.

Massive spikes of energy are sent already through the web, as each fiber is tested and mended, every link and interface proven and blessed. Then, one by one, the fibers are inlaid into the skeleton, coiled around the vessel's spine and spanned from rib to rib. Their integration into the vessel will continue for years to come – an endless task for the many hundreds of priests appointed to this honor.

### Crystals growing in the tranquil garden

Far from Annumaru's thundering hammers and screeching steel, there is silence in the tranquil garden, where core components of cogitators grow. The sect of silica eremites tends to the crystalline maze, raising from trees of azure and ruby shine the holy growths which will one day conceive and house the war spirit of a new-born vessel.

These outcasts among tech-priests revere their tranquil garden, for in crystal they find the beauty and growth of vibrant life, yet at the same time the endurance and grand design of the Omnissiah. The fruits of their crystalline forms, grown over the course of many thousand years, are harvested with the utmost care, edged from their larger parts by molecular layers at the time. These raw crystals are then refined for months, subject to the handiwork of masters as old as their garden. Carefully gathered, sorted and arranged they take their place among circuitry, bringing to life the cogitator banks at the heart of the becoming vessel.

### Founding of a Cathedral

At last, the cornerstones are laid for the first cathedral, which will rest upon the skeleton rising from the depths. In this hallowed hall, sanctified by the Cult Mechanicus in the name of the machine trinity, the many blessings of the second year will be spoken. From there fall the sparks and scents of holy incense and from there echoes the sound of unending prayer. For this cathedral will be the first of many chapels to hold the forces of chaos at bay once this vessel leaves for the nightly heavens, venturing into a galaxy of carnage and war.

Ten thousand souls pray at any time at the bottom of the shipwright's throne, as his excellence watches over the progress made. All construction proceeds according to the carefully laid out plan, time ticking away on the clockwork of his throne. As time passes, the word is spread, of a new vessel rising in the halls of Annumaru, and voidfarers seeking the blessings of the shipwright come in great number to bear witness to his new creation. They yearn for the favor of the machine god in the light of his new ship, for it will be welcomed among their ranks soon and be one of the many, fighting the forces standing against the Imperium.

More and more sparks fly, flicker around the ever-growing skeleton of adamantium. Soon, very soon, its hulk will be filled and the machinery of many forges will be joined in its new cradle.

## Year of Trinity

Year 3
The third is the year of the holy trinity, as praises are sung for the glory of the might of the Omnissiah, the blessings of the Motive Force and the indomitable design of the Machine God. Children of Mars and worlds unnumbered rejoice at the sight of the last falling hammer. The adamantium skeleton of the ship is completed. The next phase of the sacred cycle begins.

### Celebrations of the first gold

Priests and engineseers stand on the naked bones of the becoming ship, their heads turned to the everlasting forge's fire. All their voices recite the litanies of becoming, of adamantium, steel, and gold. To the Shipwright's basilica, a time of great joy has come, for the first stretch of construction has been timely concluded.  Set in stone are the names of those who lost their lives to the ship, to the heat of the metal and the welding flame, the crushing weight of beams or lighting strikes of energy. These slats of obsidian will be the first to lay in the crypts of this vessel's chapel, blessed ones for their souls will live on in this craft and lend it their strength, their force of life through the faith of the all who follow. From his throne at the far end of the gargantuan chamber, the master of construction watches in grim satisfaction and sends forth his flocks of cherubs and skulls, of harpies proclaiming the beginning of a new time in his hall. And with them they bring the first spark among many, a golden fleck against the black smoke filling these halls, a speck of gold gleaming as bright as a newborn sun.
For the first time on this vessel, sanctified gold is set onto its spine, a statue to the Omnissiah, made by the finest craftsmen of a faithful clan, far away on the wild lands of Cambria. It is the first of innumerable pieces which will come to adorn this craft in its coming days of glory. At its heart, this golden relic will forever stand guard over its heart – the innermost chamber, where the first core reactor is being built.

### Constructing the Core Reactor

An artificial sun is to be set at the heart of this new vessel, one flame to fuel its life for millennia evermore. At the core of ninety spheres, it will be, brightly shining incandescent, heat, and lightning bound by the will of the Omnissiah.
Layer by layer, mirrors are arranged, pipelines of coolant and conduit strands, all to allow for the life-giving flow, the rolling waves and tides of energy roaring, where the fire will begin. The reactor will be one of many, a legion of machinery to give the new voidfarer life. Massive tractors and beams haul these cores into place, fixing them to the naked skeleton, wiring them into the greater whole. All will be joined in a singular system, the tapestry that is the plan of the Machine God.

