A Reflection on the Nature of Perfection

It was a balmy afternoon, not unusual given the temperate climate of Matilo II’s main inhabited continent, but not less welcome for the fact. Lord Governor Diatimon generally could find little to commend about the city that was both his property and his prison, though the way the white marble glowed pink in the rosy sunlight was aesthetically pleasing. He was making his way through Lucus Magnis at the head of a small delegation, with Lord Kallikles on his right and his advisor Totavis the Herald - a title he had not himself bestowed on the creature - on his left. Slaves walked in front of them, spreading sweet-smelling dried flowers on the ground.

They were heading towards the space port, to receive a delegation of Matilo I. Diatimon, only recently installed as Lord Governor, was still getting to grips with the history and politics of his new planet. As far as he understood it - the Herald was his main source of information on the matter, and they could be quite difficult to follow even for someone with Diatimon’s intellect - Matilo I had once been the main planet in the system. An initially promising forge world, the climate had been exceedingly difficult to manage for anyone not made almost entirely of metal, and the smaller agriworld of Matilo II had become the home of the system’s human elites. Matilo I was now exclusively inhabited by tech priests and their varying creations, producing a range of technological goods for several nearby systems. Its population had also, Diatimon had learned, fallen to tech heresy and worship of the Dark Gods centuries ago. The Archmagos Mychasutra-Alfa, who had apparently single-handedly engineered this development and subsequently kept it hidden from the not especially prying eyes of Matilo II’s previous Lord Governor, was now on her way to meet Diatimon. According to the Herald, she had been very keen to meet when she had received news of his victory.

The people of Lucus Magnis had lined up along its wide avenues - first, to watch the delegation make its way from the Governor’s Palace to the port, and then to watch the procession tread the same path back. They were cheering as Diatimon walked past, some of the spectators clearly overcome by emotion and collapsing to the ground when he glanced at them. Servoskulls flew overhead, projecting music over the crowds. Though the music they played was fine, their small casters mangled the sound. It didn’t seem to matter to the excited crowds.

On his right, Lord Kallikles was walking at a steady pace, the servos in his ancient power armour sighing with every step. Diatimon’s own armour was severely damaged as a result of his arrival on Matilo, and the fighting it had subsequently been subjected to. It was still being repaired, and he had opted to instead wear robes in deep purple and with gold stitching that had been designed to his precise instructions. The sigils provided him some modicum of protection, but he still felt naked and exceedingly vulnerable. He was glad for Kallikles’ presence - and more importantly, that of Kallikles’ Choir, which marched closely behind him.

On his left, the Herald walked along quietly. Despite their apparent age and physical condition, they were easily keeping pace with the two Space Marines. Diatimon realized that he had still no idea how exactly the Herald had been blessed by the Dark Prince. They clearly were not - anymore - a normal human. He had seen them perform physical feats that far exceeded what people were ordinarily capable of, and they clearly maintained a pretty much continuous connection to the Warp in a way mortal minds would be unable to sustain for any amount of time. And yet, they looked so mundane.

The space port was small and unimpressive, like almost anything on this planet. Diatimon’s slaves had prepared a platform for him to stand on and to observe the arrival of the Mechanicum delegation. They had made a heroic attempt to create an impression of grandeur - carved pillars flanking the platform were draped in purple and pink flower garlands, spreading a cloying scent that barely masked the pungent air of promethium.

Archmagos Mychasutra was an imposing woman, or what remained of one. As tall as Diatimon, she moved gracefully over the uneven floor of the space port on a dozen adamantium-plated spider legs. As she bowed before the platform that Diatimon stood on, several of her legs continued to move, as if they were testing the air or probing the ground.

“Lord General Diatimon, it is an immense honour to meet one of the Perfect God’s Chosen,” she said. Her face was covered by an intricate silver mask, but her voice was clear and surprisingly human, though she had the stilted diction characteristic of a tech priest who was much more accustomed to communication in binharic than in Gothic.

