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Age of Burning Empires: IC

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A TREATISES ON THE SEVENTEETH LEGION--THE STAR KNIGHTS
By
Remembrancer Orlan Uzaz
​
The Star Knights are a legion with a long and proud history. By their hand, was the Tyrant-Kings of Arcadia thrown down and broken before the might of the Imperium. The Slave-armies of Yoik the Bloody, the slavering hordes of greenskins and xenos empires crushed under foot. Their campaigns are many, and covered in far more detail in other works. I write this now, for you to read, not to regal you with grand tales of heroism, or elegantly peaceful compliances. But instead to educate you on the character of the legion, given by someone who has traveled with the legion, lived with them and seen the aftermath of their battles. An important, almost ethereal part of the legion lies in what they once were.

The Seventeenth legion was once know as the Ghost Stalkers. A quaint name given to them by army regiments that fought alongside the Seventeenth legion in the early days of the Great Crusade. It is there the legions preferred tactics came into being. The rapid movement offered by a jumpack, coupled with the power of an astartes often has devastating results. While other legions have relegated assault marines to the roles of scouts, the Ghost Stalkers began to find other uses for them. World after world fell to their advance, survivors of the assaults speaking of ghosts that seemed to stalk the mists that always appeared with the arrival of the legion. They started to amass a grim reputation for themselves amongst Imperial forces, whispers followed them. Talks of massacre's near the scale of the Crimson Lords or the Blood Jaguars, worse for the half-baked cover that seemed to be thrown onto it. Simple butchery with little true purpose.

By the time of their primarchs discovery, the Seventeenth were a legion avoided by most. Army regiments scorned fighting alongside them, and more often than not penal forces had to be sent instead. Grim trophies adorned some. Skulls, xenos and human, rattled on chains connected to power armor. Necklaces made of bone were placed around necks or wrapped around fists. While crude warpaint adorned their faces. They were, by all rights, a savage force in the noble Imperium. All that changed when Lord Starscream was discovered by his father, the Emperor, beloved by all. From gathered reports, the Prime--a word from an ancient Heratron myth, meaning 'incredible being' and a prophesized savior of the world--was displeased by the reputation his newly reunited legion had acquired over the years.

From then on, he molded them into the legion many today know and recognize. The knightly valor of the Star Knights is a feeling everpresent within the legion. The shift radical and stark. Where once stood bloody figures, garbed in tribal talismans completely at odds with the noble nature of the Legiones Astartes. Now in their place stood a legion garbed in red, blue, and white in honor of their primarch. Their conduct is completely different than that of the Ghost Stalkers. With an intent on all levels to aspire to the knightly ideals of pre-unity Terran myth. Worlds are given more than a single world demand for compliance, but more often than not the complex procedures allowing for peaceful compliance rumble forth. Yet when they do have to go to war, the legion does so with gusto.

In many ways, their approach to war has been intensified compared to how the Ghost Stalkers did things. An emphasis has been put onto shock and awe. And the best way to shock is to strike swiftly, with great unexpected strength. More and more focus was put on assault marines as a result. More often than not a marine of the Star Knights goes into battle with a jumpack, chainsword, and bolt pistol than the standard layout of tactical marines. The swiftness of which the legion engages in war manages to, in most cases, cover up a failing that has infested the legion.

In most cases, I have found the officers of the Seventeenth legion unworthy of the men that follow them. The officer corp is a venomous den of snakes, filled to the brim with enough infighting and nepotism to make the Terran court blush in shame. From what I can tell, the officers tend to be elevated on who most is able to please Lord Starscream. And officers secure in their own positions are often able to elevate their own allies, forming cliques within the legion itself and jockeying against rivals for the Primes attention. In many ways, the Ghost Stalkers managed to have a more harmonious officer corp than the present day legion. How I managed to uncover this little den is, frankly, the work of years and careful planning. But we are a nation founded on noble ideals of science, reason, and fundamental truths. Truths must be uncovered, and-

[Report has been REDACTED on order of Lord Starscream. Remebrancer Orlan Uzaz to be dismissed from the legion fleet and sent back to Terra.]
-High Commander Sonus


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TRAITOR AND TREASON
A joint IC with @triumph8w
​
Lady Varil felt as though two daggers rested against her neck. The Legion Master, by habit whenever her Primarch was away, and Philia by personal order, had activated their parts in the ritual. Pragma and the Shroud accompanied her, and could well and truly bind her if it came to that. She needed their presence. She was confronting an imposter.

Few others accompanied her. The other Coldirons in attendance were either the pilots or the Children of Mars who operated her personal courier shuttle. A detachment of Custodes filled the hold, outnumbering the Astartes in attendance. The Navigators sequestered themselves to their chambers. It had been a quiet journey.

The shuttle touched down on a windswept plain where this imposter Legion had made its appearance. She had arrived with all the forewarning and preamble they deserved: just enough to ensure the anti-air batteries remained silent. They touched down in the parade-ground directly opposite the Star Knights' headquarters, their engines kicking up a dust storm and cutting deep ruts into the loose soil. Lady Varil stormed out her ship, her two Chain-Bearers behind her, as silent and expressionless as the Custodes that followed.

Where was once granite grey stood marines colored in red and blue, with a hint of grey that seemed to only mock. The banners of the seventeenth legion stood tall and proud. But instead of a flame enclosed by a book, signifying the search for knowledge, there was a purple death mask surrounded by jagged lightning. Army auxiliares were busy counting bodies on the eerily quiet world while the Star Knights stood as unknowing interlopers. What awaited Varil was barely fit to be called a welcoming party. A legio captain stood with a handful of Astartes by his side, all covered in blood and dust. And clearly hastily assembled.

In the distance behind them lay a graciously styled pre-fab building, a model uniquely crafted and requested by the Lord of the Seventeeth legion--the lord that should not be.
"Greetings, Lady Varil." Said the Star Knight captain, him and his little entourage standing between Varil and the legion headquarters. His eyes darted to Varils escort, unable to look upon a Primarch so enshrouded by fury. "I, ah, the honor falls to me to welcome you to Lumlucory. I'm afraid that, ah, the High Commanders are busy with Lord Starscream planning the next area to strike at."

"I am here to see the one you call your master and will not suffer the ignominy of any delay." Matching actions to words, the Primarch neither broke stride nor so much as inclined her head in their direction. The contortions ripping through the Immaterium told her exactly where she would find her quarry. The captain made to reply, but it died in his throat when Varil simply marched past. He made no move to contest it, his fragile smile fading into a venomous stare of wounded pride aimed at the Primarch's back. The welcoming party shuffled awkwardly as it was left--quite literally--in the dust and Varil entered the headquarters.

Serfs and army officers duked out of the way of the Primarch's stride, or pressed themselves to the ground in obeisance and terror. Astartes stood to the side, less out of respect and more a mix of startlement and a desire not to be trampled. Soon enough, she stood in front of the entrance of the room that housed the Seventeenth lord. This was shown by both the gilded, almost excessively ornate door and the proud Seekers, the bodyguards of Starscream, her memories told her, stood outside of the door. It seemed as if they would bar the Primarch's path, but obviously they had been warned or otherwise received orders from their Liege, so they instead opened the door to let her through.

"Yes, dear Varil, lovely to see you." A voice, deep and gravely yet somehow pitched highly greeted her senses. The imposter stood seated in a throne of gold and silk, reclining in it with an air of tired annoyance. He was thin, for a Primarch. Holding an obvious power, but it seemed spent at the moment. Bandages could be seen peeking out from the silk robes he wore, a sure sign of his injuries, impossible memories told her. For he always attempted to present an image of strength and grace. Worn red eyes peered at Varil from a curtain of black hair, a frown set firmly on his lips. "Weren't you on the other side of the galaxy?" He said waspishly. "Planning an oh so grand and glorious campaign to put down the last remnant of Old Terra's defiance? One that'd bring you much glory, no doubt. But now you're here, rudely interrupting my operations."

Lady Varil let herself feel fury, and denied all memories of this man. She raised a hand with two fingers outstretched, and flicked them towards the ground. "Kneel!" Starscream's body catapulted forward off the throne at his Sister's command. He landed on the floor in a heap. Few Primarchs could have resisted his sister's strike, and Starscream's wounds made him all the weaker.

The third seal of her curse was activated moments later. She did not know which of her daughters had acted, but she thanked them for it. She had been a fool to use the Warp when a fist would suffice. Her heart was ringed with thorns that tore at her for exercising her powers. The pressure pinning Starscream to the floor abruptly halted. Her eyes stared down at Starscream through the mask. The imposter's face craned up to meet hers, filled with shock and fury. Varil did not allow herself to care, "What do you know of Lorgar's fate!"

A strangled noise filled the room as a primarch collapsed to his knees a second time in just a few short days. A harsh, ragged cough followed the strangled squeak as Starscream rubbed at his throat, a murderous glare sent upwards. "What do you think you're doing you insolent little worm." He hissed in clear fury, standing almost immediately, evidently refusing to remain on his knees despite the obvious pain. Blood began to soak through his silk robes, wounds reopened by his violent forced subservience.

"Answer me!" before he had steadied on his feet, Starscream found an arm pressed against his throat. His sister's free hand immobilized his hidden dagger as soon as his instincts told him to reach for it, "Tell me what you know of my brother's disappearance!" Varil's whisper was rapid and harsh, each syllable spoken with the force of command.

Behind her, someone called out "Mother!" The Custodes shifted their Guardian Spears as they considered intervention.

A thoroughly undignified wheeze exited Starscream's throat as Varil's adamantine grip clamped onto it. Bolters priming and chainswords revving signaled the intervention of the Seeker door guards, their weapons leveled at the sorcerous primarch. The thumping of armored boots on steel signaled the alert that the rest of the Star Knights were aware of what was happening. "Release him!" One of the Seekers barked, tone harsh.

"Have...your...powers...finally...rotted...your...brain?" The words trailed from Starscream's snarling lips, breathless and struggling, they lacked the venomous heat that would've been there had his airways been clear. "You...are...the...only...other...Primarch...here."

The next moment, the span of time between two of Varil's ragged breaths, for her could have been a month. In Starscream's presence, she could not suppress the memories of him for long. What was she doing here? This was her brother, with whom she had so often spoken…

No, Lorgar was her brother, who had heard her fears, spoken to her with his unrestrained love for their Father the Emperor. He had buttressed her. And this lout had been shoved into his place. What could Starscream have offered her? Nothing. Her memories of his visits were unfortunate relics of her brother being replaced by something so much less worthy. Except…

Except that she had seen through Starscream, hadn't she? Met him in some moment of moment of turbulence that had made her intimately aware of each of his doubts and flaws. It was solidifying now, despite her will. In her personal chambers aboard the Citadel, he would collapse into her throne like a puppet with cut strings, and they could speak so freely because they knew each other.

Varil dropped the Imposter-Primarch to the ground with a heavy thud, and she began to pace as she looked down at her quivering hands. "Starscream," her voice was so much smaller now, "in the name of whatever love is not yet lost, tell me everything you know of Lorgar Aurelian." Behind her mask, she found herself frowning. That had been an appeal to Lorgar, not to his replacement. It would not work.

The Seventeenth Primarch was wary, which could be clearly seen by all. As he slowly stood rubbing his throat and eyeing Varil with a sudden, fierce burning hate. But only the most keen eyed could see the shimmering feeling of betrayal lurking in those red eyes. Immediately, he backed away. Making room between the two of them, as if such a paltry amount could ever truly matter in a fight.

"As I...have said. I. Do. Not. Know. Some...poor soul, perhaps? A lost...creature of little Ahurani's...mortal menagerie?" A laugh, coated in scathing spite and bubbling with bitterness. Whatever sympathy and friendliness that could've been in his eyes had evaporated, leaving behind a dark anger. "Ah, but you called him...brother. Ha! After all...the things you've...said to me, all your little worries, dark fears and insipid little flaggering hopes....don't tell me you've gone soft, dear sister."

He placed his hand firmly on the hilt of his knife, the spacing of which Varil knew impossibly well. Its mastercrafted form of magnificent metalwork and old leather was almost as familiar to her as her own weapons. He fiddled with it often, when he was well and truly comfortable. He wasn't fiddling with it now. She could still hear the rapid thudding of armored boots. They were drawing closer. "Get out." Starscream hissed. "Get out before you make orphans of daughters you and I both know you don't truly care about."

"Lord Starscream," Varil advanced a half-step. In spite of the curse, she could stop any strike of his truly aimed to kill, and she did not care if she were wounded, "Primarch Lorgar Aurelian, the Urizen, Son of the Emperor and sovereign commander of the seventeenth Legio Astartes Word Bearers. I do not mean that he once commanded your Legion. I mean that there are two Seventeenth Legions in my memory, and Memnon's, and Ahurani's, and Alaric's, and Savnok's. Every Primarch, I truly suspect. Tell me you are clueless of this."

He stared at her as if she were insane. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. His wounded form, bloodied by battle with Calimixis and injuries reopened by Varil's harsh handling, slackened somewhat. For a second, he let such weakness show. For a second, he left himself completely open as he usually did in Varils presence. In the next, he had drawn his dagger. A grip of iron on it. He did not move to strike, standing cautious and at the ready instead. The Astartes finally arrived, and Varil's grouping found dozens of bolters pointed at them. More could be heard rushing their way. Even with covered in armor, it was clear that the Star Knights were barely restraining themselves from firing.

"I cannot believe it." Starcream said, holding the knife at the ready. He sounded surprised. "You've finally gone mad. I had thought it impossible with such absolute control you exercise on your powers. To speak nothing of your Legion." He laughed. A horrid thing lacking in any true mirth. "You should really check whatever item dear little Ahurani gives you next time, in one of her guilty little gifts to you. Some xenos tech clearly rots your brain."

His voice went softer now. Colder. The voice he had used in ordering the death of worlds and wholesale destruction of cultures. "I will not give you another warning, dear sister."

Starscream was right in that there was but one more thing left to say. "Then let me take my leave." She put action to words, marching through the Star Knights' cordon as though they did not exist. She would not fear if a whole Chapter had her surrounded, "In the sense that I possess memories contrary to every observable facet of reality, I am mad. I promise you that every other Primarch is the same. When you believe me in this, call upon me aboard the Citadel. Else I shall visit you again within the year. Until then, Starscream."
 
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On the Eternal Guardian a flame burns atop an empty plinth, carved into its surface are the words of Savnok. No explanation is ever forthcoming but no member of the Eternity Guard may walk past without paying their compliments and an honour guard stand day and night protecting an empty grave.

"Every breath and cry and hopeful shout. Every star besting the wide black night. Snatched away but with us still, as we fight through each day. Ghost of memory, scar of love, ember of spirit secretly burning bright. In our hearts forever despite all doubt. Name forbidden, deeds forgotten, legacy stolen yet our bond eternal. The word we all bear quietly now, not your faith but your courage, not your name but your love, not your body but your spirit. Not your end but your immortality entrusted to mankind and those who loved you."
 
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Deep within the Litany of the Blizzard, in the personal chambers of the primarch of the 18th legion, the soft sound of weeping could just barely be heard from outside. The room was coated in ice that had just begun to melt, feedback from the even that had stolen a loved one from Ahurani's life.

Seated on her bed and hidden by the veil, the angel's tears eventually ran out. "Oh Lorgar," she whispered, "you were such a kind soul. Perhaps it's for the best, this galaxy doesn't deserve people as bright and loving as you. Rest well brother, may you never feel pain again."

Finally able to move, Ahurani reached down to her night stand. From the drawers she retrieved a set of carving tools, they were well worn and well used. After a moment's hesitation she reached down again to take one of the plaques she had prepared. Lorgar deserved more than to be one more name on the wall.

Forever after that day, on the headboard of Ahurani's bed was a plaque. Into it was carved, in a smooth and steady hand:

Lorgar Aurelian
I will never forget your love.​
 
The wine glass shattered against the wall.

Many of the menials in the room ducked. Shaking in fear as they abandoned all pretense of appearing regal in the face of a primarchs fury. All the mortal and legion officers have long since been dismissed. The air awkward and stifling in the swirling confusion created by Lady Varils wake. The menials, who had been there to clean up after the gathering and tend to the primarch, were now cowering under tables or pressed into corners. The only ones who stood tall were the Seekers, their senses trained for any potential threat to their lord. And High Commander Sonus. The near-astartes stood armored in his unique purple and chrome artificer armor. While even the Seekers were tense, whether to look out for threats or desirous to not draw the primarchs attention, Sonus appeared uncaring in the face of the storm that was Starscream.

"-after all I've done for her!" Starscream shrieked, grinding glass shards to dust in his hands. His face was twisted into a snarl, his red eyes wild with wounded pride and something deeper. "She was a lost creature, when our father found the miserable wrech. A pathetic little thing barely fit to be called human. Never mind primarch." He was pacing now. Smashing aside odd bits and baubles at random. "That insipid so called 'Angel' found her first, yes. But I gave her the tools necessary to raise her above the beasts. It was our talks that shaped her into the engine of destruction that she is today!"

While many things played across the near-astartes mind. On how Lady Varil had shaped Starscream as much as the Lord of the Star Knights had shaped her. That it was more a relationship of equals venting to one another than a grand gathering of lords, or the pitiful being raised to greatness on the grace of the powerful, he said nothing. Letting his primarch rage and vent. Idly he dogged a bowl that had been thrown so hard that its broken shards stayed in the armored wall. Starscream hadn't even been looking when he threw it.

"And what does she do in return? She dares to assault me in my own headquarters! In front of my own legion no less!" The Lord of the Star Knights chest was heaving with the rage that boiled in his veins, and the hurt that carried it on. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Why, I'd almost be proud of the deviousness of it. She comes to me in a moment of weakness-" the word was hissed like the most vile of venoms. "-knowing that I had been injured fighting that damnable beast. All so she could ask her insane question without me being able to do a thing about it."

He spun wildly, pointing a sharp finger at Sonus. One of the menials cowering near the High Commander wailed and dove to the side, as if a hail of fire was coming their way. The High Commander, in turn, didn't even flinch.

"And I've finally received a response from the Emperor. What does he say, hm?"

A beat of silence. Calm, false in its hopeful promise, rears its head. Some of the more enterprising menials poke their heads up. The red lens of Sonus' helmet meets his primarchs gaze evenly.

"That he knows. That he will deal with it. That he has everything under control!"

Starscreams fist slams down onto the metal table that was the centerpiece of the room. Causing the adamantine structure to buckle and break under the force of the primarchs fury. "Thats it! Thats all our beloved Emperor has to say!" He snarls out, continuing to pace once again.

"My lord," Sonus finally speaks. His voice is cold, almost modulated. It lacks any of the heat or emotion of the primarchs. Indeed it lacks the depth of the machine-growl typically given out by astartes who wear their helms. "Perhaps it would be best to recluse yourself from your siblings." The primarchs seething red eyes dart his way, pinning him to the spot. Many young captains, arrogant off their promotion and eager to shift the blame for some mistake, are often driven to their knees by the primarchs unrelenting fury. Sonus simply continues on. "Lady Varil claims that others of your fraternity will have this set of mistaken memories. If they, too, seek you out their reactions may be just as violent. The Emperor, beloved by all, will not brook such an incident again. But some of your siblings may not care for it."

The primarch had stopped pacing. The fury was still there, but it seemed to subside. His muscles loosened and his posture began to relax. "Yes...yes you have a point, High Commander." Starscream said, brining up a hand to his chin. "Issue orders for all legion forces to keep an eye out on any of our cousin legions. If stormbirds from other legions are launching our way, they will do so only with out permission. Else they will be fired upon. Especially if its one of the Wardens. Ahuarni always coddled Varil. I doubt she'll be pleased at this incident, and will doubtlessly seek to blame me."

The High Commander nodded along. Both the primarch and near-astartes ignored the quiet, horrified gasps from the menials who listened to the near-blasphemous preparations.

"The...hm, only other of my wonderous siblings nearby is the Jade General. With that egomaniac Aurellia having gone north to Ursh...that practically leaves the east open to us." A pleased note began to enter Starscreams voice, and a grin settled onto his face. "Yes, we'll recluse ourselves as you suggest High Commander. And while my siblings are too busy sorting out their own emotional failings, I will be conquering the east on my lonesome!" He laughed, lacking in the previous bitterness as he imagined the glory that awaited.

"Tell the legion to pack up, High Commander. We set course for the Burned Stars as soon as possible."
 
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Good Intentions​


The Primarch of the Second Legion stood in the observation bay watching the stars. The light had taken years, sometimes decades to reach the viewport. To look upon them was to travel through time. The present consisted of a long and silent period of waiting, the senior officers of the Eternity Guard stood still as stone watching their Primarch with the same intensity he watched the heavens.

"I have made an error." He confessed at long last. "I allowed my emotions to compromise my judgement. This undertaking is probably beyond our capabilities."

"Defeatism, from you father, there is nothing in the Galaxy beyond our capabilities." Jean Geant enthused.

"Two legions and whatever we can wring out of the Corps Logisticae should be adequate. It might be a tough fight but the best ones are." Was the more reserved but fundamentally optimistic input of Louis Fer.

Savnok looked to the last high officer to remain silent. "And you Captain General, what is your assessment?"

