Age of Burning Empires: IC

[SteelWriter77]

It was time, the last Primarch had been found and the twenty Legions were now ready for their true task. The reunification of mankind across the stars, a task centuries in the making, now seemed within grasp. Of course the Plan had gone awry with the separation of the Primarchs and the time spent to ensure the Core Imperial territories were secure. But it was not matter for The Emperor, Master of Mankind and leader of the Three Grand Armies. He now sets loose his children to retake Humanity's place in the galaxy, his worries over what could go wrong overshadowed by his drive to keep humanity safe from the terrors in the dark.

Unbeknownst to him and others, the Terrors of the Dark have already begun their own movements, like a dread sickness they have infested one of the twenty and turned them against mankind.

Despite this, they still believe hope is still possible. If only they could see it, avoid the coming doom. But this galaxy is not a place of hope, it is a realm of Empires rising and falling, a chaotic cycle that may never truly end.

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" My Primarchs, it is time for the Great Crusade to reach it's new stage. Expand the domain of the Imperium, let the separation of our lost brothers and sisters among the stars come to an end. Put a stop to the Eldar's Raids on the southern portion of the Imperium and end the ongoing war that spills into our Realm, Do Not Fail Me"
Message from the Emperor of Mankind to all Legions and their Primarchs.​

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Spoiler: T0 Map

Spoiler: Roster/Stats

Roster/Stats:
1. The Skull Legion
Leader(s): Adaam Primus
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 50,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Greyskull, 10 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 10 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: None

2.
Leader(s): Savnok
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 25 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 10 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 5 Navy Groups

3.
Leader(s): Memnon
Ideology: Imperial Truth (Emperor Worship:3)
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 25 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 30 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 20 Navy Groups

4.
Leader(s): Myrmidia
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion:75,000 /100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 20 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 5 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy:10 Navy Groups

5.
Leader(s): TJG
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man (Five Paths)
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Gloriana, 20 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 20 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 20 Navy Groups

6.
Leader(s): Alaric
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 50,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge,15 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 5 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 5 Navy Groups

7.
Leader(s): Minerva
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 50,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: FM, 20 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: None
Auxiliary Navy: 20 Navy Groups


8.
Leader(s): Zyanya
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 75,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Space Hulk, 10 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 35 + Titans
Auxiliary Navy: None

9.
Leader(s): Khaldeon
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 25 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 20 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 20 Navy Groups

10.
Leader(s): Ferrus Manus
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Gloriana, 15 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 10 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 10 Navy Groups

11.
Leader(s): Sampson
Ideology: Imperial Truth (Emperor Worship: 2)
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 15 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: None
Auxiliary Navy: None

12.
Leader(s): Varil
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 50,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge,15 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: None
Auxiliary Navy: None

13.
Leader(s): Foniás/Kólasi
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 25 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: None
Auxiliary Navy: None

14.
Leader(s): Ba'al Hamon
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 75,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: 20 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 25 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 20 Navy Groups

15.
Leader(s): Axinos Bruti
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion:200,000 /200,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 25 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 30 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 30 Navy Groups

16.
Leader(s): Antheia/Soter
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 75,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 20 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 5 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 10 Navy Groups

17.
Leader(s): Lorgar
Ideology: Imperial Truth (Emperor Worship: One)
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Gloriana, 15 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 25 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 15 Navy Groups

18.
Leader(s): Ahurani
Ideology: ???
Faction: Imperium of Man (Forced)
Astartes Legion: 25,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 10 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 30 Battle Groups
Auxiliary Navy: 15 Navy Groups

19.
Leader(s): Bakiligi Yuvian
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion: 100,000/100,000
Astartes Navy: Gloriana, 15 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: None
Auxiliary Navy: 10 Navy Groups

20.
Leader(s): Aurelia Verona
Ideology: Imperial Truth
Faction: Imperium of Man
Astartes Legion:25,000 /100,000
Astartes Navy: Battlebarge, 25 Navy Groups
Auxiliary Army: 35 Battle Groups + Titans
Auxiliary Navy: 35 Navy Groups

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Prelude​

Terra, beating heart of the Imperium, within generations the galaxy. The megastructures of the new world rising from the blasted post atomic wasteland of the old. Starscrapers, spires, artificial oceans,, gardens, the mighty dome of the Astronomican then remarkable bunker complex turned continent sized palace. It was a marvel, more importantly it was a machine. Scurrying through the labyrinth were untold trillions of serfs, administrators, soldiers and the nobility of the burgeoning Imperium, working day and night to keep the mighty engine of the Emperor's vision running, unaware that they were being observed by the most feverent guardian of that vision.

The Primarch of the Eternity Guard could have been carved from the same gold infused marble as the palace he guarded. Disconcertingly Tall and strongly built, his features were hard, fierce and stern. His eyes were cold emerald's observing the world, missing and forgiving nothing. In form at least he embodied his function perfectly. For it was his duty to focus on the details and allow the Emperor freedom to focus on the grander scheme of things.

Savnok was proud of the marvel humanity had carved from its motherworld, he was aware of the symbolic and political importance of the Throneworld's beauty and opulence, a promise of humanity's glorious future. But potentially a false promise, unless corrective action was taken and soon. In the standard Terran day he had stood vigil from the observation tower high in the stratosphere he had observed no less than seventy two thousand and four hundred and nine obvious weaknesses and inefficiencies. It seemed logical that there would be at least double that number not immediately apparent to a visual examination.

Terra was among the most defended world's in the Imperium, quite possibly the Galaxy, but quantity did not equal efficiency or competency. Its defences had been designed, constructed and its garrisons deployed decades or even centuries before. The landscape both physical and human had changed dramatically since then, gun positions had submerged under urban sprawl, Arbites barracks had found themselves policing multitudes of people a hundred times the number that their resources and dispositions had been optimised for, pleasure gardens and decorative features had created numerous structural weak points and new pieces of vital infrastructure such as the Astronomican were not given adequate priority in defence plans drawn up decades before its construction despite being the essential keystone to the Imperium's ability to grow or even survive.

Savnok, true to his nature, had patiently begun working on the problem. The most military ideal solution was of course a massive policy of demolition and reconstruction, fortifying Terra from molten core to burning star; reorienting its existing defences, removing or compensating for every weak point, shifting trillions of citizens to more strategically optimum locations and transforming the world into the greatest fortress in the history of the Galaxy. Ideal, that was the proper term for he was well aware how far from reality such a proposal was. There would be widespread political and popular resistance to the project from all corners. Savnok cared not, if necessary he could and would overcome, but rather more importantly it would go against the Emperor's own vision, in protecting it he could constrain and delay it, utterly unacceptable. Terra was a symbol of strength, but also one of progress, innovation, glory and peace. Its defence was paramount but not at the expense of its primary functions.

So he worked backwards from the ideal, making compromises of his own weighing the danger of threats both known, knowingly unknown and most dangerous of all those unknown unknowns which were impossible as yet to hypothesise but could never be discounted. The Emperor's protector diligently laboured, the wonder of unrivalled computation of a primarch's brain furiously turning over millions of data points every second as he crafted a proposal that in its simplicity and practically rivalled any work of art in human history. His father's work of bioengineering was unrivalled and Savnok refused to let it go to waste.

It was four days before he returned to the depths of the palace. He toured the outer area first, using its tubes and teleporters and his own two feet to cover its thousands of miles, personally making the first adjustments to the dispositions of the Old Guard whilst he pondered a problem from more difficult than a mere solar system wide defence reorganization. The opposition of Constantin Valdor.

The other High Lords came and went, they could be swayed, reasoned with, intimidated or simply circumvented or overcome. The Captain General was much more than a mortal, in his own way more than an Astartes or even a Primarch, his loyalty to the Emperor, his competence, his unshakable conviction and self belief. He was truly an example to aspire to, but he was also a formidable obstacle and difficult personality that was needlessly unpleasant to interact with. If he had not seen fit to intervene previously then he would have his reasons and be completely unwilling to change course just because or especially because a mere Primarch thought it a good idea. In Savnok's view that was the Captain General's concern, they all had a duty to endure in the Emperor's service, this was conducive to that service and so Valdor would just have to endure Savnok as Savnok endured his admittedly well founded if aggravating arrogance.


Of course searching for Constantin Valdor is a task in itself, but Savnok would not have to wait long before Valdor would find him. It was in the upper parts of the Palace, a full three days of searching before the one many of the Imperial Court called a "Primarch" in all but name, made himself known to Savnok.

Appearing from an unseen pathway, the Golden clad guard of the Emperor stood in front of Savnok "You have caused a stir with the High Lords, for what reason do you bother them Lord Primarch" the man's tone was cold and distant, but emphasis was placed on the title of Primarch.

"I needed their aqussience, as I need yours Captain General." Savnok for his part was genuinely respectful, at least in regards to title. For any honour bestowed by the Emperor himself was one that he would cast no aspirations on. "Terra's defences have been allowed to atrophy, there is an urgent need for modernisation and rationalisation."

There is little emotion to the Captain General's face as the Primarch speaks, he can tell that a slight sharpening of Valdor's eyes happens as soon as the defences of Terra are brought up. "With all....respect Lord Primarch, the defences of Terra and Sol are not matters you are to be involved in, the Crusade is all that should matter to you and your Legion. Now cease your disturbance of the High Lords, some are proving to be a nuscensice to my Brothers in the Thunder Warriors."

"With respect Captain General, you mistake me. The Crusade is my sole concern, it does not start or end on any battlefield or campaign but with the furthering of the Emperor's goals and defence of his support network. Terra is the linchpin of our Galactic campaign, in the longer term it will become the centre of the Galaxy, the Astronomicon alone is the keystone to mankind's destiny. Whilst I am present on the throneworld awaiting father's next campaign or whatever mission he can trust to the Guard alone I would be remiss in my duties to stand idle and allow weakness and complacency to set in. My Legion contains the foremost Siege Engineers in the Imperium, my sons are its most steadfast defenders and I possess one of the twenty greatest minds in human history thanks to my father's mastery of the human genome." Savnok speaks with that straight-forward arrogance of his, so self assured it sounded almost humble, a mere statement of fact without bravosity or strong emotion.

"My involvement would be beneficial and preventing it detrimental to the fulfillment of the Emperor's vision." He concludes, and now the pride is in his voice, along with something stronger and more dangerous.

Valdor simply sighs as he looks impassively to a high tower in the distance and nods, before looking back to the Primarch "You Overstep yourself Savnok, who is to aid in the defence of Terra is not yours to decide it is the Emperor's and the High Lords, and yet you try to usurp this process by utilizing the weakness of the other High Lords for your favor, a disappointing tactic would you not say so Brother Adriuius." a sudden set of thuds, that could be described as foot falls is heard as Lord General Adriuius Ushotan of the Thunder Warriors steps into the light, heavily scarred glaring at the Primarch with disdain "Another poor excuse of a soldier, not willing to set aside his pride and be gifted the honor he wants. Peh, I see why these Primarchs are seen with little respect by you old friend.`` Unlike the Custodes, the Thunder Warrior held no stoic nature and was more brutish and reminiscent of a taskmaster of the Imperial Army.

"As you can see Savnok, two of the three commanders of the Emperor's Personal armies, do not see why you have attempted this action, despite your Legions admitted skill and your own personal insight, The Final word is not up to you." The Words were dispassionate and it was clear that Valdor was taking a firm stance on this matter.

Savnok's gaze had briefly turned to the distant tower, and even as the insulting rebukes reverberated around the chamber he was already considering his position. A direct assault without adequate preparation was often futile. He had misjudged the situation and now stood on dangerous ground.
"You are the Emperor's greatest and oldest commanders, he trusts you absolutely, as such so do I." He admitted. "I apologize for overstepping, I should have sought you out with my concerns in the first place. I misjudged the situation." He confessed. "I know father trusts in your judgement and with good cause, but he also trusts in mine. You note my pride, of course I am proud, I am a soldier of the Emperor of Man and am doing what I believe to be necessary to further his cause. Nothing in the galaxy is more worthy of pride than that. I believe that the defences of Terra can be improved, I took steps to that end and you believe I have erred in my methods. I accept your judgement but I ask that you trust in mine, Terra *can* be better defended and it should."

The Two old warriors look at eachother, The Stoic Custodes, a face as impassive as ever. And the Thunder Warrior, his glare ever present. "... Your Concern is noted Lord Primarch, it has come across our Emperor's Attention that such a remaking of Terra is needed. But we have been under strict orders to wait for the last of your lost kin before the plans can be implemented. The exact details have been kept to the Lord Sigillet and the…. other of the Emperor's Inner Circle." The harsh sharpness of the Custodes eyes lessens and instinctively the Thunder Warrior's own glare lessens to a slight scowl his order is known for.

Valdor turns to walk away from Savnok, his speech continuing "Do not take my Words as a personal attack Lord Primarch, you had simply taken initiative on an action needed to take place, had it been any other world and such an act would be worthy of praise. But the Plans for Terra are something the Emperor has a specific vision for and only the most worthy of the Primarchs is needed for its final state."

The Two warriors continue to walk away from the Primarch, their conversion having concluded with no need for confirmation from the Savnok.

Savnok heeded neither praise nor the implied insults. His attention turning inwards towards the heart of the palace. "Your will be done, Father." He murmured. He was unconcerned at the implication that the final Primarch would supplant him, the others had proven so disappointing as a rule. But the reaffirmation that there was a larger design, that filled him with an intense feeling, a need. To be a part of it, to earn his place as always. And for now that meant staying within the limits, they had been set for a reason and it was not his to question why. "I will not disappoint you again."

Unbeknownst to the Primarch, a relatively unknown member of the Imperial Court, one Elias Dradmire, sits in the dark of a tower watching the events take place and simply chuckles at events playing out in a favorable way for once.

​

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Family Ties
​

Ossus had not been a frontline city for some decades yet it bore the marks of war nonetheless, many structures boasted unrepaired damage, memorials and shelters were evident on every street and all but the oldest buildings had a utilitarian feel to them, devoid of character or distinction. The true marks were on the soul however, thin and grey citizens hurriedly moved across wide streets wearing a mix of uniforms and mismatched and threadbare civilian garb that must have known many owners. Slogans blared from public vox casters in-distinctively and ineffectively exhorting the population, drunk on exhaustion moral and physical, to give their all. It was in this dismal place that the newly found son of the Galaxy's most powerful being made his home.

In a mass accommodation complex no less, adorned with the flag of Stormgard that neatly covered the gaping hole in its side. Within its confines there was at least some semblance of life recognisable across the galaxy. Skinny children scurried through the halls, neighbours spoke, babies cried and the sounds of new ones being made echoed through the wall. The building itself may have been crumbling but its residents kept it clean and there were even flowers and pets. A small creature, some genetic approximation of a dog, rushed to greet the two Primarchs as they sloped through a hallway that was too short and narrow for either of them. Savnok's dwelling was more spacious, but only because it was missing the roof having been directly underneath the impact zone of the direct hit on the building decades before. As well as the banner, additional fabric and some sheet metal covered the hole and did something to keep the wind away.

"I have a permit for the construction materials." He answered the unasked question, upon seeing his brother's gaze linger on the improvised repairs. "It was approved by the city council as a special necessity and reward for good service."

The space within was equivalent to roughly twelve human apartments and just about sized for a Primarch, before one considered he did not live there alone. His family awaited.

"This is Stehno my wife," he introduced, indicating a red haired woman in her mid thirties, like everyone here she looked gaunt and tired but there was a dignity to the way she held herself, and when she offered her hand somehow it seemed firm even to a Primarch. "Our children," there were the four of them, two boys, two girls. "Buer and Eligor, my sons. The pretty ones are Hala and Stehno, to avoid confusion we call her Rocket, a joke of my wife's." The children were clean and healthy and their clothes seemed in somewhat better condition than most of those the visiting Primarch had encountered on the journey to the residence and though Savnok betrayed no emotion of his own, they seemed to stand straighter when he called their names and as the inspection ended. "The eldest two are currently with their units defending all of us." The family bowed their heads in unison, clearly a ritual in this culture or mayhaps just among them.

This world was a husk, he noticed, drained of all it's worth and devoted to war against outsiders, not like Azul's interior strife. Khaldeon watched the human family that his brother had gathered and smiled, they had structure, they only needed to be filled.

"This is Khaldeon, I have learned that he is my brother. Apparently I come from a large family of sorts, products of genetic manipulation by the leader of our new allies. The Emperor of Man as he styles himself. We have agreed to an alliance. It seems appropriate to introduce my two families to each other, the Emperor himself has more important things to do but you should address my brother Lord Khaldeon or Lord Primarch as such. He is the commander of an army level formation of unprecedented fighting power." Savnok informed them, astoundingly matter of fact as if this was just a common daily occurrence.

Khaldeon was curious about this family dynamic, even in his childhood, they were not raised, well, actually, he thought, the children of Azil were given tasks that seemed eerily similar to what the soldiers in his armies had been accustomed to doing, and he had immediately been put into learning the histories and strategies of his world. But not this disciplined. Stormgard needed it, he supposed, the lack of resources and their unity compared to Azul's abundance that hadn't been touched because of millennia of conflicts with each other.

"No doubt, if my sons are to be like me. Alas I have not met them yet. Father has told me that they are currently in a campaign against another Xenos polity among the stars. Many cousins to meet you children could, and even more with the Iron Guard having now arrived here. Though does everyone speak rocky? It is very, what is the word, rigid, yes."

It was the elder Stehno who answered, "Savnok and I were unable to produce offspring but it is the duty of good citizens to raise the next generation." She recited as if from memory. "So we applied and were allocated them from the state. The expectation is two but we found family life…to our liking." She smiled. "And there were plenty of children who needed a good home, and I'm proud to say this is a very good home."

"The best!" Rocket boasted. All save her elder sister smiled at that. "Don't embarrass us in front of an ally!" Hala insisted firmly, she looked about fourteen, one of her eye's was missing. The other was glaring at her adoptive sibling.

"We encourage a disciplined household. Habits picked up at home are hard to shake." Savnok interjected. "But…I regret that I am prone to leniency. I've found my role to be a complicated one, too many conflicting obligations."

Khaldeon nodded, "Then it is well I will say, family is the foundation, it makes or breaks a person. You take honor unto yourself to care for children not of flesh but of bonds." With a laugh at little Rocket's statement, he looked at her, "Good! Confidence is plenty, a very good trait. Do not worry about insulting me, it will take much to truly be angry."

He turned back to his brother, "I see you also manage everything here, I used to do so as well, my edicts stayed true but there were those who lurked in the shadows that I had to take back reins. They did not like me. When Father came with new people, I dumped duties on those Imperials I befriended, for conquest is my calling! Not browsing through papers and allotting weapons. I recommend using more delegation if you are beginning to feel strained with duty."
"Duty is a privilege, not a burden." Savnok corrected. "And I assume my duties to the defence forces will be assumed by my replacement in post whilst I am seconded to the Emperor's service."

"What is that phrase I remember? Father gave me texts to look at but they were rather boring, ah. Heavy lies the crown or some other line of thought like it. I would agree with such a sentiment, Father has the greatest of it anyways. And as for being seconded, I would not know, I had resolved many things on Azul by his arrival. It seems like this is some challenge of sorts to you by Father."

"He wishes to test my abilities, sensible. He has not had any influence on my development since infancy. Nor yourself, I confess your comments surprise me, he seems to have deemed you suitable to command his forces yet…you speak as if you care only for combat, that is admirable in junior officers, unforgivably inefficient and wasteful in senior ones."

"Husband, you are being a bit too direct again. My apologies Lord Khaldeon, your brother prefers to be upfront and honest, it saves time and is a valued trait on our world. Part of his virtues as a man and citizen but not perhaps as a host. I am sure you have a justification for your philosophy and have well earned your position."

Khaldeon laughed in good nature and held up a hand, "Be at ease Lady Stehno, I would rather have an honest brother than a deceiver. But yes, you would be right, that I do care for combat, for it is what I was trained for the most. A planet to unify not to defend, that is where our circumstances differ." His eyes were soft.

"You would know the value of what information you have learned, brother Savnok, but for me, the simple things were enough. I conquered hundreds of Valley-Kings and pledged them to my banners. And when those more knowledgeable in what I didn't have came, I gave it to them. I see such things as delays when others more suited to those purposes can handle them, for mine is to bring victory and reality to Father's dreams. But I guess that is why Father wants me to come to Terra to learn what I have pushed away."

"I understand." Savnok conceded. "Development is an ongoing process shaped by circumstances. Or so it is taught here by our War Minister. You would do well to take to heart the lessons of Terra's academies to heart, but given the proven effectiveness of your methods I will pay close attention. I would like to improve myself."

Judging by the looks of the children this was a strong effort at establishing common ground on the part of their patriarch, stiff as it might be.

Khaldeon pulled his brother in tight with a side hug, "I will be glad to!"

Savnok went incredibly still. Clearly unused to unsolicited physical contact.

The Sky-Lord patted a shoulder, "Now where is somewhere we can sit, we shall talk not like strangers standing on a street but like brothers seated."

Savnok somewhat reluctantly nodded, clearly brotherhood was not something he was that enthused by but he took all obligations seriously.

Now on something that can bear his weight, Khaldeon cleared his throat.