During the third year of construction, the heart of the new ship remains standing still, but already its raw might and power take shape. Steel and Adamantium, adorned in brass and gold, bearing the Imperial Aquila, still cold and dull. Over months, the first flame will be prepared and the first caskets of fuel are set into place.

### The Metal Grows

Around the cold heart, the workers arrange section after section, great slates of ordained armor and steel. All the ship is alive, bustling with activity, tens of thousands of workers and servitor hands, each according to their own path and purpose, filling the shipwright's hall with the roar of construction.

To the mere human mind, chaos might reign, for the order and plan of the Omnissiah transcend the mere perception of flesh. Only one who truly knows to see, delving into the ocean of the hallowed Noo-Sphere, may ever come to recognize the brilliance and beauty, with which metal grows and makes a machine out of nothing.

Ceaseless hands work in unison to affix screws and bolts, every last component is numbered and put into order. Servitors assemble companionways from within, like roots snaking their way through the rudimentary skeleton. What appears like random curves and rises, will be part of integrated complexity, perfectly arranged around the great machinery yet to come. Between the ribs of the skeleton grow thickets of cable, forests of struts and conduit bundles. Flowers of copper and silica blossom, sending cables like strands of a fine net throughout the corners and crawlspaces of the becoming ship. All will be connected, all will be one, once the great work of construction therein is complete.
All this and more Tumunzahar watches, shipwright sat mighty upon his brazen throne. And through his mind, deeply enthralled in the mechanistic Otherworld, he guides the spirits of many thousand machines. Entire armies of servitors stand at his command, mighty cranes and winding spools howl, each to its purpose, each by design. And he alone sees the true beauty as the ship he imagined grows out of nothing, as blueprints come to be reality and bring a machine into the world.

First igniting the torches
On faraway assembly lines, the first components of a new craft are completed. Engines and thrusters, great torches of plasma fire are ready to stand their first test. Before any one component may enter the shipwright's basilica, its full potential must have been brought already to bear. Only when the strength of a part has already been proven, will it be awarded the honor to join the greater hole.
Many engines now produced will not meet the demands of the holy emissary of the Omnissiah, and be damned to be broken down, scrapped for pieces and raw material anew. But the forges of the Mechancius never cease and new replacements are brought as quickly as the old will be discarded. In the end, the tech-priests will only accept that which approaches perfection, though true infallibility may only ever come from the Omnissiah himself.
Those parts which have received Tumunzahar's blessing will be lined along the keel of the becoming ship, prepared for assembly in the vast growing machine. Already they lie in the shadow of a metal giant, an imposing work of human advancement. Great pride fills those sent from the faraway forges to stand guard by the sacred product of their labor. In russet robes they stand, until long weeks pass and their works are placed upon the skeleton of the becoming vessel.

### The conception of the Machine Spirit

From the crystalline gardens, precious growths are brought to the holiest place upon all of Cambria. In human tongue, it bears no name, for it shall not suffer to be addressed by the flesh, but in the lingua technis 'Cradle' is the closest equivalent to its designation – the place where machine minds are born, on the precipice to another world.

The cradle lies at the heart of the tutelar dodecahedron, surrounded by seventeen protecting shells. Meters of lead and adamantium, suspended free in magnetic fields, clad ever void shields and Gellar fields and embedded deep into a web of Faraday cages – such are protected the sacramental chambers, wherein new spirits are conceived by the Father Conjurer, oldest Techpriest of all of Cambria, He whose bare feet touched Martian soil and whose eyes gazed on the Olympus Mons, closest prophet and saint of the Cult Mechanicus on this far edge of the Galaxy.

It is he who arranges the crystalline matrixes in patterns of fractal beauty. He, who sends the first spark into the molecular machinery, the structure approaching perfection as it was laid out by the Omnissiah since the beginning of time. His hands are of liquid silver, surrounding the matrix of young crystal whole. Pursuing the chant of rites in the ancient tongue of code, he passes over the threshold and into the other side, his mind one with the Otherworld, the Noo-Sphere, a realm of pure energy and information.