"You were rash and emotional Lord Primarch. Your conduct was unbecoming and the Guard will suffer for it. But you gave your word to the Emperor and he has assented to the plan, that leaves no option other than its total success."

Savnok considered them all. "Stout hearts and sharp minds. Surely if the three of you can find agreement then there must be undeniable logic in your conclusion. I concede that all that is left is to make the best of it. Though for the moment at least we have Ursh providing breathing room, room I intend to use."

They looked at him uneasily, suddenly sensing the trap.

"The preparations for Lugh are your primary concern, however we need every possible advantage going forwards. If we are to succeed in our appointed task then we must use all possible means to do so and that starts now. From this moment on we must take every opportunity to furnish our odds of success, begin stockpiling resources and adapting for the needs of the most difficult campaign of the Crusade. You were right Reon, any other option than total success is unacceptable."

"Why summon us here just to state the obvious?" Geant wondered.

Reon sneered. "Because you lackwit child, he intends to divert resources from the pre sanctioned campaign and court his siblings for their support undermining the entire spirit of the proposal of a limited campaign and he expects us to aid in concealing this deception."

"That…is most unlike you father." Louis Fer observed with clear concern.

"Is it?" Savnok turned to look back at the Stars. "Lord Starscream once told me that the sunrise of success wipes away all the shadows of necessity. I overextended myself in my grief and injured pride but still believe this campaign will be to the Crusade's benefit, mankind's benefit. More than that however, I have learned hard lessons about this legion's fitness for war and my own failings as a son, a brother and a father. If I am to fufil my duty going forwards I need to evolve, adapt and overcome. This campaign will be a trying one for all of us, there will be further hard lessons and each of them will come with a price of blood. That is a price all of us must be willing to pay."

They stared at him silently. "We will pay it father." The giant promised, always first.

"Like we have a choice, still never let you down before not going to start now. I won't like it but nobody cared about that before and they are sure not going to start now either." The Iron Marshal grumbled.

Savnok turned expectantly to his final son. Reon Essling's sneer could have cut glass but there was something else there too, respect. "You might, might be salvageable Lord Primarch, with some work maybe one day you will become an acceptable instrument of the Emperor's will. Until then I will make do. Now if you excuse me we still have to win this current campaign first and as you have shackled me to the most feckless scum in all the Galaxy I must prepare the Old Guard thoroughly to compensate."

Savnok nodded. "All of us have work to do, dismissed."

As they trooped out Louis Fer stopped by the doorway, "Father?"

"Yes my son?"

"I have fought men and monsters for over century, I have torn power from the warp itself and I have seen enough of the Galaxy to know that anyone who deludes themselves into thinking they have seen the worst it has to offer is talking shit. In that time I've only ever been afraid when my brothers in arms have managed to agree on anything, because its always been bad news for someone, usually me….just watch your back Father, enemy isn't always decent enough to look different and come charging at you with an axe."

He turned and left his father with this less than encouraging advice. Savnok shook his head and turned back to the Starlight and its promise of a simpler past.
 
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"Heark! So comes the Protectress of Mankind! Heark! So comes the commander of the Bloodsworn! Heark! So comes the Lady of Trono! From on high, from the stars themselves! Bringer of mankind's justice to the galaxy, bringer of their vengeance to the alien threat!"

Such were the words of her heralds, speaking to the veterans of the invasion of the Sun Gun. Those well enough to await her return from the planet below. Never mind the lack of atmosphere, they had the environmental systems to weather the vacuum. She had returned to inspect the weapon, and inspect the planet.

Speeches were made, broadcast over vox. Extolling the virtues of Aurelia and her army. Their many glories, their triumph in this system, and the great prize she had won. She announced an intent to take the Sun Gun, to take the moon itself, and transform it into her personal flagship and capital. To lead her fleets into the galaxy with nothing so much as a planetary body at their head. This was met with cheering, not that anyone could really tell due to the lack of air to carry it. Though the raising of arms and the stamping of feet were quite apparent.

It was after that ceremony, that Aurelia was standing in the control center for the Sun Gun, Liliana by her side, listening to a member of the Mechanicum go over its basic functions.

"...and so it requires psykery to activate. A mechanical solution is possible, but would require modifications we are unsure would not compromise the design."

"Find a way. I do not want my new weapon to require unreliable magics to activate." Aurelia replied, with a wave of her hand. "If it was calibrated for alien touch, it would need to be changed anyways. Gather the brightest minds of Mars, I want it done. No matter how many favors I need to spend."

"Are you sure that is wise, darling?" Liliana asked, touching her partner's arm lightly. "To be indebted to the Mechanicum is no small order."

"I am afraid that it is necessary. We suffered greatly at the hands of these creatures. We need time to rebuild, and this moon would aid us beyond belief in doing so." The Primarch replied, accepting the touch with good humor. She returned it, a light tap to the other woman's hand before it was withdrawn.

Liliana nodded in response, trusting the judgement of her partner in life.

"So what then do you have planned, Aurelia?"

Seeing as he wasn't needed for the moment, the techpriest left the control center, and the two to their conversation. He had messages to deliver, anyways.

"Trono is beautiful, Trono is the crown jewel of my empire, but this moon.. it could become my globus cruciger. My power made manifest." she replied, a husky growl overtaking her voice.

Seeing as there was no command throne, something that would have to be rectified, Aurelia sat down upon the floor, bringing her down to see eye to eye with Liliana. A point that was soon made moot, as the smaller woman sat herself upon Aurelia's lap, being careful with her gown.

"You're very predictable, darling. Do you know that?" she asked, before planting a kiss on her partner's jawline. She had to stretch to reach it.

"If I am anything, it is myself. No more and no less. If that means predictably, so be it." Aurelia replied, before bringing her lips down to Liliana's. It was a feathery light kiss, as the unaugmented may as well have been porcelain compared to the Primarch. Fragile flesh and bone, compared to the gene-forged work of the Emperor.

Liliana had always been treated with a light touch, like a doll. Too fragile to be anything but kept apart from the world, safe from its trials and tribulations. She did not find this attitude towards her safety to be pleasant, but nor did she find it irritating. Instead she chose to bask in the arms of the woman who had chosen her to stand at her side. Not behind, not like her armies. But alongside her. Liliana knew she was the closest thing Aurelia had to an equal, in her eyes. Save other Primarchs, of course. But given their distance they barely counted.

So the human stood alone, save for one other. Awe was offered to her, by even the Astartes. And there was only one she could truly say she knew.

"Careful, then. It would not do for the actions of my conquerer to be easily determined." Liliana said, a little smirk upon her face.

"You wound me, treasure. Do you think my strategies so dull that they could be matched by any layman?"

"Never, darling. But if there is one inevitably with you, it is that you will arrive, you will see, and that you will take what is yours."

Aurelia laughed at that, something surprisingly soft and feminine for one such as her.

"I suppose I cannot argue with that." She replied, stroking Liliana's hair.

There was another kiss, this one longer, hotter, before a Custodian entered the room, breaking the tender moment with his presence.

Aurelia sighed. Liliana sighed.

"Do you desire anything, Zenodoros?"

There was no reply, only silence as the member of the Emperor's guard took up his station in the corner of the room. He had the decency to not face them directly, at least.

If there was one thing Aurelia had become adept at, it was giving her minders the slip. It had turned into a game, however one-sided the enjoyment was. Aurelia was sure if they were at all capable of feeling frustration, they would over her repeated escapes from their attention. But it was quite worth it, to spend a little time alone with her treasure, to have a moment alone to think, whatever she desired at that moment.

With a little tap to the shoulder, Aurelia signaled to Liliana that it was time to get up. The smaller woman did so, glaring at the golden armored figure. And as Aurelia got to her feet, she stalked over to the Custodian to deliver a message in a dry, scathing tone.

"You have exceedingly poor timing."

The Custodian did not react.

Her partner guided her away from the giant, golden armored, heavily armed man, and the two left the chamber.

The Custodian followed.
 
You scamper in the dark alleys, carful not to disturb the trash that litters the ground.

You are hungry. It gnaws at you deep in your bones, an ache that will not cease, will not stop, even as you stoop to picking up garbage off the ground to sate it. But you are always hungry. So long as its bite does not grow too sharp, you are able to ignore it. You are tired, so very tired. You have not been here long, in Kaon. Something in you knows that, a year or so. But even after such a length of time you cannot find a home that is yours for more than a week. Mean, nasty people with knives and guns always chase you off. You have seen what they are capable of doing to others. Crying men hanged from lampposts, rivals shot, men stabbing each other over blankets and morsels of food. It doesn't hurt you quite the same as others. But the bullets and blades still hurt, the terrifying thought that if you let them hit you again and again you'll end up like the dead you see on the streets.

So you always run, when someone comes to chase you off. You run and run and run. It makes you so very tired, but there is little else you can do. You steal from the people who chase you off, when you can. A slight, petty revenge. Sometimes it gains you a good meal. Other times you bleed from the bullets that strike your flesh. Those days are the worst, when the pain is all there is and you find the darkest hole you can so no one will hear you cry and come to hurt you more. It's all so very tiring. The hunger, the pain, the exhaustion. But you do not know how to leave, so all you can do is endure.

People exist all around you. People are dangerous. You feel brave when it is just a single person seeking to take what is yours for another fleeting advantage. One you can handle. But most people have found their own place in the universe. They have found others. Others who they band together with in the face of Kaons everpresent misery. You have tried to join one of these gangs before. But nearly every time you have been driven off. The gang is too full already, not enough food, they don't like the look you just gave them. Freak, monster, gutter rat. Adults', all with their strange, irritating and ever shifting criteria. You cannot help but resent them. The hate comes easily to you, and in small ways you gain your revenge. A stolen morsel, a dirty bottle of water, a valued trinket.

Still, you are hungry. Tired. Avenging yourself in small ways only sates you briefly. You wish, deeply, for something more. And that wish drives you to try again. You cannot allow yourself to be defeated by your repeated failures. Else Kaon would well and truly claim you. There would be nothing left after that. So you set out again, keeping your eyes peeled. You will pick your targets more carefully this time. The adults scorn. They are unreliable. Enemies. Their strength is your weakness. But they are not the only gangs that stalk these streets. Children, like you, band together as well. They may not be as strong, but they are better than this unending nomadic existence. So you go forth, looking for your new home.

It is easier to find than you expected. They are led by a young boy called Torgal. One with dead eyes. You bring food and water as gifts, a way to grease the wheels and show your friendly intent. It was of good quality. You stole it from one of the bigger gang leaders after he had shot you. Surprisingly, as you are giving it over for their consideration, one of the children recognizes you. They had watched you descend from the stars, they said, observing as you crawled from your pod and slunk into the city. You are astonished, as are the others. More than that, you prepare for rejection.

The children rejoice instead. The star-pod had long captured their imagination. And your own recounting swiftly proves the young girls story. To your own unending surprise, they welcome you with open arms. The cheerful disposition of the children completely at their initially hardened and suspicious nature. Over the weeks during your initial stay, where you have a solid home and a steady source of food that eases your hunger to levels you never thought possible. You are given a name. One inspired by the spectacle you made in your coming to Heratron.

They call you Starscream.

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​
You are no longer a child.

You have grown through the years. Somewhat faster than the others, but your still not the tallest. Much to your own irritation. Ezma always laughs when you mutter this, using her own superior height to mussel your hair. You lead the gang, your family, now. Torgal having stepped aside willingly when your abilities managed to save you all from an Enforcer team that Torgals own actions brought down upon you. When the initial anger passed, however, none of you could truly resent him. Gold is ever a succulent seducer. A chance for escape from the miserable slums of Kaon. That the High Council had already claimed it for themselves was not Torgals fault. Under your leadership the gang has thrived. You all wear in decent clothes and stand in good shoes, food finds itself in your bellies regularly and you've even managed to secure control over a clean source of water.

You, for the first time in your life, begin to feel the stirrings of true satisfaction. You have clawed and scraped, forming your own little oasis in the endless desert of misery that was the slums of Kaon. And recently you and yours have managed to steal a truckful of supplies, selling most of it off to other gangs and the people of the slums. Gaining a tidy sum in the process of things, as well as an increasingly positive reputation. As a reward for the job well done, to yourself and your people, you are all heading to the gladiatorial arena. One of the centers of Kaon, it was instituted by the High Council as a release valve of sorts. A chance for the lower workers to rise above their station through bloody victory.

It was one of the few places one could find safe entertainment, and was a cherished part of Kaon. Those who entered its pits were revered for their daring and ambition. They who would rise above the filth through blood and battle, purifying themselves to become something better. You have longed to see it ever since you've first heard of it. But there was never the time. Always more practical concerns. Food, water, money, clothes, a place to sleep. Well, you've handled all of those. Now is the time for your reward. You enter the great halls, clustering together with your people as you always have. You sit there for an hour, bearing witness to three amazing duels. Zorzaz and his magnificent stand against the giant Ugluk. Jes' swift strikes, wearing down her opponent until nothing was left. Kor and Jo beating each other to a bloody pulp. Three rise just a bit higher, while three never leave the red sands.

Then he arrives.

His names is resounding throughout Kaon. Not just that, but Heratron itself. The mighty Tronus and his ascension movement, speaking of high ideals. Rumors have it that its whispers have even reached the halls of the High Council in Iacon. You have never seen him in person before. Truthfully you've simply dismissed him whenever he's come up. But your breath is taken away as you watch the giant enter the ring. He is a hulking thing, clad in heavy armor so thick that you're amazed he's not crushed under its weight, nevermind that hes able to move in it. His blade is as long as a man is tall, glinting in the light of the sun. He is healthy and hale, so much larger than life that you cannot help but have your attention caught.

You can barely remember Tronous opponent. A slight thing, all barbed words and quick movements. They're slapped aside so quickly that it could barely be called a fight. Their still form lying in the sands--but not dead. Instead of leaving, however, Tronous turns to the audience and begins to speak. His words conjures visions of a future you've always hoped for, but never truly thought possible. A way out of the darkness, the pain. That they need not live like rats, scurrying at the boots of the High Council for whatever morsels the capricious lords are willing to spare. Equality was their right. The future was their right. Good food, clean clothes and a warm bed was their right. Many had spoken these words to you, in one way or another, but you could always sense the deception and self-interest that lies beneath. But here and now, you can feel none of that. Tronous believes the words he speaks, and declares his will to make them into a reality.

When he roars, so does the arena. Including you.

You go to speak with him after. His guards let you through. You cannot recall how long you spent there, in his chambers. But from the moment you entered he took you seriously. There was no scorn in his eyes when he listened to you speak. Only a quiet wisdom. For hours, the two of you talked. Hours and hours, his words and theories further enrapturing you. Here was a man who had grown up in the worst of Kaons slums, like you. But he saw a future. He still kept hope. In fact, he had the will to make his future into a reality. Near the end, he gave you an earnest offer. To join him, learn under him, be at his side in the movement to ascend all of Heratron. You have been speaking so long and so truthfully for the first time in your life, that the thought to refuse doesn't even enter your head. By the end of the day, your gang is no more. For you have all joined Tronous and his--your--Ascensionist movement.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
​
You cough, your whole world pain, as your blood soaks your bed.

You had risen high in the Ascensionist movement, for you were the protégé of Tronous himself. You were there when things went past the point of no return. When an entire hab-block was wiped off the map in a single day, and the oppressed rose up against their oppressor's on the words of a furious Tronous. It was the most glorious day of your life. Your purpose had been found, you have found a man who's dreams reach farther than even yours. Whos hopes would see an entire world raised up together in brotherhood, not divided for the greed of the few. When he declared the time had come for the High Council's rule to end, you had been enthusiastic. You and Tronous together pulled the disunited Ascensionists into a force that could fight the High Councils police force. And, more than that, their small but well equipped and highly trained armies.

But it was not the swift revolution you had hoped it would be. You had numbers on your side. You had the will of the people, with most of the planet rising up under the Ascension banner against the High Council. Where once an entire world was in their grasp, only a sliver of it remained. But their army was loyal. Their enforcers knew that defeat would mean retribution; and thus their end. Their weapons were relics of a kinder age, when man ruled an entire galaxy. Power armored boots tread on the ground, as the hissing steam of plasma guns clouded the sky. The battles were far beyond some ganger scrap or gladiatorial duels. This was war. Unabated, unadulterated.

And you've done well for yourself. You, alongside the likes of Sonus and Tronous himself, were among the few who managed to regularly score victories against the federal forces of the High Council. But even with your brilliance, it ground on. The High Council took back vast swaths of land. Land that had to be pried from their fingers like one would pry something from a frozen corpse. Entire units of gangers, militia, and elite gladiators would be wiped out by increasingly destructive and esoteric weaponry ripped from the vaults of Heratron by the High Council in their desperation. Cities were destroyed. Simply vanishing in the titanic battles that consumed all of Heratron. This was not a revolution that would be won within a month, a war that would end within a year. But a terrible thing that dragged on and on and on.

You found your heart hardening, like so many others. Sacrifcies had to be made for the future, after all. No matter what happened, death would follow. So you used the lives of those under you as best you could. Slowly, one by one, your friends faded away. Torgal, dying by the hands of a sniper. Ezma, priming a plasma grenade and taking a squad of enforcers with her. Them, and so many others. The years ground on, the war unending. You tired to end it on your own. But each proposal for a push was denied, for one reason or another. Not enough food, forces would be needed elsewhere, logistic trains couldn't handle it, the like. But one day, the day the tenth year of the war dawned, you received no explanation.

Lord Tronous willed it. That was all.

Even you hadn't really noticed the change. Busy as you were fighting, feeling your place by your mentors side secure, you had done all he had asked. And for all that faultless loyalty, you were to be commanded like a simple grunt? Like the two of you hadn't shared hours together, speaking of your hopes for the future? You knew you could do it. That you could take Iacon and force the High Council to surrender. That you could end this bloody, miserable war and finally begin to forge the future. So you decided to do so. Success would ease whatever sting may come from disobedience.

You never got the chance.

You never did quite figure out how he found out. Perhaps it was through Sonus. He always was so very crafty, and Tronous relied on his spymaster more than he would like to admit. But the old warrior himself was clever, perhaps he was simply checking on his protégé and noticed the abnormal movements for an army supposedly on the defensive. Whatever the method, the Lord of the Ascenticons had found out of your plan. The surprise of hearing his voice roaring his name right outside of your command bunker was almost as damaging as the feeling of his bio-augmented, power armored fist colliding with your face when you went to meet him. Your mentor, the man you trusted, admired, and loved, beat you black and blue in front of your men for over an hour. All because you defied him.

He left you there, when he grew bored. None of your men went to aid you. You were left to bleed on the ground in front of the all. Eventually you found the strength to drag yourself to your room, collapsing on your bed in a bloody heap. The agony was unbearable. Not simply of the body, but something far deeper. As it consumed you, something deep within your genetic code finally, at long last, clicked. As you faded into unconsciousness, your body began a process that should've started a long time ago. You awoke, covered in your own blood. Your bruises gone, and your bed crushed underneath your new bulk and felt more powerful than you ever have.

You knew what you had to do.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
​
You watch the flames consume Iacon from your position on the Tower of Primes, the building where the High Council once ruled, and smile.

Your crown is a comfortable weight upon your brow. Your purple cape settles across your shoulders, giving you an air of regal majesty befitting of an Emperor. You stand as the most powerful being on Heratron, in every sense of the world. And it feels good. The Ascensionist are yours. Heratron is yours. Both of them having been pried from the cold, dead hands of Tronous and the High Council respectively. Your coronation has just concluded in the burning ruins of Iacon, the once grand capital of Heratron. It will be once again soon enough. But first a lesson needs to be demonstrated. Resources have been put towards your own ascension, rather than putting out the infernos that raged and rebuilding the city. Only enough was done to clear a proper path. If you willed it, it all could've been done within a month. Especially with you personally overseeing everything.

Yet you didn't will it. Not yet. Everyone needed to see that your authority was absolute. What would come of defiance of their Emperor. When you have decided they were sufficiently punished, then your grace would lift them up. You cannot help but smile, for even now Tronous' words ring true. Only the strong ruled. And you were the strongest there was. But you were not quite satisfied. Much of the ancient knowledge had been lost in the war. Either through the simple ravages of battle, or deliberate destruction of a fearful and ignorant High Council. No matter. Your mind and will would see to the construction of the grand fleets and armies you envisioned. Soon, very soon, your would reach for the stars themselves.

The Heratron Star Empire would rise above the ashes of the old. And you had one principle destination in mind.

It would take many years to get there. Many battles to be fought and peoples to be conquered. But you and Tronous had once spoken of a grand dream, in your ignorance towards the truth of the universe. Of a Federation built by equality and hope that stretched across the stars. One centered on the ancient home of humanity. Erath. Terra. It was once the center of an interstellar empire of such wonderous ability and breathtaking vastness that even your own mind struggled to fully comprehend it. But you knew well enough that the center of such a grand empire would have a wealth of an galactic empire. Even after the ravages of the Age of Strife, there would surely be enough to pry from the ruins to be so utterly worth it. And the prestige of having humanities homeworld under your grasp...

Who could doubt your strength then?

