Yeah I know it's impossible to prevent, but I was more referring to certain actions like the rift just being a bit smaller in its coverage and maybe a few more worlds that can serve as canals for travel from the proper Imperium into Nihilus to relieve the stranded half of the galaxy.
Loyalty is its own Reward (A Traitor Legion Chapter Master Quest)
- Thread starter ThunderOwl
- Start date
Yeah I know it's impossible to prevent, but I was more referring to certain actions like the rift just being a bit smaller in its coverage and maybe a few more worlds that can serve as canals for travel from the proper Imperium into Nihilus to relieve the stranded half of the galaxy.
- Location
- USA
It only affected Segmentum Obscurus and Ultima Segmentum which yes while painful doesn't really seem to cut off any major planets besides Baal.
Well, Wiki says "half" but honestly, I am not particularily well versed in lore post the fall of cadia. Too much stuff I either find dumb or hate.
Tales of the Great Crusade: The Apothecary
Tales of the Great Crusade: The Apothecary
Nostramo System, Nostramo Sector, Ultima Segmentum 908 M30
The streets of Nostramo are not safe. They had been once, back when the Night Haunter had dwelt on the planet and justice had been done on the edge of a knife and seas of blood. But the Night Haunter was gone, away in cold, distant stars, and without the blade of punishment pressing against their necks, crime had flourished again with a vengeance, the release all the more vicious for the time it had spent under a leash. And so, all levels of society returned to the previous state of intrigue, theft, murder and brutality, from the nobles in their spires to the underhivers deep into the planet's crust. A brutal food-chain of predators, prey and bottom feeder, all of them knowing that survival only came out of the suffering of others.
An interesting part of this vicious ecosystem are the orphans. While parentless children being forced into crime to survive is a common sight in any sufficiently populous settlement in the galaxy, most of these orphans are urchins, beggars or pick-pockets, scurrying together in small groups or scraping by under the foot of the gangs. But in Nostramo, where vileness and violence are deeply intertwined in the psyche of the inhabitants, the groups of orphans are gangs unto themselves, and while they lack the strength and resources of older gangers, they combine the feral resilience of the desperate with all the thoughtless cruelty an unrestrained child can unleash.
One of these gangs, the Red Rats, is currently partying inside an abandoned warehouse, celebrating how they had either killed or driven out the previous gang of orphans that had occupied the place. While the food is scarce, and limited to a few ration packs of dubious origin, alcoholic drinks and drugs are plentiful, and most of the young juvies are insensate due to the narcotics running through their veins. The few that aren't are instead watching amidst cheers the spectacle taking place at the center of the room.
There are two kids there, one of them savagely beating the other. The recipient of the beatdown has long ceased to defend himself, arms hanging limply to his side, the only sign that he isn't dead being the wheezy, faint breaths that still come out of cut lips and broken teeth. The aggressor holds the victim steady with a hand on his collarbone, while the other rains down blows onto his face, reducing it to a broken bleeding mess with each hit of the brass knuckles. On one of the hits the skull finally cracks, and the fists sink slightly onto brain matter. The victor releases the now dead child onto the floor and raises his arms, basking in the loud cheers of the other children before pointing at the corpse.
"That's what ya get for messin´with me, ya cunt! Anyone else wanna get some!" He asks, turning around with a wide smile, rejoicing in how nobody steps to the challenge. He removes the brass knuckles with a pained wince, and then looks at it to inspect the damage. "Sonnovabitch, he left a tooth in there! Val! Val ya little shit, come here!"
Out of the crowd steps a young boy, brown hair unevenly cut, carrying the frayed bag that the gang uses as a first aid kid. He settles it on the floor, away from the corpse, and opens it, pulling out pliers, scissors and a bottle of liquor. He uses the scissors to cut a strip out of the dead kid´s pants, after which he grabs the pliers and pulls the tooth out of the brawler's hand.
"Why so serious Val ya didn't like tha show?" Asks the patient, his smile briefly broken to let out a hiss as the younger child splashes alcohol onto the wound. He snatches the bottle out of the kid's hand when he's done and drinks deeply. The child doesn't answer as he bandages the hand with the strip of cloth. The patient brows furrows at the silence. "I asked ya a question, Val."