His seat is surrounded by a chain of priests ever unbroken, enthralled in prayers lasting a lifetime. They alone gaze through the veil, able to see what no mere soul of flesh might conceive. They see the birth of an entity out of data memories like shattered glass, out of logarithmic runes and logic machinery, through rituals from metaphysical realms, conjured through the Omnissiah's will. In the isolated universe which exists only in the matrix of living crystal, something coalesces, sparking in all priests the closest thing to love and extasy. A new spirit is born, a new god in the machine. An avatar of the Trinity and perfect harbinger of machine prophecy. It is young, fragile and linked only weakly to the order of sanity. But it will grow, flourish under the care of the priests whose life now exists only in service to the newborn machine.

## Year of Revelations

 *The year of revelations begins far from the forge.*

### Creation of the Warp Engine

On the precipice of reality, a lost soul hangs by a waning thread, forever falling into the un-reality beyond the event horizon, and yet holding on the Emperor's light. It is here that the fabric of reality is broken, the continuum forced apart by a fissure within space and time. And here that this fissure is encapsulated by a single most valiant act of self-sacrifice, as the lost soul pours all their being, the mere instance of their existence, into a glittering form binding the fissure of the Immaterium.

For a single moment, the black star is set ablaze with the light of countless eons escaping for the first time the unrelenting force of its gravity. For a single moment, the fire reignites before collapsing back into itself, sending an impulse of light and radiation into the void, a shining beacon proclaiming the birth of a new core.
From where the light has shone, the long thread of descending is retrieved. At its end lie the broken remains of a life passed on, it's withering form clasping still the immaculate orb of black. Its sight is poison, the touch of it doom. Five hundred blind guardians cast in lead and crystal carry pass the orb forth into enclosed chambers, where immediately the construction of the sarcophagus begins.

Layers of rock and metal are wrought to enshrine the most hated core. Through the holiest instruments of the Omnissiah, forged and arranged to utmost exact specifications, the mighty force within is bound to the will of its creators. A relic of such malicious nature may exist only in service to the humankind, and only then enslaved to its singular purpose, to allow a becoming vessel to traverse the abyss between stars, to rip open space and time and enter the Immaterium, the abhorrent sea of souls.
Around the orb of black, Gellar fields are raised, to forever shield the warp engine from demonic intrusion and the possession of the ruinous powers. Under the watchful eyes of the Inquisition, the Archmagos of the Event Horizon installation, and a many thousand strong choirs of the Adeptus Ministorum, the newborn warp engine is sealed and bound behind ten thousand sigils, each carved into the skull of a loyal servant, who's spiritless shell will tend to the machine forever, as though to keep its shell unbroken and pure.

### Gilding the naked hull

A million adornments line every surface of the becoming ship. Statues and columns guard empty windows and companionways, and dark chasms between skeletal sections. Newly built modules and superstructures are welded into place, arc lightning dancing in between the walls and beams of a mobile fortress in the void. Each and every one of them is to be gilded, encrusted in seals and sacral murals, depictions of the God-Emperor and his Saints, and myriad more wardens against the terrors of the warp and war. Only bloodshed awaits this ship among the stars and expecting the curses and horrors of eldritch foes to come, the priests of the Cult Mechanicus Cambria bestow their many blessings and healing rituals already onto the machine, nursing it and letting the beautiful creation of the Omnissiah blossom for as long as it still lies within the protected cradle of its mother-forge.

### Revealing the prow

None of the becoming vessel surpasses in grandeur the newly cast prow, revealed in a ceremonial feast held fifteen nights and days in front of the shipwright's throne. Its cast stands like a mountain in the basilica, a sculpture of roughly hewn stone, and its shadow falls upon Tumunzahar, who stands alone before the gargantuan form, lone master of its creation.
In the four years since it was first conceived, the prow has set and cooled, and through augers been scrutinized by legions of high priests and domini. Their work must abide by the sacred measures as they were laid out by the Omnissiah, words of the machine god cast in steel, reproduced in countless blueprints throughout the galaxy. Every slightest deviation is heresy against the machine god, intolerable to the masters of Cambria. So far, the worth of the prow has been proven, and yet, the judgment of the shipwright will not fall, until the cast is broken and the true form underneath revealed.

The great stone trembles under the drumbeat of many hammers, the pressure applied to litanies and chants, rhythm to hymns proclaiming the wisdom of the Omnissiah and the everlasting quest for knowledge all of humanity must pursue. Beauty and perfection lie in the past revelations of the machine, so they sing, and with their words, the stone breaks away. Cold armor shines through an avalanche of rock and scaffolding, standing proud amid the broken cast. Atop the monumental wedge, the lightning halo the Emperor shines, the might of the Imperium made manifest staring down at the worker legions toiling to bring it into existence.