You do not hear him ascending the steps. Your mind on faraway conquests as you lounge on your throne of gold and marble. You only notice him when Sonus turns from you to regard the figure, your guards shuffling at the sight of the robed man standing there. Amusement takes you, and you bid the giant to introduce himself.

He does, and gold fills your vision.

"My son, I have found you at last."
 
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A Matter of Pride
  • Threadmarks
    • (A Wonderful RP Done with @AMTurtle )​

    The Chamber was Silent as the Voice finished it's speech, the pool of liquid bubbles and emits a slight glow that casts a harsh shadow over the room, nine statues of Eldar adorn the room each with an outstretched hand grasping a silvered chalice that drips a purple liquid.

    The Eldar and Human occupants dressed in loose garb stepped forward each brandishing a Dagger more fitted to be a piece of a treasure horde then an actual weapon. One Eldar steps forward, their body marred with scars in the shape of Chains, their eyes hazy and unfocused.

    "Our master has ordained your death Daughter of the False King, lay your weapons down to your betters so that He may not sully his form with your blood."

    Unsheathing her pearl sword the Trade Queen waves it around to gather everyone's attention and after doing so points to the fool who stands forward and with great pleasure declares towards him,

    " You shall be first."

    Moving her blade to point towards others randomly across the room giving them their order. Second. Third. Fourth. So on it went until they all had their number. Booming with the volume worthy of a primarch,

    " If you are foolish enough to get in my way I will strike you down in this order. Your footwork is as embarrassing as your defenses on this planet. Foolish and doomed to ensure your failures. Lay down your weapons and I shall add them to my collection. Carry them still and I shall add them to the mountains of heads I have collected since my arrival here."

    All is silent, before the rumbling voice yet again speaks, the source unknown to the Primarch "Hmm let us see then if you are worth my time, Kill Her." At that the assembled Humans and Eldar rushed the group, Daggers shining in the dim lights. While the Humans were dispatched with little issue, the remaining Eldar fought with typical difficulty as their nimble forms danced around the Astartes, however their swift nature could not help when the pearl sword slashes through them.

    Soon it was only the scar bearing Eldar remained, bloodied and on its last legs "Egh...Vile Mon-Keigh, you dare to interfere in matters you are not worthy to even bear witness to. Your tainted form pollutes the pure air of this event."

    Standing over this broken Eldar Minerva takes out her knife and moves it towards the throat of them while using their other hand to squeeze their face forcing them to maintain eye contact. The arrogance of these creatures must be slain before their bodies for a true victory could be achieved her.

    " You don't get it do you? That I am the event you should have prepared for. That war you fought with your neighbors that was so poorly timed for a response against this invasion? It was me. It was all me. I set both your people to burn and I have walked into this palace with ease. All your triumphs, monuments and the strength you felt they gave you was nothing in the face of my will. Don't feel too bad you aren't the first to die getting in my way and you will not be the last. Now about that head…"

    Fulfilling her promise about collecting their weapons or their heads she takes her prize with a quick cut of the neck and removing it from the torso now holding it in her hand. The head lifeless somehow maintains a smug look to it underneath the evidence of pain and the injuries sustained in the battle.

    "Hmm disappointing they could not even kill one of you, that will have to be considered for my next caretakers when I deem it necessary to visit this realm of filth. But I must admit the ease in which you slayed them was impressive for an insect." The Voice continues to speak, the Astartes unable to find the source of it.

    Shouting to the void unsure of where this voice came from the annoyance seeping though,

    " At least these insects had the decency of showing themselves! Do be a dear and show yourself so I may dispose of you. I have traveled such a long way after all, let's not waste my time any longer."

    "Very Well I shall grace you with my form." The pool of purplish liquid seems to rise up as something emerges from its depths, the first thing to be noticed was the creature's size, it towered over Minerva. It's body was a dull purple color and had various silver adornments across it's form, each holding some kind of jewel or other material of value. The creature had a humanoid body, but it held jagged edges and points as various spikes of some kind of bone jutted out, giving the appearance of either amour or a hardened skin, it had a long and bone-like tail which had an edge like a blade.

    But it's face was what stopped Minerva in her tracks, it had twisting horns of the bone-like material, that gave off an air of oppression and absolute rule. It held two eyes of a deep ruby red and a beastial mouth with silver fangs. As it walked forward the purple liquid drips off it's body and onto the stone floor hissing and burning as it walks towards the group.

    It stops several feet from Minerva and looks down at her with an expression that is clearly of disgust, like a noble looking down at a vermin "Now, shall I grace you with my name or will you be a barbaric creature and simply attack me?" the voice was condescending and dripping with the same pride and malice she had felt before.

    " It is required that I know your name for the purpose of my glory. The poets will need to figure out what rhymes with it.""

    The beast Chuckles "How amusing, very well my name is Izikalick, Archduke of the boiling plains, master of Ceremonies for the Eternal Court, Grand High Judge of the Great Chain, Master of Ten Families and Taskmaster of the Dread Pit. Not that any of these lofty titles will mean anything to a vermin like yourself." It leans down, it's face mere feet from the Primarch "Now what will you do Primarch?" it was both a question and an invitation to do what you could.

    Unimpressed she stares down this beast glaring him in the eye not giving an inch,
    " Watch yourself as you speak to the Trade Queen Minerva of House Jinkov, Proud Host of Port Tortuga, Ensurer of Good Vibes, Kraken of the Void and Friend of All Merchants. Now I proudly add the title of the Ravager of Jakarith You ask what I will do? This entire planet now is a witness to what I can do. My followers butcher yours with ease. How disappointedly easy it was for your people to be knocked down atop their pedestal with a mere month's work. You misunderstand I should not be impressing you, you should be trying to impress me. You can hear my work with every single firing of the cannons from above."

    Izikalick simply smiles "You act as if I put any value on those mortal beings or this Planet, no there is no pedestal for the Eldar in my eyes. They simply fight for the right to bask in my glory and get a glimpse of true Godhood, you hold pride in that you tore them asunder. But ask yourself this Primarch, is that really an accomplishment if they were made to fight each other?"

    The tail of the beast stabs into the chest of one of the fallen Eldar, bringing the body closer to Izikalick. "Pitiful creatures that scream and cry out their importance to an uncaring abyss, when my kind knows our importance and needs not to scream it like a savage pest." his hand reaches over the headless stump and plunges his hand inside taking out a small gem like object and swallowing it. "But they do have their uses, what about your followers? Do they have such use to you?"

    Eyebrows raised upon seeing the gem go down the beast's throat, " You see them as merely cattle to be collected when they suffer. I have no patience for livestock who accept the stroke of the blood soaked butcher upon the head. My followers will ensure my will upon this galaxy. Your followers were merely steps in me doing that. I will not sit bored among my trumphs, I will define history. You speak of your kind but what are you? Nothing that I have ever seen before and I have traveled across these stars."

    A harsh sound of a chuckle emits from Izikalick who takes one of it's gore covered fingers and presses it onto Minerva's forehead "The Vermin know my kind as their superiors, they call us Dar'Chavok which has a translation in your lesser tongue, known as Dukes of Corruption, frankly it is a limiting title for what we are, but what can I expect from such limited creatures."

    It again digs into the Eldar's body and tears out more of those gem like objects and devours them before continuing "Claiming that the Eldar are cattle is giving them far too much credit, they are prideful and insecure creatures, simple animals obey what is stronger. Those that are fit to live in our presence, not like those savages." That last part is muttered in anger, the only other emotion Minerva has seen from the being besides Pride and condescension.

    Wiping away the gore from her forehead in annoyance with her offhand fully aware of what this creature was trying to do by spitefully responding to her earlier comment. Such an annoying creature it was only Minerva's curiosity that maintained this conversation, the brute in front of her made for poor company. These supposed dukes of corruption were something she had never heard of. Something with this much power being unknown seemed odd. The legends of the Emperor spread long before the Imperium reached its current borders yet there was only silence on these beings? Ruling an entire race and she only learned of them now in this moment. Pointing towards the gems the beast is wolfing down she asks it" What even are those?"

    "Oh these little things?" it pulls another out of the Eldar's body before tossing it away with little care. "These are what the Eldar created to cheat death as it were, made a long time ago they trap the Souls of the Eldar once they die, normally it is one gem per soul, but i wished to showcase something for this little project, so I ordered them to take the Gems of those they killed and insert them into their bodies." It holds the Gem in Minerva's face, While she is not like her sister Varil, she can feel the soul inside the Gem. "I had told them I would give favor to the one who most resembled my being with the amount of their kin inside."

    Looking at the Gem and then Izikalick, Minerve could see not the face of cruel glee she would expect, but an expression of genuine curiosity "You have asked me many questions Primarch, will you answer my own?"

    " What could one of such self described importance find worthy of asking me?"

    "Why do you serve the Anathema? You clearly do not need his power to survive the Galaxy like the rest of your Kin, so why lower yourself to a being who does not care if you live or die, only his foolish dreams."

    " Who is the Anathema? You must be speaking of the Emperor considering your lack of interest in those of one lower tier." She gestures to the dead Eldar whose guts the creature is rifling through. " What makes you think that I do not have dreams of my own and through service to him I can achieve them?"

    "Your title for him is revolting in it's own special way, he has not earned that crown he wears, he denies part of himself that would make it true. So in turn I will call him what he is, Anathema to the True Path." It looks contemplative at Minerva. "As for why I think this, it is because you could be greater than him, you could create something that will last longer than anything of his. It boggles the mind that you would serve a being whose end goal is detrimental to yours, but i suppose i could be wrong about you, that you are nothing but another pawn to HIM, one that will be disposed of when he is done with you, much like...well he would not have a name you recognize."

    Distant explosions are heard"I believe our time is coming to a close, so I will be sporting and let you decide on this next action: flee or fight? Make your Choice and quickly now before I stop being so generous." It's tone was Playful and filled with Pride as it clearly did not see any before it as a Threat.

    " Whatever issues I would have in my current set up I know a raw deal when I see one. You speak of my being a mere pawn in the Emperor's service yet I see how you treat your pawns with even more disdain." Pointing towards the Eldar remains that had been gleefully devoured.

    " Next time you seek employees to actually make service in your employ worth their time." To illustrate this the Trade Queen begins walking backwards from the creature blade drawn. She would never trust this thing to not attack her as soon as she turned her back.

    It licks its lips "Ah Fight it is, Your Broken form will please my Master immensely." It's tail slashes out far further than it might have seemed, stabbing into one of Astartes's chest. The beast then rushed towards the stabbed Astartes claws raised to rip apart the other two next to the stabbed Astartes. Their weapons raised and fired with purpose, but to no avail as bolt shells strike with no purchase and sword slash seeming to do nothing.

    It brought it's two hands down on the two's heads and crushed them with ease. Removing it's tail blade from the chest of the Astartes and licking the blood "Ah exquisite, I hope you will be just as sweet dear Primarch."

    Realizing that inability of her guard to harm the creature Minerva signaled for them to stay clear of the beast, that would be her task.The ineffectiveness of the bolters against the creature was noted though Minerva fired rapidly regardless, going for its eyes not to maim the creature but hoping to blind it.

    Charging into the creature she jumped atop it trying to distract it shouting for her detachment to listen, "Gevin Four" They bolted to their positions as they have been trained before taking out of the explosives charges on their person and setting them up in structure points across the chamber. Minerva wails into the creature trying to inflict pain upon it but now just buying them time.

    The beast lazily doges the shot to its eyes, only just dodging the bolts. But the diversion did keep it's attention on Minerva while she attempted her attacks, and her Astartes started their work. It took several seconds while Izikalick and Minerva exchanged blows that it's eyes caught a glimpse of one of the Corsairs working on the device. It snarled in some strange language and barreled past Minerva towards the device, landing a few slashes of it's tail blade onto Minerva. Some of the last drops of the Purple liquid leaving it's body as it does so.

    Whose own slashes caught the tail and managed to cut into it, not causing significant damage but enough to be noticed by the Primarch. As the beast looms over the Corsair, one of her sisters leaps onto the back of Izikalick and stabs repeatedly, and surprisingly the stabs are effective, cutting into the beast who makes a deep growl of anger "Little Pest!"

    Taking advantage of the distraction the primarch moves behind the creature towards its tail and kicks the inner half with the muscle spamming inward towards the stomach of the creature. Grabbing the center point of the tail she stabs it into the guts of the creature seeking to further cut into the beast, inflicting its own defenses against it.

    The beast screams its innards open up further and the tail flings itself out of the body only to be replaced with a fist rocketing inside. Then suddenly the beast feels the fist pull out with Minerva yelling at everyone to get back. The two of them lock eyes as she smiles wickedly at the creature revealing the pins of the multiple grenades still in her hand. She attempts to say something witty but the explosion inside the creature negates whatever will be said to the fate of what could have been.

    It should have killed the beast, but it still stood, it's form bloody and broken, but it still stood. It lashed out it's arms grabbing the Primarch by the neck and lifting her up to face it's full height, gazing into her with hatful eyes "Y..YOU THINK YOU'VE WON...HAHAHAHAH, YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU FIGHT CHILD OF DMITRI OF HOUSE JINKOV,I WILL NEVER DIE AND I WILL ENSURE ALL THAT YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE BUILD WILL BURN." It's rage keeping any attempts by Minerva to cut herself free impossible. All while her daughters try in vain to free their Gene-Mother as the tail of the beast slashes and cuts at all around.

    It then leans in and whispers into her ears " I do not boast when I say this Mortal, I will see you broken and kneeling before me and my Master, you think you are impressive, you are nothing to a GOD" At that, it slams Minerva to the ground and screams. The sound is deafening as it is not one voice, but Millions all wailing in anguish that Minerva can feel is the anguish of shackled chains and cracking whips.

    As it looms over her, Izikalick reaches into its own gullet and pulls out a gleaming crystal Sword and stabs wildly all around it, felling several more Corsairs and slashing into Minerva, the cuts burning like an acid was poured into them. Izikalick's wails seem to shake the room itself as it's rampage continues, it's broken flesh seeming to warp and shift into chains that strike out at everything in range, wrapping around Eldar bodies and crushing them and smacking around Corsairs.

    Pain. Pain consumes the primarch with every second the cuts feeling as though the flesh has been freshly torn again and again. The aura this creature forces upon the planet feels like every nightmare that Minerva is haunted by in her dreams. This connection however triggers something inside. Rage. Defeat or retreat was no longer an option; this creature must die here.

    The pain is buried underneath the rage as the primarch sprints with the posthuman speed granted to her as a primarch moving past the chains the creature moves across the room. With her sword she clears a path cutting chains in her way or pushing them to the side. The two beings are once again face to face as Minerva grabs the arm that holds the sword with her free hand." YOU DARE THREATEN ME!? THINK YOU CAN KILL MY DAUGHTERS? BY WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO GET IN THE WAY OF AMBITION. YOU BELIEVE THAT SOMETHING AS PATHETIC AS YOU COULD EVER STOP ME?" With the hand holding the blade she moves to cut the wrist of the beast off with blade cutting through the flesh. Letting her blade drop with the hand she moves to grab the crystal sword and stab it into the previously opened innards of the beast. As she twists it violently around she screams into the creature's face, " YOU SHOULD HAVE OFFERED TO SERVE ME!"

    The wails of Izikalick cease and it's form begins to shimmer and fade becoming like mist "W..e Will…Me..et…Agai..n" and like that it is gone, the Crystal sword falling to the ground and shattering into the pieces of crystal the beast was consuming.

    Looking at the remains of the sword and the damage around her Minerva begins collecting the shards. They could perhaps be of use to her in the future one could never know. Looking towards her remaining honor guard, " Collect our fallen sisters, they deserve a proper burial not in this place. Use the charges and destroy this building. We never speak of what happened here, if anyone were to ask, it was a large detachment of Eldar." The rage was fading away and the pain was starting to take hold again. It was time to leave this place, nothing could remain. The fleet received signal from their primarch for a concentration of fire upon her current position shortly.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • A Memory

    ​
    Miseo's Gene-Mother sat opposite her. A bone-white table was between them, laid out with a glass-piece Regicide board, and Primarch Varil paged with little apparent interest through a book of rules. The Space Marine could not tell what thoughts ran through her Primarch's mind. Varil had taken to wearing an ivory mask, an artefact serene and abstracted beyond representing any particular woman. A curved blade like a khopesh was affixed to the Primarch's waist.

    Varil placed the rulebook down beside the game board. "I have been reliably informed you are a disgrace to this Legion."

    The Legion Master startled. Her eyes scanned Varil's for any hint of emotion, and found judgment. This was a shock, but she also knew this day was bound to have come, eventually. Ahurani had been a welcome reprieve from the pressures which broke this Legion, and a gracious advocate, but Miseo was not a Warden of the Blessed Heart; Ahurani had been called away years ago. The Coldiron Spears were on deployment with a new Legion, and the Lady Primarch was no longer as sheltered as she had once been. She had met many of her siblings by now. Varil knew the extent of her Legion Master's failings. Miseo bowed her head, ashamed. "Yes, my Primarch."

    "Yes?" Lady Varil repeated. Her tone was flat, but conveyed disappointment. "Is that all? Have you nothing to say in your defense?"

    "Lady Primarch." The Legion Master's downturned eyes saw the table, saw the game pieces in clear and frosted glass, saw Varil at the very edge of their vision, "By test and in simulation, I am skilled, but I accept full responsibility for--"

    "Enough!" Miso's eyes snapped to her Primarch. The mask betrayed nothing, but she saw her Gene-Mother's hand snake down to grasp the hilt of her weapon. "I shall pose a different question. Do you believe you should continue your service with my Legion, or do you believe you should not?"

    The Legion Master's hearts began to race, but she forced herself to do nothing untoward. If her Primarch meant to kill her, she not resist, but she knew she meant something to this Legion. If she was not worthy of holding a command, she could at least die in another place on the battlefield. Miseo knew not to mince words, "Lady Primarch, I believe I should remain in your service."

    "Prove it," the Primarch snapped before Miseo could compose another thought. Her arm swept toward the Regicide set, "We shall play five games. You shall remain in my service if you win three. If I win three, you shall not. I have read the rules to Regicide just now, and understand them. If I ever am to break the them, I forfeit the game. Am I understood?"

    The Legion Master nodded.

    "Good," Primarch Varil produced two dice and slid one to Miseo. "We shall throw dice to determine who plays Frosted and who plays Clear."

    Miseo picked up the die and used her thumb to roll it across her hand. She had thought, for a moment, there would be a trick. She was playing a game of strategy against a Primarch. As far as it mattered to the Legion Master, the fact that Lady Varil had learned the rules less than ten minutes ago was as immaterial as Primarch Ahurani's tearful promises to always keep Miseo in her thoughts. She had never met a being, the Emperor excepted, as quick on the uptake as Lady Varil.

    If Varil had said they would roll to see who went first, that would have violated the rules: Regicide was always played Clear-Frosted. It had been Miseo's hope that some tiny, perhaps intentional mistakes on her Primarch's part would would give her at least one forfeit, and then perhaps fate would smile upon her. But she now saw that was not some secret test. Varil had phrased it perfectly, as to not break any rules. This would be a slow and elaborate murder.

    Miseo cast a three. Varil rolled one.

    "I will play Clear," the Legion Master said.

    Miseo refused to feel hopelessness. It was well known that Clear had the slightest of advantages by way of going first, so she spun the board about and prepared to play. She advanced with a left-center peon, playing a textbook, if conservative, strategy that would either give her the middle of the board or, at least, leave her valuable pieces intact. The Legion Master had this one advantage. She stood on the shoulders of thousands of years of Terran tradition, and her Primarch knew none of it.

    As it turned out, that advantage mattered not at all. Varil parroted the Legion Master move-for-move until one of Miseo's captures made that impossible, and then Varil had won within twenty turns. The Primarch was toying with her. Miseo could consider her options for ten minutes before making a move, and Varil had hers within a second.

    A cold weight fell upon Miseo's shoulder. Her Primarch had taken the blade and rested it there. "You have lost once." With her free hand, Varil picked up a die and rolled. Two.

    Miseo threw her own. Six. She would play Clear again.

    It was no contest. No damn contest at all. The Primarch did not just win, she swept the board. Miseo did not just lose the game, she lost every piece!

    Varil sighed. The curved blade in her hand slid inward. It cradled Miseo's neck, then pierced the skin. She cut without effort, rotating the weapon as she went as to make an incision into Miseo's jugular. Blood flowed, but it was held back by the blade of the knife. So long as the Primarch and the Legion Master held still, it would not be immediately lethal. "You have lost twice."

    The Legion Master knew she would die here, but she would not surrender. By Terra, there was still honor in the Coldiron Spears! One last time, she reached for the dice.

    The dice! The Legion Master gasped, an act which drove the blade deeper into the vein. Was it that simple? "This shall be our last game."

    Varil inclined her head, "You mean that you have no hope of victory?"

    "I mean that this is our fifth game." Blood spilled onto the floor. She was talking too much. "We already played four. You have won two games of Regicide; I have won two games of dice."

