HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
We do have Fabius Bile here. While he does claim to be an atheist in 'modern'/OTL 40k, his legion falls to Slaanesh and he's a major component of that.
Breaker of Chains (30k Angron Quest)
- Thread starter Maugan Ra
- Start date
- Users' Choice!
Voted best in category in the Users' Choice awards.
We do have Fabius Bile here. While he does claim to be an atheist in 'modern'/OTL 40k, his legion falls to Slaanesh and he's a major component of that.
Serialkilerwhale
Whale, whale, whale, what do we 'ave 'ere.
- Location
- Here
Fuck it.
Guess we're doing a chaos quest.
Guess we're doing a chaos quest.
- Location
- London, England
If I was doing a Chaos Quest, I assure you that it would be incredibly obvious.
90% of the reason to go Chaos is the aesthetic.
90% of the reason to go Chaos is the aesthetic.
- Location
- Germany
Like growing 4-6 burning hands of pure rage to wield more weapons with?
It's not straight 40k Chaos, but still a very neat aesthetic.
- Location
- London, England
Honestly thinking about it if I wanted to do a Chaos quest I'd probably reprise Age of Legends, that Warhammer/Scion quest I ran, where people created the daughter of Myrmidia. Only this time I would enforce the Incarnate Scion origin.
You are the Chaos God Khorne, now incarnated as a very angry young something-or-other with a fraction of your divine power and a lot of issues.
You are the Chaos God Khorne, now incarnated as a very angry young something-or-other with a fraction of your divine power and a lot of issues.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
We can be rebels, and this isn't garrunteed to force us t rebel, without going chaos.
Could you please explain the train of logic that leads you to this conclusion? I'd like to understand this more clearly.
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How on earth does one come to this conlusion lmao
that aside, shame were demoting him, but at least we arent betraying the legion
... The Votes were literally the exact same except for it being phrased as Defend Little Brother instead of Stand down. Every part of the subvote is the exact same.
Hopefully Malcador will be pragmatic here. I can see him letting us have this one, but then springing something on us later when we're not expecting it.
This sounds genuinely amazing to read...
I have no idea about play or write, but it sounds really fun to read.
Pretty much, yeah. I don't know about everyone, but I saw those options as slightly different variations of the same thing. I'm guessing the current version is a bit more skewed towards protecting Greer and being a bit more confrontational, but it shouldn't be that far from the alternative.
HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
From what I can tell: We encourage Ghreer to step down from a leadership role (as Malcador suggested) while also trying to de-escalate so this doesn't go into a full blown civil war. But when push comes to shove, we'll side with X.
That was the main difference: whether - when things break - we break with Malcy because Ghreer made a deal with a demon, or we break with Ghreer because he's our little brother and we owe him and the legion.
That was the main difference: whether - when things break - we break with Malcy because Ghreer made a deal with a demon, or we break with Ghreer because he's our little brother and we owe him and the legion.
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this sounds like alot of fun tbh
- Location
- Pee Pee Poo Poo
Well, this could also be an opportunity to build up the legions numbers for the rebellion since Angron's stepping back, would be interesting to see the Calyx tech pop up.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Nope. Both the highest voted plans end on a sub vote which explicitly says that if Malcador pushes for more punishments we will side with Ghreer.
Dmol8
The Undead Unhinged Lunatic of the Web
- Location
- Belgrade,Serbia
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
His passion for freedom. Can be taken straight into Solipsistic excess with the right nudges.
HalfTangible
Only half sane (it's less cringe)
- Location
- Valkyrie, Primus
Hm. True. Probably a matter of tone then.
Angron primarch of chaos undivided!
I've said it before, but a[nother] fun way to do a chaos quest is to run it almost like a game of Everyone is John: You the questers are the daemons. You're whispering in the head of some (un)lucky cultist and/or mage/psyker to drive to greatness/ruin/etc. Whether John only hears the succesful votes/all of the votes at different volumes depending on ranking/.../every post in the thread/etc would depend on how the QM wants to run things.
XXIV. Brothers Against the World
- Location
- London, England
In the end, it's a simple choice. You against your brother. Your brother and you against the world.
"Legion Master," you say quietly, trusting in the superhuman senses of all present to hear your words and your sincerity, "Report to the Conqueror."
