Despite making countless preparations and rehearsing countless speeches in his mind, Lucresius Corvo still lost the ability to speak when he saw Konrad Curze in person.
He was not as tall as Roboute Guilliman; that much was obvious. His lean frame explained part of the reason.
Set in his pale face were a pair of quiet eyes, black as gleaming onyx. He calmly watched Corvo and the five hundred Ultramarines entering the banquet hall, standing with his hands behind his back beneath the soft lighting, the silver trim of his evening attire glinting.
"Good evening, Ultramarines who have come from afar—my brother's sons. You have worked hard."
He spoke softly, his voice not loud, yet everyone heard him clearly.
That noble Ancient Terran accent was far too obvious to Corvo. After all, he was not from Macragge. He was Terran-born.
Such a classical accent was nearly impossible for Corvo to believe—had this primarch not been found on Nostramo? Why was his accent so refined?
"I have heard of your sacrifices. You were willing to leave your primarch and Legion behind and travel all the way to Nostramo. I am deeply grateful for your protection of Nostramo's future and hope."
The tall, pale giant—lean in precisely the right way, so lean that one felt he ought to look exactly like this—smiled and raised his right hand in an elegant gesture.
"All the long tables in Nightfall's banquet hall were specially designed. Today, one of them shall be used solely to entertain you."
"We—we are deeply grateful for your kindness."
Corvo's first syllable came out far too high, but he quickly realized the problem and calmed the voice that had nearly sounded like a roar.
His adjutant discreetly nudged Corvo's elbow with his right hand, using exactly the right amount of force.