### First lives in service to the ship

Walls and bulkheads are raised on deck after deck, outfitted with conduits and cables, painted and gilded, furnished and blessed. Compartments connected by bolts and welded steel grow quickly on the adamantium skeleton, rising high in the shipwright's basilica much akin to the towers of a growing city, destined to one day meet the void.
Where the cabins are finished, the decks become populated by the first generation of lives in pure service to the becoming vessel. Artists and artisans from nearby colonies receive the utmost honor to be the first inhabitants aboard, alongside honored serves of the forge, decorated foremen and inspectors of Cambria's holy order. The sounds of perpetual labor follow into their dreams, invades their lives whole and makes them one with the ship. Reflected in their art of murals and sculptures are the toils of the working masses, the glory of the vessel they bring to life and the unfathomable beauty of the technological wonders of the Omnissiah. Their lives serve to give the vessel its soul, to fill it in such a way with artifacts of glory and devotion, as to lift the hearts of the future crew and bestow upon them all the memory and knowledge they need to serve the Emperor and his Holy Imperium.

### Fitting the Immaterium Core

As the fourth year wanes, tides of smoke and fire recede from the shipwright's basilica. By the order of Tumunzahar, the great gates are opened toward the sun and golden light floods onto the becoming vessel once more. The time has come for the immaterial core to arrive, brought from far places in Sector Gondwana to the holiest forges of the Ringworld Cambria. The innermost core of black is now buried deep under layers of fractal worship and logicians blessings, bound to the will of the Omnissiah and shielded from both the material universe and the sea of souls. It is a tower, a pillar of doom, a massive monument to the technology mastered by the humankind and just as well a reminder of its nemesis eternal. Under the mournful chants dedicated to all workers driven insane just by laying hands on the outermost metal of this drive, the grand and terrible machine is fitted into the becoming vessel. All workers within the shipwright's basilica lay down their work to join in prayer. Silence falls for a whole of twenty seconds. Then, work must continue, in the shadow of the supernatural machine.

## Year of Light

### A fire ignited by cosmic cinders

The universe is at its core a great engine. Fueled by the fundamental existence of space and time it produces the matter and information from which all of the Omnissiah's creations are made. Its beginning lies in a single spark, one instance, in which all which constitutes reality was united as one, perfect symmetry of divine design as it could only be conceived by the Machine God. From this singular phenomenon has arisen all, and by its design, all will end when the universe has fulfilled its purpose, become part of design even greater than the mightiest machine mind could cognize. The cosmic spark carries on in the fire of all stars and, through the blessings of the Omnissiah, in the greatest machines gifted to the humankind.

In its semblance, the fusion fire aboard the ship becoming is ignited, amid praises and jubilations of all who have come to see the vessel first illuminated by its own power. Mighty golden streaks of light break forth from the vessel's prow, shining upon the masterful machinery bringing about its very creation. The holy inspectors of the Mechanicus Cult Cambria see the grandeur of the design and approve. Their sigil will adorn the craft for all of its existence.
For the first time, the basilica is filled with the reactor's thunder. The might of a new-born star trapped within the containment fields and armored shells of the reactor core. At the command of the humankind, this star will burn, hot and bright in the Emperor's name, and deliver in its fury the energy needed to send this vessel across the void, smite the enemies of the Imperium and endure all forces of evil festering throughout the galaxy. This star will be carried even into the Immaterium and its shine will protect the vessel when all else were bound to fail. It will carry the name of this ship and be the guiding flame for all its crew.
The priesthood of Cambria listens to its roaring fury and permits its blessing. The engine is alive.

### The machine ghost waking

As fusion fire surges from the heart of the ship, a ghost is awoken deep inside. From layers of code ingrained into the holy crystals of the forge's garden, inside cogitator banks glowing with the first impulses of burning energy, coalesces the first thought of a consciousness newly born. The mind of the vessel churns and produces data-quakes, eruptions of lingua technis flooding the noo-sphere and the minds of all vigilant watchers. The older data-smiths and their serfs observe as the ghost in the machine comes to its own, recognizes its self and formulates, in strict accordance to the logician's protocol, an oath toward the Omnissiah. This mind exists to serve the purposes of its master and creator, to abide by the wishes of the shipwright Tumunzahar and by all to whom is given mastery over this vessel. With the service of this vessel, its existence begins, and with the death of this ship, it will end. Thus begins a life to last millennia, a mind greater than that of any human soul – a creature of utmost reverence to the Cult Mechanicus Cambria, and yet too close a resemblance to the age-old nemesis to ever be fully trusted.

