In that little headcanon of mine, the Citadel is living in the Imperial domains even up til now...
Mass Effect: Aquila (A warhammer 30k/ME crossover/Peggy sue)
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LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
In that little headcanon of mine, the Citadel is living in the Imperial domains even up til now, surviving in pockets the Imperials haven't had access to. Up until a fortiutous encounter... 10 millenia ago? Wait a sec- hey don't roll the credits y-!
MASS EFFECT: AQUILA
Chapter 1. Back and then forth.
Thousands of golden spires crowned the massive complex of the Imperial Palace. But none were comparable to the gargantuan black spire. At its top laid the bell of the lost souls, big enough to be a palace on itself and with a bellfry the size of a cathedral. Thousands were dedicated to keeping the last lament dedicated to the greatest heroes in the imperium. Within sight range lied the ancient clocktower with its ever paused clock, halted 2 minutes before midnight. Legend said that when it reached the midnight the end of Man would come and the bell of lost souls would toll its downfall.
*CLACK* Midnight had arrived.
It came to a surprise to everyone, not even the operatives of the bell having time to react. The bell moved, its massive bellfry crushing dozens of the maitenance workers. That wasn't the worst part: when the first clash between bellfry and bell's edge came to be it delivered a reverberating sound that drowned all terra and thundered across the Imperial palace. All non-augmented humans died as their eardrums were obliterated, their lungs were punctured and they suffered embolisms. They hadn't had time for to reach the shelters built for their protection when the bell was used.
The bell kept tolling for hours, non-stop. The end times was here.
Panic spread through the planet, massive riots overwhelming even the legions of arbites and reinforcing guardsmen. Thousands of new spires, now of smoke and fire, rose to the sky and threatened to surpass the old ones as death reaped its heavy due in the overpopulated hive-world.
And as the bell tolled, something strange happened: every single mind in the astronomican, every single psychic on Terra, began screaming as blood poured through their eyes and ears and they writhed on the ground. The great lighthouse that guided the vessels of mankind collapsed, imploded in a thousand overchargings of eldritch energy. Hundreds of ships were eternally lost in that moment while the explosion ran the inmaterium and greatly disrupted it as the physical construct's ruins fell to Terra and crushed whole cities and squashed like ripe grape the bodies of billions of Imperials.
Overwhelmed by this sudden surge of psychic energy, the shattered psyche of the Emperor managed to get some modicum of focusing. He could hear what was happening now across the galaxy through its many fractals being scattered around it:
On Cadia the forces of Chaos marched on as the world had finally fallen. Abaddon the despoiler battled in duel Lord Castellan, Ursakar E. Creed and killed the heroic warrior with the Talon, tearing his body apart in five parts.
On Baal, Chapter Master Gabriel Seth of the Flesh Tearers chapter rallied the Blood Angels' sanguinary guard to protect the corpse of Dante. The proud warriors, sworn to defend their liege lord Dante, fell in vain as the swarmlord swept through with its giant bone-blades. Impaling Seth with one of those giant arm-swords, the giant xenos threw him like a ragdoll and killed him with the force of the impact.
On Fenris, the Thousand Sons surged through the Warp, finding themselves with a giant space battle between Dark Angels and Space Wolves. Firing their lances and eldritch weapons, the betrayed traitors dealt a crippling blow on the distracted belligerants. Taking control of the Dark Angel's master of the forge, Magnus himself drove the mighty rock into the world's surface and the fang. Both fortresses were crushed by the impact, killing everyone inside and the meteoric impact's strenght was such the wave obliterated the whole population of Fenris, Azrael and Logan included.
On Maccrage, M'kar led a second invasion and this time succeeded. Marneus Calgar fought valiantly and died at the daemon prince's claws. Captain Cato Sicarius tried to avenge him, only to meet the same fate. Having no choice, Chapter Master Severus Agemman ordered the exterminatus of their homeworld as the three remaining and battered companies of marines tried to evacuate as many as they could.
On Octarius Commissar Yarrick fought an uneasy alliance with Thraka as the tyranids had grown out of control and overwhelmed both marine and ork. As a hierodule lumbered onwards, both Warlord and Commissar, despite having fought against each other during so long, died comrades in arms.