The silence is frozen and absolute, falling like a funeral shroud across the promised battlefield. Everyone knows what it means for you to give that order, for you to contradict the Sigillite in this fashion. It hardly feels real, the magnitude of the choice far beyond reason, and in the end it falls to Rogal Dorn to address your madness.
"The law is clear, brother," The Praetorian says, his voice painfully calm and level and the furthest thing from casual, "As is our duty. Would you truly cast it aside?"
"You're right, brother. My duty is clear," you nod, and you find that your heart is untroubled, your thoughts unclouded. It is the easiest thing in the world to look a brother in the eye and know you might be about to kill him. "Ghreer is my Legion Master, and he is here because of my choices. My blood, my legion, my responsibility."
Dorn nods slowly at that, accepting the distasteful truth. He glances aside for one brief moment, but you know better than to think he feels doubt. He's checking the tactical displays.
"Your Legion was in the vanguard, and mine has ever had the superior fleet," he says, though you think Lotara might have something to say about that second point, "If necessary, I could take him."
"You could," you say with a nod, struck by the absurdity of the situation even as you open a channel to the bridge. "Captain Sarrin. Move the fleet into a protective detail around the Invader."
"...by your will, Primarch." You can hear the curiosity and alarm in Lotara' clipped response, but she's smart enough to put the implications together and loyal enough not to hesitate. On the screen, the shining embers of transponder codes begin to rearrange themselves.
"I… My Primarch," Ghreer speaks up, his scarred face twisted into a worried grimace, dark eyes darting as he begins to understand the scale of what might be about to happen, "I don't think…"
"Ghreer," you say flatly, "shut up and report to the Conqueror. That was an order."
Rogal Dorn does not hesitate. There's no doubt in the man, and you wonder if he has ever second-guessed himself in his life. It is not doubt that stays his hand, but calculation, a clear-sighted awareness of the risks and rewards of any course available to him. Perhaps the Imperial Fists could defeat the Chainbreakers, perhaps they would be repelled, but if this should come to blows then a full tithe of the Imperium's Legions will have been ravaged and broken by the time it is over. Such consequences are not within the realm of his authority to embrace, and so he looks to another. To Malcador, who is quiet for entirely different reasons.
"You are not the brute you like to appear, Angron," the old man says, his eyes bright with what might be anger or malice or simple concern, "So I must question why you court my displeasure, even after our earlier conversation."
Ah, yes, the statement that could mean anything to those bereft of the context to understand it, flavoured like a threat. How typically Malcador. You could argue, but you're not a fool. You understand perfectly well that what Ghreer did likely places him and so many others in danger. That doesn't mean you're going to sell him out to the Regent and his nascent Inquisition.
"Until we know if I am a danger to the Legion, I will not be taking the field. Until we know what price Ghreer's actions demand, he will be removed from command," you say calmly, and thank the gods but Ghreer has the good sense to keep his mouth shut and not object, "That is my offer. My suggestion for how to settle the issue."
"I see," Malcador muses, weighing the lives of everyone present on the bloodstained scales of his soul, "and… if I should judge your solution insufficient?"
You learn forwards, just slightly, and look the old killer in his eyes. "That isn't your decision to make."
For one long and terrible moment, the galaxy itself seems to hang in the balance. Then the auger array chimes with sudden movement, the transponder signals of friendly ships shifting and rearranging. The Raven Guard are moving in towards your flanks, turning their prows towards the Phalanx, while the ships of the Alpha Legion slowly withdraw to clear the lines of fire. Your brothers have cast their lots.
"Very well," Malcador says calmly, as though he is not staring down the barrels of two Legions and their fleets, "Keep your man for now. We shall settle this matter properly on another day."
The Regent's transmission blinks out, followed mere heartbeats later by that of the Praetorian. As you watch, the murderous bulk of the almost-hostile fleet turns to disengage, heading with stately grace back towards the system limits, weapons going quiet as they depart the field with honour. You watch them for a long second, then slowly let out a breath and nod to Corax.
"Thank you, my brother."
"Do not thank me yet," Corvus says, his pale face lined with worry and the age that none of you normally feel, "I think I may have just tipped us over the edge. One way or another, this will not be the last time Legion fights against Legion."
"No," you say softly, watching Dorn's departing fleet, "It will not."
