Lost and Found (Warhammer 40k SI) Chapter 88: Cypra Mundi: The Forum

POV: Nicole

From orbit, the capital forge-city of Cypra Mundi did not resemble a city so much as a wound in the skin of the world. It is a vast, geotric scar that glows with the steady malignancy of industry. Continents of tal sprawl outwards in reginted hexagonal districts, each one a cathedral to function over form. The natural crust has long since been flensed away, replaced with adamantium plating, reactor spires, and kiloter-wide manufactorum stacks that breathe out ash and luminescent exhaust in slow, churning tides.

We are directed to the primary landing corridor for VIPs closest to the structure that hosts the Forum. Despite its label, enough distance remains that further transport is required, and it is not feasible to travel on foot, far enough that an entire motorcade of gleaming hover transports awaits us as we land.

Flanking said transports are row after row of Skitarii. Those to the right are covered in gleaming reflective chro plates, the tal polished to a perfect mirror sheen. On the other side are more industrial-looking Skitarii, their armour and gear are heavy with sharp angles and edges, that half is all function over form, with the only ornantation being the Cog of the chanicus, and their bodies painted in the colors of Cypra Mundi.

The lead Skitarii unit, a Praetorian Tribune, at the head of the two distinct units of Praetorians, steps forward as we disembark. It’s both a show of force and a display of how seriously they’re taking our security.

“This unit's designation is: CMS-10-04. On behalf of the Fabricator Locum, I greet Archmagos Doll and assorted esteed visiting guests. Welco to Cypra Mundi.” They say aloud while offering a far more extensive greeting over the Noosphere. CMS-10-04 is so heavily augnted that it’s impossible to discern their original gender at a glance. Their voice box gives their words a distinct buzz that tickles the ear. “Your transport has been arranged. Please follow .”

The row of hover transports are each tagged within the Noosphere for who goes in what car. I got to stay with Master Doll in the most ornate and technologically advanced chanicus lead car while Lord Drakios moved to the second, slightly more Imperial-thed vehicle, along with the teams guarding the STC. Baldos and so of the Astartes had to go in the largest transport due to their combined weight. It is far more robust and obviously designed for their larger fras and weight, while still providing so comforts.

I am glad I am wearing my helt under my hood. Despite the air being nicer in this part of the city, the air outside it is barely tolerable. Anyone without a mask, rebreather, or implants would struggle to deal with the smog for long periods of ti. It is a stark contrast to the air within the transport, which is exceptionally well purified and air-conditioned, nearly matching that of an unpolluted boreal world.

The hover transports weave down through the upper spires. From this elevation, the massive forge spires, each fighting for precious space with the others, form a vast, sprawling labyrinth of tal that stretches in all directions. We descend towards the Forum, and the massive circular structure erges from the haze, its outline forming the shape of a giant cog. Hundreds, if not thousands, of red-robed individuals make their way into the venue through its various entrances.

Our transports land just outside the main entrance, and the local Skitarii file out to form escort lines. The main central thoroughfare is marked clearly in the noosphere and reserved for VIPs.

CMS-10-04’s optics pass over the delegation in a swift but thorough audit, each mber accounted for in turn. Satisfied, the Skitarii inclined its upper body in a shallow bow. “Please,” they intoned, “Follow .” They turn without waiting for acknowledgnt as they begin to lead us toward the looming entrance of the Forum. The great portal irised open at its approach, revealing a cavernous interior of polished tal and ancient stonework. Vaulted arches climb into shadows far overhead, their surfaces are etched with binharic litanies and sigils of jurisdiction. Soft lun strips cast a steady, contemplative glow across tiered seating galleries and suspended data-looms that drifted like tallic constellations in the air. As they crossed the threshold, CMS-10-04 spoke again. “You will be scanned as you enter.” A faint shimr passes across the entryway in my vision as the invisible lattice of auspex fields and noospheric verification rites that whispered over us, verifying biological and digital identification markers.

I recheck my aura and make sure it remains as muted as I can possibly make it. Despite my efforts with my aura, the mont I cross the threshold to enter the Forum, I feel the room thrum as multiple curious machine spirits reach out to welco . Master Doll and a few others with sharp enough senses to detect it glance my way in amusent.

“As honored guests, you are not required to disarm,” CMS-10-04 continues, pacing steadily along the central aisle. Their footfalls echoed across a floor inlaid with circuitry patterns that pulsed faintly beneath translucent plating. “We of Cypra Mundi humbly request restraint in the use of weaponry except in the most dire of circumstances.” They passed beneath a suspended ring of cog-toothed iconography rotating in silent gravitic suspension, its inner surfaces alive with scrolling precedent-archives and legal cant. “This is a place of judgnt and rembrance,” CMS-10-04 proceeds, gesturing with a slender manipulator limb toward the surrounding tiers of record-vaults and debate dais. “Of data preserved and disputes resolved. A sanctuary of knowledge where logic tempers conflict.” They slowed as the seating tier assigned to them ca into view. “I will escort you to your positions,” they announce, “and provide a verbal account of the Forum’s history.”