Diatimon acknowledged her greeting with a nod.

“Please accept these gifts in honour of your ascension -” she waved one of her mechadendrites behind her, and several rows of naked servitors, their pale skin raw where their torsos met mechanical legs, moved forwards. They carried golden platters laden with weapons - swords, pistols, ornate bolt guns - and placed them on the platform in front of Diatimon.

Diatimon nudged one of the guns in front of him with a cloven hoof. The Archmagos was observing him carefully. Most of the weapons seemed fairly ordinary, though he was pleased to see that at least the tech adepts had ensured all of them were Astartes patterns. They would make up for some of the losses incurred in the fighting when he first arrived on Matilo II, as his men had become frustratingly reliant on human equipment and tools. Though they had been able to modify weapons and materiel to suit their needs, the tailor-made hodgepodge provided by the Mechanicum would suit them much better.

He turned to one of the slaves gathered beside the platform.

“Ensure that the Archmagos’ gifts are stored securely in the palace,” he said. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mychasutra shift slightly. She was relieved.

“Archmagos, I believe we are to lead a parade back to the palace. Will you accompany me?” Diatimon attempted a benign expression, though he was not sure how successful he was. He had always been skilled in diplomacy, a skill which had served him well before and after the Legion’s evolution. But, and he was not ashamed to admit it, it was a skill that required practice, and he had not had much occasion to practice it in the Warp.

After the parade, and a second round of elaborate public welcoming at the palace, Diatimon and Mychasutra were ushered into what had been established as Diatimon’s official chambers. The furniture was still mostly sized for baseline humans, but he had ordered his favourite woodcarver - formerly a peasant woman named Mariss - to craft him a throne. She had performed spectacularly. The throne was made of a local dark wood, its back adorned with reliefs depicting Diatimon battling his foes, and its armrests curling and weaving like vines. He had rewarded her handsomely with slaves to enable her to speed up production.

They were joined by the Herald, because Diatimon was unable to shake them, and several of the Herald’s own followers. Kallikles had remained steadfastly at Diatimon’s side and would continue to do so, Diatimon thought, at least until he was in possession of his armour again.

“So, Lord Diatimon,” Mychasutra had no need for a seat, it seemed - she had positioned herself in the middle of the room, impassively studying her surroundings. “While your ascension alone is a great boon for the system, what are your plans now? What will you do to spread the Perfect God’s light?”

Diatimon rested his chin in his hand. He must have been asked that question at least a dozen times, and every time he had lacked a clear answer.

“Surely, at least, you can share your plans to conquer the rest of Matilo II?” The Archmagos had interpreted his silence as reticence to share his plans, it seemed. “Rest assured, my forces will be at your disposal.”

The Herald took a step forward.

“If I may, my Lord?”

Diatimon waved his hand.

“Archmagos, Lord Diatimon is still developing his plans - the long-term success of the Perfect God in the system is naturally the foremost of his concerns. But we are yet to settle on the course of action that will most perfectly instantiate the God’s will. One obstacle is the final organization of the government. Lord Diatimon has many demesnes, and cannot fully commit to remaining on Matilo II forever. In fact,” they looked over at Diatimon - asking for permission, ostensibly, even though Diatimon knew they would likely proceed either way.

“In fact, we were hoping to have your input, as an honoured authority on the matters of planetary government - having so adeptly governed Matilo I for centuries. In your opinion, what do you envision for the system?”

The Archmagos seemed to contemplate this, though her face was still hidden and difficult to read. The Herald regarded her intently, a small smile on their round face. Diatimon sighed - he had the feeling they were going to be here a while.

“There are many ways to govern a planet,” the Archmagos said eventually. “But ultimately what each government has in common, is that so long as they hold power, what is best for them is what is best for the planet. If Lord Diatimon is going to be absent from the system, it is necessary to maintain control whatever the cost. To allow a slackening of the God’s Chosen’s grip, is to allow space in which enemies of the Perfect God can fester.”