-/-
Ibram Ghreer arrives aboard the flagship like a man reporting for his execution. It loses something without a proper dress uniform, but you can understand wanting to go out in battle plate. In life as in death, after all. Fortunately for all involved, you didn't just threaten civil war to save the man solely so you could undermine and humiliate him, let alone cut him down yourself. Instead you greet him in the landing bay, and before the eyes of the entire Legion both present and remote you embrace your Legion Master like a brother, only then taking him aside for a private debriefing in your quarters.
Ghreer is silent the whole way there, and when at last the door shuts behind you both it takes him a long moment to screw up his courage and his good sense and speak. "Primarch. I… wish to apologise. My error in judgement might have…"
"Shut up," you grunt, moving past him to take a seat on the far side of the table. It's just a table, a place for you to take your meals and leave the handful of paperwork you can't fob off on someone else, but sitting around it is still better for this conversation than a tense interrogation while Ghreer stands to attention. "You made the right call. If the problem persists and I lose my sense again, you'll need to make more decisions like it in the future. Don't go apologising for it now."
Ghreer hesitates for a moment, then slowly takes a seat for himself. His armour is still stained and beaten, marred with dust and soot and the spray of blood, but you think it suits him. It's an honest account of who he is, of who you both are.
"Will it be war?" He says quietly, and it might be the first time you've ever seen your Legion Master anything but eager when faced with the prospect of bloodshed. Not that you can blame him.
"Maybe. Probably not," you say, shrugging and drumming your fingers on the table, feeling the metal shake beneath your hand. "Mal has two issues to deal with here - your corruption, and my defiance. If he can solve both with one move he will, but he's a pragmatic sort. He'll try everything short of outright war first."
Will he stop there, if you can check his efforts? Will Malcador really pull the trigger, if it comes down to it? You don't know. You hope so. It seems a flimsy thing, that hope, far too fragile to rest the lives of so many upon, but the alternative was standing by and letting your little brother disappear into the depths of some oubliette for the crime of saving his people from your madness. You couldn't do that, so now you have to live with the consequences.
"How is Khârn?"
"He'll live," You sigh, shaking your head, "Whether he will fight again… I could really use his counsel, but you'll have to do."
Ghreer grimaces at that, but does not object. This was always Khârn's place, the voice of reason in your ear, your trusted right hand. The two have their rivalry, but you're glad to see that Ghreer is not the sort of man to gloat over what the callous might think of as his fortune. You'd have to kill him if he was, and that would just be a waste.
"I'll do what I can," he says, clearly reluctant, "What counsel do you need?"
"What was its name?" You lean forwards, eying your subordinate intently. "The daemon you made a bargain with."
"I… didn't ask," Ghreer blinks, clearly taken aback. Whatever he was expecting you to ask or command, this is clearly not it. "I… why does it matter?"
"Because for the last hundred years or so, a daemon by the name of Tchar has been trying to goad me into striking the first sparks of the war your actions nearly caused today," you smile humorlessly, "So I'd like to know if we're dealing with the same one, or if there are two of the conniving shits sticking their noses in."
Perhaps an hour passes as you and Ghreer discuss the matter, dredging up every little detail and observation that the two of you have on the daemon and its actions, abilities and motives. It is a strangely intense relief to speak of the topic at last, to share your story with such a focused audience. Ghreer wastes no time on moral judgements or fearful doubt - he is a killer and a strategist, and it is on that ground that he reviews what you tell him and traces out every potential stated or implied.
"They're preparing for war," your Legion Master says at last, frowning thoughtfully, "No. Not preparing. Prosecuting. We're in the early stages, the skirmishing, the feint and retreat. Does the Emperor know?"
"He knows they exist," you grunt, thinking of Nikaea and a thousand other clues besides, "but how much else, I don't know. Enough to move against anyone he thinks is connected to them, to daemons and their worshippers, in any way."
Ghreer nods thoughtfully, and together you turn the conversation to one of armies and agents, seeking the levers that the Emperor must be applying to answer those of Tchar and his ilk. The Iterators and their Truth, perhaps, or Malcador's murderous tallymen, perhaps even the nascent Inquisition. The picture, as it forms, is not a comforting one.