If CMS-10-04 noticed the reaction of the Forum to my entrance, they don't show it, and they continue to regale us with the history of the Forum. “The Forum was erected in the early thirty-third millennium. It was originally utilized as a site for entertainnt. However, in the thirty-fifth millennium, the Forum was repurposed as a site for governance due to the loss of the previous governntal center to industrial restructuring and the subsequent restructuring of the Cypra Mundi council system, which stratified the councils and allowed more representatives to participate. The site was renovated and transitioned into the Forum. Initially, the seats of importance were placed in elevated locations. This proved to be problematic. Due to how the Forum is ventilated, holy incense and various hotter gases are pulled upwards. At the sa ti, cooler purified air sinks, thus the seating is inverted, the lower seating anities are of higher quality and reserved for high-ranking individuals.” Amusingly, this design shares a lot of design choices and seating arrangents as the ancient Colosseum of Ro.

CMS-10-04 continues ignorant of my musings, “You will all be seated in the lowest section for visitors. Each seat has a Noospheric port and a digital interface for those without the proper implants to interface. The interface displays translate binaric in real ti and can be used to follow along with presentations on the main holographic monitor. Below your section will be the Cypra Mundi High Council, the Fabricator Locum, and the Fabricator General. The section to your right holds seats for the leaders of the local Titanicus Legios, and to your left is the section for foreign Forge World representatives, while the seats in the section opposite yours are for various individuals of importance, such as the Inquisition and individuals above the rank of Magos who are not on the High Council. Seated behind and above you will be the Magi of the Middle Council.”

We pass through a tunnel and erge into the Forum itself. It’s a massive space, and the tiered seating is as described. The individual seats are quite large, likely to account for size discrepancies in augnted individuals. The Forum has a very Roman feel to it, mixed with a mix of chanicus industrial and Imperial Gothic flair.

As we reach our section, I glance down towards the central stage. The stage is an ornate raised platform set in the center of the Forum, and surrounding it are the seats of the High Council - seven of which are already present. According to the Noosphere, the imperious-looking Archmagos seated in the most ornate of the chairs is the Fabricator Locum, Archmagos Korr. I glance around in confusion for a mont. Where is the throne for the Fabricator General? There is just a massive tal bowl situated by the stage that is chock-full of high-end cogitator-banks, power cables, and coolant lines. I cast my gaze outwards in search of answers and fail to spot the Fabricator General’s Noospheric tag.

Korr is, at first glance, nearly indistinguishable from an Archmagos Pri. Pristine red robes fall in immaculate lines about his fra, their fine weave unmarred by oil or ash. A tall, angular, flat-topped headdress crowns his heavily augnted skull, its severe geotry lending him the silhouette of a living icon of the chanicus.

The fabric of his robes parts in deliberate intervals, revealing a forest of ornate chadendrites: articulated tal tendrils that coil and uncoil with unsettling independence. Each is tipped with tools, scalpels, data-probes, or needle-fine manipulators. They move with delicate precision, tasting the air like the feelers of so vast chanical insect, sampling heat, motion, weakness.

His right eye has been replaced by a multi-lensed augtic array that glows a sullen red, its stacked irises whirring softly as they refocus with faint, insectile clicks. The other remains organic, though diminished – shrunken and veined, set within a tight crescent of pallid flesh, sunk deep into a skull braced with adamantine struts. Vox-grilles have supplanted his lower jaw, rendering his speech as a layered tallic resonance.

He carries the habitual hunch of an Archmagos, but upon him it reads not as frailty, but as restraint – a deliberate stoop born of towering intellect. There is dignity in it, and an innate air of superiority radiates from his fra.

Where his arms once hung, jointed manipulators now extend in their place. One terminates in a clawed servo-hand of polished steel; another divides into a cluster of fine chano-digitals capable of threading micro-circuitry or crushing bone with equal, clinical detachnt. Cables as thick as arteries feed into his torso, pulsing faintly with captive power.

His legs have been wholly surrendered to augntation, replaced by an array of compact pneumatic limbs and gravitic stabilizers that allow him to glide across the floor with disquieting smoothness – no footfall, only the muted sigh of pistons and the whisper of robes over tal.

In his left manipulator, he bears an ornate, mastercrafted Corposant Stave, its head wrought in filigreed electrum and caged energy coils. Faint arcs of contained lightning crawl along its length, eager, restrained – like its master.

Master Doll pauses before the stairs leading to our seats and looks down to the High Council seats, and nods respectfully. I quickly turn and see Fabricator Locum Korr has stood up and is returning the greeting.

—-------------

The Forum begins to quiet down in anticipation as the ti ticks closer to the start. I take a quick look at the ti myself, and the very second there is only a minute left before the beginning, the massive set of ornate double-doors embossed with the chanicus and Cypra Mundi heraldry rumbles and starts to open.

The whole Forum falls eerily silent. The heavy anticipation is only broken by the sound of massive, heavy, and chanical footfalls coming from the darkened hall behind the now-open doors.

As I behold the imnse form of Aptimos Mundi Phi