    Varil blinked. Those deep-set eyes, clouded by judgement, bored into the Legion Master. Then she laughed, deep and throaty. "Lord Starscream said you were a whelp, skilled most of all at escaping your failures. My sister did not notice any flaws at all, and called you masterful. I knew neither of them were correct. You have wit, wisdom, steely devotion, but also grievous failings for which others could justly demand your death. I say your faults can be excised and your legacy purified, provided luck is on your side."

    They each cast.

    Miseo won, four to three.

    Her Primarch pulled back the knife, and Miseo was dismissed to the Apothecaries. A scar ringed her neck until the end of her days.
    "Lady Varil is inconsolable and receives neither visitors nor letters."
    Legion Master Miseo, Letter to Primarch Memnon, Third Legion    ​
     
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    ​

    " Preparations for the Blood Bowl are going well Trade Queen everything is looking to be on schedule. Our only issue at this point is trying to figure out which Legions are not going to arrive at all."

    " Who is not coming?"

    " Myrmidons, Shieldbearers and the The Knights Romantic have not responded at all to the offer of joining in the competition. Light Bringers and Star Knights have given a clear no on them coming."

    " The Myrmidons will not arrive, Myrmidia will be too busy building forts to grace us with her Legion's presence. Contact the Shieldbearers and Knights Romantic one more time and if they chose to again not respond accept they are not coming."

    " Of course Trade Queen."

    " Now in regards to the Light Bringers I have no idea what Axinos is planning but I refuse to figure it out, if he wishes to join he is allowed to later. Now the Wordbearers I never thought they would join-"

    " I'm sorry the who?"

    " The Wordbearers, Lorgar's legion."

    "... My Trade Queen there is no such Legion or even a Lorgar."

    " You do not know the Seventeenth Legion?"

    " D-do you mean the Star Knights led by Starscream?"

    " By the void who the fuck is Starscream?"

    " Y-your brother and the commander of the XVIIth Legion the Star Knights."

    " Get out."

    Sitting alone Minerva stares at the paperwork in front of her looking at the crest of a Legion she does not recognize led by a primarch that she has never heard of.

    " Is this your handiwork Izikalick?"
     
    Descent II
    ​
    The Pit was easy to dismiss, its very name a denial of any value. But he knew better, knew that for all it was a den of vice and criminality it was also home to millions of people, good, bad, still making up their minds. For every ganger and scavenger and street rat there were innocents trapped with them and these weren't just faceless masses eking out an existence as their home was buried under the weight of progress. There was still communities here, damaged and frayed and abandoned but still struggling onwards, parents trying to raise their children right, strivers seeking to build a better world, youths trying to find anything that could be said to amount to a future. The public canteen was still filled with to brim, there was laughter and jokes after roll call, the food was still good even if there was less of it and the ingredients of suspect origin.

    Andromalius ate at a different Canteen every day, each one was the heart of a different community, a treasure trove of information and as the years went by and the job got harder a well needed reminder why he had to keep going. Lilith's was a favourite, it had been her grandmother's establishment when he first hit the streets all those decades ago, then it had passed to her father; Stolas and now to her, standards had not slipped. If anything she was a better cook and ran a more efficient establishment. It was good that not everything had to get worse, a reminder that sometimes things could even get better.

    "Coupon for your thoughts Guard."

    He looked up. "Med" had been staff longer than he'd been a Guard. Part of the furniture, stained, damaged, old fashioned and damned comfortable.

    "I've gone this long on the right side of the law. Not going to start robbing cits now. Just synthfibe gathering. Happens when you get old."

    "I wouldn't know," the woman, more than a decade older than him, teased as she passed a mug of "synthre"

    Andromalius took a grateful sip before his eyes shot open, he saw from her knowing grin that this was expected. He looked reverently at the steaming mug. "This is real, I mean real real." He exclaimed. "You didn't kill someone to get this did you?" He asked, suddenly suspicious.

    It wasn't a joke. Recaff had been rationed for much of the final decades of the war, by the end most of its citizens had gone their whole lives drinking Synthesised replacements, rationed of course and of course the Pit got the dregs. Even in the upper levels Recaff was fiendishly expensive, a luxury for the elite whilst most happily made do with Synthre, down in the Pit the joke was they got 'Synth Synth' yeah usually when the real stuff arrived it led to a blood bath.

    "What a terrible thing to accuse a law abiding matron of being! Shame on you Andromalius! I will have you know I acquired this through legitimate means…that I merely choose not disclose to a Guard."

    "Listen Med, I like you and all but-" he began reluctantly.

    "I'm teasing you helmeted brick. New Transport came in to the Starport yesterday carrying a small ocean of the stuff, some trader figured there was a market. Lilith she's got a Voxbox, likes knowing what's happening up in the heavens. She sent the lads up to buy some in bulk."

    "Sent up…buy?" Now he was incredibly suspicious.

    Med rolled her eyes. "She isn't stupid and I'm not either, all above board and legal like. Worth the price, word gets out we have the real stuff suddenly this canteen becomes the hottest spot in the pit." She grinned through black and broken teeth.

    "Yeah when some ganger burns it down to get the stuff." Andromalius growled back. "What were you two thinking?"

    "That if there is a free cup in it for you every day you take your lunch break here."

    His eyes narrowed. "You trying to bribe me citizen Medusa?" His voice was cold, not a trace of humour. Sometimes he wondered if he was the last honest man on the Civic Guard, if he was then there was at least still one.

    Her voice matched his in seriousness. "I said I'm not stupid. But you know there will be trouble when this gets out, so you leave us be and its on you. I'd bribe one of the other thugs in a costume but they'd probably steal it themselves and you're cheaper. We've got the lads to look out for us from the small timers and the real bastards aren't going to mess with you. Besides we're not breaking the law, we're trying to make some money and maybe let people enjoy a good thing in this planetary toilet for a change. Is that so bad? You don't want to help with that?"

    "Then why not just ask me?" He growled.

    She laughed, a hideous and joyful sound. "Because pissing you off has been what gets me out of bed in the morning every day for forty years now Andro."

    "Yeah and I've been waiting forty years for you to slip up, I'm thinking three years for incitement."

    That killed the laughter. "You're a piece of work Andros. A real piece of work."

    "I'm a Guard." He answered resolutely.

    She looked ready to tear him apart, and knowing Med she'd give it as good a go as any of the gangers. Instead she seemed deflate, suddenly small and old and fat.

    "That how it ends between us Andromalius?"

    How many times had people appealed to him? How many times had he rejected them, the law was the law, personal affection, length of acquaintance, extenuating circumstances, none of it could stand in the way of Justice. That was the only way they were ever going to dig their way out of this pit.

    "I am sorry Med but the law is the law."

    "Then how come you're not arresting all the murderers at the Hall huh? Too many guns and badges for the big bad lawman to lift a finger?" That cut deep. "Bodies been piling up worse than even the gangers manage but don't see you going after them."

    "Internal investigations have to be done through the proper channels." He quoted.

    She spat in his face. "You mean not done, whilst a lifelong friend makes a joke and sells some recaff and you're throwing her to the dogs you piece of-"

    She didn't get to finish her sentence, he'd already barreled her across the floor, kicking the table down behind both of them just in time to catch the autogun rounds, not all the clientele were so fortunate, screams and the sick sound of hot lead tearing through fresh filled the canteen.

    His own auto pistol was already out as he lunged out from behind the table towards the next one, firing on the move, a cardinal sin unless you still hit what you aimed for and he usually did. Three gangers down in seconds, more behind them including what looked to be some kind of mutant, three meters tall with a heavy autocannon strapped across its bare purple chest.
    He'd need back up for this one. Shooting with one hand and shouting down the com was again bad practice, but again none of the dead gangers offered any criticism. The mutant was crashing forwards now though and half a magazine to the face drew nothing more than a roar so loud that Andros thought he'd let loose with the cannon. That happened seconds later, obliterating half the room in seconds, a stream of death and destruction swinging towards the Guard.

    He sprinted, old muscles forgetting to complain for once, reloading on the move and putting round after round into the creature and achieving nothing more than making it more angry, and drawing the autocannon's arc wider turning more bystanders into pulp. Unacceptable. Andromalius stopped in his tracks taking careful aim in the second he had before he was in the line of fire. The mutant was clearly bulletproof and the Autocannon was crude, tough and boasted a big titanium splinter shield. No chance on taking out either with just an Autopistol, but the belt feeding into it wasn't so fortunate. A single shot split the link, amazing marksmanship by any standard but his own, he didn't have time to crow though he still had about a second of autocannon fire to worry about, he burst into motion again, outpacing the shots but not the screams or carnage from those who were not quick enough.

    The Mutant snarled its, hideous features distorted by stupid rage as it looked at its autocannon now clicking in complaint, he took a few seconds to see the mangled belt jammed into its side. The Lawman was counting on a few seconds whilst the mutant figured out how to fix the stoppage to come up with a means to bring it down, unfortunately he had not counted on the mutant just throwing the heavy hunk of chrome and titanium hard enough to snap the straps straight at him. He barely dodged, landing heavily on his side.

    The mutant sprinted forwards, laughing thunderously, an avalanche of superhuman death closing the distance before Andromalius could even get fully off the ground. Slow old man, it was all he could do to roll instead, looking around for a weapon. All he saw were plates and ladles. Against the average human crim that had been enough before, but he doubted this monstrosity was going to be phased. His boot knife would be better, maybe in the eye. He rose to his feet, staring down the beastly ganger.

    "Murder, attempted murder, propety destruction…" he began, drawing more laughs. The mutant charged again, he sidestepped, even after all these years he still turned the knife into a blur, a red one once it punched through the mutant's pupil. If the beast was even inconvenienced he didn't show it, instead grabbing Andros with one hand and slamming him down to the ground, something broke, perhaps a lot of somethings, the mutant raised him up again to repeat the process. What a way to go. He knew that he was going to die on the streets, but a recaf heist gone bad? Even by his low expectations that just seemed undignified.

    The Galaxy seemed to agree, without warning the mutant's vicelike grip loosened, and Andros found himself plummeting to the floor in a boneless heap, the mutant stood above him, swaying dangerously, perhaps off balance due to the sudden weight change, heads were surprisingly heavy after all and the mutant was now missing his. Thankfully it toppled backwards rather than crushing the brutalised Civic Guard who managed to get his head to lol in the right direction to see his saviour.

    Lilith had her grandmother's dark red hair and cutting blue eyes but the truest resemblance was in how comfortably she held the Plasma weapon. He noticed Med was stood behind her looking in dismay at the mess she'd have to clean up.

    "I suppose you're going to tell me that you got that Class A Weaponry all above board and legal too?" He asked deadpan.

    "Inherent right to self defence, one of the dead gangers dropped it." Lilith answered smoothly.

    "Yeah and I'm the Emperor."

    "Then your custodes can keep you bleeding to death." Med answered though she moved forwards with hero own med kit just in case.

    "This…doesn't…change anything." He groaned. "Three years incitement for you, ten years for the weapon…"

    "Leaving them to clean this crap up seems punishment enough Andromalius." A new voice called out.

    Another heroic head turn and he could see the squad of SIU men in the entrance way, admiring the carnage.

    "About time you showed up." He grimaced, "Show's already over."

    "What? Oh these clowns? We're not here for them." Their leader corrected, walking over to the trio ignoring the various groaning casualties and corpses littering the floor. Tall, thin with one eye replaced with a cyber replacement glinting a malicious red. "We're here about a necklace."
     
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    The Kabal's main Palace had been mostly leveled during the fighting. And even now the liberated slaves and Helladic Auxiliaries worked endlessly to clear away rubble and burn the myriad of bodies left by that particular clash. But even as it burned, the Primarch had led a strike into a hideout, a secret fallback position and storehouse.

    It was also, as it turned out, blessedly undermanned. The Eldar not realizing their location had been discovered until Memnon himself teleported there at the head of his Sacred Band. Thanks to that, the fight had been, for once in this damned war, short, easy and one sided.

    Structural damage had been minimal and the defenders had proven unable to destroy their precious stores before they could be captured. The place would make a fine outpost, after some remodelling. Whomever ended up in charge of the planet could make good use of it. But that was for the future.

    In the present, the Primarch and his servants were busy combing through the many levels and chambers of the underground base. Taking everything not nailed down and everything that was, until the last reminder of Dark Eldar presence in this place was removed and forgotten.

    Some would be destroyed. The bodies, personal effects, furniture, torture instruments and the like. Some would be sent elsewhere. Weapons and technology to Mars for study. But some, some Memnon would keep for himself under lock and key. Art, lore, select relics. They drew his interest and he wished to own them. Not so much as battle trophies but also out of simple admiration for the craft and skill that went into them.

    It was then, while the Tyrant was overseeing the packing up of a particular chamber, that his Master of Scouts found him.

    "You called for me, Master?" Amyntas called out in Helladic as he crossed the treshold, ducking slightly to avoid the spikes. "I swear that whatever you were told, I won it fair and square." He joked as he came closer, almost dancing around the serfs and Marines working to remove and pack the contents of the chamber.

    "So says the boldest liar in the Legion." Memnon replied in kind as he turned to face his son. The Marine stopped close to his Primarch, bowing and extending his joined hands towards Memnon. The Primarch clasped the offered hands with his own and drew Amyntas even closer to him.

    "Come, my son, walk with me for a bit." The Primarch ordered as he laid his arms across Amyntas' shoulders. Who followed with only some complaint.

    "You could have summoned me to an empty room."

    "Yet I did not."

    "Indeed you did not. I was busy there."

    "Not busy enough to stop and have me follow along with this. It's always theatrics with you, isnt it?"

    "Does this feels theatric to you, Old Prince?" Memnon smiled back and Amyntas snorted.

    "I'm sure I will find out soon."

    And that he did. For soon the duo arrived before a set of imposing jet black doors. Beautifully carved with scenes of abuse, torture, slaughter and violence. With large brass handles were cast in the shape of screaming faces that rattled like chains when the doors opened inwards.

    Memnon nudged his Scout Master first. Following right behind, hand still on his shoulder.

    Inside they found what once was likely an audience chamber. A central atrium, slightly lowered than the rest of the room. Its perfectly cut white stones stained with old blood. Before the atrium a raised platform that may have once housed a throne or pulpit. With jagged metal spikes at its sides from top to bottom. Atop the pulpit, Amyntas noticed with some surprise that a statue of Dyieus Pater had been placed there. Dark haired and golden skinned. Crowned in wreath and flowers with a perfectly chiseled god and naked but for silver bracelets in his arms and the Aquilla on his neck. Armed with lightning bolts in his left hand and a two headed bronze axe on his right.

    Memnon led his son to the middle of the room. Standing over the bloodied floor he finally spoke:

    "The stones, Amyntas."

    The Master of Scouts remained silent even as he stiffened. Memnon spoke again:

    "The stones, son." The Primarch extended his hand and the Marine finally relented.

    "The slaves, Master, I was only doing this for them." Amyntas rushed to justify himself. "Destroying this symbol of their foul Xeno enslavers would go a long way in helping them overcome their trauma."

    "The slaves will have to make do with their freedom and our help in making this planet their home." Memnon replied softly. At this point his son's lies and deception had become almost endearing. "You and your shiny, pretty things." He smiled again. "The gods should have made you one of Minerva's. But no matter. The others will come soon. Until then, why don't you tell me of your exploits at Jetalix? The reports can never hold a candle to your storytelling, Old Prince."

    And for a while they did just that. A cunning liar and charismatic rogue, Amyntas also made an excellent storyteller. And for all that he embellished the events in his retelling, the best tales often are anyways.

    Eventually others arrived. Alone or in pairs. Legion officers, Priests and priestesses, select Helladic officials. Each one of them bringing something or other. A marble statue, some tool of torture, exquisite jewelry, sacred texts, weapons or armor. All of Eldar making, all of it loot and war trophies.

    Alongside the tribute, incense burners and musical instruments were carted by solemn faced serfs.

    One by one the new arrivals deposited their offerings at the center of the room. Reverently kneeling before the Primarch before silently making their way to stand before the circular walls around the ever growing pile of treasure.

    Soon, the room had been filled, Amyntas had taken his place by his father's side. Now aware of what was soon to happen. When the chanting started, he had already been handed a lyre. Amyntas needed no cue to join the music.

    Memnon stepped forward from his position right beneath the pulpit. Turning his back towards the congregation and raising his arms and face towards the statue above. In a booming voice he started:

    "I Call the mighty, holy, splendid light, aerial, dreadful-sounding, fiery-bright;
    Flaming, angry-voiced, mighty-wrathed Sovereign of the clouds!

    Thy Sacred Thunder shakes the Cosmos! The Kingly wrath frightens the ablest bodies! Thy fiery will topples the mightiest realms!"

    "STRIKE, THUNDER!" The assembly cried out in unison and at that sign, lightning shot out of the statue's hand falling into the pile with a resounding noise.

    "For thee we tread the Stars! For thee we raise blade and staff! Oh Dyieus Pater, King above all Kings. In thy name we have overthrown another realm and thy name we praise in triumph!"

    "STRIKE, THUNDER!"

    "Unconquered Thunder, we offer thee spear won glory and tribute! Come, oh Universal Tyrant and behold the destruction wrought in thy name, for thy purpose and thy glory!"

    "STRIKE, THUNDER!"

    Memnon lowered his arms and turned back towards the pile of steaming, burning slag and sludge left by the repeated lightning bolts.

    The Primarch approached with thunderous steps, raising his hands once again, this time together and filled with a multitude of Spirit Stones.

    "All-Blessed Ruler of All, in thy name we have fought and killed! For thee we have destroyed and razed! Now your humble servants present all that is of our foe. Unworthy, weak and unholy!"

    "STRIKE, THUNDER!"
     
    Star Descending
    ​
    Xurog had been a planet filled with life once, eternity ago. He remembered it, though he had never seen it. A world of lush jungles and blue oceans, filled with teeming life.

    He'd extracted the memory of these painstakingly, breaking open the teeth of vast oceanic predators and long-dead land mammals that had become preserved: even so, he had only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of what had once been. It had not been sating. What he had glimpsed of the time after had been even less so. Atomics had degraded the genetic material of all who had witnessed it to such an extent not even his fine taste had been able to discern it.

    No, for as long as any human alive on its surface, or any of their ancestors or their ancestors ancestors could remember, Xurog had been nothing but what he had know it at: a wasteland, rust-brown water lapping between burned Wastelands that had been scoured of life, aeons ago: all that remained of the great civilization that had once lived here the bombed-out monuments to it's arrogance, the descendants of their builders clinging on, barely, in their shadows.
    And such Monuments they must have been, he thought, for he had seen the magnificence of their ruin, the glory of what had been left behind even for all the destruction that had been wrought.

    He would have dearly liked to catch a glimpse of these wonders, but for all his talents, that was not to be.

    "Has it been secured", he asked, without turning away from the observation window. He did not need to. He could smell the woman's fear without turning towards her.

    Her name was Zara Masaeva: solid, dependable, thoroughly competent. A woman who could be trusted to do the work required of her, to the required standards of excellence. And he had required excellence indeed.

    "Yes, Lord", she said, and he could not help but admire her, for the lack of tremble in her voice even in the face of what she must have witnessed.

    "And the work crews", he asked, finally turning towards her, a genial smile on his face.

    "Assembled in the frontal hangar as per your instruction, Lord. None allowed to leave."

    "Excellent, Shift Captain", he said.

    She did not see the blow that snapped her neck coming, even as it flung her across the observation deck like a broken doll.

    He watched her fall without any emotions whatsoever, neither anger nor regret. He had needed excellence. Now, he needed secrecy.

    He turned back to the window, his gaze back upon Xurog, the broken thing that had once been a woman all but forgotten. In time, servitors would come to remove her, just as they would return the obliterated corpses of the work crews, hacked apart in the Hangar that they had dutifully waited in.

    They had retrieved what he had still required, from the surface of Xurog.

    Now, the world held nothing at all of value to him.

    "Have the preparations been made", he asked into the Intercom, his voice soft, his eyes still on the tones of brown slowly turning below him.

    "Aye, Lord", Captain Leveer spoke.

    He could hear the doubt in his voice, and appreciated that it was not being voiced. There would be a career for the man, he decided. There was use for those who carried out the orders they were given without question.

    "Then you may fire when ready", he spoke.

    "Aye, Lord", Captain Leveer answered.


    The Warhead looked almost like a shooting star, he thought, as he watched it descend. These had been common, above Xurog: the remnants of wreckage slowly decaying in orbit around the world, though none on it's surface had known it.

    There had been poetry, about these falling stars, and art, and tales, and he knew all of them, had heard them all a thousand times during his life upon the world.

    He had been one of those shooting stars, after all. Bak Iligi. The Star Descending.

    Destruction turned to Beauty. Beauty turned to Destruction.


    It was fitting, Bakiligi Yuvian thought, that it should be another falling star that ended it.

    The Cyclonic Torpedo impacted the surface, and began its journey into the crust.

    Tones of brown turned to those of red and yellow, for a brief moment.


    It was, in Bakiligi Yuvians opinion, quite beautiful indeed.
     