"He's fighting them like a foreign army," Ghreer concludes, scrawling notes on the back of some stray report, his side of the table strewn with a hundred other such records and observations. "Cultists are like soldiers, kill them. Temples are like redoubts, destroy them. Doctrine is like propaganda, or maybe operating funds - silence it. But… I don't think they are. Not if this Tchar is anything close to standard. If they had an army, if they were going to fight us that way, they'd be stepping in to defend those cults. They wouldn't be preying on people like you or me, or approaching Lorgar with honeyed words."
"Might be Tchar is a different sort to the rest. The Malcador to… whoever runs their Legions," you frown, rubbing your jaw in thought. You're not used to this sort of discussion, to teasing apart clues and chasing down lines of implication and possibility, to strategy. Yet you made a promise, an oath to do better, and you will keep it. "Or it might be that the Emperor got it wrong. The Iterators were there from the beginning, the Inquisition is new. Could mean he's scrambling to adjust."
Not that you have any way to know, or any route to find out. Perhaps if you were Horus or Roboute you could go to the Emperor with your concerns and expect some kind of honesty in response, but you're not. The Emperor won't reveal anything that even hints at weakness to someone like you, and a mistake in policy is exactly that to his way of thinking, whether he had good reason to make the choice he did or not.
"Speaking of the damned bird," you grunt, shaking your head and looking back to Ghreer, "What did it ask, in exchange for saving you and the others? There's always a price."
"A life for a life," Ghreer nods, grinning, "For every Legionnaire saved, I'm to kill someone of my choice in payment. Figured it was a good trade."
"Ah," you sigh, shaking your head, "Kills you already planned to make won't count, I wager. If you were going to slaughter an enemy on the field anyway, that's not a trade. It'll have to be people who would have otherwise lived."
You can't say for certain, but it feels right, and judging from the way Ghreer's face goes utterly ashen it rings true to him as well. You take no pleasure in it, but… well, ok, maybe a little pleasure. Bastard got you into this mess, even if you don't blame him for it, so he can squirm a little.
"Oh," your Legion Master says quietly, swallowing back any stronger words to focus on the practical, "Well. What do we do?"
"Right now? Nothing. We don't know enough," you resist the urge to spit in disgust. "So we start by fixing that. We get the numbers on how many people the daemon carried to safety, and we start looking into what happens if you don't pay up. Maybe nothing, maybe you die, maybe everyone it saved belongs to it now. We need to know what we're looking at."
You stand, and Ghreer stands with you, moving to fall in behind you as you head out the door. You've spent enough time in isolation already - you need to get to the bridge, to take charge, to get this ragged collection of butchers and lunatics rolling in the right direction.
"Larger scale, we're pulling the Twelfth off the front," you say, making a note to pass the commands onto someone other than Ghreer. He's Legion Master, but you meant what you said - you're not letting him take command again until you know what you're risking if you do. "We regroup, rearm, cover our losses with new recruits. And then we see who comes knocking at our door first."
"Legion Master," you say quietly, trusting in the superhuman senses of all present to hear your words and your sincerity, "Report to the Conqueror."
The silence is frozen and absolute, falling like a funeral shroud across the promised battlefield. Everyone knows what it means for you to give that order, for you to contradict the Sigillite in this fashion. It hardly feels real, the magnitude of the choice far beyond reason, and in the end it falls to Rogal Dorn to address your madness.
"The law is clear, brother," The Praetorian says, his voice painfully calm and level and the furthest thing from casual, "As is our duty. Would you truly cast it aside?"
"You're right, brother. My duty is clear," you nod, and you find that your heart is untroubled, your thoughts unclouded. It is the easiest thing in the world to look a brother in the eye and know you might be about to kill him. "Ghreer is my Legion Master, and he is here because of my choices. My blood, my legion, my responsibility."
Dorn nods slowly at that, accepting the distasteful truth. He glances aside for one brief moment, but you know better than to think he feels doubt. He's checking the tactical displays.
"Your Legion was in the vanguard, and mine has ever had the superior fleet," he says, though you think Lotara might have something to say about that second point, "If necessary, I could take him."
"You could," you say with a nod, struck by the absurdity of the situation even as you open a channel to the bridge. "Captain Sarrin. Move the fleet into a protective detail around the Invader."
