- Location
- Alberta
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We are changing for the better.
But let us all hope that we are not changing too fast and too much so that we will not be influenced by some certain bird of the warp.
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Going forward, links to content from Twitter (now X) will no longer be embedded. Pre-existing links should not be affected.
Breaker of Chains (30k Angron Quest)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
But let us all hope that we are not changing too fast and too much so that we will not be influenced by some certain bird of the warp.
I hope we can save Magnus, I truly do. He may be a screw up, but he's OUR screw up and it's our duty to protect him. Especially if that means protecting him from himself. If we could get Magnus on side and secede with him and most of our friends and brothers we should be golden.
Max Uristwell
Custodian of the Toobs
- Location
- United Kingdom
It's written as bad Latin to illustrate how it relates to Low Gothic (ie. being older and more 'official' than the stuff that's written as English), rather than it actually being bad Latin.
RepThe21st
21st of his Name
- Location
- Greece
[X] Malcador
This view of Malcador as just a mustache twirling, stupid villain can be funny, but I want us to get to meat beneath and see the man, and maybe a hint of the intelligence and resilience that the character concept is supposed to have.
I'm still not sure what this update means about the Librarius project. Is it actually ended after all?
This view of Malcador as just a mustache twirling, stupid villain can be funny, but I want us to get to meat beneath and see the man, and maybe a hint of the intelligence and resilience that the character concept is supposed to have.
I'm still not sure what this update means about the Librarius project. Is it actually ended after all?
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Librarius is fine as the warmasters decree stands, but contracting out psykery to demons is banned
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Daaaw, I just think that's an adorable image.
I think we interrupted his shift on the Terran Reconstruction Program, and he found out shit got real.
Maybe I'm reading too much into the subsequent events, but he does give off a vibe of "I shouldn't need to be here, but if you people keep being stupid then I shall."
Case in point: Dorn picks no sides, he only serves the Emperor, and judges all accordingly.
… Well apparently the Aurelian thinks I'm taking too long to respond to Earthscorpion and Lisa, because Chaos is back on topic again. Right in the month I'm basically going insane in to boot.
Oh well, Chaos waits for no mortal, and I do have a full weekend off:
Do you want the sane reason or the book-fucker reason?
So awhile back, we talked about Godblight and what it implied for Big E, and how Guilliman really hates Lorgar's insistence on religion. But there's an iconic scene in Dark Imperium that really speaks to this scene. Or at least, how it gets turned around.
Context: Frater Mathieu is the latest member of the Ministorum who has to travel with Guilliman and tell the rest of the priesthood that the fact a Primarch doesn't worship the God-Emperor isn't going to spread, or endanger their cushy jobs. The Adeptus Ministorum and Lectitio Divinitatus cleaving close to what Lorgar intended before he went to Chaos is also a developing plot point and will eventually end up with it being exposed, but for now we just have Guilliman being suspicious of "Living Saints" and Mathieu has implanted tasers in his spine and testicles if he ever starts thinking...
Mathieu tensed, suddenly alert. Guilliman was about to speak. A score of silvered skulls buzzed about the primarch, recording his image for posterity.
From what Guilliman had told him, these recordings were meaningless, as history could be rewritten as easily as the notes for a sermon. The primarch looked at the flying skulls, and his regard made them retreat in dismay. The son of the Emperor did not see his own power. To Guilliman, the skulls were morbid mementos, machines nestled in the hollowed-out heads of the worthy. To Mathieu, they were more.
Clinging to the mortal remains, the spirits of the faithful remained, serving the Emperor beyond death. They felt the primarch's scorn – that is why they veered from him. Why could he not see that?
It is not my role to convince the son of god that he is the son of god, Mathieu scolded himself. It is my role to serve him, and to guide him through his own efforts to the truth.
I cannot tell him. He must see. He resolved to shrive himself, by confession or by whip, for his presumption. Still, he could not extinguish his hope, nor his ambition. If I am the one to open his eyes… he thought. If it is me who convinces him openly…
That was enough. He squeezed the button hidden in the flesh of his palm. Sparking pain burst within his groin and behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth and swayed, close to collapse. But the implanted electroflail was not enough to break his immodest ambitions. He would have to punish himself harder later. Only in agony was there atonement.
From what Guilliman had told him, these recordings were meaningless, as history could be rewritten as easily as the notes for a sermon. The primarch looked at the flying skulls, and his regard made them retreat in dismay. The son of the Emperor did not see his own power. To Guilliman, the skulls were morbid mementos, machines nestled in the hollowed-out heads of the worthy. To Mathieu, they were more.
Clinging to the mortal remains, the spirits of the faithful remained, serving the Emperor beyond death. They felt the primarch's scorn – that is why they veered from him. Why could he not see that?
It is not my role to convince the son of god that he is the son of god, Mathieu scolded himself. It is my role to serve him, and to guide him through his own efforts to the truth.