On a thousand worlds, valiant guardsmen, sororitas and arbites (even administratum clerks!) fought desperately trying to hold the planet as they lost control and their lifes.
On tens of thousands of worlds, millions of cults, be they alligned with chaos, xenos ( or some misguided cause) rose and slaughtered trillions of lifes.
Death had come to the Imperium.
And he couldn't do anything.
He couldn't do anything... unless.
Yes, it was an insane idea but it was worth the shot and more or less viable now with all the energy running rampant.
He gathered all his remaining might, did a massive effort at it, and began targetting his mind into a very exact moment. Doing so left unprotected billions of psykers, who quickly became possessed and turned into chaos gates, bringing in countless swarms of daemons.
Just a bit more.
His force backlashed and kept on piling on Terra: a warpstorm appeared around the planet, destabilizing and collapsing many starforts.
Almost.
One of them failed and started falling into the surface. Upon impact the shockwave burnt billions of citizens and razed country sized cities as it quickly made its way to the Imperial Palace.
NOW!
==========================================================
"Your majesty, are you okay?"
The one to ask the question wasn't one of his subjects, but an alien. Eldrad Ulthran, now a young (and cosidere dispossable by the council) farseer sent on a diplomatic mission.
"Yes, to both questions."
He visibly winced in surprise. Eldrad's marble like features looked flabbergasted and his almond eyes looked wide (or almost) open. It was only for a second, though, the time it took for him to register the whole meaning behind the answer.
Once he fully understood the meaning behind those words, he did the most rational thing to do under his circumstances.
He jumped and giggled of joy. He then proceeded to make a victor dance and handshake the closest custodes' hands as he made the following statement.
"SUCK IT ELDORATH, I WAS RIGHT! YOOHOO!"
The Emperor allowed himself a thin smile. This was the turning point where his great plan had started to go wrong: when he was offered an alliance with the eldar against chaos in the days prior to the great crusade. By then the primarch project was just beginning, the religions on Terra hadn't been eradicated and he still had his thunder warriors.
He had siphoned the whole psychic energy and lifeforce on Terra to make it back in time, a too consuming spell he didn't think himself capable of (even now he was surprised it had worked).
This time there would be no mistakes.
================================================================
Carinthius colony.
Captain Rogerius Shirticus' cruisder patrolled the young colony of Carinthius.
Established a month ago next to a minor relay, the colony was barely two thousand citizens. But it would grow and so would the defense escort he was in charge of.
General Rogericus Shirticus... had a nice ring to it, he couldn't deny it.
So, what should write on his promotion speech? It should be something grandio-
"SIR! We've found an anomaly!" Shouted both a VI and an Ensign.
Before he had time to ask a massive rock appeared from a rift in space. Massive and dangerous, many makeshift weapon emplacements marred it.
"What in the spirits is that?" Asked a surprised Turian.
And before he got to hear an answer their comm-link was hi-jacked by a strange voice.
"Oi gitz, 'ow du you use dis zogging comm?"
"You'za using dis zogging comm you grot!"
Somehow he didn't think this would end well.
Yup, this is a thing. Basically I re-wrote a previous story, this time providing a more solid reason as to why he said yes instead of no.
MASS EFFECT: AQUILA
Chapter 1. Back and then forth.
Thousands of golden spires crowned the massive complex of the Imperial Palace. But none were comparable to the gargantuan black spire. At its top laid the bell of the lost souls, big enough to be a palace on itself and with a bellfry the size of a cathedral. Thousands were dedicated to keeping the last lament dedicated to the greatest heroes in the imperium. Within sight range lied the ancient clocktower with its ever paused clock, halted 2 minutes before midnight. Legend said that when it reached the midnight the end of Man would come and the bell of lost souls would toll its downfall.
*CLACK* Midnight had arrived.