    The Flame of Fate​



    The light glowed as the shadows whisked around it, a small luminescence emulating from the darkened room. Adaam Primus, Primarch of the First Legion sat left hand held to his temple as he watched the flame flicker. Within the giant spacecraft, somehow it felt a wind blow through, ever so slightly adjusting the way the flames rose and danced. Adaam watched as he tried to guess which way it would shift, calculating its movements, which way fate would flow. It resembled his current thoughts and predicament. Much had transpired, so much unknown, yet known. His mind continued to twist and turn as he tried to process what had taken place. The disappearance, the arrival, what Father had confirmed. It all was madness, such power, even Father seemed to be doubtful. Were they friends? Where they foe? His head fell a bit, orders having gone out to increase security tenfold, yet was it enough? So few knew, yet they knew nothing. Only he knew some, and he barely knew anything.

    "You look tired."

    The feminine voice radiated out into the darken hold, taking Adaam aback just a moment, his hand instantly moving to the sword that hung by his belt, never far from him, always in reach, especially these days. He looked through the near darkness instantly recognizing a woman that had been near his side since he was a child, far too many years ago. She had stood by him even when she had learned who he was, knew that all they held was lost... when he had told her... "You are getting better at being stealthy Tella."

    "Surprising... something is amiss, I haven't been able to do that in well, you know."

    Adaam chuckled a bit and nodded. "Been a while indeed. It's nothing Tella, just a lot going on."

    "Heh, and you are sending me away again." Tella, her slender, fit frame walked into the room lighting several more candles, light increasing substantially, Adaam's eyes barely noticing as his Primachenhanced senses adjusted immediately. "You are the best I have Tella, you have a gift of tongue, and you are one that I trust above all else. You're a natural for the mission I have given you."

    Tella walked around the desk that Adaam sat at, her eyes narrowing as she flopped into a chair that Adaam kept close for others to use. "I know. And I of course go. Just. One time would actually like to serve with you Ad... My Lord."

    "Tella... It's us. You can say my name."

    "No no. It is not the way. Tradition must be honored and followed. By the book. By the rules. It is the way, my good Lord. My great Primarch, oh Lord upon High of the Skull Throne that sits within the mighty Castle Greyskull."

    It was Adaam's turn to narrow his eyes at the woman who was practically giggling at this point, one of the moments to two could steal away to lighten up the mood as they fought his Father's Grand Crusade. "Tella I swear..."

    "Oh come on Adaam. Laugh, lighten up. Much is happening that is going our way. Our last campaign was a great success." She paused and half-smirked but maintained the smile behind her features. "I know the losses suffered pains you. Both to us and our former enemies..."

    Adaam nodded slowly, the losses sustained had indeed gotten to him, yet know the Cloners of Sydion had agreed to join the Imperium, follow him and his Legion as he marched forward. Always forward, yet secure, he hoped secure. He would make it secure. His breathing never chances yet he felt compelled to take a deep breath. "I guess no one ever said running a galactic campaign would be easy, nor not without loss. Still, we are taking steps to help with that."

    "How goes book two?"

    "Almost done. A few touches left but almost complete. Even have ideas for book three."

    "How many you writing?" Tella, in what some would consider an offense lifted her feet up and placed them on the desk, leaning back in the chair she was sitting in. Adaam shook his head as she did. "I should swat you for that. And how many I feel like will help."

    "You wouldn't dare my dear Lord and Prince, the great Adaam Primus, raising a hand against harmless, defenseless, old me? Ha!"

    "I swear Tella...."

    "Yes yes, you will vanquish me and depose me and you will force me out! Oh great powerful lord!"

    "I hate you."

    "Do not."

    "Do too!"

    "Do not! Admit it!"

    Adaam threw up his hands, shaking his head and just starting to laugh as he found a moment to forget everything, forgot the weight that was around them, forgot fighting, forgot it all just for a moment, like it was back on Eternia, back before everything came crashing down. He shook his head again, a broad smile crossing his features. "Alright I don't hate you, and you know I am grateful for you and the others. You all make this easier for sure."

    "Success my great mighty Lord, the grand Prince of Eternia!" Tella, leaned forward a bit, taking her feet off the desk, both sobering a bit as Eternia was mentioned. "Sorry, Adaam."

    "It is alright Tella. In fact... that title remains and shall return again, least I am hopeful."

    "Old Nibrock?"

    Adaam nodded. "If they accept that is, but I am hopeful. From what I understand they are much like Eternia was. We shall see."

    "It would be something to see...."

    "That it would... that it would." A silence came to exist between the two, both thinking back to a time long gone. Silence continued as they sat, the flame between them flicking once more, fate and time once more out of their hands as it flicked side to side...
    ​
     
    THE KNIGHT AND THE HEALER
    A joint IC with @Princess_Hex ​
    Valentine was once a beautiful world.

    A lost colony of man, these poor souls managed to stumble out of the darkness wrought by the Age of Strife with their world ruined, but souls intact. Its once vast orbital yards that had once supplied thousands of colony fleets were no more. Only a sliver of such ancient miracles remained. Warlords fought each other over the remains of cities and the technological corpses that remained within in a bitter mirror of the death occurring on Terra itself. Yet like Terra, a united vision slowly began to arise from the ashes.

    Common cause brought the people of the world together. The ideals of the ancient Federation which had first sailed from Old Earth into the stars that had captured the hearts of humanity for so many years, now found fresh root in the people of Valentine. The warlords were overthrown by their own people, a united government set up under the rule of the people. Valentines first tentative steps into their own solar system were the chilling site of the ruins that littered the system.

    Asteroid mines littered with the mummified corpses of the dead. Research stations, shattered and decaying in orbit of gas giants. It was a grim reminder that not all were as lucky as they. But they rebuilt, over the decades, then centuries. The system was slowly recolonized under the direction of Agur Republic, named as such in recognition of an ancient hero who stood tall against tyranny, even at the cost of their own life.

    The unease that gripped the people of Agur could not be understated when foreign warships lurked on the edges of their system. They were aware that others had survived the warp storms that once raged across the galaxy. Ork bands had forayed into the system before, only to be beaten back. The military was put on high alert, for these were not the ramshackle creations of Orkish hands. But gothic titans that lurked in the dark between stars.

    Shock swiftly followed when it was revealed these strangers were humans. And not only that, they came from the grand center of the Federation and the birthplace of humanity. Old Earth. Or Terra, as it was called now. Jubilation swept through the population at these words, and a team of diplomats was hastily put together to greet the old brothers from home. They were met by the joint task force of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart and the Star Knights, which had been hastily put together to put an end to a raging Ork WAAAAGH!! Before it could truly impact the region. They had crushed it, then reiorintated when familiar, yet strange, signals came from the Valentine system.

    During the first meeting, giddy excitement turned to horror when the representatives from Agur bore witness to the servitors that attended them at the formal dinner. That it was explained they were not truly human, but vat-grown bits melded together with cybernetics did little to ease the discomfort, and indeed discontent felt by many from the Republic. Such feelings only grew in intensity as more and more about the Imperium of Man was learned of. That genetic engineering was so rife and freely accepted, to Terras utter desolation during the Age of Strife and that an Emperor sat above all, sending forth his legions of superhuman warriors to conquer the entire galaxy. An action that spoke well to the sheer hubris that must sufuse and sustain such a man like blood would anyone else.

    That Imperial representatives were pushing for full annexation, what the Imperial coined as 'compliance' instead as if to soften the blow, did not help matters. Tensions began to rise between the two forces, when the nerves of a sailor of Agur began to fray and, thinking they were under attack by Imperial betrayal, the man ordered the Imperial fleet fired upon. Before anyone could truly understand what was happening, a chain reaction was kicked off as the Star Knights returned fire, dragging in the rest of the fleet.

    The void war has lasted for three months, the Star Knights ruthlessly moving from void station to void station while the Wardens trailed reluctantly behind. But at last Valentine itself has been put under assault. Its orbital defences boarded by astartes forces or swept aside, while drop-pods, stormbirds, and orbital haulers brought Imperial forces planetside. The fighting has proven to be brutal, yet the tide was in Imperial favor. Yet everyone could see the slowly rising tensions between the two astartes legions.

    Dozens of small incidents were had between the legions through the course of the conflict. Ranging from the petty, like posturing between legion officers, to the serious. Where a Warden officer, one who holds the beliefs of the primarch close to her heart, had to be restrained by her fellows when her request for an easing of artillery bombardments on cities was summarily denied as the Star Knight commander in charge of the battery replied by having them intensified.

    The most recent one is, perhaps, the most serious.

    When army units brought out flamers to burn down an old church in occupied territory, the priest inside refused to come out of the structure. As the army officer attempted to reason with the old woman, several locals came by and actually attempted to enter the church. With several slipping by the confused army troopers. Beginning to be overwhelmed, the mortal officer brought in the agents of the legion he was seconded to--the Star Knights. When a strutting astartes officer arrived, purple cape nearly dragging itself on the ground, he gave the order to burn the church down.

    A nearby squad of Wardens watching the whole affair, filled almost entirely by those who were newly ascended to full-blooded astartes and have practically been raised on tales of the Angel, could not brook this and confronted the Star Knights officer. The initial conversation shortly escalated into a shouting match. With the army unit paralyzed by the tension of the situation, the Star Knight officer pulled out his bolt pistol to begin tearing down the church brick by brick himself. He was promptly struck by one of the Wardens. The situation nearly escalated into a firefight before the Star Knight officer, seeing he and his two man retinue were outnumbered by the full squad, pulled back slightly.

    Now the Warden squad has set up around the church, some attempts had been made to talk the priest down but it quickly became apparent that the crisis was facing outwards, with a cordon being slowly formed by the Star Knights as the situation was relayed to the High Commander himself…

    Such is the beginnings of a dark incident that may very well stain the very fabric of the Great Crusade itself.

    Before any other authority figure could arrive on scene a detachment from the Wardens marched up the road. They were from the apothecaries, who had been following both legions as they advanced and caring for the wounded, on both sides. It had been messy work, and none of their armour was pure white anymore, on some the golden right arm was barely visible under the blood that had been caked on.

    Yet the woman in front's armour had never been white. It was black, like most members of the legion, and yet there was no mistaking her apothecary equipment. She had forgone a helmet, leaving it to hang at her belt as she stalked forwards. Her boots crunched into the shattered cement underfoot to herald her advance.

    She carried the full authority of age, and her presence immediately drew heads and looks of deference from the Wardens. "I would thank you," she barked at the Star Knights. "To not put my sisters under siege. Unless you are so desperate for enemies that you seek to make more among the Imperium." She looked pointedly at the officer, obviously the highest ranking figure present. "Rata, head of the Warden of the Blessed Heart's Apothecaries. You will explain what is happening here. Now." There was none of the tenderness of a doctor in her, she sounded more like a drill sergeant.

    Some of the line astartes from the Star Knights shifted uneasily, perhaps even guiltily. It was clear they were about as satisfied with this situation as Rata was, but they said nothing. Instead the legion captain stepped forward. His purple cloak flapped in the breeze behind him, and he may very well have cut a regal figure were his face not twisted in sour contempt. There was a bruise there, already forming. One that could only have been done by an astartes, or something that could strike with the force of one. Neither was promising.

    "I am Captain Nathal." The Star Knight officer said, his tone sharply polite and voice cultured like those who plagued the courts on Terra. "And you would do well to speak with more respect, apothecary. Considering your own astartes stand in the way of me performing the duties as charged to us by the Emperor, beloved by all."

    "That's Apothecary General to you, pup." Rata reached into a pouch and retrieved a small tube which she casually tossed Nathal's way. "Put this on your face, it won't make it look any better but it will take the bruise away. Exactly what duty are we stopping you from performing, so far from the front line? I know this squad is here on rotation, not because of any mission of their own, so explain yourself."

    Nathal blinked in some confusion even as he caught the tube. He stared at it for a moment, almost suspiciously, before, without even looking, handing it off to a nearby army soldier who held it awkwardly. The sour look on Nathal's face didn't fade at Rata's words. In fact he seemed to bristle at being addressed as 'pup.' With one hand, he pointed towards the old stone building which even now was surrounded by Star Knights. "That," he said slowly, "is a church. The hideous thing must be burned down so the Imperial Truth may be brought to these people. Your Wardens-" Nathal seemed to spit out the title, a hint of anger breaking through his carefully cultured tone. "-seemed to object to this. And struck me. A brother astartes, for daring to follow the will of the Emperor."

    Rata seemed entirely unfazed until Nathal mentioned being struck and that set her off. Except she ignored him and turned to the Wardens protecting the church. "Which one of you did it?!"

    Their anxiety was palpable, the Wardens had shown no fear when confronting the Star Knights but to be yelled at by the venerable Apothecary General was a different experience. The guilty party immediately stood to attention. "I did, Rata."

    "Apologize, now. Ahurani would be ashamed of you."

    The Warden fell to a knee and removed her helmet, holding it to her chest as she looked down. "My sincerest apologies for striking you, Captain Nathal. Such behaviour is unacceptable, even more so when it is from one legion to another. It will not happen again."

    "It certainly won't." The growl in Rata's voice would remind any mortals nearby of an angry bear, but to a fellow astartes it had no real effect. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like 'I taught you how to punch better than that,' but it was hard to make out even for an astartes."You have my apologies as well for that incident. Now move along, we have no business burning a building when your legion started a war we need to finish. We will bring the people to the Imperial Truth and they will tear the church down themselves to build something new. That is the way to win their hearts, should they ever allow us into them after this shameful display."

    Captain Nathal seemed to preen when the Warden that struck him kneeled in her apology, and seemed to not hear the muttered words of Rata. But his pleased pride vanished in an instant when Rata continued to speak. His expression turned thunderous when he was told to move on. "Is that an order?" He hissed, stepping forward. "I will remind you that you have to right to issue such commands to me, apothecary. The honor of the Star Knights has been insulted, to delay in performing the Emperor's will would only deepen the insult. No, that church will be gone before the day is over. And if your astartes do not leave with the fools huddled inside, then they may very well join them!"

    A ripple of unease went through the Star Knights that stood at the ready, while looks of horror came to the faces of the army troopers who could hear the conversation. "Sir," one of the sergeants whispered as he stepped forward. "High Commander Sonus is on the way, perhaps it would be best-"

    An angry wave from Nathal silenced the sergeant. "Sonus? I don't give a damn. That creature may keep his post because he amuses the primarch, but that is all." Was the hissed reply.

    The air between the two turned very, very dangerous as Rata's perpetual frown became a look of icy fury. "Did you say that there were people inside? This area is cleared, so those could only be civilians. Are you telling me that you were going to burn a building filled with civilians, boy?" The last word was said with dripping venom and was punctuated by Rata pressing a finger to Nathal's chest. "You can threaten my Wardens all you like, but if you dare to hurt the innocent in my sight I will see you suffer. That's not an order," she spat. "That's a promise, from a veteran of Terra."

    Nathal's face of sour contempt turned into a snarl of fury as Rata poked his armored chest and the disrespect in her tone washed over him. His hand rested almost instinctively on his holstered bolt pistol. "They are fools who surround a fat, weepy old priest and cling to their dusty fairy-tales while the future comes for them. If they refuse to adapt, they will die. This is a war you damn fool! It is out of my rapidly dwindling respect for your miserable legion that I have held back so far. If they are not gone within the hour, then they'll die with their faith."

    The whine of engines signaled the rapid approach of a stormbird. And those who cared to look could even see one bearing the colors of the Star Knights as it swiftly approached.

    "If I cared whatsoever for your opinions, pup, then I would retire today. Since I haven't yet lost my senses then I will not stand aside while you engage in pointless slaughter to inflate your ego." Rata's eyes flicker down to the bolt pistol and back up to Nathal's face. "You draw that and I can promise you that your entire legion will be buried beneath ice and you will never see the light of day again. I have been in wars for longer than your sad little life has gone on and I know what it looks like. This isn't it. Go to the front and if the Imperium is fortunate you'll get your overinflated head blown off, waste of a good bullet though it may be."

    Fury alighted in Nathals eyes, but the roar of a stormbird cut off whatever he was about to say. Dust swirled as the stormbird did a pass over the gathered Imperials. Then, circling about, it landed behind the assembled Star Knights with a crunch as it touched down. Hissing steam erupts as the ramp descends. The assembled Star Knights seem to stiffen as a lone figure descends. Garbed in mark III power armor, instead of the gray, red, and blue worn so proudly by most of the Seventeenth legion, this figure instead stands in dark purple and chrome. Rumored to be an honor allowed by the primarch himself, there can be no mistaking the form of High Commander Sonus.

    He strides forth with a stride that lacks any of the pompous strut of Nathal. Said captain's expression is so deeply sour one might wonder if someone hadn't forced in a lemon. Still, he inclines his head in respect--real or not--as the High Commander approached. "Sir, it pleases me to welcome you even despite the...unfortunate situation. Rest assured I have it well in hand, and the situation will be resolved shortly."

    He received no reply. Indeed Sonus simply turned his head in the captain's direction, boring into him with his unique single lensed helmet. The silence that descended as the stormbird's engines cycled down only amplified his deafening lack of reply, and Captain Nathal seemed to squirm under the High Commanders gaze. Finally Sonus simply stepped past the man without a word, turning to regard Rata.

    "Chief Apothecary." The machine-growl that came through the vox grill with most helmeted astartes was lessened with the High Commander, but it did nothing to lessen the inhuman nature of it. "I did not expect you."

    If anything, the inhuman voice seemed welcome to Rata, at the very least compared to the yapping of Nathal. "High Commander Sonus, welcome. I would have preferred to be closer to the front, but my sisters told me of the situation developing here. Your legion has my apologies for the insult done to them by a Warden who mistook her duty. She will be punished accordingly."

    The near-astartes inclined his head in acknowledgement even as Captain Nathal fumed behind him. "Such is good to hear. You have my own apologies, Chief Apothecary. The situation has developed in unforeseen ways." He looked past Rata for a moment, observing the old stone church even as Nathal glared so hard at the back of the High Commanders head he may well have been burning a hole, if he were a psyker. His objected cry went ignored.

    "Will it be possible for your Wardens to remove the people from the church?" Sonus questioned.

    "Given time to de-escalate the situation I am certain we could have the people abandon it of their own accord. Given enough time I can promise that they will deconstruct it brick by brick as they help to build the Imperium."

    Silence reigned for a few moments, the thunder of distant battles echoing, before Sonus nodded. "Very well. Captain Nathal, recall your men. You are being redeployed." He spoke these words without even looking at the man, still observing the church. Capital Nathal stepped forward, aghast.

    "Sir," it is clear the word did not come easily to the Star Knights officer, "I believe that would be a mistake. The honor of our legion has been insulted!"

    This time, Sonus did turn to him. Red tinted lens meeting the Captains all too human eyes. "You have your orders."

    It seemed the Captain failed to hold back his temper at that, his face turning into a rictus-like snarl. "Of course you would say that." He hissed, his face turning red through sheer affronted pride. "You are a biological mistake tolerated because you hold the primarchs favor. You are not true astartes. You do not have the pride of a warrior-"

    One moment Nathal was speaking, the next he was landing on his back with the thud akin to the roar of a tanks gun. Blood and bone splattered across Sonus' right fist and helmet. The High Commander moved so fast that the instinctive response of most Star Knights had them almost raise their bolters before they knew what was happening. Nathal clutched at his shattered nose in a mix of pain and surprise, his eyes grew wide when the High Commander stood over him, plasma pistol unholstered and beginning to whine as it charged up.

    "You have your orders." The words were repeated, the High Commanders tone having never changed.

    Rata was much too experienced to allow her face to shift, but Nathal could practically feel the smugness radiating from her. She took a step forward until she was very nearly between them. "Peace, High Commander. Don't kill him, at least not in front of me. I have an oath, you know." She kneeled down and instead of gloating, let Nathal feel all the indignity of being cared for none too gently by the best doctor the Wardens had ever produced who he had been threatening not moments before.

    "I know that some of my sisters have been causing conflicts between our legions, High Commander Sonus. Because of your mercy today, I will do all I can to put an end to this. All I ask is that the Wardens be allowed to bring civilian areas into compliance after the enemy has been cleared out. It's a specialty of ours." She pressed down on Nathal's face hard enough to make him unable to protest, and as a flex of her extremely powerful muscles trained over long centuries. "Are we in accord?"

    "We are." Was the monotone reply. Immediately the plasma pistol was holstered, with Sonus stepping away without another word. Nathal himself was too busy receiving the tender mercies of Rata to make any sort of proper reply. Still, the Star Knights heeded their High Commanders orders. With squads of Star Knights peeling away and the impromptu siege ending almost as quickly as it began. Soon, all that was left were the Wardens themselves, and the people of the church.
     
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    View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0_1af_IS7k



    Rallas IV, Sub level 37

    Aspirant Ezekiel "Ezzy" Ramos felt his hearts beat as he sprinted down the darkened corridor. Plural now since he had began the implantation process to become an Astartes. He felt the hairs on his neck stand up and quickly lowered himself into a slide through the stagnant water of the disused tunnel as green tracer rounds from the xenos rifles passed over his head. He turned in midair and between his carapace helms targeting auspex and his own enhanced senses saw the murine xenos adjusting its aim. He squeezed the trigger of his weapon and a burst from the high caliber autogun punched into the creature sending it flying back. He kept his rifle leveled down the corridor before turning and resuming his sprint to reunite with the rest of his squad. That ratman had found him which means they knew he knew where their nest was and the team would have to move quickly to clean it out before they could disperse. The Governor, Citizen's Council, and Colonel had agreed to clear the Underhive of all malefactors in it. Then they'd gone to Commander Hall for help because Rallas's burgeoning PDF had its hands full hunting down old Security forces who refused to give up the ghost on the Old Regime's demise and Gangers looking to make themselves Block Lords.