I cannot tell him. He must see. He resolved to shrive himself, by confession or by whip, for his presumption. Still, he could not extinguish his hope, nor his ambition. If I am the one to open his eyes… he thought. If it is me who convinces him openly…
That was enough. He squeezed the button hidden in the flesh of his palm. Sparking pain burst within his groin and behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth and swayed, close to collapse. But the implanted electroflail was not enough to break his immodest ambitions. He would have to punish himself harder later. Only in agony was there atonement.
That line, just before the end, is what makes me think a few things about Lorgar's motives for this stunt.
We've discussed how Lorgar was abused and beaten as a child, yet always stood by and adored Kor Pharon. We know he wants the Emperor to be a God, and it's been a reoccurring statement in the novels that Roboute Guilliman is 'the perfect son', a more mortal, more human Emperor in miniature. I think Lorgar's desires to be 'loved' and his desire to see his vision of divinity affirmed crossed paths at this council, however unintentionally or unconsciously. Lorgar wanted the Emperor to do all of this, to show the Imperium the same overwhelming power and might that forced the Word Bearers to kneel at Monarchia. The words of The Blessed Lady course through his hearts: When the stars fell and the seas boiled, faith didn't die, it only began. God Is Real, And He Hates You.
Lorgar knew speaking of Chaos, even in this indirect manner, would force the Emperor to lash out... and I think Lorgar wanted to die.
Maybe it wasn't consciously. Maybe there'll come a day when Lorgar just wishes he had been killed. Maybe I'm reading too much into Dark Imperium. But I see The Emperor here making the mistake Guilliman caught himself on. If the blessing of a god cannot be shown, then a god may be proved by divine retribution. The Son Of God slaying a traitor is a righteous thing, a god smiting a heathen or apostate is the sign of supreme authority. And all the 'love' Lorgar has been shown in his life was abuse in every form. If Lorgar cannot be Abel, then he'd take to the role of Cain with great joy and zeal so long as it fulfilled his goals of people seeing the Emperor as a God.
But I am very sure Lorgar walked into that room intent on being publicly rebuked by a God, and the Emperor knew this. Yet in his rage, he gave Lorgar exactly what he wanted. Even if the power of the Emperor would have wounded or even overwhelmed him, that would've only strengthened Lorgar's case for divinity.
Someone may have mentioned this already, but The Emperor's big announcement having the minor addendum at the end really sells why he's absolutely livid.
This wasn't just Lorgar being pissy after Monarchia and waving Chaos' existence in front of Big E like a red flag. This isn't just Magnus being dumb when a Crypto-tech-bro-grifter from another dimension came knocking. This isn't just Angron being openly rebellious.
This was about whether the military and civilian government can interact peacefully. But no. Malcador couldn't navigate how to tell the Primarchs no. The Primarchs couldn't figure out how to let things go, including dabbling in corruption.
All this Council accomplished was reminding The Emperor of his bias that nobody else can steer the ship of state, not even his greatest creations or closest allies. And Lorgar selling alot more copies of his book.
While that is all interesting I do find it a bit annoying the Claim that Logar is the only source of the Imperial Cult and that it as it is in 40k is cleaving very close to what he wanted considering that A fuck ton of people have contributed to the Imperial Cults beliefs and way of doing things over 10,000 years. The current Imperial Cult may hold the Lectitio Divinitatus high but I will eat a hat if it is the same as what Logar wrote down with out additions and edits. The Cult is as much the work of men like Sesbastian Thor and others as it ever was Logar's.
Now as to whether Logar wanted to die in any way shape or seems to me to be reading to much in to what happened.
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HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
I don't think Lorgar wanted to die, necessarily, but IMO he wouldn't have minded dying. The discovery of spirits alone was probably a huge boon for him; like we hear from another Primarch, "death is nothing compared to vindication", and finding out from the horse's mouth that spirits are real is about as close as he's gonna get short of Emps actually saying "FINE ASSHOLE YOU WIN I'M GOD NOW LEMME RESTORE MONARCHIA BECAUSE I'M A GOD AND I CAN DO THAT AS EASILY AS YOU TAKE A PISS"
The Emperor has been forced to acknowledge that spirits exist. If the cost had been Lorgar's life, well, so be it, he certainly wouldn't be the first martyr in the galaxy.
The Emperor has been forced to acknowledge that spirits exist. If the cost had been Lorgar's life, well, so be it, he certainly wouldn't be the first martyr in the galaxy.
The thing is, everyone basically agreed that spirits were a thing beforehand, it was just a matter of if they called them as they saw it or not
The imperial Truth was dead on this regards, the only question was "how do we classify spirits?" Lorgar effectively just ripped the bandaid off instead of letting it fester and I think Emps understood that. He was pissed, because this is generally something you come to him first about, but his commandment is not "fuck you Lorgar" but "really? Fine, no more dealing with spirits you rowdy children, now fuck off so I can fix me a drink."
