The conditions inside the factory were not particularly dreadful, at least compared to other Chaos warbands that were poor at management.
There were no maddening speakers from Slaanesh warbands, loud enough to explode heads; no rotting sludge from Nurgle warbands dragging at one's feet; no endless paired duels from Khorne warbands; no pure randomness from Tzeentch warbands, where output depended entirely on rolling dice.
The Iron Warriors had been among the foremost forces capable of destroying the Imperium ten thousand years ago, and ten thousand years later, they would still be the Imperium's greatest nightmare.
Within the Eye of Terror, only two factions could provide an unending stream of logistical support to the ever-warring, ever-fracturing Chaos warbands.
One was the Dark Mechanicum. The other was the Iron Warriors.
Whenever the smith Sander heard the earth-shaking roar of the furnaces, he felt deeply invigorated by the fact that they had created such a scene in so chaotic a place.
Walking through the sleepless god of iron, his eyes swiftly and coldly sweeping over the laborers and slaves moving through it, Sander felt that this was how mortals ought to be, rather than copying the Imperium's foolishness and allowing a government built by mortals to stand above the Space Marines.
Yet among the slaves, Sander spotted a small disturbance that displeased him.
He saw an overseer in conflict with several slaves, though he did not know exactly what had happened. He ordered the two soldiers beside him to wait there while he decided to restore order to the factory.
Just as the Iron Warriors had forged their merciless two-tiered hierarchy, the mighty and terrifying Space Marines possessed layer upon layer of ranks and rules among themselves. The slaves toiling below were no different.
A large portion of Medrengard's population consisted of mortal