The Herald nodded. Behind them, one of their servitors sputtered to life - it always accompanied them, Diatimon had noticed, and its main purpose seemed to be recording the Herald’s words. Though the Herald had been able to upgrade all their slaves and servitors since Diatimon’s rise to power, this particular one was still the same old servitor they had had when Diatimon first met them . It was almost as if they were attached to it.

“You are certainly correct,” the Herald began, pleasantly, “that the interests of all forms of government converge. To maintain control surely should be considered to be the foremost purpose of the government as anarchy can be exploited by those opposed to Perfection.”

“Indeed - I would say that naturally it follows that the good of the planet is whatever is good for the government, and vice versa. It follows that we need to ensure the flourishing of Lord Diatimon and his government, in order to ensure the flourishing of the system.” Mychasutra was emboldened by the Herald’s apparent encouragement.

“It is interesting you should say that,” the Herald responded. “If I follow your argument - and I by no means claim to have your level of insight in these matters - you are saying that the purpose of government is to pursue the good, that is, what is good for Lord Diatimon?”

“I am, yes.”

“But can you explain to me how pursuing what is good for Lord Diatimon will serve perfection and ward off anarchy? Or is the defence against anarchy a separate purpose of government, only incidentally aligned with what is good for Lord Diatimon?”

“No they are related - it would be good for Lord Diatimon to remove anarchy.”

“I see, your position surely makes sense. However, it does leave me to wonder,” the Herald paused, scratching their chin. They looked casual, but Diatimon had had enough of these types of conversations to know they were doing this very deliberately. All creatures blessed by Slaanesh chased satisfaction, and this is how the Herald worshipped - they were a stealth hunter, and their interlocutors were like oblivious prey. Diatimon could enjoy the spectacle, at least when he wasn’t the Herald’s target.

“Can you tell me, esteemed Archmagos, where exactly do we fit perfection in this picture?”

Mychasutra did not immediately respond.

“Herald, why don't you explain to the Archmagos what you are getting at?” Diatimon interfered, relieving her from the uncomfortable position she found herself in.

“Of course, Lord Governor Diatimon, Archmagos,” the Herald continued easily. “I was just struck by the following realization: as persuasive as the Archmagos's perspective appears, I could not see how it relates to Perfection and, surely, achieving perfection should be our ultimate goal?”

The Archmagos concurred.

“Then, can you agree that while your vision suggests part of what matters, it doesn’t represent the whole picture?”

Mychasutra shifted slightly, but nodded in affirmation.

“You have given us ingredients to work with, though the recipe is still missing,” the Herald began counting on their fingers. “You say that what benefits the government, benefits the planet. You also say that anarchy is a threat to the planet, and therefore to the government, no?”

“That is right.”

“And ultimately, anarchy is a threat to the Perfect God, of course.” The Herald held up three fingers. “Three ingredients, but no clear idea as to how they fit together. How do we go from these ingredients to a state of Perfection?”

“It looks like you have an idea - please do tell.”

Diatimon smiled - the Archmagos was a quick learner, and it seemed like she had figured out something of the Herald’s modus operandi already.

“Instead of trying to divine the recipe from the ingredients, let us start with developing an understanding of our purpose, so that we may then develop the best plan to achieve it. So let us work out what Perfection actually means, in order to then chart the path towards it.”

Diatimon held up his hand. “My dear Herald - let me help you here, and help the Archmagos. You once told me the following: that there are actually two types of perfection which converge - Slaanesh himself is Perfection, but also desires perfection. They are two sides of the same coin.”

The Herald nodded. “Indeed, you remember well. Perfection is necessarily singular, because what else could it be? Division is inimical to perfection. But at the same time, it makes sense to distinguish between Perfection, as embodied by the Perfect God, and perfection, as embodied by what the Perfect God desires for the universe.”

“So what does the Perfect God desire?” the Archmagos asked.