"I know of tightly bound lines of soldiers, rank and file, of various tactics used in the eternal wars of Azul. But the one I have seen the most success in, is through the way of order by chaos or chaotic order."

"Every soldier seems to be for himself, but there is a design to their charges. Too fast to be hit, first to the battle, they bring fear with them, and when the noose tightens as blows are dealt, the enemy breaks. Tried and tested, it has come true. And when others say what if it does not work, they think me stupid, but my soldiers know what to do. As they are active, they are reactive and change to how things change so that all will fall to their path."

Savnok considered this, "Initiative is discouraged in most situations on this world. Due to circumstance, the best go forwards and die first and we have lost too many of our best already. I can see the value of your dynamic way of war, it is perhaps superior in most aspects, but it seems to me it would not work on this world because for every battle it won the cost would mount and the risk of disaster would be present, we adopt conservative tactics because we simply must conserve every single resource. I must rethink everything given the new circumstances."

"In this you are right as well, our worlds truly make us all. And so it is so, I now have to think on how I wish to implement what Azul has taught me in void warfare as well and across the stars themselves. The Imperium has brought such an opportunity that I lament yet also excite for."

"Lament?" Savnok questioned.

"Sometimes I think about the joy of having watched over my planet, and the contentment I had in having unified it, a purpose fulfilled in that moment. A bit bittersweet perhaps but overall satisfaction for the occasion, and now I find myself to be gifted with a galaxy at my disposal to conquer. I only lament for the simple past, and a small fear of what greater things there may be to face at wars of this scale."

"I believe I understand." Savnok seemed surprised at himself, so much as any emotion was ever readable with him. "I have duties here, I have tried to fulfil them to the best of my ability, always. That will be impossible as a part of this Imperium, some of them I will have to delegate almost certainly to a less capable individual, but these duties came first and they matter to me, they fill me with pride and satisfaction. This new cause demands priority, but if it proves not to be worthy of it, then I will have betrayed my responsibilities. This prospect concerns me."

"Indeed, but we are Primarchs and crafted by our Father's hand. My fear shall be hardened to adamantite for Him by his command. I know that we and all our siblings to be found after us, will surely rise to the occasion for His cause. You will rise to the occasion."

Savnok looked at him. "Brother you and I are very different but I believe we are so in ways that are inconsequential." He offered a hesitant hand, and the most awkward and briefest of pats on the shoulder, mimicking the Gryphon's earlier gesture albeit in fashion that made it seem like he was in physical pain doing so.

Khaldeon smiles and rolls back his shoulders, "Well then, I suppose as your minorly elder foundling, do you have any questions for me? I have some knowledge in traveling with Father's fleet to come to Stormgard, though I couldn't see Sol while we were in the Warp."

Savnok did not hesitate. "What made you choose to serve Father, he explained his vision to me and I found it an admirable one if I am not yet certain it is possible to achieve. I wish to know what he used to entice you."

"He said to me of the glory of Humanity, the unification of a galaxy under a hegemony, and of the ascension of Mankind. All glorious things that interested me, but I would not accept a leader less than me that I could beat, so I fought with him. Fought with him for a week straight without rest or nourishment until I finally collapsed at his feet from exhaustion. It is then that I knew he was worthy of my service and recognized him as my true Father."

"You respect his strength, and you keep to your own principles, you gained many of your own followers the same way." Savnok observed. "Crude but…consistent. And it speaks well of his power, and patience."

"I am the third found and you are fourth, I expect Father to not have as much time with the last Primarchs when the cause of His Truth and the Great Crusade is in full pursuit. We will all be scattered across stars for it, each with their purpose. You are lucky to be among the first few." Khaldeon said this with a melancholic note but with a small smile towards Savnok.

"I had not considered that, but you are right. I must take full advantage of this opportunity." Savnok did not smile back.

"So then, what will you do with your sons now here?" He glanced at the Second's battlefleet in orbit.

"My sons, it is a difficult concept to grasp. Genetic descendents have long been far from my mind, their potency on the battlefield is allegedly unmatched by any other force in the Galaxy, I suppose that I will learn the truth of that in due course. I will have to review them, learn their strengths and weaknesses and adapt to them and have them adapt to me in turn. What are these Astartes like? As soldiers…as sons?"

"I have not met my own sons yet but I know that they are all of Terran descent and will most likely not know of the tactics you wish for them to learn initially, with them having developed their own methods in the decades without us. But they will admire or even love us with great loyalty and so will learn, by the very blood in them compelling them to do so. The Iron Guard from what I have gathered from them are of durable stock, having fought for the Emperor truly and gained a number of battle glories during the Unification Wars of Terra."

"That is useful information." Savnok complimented. "I will have to learn more of them but an army of experienced warriors to be shaped to suit my doctrine. It promises to be a powerful weapon. Strange though, that our…father programmed them to be loyal to us but not us to be loyal to him."

"I did not think of that quirk myself, but there are only twenty of us, and millions of Astartes, and we cannot be taken down so easily. Maybe it is because we are part Warp-make as well while the Legionaries are of flesh with only a fraction of our flesh. I do not know. Father's plans are too large and complex for me to think about other than for us to add to the Imperium's territory."

"Sometimes it is best not to overcomplicate….though I must ask, what do you mean by part warp?"

"You do not know? Very well then, I only know because of the Thunder-Speakers of Azul having a history with arcane powers that no ordinary mortal possesses. They speak of seeing futures which have come true, of casting lightning down from their fingertips, and evil spirits that tempt men to the darkest depths. Father only mentioned the Warp to me when I asked him about such tales. He told me of our origins and our scattering, we are of His flesh and of bound Warp energies by His hand."

"The Warp is more than a means of travel then? Its energies can be harnessed?" This was news to the largely planetbourne Primarch, so was his nature and it was much to take in but he could determine no reason for his brother to lie. Though the talk of spirits he dismissed, fools believed all sorts of primitive notions. He was confident from the Emperor's own words that he at least did not suffer from that vice.

"I believe so, yes, those who are born able to harness it are called 'Psykers' and form a small minority of Mankind. Many of the legions supposedly have a small cadre of them called Librarians but I shall see if I can cleanse those in my own legion by binding them to the mystic traditions of Azul."

"It seems there is much I must learn about the wider galaxy, a new form of soldier with new applications is probably the least of it." Savnok noted. "But if they can serve a useful function then they shall be used."

Khaldeon raised a brow at Savnok, "Utilitarian you are but I am not surprised, but I hope the legions though do not hold negative sentiments of the minority of their brothers. The Astartes are of full human flesh and make, trained to be disciplined yet still with emotion." The Primarch thought a bit more on what he said and shaked his head. "I shall not think ill of the Legions, we are all with emotions anyhow."

"Emotion is essential, it can be harnessed or controlled or at need be discarded but knowing your emotions and their appropriateness is the first step towards command in my opinion." Savnok commented.

"Well, if they're used correctly or so. I am told by those on Azul I have wrought my wrath into a weapon itself though I know not what they refer to. A mindless berserker does not describe me that well nor a cold soldier enraged, I think of myself as more honed than either of those."

"I have heard war described as where Art meets Science and leaves no survivors." Savnok offered up. "I am not sure quite what that means, people say many things that do not hold any true weight, I think they just hate the thought of nothing being said at all."

"I suppose so, it is nice to talk, I don't think I would bear to be in an eternal silence, stuck in my thoughts and unable to speak. It would be a torture of the mind. I am glad I could speak with you, it is a consolation to be on a good footing with one another."

Savnok never smiled, but he inclined his head. "You are correct brother."

Khaldeon would enjoy himself then and speak truthfully with a brother, even a stiff stone for one, for they could never meet again like this. So a night was spent away with a fleet in the distant sky, a reminder of where their duties would take them and their eventual leave from each other.

 

[AMTurtle]

​

Trade Queen Minerva of House Jinkov's own recalling of her meteoric rise from one of the great Rogue Traders in history to one of the most impressive Primarchs in the Emperor's forces and other musings. In Minerva and the Craft of Trade she lays out the path to financial and professional success in her trademarked "grindset mentality". If you are seeking how to grasp a better future for you and your loved ones feel free to pick this one up before it sells out!

" I did not realize I could become even more rich with only a couple changes in my life style." - Rogue Trader Regensa de Tharraal

" When she started talking about wine for an entire chapter I started weeping in joy." - Hann Fhendez

" I joined the Cosmo Corsairs after reading her book." - Little Sister Care van der Kane of the Cosmo Corsairs

" Does it help? Well I have only gotten more richer since I started selling this book." - Trade Queen Minerva of House Jinkov, Proud Host of Port Tortuga, Ensurer of Good Vibes, Kraken of the Void and Friend of All Merchants

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

The First Sanction


Somewhere, Sometime.

The Primarch of the Third stood expectantly close to the landing pad. Bronze and red armor, beautifully decorated with reliefs of battle and inlaid with precious gems. Around him stood the cream of the Third. His high officers and the honor guard of the Companions. Each one of them is as richly attired as the next. Each armor, a labor of love. Each weapon a boast of their skill at the forge. No two men truly alike in panoply.

And around this small group, battalions upon battalions of Astartes stood at the ready in the fortress' courtyard, brazen and shining. Signs of battle still not fully repaired dotted the battlements and structures. Truth be told, Memnon had already started preparing a proper reception party for his brother. Yet communications with the Second had been curt and to the point. The feast promptly refused and new instructions were handed over for the meeting. With the Emperor's blessing.

The whole affair left Memnon nervous. Something was wrong. He just couldn't quite put his finger on what.

Perhaps his skills of observation left something to be desired, Immortal Guardian came first, a simple battle barge accompanied by an escort of cruisers, their gunports open hanging briefly in the sky like titanic birds of prey. The Stormbirds tore through the sky engines screaming, sound barriers shattering before they deposited their precious cargo of space marines by the score. These were no ordinary marines however, squad after squad appeared decked in Terminator Armor or jetted through the skies on jump packs whilst lumbering Dreadnoughts strode across fields with surprising speed easily keeping up with the mighty armored vehicles deploying alongside them. At last at the height of this mighty show of force the Primarch of the Second Legion arrived, bedecked in his personalized power armor and wielding a mighty hammer accompanied by two dozen formidable Astartes carrying the Emperor's own banners. Within what seemed like minutes the bulk of the Old Guard's fighting strength had forcefully projected itself onto an allegedly friendly world, tolerating no resistance and offering no explanation. It was impossible to imagine a more disconcerting or ominous circumstance for a meeting between brothers.

It seemed as if the Third had suddenly be paralyzed. Not a breath hitched or muscle moved among the thousands of bronze-clad Legionnaires assembled at the courtyard. The internal comm channels, however, were on fire. Something had obviously gone very wrong. And after a moment the stillness turned into restlessness.

Memnon acted fast. Quickly removing his helmet, he motioned his retinue to stay behind as he strode up to the landing pad. Swallowing his discomfort and anxiety with practiced ease, he greeted his brother with a smile gracing his bearded face and arms open.

"Brother, you sure know how to make an entrance."

"I believed a demonstration was required. Since it appears that your legion has developed a deficiency in regards to mobile warfare." Savnok responded, unsmiling. "You are four Sol years behind schedule." He finished with an accusation that demanded explanation whilst promising no sympathy for excuses.
Memnon didn't allow himself to sag as he replied: "No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. I may be slightly delayed in my advance but the planets I did enforce Compliance on, have been brought to the fold with far less collateral damage than expected by the same people who drew up those timetables." Memnon smiled again. "A good trade off, don't you agree?"

"The Emperor's Plan does." Was the blunt refutation. "The War Council accepts a degree of collateral damage as inevitable, acceptable, even in some circumstances desirable. Your desire to protect the future resource base of the Imperium and spare your fellow man suffering is…admirable but its consequences are anything but. You are jeopardizing the entire crusade by failing to fulfil your assigned role, the legions on either flank now must concern themselves with greater responsibility and the sector and segmentum organization schedule is being thrown off. The Emperor has sent me to find out why. Is the opposition particularly formidable? Has your legion exhausted its strength? Or have you simply lost the will to carry out your duty with the necessary urgency?"

"My f-" At that Memnon stopped for a second, as if stopping himself. "My stepfather always said that the gods and the universe work on their own time. And every artisan knows a rushed job is a bad job. He finished with a smile. "But to answer your question, my time has been taken with some extensive negotiation with the local potentates. Some that have not been successful, I admit. And of course, we had a fair few tough campaigns in this region and I judged it necessary to slow down the advance to ensure I could oversee the basic reconstruction work in several recently liberated worlds and give my auxiliaries time to refit and recover."

A minor miracle occurred as Savnok's features somehow managed to harden, the cause seemed to be the mention of Gods but the rest of his brother's words did little to improve matters. "Such difficulties have been encountered by every legion and the solutions have proven obvious and adequate. When negotiations stall, you take a position of strength through overwhelming power, when campaigns bog down you adapt tactics or request aid, reconstruction beyond mission essential infrastructure is the concern of the Administratom and auxiliaries should be rotated frequently and new units raised so as to avoid any such unnecessary halts as much as possible. You are a Primarch, a son of the Emperor gifted with an unparalleled mind and command of the mightiest warriors in the history of Man. Your failure is as inexplicable as it is inexcusable."

"I will take you advice under due consideration, brother." Memnon's smile is slightly strained. "But I assure you, I have been working to the best of my abilities. And I'm sure you will see it too once you give me the chance to put everything into perspective."

"We shall see, prepare your legion for battle, the campaign resumes at once. I will direct you and your sons and our legions shall conduct operations jointly, we shall rectify every shortcoming and raise your legion to the standard required of the Emperor's chosen instrument."

The campaign that followed could not have been more different in character than the one that preceded it. Under the watchful eyes of the Eternity Guard the Bronze Shields Legion was driven forwards into a series of ever escalating battles, world after world fell, the pace increased and true to his word Savnok did much to improve the efficiency of the war effort. Yet frustrations remained, minor setbacks led to major delays, moderate opposition stalled the Legion unless the Eternity Guard directly intervened. Worse, prolonged contact between the legions fostered not brotherhood but increasing suspicion of deviancy and disloyalty as the Third Legion sought to display their full character and virtue and immerse their brothers in the culture of their legion it became increasingly impossible to hide the religiosity of their Astartes or their divergent philosophy on warfare.
In the end it could not be denied, yet Savnok felt duty bound to offer one last chance for his brother to do just that.

"It is not a matter of tactics or logistical considerations, your legion does not fight because you do not wish it to." He accused. "Your resolve has been weakened by the poisonous irrationality that plagues your homeworld and those other worlds that your legion draws its recruits from, you do not accept the Imperial Truth nor the imperative of expanding the Imperium itself at any cost."

"But I do, brother." Memnon replied, raising his hands. "It's why I'm here to start with. I accept the Emperor's Truth. The Truth that the Galaxy is His to command for the good of humanity. We fight for His name and His vision with as much fervor as any other."

"You accept a twisted version of his truth if at all, you make it a lie. Our father the Emperor is a Man, not a God. There are no Gods, they do not exist. There is only the power of Mankind and its destiny to rule the stars through reason, science, strength and unity. It is time brother, to put your childish imaginings away, and embrace the truth."

"The Emperor is as much a man as I am an ape, brother." Memnon replied somberly. "How can you look at Him and not see it? A golden, shiny giant with a voice like thunder with a mind greater than all and powers far beyond our comprehension. How can you compare him to the average farmer toiling the fields? The bureaucrat and his papers? Our father may have been a man once. But that was long, long ago. He is as powerful as a god, as ambitious as a god. as demanding and ruthless and mercurial as one. For all intents and purposes he is a god made flesh. I do not know why he denies it so. But to me its as clear as day."

"He denies it because it belittles him! The Emperor is a Man, he embodies all facets of that concept. He is constantly transforming, growing and learning, bettering himself and us along with him. He, like us, faces obstacles and challenges and like us he must search within himself to find the knowledge to adapt, the strength to overcome them and the courage to remain steadfast in face of a cruel and relentless universe. He is a man like any other, he feels the joy of triumph with each victory, the bitter steel of resolve with every setback, he has learned to treat challenges as opportunities and to fight savagely in the name of the civilization he wishes to build." Savnok praised, his iron tones for once were absent anger or scorn, instead they were as fervent as any preacher's. "You are not alone in your ignorance brother, across this galaxy the weak minded and ill educated attribute his great powers and intellect to some form of divinity. You insult him in the same breathy you misguidedly seek to praise him, for to be a Man is to be more than a God. Our achievements are our own, our power is earned through a thousand thousand years of generational efforts, our technology is crafted through skill and knowledge, our victories are won through toil and blood and discipline. A God's singular achievement is coming into existence for which it expects boundless praise by supplicants, a Man needs no empty compliments, our honour and legacy is our deeds and the faith and trust earned by our character and position. The Emperor is the greatest of men but in his own words merely the first of us. Every man, woman and child of this Imperium shares his blood, his virtue, his potential. Shackle yourself not to superstition and ignorance and weakness, embrace the Imperial Truth, embrace reason and strength and the destiny of Man and you and all those that follow shall at last be Free. Or one day the time will come when you must be freed by the sword."

"That the Emperor faces and adapts to the challenges he faces, that he rages and fights against an uncaring universe does nothing to disprove His divinity. If anything, it's only further proof of it. Who else but a god would have the power and sheer endless hunger for more power to stand where he stands? To rise above the teeming masses of mankind and declare Himself their master by His will alone? What else but Godly pride and ambition would lead Him to see Himself as Humanity's last hope?" Memnon stopped for a moment, resuming in a more measured tone. "He is certainly not the first to decide that He is the only one who can guide the many realms of Man to salvation and a better future. But He is perhaps the first that could reasonably do it. That, brother, is divine. But perhaps our disagreement comes from different cultural perspectives." The Third leans back in his seat, pensive. "Many worlds I visited had this vision of a single, all powerful, all knowing and oftentimes benevolent single god ruling over all. That is not the only way to look at it. Our Father is a god but he is not some all knowing all powerful distant old man in a cloud. But he is beyond man. His will is greater, His achievements are far superior. And his desires and ambitions are so far above the common rank and file of humanity. In everything He is so far beyond that to call him a man, to imply he shares anything in common with the multitudes of mankind is sheer blindness, denial and foolishness. And if he is not a mere man, then he is above. He is too great to be a simple Hero. Too powerful to be a fabled demigod. So a god he is."

"You speak nonsense brother, our father's gifts come from science, natural phenomena and his own incredible willpower and ability. Look at our sons, at the Thunder Warriors and the marvels of science, he is an extension of the same, nothing more. The Greatest man in history and nothing more than that, he need be nothing more than that, because a God is nothing but a fiction, a fantasy and a dangerous delusion, mankind is real and it's power is undeniable. Stop hiding from the truth behind infantile fabrications. The truth of it brother is you need him to be a God, because then he is some unreachable being, a higher power to live in fear and awe off rather than aspire to match. You want him to be a God because if he is a man you have no more excuses. You cannot excuse your failings by saying you are only human."

Memnon stays silent for a few moments, doing nothing but staring at his brother. "I never claimed to be human, brother." He says finally with a sad smile gracing his bronzed face.. "We are fashioned akin to men but we are not men. We are something else, greater perhaps. Or damnable abominations against nature, depending on who you ask." He chuckles at that. "Our Father did not lay with a woman that birthed us. We are the stuff of unknowable science and sorcery beyond our understanding. Created to fulfill our Father's purpose. To deliver the Galaxy to Him and rule beneath Him. One of us, perhaps, could match him in time. All they would need is power. Power to rise and rise and rise until they can stand equal to Father. But I am not that one, I have no desire to rise higher. It's not within my nature to be so hungry for more. You would be more suited for that, between the two of us, I think. But to imply anyone else in this vast Imperium, among the countless hundreds of hundreds of billions could ever reach the level of our Father is...doubtful." Memnon leans back again, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I suppose Father had to start somewhere too. But I don't think he did it from the absolute bottom like some child laborer in an industrial world."

"You astound me, how can one have absolute faith in a figment of imagination and none in the race that conquered the Stars and created wonders beyond count? I wish you were right about yourself brother, that you were not human, I would not want to share a species with the likes of you. But I do and with that comes duty to instruct. You will thank me for this in the end, or not." Suddenly he stood taller and more rigid though that seemed impossible and his merciless emerald eyes grew colder and shone brightly with fire.

"In the name of the Emperor of Mankind, I declare that on this day the tainted history of the third legion shall be wiped clean, Tabula Rasa. Your ill earned battle honours shall be removed, your false relics and ridiculous shrines burned along with any fanciful literature, the disease of your irrationality shall be burned out of you like a cancer and by the Emperor's great mercy you shall be given a second chance to redeem yourselves as men. Or die like dogs."

"From the depths of my heart, I thank the Emperor for His mercy and you for your wisdom and understanding, brother." Memnon replied. Anyone but a Primarch could have actually believed his sincerity. "It shall be done. Father's will remains absolute here, as always."

TABULA RASA
​

 

[Bandeirante]

The chamber sits deep bellow the surface. Nestled beneath the mighty Tyrant's Citadel. The heart of the subterranean network beneath Memnon's Palace-Fortress.

As above, so bellow, activity had proceeded at a frantic pace for months now. Preparations for the Great Crusade had driven the Helladic League into levels of mobilization never seen before. The burgeoning state, barely finishing its own road to recovery now laid utterly bare for the benefit of Mankind's great adventure.