"...by your will, Primarch." You can hear the curiosity and alarm in Lotara' clipped response, but she's smart enough to put the implications together and loyal enough not to hesitate. On the screen, the shining embers of transponder codes begin to rearrange themselves.
"I… My Primarch," Ghreer speaks up, his scarred face twisted into a worried grimace, dark eyes darting as he begins to understand the scale of what might be about to happen, "I don't think…"
"Ghreer," you say flatly, "shut up and report to the Conqueror. That was an order."
Rogal Dorn does not hesitate. There's no doubt in the man, and you wonder if he has ever second-guessed himself in his life. It is not doubt that stays his hand, but calculation, a clear-sighted awareness of the risks and rewards of any course available to him. Perhaps the Imperial Fists could defeat the Chainbreakers, perhaps they would be repelled, but if this should come to blows then a full tithe of the Imperium's Legions will have been ravaged and broken by the time it is over. Such consequences are not within the realm of his authority to embrace, and so he looks to another. To Malcador, who is quiet for entirely different reasons.
"You are not the brute you like to appear, Angron," the old man says, his eyes bright with what might be anger or malice or simple concern, "So I must question why you court my displeasure, even after our earlier conversation."
Ah, yes, the statement that could mean anything to those bereft of the context to understand it, flavoured like a threat. How typically Malcador. You could argue, but you're not a fool. You understand perfectly well that what Ghreer did likely places him and so many others in danger. That doesn't mean you're going to sell him out to the Regent and his nascent Inquisition.
"Until we know if I am a danger to the Legion, I will not be taking the field. Until we know what price Ghreer's actions demand, he will be removed from command," you say calmly, and thank the gods but Ghreer has the good sense to keep his mouth shut and not object, "That is my offer. My suggestion for how to settle the issue."
"I see," Malcador muses, weighing the lives of everyone present on the bloodstained scales of his soul, "and… if I should judge your solution insufficient?"
You learn forwards, just slightly, and look the old killer in his eyes. "That isn't your decision to make."
For one long and terrible moment, the galaxy itself seems to hang in the balance. Then the auger array chimes with sudden movement, the transponder signals of friendly ships shifting and rearranging. The Raven Guard are moving in towards your flanks, turning their prows towards the Phalanx, while the ships of the Alpha Legion slowly withdraw to clear the lines of fire. Your brothers have cast their lots.
"Very well," Malcador says calmly, as though he is not staring down the barrels of two Legions and their fleets, "Keep your man for now. We shall settle this matter properly on another day."
The Regent's transmission blinks out, followed mere heartbeats later by that of the Praetorian. As you watch, the murderous bulk of the almost-hostile fleet turns to disengage, heading with stately grace back towards the system limits, weapons going quiet as they depart the field with honour. You watch them for a long second, then slowly let out a breath and nod to Corax.
"Thank you, my brother."
"Do not thank me yet," Corvus says, his pale face lined with worry and the age that none of you normally feel, "I think I may have just tipped us over the edge. One way or another, this will not be the last time Legion fights against Legion."
"No," you say softly, watching Dorn's departing fleet, "It will not."
-/-
Ibram Ghreer arrives aboard the flagship like a man reporting for his execution. It loses something without a proper dress uniform, but you can understand wanting to go out in battle plate. In life as in death, after all. Fortunately for all involved, you didn't just threaten civil war to save the man solely so you could undermine and humiliate him, let alone cut him down yourself. Instead you greet him in the landing bay, and before the eyes of the entire Legion both present and remote you embrace your Legion Master like a brother, only then taking him aside for a private debriefing in your quarters.
Ghreer is silent the whole way there, and when at last the door shuts behind you both it takes him a long moment to screw up his courage and his good sense and speak. "Primarch. I… wish to apologise. My error in judgement might have…"
"Shut up," you grunt, moving past him to take a seat on the far side of the table. It's just a table, a place for you to take your meals and leave the handful of paperwork you can't fob off on someone else, but sitting around it is still better for this conversation than a tense interrogation while Ghreer stands to attention. "You made the right call. If the problem persists and I lose my sense again, you'll need to make more decisions like it in the future. Don't go apologising for it now."
Ghreer hesitates for a moment, then slowly takes a seat for himself. His armour is still stained and beaten, marred with dust and soot and the spray of blood, but you think it suits him. It's an honest account of who he is, of who you both are.