“I believe that, when I discussed this with the Lord Governor previously, I used a metaphor - I believe I said that like a candle desires to illuminate a room, uniting everything in its light, the God desires to illuminate the Universe, uniting everything in His Perfection. But we were debating a different matter, and we never had a chance to elaborate on this metaphor. Perhaps the opportunity to ask is now - what would a Perfect Universe, united in the light of Slaanesh look like?”

Diatimon shrugged, the soft fabric of his robes sliding loosely from one of his shoulders. Next to him, Kallikles cleared what was left of his throat.

“Does it have to do with the Prince’s song?” he asked the Herald.

The Herald turned to look at Kallikles, smiling generously. Diatimon had rarely seen them talk to each other, but he and the Herald often understood each other on some more basic level.

“Lord Kallikles, your contribution is as valuable as ever. A song - the song - is a perfect microcosm in which we can see true Perfection at work. But, I do wonder whether we cannot start with something easier, because not everyone knows the song as intimately as you. Something which even the basest human can understand…” they looked around, until their gaze came to rest on Diatimon’s partially exposed chest. “Why don’t we start with that which in itself can be both the greatest example of Perfection, and the most base, most detestable example of imperfection - the human body?”

Catching the Herald’s eyes, as they still lingered on his form, Diatimon hissed - “if you suggest that there is anything remotely human about my body, Herald…”

The Herald held up their hands in an apologetic gesture, but didn’t respond directly. Instead, they turned back towards the Archmagos.

“You understand, more than anyone, that the flesh is weak,” they said. “But at the same time, the human mind is a marvel, and does not the Perfect God teach us that sensations of the body are an indispensable part of His worship?”

“It seems like a paradox for sure,” Mychasutra responded.

“Of course, the paradox is only illusory. But let us work out what is going on here - how can contemplating a human help us better understand true Perfection? It seems to me, for example, that a good starting point is to ask - what makes a human, who is capable of perfection or the lack thereof? I don’t mean,” the Herald chuckled, “simply the limbs, hands, and so on. Rather, I mean its basic metaphysical component.”

“Are you talking about…the soul?” the Archmagos asked.

“Indeed, the soul or spirit is the key component that makes a human. But tell me next, what is it that makes a soul?”

“It’s not clear to me what that means, Herald.”

“Then consider this, Archmagos - is the soul necessarily unitary, or can it be divided?”

“I would think that souls can be divided.”

“Indeed,” the Herald said, satisfied. “If the soul is what gives life to the human, it would need to be divided. For example, how can we explain how a person can be both thirsty, yet refuse to drink?”

“It seems very contradictory behaviour, certainly”, Mychasutra acknowledged.

“Yet if we think of the soul as divided, it becomes clear that the contradiction is not real. As it is the soul which gives life to the person, it stands to reason that it gives life to the different parts of the person. But different parts of the person have different demands - the body demands nourishment, for example, whereas the mind demands intellectual stimulation. As such, there should be a part of the soul corresponding to each part of the person it animates.”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

“Thus, while one part of the soul may desire to drink, a different part - for its own reasons - may desire not to drink.”

“That’s right.”

“So, what are the parts the soul consists of? We have already identified that part that corresponds to the body, and that part that corresponds to the soul. Is that all that makes up the soul?”

“I do not think so, Herald. For people also experience emotions, which can go against the demands of both body and mind.”

“Very good, dear Archmagos!” The Herald said cheerily. “When someone is in conflict about whether to drink or not, torn between the demands of body and mind, they are likely to feel anger at their predicament. Thus, we can identify three main parts of the soul.”

“Yes,” the Archmagos said, “that would be a perfectly natural conclusion for us to
come to.”

“Now then, in which part of the soul can we expect to find perfection?”

“I would say that perfection is most likely found in the part corresponding to the mind, Herald. For it is the mind that is most capable of imagining perfection and which allows us to investigate it.”

“That is a good thought, but let’s investigate it a little further. The mind surely is capable of perfection - the mind can conjure up the most perfect images, but can it really achieve perfection?”