Extra shifts in the assembly lines. The return of rationing. Endless temple services and sumptuous sacrifices. New wider reaching conscription laws.

All for the safety of their homes against a hateful universe. All to sate the endless ambition of Dyieus Pater. All because their divine Tyrant asked of them.

And so the Tyrant paces in the bowels of his home. War council after war council. Reviewing endless streams of data. Approving or correcting policies and deployment plans. Promoting and demoting.

There is no room for failure now. The Third knows he is far from his Creator's graces. Worse, the jackals who hold his Divine Father's ear also despise him. Memnon will conquer or his people will die. Either by the hand of the cruel Galaxy or by the hand of his family.

There is no time for anything else but the Crusade these days. Even as he storms his way through the marbled halls. Every second counts. Every can of fuel. Every new conscript. Every grain of wheat. Every bit of help he can possibly scrounge up.

The God Emperor of Mankind has decreed that the Eldar must die. So Memnon will do everything in his power to make it so.

---

My August brother. @averagename

Come join me for the coming battle is one of great priority for both of us.

Long have the Drowned Blade and Bladed Whip, vile Xenos that they are, plagued and ravaged our lands. With the Crusade now shifting into full swing, I intend to wipe them out root and stem and bring those lands and stars into our Imperium as rightfully earned Spear-won land.

Your Legion's might is well know all over our Father's Domain, and your proximity ensures we wont lose too much time transporting and redploying forces to the battlefield.

Together we can crush the foul slavers and burn down their black cancer before the year is out.

-Memnon, Tyrant and Strategos Autokrator of the Helladic League. Primarch of the Third Legion.

My Bold sister @AMTurtle

I come to plead for your aid. Oh cunning mistress of the Void.

The poets sing of your skills at naval warfare. Second to none, they say. Just like your desire for wealth.

I also know that like me, you do not see eye to eye with the paper pushers of distant Terra, nor our Father.

So I come to you with an offer:

Bring your Legion and your might fleet to my Domain, sister. Come and fight by my side against the Eldar scourge and let our children forge bonds of battle brotherhood. As is good and great among true heroes.

In exchange I will supply your Legion with the necessary supplies and materiel for the campaign. And whatever other wars we wage in the future within the Segmentum.

I shall guarantee you a pick of the worlds we liberate. Filled with either grateful slaves or hardy tribesmen to refill the ranks of your sisterhood. Furthermore, while we prepare for this righteous extermination, I shall give leave for your recruiters to look for suitable stock among the families of the Helladic League. You will find that my daughters are just as dedicated to our cause as my sons.

What say you?

-Memnon, Tyrant and Strategos Autokrator of the Helladic League. Primarch of the Third Legion.

 

[Silverbullet]

A Meeting in the Ashes

In a blinding flash of light, it was over.

After a long and perhaps even difficult conversation, the newly known father and acceded to his newly found sons terms. With the agreement made, he vanished in a grand golden light. The air around them all eased, for some it was as if a fresh spring air simply vanished, leaving the stink of the Hive. For others it was a relief, for not even the most horrid depths of Rallas IV could ever match that crushing weight. The lesser, but no less grander golden giants had also vanished alongside their liege-lord. The Custodes silent presence also gone, all that was left were the various Imperial and Rallas officials, already moving forward to talk out the details.

The Sixth legion stood tall and proud in their armor, resplendent and beaming at having been reunited with their gene-sire. Amongst them, however, stood another figure. He was not clad in the cermite power armor that gave the Astartes such a frightful edge, but well worn and well loved grey cloth robes. On separate, but still connected, pieces of fabric rune-like sigils run up and down the robes in exacting patterns. The man is a giant, even among the Astartes. But only now, after the Emperor's departure, does his presence become truly felt. With the Master of Mankinds arrival, the grey giant was notable for certain. Like a lesser light, but overshadowed all the same by the Emperor's sheer figure.

He strode forward, detaching himself from where he stood beside the Astartes. People parted before him like a wave, conversation halting with his passing and picking up in low murmurs as he strode past them. The robes covered most of his body, but his hands and head were uncovered. Golden tattoos, all in the same script as that on the robes, shone on bronze skin. They seemed to artfully cover an impressive amount of skin, like their work was a wonder unto itself. A gentle smile curved on his lips, and a pleased light had entered his golden eyes.

His slow, purposeful movements stopped at a respectable distance away from Alaric . Not too far to imply that he felt the need to avoid Alaric's balde, nor so close as to be in challenge. He clasped his hands in front of him, and his smile widened. "Greetings," he said softly. His voice surprisingly gentle for such a giant. "I believe we would be brothers."

Alaric stood arms crossed as he took in his brother's appearance. His own eyes enhanced by his home's bionics shone with an ochre light as he scanned this grey clad giant. He couldn't stop the frown from his face as his vision glitched and the figure before him became enveloped in light. Incandescent beams flowing from his eyes and mouth as he screamed in agony. Blinking his eyes to reset his optics Alaric smiled and walked forward hand outstretched.
"That I be. Though given our and His Majesty's size and build I have to wonder what our mum looked like? Aqua down the drain that, at any rate, is well met by the by. I'm called Alaric, and this somewhat shot up pile of ferrocrete and metal is my home."

An eyebrow rose ever so slightly, but the smile remained. "I am Lorgar Aurellian," he said with a nod of his head, his hand grasping Alaric's. "It is an utmost pleasure to meet you." The Urizen looked around, briefly, at the Hive that surrounded the meeting area. Damaged more than expected, but tall and proud all the same. Awed faces met his gaze, both Imperials and Alraics people--and both looked away equally as quickly. "It is a fine enough home as any, especially compared to some of the worlds our siblings landed on."

The snort Alaric let out was anything but dignified, "It's actively on fire and that smell is because the air processing plant is rebooting. We'll ave her cleaned up shortly though."

Taking Lorgar by the shoulder he led him towards the office complex of the starport. "Mind the glass. It'll be swept up soonest. I have to say I am excited to hear about siblings. Let's grab some refreshments and find a quiet room eh? I like the ink by the way. How do you get it to glow without cybernetics?"

As Alaric carefully led his newfound brother past the rubble he wondered what the future would hold and how much more complicated his life was about to get.

Were he another Primarch, the hand may have very well been thrown off his shoulder. But all Aurellian did was smile as he allowed his brother to guide him. His steps were steady and sure, utterly uncaring for the devastation that might seek to inhibit his path. Briefly his gaze flickered back to the Sixth legion Astartes, but only briefly. "An art from my homeworld, Colchis." Lorgar said softly as he turned his gaze back to his newfound brother.
"It is...more of an artisan's trade. A proud tradition, passed on from master to apprentice. I believe I was Kem Ek's...ah, 'magnum opus' as he said." A laugh accompanied that, as soft as his voice and having an almost mealdolic feel. "He was quite proud of it. The work was long, and time consuming. But worth it in the end." His golden eyes turned to his brother, looking upon him and ignoring the devastation with a practiced ease. "I take it that your world's people have found their own ways?"

Alaric nodded, guiding his brother with his left while his right hand tapped absently on the haptic interface of a holo projection from an attending drone. The door to the VIP waiting rooms opened before them and Alaric carefully shepherded his brother out of the way of a flight of maintenance drones carrying debris and bodies. As they passed the drones Alaric flashed his own electoos, the straight lines of light showing the extent of his bionics.

"You could say that it's an artisanal craft here as well with a combination of beauty and functionality. Viktoria took hours etching these into me and linking them to my power coil. They have some nice benefits aside from the light show."

Alaric took his arm from his brother's shoulders and walked over to one of the debris piles.

Alaric felt the electoos across his body light up and his temperature spike as electricity gathered in his fist. He opened his hand and lightning sprang forth to arc across a pile of stone debris.
"Warms me up and I get a mighty peckish from it, but nothing scatters gremlins and twists like the spirits' own wrath made manifest."

Alaric continued forward and came to a door less damaged than the others in the hall. The electoos on his hand flashed again and the door opened revealing an ostentatious room adorned with luxurious furniture and decorations. Reminiscent of an old estate with actual wood paneling from the forests in the agricultural dome. He walked over to the food processor and looked back at Lorgar.
"So what's your pleasure? The Nobs spared no expense on their own meals so you can get actual meat from these."

"Whatever you have to offer." Came Lorgars passive reply. "There are many cuisines in the galaxy, and while there are some similarities between them, connecting us all through humanity's lost culture, people always find their own ways to adapt. It really is quite fascinating." He looked at his brother's...own tattoos with an undisguised curiosity. "But I must admit, that display back there was quite something. I have seen many things, through the years. But nothing quite like that. Though…" He tapped his chin once, an idle gesture as he focused. "Have you heard of the word 'psyker?'"

Alaric paused momentarily then resumed cycling through the options for the machine. At length he spoke, "I have, though the local terms are "twitch" "seer" and "witch" good way to get a suppression team sent to your block was rumors of one. Things tend to happen around them though some have a better grasp on their condition than others. Sometimes they can be damn useful in a pinch, and I won't lie and say we didn't make use of some with adequate control and useful abilities in our fight."

He flared his electoos again. This time his arms displayed odd hexagram patterns and script not unlike Lorgar's own tattoos.

"You just want to have your and their wardings up to prevent things on the otherside from noticing. It gets really messy when they do."

"I will say whatever the Administration was doing with them at a blacksite we found had Dad blow it right to the pit. Didn't even try to save any of the data, just activated the bombs the place was rigged with to sanitize it and told everyone to leave. I was on the other side of the continent leading the security forces on a merry chase."

Lorgar was silent, and Alaric finished selecting the meals. A chime and garbled advertisement and two plates were dispensed. The option had been for beef wellington. Though damn if Alaric knew what beef came from and the little green vegetable sides were just odd. Not ground up into paste with vitamin additives and stimulants to keep workers going. It just looked the closest to the protein buns and veggie paste he normally subsided on. He passed a plate to his brother and made a show of pulling the inbuilt utensils out so Lorgar would know where they were. A drone came in carrying cups of triple filtered water, and their meal began.

With an almost careless grace inherent even in the most brutish of Primarchs, Lorgar began to slowly eat his meal. Perhaps it would've looked amusing, this man of grey cloth and glowing tattoos to do something so mundane as eating, but the humble air carried around by the Urizen would've made such things a fringe thought. "A story repeated on many worlds, I've come to find." Lorgar said as he ate, choosing his moments to speak carefully in between bites. "I must admit your own tattoos are an intriguing thing--they seem to mimic the power of a psyker, to grasp at aspects so similar, and yet...it comes from power coils, you said?"

Alaric had always been a fast eater, but found himself slowing down to not finish before Lorgar. He swallowed and took a sip from a water glass before speaking.

"Potentia Coils, bionic enhancement installed in the back near the spine. They act as a power source and reservoir of power for other implants. The trick I just pulled is just overloading the electoos with power and directing it outward. Psis do something else, pulling their power from some alternate dimension and shaping it by their will."

Alaric dabbed one of the greens in the sauce from the meat before eating it. Swallowing he continued, "Anything I can do can theoretically be recreated by others with the same technology. Psyker's have a vast array of different abilities unique to them. I can't claim to be an expert on them."

Setting his plate on a drone Alaric steepled his hands before asking to him the most pertinent question, "So I heard Goldie's claims on why putting his flag on every world is necessary. I have to ask you, is it? Are things truly so dire out there in the wider Galaxy? I'll admit we here have been mostly isolated with only a few off-world mining stations and no ships on the scale of the ones in orbit."

For a brief moment, the knife cutting through the steak stuttered to a stop. But in a blink it continued, only a Primarchs eye would be able to catch such a thing at all. Lorgar took a final, elegant bite of the steak before he slowly placed the utensils down onto the plate. He folded his hands in front of him on the table, and gave his newfound brother his full and undivided attention.

"The Emperor is the Master of Mankind, and soon will be the Master of the Galaxy. A million armies march in his name, among them some of the finest in the galaxy." The gentle, wispy tone had turned into something a little harder, a little rougher. Whatever curiosity and amusement he held had vanished under an unexpectedly stern mask. "I would not advise speaking that...nickname you've come up with to any outside your legion. I can assure you that there would be a fair few of our siblings who would take poorly to it."

Then, it relaxed. Muscles that had been subtly tensed in Lorgars face to affect such a stern visage faded, leaving only the gentle-seeming scholar in his worn, well loved robes.

"As for your question, well...indulge me for a moment with one of my own? Have you heard of Orks, brother?"

Alaric noted the tension at his nickname for their…Father, and decided to drop it fir now.

"Orks? Can't say that I've had the pleasure. Some kind of xeno I wager? We've had little to do with their kind most of our problems from other humans and our unfortunate offshoots."

Alaric noted the presence of his "sons" and other Astartes in more ornate armor had quietly taken up guarding the starport through his drones. Not encircling to trap him he noted, but stopping others from disturbing their conversation.

"I am sure you will learn about them in more detail during your studies, but to be brief…" Lorgars voice shifted again, taking on a tone of voice he had used countless times when explaining some bit of lore to an eager acolyte or delivering a sermon, an almost lecturing tone filled with his passion. "They are a fungoid creature. They do not reproduce as most species do, instead coming in as spores. They live to fight. It is the only thing they do, the only thing they care for. Everything their ramshackle 'societies' is run for the sake of war, and war alone. They are all over the galaxy, and have brought ruination to countless worlds. There is no talking, there is no bartering--with them the only possible response is to bring a bloody hand to bear."

The Urizens shoulders slumped somewhat, loosening as his golden eyes moved to the table at which they sat. An almost melancholy air came about him. "Most of our siblings would likely sneer at me for saying this...but it brings me no pleasure to fight. I look forward to the day when our task is done, and when I may turn myself to pursuits other than bloodletting."

He turned his gaze back to his brother, a steely resolve in his eyes. "But our father is correct. We are fighting for the future of mankind, to crawl out from the darkness of the Old Night and its terrors. For the future to come about, for that grand peace to be achieved, we must kill. We must maim, we must burn--it is all necessary." Though his eyes held that resolve, and his tone was firm. There was...almost an undercurrent to it. Something that was hard to find and catch, even if one did it was hard to tell if it was there at all.

Alaric leaned back and closed his eyes as a thousand eyes brought him visions of the only home he'd known. Rallas was a mess. Debris, rubble, and bodies littered its streets and structures. Yet its people lived and laughed and cheered. They saw a future for themselves now. A future they had seized and would build. Alaric had only known struggle since his earliest memories. Fighting for survival, fighting for family and friends, and then fighting for a future. Now it seemed he'd be fighting much, much longer. He didn't know how to feel about that. At any rate Rallas could no longer stand on its own and if he had to fight on foreign worlds so this Imperium would render aid to it he would.

"Bloody work to build a world free of suffering eh? It's what the Old Man raised me on under the old Council's yoke. Little wonder this was just a prelude to my fate eh? Still you say a grand peace for humanity. Maybe we'll build that. We'll just need to make sure we don't drag everyone to the pit with us."

Alaric stood and began tapping at the holographic display in his own code again.

"I did honestly enjoy this talk brother. Though our minders are likely getting impatient. I have tasks to see to and goodbyes to make before I go off to Terra to learn what Go… what the Emperor wants of me."

Alaric received a smile in return, earnest and warm. "I enjoyed it as well, my brother. I am afraid I must return to my own fleet as well...the Great Crusades demands are a vast one." He stood himself, gently pushing aside the finished meal and rising with a gentle grace.

Alaric smiled despite himself. It was nice to have a respite from his usual hectic life. Putting his arm back around his brother's shoulder he couldn't help himself from a small jab.

"So I'll hold off on using a nickname for our illustrious Father, but how do you feel about Loggie?"

(A/N: Credit Triumph as Lorgar for the joint IC.)

 

[triumph8w]

​

The sun was hot on their backs.

The man in Lorgars arms groaned, feverish eyes rolling in his head as they saw everything and nothing. It didn't matter how careful Lorgar stepped, how steady his gait, how he took into account the smallest judder that could agitate the wound. The man still groaned. The cloth they tied to his stomach was red, an hour ago it was the softest white he had ever seen.

His name was Julius, and he was dying.

Someone to his right stumbled on the burning sand. A tall, broad shouldered woman named Jakna. Normally she was so stone-faced, so stoic and immovable. Some liked to call her a mountain. He had seen her smile once, and only once. During one of his first sermons, in fact. Now her dark face was ringed with sweat. A cut on her leg made a livid red mark against her skin, and she barely caught herself.

"Keep moving!" His father barked, his harsh eyes cutting through the group. "They will be finished with the city soon enough. We must be away when the moon rises." Groans, coughs, and swearing trickled through at those words from everyone but Lorgar, who had not a cut on him. He said nothing. The weight in his arms was intense enough to choke any words before they left.

Behind them, smoke rose from the city. A fire, most likely multiple, started by the fighting. Then the search that had spawned after Lorgars guards fought off those who would try to take him. 'Arrest' they said, stiff lips, hard eyes, and hands on their swords. For 'heresy.' Heresy! He was only speaking the truth! Their God would be coming from the stars, the stars! Who were they to disappoint God? To live in falsehood when the truth would arrive before them all?

But they didn't listen.

They numbered twenty, at the start of the day. Including him. Nineteen other people who have sworn to guard him, to be his blades, his protectors--to serve him. All his father had insisted upon years ago. 'Not all will be swayed by words, my son.' Kor Phaeron had said in his usual, rugged way. 'Some will be so black of heart to think only with a blade. There can only be one answer in return, no matter how unpleasant.'

Such insistence may have very well saved his life. Those who had come for him refused all his entraties. They had refused to listen. To let him speak. Instead they went for their blades, Lorgars guard went for their own, and chaos erupted. Twenty had started the day by his side. Ten remained. He could remember their faces, once so full of life but bloodied and broken on the cobbled streets.

A cough rattled the frail, oh so small body cradled within Lorgars arms. He could feel warm blood run down his hands, feel it dry in the heat of the sun of which there was no escape. Julius' eyes had stopped roving wildly. They stared right up at Lorgar, unmoving. His steps, so steady and sure, slowed. He couldn't look away from that gaze. Very few people could actually meet his eyes. Something required them to turn away. Only his father could meet it steadily. Yet now so could Julius. His gaze simply refused to move, sticking Lorgar in place.

"Boy!" Barked Kor Phaeron, turning to glare at his son. "Keep moving. We cannot afford the stay. The Covenant will not be occupied with the city for long, not with all the effort they've put into preparing this.

He wanted to keep walking. To do as his father asked. It was only sensible. He was their target, and they had demonstrated a willingness to do whatever they deemed necessary to capture him. But instead of feeling sand compress beneath his feet, he felt hot sand through his robes, grinding up against his knees. "Eska." He said softly, but the group healer hear him all the same. His thin head popping up to look at him. "Check him. I-"

Lorgar swallowed, his throat so strangely dry. "Please." He said simply, almost plaintively. He couldn't feel Julius' heartbeat. Couldn't hear it. But the senses he could usually rely on seemed so strange today. But everything was strange today. Something must have been incorrect. But Eska was trained, he would see to it. Gently Lorgar laid Julius onto the sands, before moving back to let Eska have all the space he needed. He settled on a rock, jutting out from the sands in defiance. The rest of the group had stopped, most slumping to the ground. Though Jakna and Utu stood tall, keeping their gaze out towards the desert--and the city.

Kor Phaeron looked around him, grimacing. He licked his lips for a moment, before walking towards Lorgar. Who was already seated on the ground, his gaze drawn towards the city that could be seen in the distance. It looked so strange, from so far away. Like it could be distant, unknowable. The smoke that rose from it certainly added an edge to that feeling.

"Lorgar," his father said. That harsh edge that followed him around was gone. It had gone softer. Gentler. "We must keep moving. I've no doubt those fool Kingpriests and their cronies are pulling every string they have to find you. Do you see the smoke?" He asked, pointing out into the distance.

He received no answer.

"That is a sign of their desperation. They fear you, my son. And their fear will drive them to do anything to find you. And if they do...it will be the end. That is something I cannot allow." A hand rested gently on Lorgars shoulder. It was small, compared to him. Everything was.

"Why?" Lorgar whispered. Kor Phaeron frowned, but before he could say anything Lorgar continued.

"Why do they do all of this? Our God is coming to Colchis. It won't be a hundred years away, or a thousand, or some distant unknowable time. But within the decade. I know it. I've seen it. So why? Why do they act with such hate when I speak only the truth!? Many have listened to my word, many believe me. But not them! Not the Kingpriests. There can be difficulties, that I understand. But surely it is not worth…"

Lorgars golden eyes looked at his hand, stained with Julius' blood, and grimaced. Most of it had come off, but it clung to his finger tips stubbornly. A silence followed his words. The others murmured among themselves, or rested without a word. The days events weighing clearly on them all. His fathers hand was still warm on his shoulder. A different kind of heat than the sun blasting down on them all.

"Because they are greedy." Kor Phaeron said eventually, his voice firm. "They use their power for selfish ends. They do not believe in the gods they worship, and nor do they believe in the true God. They hold their power because they enjoy it, and they refuse your words because they represent a clear threat to that power. You represent that threat."