    Commander Hall in his infinite frakking wisdom decided a bunch of muties, scavvers, gangers, and other assorted flotsam sounded exactly like what a bunch of new aspirants needed to cut their teeth on in between implants and indoctrination. So Reclusiarch Harlen had taken the training cadre and aspirants, and gone down to clean up the lower levels. He'd put a provost's cordon around the entranceways. Divided the aspirants into squads and cheerfully informed them that they'd be fighting for their lives. Because either the levels were being mapped and cleared, or they were going to stay down there until they were. Initially a daunting but doable mission until you found out the Spire was built on the ruins of a second frakking spire! Needless to say now a thousand of their full astartes brothers and their auxilia were flooding the lower levels with them in search of archeotech and hidden threats. Sump beast's teeth had they found hidden threats. Ratmen were a common myth told to young'uns and juvies to scare'em into obeying their families or bosses, but then you find out they're real and there are hundreds of the damn bastards below your feet. The human bones he'd seen in the nest before sneaking away had proven their dietary myths true as well.

    As he neared his squad's last reported position he heard gunfire, chain blades roaring, and the screams of the vermin. He drew close enough to be reintegrated into the squads battle net and heard Aspirant Narkon's questioning grunt. "Found the nest, was followed, need to finish here, and make best speed to burn them out before they move on."

    "Hmmpphh", was Narkon's eloquent reply.

    a quick corner turn and Ezzy was watching his squad mop up a group of rats with makeshift armor, rusty guns and knives, and seemingly in the process of breaking. The dismembered body of the larger ratman who would have been leading them at Narkon's feet showed where their bluster had gone. Ezzy aimed down his sights into the swarm and squeezed the trigger. He felt nothing but recoil.
    +++

    Harlen sighed internally as the multiarmed abomination made its desperate assault in a wild flurry of blows. The Reclusiarch was however a master duelist and parried the first strike, using the momentum he turned it into a cut that severed a limb with a wicked hook on the end, and brought his blade back up to sweep aside the other blows. He turned his slightly as the rat monster's barbed tail sailed past his helm to strike the air behind him. He surged forward and body checked the creature causing it to stumble back before an upward sweep had its bisected remains falling to the ground. Shaking his head at the foolish creature he scanned the room to see his brothers like wise finishing their opponents. Aside from some unlucky aspirants and brother Nolan having his head torn from his shoulders by one of the Ratmen's Ogryn analogs the Watch had taken no casualties in this purge. Servo Skulls and Automata were still flooding the lower levels and finding new areas, natural, man made, and those dug by these xenos who had been living beneath Humanities feet. The locals had myths about them and Harlen had heard similar ones on other worlds which meant these vermin were a prolific threat if not a great one. There was a massive freight elevator shaft that went up close to the lower levels of the current Hive. They would have to establish a base there and send further expeditions and purgation teams as necessary. They would withdraw to the areas the Auxilia were fortifying, rearm and wait for the scouts and various autonomous constructs to give them actionable data. In the mean time Harlen would review the Aspirants' combat data and pass out commendations and criticism as needed.

    +++
    To My Lord Alaric Quadar.

    Rebuilding efforts are almost complete and new projects are underway to expand and revitalize the Hive. We have begun construction of Orbital facilities, Outposts, and laid the Foundation for the Legion's Fortress as per instruction. Naval groups are patrolling the system and those nearby to remove any pirate or xeno presence and our own efforts to establish off-world installations proceeds as planned. We have also dismantled several of the more belligerent gangs and have pressed the survivors into a penal legion we are currently putting through R.I.P. detail. I know you're plans sire and while commendable a Hive is a Hive and abhors a vacuum. Those gangs we break now will be replaced by craftier ones in the future. Though not before we've consolidated their old territories.

    A troubling development is the presence of several enclaves of a murine xenos species in the lower levels and indeed it seems the ruins of the Hive spire this one was built upon. We have deployed in force to remove the creatures and discover what ancient technologies we can amidst the ruins. We have begun constructing a base at the entranceway to the ruins to ensure no further xenos excursions into Rallas Spire proper.

    As requested I have dispatched forces to aid the Wardens of the Blessed Heart, and our new allies among the Quaestor Imperialis. I will report more as the situations develops. Ave Imperator, Vigilantia in Tenebris. Commander Hall out.
    +++
     
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    THE SOUND IN THE DARK​

    In the looming form of the Nemesis, which cut through deep space like some ancient Terran predator, a single man fought.

    He stood alone. His grotesquely swelled muscles glistening with sweat as his practice blade batted aside the strikes of specially augmented combat servitors. He was surrounded by six of them, all restrictions lifted from the programing that dictated their every action. Even as chainswords roared and blades angled for his throat, he stood tall. Like a hurricane of movement. One servitor was smashed aside, its skull caved in by the pommel of his blade. Another died when he grabbed it by its pallid shoulders, and used it as a shield. Roaring chainblades sawing into it as blood and oil spurted from it. The mans face was impassive, the cold indifference that flowed from him in his every waking moment. At times some of the Star Knights joked, where they thought he couldn't hear, that he couldn't feel a thing. A chunk of ice replacing his beating hearts.

    The third died with a quick jab into its skull, parting through the red lenses that served as its eye. The remaining three servitors paused, their cogitators struggling to compute the rapid reversal and what new course should be undertaken. Had they been facing mortals, its likely that this seconds pause wouldn't have changed much. They would've slaughtered dozens of regular humans before weight of fire eventually put them down. But they weren't dealing with a mortal. And yet, not quite an astartes either.

    High Commander Sonus took full, ruthless advantage of the seconds worth of opportunity. Throwing the sparking corpse of one servitor into the middle of the remaining three. Breaking their formation as he charged not even a second later. His blade nearly decapitated one as it thrust through its throat, the servitors forced animation going slack around the blade. In the that moment he was set upon by one of the remaining two. Its claw-like hand clenching around his sword arm, and squeezing while the other went for his throat. One headbutt sent it reeling back, a second saw bits of flesh and metal fall from its face, and a third saw its skull caved in. With a burning strength, he wrenched his hand free of the claw hand, and stalked towards the remaining servitor.

    It blurred towards him, uncaring that it was the last of six, its blades whirring with the promise of death. It lasted approximately three seconds. With Sonus taking it apart so all that remained was a pile of bleeding scrap. The world returned, battle-haze falling slowly from his vision. Dozens of cuts littered his augmented flesh, the wounds already scabbed over. Six corpses of some of the most premier combat servitors one could get littered the once pristine training ring, with only him left standing. His breathing was steady, his functions normal. He rolled his shoulders, stretching his body in a check he almost always did after every engagement...when there wasn't something pressing to be done, at least.

    It was still an odd experience, at times, being so elevated beyond normal men.

    Unlike most who bore the title 'astartes' Sonus was not a child when he was inducted into the legion. Puberty was not taken advantage of to help shape his body into a supreme killing machine rivaled by only a few things in existence. He was not young when he rose above mortal men. Not a child, nor a young man. By the time of his ascension, Sonus was already an old killer. His life was one of fighting, and killing, in the name of one master or the other. He strode out of the ring, the room empty save for a few servitors that strode in to clean up his mess. Few astartes came to this particular ring, and he was meticulous in his timing to ensure that the chance of running into another Star Knight was minimal.

    Many within the legion scorned him, that he knew. Those who had undergone the full procedure at the allotted time to become full blooded astartes; and thus felt a measure of superiority. Of course, if any of the rank and file soldiery held him in contempt then it was hard to tell. They were a disciplined lot, or at least smart enough to not be openly disrespectful of their superiors. The officers, however...well, in many ways they reminded Sonus of the later years of his first true war. A bickering bag of powerful personalities had all been wrapped around the fist of Lord Tronous. The man was like few any the High Commander had encountered. A rare breed when one didn't need the pinnacle of gene-craft to lead armies.

    With a quiet gait that seemed completely at odds for his size, Sonus went to the benches where his armor lay. Two servitors scuttled around him as his armor began to assemble upon him once more. The bodysuit slid on with the help of the servitors, and afterwards armor plates slowly slid into place. Lord Tronous...he still remembered how the towering man had picked him out of the muck and set him on his feet. Sonus had failed in one of his tasks to a councilmen who had a seat in the Tower of Primes itself. And even despite a long record of faultless service, he was cast into the dirt. He had failed the mans daughter, and so he was destined to die in the pits of Kaon. He would have too, had Tronous not seen the shivering man. More comfortable with a computer in front of him than actual field work, and saw something in him.

    To this day, Sonus still didn't know.

    But Lord Tronous kept him safe in those bloody sands. Had helped him learn how to fight, truly fight. Not the combat classes taught for those who served the High Council, basic things for out of the way intelligence workers. But how to actually fight. To use every method, every way to ensure your victory. Nothing was low enough, nor high enough. So long as you won, so long as you lived to fight another day. That was all that mattered. The servitors make quick work. Their hands unshaking with even the minute tremors and hesitations of veteran serfs. They are too dead for anything else. The purple and chrome of his wargear starts to take shape. Another gift from Starscream, an honor allowed to the near-astartes, to wear his old colors even among a new legion. As much gift as it was hindrance, for it only set him further apart form the legion. Further compounding his 'impure status' as some said.

    But like many things in life, Sonus was able to turn the hindrance to his own advantage. Starscream surrounded himself with fools, so even if Sonus was started off as a simple sergeant he still managed to work his way up. Time was the only real great obstacle. So many glory seekers who thought of themselves as ultimate geniuses because they were astartes, having the mind and body to match such a lofty thing. He lost count of the times some superior officer tried to force him onto some suicide mission or another. He always came back, even when the men sent to ensure he didn't died. In attempting to kill him they only gave him opportunities to preform actions that always seemed to catch the attention of astartes. Grand deeds, heroic actions done in the name of the Emperor and the primarch. Safe to say he managed to work his way up the ranks, using such incidents to shame other officers and further gain the favor of Starscream.

    The armor is almost complete. Only the helmet and his weapons remain. His sword is fitted on, its utilitarian lines showing only the fine craftsmanship that went into this word of killing. He takes his plasma pistol from the pallid, dead hands of a servitor and puts it gently into his leather holster. Many young officers coveted such a weapon for the sheer killing power that could put a bolt gun to shame. Many of those young officers were now either dead, or veterans with bionics as they learned one cannot treat a plasma weapon like a bolt gun. But it is the final weapon that gives him pause.

    It is a masterwork of a knife, crafted with pride and affection. It is a dark thing, with jutting guards on the handle. It was not made for the hands of an astartes, but it fit in the palm of his hand acceptably well. The worn brown leather wrapping around the handle stood in contrast to the near-obsidian tint of the weapon. On the blade itself, which was sharp and jagged, was stamped in the deaths head mask that had become the symbol of Starscreams legion. But in the early days of this knifes existence, such a symbol only belonged to a select few. Trusted by one man to help fulfil his dream. He still remembered the day Lord Tronous had given it to him. It was after a brutal fight on the red sands, the two of them standing back to back against a back of experiments. Wires jutting from their heads that rendered them mad, quite literally foaming at the mouth with rage.

    They had saved each others lives more times than Sonus could truly count. When they had reached the benches, exhausted, bloody and hurting but alive. Did he receive it, with Lord Tronous pulling it out of a slightly rusted foot locker that held his meager belongings. Inducting Sonus into his dream and furthering the bonds of brotherhood that held the two together. The High Commander held the blade gently, as if it was the most precious thing in the galaxy. With great care he put it in his sheath right in the small of his back. Out of the way, but ready to be grabbed with ease if need be. He took his helmet in hand with significantly less fanfare. Encompassing his whole world in a familiar weight that some astartes detested, and decided to go without. But it was simply so useful a tool, both on and off the battlefield, that rare were the times he was seen without it.

    Taking in his viewscreen, he noted that it was nearly time. Starscream liked to hold meetings regularly. Hosting his officers in one grand hall, ostensibly so they could speak on ongoing campaigns, the affairs of the Imperium, and where to strike next. While all true, it was also more often than not a place where the officers could posture. Bickering and arguing while jockeying for the favor of officers higher on the chain, or even the attention of the primarch himself. More often than not political alliances, though the astartes would baulk at hearing such...civilian terms being used, were created and died within that room as cliques formed, disbanded, and jockeyed against one another. It was a den of snakes that he had long learned to navigate on Heratron itself, and in many ways he had risen above it.

    But still, he was required to go.

    So he marched through the upper decks of the Nemesis, were the astartes quartered. Luxury was on every wall panel. Marble, wood, gold all platted the halls while paintings and statues covered the walls. Great designs depicting grand victories achieved by the Star Knights in the past each had their own sections on these ponderous halls. Superb designs filled with moving scenes of honor and glory, courage in the face of the galaxies darkness and the honor of furthering the bright torch of the Imperial Truth. And the Emperors mighty Imperium of Man. Many Star Knights had often stopped as they walked the halls, observing these great pieces that encapsulated the legions honor. Sonus himself didn't stop for them as, truthfully, he didn't care much for the displays. Some astartes nodded at him as he walked past, and he returned the respect. Some didn't, and he returned the disrespect.

    But he didn't stop walking. Soon, he reached the entrance to the great hall. Judging by the Seekers guarding the door, the primarch was already there. He said nothing to the bodyguards of Starscream as he moved towards the entrance, and they returned the favor. They did not bar his way as he opened the doors, finding the cavernous hall empty save one individual. Starscream sat on his throne, the work of inlaid gold and black marble sitting higher than where everyone else could possibly be seated at the old oak table below. The primarch sat relaxed in his seat, a fist resting on his cheek as he idly played with his fingers. A smile came to his face as he watched Sonus ascend the steps.

    "My dear High Commander," the primarch said in a slithering tone. "Always so punctual."

    Some in the legion were driven to great emotion at simply looking upon the primarch. To be given such a delightful favor, an honor even, of receiving the primarchs personal attention was a desire familiar to any astatres in all twenty legions. But Sonus was no true blooded son of Starscream, in fact he had known him as a preening youth who had stars in his eyes and listened with rapt attention to any word that came from Lord Trounous lips. Remembered him as, instead of brash and bold, unexpectedly timid in the face of those he did not know. Had seen him kill the one he had once called lord, mentor, even father. A dark betrayal.

    "My lord," Sonus said with a nod. His voice, as ever, inhuman. A grade of electronic monotone more in common with the Mechanicum of Mars than astartes. Starscream smiled at the reply, further reclining in his seat. Even as Sonus took his place by the primarchs side--just a few steps behind his throne, in fact--other officers were already trailing in. Hektor, the other High Commander of the Star Knights, ascended the steps of Starscreams throne with confident, elegant sides. A smile gracing his handsome face, and lighting his eyes.

    "Sire." He said, his voice strong and powerful, but cultured. He took his place at Starscreams left, standing tall and proud.

    "Ah, Hektor. " Starscream murmured, sending him an amused glance. "I believe Sonus has you beat yet again on punctuality." A soft little laugh followed that. Starscreams eyes were firmly riveted to the table, watching his officers assemble like sharks would circle prey. Hektor stiffened at the reminder, and the slight within. He cast a foul glare over at Sonus, a sneer on his lips. The near-astartes, who stood on Starscreams right, ignored it. Hektor was a preening fop more at home in the Eternity Guard's desperate attempts to emulate the Custodes--their betters in every regard. Sonus watched the man who was his own little king in the dark void between the stars rise up from his seat, and begin to adress his assembled officers.

    A small thought, one that had nourished him for years through endless war and steady discipline, rose up from in his mind. It was a thing that had succored deep within him as Lord Tronous' blood pooled on the throne room in Kaon, Starscream standing tall above him. Sonus kneeled with all the others then. Stood by Starscreams side when he besieged Iacon, laying waste to it. When the planned his coronation in the ashes of a broken city and ruined world, seeking to put himself above all that came before him to shame. Beheld his humbling at the feet of the Emperor, and gained the knowledge that even the most powerful of beings could be undone. It come to the forefront of his mind now, as he watched the Crownless King bask in the adoration of his subjects.

    One day, he and Starscream would find out together if a primarch could truly die.
     
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    Terra, the most magnificent and opulent palace in all history built atop a thousand levels of machinery, slums, forgotten ruins and secret bunkers, a legacy of more than three million years of human occupation. At its pinnacle stood the two Primarchs, for the moment lost to its glory, intent as they were on sizing each other up.

    "Starscream, I am Savnok of the Eternity Guard." One introduced himself, clad in a fairly simple green, white and gold uniform. "Father wished for us to meet and for me to further your introduction and integration into the Imperium."

    The newly discovered primarch, and Lord of the Seventeenth legion, stood tall in his intricate suit of red and white. Gold buttons littered it, with silver lining the cloth. The jacket itself was a solid, deep red. Standing in stark contrast to his pure white trousers and the black boots he wore. Rings littered his fingers, and a sweeping purple cape settled over his shoulders. Held in place by a simple, unadorned chain that beylayed its wondrous rarity. Auramite was a rare find, especially with the Imperial Households tight grip over the powerful metal.

    Red eyes observed the Lord of the Eternity Guard on a thin face framed by long black hair. He was neither smiling nor frowning, a mask of studious indifference. He put a hand up to his chin, tapping it with a ringed finger. His eyes flickered around Savnok for a moment, before settling onto his fellow primarch.

    "No escort, eh?" Starscream said, an amused tilt to his voice. "I was under the impression that yours was a legion of fanfare and grandiose chest beating. No ten thousand for you?"

    "Terra is the most highly fortified world in the Galaxy and there is no where in this Palace that cannot be immediately reinforced by overwhelming force in minutes and I am meeting a fellow Primarch who I presume is quite proficient in combat." Savnok explained straight forwardly. "There is a time and place for symbolism and splendour, I did not think this occasion merited it."

    "Yes…I suppose so." Starscream said slowly. He seemed off-put by Savnoks almost stoic response. His hand coming down from his chin. "The grandeur of Terra would make one hardpressed to surpass it. Truly, it is impressive considering–from what I've learned–it was the grand center for wholesale galactic collapse. The center of the Federation to span the galaxy, reduced to tribals and irradiated rubble, then raised from the mud and blood to become something great again."

    "So, then, you were sent to me by our Emperor?" There was a hitch, almost microscopic, on the Master of Mankind's title.

    "It is father's habit to have more experienced Primarchs found at an earlier date meet the later ones, Khaldeon fulfilled the same purpose on my homeworld of Stormgard, we met my family and discussed each other's origins and the goals of the Imperium and our place in it." There was a near identical pause upon the mention of family. "As for Terra, it will rise again and with it mankind, the two are in many senses inseparable at least in the eyes of common humanity."
    A crack in Starscreams cautious facade. Surprise beaming out. "Family?" He said slowly, appraising the Lord of the Eternity Guard with a new eye. "How curious. Mortals, I would presume?"

    "Correct." Savnok confirmed.

    "Fascinating." The Seventeenth primarch seemed amused by the prospect. There were rumors already, about how he had grown up in the streets of a forge world. Of course, rumors being rumors, they varied. From him assembling mighty gangs by the time he was ten to seize control of the world. Stalking the dark underbellies of the decaying cities, alone and forgotten like some savage beast. Truth was in some of them, put it was hard to parse it from the imaginations of bored soldiers and overawed clerks.

    "And where are they now?"

    Savnok eyes went somewhat darker. "Stromgard, where they belong. My wife is dead, as is my son. The others continue to live their own lives." He spoke too matter of factly, with so little emotion the emptiness itself was pained.

    Starscream seemed to lean forward a little, like some jungle predator now that the stoic facade had cracked ever so slightly. A smile came to his lips as he put one hand behind his back. "I see. I must confess some surprise, truthfully. I do not know our grand familial host all to well as of yet, from what I've heard they are mostly solitary figures…"

    He shrugged his shoulders, still very much amused. "Varil. Now that's a fascinating one. What do you know of her?"

    "She is a Psyker, has spent much of her life in isolation exposed to the Warp, she and her legion are consummate warriors devoted to battling warp predators and those who use its energies for their own purpose. She is a driven and loyal servant of the Emperor. Our interactions have always been productive. What else do you wish to know?"

    The response seemed to draw a laugh from Starscream, and he began to walk. His purple cape snapping behind him as he slowly circled Savnok. "My oh my, you're just like a little cogitator! I am aware of the basics, my dear brother. Perhaps another question, then. Do you know why she wears that drab little mask of hers? It seems to be on every pict and painting there is of her out of armor."

    "I never asked, I presumed some sort of protection either against warp foes or a psychological effect of previous trauma. I am sure she would tell you if you asked her personally, she is quite forthright in my experience." Savnok watched him passively.