The kid hesitates to answer. "The Shivvers ain´t gonna be happy with us capping the Boulevard Lads, Ruizor." He finally says, the crowd falling silent as he speaks. "You know they work for them."
"Ya scared of´em Val?" Asks Ruizor as he opens and closes his injured hand. Valzadai doesn't have time to answer, as the older kid brutally backhands him with the other one, throwing him to the ground to the other kid's laughter. "Ya should be scared of me instead ya twat! The Shivvers ain´t gonna do nothing, and if they find tha balls to stir up shit, we'll just put´em in tha ground!" The others cheer and throw insults at Valzadai, who rubs his stinging cheek. "Now If´ya scuse me, I´mma go have some fun with the bitches we got on the…" A series of loud gunshots echo alongside the sound of shattering glass and pained screaming. Ruizor´s words are cut short as his lifeblood splatters onto Valzadai from a shot out throat. Men and women in the colors of the Shivvers break into the warehouse through it´s various entries, killing anyone that tries to fight back and tying up the drunk and high kids. Valzadai quickly scrambles to his feet and starts running towards one of the windows, bullets whizzing past him as he leaps through a broken window. He impacts the ground harshly, broken glass shards cutting through his skin and clothes, but adrenaline propels him forward as he starts running again through the ever-dark streets. He hears the Shivvers giving chase behind him.
"Get his ass, the boss will pay us a bonus for every organ harvested!"
Valzadai knows he can't keep fleeing for long, his pursuers are taller and better rested, and that screaming for help is as useful as giving himself up. In desperation, he recalls a rumor he heard from another Red Rat, that the Space Marines from the Night Lords, had recently occupied a building near the warehouse, in Suicide Row. With a last burst of speed, he rushes there, hoping that he can escape in time.
—----
Hasyor flicks the safety of his bolter off when the kid reaches them. Not because he feels threatened by the bleeding, winded child, but because hears his pursuers. At his side, Veir twirls the flaying knife on his hand, the glow of the red eye lenses of his helmet almost reflecting the malice of his eyes.
"Well, well, well what do we have here? What have you done, little one, to be hunted by so many people?" He coos, approaching the child with slow, deliberate steps. The kid is frozen, terrified by the marine. Not that Hasyor blames him, as every inch of Veir´s armor is covered in flayed skin, to the point that one can hardly see the blue ceramite underneath. "Do you want good´ol Veir to keep you safe, little one? To keep you close?"
Hasyor sees a dark splotch grow on the boy's pants, the stench of urine wafting through his helmet filters. Still, the child finds enough courage to speak. "I-i-i- w-w-anna jo-join the Legion." He says in a rush.
Veir giggles at his words, a grating sound to Hasyor ears. He reaches the kid, and places the flaying knife on his face, the tip a fingernail away from the frozen child's chin. "You want to be part of the Legion little one? Veir can help you with that little one!!." The knife tip moves closer, drawing blood. The kid shivers, but dares not to move. "You´re too scrawny and small for the Legion, little one, but your back is just the size Veir needs!!" He drags the knife upwards and to the left, the gash traveling upwards through the mouth and nose until it reaches the temple. The kid screws his eye shut, silent tears traveling through his face and mixing with the blood. "The veil of Veir´s faceplate needs replacement! Wouldn't you want to join the Legion on Veir´s face, little one?!"
That is one of the more bothersome things about Veir in Hasyor opinion. For all his enjoyment in draping himself in skins, the bastard doesn't even know how to properly tan them, so they end up rotting and stinking everything near him until he replaces them. "Cut it, Veir." He speaks up as he aims his bolter, prompting Veir to remove the blade out of the kid's face and turn towards him. "We need aspirants to fill the quota, and for that they need to be alive."
In truth, they´ve already reached the appropriate amount, not that Veir has bothered to keep count, but he wants to annoy him, and perhaps the maniac will give him an excuse to put him out of his misery. Veir remains still for a moment, head looking at the bolter pointed at him. Finally his shoulders drop and he sheathes the knife.
"Fiiiiiine." He whines, pushing the kid towards him. Off-balance he falls to Hasyor feet. "You´re always so happy to ruin Veir´s fun, Hasyor! Then you take the little one, Veir will go to have fun against the one hunting him!!"