"A threat?" Lorgar said with soft disbelief. "A threat. That…"

"It is true." This time, his fathers tone brooked no argument. "I was unaware of the exact lengths they, in their heretical black hearts, would be willing to go to. But they have held such a position of absolute authority for so long, with such ill intent right from the start. They are set in their ways, and are a danger to us all. After all, how will the true God react when he sets foot up Colchis, only to find such blasphemers ruling over all?"

That caused Lorgar to look sharply at his father. "He is not like them--won't be. He is better than a man, for He is divine. And the divine cannot possibly be sullied by the sins of man." Kor Phaerons hand left his shoulder, and his father crossed his arms. Something akin to a frown flitted across his face.

"Of course," Kor Phaeron acquiesced with a nod. "But that does not mean we cannot endeavour to fix those sins. To purge them like one would a disease from the body and soul, before He arrives on this world. Even with His forgiveness, their selfish designs would ruin us--ruin Colchis. That cannot be allowed. They have taken extreme measures, we must take some in kind. And for that to begin, you must stand my son."

"And what would you have me do!? Slaughter them in the streets!?" Lorgar cried, throwing his hands out. The others stopped muttering amongst each other, turning to look at them. Eska, however, didn't. He simply continued to stare down at Julius, a conflicted expression on his face that set something heavy and unknowable in Lorgars stomach. But as ever, his father commanded his attention.

"Fight, my son. I would have you fight." Kor Phaerons voice was harsh now, and even though Lorgar could, if he wanted, tower over him his father stood tall and proud. "They seek to take everything from you, from us, from Colchis. The future of this world is at stake, it's very soul! We cannot allow the Kingpriests to steal the future for themselves, to damn us all. They will not be swayed by words--only a blade will work on them."

Lorgar looked at his father, golden eyes wide. He opened his mouth to say something--then closed it, working his jaw. His mind went back to the city, to what happened earlier. That no matter what he said, those agents of the Kingpriests refused to yield, refused to step aside, and refused to consider his words. It took violence to escape that situation. Violence and death.

Slow, hesitant steps caused Lorgar to turn his head away from his father. Eska was walking towards him, a frown so deep that it seemed to consume his face marred his features. He only took a few more steps once he realized he caught Lorgars attention. And kept his gaze firmly on Lorgars boots, like most people did. Julius lay still in the sand behind him.

"Eska." Lorgars voice was soft, but the gentleness was gone. Worn away by the events of the day and dead dreams. For once in his life, he found himself without words to grasp. It all just...slipped from his fingers, drifting away like ash in the wind. The weight in his stomach seemed to anchor him to the ground, refusing to let him budge.

Eska swallowed. His hands flexing for a moment, before clasping them behind his back in order to stop fiddling with them. Then, in a rush, he spoke. "Julius is dead, sire. He bled out. It was quick."

Lorgar knew a lie when he heard one.

It wasn't quick in the least.

He found, quite suddenly, that he couldn't look at Eska. Nor the corpse of what was once a bodyguard, a friend. Nor those who had come with him from the city, fleeing the wrath of the Covenant and its greedy Kingpriests. Only the sand could meet his gaze, and he the sands. Its endless waves, swallowing up all but the most hardy, most intrepid attempts to conquer it.

With a fluid motion, Lorgar stood from the rock he sat on, and slammed a fist into it. The cry he let out as he did so was short, but not less grief-filled for it. The mighty rock, shaped by the wind and the sands for millions of years, cratered at the blow of the giant. A crack ran through the whole thing, shards of rock falling off of it as it slowly split in two. Eska flinched back, Jakna and Utu whirled, hands going instinctively for their blades before they realized he had made that noise, and settling there unsteadily. The rest all watched with wide eyes, having stood from their own seated positions in shock.

Only Kor Phaeron was unphased. All he did was raise an eyebrow in response to the outburst of emotion. Lorgar towered over him--towered over them all. His hand was unmarred from the blow that would've surely shattered a regular humans hand. It was his birthright. Why, he didn't know. But he was different from the rest. He always was. But still…

"He had a brother." Lorgar whispered. "There, in the city. There wasn't time to find him, wasn't time for anything. We simply left…"

"For a reason." Kor Phaeron said before the silence, heavy and impossibly cold, could settle around their hearts. "The Kingpriests-"

"For a reason!?" Lorgar roared out suddenly, thrusting his arm towards the distant city. "Madness has taken them all! They tear apart our city in search of the truth they would deny. They would rather see us dead and the city turned to ash rather than suffer a perceived loss in power! And you want me to turn around and kill them all!? To risk all our lives?"

The others quailed back at the wrath of Kor Phaerons son, but the man himself stood his ground even as Lorgar stalked forwards. The only sign of any possible discomfort was the tightening of his fingers against his crossed arms. He looked up as his son cast him in shadow, his eyes cool.

"You knew." Lorgar hissed venomously. "You were keeping tabs on them, ever since that confrontation in Vharadesh. You and your contacts, your 'friends.' You never miss a thing. You knew!"

The air grew heavy. Dark and foreboding in the wake of the accusations. Kor Phaeron narrowed his eyes, leaving only dark slits visible as he stared up at the star-child he took for his own. "I am only a man," he began slowly, deliberately. "As a man, my son, I am still faliable. We all are. I had respect for your vision, for your truth. And your constant hope of the goodness in others has sawed away at my cynicism, I will admit." That last word was accompanied by a chuckle, dry as the desert sands.

"Do not blame me for the faults of others, just as you should not blame yourself. We spoke the truth, and they refused to listen. I do not want you to turn back to the city, my son. Our time there will come...but you need to be willing."

Lorgar's form, so large and menacing, slowly shrunk back at his fathers words. Hateful, venomous emotions bleeding out into something different. Suddenly he seemed like only a man. A large one, yes. But a man still. Where Lorgar took a step back, Kor Phaeron advanced.

"That brother of Julius? No doubt he's already been found by the Covenant. That goes for anyone's family who has not managed to flee. They're already dead." Murmurs rose up at that, angry and worried. Jakna stepped forward, wincing at the weight she put on her leg. "S-Surely they wouldn't go that far." The normally stoic woman actually stuttered, tripping over her words as if they were her injured leg. Her gaze, as was the others, went to Lorgar.

But she found no hope there. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes vacant and expression desolate. His brilliant mind was already working through what his father was saying, and every desperate rebuttal came up against his cold, firm words. Fear flashed across her face, and she turned her burning gaze to Kor Phaeron--who met it evenly.

"Right!? They're supposed to…" Her words died, shriveling into nothing as Kor Phaeron stared at her. His words hit home not just for her, but the rest of them. And she flinched back, drawing into herself like a wilted flower. "They already tried to kill my son." Kor Phaeron stated. "If they were willing to go that far, then nothing is beyond them. They will wish to ensure no one rises against their unjust rule, that none follow the word of Lorgar."

He turned his gaze back to his son, looking right into his eyes. Kor Phaerons eyes were hard and pitiless, like the void itself. "We will prove them wrong." He said with all the finality and solidness of a mountain.

Silence descended upon them all, the revelation that came with Kor Phaeron's words crashing onto them like a tidal wave and drowning them beneath it. Desolate, warm wind scratched at them but most barely noticed it. Too lost in the images of horror conjured by the old priest. All but Lorgar. He twitched at the caress of the wind, his gaze breaking from his fathers and drifting towards Julius' body. His body followed his gaze, steps steady and careful on the desert sand. Each step drew eyes towards him, and soon the whole group was watching his every action.

He stood over the body, noting every feature of a man who was hours ago living. Lorgar recalled that, just this morning, the man had made a joke that actually managed to get a sliver of a smile out of Kor Phaeron. A marvel of an achievement. But he had a way with words...a way that was lost forevermore. A tattooed hand reached down with aching slowness, gently unstrapping the sheath connected to the body. A large hand grasped onto the hilt of a blade that was perfectly sized for a regularly sized man, but one that looked more like a dagger in the hands of Lorgar. He pulled it out slowly, holding the gleaming edge in front of his eyes. He could see them, golden orbs that were another unique thing about him, strange as they were. There was nothing there.

"They have taken much." He said slowly, his voice soft on the desert wind. "It's all they're used to. Taking, only giving scraps. The Kingpriests seek to take the truth from us, from this world. In doing so they have taken lives, they will take more. They will seek to kill us all, to take what does not belong to them--and break it until it fits."

His grip on the blade grew tighter, his voice more fierce.

"But I refuse! They wish to challenge that which cannot be challenged, lest we all be damned. To drag us down into the abyss with them! Use us as they always have, but they have already failed. For I still stand, you still stand, we all still stand. I promise you my friends, there will be a reckoning. We will have justice, and truth at long last!"

He raised the blade in the air, holding it up high.

"Who is with me!?" He roared out, his voice as fierce and as proud as a lions. A resounding cheer met him, a fire that flickered burning bright anew. The others stood, pulling out their own weapons and thrusting them to match Lorgar. For a moment, it seemed as if they were not a motley crew of survivors, but an army to match the finest in the world. It certainly felt like it.

And behind them all, Kor Phaeron smiled.

 

[Uniquelyequal]

His name was Posid Anixun, and he knew fear.

He was running, through the darkness of the Underhive through the wastes of the Yndonesic Isles through the Jungles of Trepoxid IX he was running as fast as his legs could carry him, and behind him his home and family burned. The Monsters were behind him and they were glad in ash grey no in red and they had killed his family his family had defied the Emperor and they were following him and they weren't running but they didn't need to because he was little and scared, only ten twelve eleven, his little legs rising and falling, his heart beating in his chest, and he ran and ran and ran until he couldn't anymore and he fell down and on of the Monsters caught him and raised him by the neck, the thickness of his fingers encompassing his neck, and Posid Anixun was sure he'd die, but then he didn't, and he looked into the impassive black lenses of the man's ash grey dark metal skull faced blood-red helmet and his world turned black.

Posid Anixun knew fear.

Two hearts beat in his chest, and his ribs were fusing into armor and his muscles were growing and all of it caused pain, yet none of it was the reason he was scared. The Ship he was on was called the Ashen Judgement the Eternity's Maw and his part of it was vast and dark and cold and scary, and things were moving below it's decks where the light and cold of the Emperor didn't shine, yet they were not the reason he was fearful either.
Things hunted him, sometimes, yet the Monsters had given him a knife, and he was quicker than the ones that were stronger than him and and stronger than the one that were quicker, and cleverer then both types, and he had learned to use a knife in the Underhive in the Yndonesic Waste in the Jungles of Trepoxid IV, with his Clan with his Tribe with his Gang, and so he was hunting the strange metal machines in turn, and though he knew fear he also knew pleasure at the way his muscles now coiled and the blood spilled below his knife, and yet he knew fear, for the Crimson Lords had chosen him as one of theirs, and if the Chaplain called Dandon called Me'da called Ruda judged him unworthy he would be killed by one of the others like he had killed the unworthy in turn at his orders and his flesh would be devoured and he would never be part of the Legion and never bestride the stars in the Emperor's Name.

Posid Anixun knew fear.

He had made it, made it again and again, survived all the ways the Crimson Lords had seen fit to test him, and he had been released from the Labyrinth of Darkness, and brought into the light, into the parts of the Ashen Judgement that were decorated in the austere style of the Ashen Guard in the elaborate style of the Crimson Lords and he was strong now and fast and resistant to poison, and soon, he would be clad in Crimson and made part of one of the Squads, and he knew his worth, for he had fought and fought and fought, and great things were awaiting him, and they led him away from the light of the Emperor, away from the judging eyes of the Aquila, for some things, they assured him, must be done in darkness in the name of light, and for all their assurances he yet knew fear, and in the guts of the Eternity's Maw he was made to bleed, as were his brothers, and he drank the blood that would not coagulate, and Posid Anixun knelt naked, but he stood in crimson clad, and knew no fear.

Posid Anixun knew no fear, but he did know death.

He did not know when he had first met it, for the memories were mixed. Sometimes he thought he had died first in the deserts of Xurog, brought to sleep gently by the Chosen's by his Primarchs Hands, yet that could not be, for he had never set foot on that world which now stood empty, and sometimes he thought he had first met it on Corish Tertius, the blade of the Cardinal's Champion finding the gap between his helmet and his currais, and other times over Hespoxu I, to the blade of a wicked Eldar Wych that had penetrated beneath his armpit before the Blade Devourer crushed her neck in turn, and he had met death so many times on so many worlds at the hands of so many foes and sometimes at his own hands, and sometimes he remembered pain and sometimes he didn't, and such was his fate, for he was Posid Anixun, High Champion of Marrow, wielder of the Blade Devourer, his lineage long and noble and too valuable to let rest.

And he was a Crimson Lord, and he Knew No Fear.

 

[Skrevski]

A Fortress Tour
(Joint IC with @triumph8w)
​

The Fortress-Monistary known as Castle Greyskull glowed in the darkness of space, a beacon of light moving across the bleakness of that of the cosmos. It hadn't always been that way, known as Snake Mountain, home of the evil that had taken the world of Eternia, home of the being known as Skeletor, darkness had radiated out from the fortress, fear, and death emulating across the void from where it rested.

That, thankfully, was long past, Adaam Primus, Primarch of the First Legion had seen to that, wiping clean the evil that had once been and replacing it with light and color. Now halls sported portraits of heroes of the First, the Emperor, even a few of Adaam, though he never really cared for it himself. Other rooms were dedicated to the raising and training of the Legion's Battle cats, great beasts that had their own "jungle" to roam around in and allow new members of the Legion to bond with and communicate with the beasts that had become the second family to those that served.

With the halls of Greyskull also stood the grand vault that held great treasures and secrets of the Legion, guarded by the 2nd Company of the First Chapter, handpicked by Duncan, known as Man of Arms to those outside of the Legion, Guardian of the Vault. There were many other vaults found throughout Greyskull, but only with permission from Adaam or Duncan was one allowed within the confines of the Grand Vault.

Adaam hummed to himself as he walked the hallways, trailed by his faithful companion, Cringer, a silly name now that he was no longer a cowardly cat but one of his most loyal and fiercest warriors, yet the name stuck over the years. His chuckle echoed out, shaking his head as he made his way to one of the many landing pads that doted the fortress. How things had changed since his days back on Eternia… a past long forgotten.

A Stormbird roared in just as the Lord of the First entered the landing pad. Unlike many of the other Legio Astartes, this one was not a grand riot of proud colors. Sleek grey was the legions pride, and it was reflected in the Stormbird. One of the few allotments to pageantry was the sigil plastered onto the side of the Stormbird, the book lit by burning flame that signaled the allegiance to the Seventeenth legion--the Word Bearers. Its engines whined as it came to a steady halt, roaring one last sound of defiance before it lowered onto the landing pad.

The ramp lowered soon after, steam and smoke hissing out as it clanged against the landing pad. Two grey tactical marines, their armor marked by Colchisian runes and slips of well-loved oath-paper, exited first. Each taking up a position by the ramp. The figure that followed was not armed, nor armored. Lorgar Aurellian descended the ramp of his personal Stormbird gunship clad only in humble grey robes. His bronze skin was tattooed by golden runes that nearly glowed at certain angles.

He was a Primarch, and held a Primarchs build as a result. But compared to the Warden of Greyskull, he looked thin and wiry. His golden eyes met his brothers, and a smile came unto his lips. "Lord Adaam," Lorgar said with a nod of his head. "It is a pleasure to meet another of my siblings at long last."
Adaam eyed the new arrival, one of his long-lost siblings from across countless worlds. He had many of his brothers and sisters, having traveled with their father many times helping him locate them, having been the first to be found. For the most part, he had enjoyed the meetings, others… he still twisted inside at the discovery of Foniás, the uncanny similarities to Skeletor… enough. "Welcome my brother, I am sorry it took so long for us to meet. I go where our father sends me and I am afraid things have been rather busy of late."

Adaam held out his hand, open and inviting. "I can give a tour if you wish."

"No apology is needed, brother," Lorgar said with a slight shake of his head. "The rigors and needs of the Great Crusade are incredibly vast, as I've come to find." He took a few steps forward, only briefly looking at the Word Bearers that stood still at the Stormbird. He gave them a nod and received one in turn before they settled fully into their position. Turning back to look at Adaam, his smile widened a tad. "I would be delighted to witness your vessel. I've heard a great deal about Castle Greyskull...but to see it in person is another thing entirely."

Adaam raised his chin and laughed, nodding as he straightened his back. "It takes some getting used to living on such a vast ship, but once you been on her for a few dozen years or … more, you just call it home." He turned and waved for his own men to rest easy, marines in bright green and orangey-red, settling back into their positions or going about their business. "I do have to say, being able to bring all my might where I go certainly helps in matters while engaged on crusade, has helped salvage from tricky situations more than once."

He led Lorgar through the halls, once more adorned with tapestries, most of the legion, but a few recovered from Eternia before its savaging with above my the very fortress he now called home. "How has the crusade gone for you of late? I also heard father has found several of our lost siblings of late?"

"As well as such affairs can be," Lorgar said in reply, his golden eyes roving over each detail of the ship he could bear witness to. There was a rough patch with some Orks, but the guns of the Fidelita Lex solved it handily. Those beasts hardly know how to build anything right, never mind build at all. Nothing that can stand a Gloriana, at least." His smile took on a sly edge, and he tore his eyes from the artful Fortress-Monastery to look at Adaam. "Though I daresay that is nothing compared to Castle Greyskulls firepower."

It did fade somewhat when he processed his brother's last question, a thoughtful look replacing it. "Yes, yes he has. Joyful news to be sure, for there are few things like hearing another of us brought into the Emperor's embrace or indeed reunited with their gene-sires. Though I've heard one of them hit a rough patch with the Mechanicum…"The thoughtful look turned briefly pensive, before being washed away under a velvet glove of control. "Alaric, I believe. Smoothed over, of course. As much as it could be at any rate... it's a shame his introduction had been soured by such things. I believe he has a good heart."

"That is good to hear. I have yet to meet him, nor many of those recently found. Too much to do, not enough time." He let out a soft sigh as they walked. "Too much fighting I guess, something that Ahurani holds against me, does our sweet sister not realize that is what we are here for?" Adaam smirked and shook his head, leading the pair, followed by Cringer not so far behind, to the left and into a solarium adorned with plants, bookshelves, and maps. "We can talk here, one of the perks of running the place."

He laughed as he walked to a window, looking out into the void of space. "I regret sometimes the feuds that have transpired between ourselves and other Legions, but I guess we can't get along with everyone can we?"

Lorgar observed the battle-cat for a moment, golden eyes filtering, dissecting, and storing within moments. Afterward, he smiled and offered a nod, before turning his eyes to his brother's solarium. His gaze roved over the books, noting each title and author, and ran a gentle hand alongside their spines. "No, we can't." There was something weighty to those words, something that made Lorgars soft voice a little weightier, a shift of resistance that bucked the soft melody. But only for a moment. "But such is the nature of family. Especially one as large as ours. The Emperor desires our cooperation, and for good reason."

His gaze hadn't left the books as he spoke, and he stood still with a hand resting gently on a single book. Then, he turned to Adaam a small smile on his face. "I cannot help but think of how we will look, in the end. So many of us have been found, but still, there are those missing. There are twenty legions, and so there must be twenty of us. Lost amongst the stars."

"I have faith he will find us all. Sure has taken many years to do so, but as you say threats keep popping up left and right. Orks, Xenos... Skeletor wannabees. Heh." His voice trailed off at that as if there was more he wished to say yet silencing himself before he could. "You read much Lorgar? I tend to try and do so when I can find the time between campaigning, training, dueling, training again. Seem to do that a lot now that I think about it."

He turned and eyed his brother. He always found it remarkable how different yet alike they all were, children of their Father, that none knew existed until his arrival. Some fateful days, others just surprising and out of place. He had been there for a few foundings, he found joy in helping to find those long lost, well mostly.

"Whenever I can," Lorgar said with simple honesty as he turned to face his brother in full. "There are many things in this galaxy, but knowledge is something to be treasured. So much of a culture can be lost against the Old Nights tides, but if even a fragment remains, then that fragment may be used for the better." He tilted his head slightly as he looked at Adaam, a curious expression coming onto his face. "I believe I'm not familiar with the term 'Skeletor wannabe.' A legion word?"

"An old enemy, defeated when Father arrived. Almost took me and those that stood alongside me with him. Gilded fortune turned the tide." A pained expression came but for a fleeting moment before disappearing, Adaam quickly changing the subject. "It's why I, I guess you can say, "Collect" things. Holding onto the knowledge of the past, finding those objects or other manners that might bring harm to ourselves or other worlds, and keeping them secure, away from those that might use them for evil or nefarious purposes. I know many only see it as stealing, taking what isn't ours… but I have seen what happens when they go unchecked. Worlds are lost…"

Lorgar raised an eyebrow at that, letting out a small hum. "One may say that the Emperor has already seen to such himself. Sol holds more than the cradle of humanity in it." From another Primarch, the words may have been a challenge. A harsh word about things stolen from rightful hands. From Lorgar Aurellian they were little more than a posed question, laid quietly onto the table.

Adaam lowered his head. "Guess I just try to make sure they get it right as well? I feel the Emperor understands, but not many others. I guess my own burden to prove to others." He turned as Cringer walked up to him, Adaam running his hand over the large cat's fur. "You met any of my companions here before? Loyal friends and incredibly fighters, though this one used to be one of a cowardly lot. Call him Cringer."