    "I intend to." Starscream said, his voice losing the amused tilt. "Your aid has been appreciated, Savnok. You may now go back to our father with your task done.".
    "I apologise for offending you Starscream, it was not my intent. Respectfully I do not see my task as complete, Khaldeon and I left each other with an improved understanding of each other and through each other the Imperium, I fear I do not have the same understanding of you."

    "Then let me illuminate you." Starscream said, all the faux friendliness evaporating. "I do not require a nursemaid to learn the ways of interstellar war. I was planning the conquests of dozens of systems to reunite humanity by the time the Emperor had discovered me. Now that the Master of Mankind has gifted me a legion of warriors, I will in turn gift him the galaxy."

    He ceased circling Savnok, his hard eyes staring into the Storm lords own. His purple cape was picked up by the breeze, flaring behind him. "Your continued presence here is, thus, unnecessary."

    "I do not believe your competence was in question, else father would not have granted you that legion, but clearly he found something unsatisfactory or he would not have chosen me. I believe its quite apparent now. I shall be frank. You are too defensive and brittle, easy to provoke by innocently mispeaking, looking for insults, challenges and vulnerabilities in every word. It is admirable that you are so observant but are also too invested in the implications of those observations. It will hinder you ability to function, you do not need a nursemaid but you act out like an adolescent, it is genuinely considered in functional societies unwise to entrust undisciplined children with potent weaponry or tasks demanding of the utmost composure and uncompromised judgement."

    "Functional societies." Starscream repeated flatly. "Like your Stormgrad? Yes, I'm sure it was very functional under the constant assaults. "My dear brother, if there were any 'functional' societies out there–truly functional, where the people are given their due and peace reigns–do you think this undertaking the Emperor, beloved by all, has set us on would even exist? I require only His wisdom in these matters, not a man who wastes an entire legion trying to fulfill a role already taken by the Legio Custodes."

    "There are countless worlds with almost as numerous unique stages of development undergoing an endless series of progressions and regressions dependent on outside factors. The Emperor is waging this crusade so that after centuries of external threats and natural disasters humanity can finally have the breathing room to reconnect and renew itself on a Galactic level. It is our duty and privilege to further that grand design. If my legion is unfit for purpose I will adapt it to the changing situation until it does. But it has served admirably for more than a century and the Emperor himself has expressed no critique of it, for now I will continue to use it in its present form until I have good cause not to. But we seem to be sidestepping the issue, there is much anger in your brother, I am unsure why. I confess that conversation and companionship are not my strong points but I am sincerely concerned with your well being and wish to help."

    Suspicion screamed from Starscream without a single whispered word. It was in the way he stood, ever so slightly tensed. The way he watched, his red eyes narrowed and observing almost clinically were it not for the dark undercurrent that drove them. His arms were hidden beneath the folds of his cape, fists balled into shaking fists. He was like a coiled snake, hissing at some rival. "You are more of a blunt instrument than I expected. " Starscream said, voice pitched low.

    "Despite the finery that coats your legion and the rolls of honor bestowed upon you, the century of war you have engaged in, you remind me strikingly of a boy fresh out of the academy, striding out to do battle in the stars for the first time." He tilted his head, observing Savnok with a coldness that only served to highlight the anger that boiled beneath.

    "You wish to aid me? Depart. I will learn these inaccuracies on my lonesome. And if I so much as require aid-" the word was spat like a snake would the boney leftovers. "-then I have a legion of tens of thousands of warriors, who have long stalked these stars. I do not require your…posturing." A hesitation existed, and it was clear there was another word Starscream had in mind.

    Savnok nodded. "I regret that you are right, it seems little productive can be achieved here now. I apologise for provoking you brother. Perhaps another of our siblings will prove more congenial." He turned to leave. "Though please, unharnessed anger is a corrosive element. I would advise working on its management of Starscream. A healthy and stable mind is a solid foundation to achieving success."

    There was no reply as cold red eyes simply observed Savnok before he finally departed. Left alone, as alone as one could be on the throneworld, Starscream whirled with a sudden motion. His cape snapping behind him as he walked to the railing that gave one a wondrous view of the growing Imperial Palace. His hands gripped the railing, bending it slightly in his restrained, white knuckled grip.

    "Primarchs…" Hissed Starscream, any and all restraint gone as his tone turned utterly venomous. "My competition, it would seem."
     
    Wars of Iron and Fury
  • Threadmarks

    • May our Strength showcase Mankind's Discipline
    (Written by @Mortis Nuntius )​

    The Flesh Is Weak.

    Unlikely diplomats the Iron Hands did not press their luck or overstay their welcome in Squat space, there were worlds to conquer and professional sycophants to sweet talk the diminutive abhumans, although surprisingly close to kindred spirits none of them were truly Iron Hands, the delay was painful if productive. Ferrus took the opportunity to further ties with the Squats and gain the use of several groups of volunteers to bolster his auxiliaries whilst also employing his usual draconian leadership style to wring out every drop of inefficiency from his legion before they embarked on this next campaign. That campaign promised to be an expansive one as their intelligence reported an entire network of worlds scattered before them centered on Hyperborea. A network Ferrus intended to break star by star, cleansing the galaxy of corruption and furthering the cause of mankind in the way only the Iron Hands Legion could without pause or pity. Adopting a Methodical approach Ferrus would attack each world with specific and uniquely tailored task forces simultaneously involving the full strength of the Legion, in an overwhelming blow, a sledgehammer wielded with the deftness of a rapier only possible with the perfectly calibrated war machine of Xth Legion


    Hyperborea

    Ferrus had expected Xenos or Feral humans, the long range scans had shown no sign of a highly populated advanced or industrial world. What he found instead was an infestation of Eldar of a new and strange kind, primitive and warlike. Taking time to log the unexpected find and note that the Eldar seemed even more ubiquitous in the galaxy than they had previously believed Ferrus duly commenced a full scale planetary invasion, personally leading the initial assault, carving out a landing zone at the head of the Morlocks and their new Squat allies wielding the deadly Fireblade.

    The Eldar had come prepared, they arrayed their great lizardian beasts behind a horde of human slaves in an attempt to discourage use of the legion's firepower and seeding generational hatred amongst their disciples who would die in droves just to slow even one of the Space Marines down. They had underestimated their enemy, the Iron Hands deployed a full mechanized force and obliterated all in their path, no hesitation no discernable delay. The magnificent charge of the Dragonknights, ten thousand strong, was worthy of an epic poem but the Iron Hands wasted no time on feeble poetry, their only art was warfare and their Baneblades and Raiders were engaging at near point blank rage. Ten thousand Dragon Knights became five, then one, then a few hundred and finally none. The flower of a world despoiled by the modern terror they had so arrogantly seperated themselves from eons ago.

    Now was only the matter of clearing out their remaining villages and finishing the pacification of the world. Or so the Eldar intended the Primarch to believe, the truth would come as a sickening shock as an army of the dead rose before them. It had been a ruse, a deception of some sort on a scale that would only be possible with months, maybe years of preparation, for as the Iron Hands advanced across the plains at speed they would suddenly find that every foe they had slain was alive and unharmed in the same starting position before, their entire apparently suicidal charge a grand ruse, now they were within hundreds of yeards of the Iron Hands vanguard, once again the lances lowered, this time joined by artillery carried on great warbeasts and the charged power of hundreds of psykers.

    A mortal army would have shattered then and there, and even a lesser legion would have faltered. The Iron Hands merely resumed firing as Ferrus roared orders over the sound of thousands of bolters and heavy guns. But the distance had been closed to the point that it took mere seconds before the Dragon Knights were amongst the Iron Hands, the fighting was brutal and at close quarters. Heavy weapons were as likely to slay friend as they were foe. Berserking Lizards the size of scout titans trampled tanks and even when felled crushed dozens beneath their weight. Ferocious knights fought with lance and sword against chainsword and bolter wielding space marines. It was carnage, it was brutal, it was yet another grand deception.

    For even with their initial advantage of surprise won by the grand psykek ruse the Eldar had no hope, they were outnumbered, outgunned and outmatched, this was not a battle they could hope to win. Completely irrelevant for long ago they had been warned of this day, and they had known the doom of their world, the final resting place of all their souls was coming and could not be stopped, but it could be avenged. As a world every tribe had come together in agreement, for a millennia they had lived in unusual harmony, working together, training, engaging on offworld raids to hone their skills and preparing for this day even as they enjoyed every moment of the twilight of their existence as much as they safely could without endangering their souls. For as a world they had made a pact. Their world was doomed, but so they swore was its despoiler, before this day was done they would kill the Silver Handed child of the great meddler. A worthy endnote to their existence.

    Ferrus found himself surrounded almost immediately, his courage in leading from the front now with hindsight taking on a reckless quality, from all sides came scores of the fiercest warriors of this world. His Morlocks rallied around him, barking fire control orders and selling their lives dearly for their Primarch. To their enduring honour not one would fall with their blade unbloodied. Ferrus himself did not shame his sons as he went blade to blade against a dragon riding Eldar by the name of Esarthanil who laughed as she fought and fought without fear, even Ferrus master of a blade and perfect instrument of death could not match her speed, his armour punctured time after time, blood spurting out from half a dozen wounds.

    "The end has come Despoiler." She laughed as she struck the penultimate blow, piercing the Primarch with her lance one more time, striking deep into his flesh.

    "It has." He agreed, grabbing the lance with his free hand and pulling it through him with sudden violence and incomprehensible strength that saw rider and beast alike come tumbling towards him, into range of his sword. So sudden the reversal was that Esarthanil's eyes had only begun to widen as her head flew through the air.

    "Pain is weakness leaving the body." Ferrus rebuked himself as he shattered the lance for increased mobility leaving a good foot of it inside his body for later removal. He then strode forwards resuming his role as battle leader. It took the best part of an hour for the last of the Eldar to die, Ferrus took a few minutes to rebuke his surviving Captains for their failings and accept criticism for his own before ordering the commencement of the much delayed siege of the Eldar villages, their crude fortifications proving no match for the heavy weapons and new siege drills of the Astartes. Within a day the soul stones of the world had been ground into a million tiny shards and eternity at last ended for the Eldar of Hyperborea.

    The world was not however without life, during the search and destroy missions to remove any lingering Eldar staining its surface, Iron Hand Scouts discovered an entire population of Feral humans seeming distinct from the slaves and judging by the Eldar skulls ringing their camps hostile to the Xenos. Efforts to integrate them went well, more than 70% of the population was brought into compliance after a stern lesson from the Iron Hands and they brought with them a prize that well earned such unusual forbearance on the part of their conquerors. A relic of a lost age, one of those oh so rare and precious manuscripts of wonder from the Dark Age of Technology. An STC Fragment.


    Voi

    Honour, Mercy, Restraint even Memory, these words are wasted wind on the foes of mankind. Other Legions would respect the courage and natural ferocity of the cannibal tree tribes, others would be disgusted and driven to a murderous and beserk rage, still others would try and reclaim some shred of shared humanity, embark upon a mission of redemption for these lost children of Terra. The Iron Hands were different. They obliterated the forests from orbit before dropping several thousand Astartes onto the barren and blasted wasteland left below them, Clan Morragul formed the heart of this task force chosen specifically for the brutality of its father Autek Mor. Ferrus Mannus was not a Primarch to waste an asset, even one he despised and the Clan Father's legendary brutality and even by Iron Hands standards lack of mercy made him the perfect instrument to strip Voi of all life within seven hours. Men, women, children, even their animals were killed before the Iron Hands returned to their ships. It is said in whispered legend amongst the mortal auxiliaries of the Legion that the last surviving creature, a bird dived head first into the ground upon their leaving rather than attempt to make sense of the barren hell that had been its world just hours before. A fanciful invention of course. Total fabrication, as if Clan Morragul would have left a bird alive.




    Barados

    A collection of habitable moons orbiting a gas giant, this world would fall without a shot being fired in anger…the tanks of Spearhead Centurion Castrmen Orth's Subjugator Battalions earned their name by simply crushing every structure on the planet beneath their mighty treads until the overawed tribals surrendered, bowing in worship before the mighty warmachines. Their fear of the Iron Hands being replaced by overawed terror.

    Gol'Vanis

    This world of vast fertile plains and majestic mountains was deemed low threat and low value by the Iron Hands, again a single clan was deployed, that of Atraxi under Clan Father Lech Vircule, little resistance was expected of the Feudal Xenos race detected on the surface of the planet, although great in numbers they seemed to lack any signs of advanced technology and would surely be easy meat.


    This proved a tragic underestimation, for unknown to the Iron Hands these particular Xenos known in their own tongue as the Gorraryles were in fact impervious bolter fire thanks to their thick shells and each possessed the brute strength to tear an Astartes in two. On the plains the Armour of the Space Marines proved an effective counter but in the mountains where fighting was largely on foot and at close quarters losses were heavy.


    The fighting was heaviest within the 'Palace of the Beast at the top of the World.' Identified as a site of significance during the initial scans of the world, the Clan Father had personally led a drop pod Company onto the back of the mountain, joined soon after by a full Order of Marines. They with some difficulty managed to break their way into the complex of caves and tunnels that riddled the entire mountain. They came to regret this achievement in short order as they found within the eponymous Beast, a warlord of the feudal xenos who stood twice the height and half again the width of an Astartes and fell upon them with a fury, impervious to bolter rounds and chain swords he personally slew three squads, tearing them limb from limb, his warriors added to the toll swarming from the depths of the mountain. The Iron Hands Legion did not retreat but neither did it tolerate the potential destruction of an entire Order, maybe even a Clan thereafter.

    Gabriel Santar himself led his surviving Morlocks on an urgent reinforcement mission, engaging the beast hand to hand, it slew three of his Morlocks and took the First Captain into a monstrous parody of a hug that saw his ribcage begin to bend and crack, in turn he broke both their skulls with a series of mighty headbuts and finished the job with a warhammer. As the apothecaries carried him away smiled at the ruin of his body, an excuse to replace more of his weak flesh with improved parts.


    Onwards

    The Iron Hands did not linger long, barely pausing to collect geneseed and leave behind small garrison detachments of auxiliaries they pressed on to their next objective bloodied and battered but undeterred by losses or injuries. There were more Eldar waiting for them on the world of Kepix and the Great Crusade had no tolerance for delays due to the weakness of the Flesh and neither did they.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • The War of Dead Men
  • Threadmarks

    • Ruins of "The Crimson Jackboot" upon the world of Dead World of Direfall

    ​
    It was said that the 13th Legion was more akin to a tide of death, rather than true warriors of mankind and when they moved, all knew that whatever world was found after, would be naught but a tomb.

    So when their Primarch ordained the death and destruction of the entirety of the Direfall, they answered with a storm of cold fury.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    The first battle was one of high hopes from the Pirate Fleet and cold indifference from the Revenants. The hope was not to last as the full force of the Legions fleet came to blow away the assembled group.

    The luck of the gods seems to fade away from the Pirates as one by one their fleets fall silent and run to further reaches of their territory.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    The worlds of Vadorox II and Cybor Three were the first to fall, the hastily made defenses unable to withstand the firepower and strength of the dread 13th. Calls for surrender were ignored, the Primarch ordered death to the worlds and it was followed.

    The highlight of the battles was of course the battle of Cybor Three, when Legion Master Legeónas the Disgraced tore through the defences of the last hive city and personally stormed the last keep himself, tearing apart all that lived within.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    High Captain Vedameer always knew that his people could do little to stop the onslaught the Imperials would send, even with the new weapons and fleets of the nearby worlds. All it had done was sign their death warrants along with his fleets.

    The fleets were broken and scattered, and Direfall itself was under siege. He had sent out the calls to continue to flee from many of the crews. Hopefully the captains would be able to reign in their pride and get away, maybe to the fabled Port of Dreams, Tortuga, despite its presence in the Imperial lands, it would be far safer to hide there then anywhere else.

    A Great crash is heard as reports of the monsters boarding his ship, the screams of his crew as they were torn apart chilled his bones, but he had to stay firm. Soon the doors to his command deck were being breached as the foul monsters stepped out of the mist, their armor as dark as their souls.

    But what came after the terrors was the one thing that made Vedameer's blood run cold. Larger than all the others and carried itself not with the cold fury they held, it instead felt like a dead man walking. The High Captain had seen many corpses in his life, but this so-called man had the look of one that refused to admit it's time was up.

    His bridge crew knew what had to be done and threw themselves into combat, being ripped apart and blown away, but if this final act could work, then their names would be honored forever in the words of the Code.

    He rushed forward, his blade drawn and at the ready. A gift from long ago by traveling monkey folk to his ancestors, he knew when he saw it that it was a blade worthy of legend, and with all that has happened, slaying this foe is such a legend. He stabbed with all his might into the chest of the giant, no doubt piercing that monstrous heart… but the beast still stood, it's horrid face still blank as if nothing had happened.

    "But…what are…you?" the man attempted to say, before the beast's weapon came crashing down upon him, and then all was dark.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Foniás looked down at the blade in his chest and pulled it free, were he like his siblings perhaps he would feel pain, or anything at this attack. But all that he feels is the same cold he has felt all his life, oh well it does not matter now.

    Foniás looked out at his own fleet bombarding the world of Direfall, blowing up the orbital station and letting the pieces fall onto the planet, causing untold amounts of devastation. He once again looks at the blade and sees that it is of excellent make, he places it down and crushed it with Efiáltis. Such things are meaningless to what his Father desires.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    When the Imperial Admistartum came to check on the newly acquired worlds, they found nothing but death and tombs. Quickly leaving the space, they would not see the large amounts of corpses being brought to specific areas of the world, nor would they see what remained on any human found alive. The flash's of dark light that would emit as giant armor in the guise of Astartes watched, a faint glow of their own in the eyes.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Bellum Iustum
  • Threadmarks

    • An artistic representation of a member of the Eisen Honor Guard fighting on Ecto Mire
    (Written by @Uniquelyequal )​

    The first encounter with the Tri-Alliance, more formally known as the Artesian Free Hold, had gone poorly for the detachment of the 4th Legion: a brief but brutal naval encounter, followed by a retreat that was brilliant in its execution but left a bitter feeling in the mouth of the Myrmidons nonetheless.
    Still, Myrmidia Appollonia Alexandria made an attempt to solve the conflict via diplomacy, before committing to all-out war. Certain formalities had to be observed, to make war just, even if they were doomed to failure.

    When that failure came, the Legion went to war. This time, the Artesian Free Hold would not face a mere fragment of its strength: this time, the entire Legion was arrayed against it, it's Primarch at the head.

    With them marched two recent allies, between them a microcosm of the vast array of forces and cultures that made up the Imperium and its Armies.
    One one hand, there was the Dust Raiders, a force from the recently compliant Dithcor, the nomadic nature of their culture still heavily visible through their entire force, on the other the Eisen Honor Guard from recently-pacified Thule, heavily disciplined and intimidating in their sinister-looking Rebreathers.

    A Strategy for the subjugations of the Xenos was a simple one, though no less brillant for it: a two-pronged advance into Free Hold space, quickly erected Fortifications meeting and destroying any attempt at a counter-attack before the Legion advanced further.

    The first of these horns, led by the Primarch herself, would quickly find itself in a situation much like the initial detachment of the Myrmidons had: a massive fleet battle, the distinct ships of the member species of the Tri-State Alliance swarming over the Primarch's own fleet.

    At the center of the enemy fleet was a massive, heavily armored ship, advancing with the slow, inexorable might of a glacier, threatening to crush all before it though easily outmaneuvered by the far more nimble Imperial Vessel. The vessel proved itself near impervious to Naval Weaponry, soaking up punishment that might have cracked open the mantle of a planet many times over.

    It did not prove so impervious to boarding.

    Myrmidons swarmed through it's corridors in well-coordinated squads, boarding shields interlocked as they advanced in disciplined firing lines, bolters casting death at all that stood in their way. With them, squads of the Eisen Honor Guards advanced, proving their mettle in matters of Void War in a hundred minor, brutal engagements within the labyrinthine depths of the Fortress Hulk. Soon, the ship's guns fell silent. Then, it's engines lost power, Reactors seized or cut off by the advance of the boarding parties, red-armored Marines trained in the Forges of Mars applying their knowledge in the most destructive of manners. Piece by piece, the enemy vessel fell, yet the battle only ended when Julianna of Venetia, leading a Squad of her own, seized the bridge.

    What the Myrmidons found there was a scene of horror: one of the insectoid members of the Tri-Alliance, it's three pairs of eyes white with cataracts, it's rotting half-corpse bound to the command throne of the ship in a marriage of technology and flesh, writhing with energy of the thrones horrible technologies.
    When it beheld those that had come to kill it, it snarled, the spasm of anger and tension seemingly transferring to the ship, every door within the vicinity snapping open and then shut, every light within the Fortress Hulk flaring up at once and then bursting in a shower of sparks, a last show of defiance, even the act of self-destruction denied to it by the able hands of the Myrmidon's Tech Marines. When the single Bolt entered it and burst its body apart, the act felt almost like a mercy: with it, Julianna had ended the Battle of the Fortress Hulk, and the defeat of the first battle of Zalura's Fall was wiped away by a far more decisive victory.

    The Legion's Lord Commander meanwhile, would find that she had met the bulk of the enemy resistance leading the second prong of the attack.