“I suppose it is imperfect in the sense that it needs the body - or an appropriate machine - to really achieve perfection.”

“So perhaps, it is then in the part corresponding to the body that we can find perfection?” the Herald asked.

“As that part of the soul is the source of desires for food, drink, and physical pleasure, I imagine that is the view of many people.”

“Indeed - as the Perfect God is also known as the Prince of Pleasure, that is a plausible assumption. As we already noticed earlier, the experience of sensation is certainly a crucial aspect of the Perfect God’s worship. Yet at the same time, the mind can also be a source of pleasure - those intellectual pleasures associated with dreams, for instance. So the body is not the sole seat of pleasure. Yet the body is the sole source of several tendencies that certainly go against the aim of perfection. After all, the body is also the seat of laziness, of impassivity, of disease, and so on.”

“Yes, that is, in part, why my erstwhile colleagues refer to the weakness of the flesh.”

“And have we not also seen this in many an unwary and careless worshipper of Slaanesh?”

The Archmagos turned to face Diatimon briefly before responding. Though he could not see her face, he thought she sounded surprised when she spoke.

“What do you mean with that, Herald?”

“I speak of those worshippers who, in their pursuit of pleasures of the body become stagnant, lazy, fat, and ultimately incapable of pursuing pleasure any longer. The continual pursuit of perfection, whether in combat or in physical pleasure, requires a certain degree of focus which is inimical to the base impulses of the flesh - which can only, I suggest, come from the intellectual or, perhaps, the spirited part of the soul.”
“I see now what you mean, Herald, and I’m inclined to agree. The weakness of the body, and that part of the soul that corresponds to it, is often an enemy to perfection.”

“Then perhaps we find perfection in the part of the soul that is spirited and emotional?”

“I doubt it, Herald, for the same reason as why the previous part could not be the location we are looking for - after all, emotions like fear and anger are also antithetical to perfection.”

“Alas, and so we have not progressed from where we started - perfection is neither in the intellectual part, nor the spirited part, nor the appetitive part of the soul.” The Herald shook their head.

“I’m sure you’ve got an idea about how to get out of this, Herald?” Diatimon offered.

“Lord Governor, you flatter me. I am puzzled! But a thought did strike me - we may have overlooked something important here. We have looked at the parts of the soul for so long, that we have forgotten to consider the whole. No one part could exist in isolation, after all. For example, the intellectual part requires the nourishment provided by the appetitive part, or the whole person would wither and die. And while aggression by itself is antithetical to perfection, the spirited part of the soul is still required to provide protection and security to the whole. But at the same time, just as each component can support and bolster the other, so can each component overwhelm and oppress the others.”

“I see,” the Archmagos said thoughtfully. “Someone whose soul is overwhelmed by the intellectual part, would pursue the fancies of the intellect without regard for their survival, or their physical needs. They may become unmoored in the conjurations of their imagination. I have certainly met some of those people among those who cling to the ways of Mars!”

“Or among what remains of the sons of Magnus,” Kallikles added.

“Indeed, friends. You have understood the picture. Of course, just as we can all think of people who fit the Archmagos’ example, there are also those who fit one of the different types of imbalance. For example, consider someone who is purely driven by the appetitive part. They will be driven by impulse, pursuing the needs of their body, but lacking the intellectual virtues that would allow them to determine the perfect course of action to achieve their goals. Torn between competing appetites, they would stagnate and starve because they would be unable to prioritize. Or conversely, and depending on their circumstances, they would pursue food, drink and security so mindlessly that they become bloated, diseased, mere animals. That characterizes the followers of the False Emperor - or perhaps even the human followers of Nurgle, who seek the Plague Father’s embrace to remedy the stagnation brought on by the loss of the atrophying of the intellectual part of their soul.”

“The sons of Mortarion do not seem to fit, on the whole, in this picture - but I must admit that while they may have plenty of spirit, they certainly seem lacking when it comes to the intellectual part of their souls,” Kallikles rasped. Diatimon suppressed a laugh, unsure whether Kallikles had intended to make a joke.