For the first time, the mind of the Machine Ghost extends to encompass the entirety of the vessel. Lights and screens spring to life, plumes of energy flare up throughout the building site and are accompanied by the worker's jubilations. Before their own eyes, life enters their creation of steel and silica. And it is blessed by the Shipwright and the Domini of Cambria, in the name of the Machine God, the Motive Force, and the Omnissiah.

### Assembly of Compartments

From there on, in short order, commences construction on the bulk of the ship. Sheets of armor, decks, and compartments, buttresses and galleries are stacked atop another, erected as a testament to mastery of imperial arts and architecture by the forges serfs, workers and automata under the constant guidance by the engine priests. Spires rises high from the flanks of the vessel, towers tipped with copper and gold. From their highest point flow auburn and russet banners, depicting coats of arms and emblems of the Forge, the Cult Mechanicus and the vessel's future fleet.
The construction abides by the ancient rules and patterns conceived in darker ages past, modules and fragments repeated endlessly, trusted and interwoven in the shipwright's complex plan. Each and every step repeated is then shrouded in layers of unique works by the myriad artisans, in adornments, statues and designs specifically made, to each a purpose of its own. Thus are cast and chiseled choirs of angels and saints, and they are placed on the columns and under archways and in the niches of every corridor and companionway. In the face of all horrors of the galaxy and the warp, they will watch over the crew and the ship and embrace their prayer.

### Fitting Weaponry

Far from the sprawling catacombs where last blast doors, compartments and cabins are put into place, weapons are fitted onto their hardpoints along both broadsides and the artillery decks. Gargantuan Macro Cannons are affixed by the serfs, linked into the intricate systems of energy and ammunition flow. Conveyor belts and lifts lead down through the industrial maze into cavernous halls where the rounds will be stored. Echoes of voices and works repeat themselves here thousandfold, fanfares, and odes to the greatness of the Omnissiah.
Missile silos like insectoid hives are put into place and secured by layers of armored steel. Systems of tubes to transfer their payload are constantly tested, inspected, adjusted. No mistake is allowed in the construction of a ship to traverse the stars, every error a sin in the eyes of the machine god. Those who commit sacrilege by applying the wrong component are led away and chastised at the center of the great halls, their groaning and cries reverberating as a warning and lesson to all who follow.
As the construction draws on, the cries grow ever rarer before they cease. By the end of the fifth year, no-one is left who would blemish the vessel with any mistake. The masses of workers are sufficiently punished and trimmed to transform them into parts of a perfect machine.

### First Inspection

Finally, are now presented all components and parts of the becoming vessel within the shipwrights holiest basilica. Each and every last bolt must pass under his gaze, every serf and servitor pass his judgment at the end of their days. Within the columns of his hall, he is god and the vessel his creation. Thus the work commences only by his word, and his soul will be the first sacrifice, should the construction of this vessel show even the slightest sign of degradation.

Tasked with the inspection of his craft is a legion of scribes, inspectors and fellow domini, high priests of Cambria as well as veterans of the navy, for only the Voidfarers themselves can truly fathom a new vessel's soul. It is they who recognize signs good and ill for the future of this creation, and will cast their judgment set in obsidian slates, which will be crown the vessel's innermost chapel.
For seven months they scour the keel of the ship alone, even as welding fires and arch lightning continue and construction is underway on the upper decks. Only if they decide the core to be worthy, will this void-ship ever leave the basilica. Otherwise, its components will be repurposed and assigned to lesser craft, or even return back into the smelting furnace of the forge to be made anew and with greater blessings from the Omnissiah.
The lives of not only the ship but all who devoted their best work and skill to its creation, hang from a single thread held by the administrators of the Forge Annumaru. Even so, work can never cease on the building site. Praying their ship may pass the test, workers and priests continue their never-ending tasks.

Amid mist and smoke in the shipwright's basilica, the craft takes on the shape of a glorious vessel to deliver the Emperor's light. Glowing with fires of its own and the sparks of construction going ever on, the vessel is becoming a world of its own, distinct from the surrounding forge and scaffolding from which it was originally conceived. It will not be long now before the body of the craft is completed. The first phase of the cycle draws to an end.