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
As for the 'Lorgar is the sole source' bit, take it up with Josh Reynolds and The Anchorite. Whenever he's not trying to kill himself, to the point Guilliman had him stuck in his current Contemptor Chassis so he may continue his eternal penance, the Word Bearer has spent ten thousand years writing the words of Lorgar's Book and advising the Ecclesiarchy's highest members. The Sole Living Loyalist Word Bearer. Whatever external influences, good or evil, came into the Imperial Cult this Astartes was always present to provide the original, pure, raw Word of The God-Emperor to those in the Ministorum. Who's to say that Sebastian Thor didn't, at some point, speak with this original source?
As for the man himself... the character is one of Those Memes. The kind of one-dimensional, misunderstood caricature that stood alongside the likes of Failbaddon The Armless. Sebastian Thor, The Savior. The humble man of faith and character who stood up to Goge Vandire the corrupt and insane theologian and saved the day. Yet what did he actually accomplish? The Holy Synod had its power divested from one leader to a council of elites, one of who may be sent as a High Lord of Terra. A special sub-body made to keep the Church from falling under the sway of other Imperial authorities and implementing the day to day affairs was made. The Sisters Of Battle were created to rules-lawyer a military force back into the Ministorum's hand. And the Church had its last political opponent absorbed into its ranks, laying the path to The Age of Redemption's many crusades and mass purges of 'heretics'.
A shuffle of chairs, a rearmament, no alteration to the vast wealth the church keeps to itself, and millions of people killed for not thinking the same way as him. This is the Imperium. The Fascist, Theocratic, Corpse-Grinder. Sebastian Thor may have been a believer in humility, poverty, and serving the people, but all he did was just make the Imperium better at being what it already was and always will be: Evil.
HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
It's worth noting that Dreadnaughts spend most of their time asleep. He wasn't "always" there to supply anything.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
So's Bjorn the Fell-Handed, yet everybody gets to hear The Same Exact Space Wolf Story every one hundred years, every millennium per "standard operating procedure", or when The Plot demands Bjorn give some ancient wisdom before a fight scene. The Anchorite is cut from the same cloth, and uses a debatably more advanced life support system. When those who were aware of him called on him for council, the Word Bearer was probably always answered if for no other reason than sheer faith.
The guy manifested Living Saint/Anathema powers, you can't tell me he's like 'most' other Dreadnoughts.
The thing is both the Sisters of Battle and the Living Saints exist not because of anything Logar wrote or the Anchorite says but the direct word and will of the Emperor. The Sisters have and do act as a check on corruption in the Cult and they work with the Ordo Hereticus to deal with the more supernatural kinds of corruption.
Maybe Thor did have a talk or two with the Aanchorite but I doubt a loyalist Word Bearer would have taken everything that Logar had put down as gospel considering what he decided to do with Chaos's offer. The Anchorite would not if he truly believes the Emperor is a god ignore thing's like the Storm of the Emperor's Warth which is his god acting on the material plane and things like Living Saints which would necessarily demand edits to the Cult's Holy Word. Plus if he is giving advice that means there was a give and take and that other people have had influence on the Cult's beliefs as he would not ignore someone who had the Emperor's power in them would he.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Let's assume Big E's acts were all entirely as you say, as consciously as you say he is. That is to say, we assume Guilliman in Dark Imperium is talking out his ass and the Ecclesiarchs/Inquisition/Sisters of Battle have always been right in declaring what is and isn't The Emperor's Will when it comes to enemies spontaneously dying and anyone glowing gold. If two such direct fonts of the Emperor's Will meet, then your logic says they wouldn't ever disagree. They are but speakers for one vast cosmic intellect. They both know how The Emperor Of Mankind wants people to worship him as a divinity.
Apocalypse says that The Anchorite preached and wrote more copies of his father's work, Lectitio Divinitatus, which he passed on to the founders of the Adeptus Ministorum, and gave theological input upon request to the highest levels for the next ten thousand years. We've seen the faithful quote from the Lectitio to banish daemons even before the Temple of the Savior Emperor was created. Garro, Sindermann and Keeler are the prominent examples, channeling the God-Emperor's Will through their Faith. They are some of the original Saints and Martyrs of the Imperial Cult, they can't be acting against The God-Emperor's Will under your logic.
For your theory to be compatible with Apocalypse, then any disagreement would be between the non-enlightened and the Enlightened. And any dispute over whether something is true or not would come down to whether Lorgar's book says its good or the Living Saints say its good. Which, given the above, can't ever result in a contradiction either.
Your statement that 'no loyalist Word Bearer' can regurgitate the Lecticio verbatim is, therefore, impossible. Lorgar had it right the first time, he simply chose to be wrong afterwards, and The Anchorite realized this knee-deep in the gore of Calth. After all, The Anchorite is a Living Saint. And you say they are His Will on the material plane. So the only problem you should be seeing is when people start making edits to Lorgar's Work.
Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
Imagine being a follower of Lorgar's weaksauce lock yourself in a monastery and contemplate your navel Ecclesiarchy symbolized by a shiny bird and not Euphrati Keeler's founded during the Siege of Terra "Faith without works is dead now let's do some works charge those heretic Marines with these industrial tools the blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium" Ecclesiarchy, symbolized by a freaking skull.
Couldn't be me.
Couldn't be me.
HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
But Wade if a regular human is important in any way how can we sell more Space Marines?!
Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
That's what the new model line "Space Marines but they're all wearing lifts" is for, duh
HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
Both Garro and Keeler manifested power because they believed in the Emperor's power not because they had read Logar's book. When Keeler did, she was still uncertain about the whole Imperial cult the fist time she manifested Living Saint like power and Garro had not even heard of the Lecticio before the Heresy.
The Anchorite realized that Logar was right about the Emperor being a God but that does not mean he agreed with everything Logar said as Logar proved he could've wrong and turn from the light so to speak. I don't want to simply quote verbatim from the Wiki page you linked but I will quote some of it.
"When his Legion later fought in the Siege of Terra, the Anchorite sat alone in a cell and prayed for their souls. As he did so, Daemons would try to tempt him and sway him to embrace the Chaos Gods again, but the Anchorite banished them and continued his prayers in penance. He also embraced the worship of the Emperor once again and cast off his old identity to become an Anchorite, both in name and in being. He then began preaching and writing the words of the Lectitio Divinitatus, which his Primarch had penned before his fall to the Chaos Gods.[1a]
The Anchorite continued doing so even after the forces of Horus were defeated, and he would become one of the voices that guided the newly created Ecclesiarchy, as his written words were given to its members. Both the Ecclesiarchy and the Imperial Cult owe much to the Anchorite's teachings, but only a select few knew of his existence. This included the forebears of the Cardinal Eamon dynasty, who became the Anchorite's gaolers and were charged with keeping his existence a secret. However the Anchorite was plagued by the part the Word Bearers played in nearly destroying the Imperium and he came to realize that the Emperor had been secretly testing them, with the destruction of Monarchia. The fact that not only did his Primarch and Legion fail to understand this, but had instead aided in ruining the future the Emperor had for Mankind, brought great despair to the Anchorite. In time, this proved to be too much for him and the Anchorite believed he would only find absolution for his sins in death. This led the Anchorite to try to commit suicide several times, though, his life was saved after each attempt. However the Anchorite nearly succeeded in his last attempt and he had to be interred within a Contemptor Dreadnought, in order to save his life."
The Word Bearer that would that take the title Anchorite originally stopped fighting on Calth because he felt that what the Chaos God's wanted was a continuous cycle of conflict between the loyalists and Horus forces for ever. It was only during the actual Siege of Terra that he returned to worshiping the Emperor as a God. The sources which are just from the one Novel say that he was just one of the voices that guided the new Ecclesiarchy, which some was already separate from the Cult, and the Cult itself. The Anchorite was held under house arrest by one family dynasty during which time he came to believe that Monarchia was the Emperor testing the Wind Bearers which in time lead to him trying to kill himself multiple times with him almost succeed in his last attempt before they put him in the Dreadnought. The first time the Anchorite displayed the power power Living Saint and was called Anathema was when he gave up his death wish to save Lieutenant Calder and spoke a lost or forgotten word of Colchis to Banish the Demonic Allies of his lost Brothers.
If he was but one voice then other people had influence at the Cult's start and through it's history. The will of Logar and the will of the Emperor are not the same thing and he saw that so it follows that he would not take Logar's writings as perfect but would look for the areas his father went astray.
Other Characters came to see the Emperor as a God without any influence from the Lectitio like Sigismund of the Fists who would inoculate his own beliefs into the Black Templars who have had Clashes with the Ecclesiarchy about how they worship the Emperor. Thus I really don't see this as something kind of Long game Logar has been playing on all the "fools who worship the Corpse Emperor" or some variation of that idea.
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- Location
- London, England
While the conversation is interesting, I think I'll ask that we do better than just copy-pasting chunks of the wiki at each other.
Zed.
Cannon Fodder
The Great Ecclesiastical Debate Regarding the Involvement of the HERETICAL Arch Traitor Lorgar Aurelian, Damned be his Name, in the Holy Worship of the God Emperor
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XVII. Justice Hidden In Shadows
- Location
- London, England
You'll never have a better chance than this to speak with Malcador on anything less than his terms, and part of you desperately wants to track down Lorgar and shake him until his secrets fall out, but in the end a brother is hurting. 'Man or Primarch' could not possibly have been anything less than a warning aimed directly at Magnus, and so while the mortals shout and the council collapses you slip from the hall and follow the scent of parchment and warpflame.