"Will it be war?" He says quietly, and it might be the first time you've ever seen your Legion Master anything but eager when faced with the prospect of bloodshed. Not that you can blame him.
"Maybe. Probably not," you say, shrugging and drumming your fingers on the table, feeling the metal shake beneath your hand. "Mal has two issues to deal with here - your corruption, and my defiance. If he can solve both with one move he will, but he's a pragmatic sort. He'll try everything short of outright war first."
Will he stop there, if you can check his efforts? Will Malcador really pull the trigger, if it comes down to it? You don't know. You hope so. It seems a flimsy thing, that hope, far too fragile to rest the lives of so many upon, but the alternative was standing by and letting your little brother disappear into the depths of some oubliette for the crime of saving his people from your madness. You couldn't do that, so now you have to live with the consequences.
"How is Khârn?"
"He'll live," You sigh, shaking your head, "Whether he will fight again… I could really use his counsel, but you'll have to do."
Ghreer grimaces at that, but does not object. This was always Khârn's place, the voice of reason in your ear, your trusted right hand. The two have their rivalry, but you're glad to see that Ghreer is not the sort of man to gloat over what the callous might think of as his fortune. You'd have to kill him if he was, and that would just be a waste.
"I'll do what I can," he says, clearly reluctant, "What counsel do you need?"
"What was its name?" You lean forwards, eying your subordinate intently. "The daemon you made a bargain with."
"I… didn't ask," Ghreer blinks, clearly taken aback. Whatever he was expecting you to ask or command, this is clearly not it. "I… why does it matter?"
"Because for the last hundred years or so, a daemon by the name of Tchar has been trying to goad me into striking the first sparks of the war your actions nearly caused today," you smile humorlessly, "So I'd like to know if we're dealing with the same one, or if there are two of the conniving shits sticking their noses in."
Perhaps an hour passes as you and Ghreer discuss the matter, dredging up every little detail and observation that the two of you have on the daemon and its actions, abilities and motives. It is a strangely intense relief to speak of the topic at last, to share your story with such a focused audience. Ghreer wastes no time on moral judgements or fearful doubt - he is a killer and a strategist, and it is on that ground that he reviews what you tell him and traces out every potential stated or implied.
"They're preparing for war," your Legion Master says at last, frowning thoughtfully, "No. Not preparing. Prosecuting. We're in the early stages, the skirmishing, the feint and retreat. Does the Emperor know?"
"He knows they exist," you grunt, thinking of Nikaea and a thousand other clues besides, "but how much else, I don't know. Enough to move against anyone he thinks is connected to them, to daemons and their worshippers, in any way."
Ghreer nods thoughtfully, and together you turn the conversation to one of armies and agents, seeking the levers that the Emperor must be applying to answer those of Tchar and his ilk. The Iterators and their Truth, perhaps, or Malcador's murderous tallymen, perhaps even the nascent Inquisition. The picture, as it forms, is not a comforting one.
"He's fighting them like a foreign army," Ghreer concludes, scrawling notes on the back of some stray report, his side of the table strewn with a hundred other such records and observations. "Cultists are like soldiers, kill them. Temples are like redoubts, destroy them. Doctrine is like propaganda, or maybe operating funds - silence it. But… I don't think they are. Not if this Tchar is anything close to standard. If they had an army, if they were going to fight us that way, they'd be stepping in to defend those cults. They wouldn't be preying on people like you or me, or approaching Lorgar with honeyed words."
"Might be Tchar is a different sort to the rest. The Malcador to… whoever runs their Legions," you frown, rubbing your jaw in thought. You're not used to this sort of discussion, to teasing apart clues and chasing down lines of implication and possibility, to strategy. Yet you made a promise, an oath to do better, and you will keep it. "Or it might be that the Emperor got it wrong. The Iterators were there from the beginning, the Inquisition is new. Could mean he's scrambling to adjust."
Not that you have any way to know, or any route to find out. Perhaps if you were Horus or Roboute you could go to the Emperor with your concerns and expect some kind of honesty in response, but you're not. The Emperor won't reveal anything that even hints at weakness to someone like you, and a mistake in policy is exactly that to his way of thinking, whether he had good reason to make the choice he did or not.
"Speaking of the damned bird," you grunt, shaking your head and looking back to Ghreer, "What did it ask, in exchange for saving you and the others? There's always a price."