    Ecto Mire was to be the first major ground campaign of the Tri-Alliance War, and the first where the three species that made it up were met in ground combat in any significant numbers. Ecto Mire itself was a planet covered, through some quirk of its climate, in a vast, treacherous ocean of mud, reaching anything from ankle-heights to the depths of an ocean with very little indicating which it would be from above. The Xenos made their living within vast stilt cities, extracting the resources within the muck in strange, massive refineries. The treacherous terrain made the initial stages of the campaign something of a nightmare, with several of the flight of Drop Pods meant to encircle critical cities instead becoming quickly sucked up within the muddy grounds or stranded on unstable platforms of mud baked together by the heat of the brake engines. The Xenos too were far better adapted to the environment then their human counterparts, and advancing columns saw themselves constantly harried by cunning, multi-pronged attacks,the winged Xenos that the soldiery had quickly dubbed as Vespids for the distinct hum produced by their wings attacking from the air in concert with the Mudrunners, which was the name given to the sinuous quadruped lizards with a strange resistance to Las Weaponry. The Xoaxtl, as deciphered Xenos Communications dubbed them, proved extremely capable of sneaking towards and into enemy columns beneath the surface of the all-encompassing swamp seemingly faster than they were running across solid ground.
    The third species, dubbed Ur-Ghul, blind, spindly, yet possessed of uncanny senses, was encountered whenever one of the Stilt Cities was taken, launching ambushes within the labyrinthine, darkened guts of their refineries.
    Still, even in the face of this adversity, the Myrmidons adapted: Land Raiders became the center-piece of the advances, and vast nets of sensors soon covered the out perimeter of every column, while squadrons of fighter craft intercepted the buzzing Vespid assaults. Over the course of a thousand chaotic skirmishes, the outlying Stil Cities fell, and piece by piece the ways around towards the main settlement on the Planet's surface were mapped out, secured, and fortified, columns of Space Marines advancing forwards towards it. It was for this city that the first and last full battle upon the planet's surface took place, as the remaining forces of the Tri Alliance engaged in a desperate effort to hold the city, an effort they found ultimately thwarted by the dogged stubbornness with which the Myrmidons attacked their defenses and a sudden, brillant flanking assault, consisting of several thousand of the Legion advancing hundreds of meters beneath the surface of the muck, bypassing many of the enemy defenses and achieving utter strategic and tactical surprise. Within the depths of the city, the Legion Master and Captain Flavius Manius Marinus, her trusted subordinate, found themselves engaged in a struggle of their own, engaged by a Xoaxtl Psyker in plainly priestly garb and a massive Ur-Ghul wearing armor made up of a ceramite-like material and covered in strange symbols. After a long and hard battle, the Priest would flee, it's retreat covered by the by then frenzied Ur-Ghul, which was brought down only when the Legion Master managed to fire a point-blank blast of her Plasma Pistol into it's snarling mouth, evaporating the Xenos head, with the Xenos Psyker nowhere to be found in the aftermath, even was the city was properly secured and losses on each side were tallied.
    With this, the Ecto Mire Campaign concluded, though the Free Hold War had only just begun: the forces of the Legion Master and the Primarch both continued their advance across the Xenos-held worlds, facing the ever-more desperate defenses of the Xenos with aplomb, even as their enemies began to display ever-stranger, and, as some whispered, utterly unnatural abilities.

    The winged Vespids were increasingly found to be exceedingly hard to put down, taking wounds far in excess of what they should have been able to bear. The Xoaxtl too exhibited strange abilities, their skilled ambushes suddenly shrouded in unnatural mist, their already considerable skills as ambush predators suddenly amplified vastly, Urban Combat becoming even more nightmarish as a result, especially in combination with the vast Aqueduct Roads, Spires, and Labyrinthine interiors that seemed common in Tri-Alliance cities and allowed them to move and reposition themselves with great speed and attack from any and all possible directions.
    By far the most horrifying ability, however, was displayed by the Ur-Ghul, who displayed an uncanny talent for ripping apart space, which amplified their own considerable talents as shock troops, as it allowed them to bypass sentries and most sensor alike and assault often entirely unprepared troops before withdrawing in the same unnatural manner.
    Still, despite the stubborn defense, the worlds of the Free Hold fell, even as the unnatural occurrences continued to pick up. They, just as the campaign, reached a crescendo above the world of Cryold, where the two prongs of the attack reunited to bring a decisive end to the Artesian Free Hold once and for all.

    In this, they were thwarted, though not in any matter which they might have expected: for instead of a Fleet Battle and a following desperate last stand, the fleet left the Warp to find the planet swathed in a nexus of empyrean energy

    Before any could react in any way, the planet simply vanished, the nexus suddenly bursting forth and swallowing up the entire fleet, throwing it back into the Warp with barely enough time to raise their Gellar Fields.

    The Primarch would find her flagship back at Dithcor, much of her fleet disappeared and scattered, though contact with most of it would be reestablished over the coming weeks. The Free Hold War had come to a sudden and unexpected end, at least for now, but as the Primarch slowly reassembled her Fleet, one thought was plain in the minds of all involved in it's prosecution:

    This, every soul knew, had not been the last they'd see of Cryold.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • The Fall of the Angry One
  • Threadmarks


    • Ork Nob of Angry One's WAAGGGHHHH

    "The Ork may consider themselves the Strongest, but the Might of Mankind will see us through."- Unknown Astartes of the 18th Legion

    "HAHAHAH These 'Umies are Great Fun, Sad that da Boss is a weird boy, oh well more Fun for us"- Overhead Ork chatter during the battles​

    It has been a point of contention for many Imperial Nobles of note, that Lady Ahurani, Primarch of the Wardens of the Blessed Heart, was not fit for her supposed role. Even the Lord Regent of Terra, Malcador, had expressed that she was not "Cut from the same cloth as her siblings"

    But she still had a duty as loathed as she was to accept that, the presence of the Ork WAAGGGHHHH so close to human worlds alone would be more than enough to get her to act, the strange power this Warboss seemed to hold over it's kind and other people nearby

    While she detested war and its methods, she could not deny the part of her nature as a Primarch, one that was built to be an engine of war. The rate of which she reorganized the entirety of her Legion and Auxiliary force was unprecedented. For Lady Ahurani knew that to fight the Angry One unprepared would invite infighting across the Legion if not properly handled.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    The First Battle to put to test her new organized battle plan was held over the world of Raxura's Hope, a recent conquest of the Orks and what was once a vibrant forested world of a small space faring people, now was a different shade of green as the Orkoid ecosystem overtook the world.

    The Fleet "Guarding" the world was clearly made up of those that the Legion had fought previously, scars of the battle present on their hulls. The screams of both joy and anger coming up on the Vox links indicated they also remembered the Wardens.

    The Battle itself was a short affair, now that the Legion knew what to expect from these Orks. They could plan accordingly and use their skills to great effect, tearing apart the Ork fleet and the self proclaimed "High Grand Kaptian Iron-Eye" leading them
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    As that other battle occurred, word from the Third Legion came in, saying that their force had arrived to the worlds of Badrit V and Thulk with aid from the sixth, and begun to free the human slave populations on the worlds. Having brought the nearby world of Camaalot into compliance.

    Their movements kept them to the south as they battled across many of the Ork forces, all seemingly aimed to pierce into the south. With noted battles being led by Danil Exvarde, the Legion Master of the Third. Who fought both a great orkoid beast and it's rider in single combat. And Legionnary Keteus who freed many a captured human from the chains of the Orks.

    While the members of the Sixth applied their methods of war to great effect facing the War Machines of plenty of Mek's and the Fleets of the Orks.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    Following the trail of rage and battle, they found Angry One's massive space hulk, but Ahurani had a plan.

    With only a hint of hesitance in her mind she spoke on an open vox link, challenging Angry One to a personal duel, hoping that the Ork still held onto that quirk of their nature and that his apparent "Control" over his forces would make it a far simpler time. It took little time for the response

    "...COME AND…URGH DIE…NONE OF…YA…RGGHHH…GET IN DA WAY"

    With the invitation accepted, Ahurani prepared her forces for their insertion into the Space Hulk.
    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    The Halls to Angry One's inner Lair was no easy path, Orks poured out of every nook and cranny, their proximity to their warboss making them little more than ravenous beast fueled by anger. They threw themselves at the Primarch and her entourage with abandon, the group fighting for every inch to make their way to where the Primach would have to fight the warboss of these Orks. They fought past great tunnels of winding paths, into grand halls of Eldar warships remade into crude Orkish design.

    Coming to the chamber where the Angry One would no doubt be, Ahurani ordered that she be the only one to enter, objections were raised, but she was adamant. Stating that they were to keep the hall safe while she did her beetle, as the sounds of many more Orks filled the halls. The Members of Her Legion, and the attachments from her sibling's Legions relented.
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    The chamber was surprisingly clean and simple compared to the rest of the ship, as sitting in the middle was her target, Angry One. The Ork had a strange complexion as it's skin seemed to be in patches of darker green than other parts, it's head was a mass of painful looking cables and metal. She had come and hoped to ask the beast what had happened to it, and if it was the Eldar to the south, they had already perished. But she knew that speaking would give nothing, for as soon as she stepped towards the Ork, it had already begun to swing it's two massive chain-axes, both attached to the beast with chains.

    The battle between the two lasted for hours, with Ahurani fighting like a wild beast and grateful hunter, facing the reckless and rage fueled attacks of Angry One. The battle took them across the entire room as each swing, slash and stab by the two was made in the attempt to harm, rather than kill outright.

    It was after a deadly stab to the throat of Angry One did the Fight change, for the Ork stood still for a moment, then he let out a wild and guttural roar, rushing forward. Ahurani unleashes all manner of attacks to stop the beast. But the Ork still walked forward reaching Ahurani and grasping her head as his eyes began to glow with a strange power "I AM THE RAGE OF GORK AND YOU WILL NOT END ME WITHOUT SEEING" The voice boomed out of the Ork, clearly enhanced by the power.

    And then…she saw in the Warp two great shapes locked in eternal struggle, she feels as their battle echoes across the galaxy and is felt by all manner of creatures of the Orkoid Species, the echoes of which she sees as a great dust cloud underneath the two beings. She watches as two pairs of eyes look down at her with both glee and a strange feeling of approval as two voices speaking overwhelm her as feelings of a deeply isolated part of her mind was triggered…a sense of longing for battle.

    "This One got ya boy down there, HA"
    "Shut it ya Git, he was a fat head anyway, now da Twinfist is a propa git."
    "Wait, he'z mine, not yours!"
    "What ya saying, he'z MINE"

    The two began to fight again, the force of which knocked Ahurani away into the dust, the screams of a billion Orkoids ringing in her ears.

    The vision fades and she sees once again the torn apart chamber, now frosted over in parts as she sees in a broken and bloody heep, Armor broken and frosted in points. Angry One sat, a smile on his face as lucidity crossed his eyes.

    "'Umie…that..waz…a…good…scrap…letz…have..anuther..go…again…someday.." and like that the Scourge of the Western Stars, Rage of Gork and Warboss of this WAAGGGHHH, died.
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    At first many of the Orks ceased their mindless charge and began to exhibit the same signs of normal ork behavior. But to Ahurani, she felt something far more different, her attempted connection to the wild and untamed madness of Angry One had left her some vision of a greater effect. At first it was a chaotic and unfocused mass of voices, but soon three voices began to make their presence known to Ahurani.

    "AHAH Finally, Boyz get tha shiny bitz and leg it, we'z got a real lucky sing on our side"

    "HRUMPH, well Boyz get me stabby bitz, i'z got some new ideaz in me head."

    "Zog it, i'm da new boss, get me choppa ready. I want's me a good memento fing"

    Before she could dwell on these voices, she felt the dark overtake her and for a moment all was silent.
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    When she awoke, she was onboard her ship, under the care of her Legion, many who gave her a different look then before. Before she could delve deeper into that reason, she learned that the WAAGGGHHHH had split apart and fled, Angry One's death seemed to not splinter the WAAGGHHHH in the normal manner, not when many other Warboss prospects seemed to keep their "Boyz" close when they were brought in. So far three seemed to have made the largest splash in their escape of the Legion Fleet and their allies.

    The names of these three beings were, Dok Ziz Squig-toof, Pain-Boss of WAAAGGGHHHHH Squig-Toof. Free-Boota Kaptain Haccka Green-Klaw of Green-Klaws Fleet, and finally Gaz'mash Git-Carver of Gaz'mash's WAGGGHHHH.

    While others celebrated a victory, Ahurani lamented that she had created three new monsters in her efforts to stop one. But for now she still had other matters, aiding her brother and sister with establishing a group of mortal institutions that would become known collectively as the Wardens Hospitaller.

    But with that done, she had to leave. Other fronts in the Crusade needed her and her Legion, yes despite what many would say about her, she knew her aid in the battles would save more lives then end them. She just hoped that one day the Wars would stop and that before they do…she remains the same.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • The Legio Pretoria

    It is said there are twenty legios in the 15th, this is both true and it is also a lie. Aside from the numbered formation there exists a separate force directly under the command of Axinos. They stand apart from their brothers, spurning the silver armour of the line legios for black enamelled plate with gold trim. At the time of the intervention into tri star federation space they numbered only three line cohorts in strength, near some two and a half thousand marines, compared to the line legios which have an authorised strength of ten. Armed with the finest wargear the legion can muster they employ both the bolters of the line legios but also increasing power swords and scutums derived from technology reclaimed from the federation.

    Considered the finest of the 15th, perfect killers and principled statesman all, they are held as the ideal of the legion made manifest. They are supposed to be an embodiment of the light the 15th proclaim to bring. Only the finest aspirants are inducted into its ranks, hand picked by the Preatorian legate and tribunes from among the rank and file of the legion. They are publicly seen as an honorary unit, the bodyguard of Axinos and his chosen companions when he takes to the field. Privately they are his red right hand; they are committed wholly to the ideals of the legion and like all fanatics there is no crime they wouldn't commit or atrocity undertaken when ordered. Peerless warriors all they are not awarded with honours for acts of bravery on the battlefield, only the best is expected of them; not that anyone would know given the panlopy of marks and totems which adorn the armour of the long serving preatorians. These marks however are not marks of honour but of shame, each testament to a different crime committed by the preatorian, a different sin for their ideals. In a way they become again marks of honour, each marking what sacrifice of honour the legionaire has made for the percieved greater good. A red tear marks the murder of innocents, a golden book the slaughter of peaceful dissidents there are hundreds others but one item of this secret language stands above the rest, the black laurel. The black laurel marks out a preatorian who has split the blood of a brother or cousin astartes, a mark of singular sacrifice as to murder ones kin is the greatest sin for the familial Lightbringers. Like all of the rest the totems these are rarely received for actions within Actium but more often external to it, during the myriad compliances of the Emperor. Of course outside the legio not even the whisper of the true meaning of the totems exist, those who notice them just assume they are internal honours similar to those which the wider legion uses. It will be a black day when the wider legion needs to apply those marks to their armour.
     
    Savagely Noble​

    The stars had fallen to earth, ten thousand thousand blazing lights banishing the night from the plain. Mighty bonfires roared sixty feet high each Pyre worthy of an Emperor surrounded by dozens or hundreds of revelling mourners. The Radikans of the First were not so wild and strange as some of their fellow feral worlders and compared to some Aereus was downright tamed but it was easy to forget this on Kings' Day. The little hints of civilisation; the lack of human skin as a clothing material, no drinking of blood, fairly small amounts of honour duels and ritualistic sacrifice and the like, amounted to so little when compared to rude splendour and anarchy of tens of thousands of semi naked men and women dancing with torches, firing autoguns into the air and drinking, fighting and fucking each other in a riotous display of primitive social bonding.

    Their 'officers' sat upon great ornately carved benches together overseeing the anarchy. They were a strange mix of men and women, old and young, most still wearing their ancient rings and crowns proudly as though they still ruled a nation rather than a Regiment, indeed in a sense they did. The Administratum was not the most discerning of organisations when it came to collecting the tithe, its ships had arrived, its surveys and census had determined the desired quantity of recruits was analogous to the population of one of the many tribes of the world and so it had simply conscripted an entire people and gone on its merry way with the Imperium now boasting a new Regiment by the designation IV Aerean.

    They were strange folk, these new soldiers, red, yellow and black haired, men and women alike favouring braids and complicated knots, small and wiry as a rule with sun browned and leathery skin and hard black eyes. All but the youngest children boasted tattoos and scars listing all their accomplishments, their families, their loves, their profession and their aspirations mingled with dozens of pieces of jewelry of similar significance. To glance upon one was to read the story of their entire lifetime.

    The Discipline masters had done their best to corral them into a disciplined force or at least one that would charge in the same direction and they had proved natural studies with the Autogun whilst many continued to carry their familiar Aruk swords, long triangular spikes with one edge kept deadly sharp, murderously sharp and capable of piercing armour and flesh alike. Every battle so far had seen them perform acceptably, a whole civilisation battling for their survival and a iron clad code of personal honour was a frightening prospect on even the most hellish of battlefields. But in many other ways they had proved themselves almost as dangerous to the Imperium as the foe.

    The trouble had begun almost from the start, they were a proud people and independent minded, to be ripped from their homes and sent to war across the Stars for an incomprehensible cause was one thing, for another the Imperial Army frowned upon its soldiers killing each other, stealing from it and lacking proper respect for its structures and regulations. The Radikans did all of the above as naturally as breathing. The IVth had as many discipline issues as any three other Regiments combined. But those were a mild inconvenience compared to the events that had led to this bizarre festival of primitives.

    A week ago the Imperial machinery had finally determined that deploying thousands of non combatants across the stars was a waste of resources and sanctioned the removal of much of the regiment by gender and age critera onto a nearby uninhabited world to be collected and returned to their world or left to fend for themselves as a new colony depending on the deliberations of the Administratum. It was not considered prudent to inform the soldiers of this fact ahead of time but somehow they learned the truth anyway. No matter they were scattered amongst a dozen all but unarmed transport ships with no means of communication or understanding of their surroundings or abilities. Coordination would be impossible and resistance pointless.

    It would be fair to say given the events of the Uprising that the Imperial military bureaucracy may have underestimated the Radikan's. The simultaneous mutiny across half a dozen ships followed by a synchronized withdrawal from the warp during period that most of the fleet's crews and senior officers would be resting and all communication and physical viewing would be severely constrained displayed planning and understanding of the inner workings of the Imperial Army Navy and warp travel beyond anything credited to the feral worlders by their superiors. It took days for the missing ships to be noticed.

    With Operation Lugh looming in all likelihood the Radikan people would have made good their escape due to lack of resources to be spared for the hunt and the vastness of the Imperium's new territory much of which was still all but completely unintegrated. They could have lived their new, free lives unmolested for decades or centuries. Were it not for the courage of one of their captive Astropaths who managed to send a single message of distress across the Stars. A detachment of Battle Fleet infinite arrived at the temporary homeworld of the Radikans, imaginatively renamed Radika. Fierce and brave as they were, they had seen orbital bombardment before, they knew they were like to die without ever seeing the face of their executioners.

    To their surprise the only projectile launched from the massive war fleet hanging above their heads was a lone drop pod, depositing a single representative of the Imperium. None other than Lord Savnok himself. The Radikans massed for their last stand, an entire people arrayed for combat, they had heard tales of the might of a Primarch and well knew the sword above their head remained in place but now they had but one hope, that they could best this giant of a man and use him to bargain for their lives.

    There were tens of thousands of Radakins against on Primarch, to their credit it took him over an hour to find, disarm and capture enough of their leadership to begin negotiations. It would be said later that he took not a single wound during the entire 'battle' and did do no more harm than terrify a single Radakin as he collected the elite of an entire people. By the fourth hour, despite semi frequent interruptions needed to thwart rescue missions and assassination attempts Lord Savnok and the impromptu council of the IVth Aerean leadership element had discussed their grievances and reached an acceptable solution.


    • Each Radakin would swear a personal oath of Loyalty to the Emperor and to Lord Savnok personally who would ensure their welfare and fair treatment.
    • The mandatory death sentence for mutiny was suspended indefinitely on the understanding that it would be reinstated at any point Lord Savnok considered the the Radakins to be breaching the spirit of their agreement.
    • The IVth Aerean would be redesignated the Ist Radikan
    • The old, young, infirm and those unsuited to or wasted in combat would be allowed to settle this virgin world they had discovered.
    • The Ist would from now on be overseen by specialist officers selected personally by Savnok.

    By good fortune, the holiest culturally significant day of the Radkian calendar was just days away and Lord Savnok consented to allowing a traditional festival of death, honour and renewal and so now sat the son of the Emperor, looking incredibly out of place in his dress uniform amongst the displaced elite of a Feral world but showing incredible forbearance, offering compliments and respect to the elders and the nobly born, accepting challenges from young warriors, complimenting appearances and feats and impressing all by his incredible ability to consume alcohol and food in astounding quantities. By the time the feast ended with the last ember of the Pyre's he was satisfied that he had achieved his purpose here and left with the much diminished but far more coherent and pliable regiment and more importantly incredibly valuable experience for the trials to come.
     
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