Veir marches away sulking. Hasyor´s bolter remains fixed on his back until he turns the corner. Then he grabs the fallen kid, who´s sobbing and trembling on the ground, and drags him by the arm into the building.
"Welcome to the Night Lords, kid."
Karlatis System, Rolun Sector, Tempestus Segmentum, 924 M30
Valzadai scratches the scar on his face as he enters the Apothecarion of the Throneless King, the ship where he is currently serving. The hall of healing of the ship is surprisingly empty, without any patient, serf nor apothecary. A brief sense of unease flickers in his mind as he takes in the unusual lack of activity, but he ignores it. He's not a terrified juvie anymore, he has ascended into a transhuman warrior, and been tempered by a decade and a half of warfare. He has not been summoned here as punishment, but to receive training as an Apothecary, recommended by his sergeant. There is no reason for him to be disquieted, and yet a small voice in the back of his mind shouts at him that there is something wrong.
The door opens again, and another marine enters the Apothecarion. Like Valzadai, he's young and unarmored. They both stare at each other, until the other marine breaks the silence.
"I´m Lishor Dest." He introduces himself. "You're here for Apothecary training too?"
"Valzadai, I am." Valzadai replies curtly. There is no further conversation after that. Both of them remain apart, waiting in comfortable silence. As the minutes go by, eight other marines appear, all of which are greeted with silent nods. Valzadai didn´t expect to be kept waiting, especially alongside nine other marines. The unease in his mind grows, his instincts wary, but he still keeps a lid on it. The Night Lords are not a legion with true bonds of brotherhood, but none of the marines here know each other, so no one will try to start anything outnumbered and without trusted back-up.
After half an hour, an eleventh marine enters. This one is clad in power armor, the Narthecium on his right arm indicating that he was the Apothecary they had been waiting for. His helmet was mag-locked to his hip, revealing a shaven scalp with the exception of a curtain of long, white hair that fell to the left side of his face. He sports a five´o clock shadow on his lower face, and he looks upon the ten of them with a soft smile, revealing teeth that have been filled to a point. He's older than Valzadai and the others, but not old enough to be one of the Terran legionnaires.
"So, you are the ones that have been deemed worthy of learning under me?" He asks, his voice soft and cultured, with the accent that was characteristic to the nobility of Nostramo. "Excellent. I must forewarn you that I have no prior experience when it comes to teaching, so this will be a wonderful learning experience for all of us." He chuckles at the same time that a small hiss comes out of the ventilation system. None of the others hear it, but Valzadai does, and his instincts are now screaming at him that he must leave, his fists clenching involuntarily. "But where are my manners, speaking without introducing myself!" He grabs his helmet and puts it on, accompanied by the snap-hiss that indicates the activation of the void-seals.
"I am Mawdrym LLasanhai."
Weakness floods Valzadai´s body. His limbs are sluggish, as if weighted down by their own flesh and bones. He loses the strength to remain standing and falls, barely managing to place his hands in front of him to cushion the impact. He turns his head around, and sees that the other nine are in a similar state, while the Apothecary stands over them. Valzadai sees a bolt pistol laying in one of the nearby counters, and crawls to it, each inch he drags his increasingly insensate body requiring a great effort. He reaches the counter and uses his arm to push himself upward as the sound of power armor footsteps reaches his ears. His fingers are closing on the pistol's grip when LLasanhai reaches him, removing the weapon from his fragile grasp and effortlessly pushing him back to the ground again. Valzadai lays on his back, and despite his efforts to rise again his body does not respond. He can just lay there, looking as Mawdrym drags the other fallen apprentices and moves them, positioning them against one of the walls, so that they face one of the operating slabs of the Apothecary.
"I must admit, I do not recall misplacing that bolt pistol there." LLasanhai comments as he hoists Valzadai over his shoulder, the vox-grill giving a distorted edge to the casual cheer in his voice. He tries to struggle, but his muscles do not obey the orders that his nerves desperately relay. "Still, it is commendable that you managed to briefly power through the effect of the relaxant, it is a personal creation of mine." The Apothecary drops him on the operating slab, after which he tightens manacles on his wrists and ankles and cuts his robe off with a long bladed scalpel. "For that, you will be a more than adequate object in which to demonstrate our first lesson." He looks at where the others are laying and then back to him. "Now, this will hurt, but do try to pay attention. While I don´t mind repeating myself, I doubt you will appreciate it."