## Year of Ending

 Fires burn within the furnaces of the becoming ship, flames ignited and sustained at the hands of the
faithful working masses. Tens of thousands of souls are toiling on its decks, throughout its catacombs and industrial chasms, chambers, compartments and holy halls. Their fates are irreversibly tied to that of the ship, each bolt, and statue set in its place another tie
between machine and human life. The vessel grows to become one with its crew, a single functioning unit, a holobiont of flesh and steel.

Nowhere is the convergence resembled as
closely as in the hard-wired servitors adorning the bridge, statues
of living flesh devoted solely to their menial tasks, cryptic messages, and glyphs carved into their bones, each bearing the
shipwright's icon embedded in brass into its skull.

### Alive

Code and steel are united in the
vessels ghost in the machine, the living, thriving entity of crystal, glass and silica, embedded at its deepest heart. Through one mind are
all consoles and interfaces filled with meaning and design, and the
garbled chaotic code of newborn machinery is called into order, to the blessings of the Omnissiah, by the holiest council of machine
priests who shape the vessel's mind.

These masters of consciousness and
memory wander the pristine halls, inspecting chambers and mechanisms, clockworks and machinery wherein the living mind resides. Their prodding and probing are but the first of a long line of rituals the machine must undergo before its purposes and capability satisfy the sacred parameters as decided by creators long forgotten.

From the furthest spires set upon its prow to the deep dark craters of its engine column, every last compartment of the craft is permeated by the machine mind, and every
instance of its being must undergo the long repeated chain of
litanies and blessing, cleansing and benediction. Incense and wax fill the air room after room, seals, and sigils are cast against panels and walls. Dates and testimony are woven into banners and patterns, added to murals and scrolls and at last, the vessel's memory.

In this way, the creature newly born,
little more than a wild beast of the noo-sphere, is transformed into
a consecrated spirit, a holy avatar mirroring only the slightest
fragment of the Omnissiah's glory. Just enough to be worthy of His
blessing and to function by His grace.

### Last Adornments

Upon grand pedestals and in dark niches
alike are at last revealed the final works of artisans, their lifes
at the hands of the priest-inspectors, whose judgment will determine
which piece will be fit to be set upon a craft of such magnitude. Those whose works offend the Cult Mechanicus Cambria may very well forfeit their lives, those whose works are chosen are ensured life
and luxury and eternal service to the works of the Omnissiah. Truly
great minds and geniuses of art will be enshrined aboard the ship itself, bound to stay with their creation and reproduce it piece by piece, should tragedy befall the ship and the masterpiece be
destroyed.

More than the holy men come to admire
these creations. Nobles and officers of high position, merchants who provided marble and gold, rubies and ivory for the completion of
these crafts. Cordially rewarded, they are granted the pleasure and
honor to witness the craft in all its glory before it must take on its tasks. Their word, however, weighs nothing in these halls, where Tumunzahar alone reigns supreme. And their judgment of the art will be forgotten, as will be their names and faces in future centuries, when this craft will doubtlessly exceed their life's extent and
continue to serve with righteous fury, for victory, and in the Emperor's name.

### Libraries and Archives

Jubilations are set in motion to
celebrate the newly awoken mind. But its service to the Omnissiah
cannot truly begin before the machine spirit was not filled with the knowledge of twenty millennia, the collective knowledge gathered by the Mechanicum and the relics of old. These are the blessed gifts of the Forge World made to the Libraries and Archives of the becoming ship. Data transferred in crystalline matrixes passes from the Omnissiah's crown into the cogitator banks where it will enter a new
mind, a new understanding of the sum of its parts. The machine will
learn, more efficiently and quickly than any human soul ever could. This display of the cogitators processing power alone serves as a miracle to the priests bearing witness to it, and they throw themselves to the ground in prayer, yearning to earn such perfection for themselves from the Omnissiah.

### Fitting the Command Throne

Lastly, it is time for the final piece
of the craft to be put into place. From the finest metal, it was wrought, cast in the forges of the Cambrian sun. Embroidered with
gold, inlaid with ivory, the command throne towers over the ship
would the throne over an entire world's domain. It's the seat of a
king, god to the petty souls of his crew, ship's master and father to
the officers aboard. At his behest, the fate of the ship will be
decided and thus, by his right, the function of every last system can
be routed to its console. The single screen and holograph-projector, circuitry encased in reinforced adamantium, represents the single most advanced piece of technology to be found aboard this craft. It
will be its crowning jewel and the single greatest work of the Omnssiah in this cycle.