Your brother has not gone far, merely retiring from the main chamber to a small side gallery filled with statues of men and women in scholarly robes. Perturabo's work, like all else about this place, and while you might have expected him to hew to the utilitarian or the abstract there is instead something undeniably human about those likenesses captured in stone. You join Magnus in studying them, the red-armoured sentinels of his Legion allowing you to pass with brief nods and silent thanks, and wait for him to find the words that fit the expression behind that troubled brow.
"I am trying to understand where the misunderstanding happened," Magnus says softly, far quieter than you have heard him before, his one eye fixed upon the statues as he looks for something else. "How long have I been labouring under this… mistaken assumption?"
"You knew him before Prospero, didn't you?" You ask, though you know the answer well enough. You speak to help your brother frame his thoughts, to steady him as he reasons his way through this treacherous ground.
"We touched minds decades before we met in the flesh," Magnus confirms, a faintly nostalgic note of fondness in his voice as he speaks. "It is hard to explain it, Angron. His mind was… a thing of beauty. Purest light, reaching out through the darkness. I criticise Lorgar for thinking to worship him, but I can understand the impulse."
You think of the confrontation you just left, of your own experiences with the man who calls himself your Father. Beauty would not have been the word you chose, not for that burning light that carves its way through everything in its path, but perhaps it is a matter of perspective.
"It's been two hundred years since then," you offer, "He might have changed in the time since."
That earns you a humourless chuckle, and then a moment later your brother's wry expression as he turns away from the statues. "You do not truly think that is a possibility."
"No, but I've been wrong before," you shrug, grinning despite yourself. It's good to see that Magnus isn't denying what happened, only grappling with it. Certainly there are worse responses he could have had. "What will you do now?"
Magnus doesn't answer at first. His mouth opens, he goes to speak, and then he just… does not. He remains silent for several long moments, that brilliant mind working behind his ruddy face, and then at last he allows himself to whisper. "I do not know."
"...first time for everything, I guess," you say, blinking in vaguely stupefied surprise. You assumed that Magnus would have a plan, and sure it might not have been a great idea, but it would have been something to start with. "Well. Let's start with the obvious. You can't just obey in full - why?"
"My Legion cannot operate without the fruits of our studies. Even if they could, Prospero cannot," Magnus says firmly, and here at least in some certainty, the truths at the core of his being. "This is not merely some tactic or device we are commanded to forsake, but our entire way of life, our doctrine and culture. One cannot simply uproot all of that."
"Yeah, I thought so," you grunt, scratching briefly at the ports where the Butcher's Nails puncture your skull. Sometimes they play up when you spend too long thinking of such abstract topics, but not today. "Alright, you know what will happen if you get caught?"
"Yes of course I…" Magnus snaps, then pauses to take a second look at you. "Caught?"
"Come on," you grin, utterly unrepentant, "How accurate do you think Kharn's reports really are?"
Magnus considers that for several moments, likely slotting Ahzek into the place of your irreplaceable equerry, then shakes his head. "If it were a frontier matter, perhaps, but there is no possibility that Mortarion and Russ will allow my people to persist in isolation without examination. The kind of secrecy necessary to continue my work beyond the prying eyes of those who see only what they want would be… beyond either of us, certainly."
"Gentlemen."
Gorefather is in your hand before you can even think, swinging through the air with a furious growl, and is deflected an instant later by the gleaming edge of a strange twin-headed spear. The air shivers with a low moan of wind across barren plains, and from across the interlocked weapons Alpharius meets your gaze with a single raised eyebrow.
"Cheeky bastard," you grumble, stepping back and lowering your weapon, "Do you want me to kill you?"
Alpharius Omegon, Lord of the Alpha Legion and youngest of the Primarchs, simply smiles at you. He's smaller than either you or Magnus, with a bald head and skin the hue of something that you might generously call copper, but it is his eyes that stay with you when all else is forgotten. Cold arctic blue, gleaming with intelligence and vision, with a drive quite unlike anything else.
"If I might offer an observation," Alpharius says, turning to Magnus with that same half-smile on his face, "Historically, sages and wise men have survived the attentions of hostile regimes in one of two ways. Either they fled beyond the reach of the sovereign, or they took shelter with farsighted patrons."
Magnus frowns at that, clearly sceptical, but he does not dismiss the thought out of hand. He always had more time for your youngest brother's nonsense than most. "...I am aware of the precedent. Most such patrons would demand recompense for their aid, in services or other benefits."
Alpharius simply shrugs, briefly lifting his hands in coy confession, and you roll your eyes. Honestly, why are they even bothering with such roundabout language? It isn't as if anyone who hears this will fail to grasp the offer being implied.
"Or prestige," you grunt, because if there is one thing that annoys Alpharius the most, it is people pointing out his hunger for glory. Your words earn you a sideways glance and a tight smile, and you decide to be content with that. He is trying to help, after all. Probably.