He places his scalpel in Valzadai´s stomach and makes an incision. There must have been something else mixed with the relaxant, for the small cut that in normal circumstances would have been barely unnoticeable now makes his nerves burn with agony, comparable to what he had felt when the implants that made him an Astartes were implanted. He would have screamed, if his jaw and throat weren´t stilled by the chemicals in his bloodstream.
Mawdrym´s eye lenses meet Valzadai´s eyes, before he moves his head to address the others, his voice making it clear how much he´s relishing the occasion. "I assume that as underhivers you have no previous knowledge of anatomy, so I will have to start your education from the very basics. Let us commence with the main muscle groups of an Astartes…"
The scalpel cuts again.
Raeter System, Suziuq Sector, Tempestus Segmentum 937 M30
Valzadai stands in the Apothecarion of the Throneless King, the screams of the man strapped into the operating slab registering white noise for his mind. He stares at the back of his master as he cuts into the poor bastard, and once again the idea of drawing his pistol and blasting his head off tempts him. His hand starts to drift slowly towards the holstered weapon, but he stops himself, reminding himself that it won't work, that he will see it coming, or dodge the bolt, or something else will happen that would make the attempt a failure.
After the first few "lessons", he and his fellow apprentices had attempted to assassinate him by planting a melta charge on his quarters, but LLasanhai had survived it with nary a scratch. That had been their first attempt, but neither did they cease in their attempts nor were they the only ones to make them. The Captain did not care what Mawdrym did to his fellow legionnaires so long as the Apothecary kept fulfilling his duties, but the rank and file wasn't so accommodating. No matter what they tried, it didn´t succeed. Poisoning his tools or meals, ambushes on the ships corridors, friendly fire amidst pitched battle, knives whenever he sleeps, sabotages and explosives on his transports. Everything failed, either because he anticipated the attempt or because he survived it, and after a point they had stopped trying, convinced of the futility of it.
Mawdrym, in another act of sadistic cruelty, had commented to his apprentices that only one of them would graduate to a full apothecary. This had prompted the apprentices to turn on one another, as the Flaymaster had intended. At first it had been mere competition, each of them making their earnest efforts to outdid the others, be it in the applications of their lessons or in their assistance to LLasanhai in his "experiments", which were as lacking in scientific value as they were cruel and monstrous. Then it progressed into sabotage of supplies, surgeries and equipment and finally into outright murder.
And so, out of the ten apprentices that had entered the Apothecarium thirteen years ago, only Valzadai stood now. The reason for that is that he follows his instincts unquestioning since the last time he ignored them, and never let his guard down. He's the only one to maintain his weapons, and that's whenever he doesn´t replace them at sudden moments with others from the armory or other marines. He eats with the serfs, and tests for poison every meal. He never sleeps in the same place nor on the same hours. He always has his combat knife at hands reach, he never positions himself with his back to the door, and every sudden or unknown sound makes him reach for his weapons.
The screams get quieter, until finally the victim expires. Mawdrym shrugs and turns to address him. "Oh, you are here. It slipped my mind that I had summoned you." He admits with a wide grin. He's always smiling, showing his pointed maw in an unsettling expression, complimenting the insanity that always shined in his black, manic eyes.
With the experience of a full decade reporting to him, Valzadai masks his trepidation. "Why did you call for me, Master?"
"First of all to congratulate you!" He replies lightly, prompting Valzadai´s muscles to tense even more than they already are. "You are my last apprentice, and your triumph is unexpected. I had honestly thought that Lishor would be the one standing in front of me."
Lishor had probably thought that too, when he had snuck into the storage room where he had been sleeping with a loaded bolter. He had looked surprised when Valzadai had dropped from the ceiling where he had mag-locked his boots and slammed his knife into his face from above. Valzadai doesn't say that aloud, not daring to risk setting off the unstable Apothecary.