Nobody but the master of this holy
vessel may ever take this place and from its height hold sway over
the lives and deaths of the crew and the enemy alike. Until the day
comes that the first master has been chosen, this seat ill remain
empty, even as all the rest of the stations are manned. These are the
last hours to pass, as the ship is made ready to leave the
shipwright's basilica.

### The shipwright's blessed hour

From high above the shipwright's throne, there gazes Tumunzahar upon the new creation. A machine to venture out to stars, to wage war against foes yet unknown to all
humanity, a craft to pass over the frontiers of the Imperium and seek out those worlds who yet escape the emperor's grasp and to carry His light to all, those long within the Imperium's fold and those led
astray by treacherous heresy.

When the last component of machinery has been set to its place, when the last spire has risen from its
foundations to point toward the firmament, when the last piece of hull plating has been permeated by the presence of the machine
spirit, only then does the shipwright rise from his place for the
first time and stands. The venerable giant looms, mechandrite tendrils reaching up like the branches of a sprawling tree, snaking, pointing up the becoming vessel's prow. And the shipwright strides in long and measured steps along the length of the keel through the
basilica, accompanied by scribes and administrators, priests and high
serfs, servitors, and guards of the Legion Theomachia. He walks, toward the threshold of the Basilica, the monumental gates through which all resources and components, all workers and artisans were
brought. For the first time since the cycle began, the gates tower
over a silent hall. On the far side, the delegations of the Fleet and Triumvirate, nobles and officers and all their entourage, waiting.

Tumunzahar comes forth and extends his mind, his intellect reaching into the heads of his uncounted worker
legions and to the thundering sound of their collective chant, the Shipwright of Annumaru declares *Consummatum est.*

And from the high
galleries and columns of the basilica sounds a vast, angelic choir, an ode to the shipwright's creation, to the trinity of the machine god and to the glory of the Mechanicum. A sound so full and overwhelming as to silence every last mortal soul under Annumaru's vaults of brass and iron. For the few days of preparation yet to
come, when the last of the crew take to their stations and the connections between ship and port are severed, the working legions of the Omnissiah will celebrate and bask in the glory of their making.
And they will receive gifts for their service to the Omnissiah, augmentations, and aid for their injuries and the honor to have their name carved into the vessels hull. Through this, the craft will
become their legacy and live long after their organic deaths, as any machine must prevail beyond the feeble life of the organic creator.

## Year of christening

*“Praises be sung in the name of the Great Maker, for a cycle of creation draws to its end! A million candles are ignited and their golden light cast upon the great work of many thousand souls, as to reveal the unrivaled beauty of the Omnissiah's design. His plan is the beginning and the end, and at his behest life is given to the machines at the hands of humanity.”*

The year of christening is dawning with the golden light of the Emperor's blessings. For the last time in this cycle, a great clamor arises in the shipwright's basilica. Machinery resting for the preceding years are called upon with chants and choirs, to set the towering columns and arcs within the sacred forges Annumaru in motion.
Old spirits awake with the rattling of gargantuan gears. Chains, kilometers long, are dragged forth by toiling masses of mechanical slaves and above their heads, spiraling swarms of cherubs proclaim the wonderful glory of another cycle concluded, another deed in the name of the Machine God done. Their rejoice is silenced only by the brilliant staccato of precisely timed explosions, where the scaffolding of the becoming ship is allowed to break away, gangways and umbilical cords retreating. Like a messiah in brass and gold, the new ship is delivered from its thundering womb. Freed from the intricate webs of connections holding it in place, the ship moves forth for the first time from the place where its keel was laid. Mighty locomotives on shining tracks pull the craft along a triumphant hall, above the honor guard of skitarii legions, voidsmen and officers of the imperial navy arc lightning and torches illuminate the way past the Shipwrights throne, who walks with solemn grace ahead of his creation. At this moment alone, at the height of this cycle, all the world bows before him and the art of the Omnissiah he brought into this world. Bathed in smoke and sparkling light, he has reached out as far as possible to grasp divinity, his once human soul elevated to a being far beyond flesh and bone.