"Despite such less than noble intent, future generations would regard such patrons with gratitude," Magnus says after a few moments more, allowing himself a slow nod as he makes the calculation. "Perhaps we might discuss such matters in more depth in a more comfortable venue?"
Well, you may have just witnessed the creation of a cult network to rival any in human history, but if it keeps the secrets of Prospero and its children safe from the Emperor's covetous grasp, you suppose it will be worth it.
-/-
Corvus Corax plays no games with you, arranges no elaborate excuse for a meeting in some dark and hidden corner of Terra's hives. He simply invites you to a private meeting aboard the Shadow of the Emperor, a quiet conversation between brothers in the comfort of his personal quarters. Even the most suspicious of onlookers would find little strange in that, for the two of you are known to be friends, and with the Council over you are each bound for far flung sectors. Why would you not seize the opportunity to spend some time in quiet comfort and companionship?
"I've got a headache," you grunt as you take a seat by the shining glass table Corvus has shown you to, picking up the glass set there for you, "So let's not chase our tails. What's this favour you want of me?"
The dark wine in the goblet is a surprisingly appealing vintage, and you take a moment to appreciate it as your brother brushes back his feathered cloak and takes a seat across from you. Some of your brothers would have had special brands made, supping on chemical cocktails that only a Primarch could survive, but Corvus has served you a mortal vintage instead. It's a nice touch.
"Very well, Angron," your brother says simply, resting his hands on the glass table and looking you straight in the eye, "I want you to help me kill the Night Haunter."
You don't splutter. You're not that easily shocked. Even so, you take a moment to slowly set the glass aside and muster your thoughts, because this is clearly not the conversation you were half expecting.
"Why now?"
Corax raises an eyebrow. "I admit, I was expecting a different question."
"The man is a lunatic with flaying pits, Corvus. Mass-produced flaying pits, ones he designed himself, like that was a problem he needed to solve. I'm not surprised you want him dead," you grumble, shaking your head and tapping out a brief rhythm on the table. "He's been like this for centuries, and you've had your Legion for long enough. Why go after him now."
"He's gone rogue," Corax replies swiftly, having clearly worked out how to pitch this to you in advance. "The Night Lords no longer coordinate with other Imperial forces or prosecute the Crusade, not in any meaningful way. They roam hither and yon, seizing the vaguest possible excuse to commit atrocities. I had an observer sent…"
"A spy," you grunt, because you've no interest in playing word games. It's not like you don't understand the motive; your Chaplains have the populace of your loose dominion well trained to be watchful for any intruders in lightning clad, with standing orders to summon the nearest Chainbreakers if they catch so much as a glimpse. You expect most of your brothers do likewise.
"A spy, then," Corax shrugs, yielding the point with a swift cutting gesture from one hand, "He visited Nostramo, the Haunter's homeworld. It's gone, Angron, shattered into fragments by orbital bombardment, with Night Lord corpses in orbit. He killed a compliant world and purged anyone in the Legion who wanted to stop him."
You frown, glaring at your brother across the table. You have rather less attachment to the concept of a homeworld than most, but that isn't why you're annoyed. "That's a good reason to bring this to the Emperor, or maybe the Warmaster. Yet you came to me. Why?"
Corax rises from his seat at that, turning away and pacing for a few moments, restless and uncertain. You watch him move, taking another drink of the wine as you wait. It's really quite good. A shame you can't get drunk, but maybe you should be grateful for one less bludgeon taken to your brain.
"Because no one else will act, Angron, and I am tired of making excuses," your brother says at last, turning back to you with a fervent light in his dark eyes. "I've sent reports, made petitions, we all have, but it's Lorgar who gets called to heel and your name floated in high council, not his. Now the Emperor washes his hands of the Crusade, leaving this matter unaddressed, and Horus? Either he doesn't care, or he won't risk his new position by doing what is right."
"It won't just be Curze," you note, watching your brother carefully, "It's his whole Legion. You'd have to kill them all, and then hide the bodies. That's war, not a cull."
It's why you haven't done it, after all. Could the Chainbreakers break the Night Lords? Absolutely. Could you kill Konrad, if you faced him across the battlefield? Easily. But it wouldn't be quick or clean, and chances are it would spiral out into something worse. You expect those concerns are why Corax has come to you for aid, rather than trying this with just his own Legion.
"I'd have rather avoided it, but I can't look away any longer," Corax admits in a low voice, "We have let evil fester in our midst for a century or more, and now we must cut it out. Like you said, the Emperor has stepped back, so now we have to step up. I'll do this alone if I must, but… it would be better to have you by my side on this, Angron."
"Can I count on you?"
Your brother has not gone far, merely retiring from the main chamber to a small side gallery filled with statues of men and women in scholarly robes. Perturabo's work, like all else about this place, and while you might have expected him to hew to the utilitarian or the abstract there is instead something undeniably human about those likenesses captured in stone. You join Magnus in studying them, the red-armoured sentinels of his Legion allowing you to pass with brief nods and silent thanks, and wait for him to find the words that fit the expression behind that troubled brow.