"At first I had thought of reneging on what I told you, for you still have much to learn." Dread pools in Valzadai gut, where the synthskin covers the abdominals that Mawdrym flayed during their first encounter. Mawdrym refrains from continuing for a moment, basking in his discomfort if the slight widening of his smile tells him anything. "Alas, you have been granted another purpose." He grabs a dataslates and passes it to him, getting into his personal space, his bare, grinning face an inch from Valzadai´s. The younger marine restrains himself from reacting, until Mawdrym gets back. He then looks at the dataslate, half his attention on it´s contents and the other half tracking the Apothecary as he readies the torture corpse for disposal. In the dataslates are transfer orders, naming him the new Apothecary of the 64th Company. He notices that the orders are signed by the First Captain, which he suspects is the sole reason Mawdrym is not disregarding them. "The Battle Barge of the 64th, the Fear of Judgement, will arrive in a few hours. A Thunderhawk will take you there once they arrive."
Valzadai nods and makes to leave, eager to depart Llasanhai´s presence. He takes two steps before the Apothecary calls out to him again. "Valzadai." The younger Nostraman looks back, despite wishing not. "It has been a delight instructing you. I hope that we meet again. We will have so much to do." The words do not frighten Valzadai. It is the twisted, amused, fond sincerity in those words.
Valzadai doesn't run out of the Apothecarion, if only to avoid turning his back on Mawdrym's smiling face.
Tarca System, LLenore Sector, Ultima Segmentum, 951 M30.
Valzadai´s gauntlets are splashed with blood as he uses his Narthecium to extract the geneseed of a fallen marine, what remained of his skull shredded by a shuriken cannon. Once both progenoids are safely stored in their container he pauses, paying attention to the sounds of battle around him and judging at what distance they are from his position. He determines that the fighting is moving further away from where he is, and while the knowledge doesn't reassure him, it does prompt him to return to his work.
They had come to Tarca due to a civil war breaking between those loyal to the Imperium and rebels that desired Independence. It had been a routine operation, until a host of Eldar had ambushed them while the three companies aboard the Fear of Judgement were marching upon the last rebellious stronghold, deep into one of the planet´s forests. The initial surprise had allowed the xenos to cut down many legionnaires, but they had been pushed back once the Night Lords had recovered from it. Now they were fighting amidst the trees, feints and ambushes, staged retreats and flanking maneuvers clashing against one another. Valzadai is at the place of the ambush, where he and the other apothecaries are harvesting the gene seed of those who fell and tending the stream of wounded that returns to them.
One of those wounded walks towards him. He lacks a helmet, revealing black, long hair that hangs limply and messily from his head, matted and wet with blood. The pauldron on his right arm is missing, revealing a shoulder that bleeds copiously, his Larraman cells unable to stem the flow. The articulation is in tatters, missing great chunks of flesh, the arm attached to the body thanks to cracked bone and torn cartilage. His good arms grasps a broken chainglaive, the chain knocked out of alignment by brutal blow. Despite the broken weapon, alarms trigger in Valzadai´s mind as he moves ever closer. Part of it is due to the armor he wears, the bloody handprint in his remaining pauldron marking him as a member of a Terror Squad, the maddest and cruelest of a mad and cruel legion. Most of it however, is the completely blank expression on his face. Valzadai knows better than most that Astartes do feel pain, even if it doesn´t impact them during combat. Outside of it however, they feel it like any other being, and they react to it. Some bear it with stoicism, others grimace, hiss, curse, shout… The marine does none of that, uncaring about his wound. When he reaches him, he takes a seat on the bloody soil without a word, allowing him to inspect the wound in more detail. He quickly gets to work, applying the appropriate medicines to prevent infection, improve coagulation and making the damaged areas more receptive for future grafting of vat-cloned muscle and tissue. During the whole procedure the Terror Squad member doesn't even flinch, staring dead ahead, the only sound he makes being that of his slow, calm breathing.
Is in the middle of this inspection that he hears a sound behind. A small snap, one of the myriad of sounds that are typical of any forest. Something most people would disregard.