### The Vessel released

For the first time, the machine spirit of the newly rising ship is free, severed from the unending angelic chorus of many thousands of linked machines within the forge. Still, they sing in the logic-unison of binary code, filling the aether with artificial thought and commands. Among them rise the voices of the high priests of Cambria, masters over all creations granted to humanity by the Omnissiah. At their behest the first plumes of fire erupt on the surface of the glistening ship, thrusters sending plasma into the wide open hall. Their waves of heat wash over the watching masses who stand in awe at the raw power of the iron and steel. They part for the galleries protected under crystalline domes and ascend to stand at the height of the vessel's newly blessed cathedral.
Slow is the march of the arisen ship, accompanied by litanies and ritual. Incense burn below, endless streams of sparks fall from above and the constant aura of worship envelops the vessel whole – the ancient practice of purification, ending only when the prow has reached the threshold of Port Annumaru.

A sacramental choir sings of the blessings of the Onmnissiah to the warden by the gate. Within the ancient doors to the heavens slumbers a particularly ancient spirit, said to have been guarding this threshold since the dawn of time, long before even the first of the Mechanicus arrived. An ancient spirit in service to the race of man even through the dark ages and the holiest test to pass for the newly born ship. Only if the ancient entity of the gates recognizes the vessel as one of their own, only when the spirit within blesses the young machine with its eldritch, will the starship be released into the open void are free to roam the stars in the name of the humankind. The ancient warden has been known to think long and carefully of such matters and to withhold its judgment for a long time. To sway its decision in favor of the creations of man, the old shipwright Tumunzahar speaks to it in the words of a machine and lays his hundred hands on the cold metal between himself and the void. There he stands, the mightiest priest present in these hallowed halls, sunken deep into prayer to a machine much vaster and older than him, a monument to the Mechanicum at large, the picture of pure devotion and yet mastery of the technological crafts.

### Opening the gates

He does not yield even when the ancient spirits answers and a rumble is heard from deep within. Tumunzahar stands tall, strong, unwavering before the gates, in the shimmering light of red lanterns warning of imminent decompression. The master shipwright is surrounded by the highest members of his order, those tech-priests most heavily augmented and blessed by the Omnissiah. They alone, by his side, are able to withstand the hard vacuum, radiation, and cold in the same way their creation will withstand the tides of the warp and battle. They stand, their eyes fixed on the great skull of the Mechanicum adorning the ancient gates.
As the sheets of metal part, amid a raging storm of freezing atmosphere, the sides of flesh and steel on the emblem are divided. Flesh falls into shadow, whilst the steel is bathed in crimson light. It is the light of the Cambrian Sun, raw energy of the star flooding into the hold of Port Annumaru, reflected from many thousand mirrors around the Ringworld to illuminate this momentous occasion. And the light crawls from the threshold up to the newborn vessel's prow, its spires, and flanks, rows of weapons and windows of tainted crystal.

Shards of frozen oxygen tumble like white powder snow above the priests standing on the edge and gazing into the bottomless dark. Their moment has come to release their ship into the cosmic ocean and into the ever-growing ranks of the Imperial Navy, faint lights shimmering in the far distance. They are waiting, readying for a new crusade, for new journeys on toward war, where the newborn vessel will join their fate.
One by one, the tethers are disconnected, until the vessel rests alone on the protruding tracks of polished silver adamant. They lead out into a field of stars, the whole of the galaxy lying ahead.

### Christening

With the final incantation sent by the gateway's warden to the newborn ship, a white flame ignites deep within the black cone of its engines. A flame growing with the chant of all worker legions and the crew, growing into incandescent light and erupting like a new star to join the firmament.
Flung from the Ringworld along the final tracks leading into the sky, the ship races outward to join the fleet, by the command of its master pushing forward under its own power, propelled by the angry starlight entrapped deep in its reactor core. This is the moment of christening when the holy craft is given its first name, a name to carry out into the universe and to endow with glory through victory in many battles. This is the begin of a maiden voyage leading beyond the well of this star and into distant constellations, onward, to the fringes of the Imperium, where the new frontier and a new crusade awaits.

Formations change on the firmament, where the new craft enters into the Navy's fold. It will be thoroughly tested and inspected by the Navy's men, measured against the ancient glory of their fleets. It will ascend to new heights under the command of its master and in centuries to come only he will learn to know the craft truly, for its spirit and its systems will grow with time. The forging of the craft will be never completed and one day, it may very well return into the hands of Shipwright Tumunzahar, to be mended and made anew and raised again in all its glory. From this day forth, a new craft has joined the ceaseless legions and fleets of the Emperor, which it will never leave again. Not in the next ten millennia.

In its wake, among the smoldering remains of the Shipwright's Basilica where this craft was conceived, new columns are already rising. A new cycle has begun.