Lorgar let out a soft laugh at that as he looked at the massive battle-cat. "Cringer, hm? Of all the names, that I admit I was not expecting. Most of our siblings would have chosen a more...descriptive name." His smile held no malice in it, and his tone was as gentle as ever. "You needn't feel any shame, brother. If the Emperor did not understand, then I suspect he would make it known. That is enough for me."

"Besides, your tour has illustrated the magnificence of your home quite well. And its battle record speaks for itself. If not in the vaults of Terra the horrors are bound, then Castle Greyskull will surely prove a worthy bulwark."

"Ha! True words said indeed." He returned the smile and started to walk out of the come. "Come my brother, there is much more to see and speak on."

 

[Princess_Hex]

Ahurani and the Culter Dei​

Written with: @Silverbullet
​

Lieutenant Rimanar woke from his meditation as their Interceptor Gunships docked on the Litany of the Blizzard. They had been hopping from merchant vessel to Naval Vessel on a journey to the Wardens of the Blessed Hearts Flagship to fulfill their Primarch's orders. He desired to strengthen the bonds betweens the Watchers and their cousins wherever able, and court allies among the other Primarchs to offset the tensions with the Martians. An agreeable position as his genesire had put it to, "Get some damn friends so the cogs think twice next time they decide to take a shot our way."


As he and his team walked down the access ramp he noted Lieutenant Hajik and Karsil's teams had disembarked as well. Without prompting they fell into his right and left shoulders with their teams fanning out behind them. He noted approaching Wardens and moved forward to greet his cousins.


The welcoming party wasn't particularly large, two dozen marines in formation with a dreadnought taking the left flank. At their head stood the primarch herself, Ahurani, cloaked as usual in black robes and her eyes covered with a veil. While much of her face was hidden between the hood and the veil, the smile on her face was unmistakable.


The Wardens met them halfway, with Ahurani opening her arms wide in greeting. "Welcome aboard my flagship, it gave me great pleasure to hear that my beloved brother was sending assistance my way. I am Ahurani, primarch of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart, I hope you enjoy your stay with the eighteenth legion."


Rimanar and his brothers brought their fists to their primary hearts and lowered their heads as one. Rimanar himself was the first to speak, "Greetings to you Lady Ahurani and Wardens of the Blessed Heart. May we sons of the Watch be of use to you in the glorious undertaking of Unification."


With that the Umbral Watchers stood at attention awaiting the instructions of their hosts.


There was a moment of silence, as the gap between the softness of the Wardens and the hardened edge of the Watch made communication difficult.


The silence is broken by the whirring of gear and the heavy clank of machinery as the dreadnought took a step forward. "Ah, the watch. Is it my turn already? Let me stand guard over the little ones." Her voice was booming, the vox unit that allowed her to speak clearly being made to be heard from a long distance away.


The tension seeped from the room, a couple of the Wardens stifled laughter. Ahurani didn't bother trying, though her soft giggle was barely audible over the sound of the hangar. "Mother, have we not spoken before about using your inside voice on the ship? It's not time to assign the watch yet. These are our friends, from the Umbral Watch legion."

The dreadnought took some time to think on this. "I know that name, yes." Her voice is softer now, carrying a gentle and motherly tone as she switched to her inside voice. "Greetings, sons of the Watch."


Ahurani nodded at the dreadnought, the love she felt for the person inside clear on her face. That love stayed as she turned to face the visitors. "This is Erethe, she has been with us for a long time. We all call her Mother, and you may do the same. If you see her awake, I strongly encourage you to listen to some of her stories."

She steps forward, and bends down enough to put a hand on Rimanar's shoulder and look him in the eyes. "The way you can be most of use to me right now is by letting yourself relax a little. You are safe here, among friends and family who will love and cherish you for who you are."


Rimanar nodded his head in acknowledgment of the Lady's words before turning his attention to the Dreadnought. A Contemptor pattern in the colors of the Wardens. Aurumite filigree and decorations adorned its chassis which had a more feminine appearance than he was used to seeing upon a Dreadnought. Ancient Aranos, Fell Commander of the Sixth Chapter, was his best example. Yet the two could not be more different.


The carved face of a gentling smiling woman greeted Riminar rather than a foreboding death mask. The Dreadnought's arms ended not in weapons of war but fully articulated hands of master craftsmanship.


Mother, thought Riminar, she had been addressed as such and Riminar drew upon memories of a lifetime ago amongst the tribes of the Panpacific wastes where he had been found and brought into service.


"Greetings Wise Mother of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart. I am Riminar of the Sixth. May the sands fall gently upon you and yours and Peace be upon your people."


The sound of gears whirring could be heard from within Erethe's massive body, and when she spoke again it was filled with warmth and happiness.


"What polite children the Watch have sent to us. Come, I shall show you to your lodgings." The dreadnought turns in slow, clanking steps. "The Umbral Watchers you said? Yes I know that name. Is that dour fellow Bo'Darn still leading you? I'd never seen a man so intent on frowning the world into submission. Why, I remember one time…"


As the Ancient continued her tales of the Wars of Old Terra. Riminar looked to the Angel of Mercy who smiled indulgently and waved he and his brothers on. Riminar saluted again and waved his brothers to fall in behind him as they followed Ancient Erethe into the innards of the Litany of the Blizzard. Their service to the Wardens of the Blessed Heart and its Lady starting off on a strange if welcoming foot.

 

[Bark]

The Jenkins Affair

(A Collab w/@AMTurtle and @Princess_Hex)​

The Tyresian campaign, the Lemnus campaign, the Valentine campaign, each of those battles had something in common. The ordered shipments that were vital to supply the Crimson Gryphons and their auxiliaries had never come. And each of their deliveries were the sole responsibility of one Rogue Trader House, House Jenkins.

Khaldeon had struck a deal with Jenkins at his sister Minerva's Port Tortuga, directed through one of her underlings to meet him. Khaldeon had thought the Rogue Trader to be of a decent sort in the beginning of their negotiations but it would quickly be dashed from the man's very own actions later on.

In the Tyresian campaign, the Crimson Gryphons had been battling against a giant Xenos race, taller than even the Primarch himself three fold. They were brutal in the melee and Khaldeon had planned for this from the initial surveys. He had ordered for superior arms and was expecting them any time now, they did not come at all.

A cadre of his veteran sons were experienced in dealing with giants from the Unification Wars and had taught the rest, and a shipment from the Administratum was called. It was their victory in the end. Khaldeon gave Jenkins the benefit of the doubt, but the man only looked amused when they met at Port Tortuga once more. One strike.

The Lemnus campaign held a different enemy, a human polity that did not wish to join in the Emperor's grace. No matter, they would be dealt with easily enough. That was not the case, the Lemnus had technologies of old make. From before even the Dark Age they had somehow hoarded through millenia.

The Crimson Gryphons would see heavy casualties that year for the weapons they had ordered from House Jenkins had come, but were all of faulty manufacture. Frequent jamming or even the weapons destroying themselves, those critical moments cost them when attention was needed for them to focus on the Lemnus.

Support was called from the Mechanicum to resolve their issues and in a few years the front would be finished with the technology taken and the worlds conquered with it's people in compliance. Khaldeon would meet with Jenkins a second time, and would be greeted with an open smile, he pushed down the urge to beat the insolent man's face in. A second strike.

Then came the Valentine campaign, a Psyker race that fed off the blood of subservient mortal races they had enslaved to increase their longevity through their rituals. Jenkins had told Khaldeon that he had found Psyker nullifying tech on a world he recently discovered and could have them be delivered to the legion's front. The Gryphon-King was hesitant but the Mechanicum were tight lipped about anything they had to help in that sector and so he accepted.

Only a third treacherous delivery came when the Crimson Gryphons were halfway into the polity. Randomly rigged together machines that neither Techpriest or Techmarine could figure out and found to be useless junk. The Legion decided to push onward without assistance this time, and purged the Valentine's capital world of its stronghold of vampiric masters.

It's people were liberated, only having been kept compliant because of their lives on resourceless worlds with their only purpose being to be drained of blood. The Valentine were assimilated easily enough and so with another system compliant, the Crimson Gryphons' fleet came to Port Tortuga for what would be the final time.

Jenkins openly laughed at the Primarch that day when they met. In his sister's home, Khaldeon decided to call for Minerva's permission to let him flay the insolent mortal.

To say that Minerva was not amused by the antics of Jenkins was an understatement. She had not kept up with the Rogue Trader and his dealings with Khaldeon. Port Tortuga often served a marketplace for military equipment and supplies out of necessity due to the lack of support from the Administratum for the Seventh Legion. The supplying of the Ninth would have perhaps secured Tortuga as a proper alternative to the Administratum and ensured Minerva's effective logistical independence from the pencil pushers who she loathed.

Instead she had her brother on her personal estate screaming bloody murder of Jenkins. For a brief moment she felt her brother's rage and almost gave him the permission he had requested. In a perfect galaxy she would have handed him a carving knife on her person and let it be done. Yet they did not live in a perfect galaxy, they lived in this one. Reality quickly entered in Minerva's mind and she realized that she could not give him what he wanted.

The Rogue Traders were a fickle bunch and if she were to allow the rest of the primarchs to try to enforce their will on them her unofficial partially ceremonial and partially not position as their champion could seriously diminish. They might be willing to look elsewhere for trade and that would kill Tortuga and all she was trying to build. Too much was at stake and the primarch could never understand why this was unacceptable. She said no. She would offer something to alleviate the wound, thrones and treasure mostly but she stuck by her statement.

Khaldeon stood still, no matter what, a decade and a half of debt was to be dispensed to Jenkins. He had been raised where injustices were to be paid back in full, and a man's honor was his life, Jenkins had forfeited it. The sons of the Ninth had fallen needlessly due to the man's lies, and it was all because of Khaldeon's misplaced trust. The already present rage threatened to spill over as Khaldeon tightened his fists tightly until the ceramite creaked.
His sister was too tied to the scum of a Rogue Trader than to her own family it seemed. He began to argue about why she couldn't just give him up when he saw her face and stopped. She was resolute in her stance, and Khaldeon knew then that she wouldn't budge on the matter. Now frustrated and still in an intense emotional state, rushed himself towards Jenkins, roaring about taking his head. No weapons, only his armoured hands open to crush his head.

As he moved his hand to crush the Rogue Trader's head he felt a hand grab his wrist. Only one other in the room would have the strength to stop this and she had. Jenkins had been fortunate from this development however his right ear had been captured by Khaldeon's grip. Jenkins' screams were ignored by the two primarchs as Minreva pushed her brother away with his ear still in Gryphon King's grip and taking a large chunk of skin with it.. His blood sprayed upon the sibling as they engaged in a slugging match.

Everyone beyond Jenkins's howling screams, which was ignored,were dead silent with the honor guard of both sides terrified by the sight of watching the two brawl. Exchanging powerful blows the impacts of upon the other let out thundered across the estate. Rage and frustration about the entire series of events that had brought them to this moment fueled this. For several minutes this continued until Minerva broke away panting, wiping the blood away from her face having given and received a fair amount. She instructed the Skylord to leave, signalling her numerous guard detachment to snap to attention. The two glared at each other and he turned to leave.

Khaldeon walked out of the room with condensed fury, compressing and pushing it down more, the further away he went from where Jenkins most likely still stood screaming. Those sons that accompanied him followed after him silently, some looking to each other and one shrugging before continuing on. Eventually they would reach one of the many hangars and docks of the station, and depart on the Stormbird to take them back to the fleet.

Entering the hangar of the Glorious Gryphon, Khaldeon would stomp out as it's gates closed and ushered in air. He barked out at his sons to gather what brothers they could and find their arms, as plans were discussed mid-step. For Khaldeon the idea was to siege Port Tortuga and fire at any ships that tried to leave from their blockade until Jenkins was given up. Most of the Crimson Gryphons were recuperating in Azul for a few weeks while Khaldeon had gone to meet here and thus only had come with a number of battleships. Still they would sail.

The small fleet would arrive at the station in a few days and cordon off one of the main docks, their cannons and defensive lances charged, as a vox-hail would be sent out of their terms. Minerva at this point was furious; she had in her mind given Khaldeon incredible patience and she was rewarded with an attempt of a siege upon her city. She was prepared to order her forces to fire when the intervention of a third primarch unexpectedly changed the course of events.

When Ahurani had thought to bring her fleet to Port Tortuga, she had been looking for a quiet and pleasant visit with her sister, a chance for her children to relax and unwind. What she had not been expecting was a fleet blockading the port. Nor had she expected to find two of her beloved siblings at each other's throats. Feuding perhaps, they were hardly the happiest of families, but open threats of violence were beyond the pale of what was acceptable.

From the bridge of the Litany of the Blizzard she gaped at such a brazen display of hostility. Her wings half unfurled, and ice began to crystallise on the command console before she marshalled herself. With a cool, steady voice she gave her orders. "I want a vox line to both of my siblings, immediately."

"Khaldeon, Minerva, I am disappointed in you. I am moving my fleet between you two and you will both board my flagship so that we can avoid coming to blows. We are family and I love both of you, we have no need to resort to violence."

The Trade Queen after minutes of tense silence would respond and agree to the parley. Her forces remain on stand-by and with orders to retaliate against the Gryphons if required. She headed to a shuttle to take her there prepared to do battle aboard the ship with her brother.

The Sky-lord motioned for one of the mortal crew to play what was said again, and a second time, as he sat in his throne. He then waved for the targets to be unlocked of the fleet's charged weapons. "I will meet on your ship but know that the time for violence has come after 15 years." He went onboard his Stormbird, leaving Alhirad in control of the fleet, as it flew to Ahurani's ship.

The shuttles enter the cavernous hangar of the Litany of the Blizzard to find Ahurani standing waiting for them there. With her is an honour guard of Wardens, insignificant as they would be before the might of a primarch. Ahurani herself isn't even wearing armour, so sudden was this that she hadn't time to change. Instead she wears her traditional black robes, but has eschewed the veil. Her wings are opened, her spear is at her side.

"Khaldeon you will explain yourself. Why have you come to attack our sister?"

The aforementioned Primarch looked to Ahurani, helmeted in the visage of an eagle, before steam hissed as he took it off, a glaring face emerging out. "I have no plans to attack Minerva, only the bastard of an associate of hers… Jenkins." At the mention of the Rogue Trader's name, he grimaced further. "I only require the rest of his head. He has reneged on deals in the worst of manners in crucial deliveries for three of my campaigns for 15 years and mocks my kindness unto him. Twice I have allowed, not the third now."

The icy gaze turns to Minerva, equally as unrelenting. "Is there truth to this claim, sister?"

Glaring back at her brother she holding back rage states, "What he has not deemed to tell you, is that I offered to make him whole through thrones. How he attempted to circumvent my authority by murder Jenkins in my own estate in front of me. Now he has brought a fleet to enforce his will upon my city. Endangering countless lives for the sake of his ego. Whatever you felt you were owed you have washed away with this act."

"Blood for blood! Hundreds of mine died from him cheating the Ninth, I'll have him and inflict a fraction of each of their dying pains upon him!" Khaldeon turned morose in thinking of them. "Your thrones mean nothing, how can a son of mine be worth anything but the glories and victories they would have seen with me, yet it was hundreds of Gryphons. Hundreds now all cut short too soon."

"His blood will not bring your sons back, brother." The rage seeps out of Ahurani's voice, replaced by a strained kindness. "Must we lose ourselves to the mindless rage brought about by vengeance? Your sons are gone, and I mourn their loss." it's easy to hear that she speaks true, there is genuine sorrow in her voice. "I understand that Jenkins has committed a terrible crime, but his life is too high a price to ask. I would not ask any of your sons to bear the same price. Surely you can see why?"

"Minerva, Jenkins has committed a grave wrong. By his actions, legionnaires have died who may have otherwise lived. You would not wish to see the same fate befall your children, I know that. I trust he is to be punished by your authorities here in some manner? Perhaps that may help sway our brother, knowing justice will be done." There is just a hint of danger in Ahurani's voice, implying that there is a correct answer here.

Annoyed Minerva responded, " He already has his pound of flesh. I will deal with Jenkins in my own way but I will not have terms dictated to me from the barrel of a battleship."

"P- pound of flesh? Surely you cannot mean?" Ahurani recoiled from the sheer thought that the man had already been maimed.

With a savage grin, Khaldeon pulled out the shriveled ear of Jenkins, he had had it dried out to keep as a trophy and reminder. His eyes glinted as he barked, "And I'll have the rest of him as I can. This is only a start."

Moving into a more prepared stance Minerva shot back," Over your dead body."

"Enough," Ahurani shouts, the first time either primarch had heard her raise her voice. She storms forward, putting herself between the two as the temperature in the hangar starts to drop. "You disappoint me with your cruelty Khaldeon, and to bring a... a trophy like that on to my ship is disgusting. Every effort has been made to soothe your rage, will nothing but blood do?"

At that question, he answered with a snarl, "I will tear your daughters limb to limb, turn them to dust with technology of Old Humanity, and drain them of blood and geneseed, then attempt to pay you in coin and finally ask 'Will nothing but blood do?' when you refuse. That is what my sons faced and I will not have what they experienced tossed to the side for a malignant mortal. Honor has been besmirched thus his life is forfeit!"

Ahurani looks horrified as he describes deeds of great violence against her daughters, her children. The only thing to keep her anchored in this Imperium. Her grip tightens around the haft of her spear, and the rage begins to build up within her.

Then she looks over at her guard, and she can tell that they are worried. Not afraid, but worried. She can't do this, not to them, it isn't worth it.

"If you did that, Khaldeon, I would not demand blood. I would... I would even forgive you, though it may hurt to do. I would do it because you are my brother, and because we are both primarchs of the Imperium. And so I offer you this, since only blood will sate you." With a flourish she brandishes her spear, and grabs the head with her other hand. She squeezes, and the blood wells up instantly. With a quick pull the spear is free, and she squeezes the blood on the floor. "A primarch's blood should be worth more than any mortal. If this will not slake your thirst, then nothing ever will. The debt is paid, now get off my ship and go home."

Khaldeon laughed. "You are a better person than me it would seem, but when the Eighteenth suffers such a thing, you may change then." He looks at the act of the blood spilling on the floor, and he frowns.

"You understand, but you also do not. One action does not equal one another." He crouches and dabs a cloth into the blood, pocketing it and rising back up. Khaldeon is calmer but hardened. "This blood's only injustice against me is to stop me from a true villain. But it is still an injustice. Damn you both. When all has fallen, I will stand victorious over a burning Port and the corpse of Jenkins for all to see. Goodbye." With that the Gryphon King leaves.

"On that day, I hope you find the absolution you seek brother. I truly do," Ahurani whispers as her brother departs. Her fleet would see to it that no more violence was done, today, but she could guarantee nothing in the future. Once the shuttle is gone, she begins to tremble, and takes a knee.

 

[Princess_Hex]

Together at last​

written with: @Another Amoeba
​

The hangar of the End of Strife bustled with activity, as serfs and legionnaires alike prepared for the momentous occasion. At the middle of it all stood Ahurani, wearing white robes that faded to the blue of sea ice near the bottom. She was flanked on her right by an honour guard of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart, who stood stoically at attention. To the primarch's left was a much larger honour guard from the Coldiron Spears. The latter were apprehensive, for today was the day that they met their Primarch.

"Now remember, my friends. We shall greet her gently, and let her know she is safe here. I do not know what it is that she went through, but I have heard it wasn't good." Ahurani was proud of the Coldiron Spears, she had shepherded them as best she could in the time she had spent here. It had taken some careful balancing of the internal politics of the legion, but she had even managed to put together a proper honour guard that wouldn't fall to infighting. They were loyal marines, all of them, and most importantly they were good people.

So it was that they stood quietly, waiting for the arrival of the Imperium's newest Primarch. It seemed almost that the room had blinked, and suddenly her shuttle was among them. Its pilots, the Emperor's own Custodes so it was said, had brought it arcing up above the curving hull with speed that would be reckless at the hands of any others.

In a moment, time had slowed from a rush to almost stillness as the shuttle bled its speed and touched down, but this was not all illusion. It was taking Varil a strangely long time to exit into the hangar. At last, the boarding ramp began to trundle downward, and as suspected the first figures to step down it wore Custodian gold. Their grips were confident Adrathic Spears, and they made not a sound.

Varil, for it could be no one else, stepped out of the starship some moments later. Ahurani saw her sister's nails were long like knives, and cursed the part of herself that searched for a weapon or a threat before anything else. She, also, wore robes, but as haphazardly as a young child shoved into a dress on a wedding day. She moved like its fine fabrics were sackcloth. Varil's skin was striking, dark, but almost withered like mummified skin as opposed to any natural coloration.

She also said nothing as she stepped onto the hangar floor and glanced across the chamber, almost predatory if not for the fear Varil failed to fully mask.

Silence greeted her, a worried and awkward silence that stretched for longer than anyone would have liked. The Coldiron Spears were torn, this was not what they had envisioned. They wanted a primarch who shined, a warrior to lead them and mold them into a force without equal. The person they saw was terrifying, feral. It left a confusing impression.