The Apothecary turns around, bolt pistol already in hand and aims it squarely at the head of the marine sneaking towards him, who stops five meters away, a combat knife in his hand. He takes note of how despite being in his field of view, the marine he is tending to didn't make any effort to warn him, and watching him out of the corner of his eye he´s merely observing the confrontation without care. Then again, neither of the two other apothecaries that are attending the wounded do so. The other marine has his helmet on, but he recognizes the multiple hands nailed to his breastplate.
"Sergeant Grish´ol." Valzadai greets him at the same time he flicks off the safety of the pistol. "What can I do for you?"
The marine growls at him. "You know what you did, you whoreson! You killed one of my claw members!"
"Of course I did." Valzadai replies. "He tried to do the same exact thing you´re trying to do now."
"He was passing by the Apothecarion and you shot him without warning, you paranoid bastard!" Argues Grish´ol, hatred clear in his voice. "He was in MY claw! I'm going to use your face as a rag for that!!" There is movement amidst the treeline, and the rest of Grish´ol claw emerges, bolters pointed at him.
Valzadai´s finger is already pressing the trigger, when a shout echoes amidst the clearing.
"What is happening here?!"
With his pistol still aiming at Grish´ol, Valzadai gazes out of the corner of his eye at the speaker. With power armor decorated with bronze details and rubies fitted in the chestplate, Capitan Vithal Irash cuts a handsome figure. He's not wearing his helmet, revealing long black hair pulled into a braid and striking facial features. That is extremely arrogant or foolish, seeing as a quarter of the marines whose geneseed he has extracted today died to Ranger sniper fire. Two marines trail behind him, though they keep their bolter lowered.
Grish´ol doesn´t react at first, but then turns his head at their superior. "Hey there Captain, just disposing of some trash. Why don´t you turn around and start filing the paperwork for a new apothecary? Otherwise it might be one of the Lieutenants who will have to do it." The veiled threat and the casual tone it is spoken ramp up the tension in the already tense standoff. The marines besides Irash now raise their bolters, and some of the bolters of Grish´ol's claw now point at the captain. Valzadai grits his teeth as Vithal purses his lips, a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes as they move from Valzadai to Grish´ol, thinking about what would benefit him more. Then he smiles, open and warm.
"The only paperwork I´ll fill will be that of your death by an Eldar sniper." He declares cheerfully. As Grish´ol processes his words Valzadai opens fire. The bolt round penetrates through his right eye lens, detonating the Sergeants head. The moment Valzadai finger releases the trigger he throws himself into a roll, hoping to dodge the initial burst of retaliatory fire from the deceased claw. To his surprise they don´t fire, paying heed to the raised hand of the Captain, leaving him to awkwardly right himself from the roll. Instead Vithal speaks up to one of the members standing to the edge of their groups. "Congratulations for your promotion, Sergeant Korros. Now why don´t you go back to the front aye?" The claw nods and moves away. The smile fades from the Captain's face, and he throws a disdainful glare at Valzadai. "The only reason I didn´t let them riddle you with holes is that you´re still useful and Grish´ol threatened me. The next time you jump at a shadow and kill someone, I´m standing aside and letting them put you down like the insane dog you are, is that clear?"
"It is, Captain." Replies Valzadai, reluctantly storing the bolt pistol back in his hip.
Irash smiled thinly, his eyes still cold. "Good. By the way, you´re Headsman Kuthil right?" He asks, addressing Valzadai´s patient, who had ignored by all observed the whole confrontation without saying a word or shifting his stance. The headsman nods. "Captain Severus is searching for you, he wants an explanation as to why all of your squad is dead again. Do please report to him once your wounds are seen to."
With that Irash departs with his escorts, leaving Valzadai alone with the Headsman. The apothecary turns back to the seated marine, and returns back to treating him. "Why didn´t you do anything?" He asks, suspicious of both his silence and inaction.
The marine doesn´t acknowledge the question beyond looking up to him briefly and then lowering his gaze again.
Aboard the Fear of Judgement, The Immaterium. 21123817382173 M3123515371652736512763
Reality screams purple all around him, and the smell of grief penetrates deep into Valzadai´s nostrils as he digs through the guts of a marine, trying to pull out the claw that had dug deep inside him. He stops when the intestine starts to turn into wax and rubber between his fingers, pulling his hands back and slamming a scalpel into the screaming marines ear.