“Finally, those for whom the spirited part is the dominant part of their soul act like animals in a different way - simply driven by the endless anger of directionless emotion. It is among these people that the Blood God finds his worshippers first of all. For it is he who, above all, encourages people to disregard the pleasures of the body and the intellect in pursuit of violent anger. It is only when he has his blood-soaked claws in his followers, that they realize he does not care whether they live or die, so long as their souls persist for his collection.”

“So where does the Perfect God fit in?” Mychasutra asked.

“I can’t help but feel like I have failed you all - and you, my Lord Governor, above all - by leading you down this long and winding path. But, I think the answer is finally in front of us after all!”

Their face lit up. “Perfection is not in any one component of the soul, but, it seems to me, it is in the balance of the three parts that we can truly find what we have been looking for. The perfect person is one for whom the intellectual part, the spirited part and the appetitive part all play their appropriate roles, without one overpowering any of the others. And just as Tzeentch feeds on those with an excess of mind, and Khorne on those with an excess of spirit, and so on, those who are in perfect balance belong to the Perfect God.”

“It is not surprising, then, that the Perfect God is also the Youngest God, for He is the culmination of what came before,” Kallikles suggested. “He could only come into existence after the other three, but in coming into existence, he has immediately surpassed them.”

“That is precisely right, Lord Kallikles. Your intellect is as impressive as your understanding of the Perfect God’s song. And oh - that reminds me! Your original example, the song. We should now be able to see clearly why it was such a great example.”

“Indulge us, Herald,” the Archmagos said. “Though I have many qualities, and have strived for perfection my whole life, I must confess that I lack the musical talent of someone like Lord Kallikles.”

“Do not hold it against yourself, Archmagos,” the Herald reassured her. “Few are as blessed by our Perfect God as Lord Kallikles. But to answer your question - music, any piece of music, consists of multiple parts: the rhythm, the pitch, timbre, and the like. But most importantly, music is recognized as possessing a harmony, or a melody, which is the combination of the various parts. So if we had started with music as an analogy, we may not have spent so long on working out where to find true perfection - while we may speak of “perfect pitch” or a “perfect rhythm”, when we speak of perfect music we naturally refer to the whole, which exceeds in its perfection the nature of the parts.

“But it occurs to me,” the Herald continued, “that while we have established where to find perfection, the true nature of perfection still eludes us. How should the ingredients be combined, precisely? What counts as the perfect balance of the component parts? In music it is easy - each part has a clearly defined role. Rhythm isn’t created by a perfect balance of woodwind and string instruments, nor is timbre created by the perfect succession of notes and tones. It may be more difficult to see what the balance should be in a person, as the three parts of the soul can all be weaker or stronger in any given individual.”

“Given everything we have discussed, it strikes me that whatever the balance looks like, the appetitive part must be suitably controlled,” the Archmagos suggested after some reflection. “After all, though the appetitive part is linked to desire, it is also clear that it is the greatest threat to perfection, as it is associated with laziness and impulsiveness.”

“You are naturally correct - after all, is the body - to which the appetitive part most naturally connects - not the one part that can most easily be replaced without threatening the integrity of the person? But, it is worth remembering that the body still has a role to play - while impulsive and lazy, the body nourishes the soul with sensation and provides a suitable outlet for many a noble desire.”

“So what, then, must the balance be?”

“If you will permit me, Archmagos, a suggestion - I am not saying this is the answer, but it seems plausible to me. It seems to me appropriate to say that the intellectual part should be at the centre, for the mind provides cunning and the ability to appreciate perfection in all its guises. Without intellect, the body would succumb to idleness and fear, and man would utterly lack the foresight necessary for true success. But the intellectual part on its own is weak and feeble, and easily tricked by appetites to abandon its plans - it needs the spirited part in order to constrain the appetites because emotions are what help keep a distracted mind from straying too far off the path it has set for itself. The spirited part then, would be the intellectual part’s second-in-command, ensuring the protection and survival of the whole, and not afraid to speak up when the mind is in danger of getting lost in one of its flights of fancy. Finally, the appetitive part, though constantly pulling the mind toward idleness, is a protective shield, and source of nourishment and stimulation that keeps the whole soul alive and well-developed. The body may also, of course, be the canvas upon which the soul pursues its projects, but that is not always the case.”

