“Surrender is not our intention with this visit, but we do wish to resolve this bloody struggle,” Picard replied curtly. “It is my understanding that you have come to negotiate your surrender.” The Warmaster delivered this information plainly, thinking nothing of it. “I am Horus,” the imposing figure stated in a deep and booming voice. Despite himself, Picard could not help but remark at this man’s aura, a mixture of fear and awe overtaking him. He stood well above the already immensely sized men.
But all of these beings were dwarfed by their superior, a bald man, he wore no armour instead favoring a collection of animal pelts from various worlds across the Galaxy. Each of these armoured men was adorned with a single crest of a moon at various stages, a crescent, gibbous, half, and full moon. His observations were cut short as he immediately noticed the giants standing before him, four imposing figures whom Picard only stood as tall as their chests wore a magnificent shade of grey, not dissimilar to the gleam of the moon orbiting Earth. Maintenance crews working formically to maintain and more disturbingly arm the craft in the event negotiations fall through. The Landing bay was no less grandiose, with hundreds of rows of strangely shaped ships filling the floor. He gathered his retinue and departed from the Enterprise, many kilometers in the distance, their destination loomed, even from this distance, the ship’s name The Vengeful Spirit clearly seen. He could only hope that this Horus could be brought to see reason. Men capable of such wanton ruthlessness rarely ever experience battle or the horrors of war personally. But considering the death and destruction wrought by this man’s command, perhaps such a title is aptly placed. The grandiosity of the word itself outstreched any whom could possibly qualify for it. “Warmaster…” he thought, a bemusing title if ever Picard had heard one. Horus' demands were simple, "Join the Imperium, or see your Federation be destroyed" We sent delegates to meet with their leader, a man named Warmaster Horus. Unlike our contemporaries, our call for a truce had been accepted. We had no friends to turn to in our time of need as planet after planet fell at the Federation’s fringes. It appeared that they faced the brunt of their cruelty. Similar fleets had waged wars of utter extermination against the Klingons and Romulans.
Their ships- immense cathedrals many kilometers long- carried weapons which lit up the blackness of space to such a degree that we could not hope to match. Every fleet we threw at these invaders became sacrificed for little gain. The war, if it could even be called that, raged on for 7 months.
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