Him and the other two apothecaries of the vessel had moved quickly to the Apothecarion once they noticed the Gellar Field failing. Captain Malzover had stationed a third of his company there to defend it, but now only seven marines and the apothecaries remained, the rest either dying to the Warp Xenos or going insane and attacking their brothers. Valzadai couldn´t help but consider killing them all, lest they turned upon him first, but within the Immaterium he distrusted even the thoughts in his head. Unceremoniously he dumps the dead marine´s body onto the floor where it bursts into rosemary and laughter and calls for another wounded to be placed there, his voice sounding to his own ears in different languages whose understanding he learns and forgets in the moment it takes to utter them. He sees in that moment Postumus, one of the marines guarding the Apothecarion and one of the few witches aboard, laugh, scratching his checks so hard that multicolored blood poured out of the rends he made. Valzadai doesn´t bother moving towards him or raising a weapon like the other marines inside do. He just runs outside of the room as fast as his legs can carry him. A few seconds and half an eternity after he exits, sealing the door behind him, something comes out.
He doesn´t look back, he just runs, just as desperately as he had run when escaping that warehouse in Nostramo decades ago. He sees more of the Warp Xenos barring his path, monsters of pink and purple, lunging at him as they laugh or groan, and he cuts and stabs at them with his chainsword in return, laughing and crying and roaring and shouting and whispering. Ichor splashes onto his armor, burning and freezing, thick and watery, and sounds that his mind refuses to process what he´s hearing or seeing. He passes by serfs and Astartes, ignoring their own cries and demises. A voice in his head, sounding like LLasanhai´s own, recites in repeat medical treaties and weathers forecasts. His sanity is on a knife edge, and he can almost see it, a thin thread about to be twisted, and bent and torn, swaying in blistering heat.
Just as he sees the last of its strands breaking, It stops. Reality imposes itself once more, so suddenly that one cannot discern the esact moment when it happens. Valzadai finds himself laying on a bloody corridor, surrounded by corpses. His hearts are drumming in his chest, so much so that it would appear he´s going to be the first marine to die of a heart attack. Beneath his helmet tears fly between his frantic breaths. He lays there for an undetermined amount of time, his mind blank, until a voice sounds through the vox network.
"This is Captain Severus. To anyone still breathing, get to hangar bay 6 , extraction is on its way."
He gets up, his nerves signaling with pain the wear and tear his muscles are under. He looks at himself, and sees that he still carries all of his tools with him. He walks to the nearest corpse then, and sinks his narthecium into his ribcage, acting on sheer habit.
The same habit that makes him grab his gun.
Q.M notes: So here it is, the Omake about Valzadai. As always, feel free to point out any spelling mistakes.
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Somewhat near, but not closely so
Nope, no Warp Storms here, for now.....
For created content? I might allow another minor xenos, if it is justified. I have plans for the necrons, and as for the votann leagues, I´ll need to research them more before taking a decision.
I love this, I love this so much. I just got into a bit of a foul mood writing Valzadai´s omake and this has cheered me back up.
Non-canon but great. Pick up two characteristics, Severus gets 100XP on one of them and 50XP on the other.
Yup, that's about what I imagined when I wrote In The Blood Pt 2, although it's a distinctly morose...satisfaction to see you flesh it out more than I did.
Poor Kuthil. That's what somebody who's been killing for so long everything else has been zipped and packed away looks like. Not really PTSD as our science understands it, more of a hyper-optimization.
Poor Kuthil. That's what somebody who's been killing for so long everything else has been zipped and packed away looks like. Not really PTSD as our science understands it, more of a hyper-optimization.
Why do I have a feeling we might meet him in the future if news gets out about our... lineage.
- Location
- USA
Here we see the night lord fellowship 1 in action.
Besides that I wouldn't be surprised if LLasanhai was still alive.
Besides that I wouldn't be surprised if LLasanhai was still alive.
+100 Weapon Skill, +50 Strength for Severus.
So in short: "Big E approves!"
Yeah, statistically there's a good chance he'd be dead or in some part of the galaxy we'll never get to. But that whole "I hope we'll meet again" bit just screams future nemisis.