The Wardens fared no better, though their expectations were not as high. Instead they mostly felt dismay for their cousins, who had wanted this day for so long. Some reflected on how they felt upon first seeing Ahurani, who had been far from what they expected as well, and the changes that have come to the legion since.

Perhaps it is fitting then that Ahurani breaks the silence. She had been as taken aback as the Spears had been. She had expected something, either a warrior to fear or a bright and shining star to embrace. Yet, here was a creature who was neither, and yet both. She cursed her cynicism showing as she had checked for weapons, something about the way she moved was just so predatory that she hadn't thought twice. It was something she should work on, to think such a way was unfair to her sister.

"Welcome Varil," Ahurani says gently, stepping forward and spreading her arms wide, showing her own complete lack of weapons or armour. She hoped to be seen as non threatening. "I am Ahurani, your sister. It gladdens my heart to finally meet you."

Varil twisted her head to the side, but said nothing. However, she seemed to be trying. For a moment, her expression morphed to almost that of a frustrated child, but then she brought her hand up to her neck, almost disbelieving.

"Mother!" A Coldiron Librarian's gasp broke the silence, "She's flighty." Ahurani didn't know what she meant by that until she also… heard it? Felt it? Like a cat, brushing up against her mind and darting away.

"Now now, be nice," Ahurani chided softly, turning to face the librarian who spoke. She is turning back around when the sensation arrives and it stops her in her tracks. Her head cocks to the side as she tries to reconcile an experience she's never had before. It eventually is rationalized as a kind of whisper, something on the edge of hearing.

"I'm sorry my beloved sister, but I couldn't quite hear you. Can you speak a little louder for me please? I want only to hear your voice." Ahurani glides another couple steps closer, trying to judge where Varil will start to get uncomfortable.

Her sister cleared her throat, and glanced aside at the Custodes guards, who remained as silent as they ever were. She began to speak, mouth twisting, throat shuddering, a voice like a wheeze. It twisted, progressing inexorably towards something. But then it all came together: a single syllable, unmistakably not of this world. Awful.

"No!" Varil shouted. That was her second word. She stumbled backward and landed with a thud on the shuttle's ramp. Only the Custodes did not move in that moment. Menials aped the Primarch, recoiling backwards. Astartes shifted with unease. Of course, Ahurani moved forward with one hand outstretched.

Then she stopped. Perhaps she was the one in the wrong, and was intruding where she was not welcome.

With a bow she took a couple slow, deliberate steps back. She sank to a knee to stay low and non-threatening. "I'm so sorry for startling you. I will wait here until you are ready. Please do not be afraid." Worry begins to gnaw at her, this is all so strange. This isn't how it is supposed to go, this was supposed to be a happy day. Yet the strange, otherworldly syllables, the fear, the looming and ominous Custodes. It didn't make sense, and yet she had to be strong for her sister.

"Strange? Strange." Varil spoke as though she had settled some issue, and with every indication of exhaustion hauled herself to her feet. "Be strong," she repeated in a whisper to herself. Her sister: that's who she was to meet. Her sister. The words swam into and out of focus. Varil could bring herself to say nothing more as she advanced towards Ahurani.

Ahurani soon found her sister looming over her, standing a few steps distant but leaning forward to fill the space. Ahurani was not afraid, Varil could see, worried and confused, but not afraid. A smile lit up her sister's face. That was nice… and strange. Varil had never knelt before some creature and been not afraid: head down, eyes shut, hands clasped over ears. She offered her sister a hand.

At last, her sister had come to her. The looming presence that some might find imposing or fearful brought nothing but relief and joy to Ahurani's heart. Her anxiety was soothed, though not dispelled in its entirety. Moving slowly, gently, she took the offered hand and looked up at Varil. There is nothing but love and trust in that gaze, and that continues as Ahurani rises to her feet.

Using that tenuous, fragile connection she steps forward and her arm gently wraps around Varil. She seemed so small, in that moment, so fragile. Ahurani could not help but want to protect her. This precious sister that she never even knew she could have finally being in her arms filled her with joy, and that joy shone through in her warm embrace.

"Welcome home, Varil. I love you."

Her sister said nothing, and clung to her as she would a life raft.

 

[Bandeirante]

In the Tyrant's Citadel.

The Tyrant's Citadel is a marvel of architecture in a way that only the brainchild of a Primarch can be. A colossal complex surrounded by a mighty bastion wall. The Citadel is made of seven concentric rings interspersed with courtyards, gardens, plazas and shrines. Everything centered around an elevated monumental acropolis. In the heart of this massive acropolis sat the Tyrant's private chambers.

As luxurious and spacious as a Palace unto itself. Much of its decoration and furniture is the work of Memnon's hands or of his sons. Their skills and artistic flair turned to comfort, warmth and peace. It's a sanctuary, a little hide away from the back shattering duties and mind blowing burdens of the Primarch.

And in this sumptuous earthly paradise. Within this brazen display of opulence, there is a particular chamber. This chamber is the size of a small house. This chamber is also a workshop.

Forging and woodworking. Weaving and glassblowing. Sculpting, painting and pottery. All that a craftsman could ever want. In fact, even more, for only a Primarch could take up all these pursuits with such single minded drive and dedication, mastering them all like no one else.

It's a pity then, that as Memnon gained access to the wealth necessary to fund his pursuits, he also lost much of the time necessary to engage with the crafts. Now he has what might as well be the dream workspace of any artist or artisan. With access to tools, devices, machines and material from all the corners of the Galaxy. And yet, for all that, he simply doesn't have the time to fully enjoy it.

Even Memnon the Tyrant could have found more time for his artistic pursuits. Eventually, as the Helladic League recovered from its collapse and the new administration took root, their divine overlord could retire from worldly affairs for a while, confident that his subjects could be trusted not to crumble without his guiding hands for a week or three while their leader worked out a particularly inspired mood out of his system.

Memnon the Primarch, can't afford to lock himself in a workshop for three weeks. Even as the crushing reality of the universe sets in.

The sheer scale of the terror awaiting them all beyond the stars drives the Primarch's heart to seek comfort and relief. With his family. In the arms of his gods. At the seats of the grand theaters of the League. And of course, letting his mind run wild in his own workshop.

It makes moments like these, when the Primarch can extricate himself from all his burdens and duties all the more precious. So he sits at the marble stool, working the pedals and levers of the loom. Its a beautiful thing, of polished and varnished wood. Carved with a variety of domestic scenes. And upon it, a large sheet is being worked on. Of the finest Arkagoan Spider Silk, with gold brocade trimming and lettering.
Memnon is gladly losing himself in this labor of love. But he is not yet deep enough that he forgets what the rest of the day will bring. Or that this short break is soon running out. That adds a certain manic edge to his work. And his singing picks up the pace. He knows he will not finish this work today. And once he stops, who knows when he will be able to come back here, sit down again and finish it? The moment he raises himself from this workstation there will be nothing for Memnon but endless war preparations and warring amidst the cold void.

A necessary task, true. But unpleasant all the same.

The soft clip clop of a wooden cane and leather sandals stepping on the marble floor and the low half purr half hiss of a Zyrax caught his ear. But the Primarch did not turn his attention away from his work. He gave no indication he was aware of his visitor until the man and his pet were standing besides him.

"What are you working on, son?" The well worn voice of Aethes stopped the Primarch in his tracks. Tension melted away from his shoulders as he turned to regard his father.

The elderly Priest had always been a tall man. Broad shouldered and strong. A healthy lifestyle (and later rejuvenant treatments) had allowed Memnon's father to live on. But time still had made itself known. The once thick, wavy brown hair was now white, almost all gone. The once straight posture was now slightly slumped. The muscles that had once been compared to that of a bull's were diminished. Turned into fat and hidden beneath a flowing red Chiton. Blue eyes that once shined brighter than the sun were now dulled.

Memnon's heart ached at the reminder of his father's mortality. at the thought of losing all his beloved brothers and sisters to the inescapable march of time. Thoughts like these were getting harder to push away the more time passed. The fear was harder to push away every gray hair he saw in his siblings' heads.

"A gift, father." The Primarch replied with a beaming smile. "For Lorgar!"

Aethes smiled at that. The serpentine, black scaled feline resting on his shoulders hissed Lorgar's name.

"A cape." Memnon continued. "I've learned the Colchisian alphabet to inscribe the message you see here." He pointed to the area that would rest above the shoulder blades down to the waist.

Aethes nodded and Memnon continued, voice rising with excitement: "I have seen His Light and I have been saved. It's now my turn to bring the Word and the Light to you. Follow my Steps as I have followed His."

"I'm sure he will appreciate it, son." Aethes concurred, the Zyrax hissed in agreement. "One of these days you must bring him here. I'm sure we all would love to meet your friend. And I do look forward to talking shop with him and his. If he's even as half the scholar you make him out to be, it would be a privilege to share his thoughts and philosophy."

"The Crusade is soon to go into full swing, father." Memnon replied, shoulders slumping with a sigh. "I doubt any of us will have much time for visiting each other anytime soon. For the good of Mankind, such is Dyieus Pater's will."

Aethes didn't reply, turning and leaning forward to give his son an one armed hug. "I know, I know, son. It's a terrible duty, this one you have been given. But I am here for you. We all are."

"And I am here for you." Memnon sighed, hugging father back. "And now I suppose you're gonna tell me they sent you to fetch me for the war council."

"Drag you by the ear, if necessary!" Aethes joked, wagging a finger at his son. "Come son, and you might finish things in time to meet your new grandnephews for dinner."

"Yes...that would be nice." Memnon mumbled as he followed his father out of his private paradise.​

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

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​

 

[averagename]

A quiet chat
Mr. Grinner was a rarther unassuming man. He was a portly man with that perpetual middle aged look common to many men from his worlds, he wasn't what one thought off when they imagined a dangerous man. He was though of course, a very dangerous man; subcutaneous modification gave him the strength to rip arms for their sockets, the ability to run as fast as a ground car or stop bullets. Though that wasn't why he was dangerous, Mr. Grinner was in charge of the Coliseum. The Coliseum of course was not a organisation which existed in any department, nor in any official capacity. Its mandate, not existing written anywhere of course, charged it to ensure the secrets of the Actium republic stayed secret and the secrets of its foes did not. Murder, assassination, espionage and a whole host of unsavoury actions were allowed by its leadership; and in the service, as its master oft refrained, to 'ensure the survival of the reasonable man'. Several worlds had been brought into Actium's fold by the knifes and machinations of Grinner's agents. Malcador, and by extension the emperor, most likely knew of their existence ... he likely had agents within the organisation. This was a shame but considered an inevitability; terra's reach was vast and Axinos did not want to raise its Ire by being seen to act too covertly.
Grinner stood infront of the great oaken doors of command suite about the The Equite, flagship of the Actium Defense fleet, he always hated this part. As the doors whispered open and his slipped into the cavernous room he saw his master staring out the observation wall. The armourglass view showing the blue grey green marble of actium turn below, A constellation of defence stations and satellites giving it a crown of light. Axinos was not one for pleasantries, he was not a cruel master nor incapable of inspiring loyalty, but he never wasted time. 'I have a new task for you' He did not speak with his voice that he used in campaigns nor in his speeches; he sounded tierd and stressed. As he turned his eyes didn't quiet meet his, unfocused as if they were staring off into the distance.
Grinner nodded as his master spoke. Axinos continued, 'There is a storm coming, one we must prepare for. We need weapons and our fallen ancestors left them around like crumbs on a plate... find them for me.'
Grinner tilted his head slightly, 'The Mechanicum may look...'
Axinos interuppted 'Should the Mechanicum stick their mechandenrites into your efforts we will provide them with what they ask for, I trust you will ensure they won't become aware of our efforts or at least any success. You will have full discretion in the performance of your duties, the twentieth legio will be seconded to your efforts should your require them. We need those weapons Grinner; for the sake of Actium you cannot fail.'

Diplo

General Missive to the legiones
As the scope of the scale of the great crusade increases ever outwards the strain placed on the legions and power of the foes they face grow ever more. As such it is more important than ever to keep losses to a minimum and as such I would like to either you and/or your apothecaries to Actium for a Symposium on Astartes biology. The sharing of medical knowledge and the coordination of resarch will greatly improve the capabilities of medical care and thus efficacy of the leigon's.

@Bandeirante
Memnon, Tyrant and Strategos Autokrator of the Helladic League. Primarch of the Third Legion.
Brother, I must apoloiges for being able to assit your personally as my presecne and the general bulk of my forces will be required for the general push south. However, should you desire the 2n and 15th Legio's can be deployed to assist you; a full twenty thousand marines. I hope you find this force sufficient.

 

[AMTurtle]

​

Dmitri's nightly routine went through it's usual stressful point her waking up screaming that had been the custom since he found her. When she was a baby he had assumed it was the cries for food or other issues that often plagued a baby. Convinced there must be some medical issue at the heart of it he took her to numerous doctors thinking it was some medical infection, infection in the ear perhaps? All the doctors even the reputable ones were greatly impressed by the vitals of the child. There had been times when he considered just leaving her but in the morning she would be fine smiling and energetic as always. It was too late he had grown attached to her.

She grew faster than any child he had ever seen too, abnormally faster. They way she seemed to pick things up things was amazing. Just this morning they had gone over reading star charts and she seemed to grasp it when it was time for dinner the only thing stopping them was her loudly laughing at jokes, pulling pranks on the crew and asking so many questions about things. She had a sailor's spirit if there ever was one. After dinner she had danced with the rest of the crew after some started playing on their guitar giggling and smiling. Then he noticed her mood change when crew members started going to bed and she looked nervous. Then fear would cover her face. She always made a noble effort of staying up as long as possible but eventually the exhaustion would finally take hold. Then she would be screaming no that wasn't loud enough, howling bloody murder.

As he entered the room he saw she was weeping as she usually did clutching her eyes begging for it to stop. Earlier Dmitri had assumed that the girl had a nightmare, nothing to worry about. The fear and the pain in her eyes however made it clear these were not the fears of a child this was something beyond that. He sat down next to her and put his arm over her pulling her close. She clutched to him for support with one hand and savagely trying to wipe away the tears with the others. Choking out the words from the snot, " D-did I wake everyone again?"

" Probably but if anyone thinks they can complain about it I am docking their pay." He laughs at his own joke and he sees the start of a smile on her lips.

" Was it the same dream as usual?" She nods and recites it like usual, " I saw the man in gold, the angel, a floating woman but this time I saw these green big cats. I'm there like I always am but I am bigger. Then I saw the flames, heard the screaming and I felt that I was on fire"

Trying to pull the conversation away from the bleak aspect he asked, " Green cats, how big are we talking lap cats? We could make a fortune on something like that if we found the right hive world."

She nods dismissively, " No these were bigger, men in armor were riding them. A better market would be some world somewhere without cars or other mechanical vehicles that require transportation. Feral world maybe?"

Tapping her on the shoulders with pride, " That's my girl! Always keep in mind that who you are selling to will be sometimes even more important than what you are selling to them."

Pulling a small leather pouch from his pocket he hands it to her, " Minerva I have been thinking about this problem you have been having a lot. You are different and I love you for that. You are one of a kind and despite my efforts you seem to think this is the future. It might be, I don't know. Yet if it is maybe you are looking at it the wrong way."

She looks confused " What do you mean?"

He loosens the pouch and has its contents enter into her one palm, a pair of dice.

" These are my lucky die, loaded they will always roll sixes no matter what happens. I know what is going to happen every single time I roll them. You have an advantage no one else has, you know something is going to happen. Play along with fate and do what we do best, flip it on them when you can."

She stares at him puzzled, " You want me to pull a con on my dreams?"

Happy that she understand he nods grinning, " I'm sorry I thought you were a Rogue Trader."

She starts giggling and smiles quickly moving in for a hug. The speed and force of it knocks the air out of his lungs but he wouldn't give up anything in the galaxy for this moment.

 

[Another Amoeba]

​

"Lady Varil has prepared a room for you," Legion Master Miseo explained as she led Lorgar down an empty side-passage deeper into the depths of the Citadel, so he'd been informed his sister's Battle Barge was now named. He watched her with a critical eye. She had hardly been an accomplished leader before her Primarch had returned; it had been almost expected she would sink down into obscurity once the Coldiron Spears' Gene-Mother took command. If the rumors were close to true, though, his sister was no ordinary Primarch. It seemed on one hand she had not caught on to her Legion Master's inadequacies, but Lorgar could also see the Legion Master had changed. Miseo moved with more precision, less… frustration.

"I am pleased to hear it." He said softly, he kept his gait deliberately slow in the way he learned to do since he was a child. His father had always encouraged his unique nature on Colchis, though tended to be less than pleased when his son absentmindedly outpaced him. His grey robes made nary a sound as they gently swished with each step, unlike the machine-growl of the Legion Master's armor. "I have heard many things about my sister," he said as he stared straight ahead at the passages of the Citadel. "But I would like to hear your opinion, Legion Master."

His gaze did turn to her then, golden eyes looking into her own.

"Lady Varil is," the Legion Master exhaled, inclining her head slightly towards the ground, "astounding. The Emperor would have finer Psychic warrior, had His plan been executed. But with her upbringing… That power must be controlled. Such is why we are the Cages."

Lorgar hummed, letting silence be his response as they both continued onwards. It is no doubt that an Astartes would admire their Primarch's abilities, and may be prone to boasting of a sort. Unintentional, of course. But from the rare reports he had received...Legion Master Miseo may very well not be boasting. More than one horror of the Old Night had met its end at his sister's psychic mastery. That, combined with her taming of her legion--one even he considered a mess in every sense of the word--painted quite the picture.

As did the Legion's renaming.

The slowing of his guide's steps informed Lorgar that they had arrived at their destination. It was a threshold, in the mythic sense of the word. Carved from single slabs of diorite or some other dark stone, a grand double doorway rose up before him. They seemed at first featureless in the low light, but as the Legion Master pulled open the doors it became apparent that they contained patterns of some dimly reflective substance inlaid into the rock, and the hallway was filled with blurs of light.

Lorgar could also see, for a moment when the edge of the door was perpendicular to his eyes, a thin line of blueish light divided it in two. The doors were truly made of two stones pressed against one another, some unknowable runes hidden between them. The Legion Master pulled them open further, and then it was gone.

His sister was in the room beyond, seated at the end of a long table pointed towards him. Two gold-armored Custodes flanked her, perhaps five paces distant against the far wall. Four each stood against the side walls, two by the door. None of them appeared to be the Shield-Captain, and in the dim light their armor seemed almost brassy. Varil wore a stone blue dress and a pearly mask, which left exposed the tired eyes that stared at the hands clasped before her. She seemed almost praying.

A Coldiron Cages Astartes stood beside her, also out of her armor, green eyes shining as she chuckled at something. Like her gene-mother, she wasn't wearing a piece of armor, in her case it was something like a vest and cap. Her eyes shot to Lorgar first, followed by Varil's.

"What brings Lorgar all the way to me?" his sister asked.

The Urizen's gaze didn't meet his sisters. Not at first. Instead golden eyes of a Primarch matched with those of a mere subset of godhood. An instinctive wave of revulsion hit him, his face almost tightening into a sneer before he seized control; resulting in only in a brief frown, and the tightening of his eyes. His hand brushed at his side, looking as if he were gently dusting something off. Though indeed it was more a continuation of his instinctual reaction. That of a Primarch, to reach for a weapon that wasn't there.

His instinctive reaction left as swiftly as it came, crushed under the will of a man who had overseen a dozen or more wars since his ascension to the stars. It stayed, of course, but quieted. Pushed underneath and hidden. This, then, would be one of the many blanks his sister's legion was famed for.

"Curiosity." He said, finally turning his gaze from the blank and onto his fellow Primarch. "I have heard many things, from many different people. Sources of information can, of course, be somewhat tainted by opinion. An inescapable human fact...so I wished to be my own judge, my own witness if you will. I must thank you for indulging me, sister."

Even as he kept his eyes on Varil, he couldn't help but keep track of the other occupants in the room. He had heard of the rumored Custodes, but to see the Emperor's guardians standing silent vigil over Varil was another thing entirely. The blanks' presence was, almost hilariously, far more notable than the Custodes. Even as he kept his gaze on his sister, he was keenly aware where the Astartes stood. Her every little motion was as clear as day to his own senses. This was the company his sister kept, then. In the dark depths of her own ship, surrounded by some of the Emperor's most perfect genetic creations barring the Primarchs themselves, and a blank. One of the few things in the galaxy with a noted, terrible influence on Psykers.

He felt a growing pit in his stomach that had nothing to do with the blank's aura.

Varil seemed to study the unease written across his face for a moment, until she leaned down to whisper in her blank's ear. Her words were lost, but the blank's cheerful chirp, "Out of sight, out of mind!" made her request clear. Soon, she disappeared upward. The room was much taller than it first appeared.

Varil's face, those parts of it he could see, seemed to shift: less strained, much more alert. "I must apologize," she said, and offered only the explanation, "She wished to speak of you."

It was almost fascinating how much more alive she seemed, now that the invisible weight of the blank had left the room. If what he felt was revulsion upon sighting the Astartes, then how must his sister, noted master of the psychic arts, feel? And yet she brings them to her side, even in what was very clearly her own private chambers. It was….informative.