It came to a surprise to everyone, not even the operatives of the bell having time to react. The bell moved, its massive bellfry crushing dozens of the maitenance workers. That wasn't the worst part: when the first clash between bellfry and bell's edge came to be it delivered a reverberating sound that drowned all terra and thundered across the Imperial palace. All non-augmented humans died as their eardrums were obliterated, their lungs were punctured and they suffered embolisms. They hadn't had time for to reach the shelters built for their protection when the bell was used.
The bell kept tolling for hours, non-stop. The end times was here.
Panic spread through the planet, massive riots overwhelming even the legions of arbites and reinforcing guardsmen. Thousands of new spires, now of smoke and fire, rose to the sky and threatened to surpass the old ones as death reaped its heavy due in the overpopulated hive-world.
And as the bell tolled, something strange happened: every single mind in the astronomican, every single psychic on Terra, began screaming as blood poured through their eyes and ears and they writhed on the ground. The great lighthouse that guided the vessels of mankind collapsed, imploded in a thousand overchargings of eldritch energy. Hundreds of ships were eternally lost in that moment while the explosion ran the inmaterium and greatly disrupted it as the physical construct's ruins fell to Terra and crushed whole cities and squashed like ripe grape the bodies of billions of Imperials.
Overwhelmed by this sudden surge of psychic energy, the shattered psyche of the Emperor managed to get some modicum of focusing. He could hear what was happening now across the galaxy through its many fractals being scattered around it:
On Cadia the forces of Chaos marched on as the world had finally fallen. Abaddon the despoiler battled in duel Lord Castellan, Ursakar E. Creed and killed the heroic warrior with the Talon, tearing his body apart in five parts.
On Baal, Chapter Master Gabriel Seth of the Flesh Tearers chapter rallied the Blood Angels' sanguinary guard to protect the corpse of Dante. The proud warriors, sworn to defend their liege lord Dante, fell in vain as the swarmlord swept through with its giant bone-blades. Impaling Seth with one of those giant arm-swords, the giant xenos threw him like a ragdoll and killed him with the force of the impact.
On Fenris, the Thousand Sons surged through the Warp, finding themselves with a giant space battle between Dark Angels and Space Wolves. Firing their lances and eldritch weapons, the betrayed traitors dealt a crippling blow on the distracted belligerants. Taking control of the Dark Angel's master of the forge, Magnus himself drove the mighty rock into the world's surface and the fang. Both fortresses were crushed by the impact, killing everyone inside and the meteoric impact's strenght was such the wave obliterated the whole population of Fenris, Azrael and Logan included.
On Maccrage, M'kar led a second invasion and this time succeeded. Marneus Calgar fought valiantly and died at the daemon prince's claws. Captain Cato Sicarius tried to avenge him, only to meet the same fate. Having no choice, Chapter Master Severus Agemman ordered the exterminatus of their homeworld as the three remaining and battered companies of marines tried to evacuate as many as they could.
On Octarius Commissar Yarrick fought an uneasy alliance with Thraka as the tyranids had grown out of control and overwhelmed both marine and ork. As a hierodule lumbered onwards, both Warlord and Commissar, despite having fought against each other during so long, died comrades in arms.
On a thousand worlds, valiant guardsmen, sororitas and arbites (even administratum clerks!) fought desperately trying to hold the planet as they lost control and their lifes.
On tens of thousands of worlds, millions of cults, be they alligned with chaos, xenos ( or some misguided cause) rose and slaughtered trillions of lifes.
Death had come to the Imperium.
And he couldn't do anything.
He couldn't do anything... unless.
Yes, it was an insane idea but it was worth the shot and more or less viable now with all the energy running rampant.
He gathered all his remaining might, did a massive effort at it, and began targetting his mind into a very exact moment. Doing so left unprotected billions of psykers, who quickly became possessed and turned into chaos gates, bringing in countless swarms of daemons.
Just a bit more.
His force backlashed and kept on piling on Terra: a warpstorm appeared around the planet, destabilizing and collapsing many starforts.
Almost.
One of them failed and started falling into the surface. Upon impact the shockwave burnt billions of citizens and razed country sized cities as it quickly made its way to the Imperial Palace.
NOW!
==========================================================
"Your majesty, are you okay?"