Is "They occasionally come out of the Galactic core to raid one of the subsectors" a good justification? I also had an idea for an exiled weak votann league that was basically brought out by a bigger league (remember they're corporate space dwarfs who's entire society is run by DAOT AI's)
Adrian XXIV
Average User, from Poland
- Location
- Poland
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Dawi-Zharr in Space"?
Love the Side story, its easy to see why Valzadai is so paranoid and its interesting to see the fates of some of the possible companions. I have the feeling we will be seeing Valzadais old mentor at some point and I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next.
Actually not. My idea is basically "Lockheed Martin IN SPACE"
The only way I can imagine the space dawi-zharr coming into existance is if someone from the forces of chaos succedes at corrupting the Mad Core
Pointing out some mistakes. Red is spelling, Teal is grammar/punctuation.
EDIT: whoops, forgot a bit of extra formatting so it would function properly.
EDIT: whoops, forgot a bit of extra formatting so it would function properly.
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@ThunderOwl Severus Weapon Skill should be 520/700 since it was 420 before I chose the rewards and I gave the 100 so to his Weapon Skill
Noroboro
Consistency is key and I’m consistently tired :)
- Location
- Canada
Damn, Valzadai quite literally got dissected for a lesson... I can see why he's so paranoid. Also I'm surprised that the Headsman was Myrok, I think I can see why Kuthil and Valzadai don't like each other ever since Myrok didn't say anything to warn Valzadai.
Seeing Postumus in Valzadai makes me curious what happened to all the other characters we didn't pick.
Seeing Postumus in Valzadai makes me curious what happened to all the other characters we didn't pick.
- Location
- USA
They died horribly before the Fear of Judgment returned to real space.
Noroboro
Consistency is key and I’m consistently tired :)
- Location
- Canada
I mean, obviously but I'm talking about how they died. Postumus clearly gave in and lost in mind in the warp but I wonder if Endror got abandoned to some warp horror as the rest of his squad ran, or if Vireth died defending some area, stuff like that. It's giving me omake ideas.
I was thinking of revealing some of them in other interludes for the Founders, but if you or anyone else wants to write about it I can PM you the details.
Regions and oddities of the Aetelian Sector
Part II
The Malignant: The Malignant is a spacehulk that periodically shows up in the Aetelian Sector, most of the time appearing within the Karostei Subsector. Each time it appered near a world it caused severe uprisings in addition to serving as a transport for vile xenos and on occasion traitor astartes. In 492 M41 the hulk was boarded by the Angels Crusader's first company that after fighting through the multitude of horrors that lurked within they managed to detonate a cyclonic torpedo within the hulk's heart, blasting it to pieces. While the Malignant still exists its size has been drastically reduxed from the 35,920 sq mi colossus to a conglomeration of aproximatelly six ships. Most of the hulk's remnants fell back into the warp and reemerge in the orbit of the Feral World of Manduss II and crashed into the planet. The Manduss system was quarantined and recent reports state that the population of Manduss II is rapidly advancing into a space age society.Part II
The Goatways: The Goatways refer to a series of small and hazardous warp routes in the Ditú Subsector that leads towards the Galactic core. They're hard to find and there are next to no maps of these pathways, these routes are frequently used by pirates and the xenos marauders that launch raids on the Subsector from the wilderness space near the core or from beyond the Circumnuclear Disc itself.
The Maw of Cetus: The Maw is a black hole located within the Caribdis Subsector. Throughout the millenia the black hole has devoured an uncountable number of enemy ships that have been forced into its event horizon by Battlefleet Aetilia. Cetus' event horizon seems to sometimes change, now despite what the members of the navy would tell you, the black hole doesn't sense when theres "prey" near it, the expansion of its gravitational pull is caused by a complex interstellar phenomenon that has to do with cosmic winds and the close proximity of the subsector's stars. Its a perfectly natural phenomenon.
@ThunderOwl There is another thing I thought about that may be worth talking about: our navigators. What house they are from, where is that house located, how can we get more for the new ships we (hopefully) would eventially get etc.Alternatively it could be a good omake seed, to be written by someone more capable of creative writing then my lazy ass.