“So the perfect person is one whose intellect is in charge, but willing to listen to emotion, while both work together to control the body?” Mychasutra did not, to Diatimon’s ears, sound entirely convinced.

“Indeed, that is how I see it,” the Herald responded. “But I can see you still have doubts. Perhaps it helps to consider another analogy. Picture a voidship, lost in dangerous warpcurrents, or perhaps a particularly tricky gravity well. Most of its crew are given especially to laziness and reactiveness, though can be set to work effectively with the right impulses. Some of its crew are frightened by the situation they find themselves in, and prone to violent outbursts if something gets in their way. And finally, because it is the rarest of traits, a small number of the crew have a complete knowledge of the warp and the mechanics of voidtravel, know the workings of the ship and the routes they need to take - though they may lack the physical strength and endurance to enforce their will, or to operate the machine’s many parts. Who, in that situation, would you want to have take command of the ship?”

“Of course, the latter group!” the Archmagos exclaimed.

“And how will this group - small and physically weak as they are - convince the idle masses to be guided by them?”

“Naturally, with the help of the second group.”

“Then you see it from my perspective. Neither the first nor the second group is fit to be in charge for any period of time, or perfection will forever slip from our grasp. But neither should the last group rely only on its own minds, for they need to work with the other two to achieve their aims. And there you have it, the answer to the question we started with!”

“But Herald, to my recollection, it appears we started originally with the question of how to govern a planet. How does what we have said so far answer that question?” The Archmagos looked from the Herald to Diatimon. Diatimon wondered whether she was trying to gauge if she had missed the obvious. To be fair to her, if he hadn’t been so used to the Herald’s approach by now, he probably would have been confused as well.

“Indeed - like a poorly managed voidship, we have drifted off course. It is time to retrace our steps, and move back from the perfect human to the perfect state. Luckily it is not hard, for it is easy to see that the components of each of us are also present in the state, and that the same qualities flow from us to the state.”

“On what basis do you make that claim?”

“Is it not the case that if we have a group that consists of many people with an excess of mind, the group as a whole will demonstrate the qualities of a person with an excess of mind? By that I mean that the group as a whole will be subject to flights of fancy, overly intellectual, and so on.”

“You are correct.”

“And the same can be said about a group made up mostly of those with different imbalances. So it is necessary to determine of a given group, which people make up which part - mind, spirit, body - to ensure that there is the correct balance in society, as there is in a perfect person.”

“I see your point.”

“So, just as with a person, or a ship, so with a planet - the mind should be in charge, working suitably with the soul to control and direct the body. Of course, on a ship, the mind should be reflected in the Captain. So then, the final question is this: who represents the mind in a society? Who represents spirit, and who represents the appetitive part?”

“The appetitive part is represented by the masses, of that I have no doubt.”

“And the spirited part would then correspond to what passes for the fighting classes among them,” Diatimon added dourly, now seeing the path the Herald had laid out for him.

“Exactly, Lord Governor. And, Archmagos, who would represent the intellectual part?”

“The wisest, surely.”

“Ah, but a Captain who knows a lot about, say, art and little about void travel may be considered wise in that respect, but is nevertheless unsuited to the role of Captain.”

“Then it should be those who are wisest with respect to the question of achieving perfection.”

“And with that insight, you have marked yourself out as a candidate, Archmagos! But to be more general, you are of course right that if we want to achieve perfection, those with the best knowledge of perfection should be put in charge - with a suitable force at their command to corral and shape the body of the society, the masses.”