"A life for a life," Ghreer nods, grinning, "For every Legionnaire saved, I'm to kill someone of my choice in payment. Figured it was a good trade."
"Ah," you sigh, shaking your head, "Kills you already planned to make won't count, I wager. If you were going to slaughter an enemy on the field anyway, that's not a trade. It'll have to be people who would have otherwise lived."
You can't say for certain, but it feels right, and judging from the way Ghreer's face goes utterly ashen it rings true to him as well. You take no pleasure in it, but… well, ok, maybe a little pleasure. Bastard got you into this mess, even if you don't blame him for it, so he can squirm a little.
"Oh," your Legion Master says quietly, swallowing back any stronger words to focus on the practical, "Well. What do we do?"
"Right now? Nothing. We don't know enough," you resist the urge to spit in disgust. "So we start by fixing that. We get the numbers on how many people the daemon carried to safety, and we start looking into what happens if you don't pay up. Maybe nothing, maybe you die, maybe everyone it saved belongs to it now. We need to know what we're looking at."
You stand, and Ghreer stands with you, moving to fall in behind you as you head out the door. You've spent enough time in isolation already - you need to get to the bridge, to take charge, to get this ragged collection of butchers and lunatics rolling in the right direction.
"Larger scale, we're pulling the Twelfth off the front," you say, making a note to pass the commands onto someone other than Ghreer. He's Legion Master, but you meant what you said - you're not letting him take command again until you know what you're risking if you do. "We regroup, rearm, cover our losses with new recruits. And then we see who comes knocking at our door first."
Article: You are moving the Chainbreakers back to your territory, to rest and rearm. While Fabius works on the problem of the Nails, you pursue answers about the daemons and what hold, if any, they might have over Ghreer. Who do you approach?
[ ] [Lore] Magnus. By far the most knowledgeable, and right now knowledge is what you need most of all.
[ ] [Lore] Lorgar. The Daemons approached him, and were rebuffed. You could do worse than building on that common ground.
[ ] [Lore] Saim Hann. They're honourable, in their strange way, and if they don't know what a daemon is and what to expect you'll eat your axe.
-/-
In addition, you chose to take on a position of greater responsibility as befits a Primarch, and that extends beyond your Legion. Which of the following issues in your domain do you spend time working on?
[ ] [Duty] Chaplains. Until now you have relied on reports and the testimony of recruits drawn from worlds you helped to conquer. Now you will visit a number of those worlds and see for yourself just what kind of culture the Chaplains have cultivated on each.
[ ] [Duty] Borders. Your domain boasts a flourishing grey market of xenos trade and cultural exchange. Visit one of the border stations and make sure everything is running smoothly. See for yourself what your alien neighbours think of you.
[ ] [Duty] Recruits. Visit a mustering world like Bodt, to see what sort of people are volunteering to join your Legion and what kind of training they are undergoing. No better way to make sure you truly understand the rank and file.
-./-
Malcador is not going to let this issue drop. You have defied him, and while a pragmatic sort of man, his position relies on him answering challenges to his authority. How does he choose to retaliate?
[ ] [Malcador] Imperial Displeasure. The Emperor already knows of your little misadventure. Malcador makes sure that the details are presented in the worst possible light, and pushes for official censure.
[ ] [Malcador] Brother's Ire. Horus has heard what you did, and is already on his way to see you. Through agents and proxies, Malcador goads your brother, making sure that the Warmaster comes not to question but to punish.
[ ] [Malcador] Bloody Shadows. When in doubt, Malcador falls back on his old ways, and moves against you in secret. You will never be able to prove that your wounds are his doing, but you will know, and most others will suspect.
Astra Myst
Do you want a wish?
- Location
- Milky Way Galaxy
- Pronouns
- Femhon/Boymoder
[X] [Lore] Saim Hann
[X] [Duty] Recruits
[X] [Malcador] Bloody Shadows
[X] [Duty] Recruits
[X] [Malcador] Bloody Shadows
- Location
- the Republic
- Pronouns
- He/They
[X] [Lore] Lorgar
[X] [Duty] Chaplains
[X] [Malcador] Imperial Displeasure
[X] [Duty] Chaplains
[X] [Malcador] Imperial Displeasure
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