"I am trying to understand where the misunderstanding happened," Magnus says softly, far quieter than you have heard him before, his one eye fixed upon the statues as he looks for something else. "How long have I been labouring under this… mistaken assumption?"
"You knew him before Prospero, didn't you?" You ask, though you know the answer well enough. You speak to help your brother frame his thoughts, to steady him as he reasons his way through this treacherous ground.
"We touched minds decades before we met in the flesh," Magnus confirms, a faintly nostalgic note of fondness in his voice as he speaks. "It is hard to explain it, Angron. His mind was… a thing of beauty. Purest light, reaching out through the darkness. I criticise Lorgar for thinking to worship him, but I can understand the impulse."
You think of the confrontation you just left, of your own experiences with the man who calls himself your Father. Beauty would not have been the word you chose, not for that burning light that carves its way through everything in its path, but perhaps it is a matter of perspective.
"It's been two hundred years since then," you offer, "He might have changed in the time since."
That earns you a humourless chuckle, and then a moment later your brother's wry expression as he turns away from the statues. "You do not truly think that is a possibility."
"No, but I've been wrong before," you shrug, grinning despite yourself. It's good to see that Magnus isn't denying what happened, only grappling with it. Certainly there are worse responses he could have had. "What will you do now?"
Magnus doesn't answer at first. His mouth opens, he goes to speak, and then he just… does not. He remains silent for several long moments, that brilliant mind working behind his ruddy face, and then at last he allows himself to whisper. "I do not know."
"...first time for everything, I guess," you say, blinking in vaguely stupefied surprise. You assumed that Magnus would have a plan, and sure it might not have been a great idea, but it would have been something to start with. "Well. Let's start with the obvious. You can't just obey in full - why?"
"My Legion cannot operate without the fruits of our studies. Even if they could, Prospero cannot," Magnus says firmly, and here at least in some certainty, the truths at the core of his being. "This is not merely some tactic or device we are commanded to forsake, but our entire way of life, our doctrine and culture. One cannot simply uproot all of that."
"Yeah, I thought so," you grunt, scratching briefly at the ports where the Butcher's Nails puncture your skull. Sometimes they play up when you spend too long thinking of such abstract topics, but not today. "Alright, you know what will happen if you get caught?"
"Yes of course I…" Magnus snaps, then pauses to take a second look at you. "Caught?"
"Come on," you grin, utterly unrepentant, "How accurate do you think Kharn's reports really are?"
Magnus considers that for several moments, likely slotting Ahzek into the place of your irreplaceable equerry, then shakes his head. "If it were a frontier matter, perhaps, but there is no possibility that Mortarion and Russ will allow my people to persist in isolation without examination. The kind of secrecy necessary to continue my work beyond the prying eyes of those who see only what they want would be… beyond either of us, certainly."
"Gentlemen."
Gorefather is in your hand before you can even think, swinging through the air with a furious growl, and is deflected an instant later by the gleaming edge of a strange twin-headed spear. The air shivers with a low moan of wind across barren plains, and from across the interlocked weapons Alpharius meets your gaze with a single raised eyebrow.
"Cheeky bastard," you grumble, stepping back and lowering your weapon, "Do you want me to kill you?"
Alpharius Omegon, Lord of the Alpha Legion and youngest of the Primarchs, simply smiles at you. He's smaller than either you or Magnus, with a bald head and skin the hue of something that you might generously call copper, but it is his eyes that stay with you when all else is forgotten. Cold arctic blue, gleaming with intelligence and vision, with a drive quite unlike anything else.
"If I might offer an observation," Alpharius says, turning to Magnus with that same half-smile on his face, "Historically, sages and wise men have survived the attentions of hostile regimes in one of two ways. Either they fled beyond the reach of the sovereign, or they took shelter with farsighted patrons."
Magnus frowns at that, clearly sceptical, but he does not dismiss the thought out of hand. He always had more time for your youngest brother's nonsense than most. "...I am aware of the precedent. Most such patrons would demand recompense for their aid, in services or other benefits."
Alpharius simply shrugs, briefly lifting his hands in coy confession, and you roll your eyes. Honestly, why are they even bothering with such roundabout language? It isn't as if anyone who hears this will fail to grasp the offer being implied.
"Or prestige," you grunt, because if there is one thing that annoys Alpharius the most, it is people pointing out his hunger for glory. Your words earn you a sideways glance and a tight smile, and you decide to be content with that. He is trying to help, after all. Probably.
"Despite such less than noble intent, future generations would regard such patrons with gratitude," Magnus says after a few moments more, allowing himself a slow nod as he makes the calculation. "Perhaps we might discuss such matters in more depth in a more comfortable venue?"