“I agree, Herald, and we should ensure that such a balance is maintained within a society in order to guarantee the achievement of perfection,” the Archmagos said firmly, her head nodding in appreciation.

Having worked out the Herald’s intended conclusion, Diatimon rose from his chair.

“And in general, dear Herald, who do you consider to be those who understand perfection best of all?” he asked. “I know you, and you are going to say it is certainly not you, in spite of this merry dance you’ve led us in.”

“Lord Governor, you are correct as always. As you know, of course, I consider myself a mere guide - helping others along the path of perfection. I claim no understanding of perfection,” the Herald said, with an apologetic tone.

“Then who do you consider to be best suited for this task?”

The Herald turned back to the Archmagos, a broad smile on their face.

“In truth, the answer has been in front of us all along. Quite literally, indeed! Those chosen by Slaanesh, His favoured sons, have the best claim to understand true Perfection. Most of us have merely seen reflections of reflections of the Perfect God’s true magnificence, but those whose father has been elevated beyond all humanity by the Perfect God, are surely in the best position to grasp the true nature of Perfection.”

“So, Herald, we are where you intended us to arrive all along - I am to remain here, and in charge, until Perfection is achieved for Matilo?” Lord Diatimon sighed. Though the Matilo system - rich in resources but sparsely populated; isolated, but in close proximity to the bounty of the worlds of Ultramar - was certainly a jewel in his collection, he had no intention of staying here. Yet the Herald, it seemed, was intent on keeping him here to further some as-yet unclear plan.

“Lord Governor, with the extent of your possessions I could not possibly ask that of you - but, if I can speak candidly, the presence of you and your men in the system would appear to be the surest way to advance the cause of the Perfect God.” The Herald paused, looking from Diatimon to Kallikles to the Archmagos.

“At least,” they continued at last, more pragmatically, “if your presence is required elsewhere, I would suggest that you leave some of your most trusted brothers here to govern in your absence.”

“We will continue this later.” Diatimon straightened his robes as he started to leave. “You have made your point, and I’m sure the Archmagos has more important business to attend to than listening to your philosophizing.”

Mychasutra quickly bowed as Diatimon strode past her. “Lord Governor, I plan to attend to the representatives of Matilo I on this planet, and to ensure they support our endeavours.”

Diatimon frowned. “You think not all tech priests on Matilo II are loyal?”

“I have no doubt in my mind that they are, but I would like to ensure this is the case. I have been absent from Matilo II for too long, and I’m sure I’ll find one or two among their number who may be used as an example to ensure continued compliance.”

Diatimon had never really got along with tech priests, neither their imperial variants nor the ones who had followed the path of Chaos. They were, in his experience, officious, dogmatic, annoying. Archmagos Mychasutra, though, had turned out to be quite pleasant company. Perhaps her allegiance to the Dark Prince had had some positive influence - loosened her up a little, compared to her more doctrinaire fellows.

The meeting had left Diatimon somewhat drained, as encounters with the Herald usually did. Without really thinking, he walked the corridors of his mortal-sized palace until he found himself outside the gymnasium.

Kallikles appeared at his side.

“The Herald is very wise,” he rasped. “You ought to treat them with a bit more seriousness.”

“The Herald may be wise, but they are also very annoying”. Diatimon, hand on the door to the gymnasium, paused.

“I will tolerate them, because they are clearly sent here by the Dark Prince with some kind of purpose. But you and I, we’ve lived for centuries, travelled the length and breadth of the universe, fought side-by-side with greater daemons and laid siege to the False Emperor’s Palace - I simply do not need to put up with the irritating habits of philosophically-inclined mortals, even those who speak with the voice of the God.”

Kallikles regarded him silently. Most of the lower half of his face and throat had been entirely replaced by a cluster of vox grilles, but Diatimon was sure he could still see the disapproval in his expression. Finally, Kallikles nodded to the great double doors and unsheathed his sabre. “We train?”

“Always, my dear friend.”

With a smile, Diatimon stepped into the gymnasium. “After all, as they say, practice makes perfect.”