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Perturabo did not care for the pleasantries of either the common folk or the Nobles who ruled Olympia. All about this room the Primarch was welcomed with pleasant artistries and engravings that depicted the deeds of the previous Tyrants of Lokos. Each of them were meant to be a judgment upon those that were within the hall, to fear monger those who were servants and judge the current Tyrant of their city.
Perturabo did not care for these. The judgment they exacted upon him was nothing in comparison to the maelstrom that had been borne upon him for his entire life. The Maelstrom had continued to batter him for each day in a year, making sure he knew even in his own isolation that he was to be judged.
It was a damning thing. Many would have called it an act of the Gods of they were aware he could forever see it but Perturabo understood it to be the scar within the material universe. That he might have, in some respect, been a latent psyker that was capable of seeing such a damning constellation for his entire life. Such a thought did not help with its pressure, but it did assure Perturabo that he was indeed not afflicted by some fake gods.
It was this reason that the eyes that were upon the walls did not bother him and neither did the gazes of those that were fake. They were all false icons who should be torn down for the act of rebellion that they had committed against the Emperor of Mankind. Perturabo wondered here if it was wise that he came here without arms, under the persuasion of his brother to do so.
It was wise. Perturabo could feel that ever bubbling anger and it told him that he would have destroyed the planet without a second thought. So much was his disgust with their actions. But that might have only been his anger, for Perturabo felt that his brother admonished him for acting against him during the telling of the rebellion.
Perturabo was angry, but he would have stayed his hand. He had enough sanity for that.
Ultimately his brother, while being a priest, had acted as Perturabo’s conscious in this troubling time. Such was the reason he had been entertaining him for these last few weeks as they together traveled to Olympia. He hated how he made himself known, to act without seeing what Perturabo himself would do, but it was something the Primarch would deal with later.
What was in the now was walking upon the glass casket where a man would petition the Lord of Lokos.