Well, you may have just witnessed the creation of a cult network to rival any in human history, but if it keeps the secrets of Prospero and its children safe from the Emperor's covetous grasp, you suppose it will be worth it.
-/-
Corvus Corax plays no games with you, arranges no elaborate excuse for a meeting in some dark and hidden corner of Terra's hives. He simply invites you to a private meeting aboard the Shadow of the Emperor, a quiet conversation between brothers in the comfort of his personal quarters. Even the most suspicious of onlookers would find little strange in that, for the two of you are known to be friends, and with the Council over you are each bound for far flung sectors. Why would you not seize the opportunity to spend some time in quiet comfort and companionship?
"I've got a headache," you grunt as you take a seat by the shining glass table Corvus has shown you to, picking up the glass set there for you, "So let's not chase our tails. What's this favour you want of me?"
The dark wine in the goblet is a surprisingly appealing vintage, and you take a moment to appreciate it as your brother brushes back his feathered cloak and takes a seat across from you. Some of your brothers would have had special brands made, supping on chemical cocktails that only a Primarch could survive, but Corvus has served you a mortal vintage instead. It's a nice touch.
"Very well, Angron," your brother says simply, resting his hands on the glass table and looking you straight in the eye, "I want you to help me kill the Night Haunter."
You don't splutter. You're not that easily shocked. Even so, you take a moment to slowly set the glass aside and muster your thoughts, because this is clearly not the conversation you were half expecting.
"Why now?"
Corax raises an eyebrow. "I admit, I was expecting a different question."
"The man is a lunatic with flaying pits, Corvus. Mass-produced flaying pits, ones he designed himself, like that was a problem he needed to solve. I'm not surprised you want him dead," you grumble, shaking your head and tapping out a brief rhythm on the table. "He's been like this for centuries, and you've had your Legion for long enough. Why go after him now."
"He's gone rogue," Corax replies swiftly, having clearly worked out how to pitch this to you in advance. "The Night Lords no longer coordinate with other Imperial forces or prosecute the Crusade, not in any meaningful way. They roam hither and yon, seizing the vaguest possible excuse to commit atrocities. I had an observer sent…"
"A spy," you grunt, because you've no interest in playing word games. It's not like you don't understand the motive; your Chaplains have the populace of your loose dominion well trained to be watchful for any intruders in lightning clad, with standing orders to summon the nearest Chainbreakers if they catch so much as a glimpse. You expect most of your brothers do likewise.
"A spy, then," Corax shrugs, yielding the point with a swift cutting gesture from one hand, "He visited Nostramo, the Haunter's homeworld. It's gone, Angron, shattered into fragments by orbital bombardment, with Night Lord corpses in orbit. He killed a compliant world and purged anyone in the Legion who wanted to stop him."
You frown, glaring at your brother across the table. You have rather less attachment to the concept of a homeworld than most, but that isn't why you're annoyed. "That's a good reason to bring this to the Emperor, or maybe the Warmaster. Yet you came to me. Why?"
Corax rises from his seat at that, turning away and pacing for a few moments, restless and uncertain. You watch him move, taking another drink of the wine as you wait. It's really quite good. A shame you can't get drunk, but maybe you should be grateful for one less bludgeon taken to your brain.
"Because no one else will act, Angron, and I am tired of making excuses," your brother says at last, turning back to you with a fervent light in his dark eyes. "I've sent reports, made petitions, we all have, but it's Lorgar who gets called to heel and your name floated in high council, not his. Now the Emperor washes his hands of the Crusade, leaving this matter unaddressed, and Horus? Either he doesn't care, or he won't risk his new position by doing what is right."
"It won't just be Curze," you note, watching your brother carefully, "It's his whole Legion. You'd have to kill them all, and then hide the bodies. That's war, not a cull."
It's why you haven't done it, after all. Could the Chainbreakers break the Night Lords? Absolutely. Could you kill Konrad, if you faced him across the battlefield? Easily. But it wouldn't be quick or clean, and chances are it would spiral out into something worse. You expect those concerns are why Corax has come to you for aid, rather than trying this with just his own Legion.
"I'd have rather avoided it, but I can't look away any longer," Corax admits in a low voice, "We have let evil fester in our midst for a century or more, and now we must cut it out. Like you said, the Emperor has stepped back, so now we have to step up. I'll do this alone if I must, but… it would be better to have you by my side on this, Angron."
"Can I count on you?"
Article: Can he?
[ ] Yes
- [ ] Suggest tactics and allies (optional write-in)
You will deploy the Chainbreakers in support of the Raven Guard, and together you will slaughter Konrad Curze and every last one of his misbegotten sons.
[ ] No
- [ ] Try to persuade Corax to change course (optional write-in)
You respect Corax, but you will not aid him in fratricide, nor commit your Legion to what might well spiral out into something ugly beyond words.
Moratorium is in effect, check the banner.
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