As the blank walked past him, utterly cheerful even after bringing about such a reaction on a Primarch, and outside the room he couldn't help but feel a passing pity. How miserable of an existence it must be, to inspire such revulsion in everyone you meet. Tensed muscles relaxed subtly, even though the pit in his stomach seemed to only widen. Still, no need to be rude. He held up a hand to forestall the apology. "It's appreciated, but truly there is no need." He chuckled, a rueful sound. "Truthfully, I had thought myself prepared to meet a member of your Legion. Clearly not as well as I thought."

"What is her name?" He asked, inclining his head slightly.

"She is called Vara. Despite her demeanor," Varil, to be quite honest, lied, "I have found she is important to me."

"It may often be the strangest of corners that most garner our affection." Lorgar said with an ever so slight shrug. So much strangeness already. A psychic giant, contenting herself with the presence of a blank? Varil may well have the strongest of wills out of them all...or a massive masochistic streak. He, frankly, could not tell. Though he could not deny the curiosity that slowly swirled above the pit in his stomach.

"Is it important to you?" He asked, gesturing to the mask she wore at this very instant.

"Always serene, is it not, never panicked, never afraid?" Varil slid her withered fingers across the faceplate, "A reflection of what I was to be. Nostalgia for a childhood that was not, but it is not necessary. You may see me as I am, if you wish."

Lorgar paused for a moment. His face, lined with golden colchisian script, appeared to study Varil. Then, a smile bloomed, small and earnest. "Ah, I see you as you are dear sister. If you wish to remove it then feel free, yet I see no need." He clasped his hands behind his back, standing a little straighter, a little grander. She did not oblige his offer.

"There are many among us siblings who would eschew a helmet, even some other pieces of armor. To wade into battle with their face bare for all to see. I cannot confess to being among them. They may do so for their own reasons, pride, tactical considerations and the like; such is their right. But...ah."

He paused, heaving a small, almost microscopic sigh.

"I don't have that same sense of grandeur, not like that at least. I walk into battle like my sons do, armed and armored head to toe. The flow of battle is easier to manage, to be sure. Communication flows freely, battle-maps, logistical data. Audio dampers, lenses to manage the great explosions made by the mightiest of our guns. All logical, sound reasons. But they do not play the whole part. I wear a helmet because there, in a full suit of power armor, everything seems a tad more distant; and more manageable as a result."

"Even we must bow before psychology," Varil replied, with a tone that seemed to say she spoke with a smile, but then her tone returned to seriousness. "Did the Emperor present you with your suit of armor? He did me, mine. It was slim, agile. I was to be a hunter. And perhaps that's why I wear merely a mask: a predator needs immediacy, needs to feel. Even as prey, I was so reliant on those sensations… smells, sound, the electric cackle of warpfire, the subtlest shifting of the air… as I was hunted."

Her laugh was like the crackle of freezing ice, "Not quite brave, not quite wise."

"The middle ground, then." Lorgars offered with a slight smile. His voice was steady and soft, like a warm spring breeze compared to his sister's own haunting laugh. "My armor was not presented to me by our father. He did however put me in touch with some of the finest armor artisans in the Imperium. I remember spending many hours with them, pouring over the designs. Much like the artist who gave me these." At that he gestured to the golden tattoos that coated his bronze skin, almost glowing in the low light.

His smile widened as he went over the memory in his mind. But it flickered, tightening. The warmth ever so slightly drained from it as he considered the rest of his sister's words. He had asked his father, not in person of course, about his sister. What was offered in return was clipped and terse. His sister had been the sole sapient occupant of a death world, forced to survive in whatever way she could. The details were sparse, and the tone practically screamed that he would receive little more than that.

It did confirm some of the rumors he heard, of the feral Primarch-child found by a hopeful legion; only to be faced with disappointment. Of the Angels' protectiveness of the twelfth Primarch. It explained much...yet so very little. The Custodes that surrounded her, for example. Why were they there? Solid and unmovable even in the face of two Primarchs. He could not deny his curiosity, to himself at least. But he could feel the fragile tethers between him and his sister still forming. So that, then, would be a question for another day.

"I have heard much about your prowess, dear sister. Control ironshod, talents with the Warp to outshine any excepting the Emperor himself. So I must say, whatever thought it could hunt you must have been daring indeed."

"No," Varil spoke lifelessly. Moments like this, it was clear, were exactly why she wore the mask, "They knew exactly what I could do."

Ah. He misstepped. So used to speaking to those siblings of his that took great pride in their martial accomplishments, who boasted of the creatures they have killed, the worlds they have conquered under fire and sword, that to speak with one who did not share such sentiments apparently took some adjustment. His smile tightened as a result. He would need to move this along.

"I see." He murmured "My sympathies. I have learned through the years that the differences in experiences of our fellows can be…" Monumental. A gaping chasm as wide and dark as the void itself. "Expansive."

"Another question of curiosity, if you do not mind, how do you find your legion?"

"I am proud," Varil seemed to relax, "of what they have become. They are what they are meant to be. Not so quarrelsome, not so," she directed her gaze up, for just a moment, "wild. Revitalized in purpose. I have passed on my discipline, but not my fear. They will stare down the Warp and refuse to bend. Cages must be strong."

The Warp. Refusal to bend. It was the tiniest of final confirmations for something that had been forming in his head since this meeting began. For one reason or another, she feared her powers. One would've expected a Primarch so attuned with their psychic nature like her to purge the blanks from the legion, too painful and limiting to be around. Yet she embraced them, forcing her daughters to do so as well, stewing among blanks and some of the deadliest killers known to man. Called her daughters the 'Coldiron Cages.' He knew nothing of the events that could've informed these decisions, brought them to the forefront of her mind in the first place, but could see the result plainly.

What a sad thing.

He kept his smile intact as he responded, tone somewhere in between warm and cold. A balance. "Pride well earned, I would say. I have read the new reports. Your daughters are keen blades against the worst the Old Night has to offer. And a worthy part of this Crusade of ours."

"A sentiment not often expressed," all of a sudden, Varil's voice hardened, "paired with one often hidden. Lorgar, for all the loyalty in the universe, I am a Psyker who knew no mentor. Every spell, every rune, every action I ever took… I invented it, as far as I knew. How many Psykers have survived a failure? I have done so a thousand times."

She took a long breath. "It weighs on the mind, brother. I swore to protect humanity from any threat, and should I break as a trillion Pskyers have before me, I will be one."

Surprise overcame Lorgar's features, so similar and yet so different to the Emperor's own, and he could not help the feeling of bewilderment that rose within him. "A threat?" He echoed. Yes, a Primarch was a being capable of extraordinary violence. Especially one at the head of their own legion of Astartes. But they were all united by the Emperor's vision. He couldn't help but notice the silent golden guardians that stood in the room. Surrounding Varil at all times. "I do not believe such a thing would come to pass. Even with my own limited knowledge on the subject."

"If I possess a sliver of my senses," Varil's gaze shifted to bore into Lorgar's own, "it never will." Her brow furrowed under her mask. The Warp swirled around him as it did many of her more Warptouched siblings, but for all the potential-- for power and danger-- enveloping him, he seemed unburdened by the weight. She wouldn't call the Emperor a god, but he was their savior.

Lorgar could've done many things in that moment. Scoffed in derision. Called her a fool, insane, or some other manner of hostile comments. Many would have even at the mere suggestion of Astartes turning on Primarch, or Primarch on Astartes. But throughout this meeting he had come to understand his sister. Not entirely, of course. Such total understanding could not be accomplished in one meeting alone. But a clearer picture was there.

So instead he offered a nod of understanding. "With a will like yours?" He said, a soft smile playing at his lips. "I've no doubt that it will never come to such a point. Should you ever come into such doubt, I've no doubt He would catch you. Like He would us all."

"Yes," his sister agreed, "He would."

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Two Houses, both alike in dignity.​

Until the arrival of the Imperium there was no formal aristocracy on the world of Stormgard, although there were certainly families of standing and distinction it prided itself on being an egalitarian and meritocratic society and evidence that this was not the case was seen as socially destabilizing and detrimental to the war effort. So no formal titles were granted and on paper every citizen was equal. The reality as is almost uniformly the case across the Imperium was that certain families always seemed to produce the best and brightest who always went on to succeed in all institutions of importance generation after generation. Still it was not until almost forty years after the arrival of the Imperium that formal titles of nobility were granted, this being painted as just the latest step in Stormgard's frantic integration into the Imperium, so as to allow its leaders to better deal with the rulers of Terra and some concessions to Stormgard's proclaimed ideals were made such as the first families being chosen by assemblies or even by lot and compared to other nobles across the Imperium the beneficiaries of the new system would have very few actual legal or economic privileges and socially it would be some time before they gained the barest fraction of the cultural clout of other worlds.

Indeed holidays to other worlds would become a common pastime of the newformed nobility because other worlds knew how to defer to their betters and required far less burdensome investments of time and effort to win their respect whilst the natives of Stormgard would prove obedient but stubborn and proud and would exercise and defend their own rights belligerently, especially as social strife began to mount with the removal of the unifying and oppressive factor of the defensive wars and the arrival of both prosperity and exposure to the wider Imperium. Savnok himself expressed his disapproval of the practice and so the great despotic experiment unfortunately failed and Stormgard remained a technocratic and semi democratic state with a proud martial tradition and underdog mentality.

The one lingering change however was the existence of a handful of noble houses that clung to their notional superiority of breeding and identity and which would thanks to greater resources and connections continue to supply a disproportionate number of the planetary and even Imperial authorities. They would often receive prestigious diplomatic and military postings due to the wider Imperium's greater respect for the nobility, especially nobility bound in blood (once removed of course) to a Primarch and one favoured beyond most of the others by the Emperor himself no less!

The family of Savnok endured its share of tragedies and mischances and just plain disinterest in breeding that most such large families are subject to, still as of the present day there remain two noble houses which can trace their ancestry back to two of Savnok's adoptive daughters. House Inferinas by Achyls (his eldest) and House Venturi by Stehno (his youngest), these two often rivaled houses would use their blood connection and in fairness a respectable number of able and ambitious scions to climb to great prominence on Stormgard. Many members of these now sprawling houses have been chosen to join the Imperial Army or even the Eternity Guard itself and are the favoured, a source of great pride but in more mundane matters are now amongst the wealthiest and best connected houses on Stormgard with links to Terra and the wider Imperium.

 

[Uniquelyequal]

Diplo
General Missive to the legiones
As the scope of the scale of the great crusade increases ever outwards the strain placed on the legions and power of the foes they face grow ever more. As such it is more important than ever to keep losses to a minimum and as such I would like to either you and/or your apothecaries to Actium for a Symposium on Astartes biology. The sharing of medical knowledge and the coordination of resarch will greatly improve the capabilities of medical care and thus efficacy of the leigon's.

Click to shrink...

Brother,
your endeavor is a worthy one, and I cannot but support you in it. Ours are not the best Apothecaries amongst these Legions, yet still I hope that we can be of some assitant in so worth an undertaking. Representatives of my Legion will be in attendance.
The Light of Sol warm you, Brother.
Written by my Order and Signed by my Hand,
Bakiligi Yuvian, Master of the 19th Legion, Primarch of the Crimson Lords

 

[Bandeirante]

A little while ago.

Terra. Golden Terra. Glorious Terra. Grand Terra. The Throneworld of the Imperium.

Beating heart of the Emperor's great enterprise. And soon, by his will, the center of the Galaxy. It's here that sits the Imperial Palace. A complex of such might, pomp and importance that its defense and maintenance could beggar several smaller interstellar polities. For if Terra is the heart of the Imperium, then the Palace is the heart of Terra,

It is fitting, then, that the first meeting between two of the Emperor's own Primarchs, the gene engineered posthumans created for the sole purpose of Galactic conquest, would happen in these golden and marbled halls. That it happened almost as if by accident just serves to add a bit of theatricality to the whole affair.

The first Primarch to stumble upon this particular corridor is the Master of the Third Legion. Memnon, a bronze skinned giant. Crowned in golden wreath and dressed in rich reds and blues. Golden rings gleam in his ears and from his perfumed beard. Behind him, follows the ever present retinue of Astartes and mortals that attend to the Tyrant of the Helladic League. Each one of them dressed and decorated to display the wealth of their land and the skill of their people.

The ever present reminder of their valued autonomy does little to endear the lot to the budding Imperial bureaucracy. Nor does the Primarch's lukewarm efforts to mend fences. But this is not the time to visit the fraught relationship between demigod and Terran bureaucrats. For now, the Third Primarch is about to finally meet one of his siblings

The Jade General has always been seen as the sibling most openly devoted to the crusade without losing his Empathy unlike Savnok. Of average height for a Primarch and possessing asiatic features The General was dressed as he usually was in armour made by the best artificers. A work of art as all his brothers' armour was it was somewhat slimmer than the normal and was passively being bolstered by the psychic power of The General.

It was unusual for Jade to be away from the front lines so running across a brother of his was unusual. For it to be one of the 'God-Fearing Three' as he thought of them was ironic as whilst Jade was spiritual and followed his own philosophic path he remained an atheist. Striding around the corner into the corridor a barely perceptible hitch in his step his only reaction to seeing his brother. Stopping before him he grasps one fist in the other hand and bows as one would to an equal.

"Memnon. I am pleasantly surprised to see you here on Terra."

Memnon brings his palms together in a resounding clap.

"Ah, yes! The Jade General." He cheers. "You're not known to visit the Throne World either. Regardless." He waves his hand. "It's about time we actually met. If only for propriety's sake. Certainly a slight for sore eyes after dealing with the endless droning of Administratum representatives. Now tell me, brother, what brings you away from the frontlines?"

Inclining his head in acceptance of his brothers point he allows a slight smile onto his face and leans a little closer and whispering a single word.

'STC…'

Leaning back he tries to look nonchalant but the amusement dancing in his eyes tells the lie or his stoic expression.

"You know how they get when a new one is found. Wanted me to deliver to Mars myself and whilst I was in the region and the Kongming was being checked over as a reward from the tech priests. I wanted to take the opportunity to see father but Malcador said he is busy and thus I wander the Palace. So what do you here in the Birthplace of the Imperial Truth?"

"You lucky bastard!" Memnon laughs. "If it's any consolation I'm sure father would be proud of this find." At that he sags a bit. "As for me, I wish I could have as pleasant as reason as you. I'm here to coordinate and compromise with the Administratum." Memnon sneered. "The Crusade will pick up pace soon and both father and Malcador think I need help putting the resources of my people to their fullest use." He paused. "I appreciate their wisdom." Memnon lied. "But I know what the League can and what it can't provide at the moment. Far better than any of the drones and adepts scurrying through these corridors, I dare say." He sneered at an imaginary adept. "I...think that we are starting to see eye to eye however. Either that or I'm just tiring them out." He chuckled. "Then again, middle ground is better than no ground."

The General shrugs lightly at the exclamation. "If I am lucky so is the whole Imperium. I have no doubt that whatever it is will be deployed to all of us when appropriate." Hearing the distaste of Memnon for one of the three parts of the Imperial trinity was clearly worrying for The General if one knew how to read him. "I suppose in one specific sense I was lucky. Though I am the leader for the sprawling morass of Han worlds I have ever been an Appointed General. If it hadn't been for the madman and his lust for power I would still be…..well it doesn't matter who I used to be. I am the Jade General now until our Crusade is done and Humanity has been given hope." A slight edge to the usual lightly accented but calm voice is the only sign of emotional turmoil. "If you wanted my advice, though I do not pretend to be an expert, in Imperial politics it is often just as important to be the bamboo that can bend without breaking rather than the hard but brittle nature of most trees."

"Ah, yes." Memnon nodded sagely. "The heavy burden of civic duty hangs upon all good and proper citizens. Were it my own choice, I would be spending my days crafting and forging as I pleased." He paused for a moment. Reminiscing"But there's no reason to worry. The Crusade will get its due. Do not worry about that." Memnon replied airily. "We are all here to toil and bleed as our father's vision and ambition demands. I just hope to convince the aggrived parties to leave a few drops for when the Crusade ends. But...that's enough of my woes, brother. I thank you for your words. And if you have the time, I should have the evening free. It would be my pleasure to treat you to a dinner feast. And then perhaps you can teach me to handle the Administratum as well as you do."

"It is an unfortunate truth that often we are torn from an activity or even a person we would want to be to take up leadership. But have you not found yourself almost growing into the role? Feeling down inside that this grand excursion is what you were meant for?

But you are right, a chance meeting is a good excuse to celebrate and perhaps we might run across a sibling or maybe will tempt the Sigillite to raise a glass with us."​

 

[Uniquelyequal]

I, Tane Gulevski, Remembrancer of Terra, true Servant of the Emperor, have witnessed and written this.
On the surface, the Crimson Lords appear to be the model of a Legio Astartes, organized in the common decimal pattern: ten Grand Chapters of ten thousand Astartes each, divided into ten Chapters of a thousand, broken again into ten companies of a hundred men each and in turn broken into Squads of ten Astartes: all these formations capable of operating both independently and in concert with terrifying effectiveness, as is equally common amongst Astartes. Such is the way the Crimson Lords present themselves. The truth, however, as is ever the case with them, is both much more complex and much more murderous then they would lead any of their fellow Legions to believe. Beneath the Unity presented in Crimson Clad lies a truly staggering amount of official and semi-official associations, societies, and cliques, some of them, as the Circle of Marrow, as mundane as a meeting place for the Champions of the Companies to train together and measure themselves against each other, others, as the Lodge of Dark Blood, of an altogether more nebulous and mystical bent, often exploring the cannibalistic powers that are the cursed and vile gift of the Lords to its fullest extent.

I know it is too late for me, for the Maw of Eternity has swallowed me whole already, yet I hold hope that someone, somewhere, may find this record.

In what follows, I will seek to give an account, as broad as I dare and as extensive as I think I have time for, of their true practices and beliefs, that some may find them after I have gone from this world, and bring them to account.

The Communion
I witnessed this rite first in the bowels of the Eternity's Maw, and many times since in many different forms, when I managed to sneak away from the facade so carefully prepared for us. What I saw there chilled my blood to the bone: nine Space Marines, young and newly inducted by the looks of it, knelt in a circle before one of the Chaplains of the Crimson Lords, an older Space Marine clad in their crimson Armor standing next to him. None of them spoke; indeed the entire ceremony was done in utter silence, which made it even more terrifying. The Chaplain drew a knife* and presented it to the Sergeant, who, without hesitation, cut into his own arm, drawing forth a measure of his own blood into a Chalice presented to him by the Chaplain, who thereafter passed it in a circle to the other Marines, all of whom presented an arm of their own to be cut and bled in turn. Thereafter, the Chaplain stirred the blood, and brought the chalice to each of the Inductees lips, bidding them drink from it. Each of them did in turn, and finally the Sergeant drained the cup, and each of them seemed to fall into a trance.
I fled thereafter: I did not wish for them to notice me once their focus was directed anywhere but outwards, and so I cannot say for certain what occurred afterwards. It is my own supposition that what I witnessed was a ritual of induction, promoting the Legion's Inductee to full-blown warriors and inducting, through their corrupted ways, the cruel and monstrous character of the Legion into them in a manner that no indoctrination could.
* All the Chaplains of the Crimson Lords carry knives, and many varieties of them. This one was small and straight, and made for opening veins. Some of them are made for cutting bone, or separating skin from flesh, or many other wicked purposes. Many are the sins of the Crimson Lords, and most carried out by the edge of a blade.
They have come for me in my quarters. I was forced to flee, but I know this ship better than even some of them do. I may survive for some time yet, though my end is coming soon.
Recruitment
The Crimson Lords stand in Crimson Clad, as is their term for being in armor, and they appear quite unified, sharing amongst other things a language between them not, by my reckoning, spoken anywhere else within the Imperium*. Beneath it, however, they are a surprisingly diverse Legion, with many different cultures and traditions commingling and in many cases combining, in some cases even spreading to the entirety of the Legion: a chief example of this is the Mem-Marks of Trepoxid IV, elaborate patterns of scars with a variety of meaning, which have spread to a significant minority of the Legion, not all of them from Trepoxiv IV. This is the way of the Crimson Lords, instilled by their Primarchs, and as all it's habit are it is akin to consumption and digestions: the young of recruitable age and sufficient compatibility are taken from feral places of the world, be they untamed jungles or hostile deserts or twisted Underhives, often literally ripped from the arms of families killed by the Lords. They are shaped into Crimson Lords themselves, remade in the image of their Primarch, and those of their habits and beliefs and practices deemed useful are adopted, sometimes even spread, while those that are not are discarded. Often, these Legionnaires are the last remainders of cultures otherwise long gone, judged too feral to be left alive or uplifted by the glorious Imperial Truth in some manner: all that remains a tamed, digested version of their culture, subsumed and assimilated into that of the Crimson Lords until nary a trace of its origin remains.

