‘Trazyn,’ warned Orikan, ‘immortality aside, my time is valuable.’
‘Oh, very well. Moving to the interesting part. Here we have the Greenskin War, as they call it. And who, my dear rival, is that in the next panel?’
Orikan looked up, dismissing the overlaid data-scroll he’d secretly been reading.
‘No.’
‘Oh yes.’
Storming through the square, meeting the greenskin onslaught, were a group of Space Marines: unusually tall and thin Space Marines, their helmets fashioned as leering skull-masks. The one in the lead appeared to be some kind of hooded Librarian, holding aloft a great lantern-headed staff that the glass orks recoiled from in horror.
‘Silver Skulls Chapter defeats the ork invasion,’ Trazyn said with clear relish. ‘There used to be a statue in the square, thirty khet high. They used to light candles and sing hymns to it. A few centuries ago the Inquisition got wind of it and did a little cleaning up. Removed it for “renovation” where it was never seen again.’
‘You stole it, did you not?’
‘Well, of course. And I hardly think it counts as stealing if it’s my likeness. It’s my statue, after all.’
Orikan snorted. ‘Worshipping a necron. Poor idiots. I suppose they have a head start on the rest of the galaxy. The Awakening is nearly imminent.’
There was a moment of contemplative silence.
‘Do you have a statue of yourself, Orikan?’
Orikan stalked deeper into the cathedral. ‘You are an obscene egotist.’
‘I only wonder if any cultures worship you as a living saint or spiritual protector. It is a simple binary question.’
‘Show me what you wanted to show me.’