*I have surmised that this is the language of Xurog, Bakiligi Yuvian's homeworld, though as records of that world are sealed and heavily restricted, I cannot find any evidence for such a claim.
Structure
The Crimson Lords, as many other Legions do, follow a fairly strict model for promotion: those that show aptitude for command are given a Squad of nine Initiates to command to test their mettle, initially often operating with other, more experienced Squads and Sergeants until they find their feet. The vile rituals shared between these are related elsewhere, but they result in the Squad at the very least aware of each other's Strengths and Weaknesses. Promotion is earned by experience or the performance of deeds impressive to their superiors, and quite often, Initiate Squads are broken up after they have spent a few years serving together, their members joining different, more Veteran Squads that have lost members: a process that is referred as the 'Mixing of Blood', which I fear but cannot prove is meant quite literally, meant to share and spread their experience in their vile way. In addition, members of the Initiate Squads that show promise may be called to serve in the usual Specialist Branches, be they Apothecaries, Tech Marines, or the vile Psykers of the Librarius, or selected to be trained as Tutelary of one of the Chaplains, a closed brotherhood within the Legion even I with my considerable talent could not penetrate or observe, who's members oversee the many vile rites of the Legion. Each company also holds a Champion, chosen from amongst its ranks through participation in the Circle of Marrow, where those that show promise compete in bloody contest: it is lead by Posid Anixsun, though is rank as a Captain makes him a rarity amongst the other Champions, who are often of a lower rank. Those of higher veterancy and proven record may be called to serve as Terminators
All this is as I understand it, fairly common, and practiced in this manner in other Legions as well, though with the Crimson Lord each step of their promotion is wrapped up in vile and well-concealed bloody ritual, with the remains of fallen Astartes and even those of vile foes, be they Human or Xenos, regularly consumed for some vile and unknowable purpose.

Yet there is one additional peculiarity, for the ten most Veteran Members of each company are picked and inducted into the Brotherhood of Warriors that seems unique to the Crimson Lords: the Reapers. Armed with Chain Glaives, these Reapers are a sight that is fearful to behold even by the standards of the Crimson Lords: wading through enemy fires utterly unperturbed, showing no sign of harm or bother even when suffering injuries that would fell even fellow Astartes. They are a terror on the battlefield, but I have managed to discover their secret: they are….


THEY HAVE FOUND ME. I HEAR THE SOUND OF THEIR CHAIN GLAIVES. THE EMPEROR PROTEC--------

 

[Skrevski]

Brotherly Adventures
(A Joint IC with @Mortis Nuntius)



Eternal Guardian was a venerable battle barge, its brilliant emerald and white coating was pitted and scarred with a distinguished record of honorable service on a hundred planetary assaults. The Cruisers and Battleships of Battlefleet Infinite formed around it in a perfect crescent, their combined firepower could reduce enemy fleets to scrap metal and boil oceans of planetary bodies within minutes. Yet somehow compared to the monolithic Fortress Monastery of the Skull Legion even this mighty armada seemed of little significance.

If Savnok shared the dismay of his sons he showed it not, instead, he opened up a vox hail. "Prince Adaam, the Eternity Guard have acquired the item that has diverted your attention from your assigned crusade vector. I shall deliver it to you momentarily, lower your shields so I may come aboard and conclude this so that we both may return to more important matters as soon as possible." No, the Primarch of the famed and glorious second legion held no hidden insecurity.

"Has acquired…" Adaam spoke out loud as he shook his head, as he keyed up the vox set. "I see, I am glad to hear it, Brother. Shield shall be lowered shortly, I'll meet you in the landing bay. I hope it wasn't too much of a hassle."

After sending the message Adaam, followed by trusty Cringer, his loyal battle cat and friend, made his way to one of the hundreds of landing bays, yet this one being reserved for when his brothers or sisters came to visit, or in this case drop of things. As he entered the guardians assigned to the bay came to attention, their green and orangey-red armor glinting. He didn't actually require that of his marines, but tradition was tradition he supposed. He hummed a little tune as he waited for Savnok to arrive.

Green and White was a far more regal colour scheme, it certainly looked impressive on Savnok and the small party of his escort. Praetorian Louis Fer, Centurion Rolo, and four Spear Sergeants and half a dozen marines, four of which were carrying a deceptively small black box that was barely bigger than a mortal's torso yet seemed to be causing them some noticeable strain.

Adaam smirked as he saw the escort, Savnok at the head, taking a deep breath before changing expressions. "Well met Brother, it seems this little gem is worthy of a strong escort." He smiled as he approached, Cringer moving up and ahead, sniffing the box. No growl. That was good at least Adaam thought as he had the escort stop. "We can take it from here, sorry just no one goes to the vault but the Vault guards. Of course, you are welcome to come as well, Savnok, after all, you are the one that found it." He once again smiled.

"Centurion Rolo retrieved the item, I did not deem it worthy of a Primarch's attention," Savnok said pointedly. "But I will accompany it to the Vault." He allowed, perhaps in the spirit of cooperation, perhaps for another less magnanimous reason.

"Ah, well I always find it interesting when we come across these little things. Never truly know what you will find. The thrill of it all you know." He signaled for four Marines that had arrived since they had begun talking, the Second Company of the First Chapter, Guardians of the Vault, moving up and taking the box from their comrades of the Second. Addam nodded respectfully to Savnok's Marines before turning around and walking into the halls of Greyskull, men of the First Legion and their allies working and attending to matters at hand. "So any idea what this thing does? Or shall we find out together?"

"Our techmarines could not determine any useful function yet there is some sort of power source within, detectable from the edge of the system. It was located in what we believe was the high-security section of some kind of repository for information floating dead in space. Perhaps you have more information? I presume you would not have come all this way without some pressing need."

"Sometimes it is just morbid curiosity, though I am told this has something to do with the Eldar. Rogue Trader told me about it last time I visited Minerva, and figured we would check it out." They walked for a while, moving deeper within the long halls and bowls of the Fortress, paintings, and tapestries giving away to figures of men of honored past as they finally arrived at the great vault, Addam smiling as they did. "Gentlemen if you would please."

Several Marines took up position on either side of the giant door, one putting in information into a console only a few across the whole ship had access to, grinding gears soon following as the door creaked open, slowly but surely opening to allow the two Primarchs to enter. Adaam took the box himself and gingerly walked in. "Follow Brother, we will find a good spot for it."

Savnok followed. "You collect such items, are you a scientist or do you hope to use them for advantage in your campaigns?"

"Neither." He walked through the vault, several artifacts glowing, others mundane as if they weren't worth holding. "I collect them to make sure they aren't used against us or humanity. I have seen what such things can do to people… and worlds." He drifted off with that, eyeing what was around before nodding to himself and walking towards the crystal that glowed green. "Should be a good home for it."

Savnok nodded, "A necessary function. It would be prudent to inform Father of your inventory, I believe he takes a similar view to ancient technology."

Further commentary was cut short when suddenly the curious box fell *through* the litter carrying it, landing softly on the floor yet somehow causing the entire room to shake, for a moment there was a singular explosion of eyrie light that bathed the entire room and all its occupants, several items began to glow and others shook but the strangest effect was the colour bleed as suddenly the world became a mix of dull yellowish browns, grey and black.

Adaam blinked rapidly, yet he did not seem concerned, in fact a feeling of excitement washed over him as he pulled his sword, a soft hue of blue radiating out from it as he unshared the Sword of Greyskull. "I see we might be in for a wild ride brother! And don't worry, Father knows of most stuff kept here." He smiled as he peered into strange new surroundings.

"You sound far too happ--" Savnok began before being silenced as his lips ceased to exist, followed by the rest of his face and more as he like the colour before him seemed to strain and blur, sucked forwards towards the box.

"Ha!" Adaam could feel himself.. Dissipate? Yes, that seemed to be the right word as both were sucked into the box, only a few seconds later to materialize out of nothing in a dark, dimly lit room. Strange, unknown. "Huh. Must be a traveling cube or something...."

"That seems evident." Savnok was forced to agree. Scanning the room. "Or perhaps some kind of trap, it only activated within the vault, defense mechanism upon detecting the weapons there? Or a targeted assault on us."

"I would say defense mechanism." As he spoke his voice echoed down what seemed like a cavern, new voices heard in the not-so-far distance. "Who goes there!"

Adaam but smiled, he glancing at Savnok. "How do you want to play this? Answer back? Charge? Let them come to us? Always try to change it up when this happens."

"We need intelligence on our enemy…When this happens?" Savnok never looked curious, but he almost managed it in with his brother's admission that this was not a unique situation.

"You never know with artifacts or other crafty things. Orko used to call it "Magic's will" but since the Father came doesn't exactly fit right." Adaam shrugged and started towards the voices. "Only wayward travelers, care to give a helping hand?!"

"There is no such thing as magic, but it is alarming you do not have procedures in place for artifact containment if this is indicative of previous failures." Savnot tutted.

"Why do you think I am the one that escorts them to the vault?" He lifted his head and laughed as three creatures, sort of grey, sort of green came around the cornering holding a light. "Arck Arkback!"

Adaam tilted his head to the side, quickly narrowing his eyes. "Xenos…" He didn't even hesitate but bounded forward… slicing and sort of dancing in a way, his trained and practiced body following his command, his movements fluid and with ease. "Ha!"

Savnok was less graceful, he was wearing his uniform rather than armour and his warhammer had been exchanged for a ceremonial power sword but its edge was sharp and soon one of the foul Xenos was cut in twain from its oversized and bulbous head all the way to its abdomen.

"So usually there is another artifact or something that allows you to head back to your origin. Just have to find it." He kicked one of the dead bodies, almost snaring as he did before walking forward, some commotion coming ahead of them.

Savnok was done commenting on meta, he merely bowed to his brother's expertise and strode forwards…before turning around and striding right back.

"I estimate at least two to three hundred Xenos in that chamber." He informed Adaam. "Our chances of winning a direct confrontation are - about to be realized." He finished as his brother surged past him screaming some nonsense about the power of his fortress-monastery.

Savnok's scowl was as deadly as his blade as he followed, entering what seemed to be some kind of meeting chamber or community center, hundreds of the strange Xenos, many of them armed with exotic weaponry came at them from all directions.

Adaam didn't blink, he didn't pause, these were Xenos and they did not deserve to remain part of the living. He swung and cleaved his way through the tide as if they were but butter and his blade a finely tuned knife. The blue hue grew brighter as he did so, yet never a stain of blood penetrated its surface. The fighting was furious, yet after a few long moments, the brotherly pair had slain those before them, the rest running to the winds in all directions. As the chamber cleared another box much like the first could be seen sitting on a pedestal. "Ah, there we go."

As they approached the box began to glow and the room was subject to the same bizarre effects as before.

"Seems convenient, this whole sorry saga could not have lasted more than thirty minutes," Savnok complained, clearly frustrated by the format.

"Sometimes it is just how things go. You need to live a little brother! Lighten up. I know the Crusade is important and all, but if you don't have some things to look forward to and relax about, are we really helping in the end?"

"I suppose maybe sometimes it could not hurt to take some time to myself and try to enjoy the smaller things in life instead of focussing endlessly on the big things, maybe the bigger things are not as big as I had believed in and of themselves after all." Savnok pondered the important life lesson as they found themselves returned to the vault. He blinked several times, before scowling at Adaam.

"I hate you, brother." ​

 

[Princess_Hex]

Dividing the West​

written with @Bandeirante
​

The Lady Penelope loomed above Phanagoreia. The battle barge merely one among many other ships of the mustered Helladic host. Still, it was a Primarch's flagship. And for one who thought himself an appreciator of aesthetics and beauty-or at least one intepretation of it-, the Primarch of the Third still made sure that his flagship would stand out. If not by simple effectiveness, then at least by good looks.

This philosophy was reflected in the meeting room where the Tyrant and his Legion's inner circle awaited their guest. Great marble columns framed the doors, the roof was covered by a colorful mosaic depicting the Emperor's first meeting with his son. A giant, golden God surrounded by thunderclouds and thunderbolts and stylized Custodes. Memnon stood prostate at his feet, arms raised in supplication. Followed by the teeming masses of the League.

The walls were decorated with more paintings and statues, displaying a variety of scenes. Gods and spirits watching over mortals, warriors in heroic nudity battling each other and a scattered few scenes of the Primarch's own life.

Said Primarch now stood at the head of the holotable. Clad in his war plate, tall and at the ready. Waiting for his guest.

Ahurani had come alone, and while a primarch will never look modest, the splendour of the Lady Penelope almost managed the feat. Her outfit was simple black robes, though they were in fact her finest. The delicate golden lace that decorated the right sleeve extended up to her shoulder in patterns reminiscent of snowflakes, the same was true for the trim along the bottom of the robe.

She had thought the gift gaudy at first, and yet now in the presence of Memnon's majestic home she felt scruffy, unfitting. She passed through the doors to the meeting room with her head bowed, letting her veil cover almost her entire face. She lifts her head only briefly, to confirm that Memnon is there, before bowing deeply. "Brother, thank you for having me on board your vessel."

"Nonsense, you are always a welcome sight here, sister." Memnon replied with a cheerful smile. "Enough with the bowing." He said, gesturing for her to come to his side while the Astartes shuffled to make room for another Primarch. "It's not often I get visitors here. Truly, you are the one doing me a favor."

The friendly greeting caught Ahurani off guard, and as she rose from her bow so too did she lift her head to look her brother properly in the eyes. She smiled, and walked past the astartes to take her seat. Her wings ruffled in contentment, it was nice to feel wanted for once.

"Your vessel is magnificent, and I admire your taste for art. Art wasn't part of my upbringing, but I must say this may be the most beautiful place I've seen besides Terra itself." She had switched to her warm and loving voice, happy to speak with one of the few brothers she had genuine admiration for.

"I must warn you, sister. Flattery will get you very far here." Memnon smiled back. "But the credit goes to my sons too." He clasped one of the nearby Marines on the shoulders pad. "Why, Philotas here was actually the one who oversaw the renovations in this room."

The Marine in question sputtered a few platitudes, clearly surprised to be put on the spot.

"But let's leave the pleasant talk for later. I believe we have important business to talk about." Memnon looked at Aruhani. "If you would, sister. What brings you to me this day?"

The reminder of business looming dispels much of Ahurani's joy. She was not a woman who enjoyed the job she had been forced into. "I have come here today to discuss our plans involving the crusade that the Emperor has sent us on." Normally she would have included a barb here about the emperor's ambition, but she knows Memnon well enough to know that would be ill advised. There's no sense in hurting her brother, for any reason. "Specifically, about the cluster of systems that rests between us at the moment. I was wondering which of us will be tasked with... bringing them into the fold."

Memnon considered the words for a moment. "All of my strength is to be deployed against the Drowned Blade and Bladed Whip Kabals to the South. I have nothing to spare for the immediate future that could be directed to this particular cluster, sister. If you wish, feel free to bring these worlds into Compliance by yourself."

"I see," Ahurani says. Relief spreads through her body at the thought that, perhaps, she could spare these worlds from violence. "I will do so then, it is good to know we will not be getting into each other's way. Though I do worry for you, facing an enemy that demands the strength of an entire legion. While I have faith in the Bronze Shields, don't hesitate to ask for support. I am your sister, I care about you." With the offer made, she places her hand on the table near Memnon in a small gesture of support.

"I appreciate the offer." Memnon replied, putting his hand over hers. "But there's nothing to worry about. The Cosmo Corsairs are coming in force too. And the Lightbringers will be sending forces too." He smiled at her. "We shall fall down upon them like a single mighty fist and crush them before they realize what's going on."

Try as she might, Ahurani cannot muster a smile in response to Memnon's declaration. "I see, Minerva has already asked me to accompany her, though in a more supporting role. I wish you luck brother. "

"And I wish you luck, sister." Memnon smiles, before his face sobers up. "Please, sister. I know that it's not within your nature, but try to stick with father's...expectations. Now more than ever there will be no room for failure. For any of us. I would hate to see you sanctioned. Or worse."

"Yes, of course brother. I will do my best to avoid his ire." The words 'meet his demands' died on Ahurani's tongue.

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Eve of Conquest​

The vagaries of Astropathic communication were entirely unsuitable for in depth strategic discussions. So the command elements of two legions assembled above Barbia Nine, Eternal Guardian boasted in its vast confines whole suites of command centres, map rooms and conference chambers that easily held the hundreds of Astartes and mortals that made up the collective cerebrum of Operation Candle. Savnok himself was in his element as he traced together a holographic spiderweb of a thousand flickering strands each in turn representing a source of reinforcement or supply. To all but the most seasoned among the commanders it would have seemed some mad man's art project, even to those with the knowledge and experience necessary to perceive its intracaties they would be forced by their inherent limitations to focus on one small part of the whole at the time and confine themselves otherwise to generalities. Not a limitation shared by a Primarch.

Alaric Quadar Master of the Sixth entered accompanied by one of his genesons. Both clad in the ornate mastercrafted armor the Sixth's officers employed. Alaric had foregone the antlered helm his sons had crafted him and gazed on his brother and the holograph with his bionic eyes. Ochre light softly glowed from the irises. He watched his brother trace supply lines and potential attack routes in silence. He himself was a novice at such grand strategy since the war for his home had never left its atmosphere.

They were announced at the entrance and the room shook as its denizens mortal and something more than that alike stood to attention. Even Savnok stopped his work briefly, inclining his head in greetings to his brother before resuming.

"Your request has been forwarded to Terra." He said by way of greeting, "I hope it will be granted swiftly. Though given the conditions of the South I imagine there is more than a negligible chance of dislocation."

Alaric frowned slightly before shrugging his shoulders and replying, "To be expected given the mad dash this Crusade is. I and mine will make do and scrounge what we can. Why once on Rallas me and a couple of techies juiced ourselves on stims and caff-drink and worked for a week straight making rifles, ammo, and spare parts in an old warehouse with some makeshift leftovers. I'm sure we can get creative."

Alaric walked up to his brother and motioned for the Astartes at his side to step forward. The Astartes stepped forward and removed his helm. His features were dour with close cropped black hair and ebony skin. When he spoke the accent was of Old Terra's African continent.

"Greetings Lord Savnok. I and the Black Hand Chapter are to be at your disposal for this campaign."

Savnok nodded his head in acknowledgment before turning back to the hologram and resuming his movements. A complex weave of lines yet simple in their goal of bringing the maximum force to bear on the target worlds.

Without prompting Alaric moved the indicators for his eight remaining Chapters to the worlds of Rebuna, Prontithum Prime, and Sines I. Before focusing the three lines onto Yeredet's Forge.

"I'll be focusing my efforts here, here, and here. After we secure those three worlds I will reconsolidate my forces at Yeredet's Forge. I will be leading my Special Operations Group teams to disrupt and eliminate enemy leadership and other operations. Legion Master Bo'Darn Uller is in overall command so any queries or requests for assistance need to be directed at him while I'm in the thick of it."

"Understood, Yeredet's Forge is my ultimate objective as well. It will be a useful staging area for a future campaign against Ursh and the presence of two legions there should be more than adequate for such an undertaking. Your forces will make a welcome addition, mine lack their flexibility and precision."

Alaric nodded, "They're good lads. Wish I'd had them on Rallas and the Old Council would have been deposed with a lot less damage. Your boys are solid though. Clean supply lines, excellent cohesion, and a reputation for thorough work."

Alaric clapped a gauntleted hand on Marcion's pauldron before exclaiming, "Marcion and his Black Hands are thorough as well. Though he has a habit of quite literally melting his way to his targets once he finds them. I'm also giving you some of my Culter Dei lads to remove tricky problems."

Commander Marcion's eyes tightened slightly at the contact, but no words left his mouth as he merely nodded in acknowledgment.

Alaric's eyes pulsed as he smiled widely. He produced a data slate from his waist a passed it to his brother.

"Details are there. You two play nice and I'll see you at Yeredet's Forge. Last one there has to write the report for Malcador."

With that Alaric turned and walked from the room as Marcion put his helm back on and stood at parade rest awaiting instructions from Lord Savnok.

The Primarch surveyed him for a moment before turning back to his map. "Your father's endorsement speaks well of you however unconventional. You will have a roving commission, I will see you regularly updated with our latest intelligence summaries, you have discretion to act as you see fit to further the goals of the campaign. Collateral damage is inevitable but be warned not to take it to excess, these worlds hold valuable resources for the Imperium."

Marcion saluted with his hand over his primary heart. His voice coming out of the speakers in the modulated tones the sixth used to disguise their voices from outsiders.

"It will be done Lord Savnok. My Warriors and I shall ensure as little damage as possible to the civilians infrastructure of these worlds. Though we will follow the Emperor's command on destroying any local temples or places of worship and eliminate any Xenos presence we discover."

"Good." Was Savnok's acknowledgment, utterly devoid of mercy. His eyes never leaving the threads of his web as he weaved the conquest of worlds and the doom of mankind's enemies. But beyond the central scope of the campaign, blinking in malignant red was a single world singled out above all others. Ursh.

"There is one exception to the edict of restraint. The Emperor in his generosity and need offered a chance of redemption to the Techno-barbarian warlord Kalagann. He has shunned this chance and instead constructed a mockery of world that stands in defiance of the Imperium. When we reach his nest of traitors no amount of retribution is to be considered excessive. Their fate shall serve to educate all others who would betray my father's trust and creed."

"Acknowledged", with that Commander Marcion of the Black Hands Chapter of the Umbral Watchers turned and walked away. He whispered as he walked, no doubt believing himself unheard but Savnok was a product of the greatest genesmith the Galaxy would ever know and he heard. "So shall the unworthy be cast into the flames of Perdition for their insolence against the Omnissiah."

Savnok frowned slightly. That would bear watching. He had corrected one brother already and may yet have to correct another.

​