The one to ask the question wasn't one of his subjects, but an alien. Eldrad Ulthran, now a young (and cosidere dispossable by the council) farseer sent on a diplomatic mission.
"Yes, to both questions."
He visibly winced in surprise. Eldrad's marble like features looked flabbergasted and his almond eyes looked wide (or almost) open. It was only for a second, though, the time it took for him to register the whole meaning behind the answer.
Once he fully understood the meaning behind those words, he did the most rational thing to do under his circumstances.
He jumped and giggled of joy. He then proceeded to make a victor dance and handshake the closest custodes' hands as he made the following statement.
"SUCK IT ELDORATH, I WAS RIGHT! YOOHOO!"
The Emperor allowed himself a thin smile. This was the turning point where his great plan had started to go wrong: when he was offered an alliance with the eldar against chaos in the days prior to the great crusade. By then the primarch project was just beginning, the religions on Terra hadn't been eradicated and he still had his thunder warriors.
He had siphoned the whole psychic energy and lifeforce on Terra to make it back in time, a too consuming spell he didn't think himself capable of (even now he was surprised it had worked).
This time there would be no mistakes.
================================================================
Carinthius colony.
Captain Rogerius Shirticus' cruisder patrolled the young colony of Carinthius.
Established a month ago next to a minor relay, the colony was barely two thousand citizens. But it would grow and so would the defense escort he was in charge of.
General Rogericus Shirticus... had a nice ring to it, he couldn't deny it.
So, what should write on his promotion speech? It should be something grandio-
"SIR! We've found an anomaly!" Shouted both a VI and an Ensign.
Before he had time to ask a massive rock appeared from a rift in space. Massive and dangerous, many makeshift weapon emplacements marred it.
"What in the spirits is that?" Asked a surprised Turian.
And before he got to hear an answer their comm-link was hi-jacked by a strange voice.
"Oi gitz, 'ow du you use dis zogging comm?"
"You'za using dis zogging comm you grot!"
Somehow he didn't think this would end well.
Yup, this is a thing. Basically I re-wrote a previous story, this time providing a more solid reason as to why he said yes instead of no.
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Just a teaser for chapter 2. I'm going to do some minor editing on chapter 1 meanwhile.
Chapter 2. Operation: Tears of Slaanesh.
To say the Emperor had made an alliance was something... rather farfetched. At best.
You see, not even a century ago, the pointy aired assholes had orgied into existance Slaanesh whose birth/mass-mind-rape had driven them into near extinction and scattered the remnants of their race to the winds and as far as possible.
Now, Ulthwe wasn't nicknamed the damned because of how much people cursed its name (and let's be honest, a place where farseer was the prime career path was bound to be the target of curses and swearwords. Lots of them). It was due to the fact that it was a tad too close (and bound to) a very nice place the Emperor nick-named "The torn asshole in reality to Hell".
Which meant the eldar of Ulthwe were having a few issues with daemons. Which meant they were on the verge of being collectively being skullfucked into oblivion by the chaos forces.
He should have seen it coming. Then again during that time, in the original crusade, he was too busy a) building a military b) helping (in quite a loose term) Malcador set the adminstration) c) making the primarch project and d) Debating what kind of aesthetic the new regime ought to go (Rennaisance was a very big no-no to him, due to the bitter hatred he developed towards Da Vinci). It was either an ultra-gothic style or go for a rococo-tier baroque one. The hardest (and with the best pay-off, in his opinion) decision in his life.
All in all not the best time to be bothered by a bunch of dying eldar and their current political situation. He had enough of them during the five previous millenia after all, and the Great Crusade was supposed to be about unifying mankind, not getting the eldar on rehab.
Now that he thought of it... his thunder warriors hadn't been purged. Yet.
Huh, now he was starting to see a plan...
TBC soontm
Chapter 2. Operation: Tears of Slaanesh.
To say the Emperor had made an alliance was something... rather farfetched. At best.
You see, not even a century ago, the pointy aired assholes had orgied into existance Slaanesh whose birth/mass-mind-rape had driven them into near extinction and scattered the remnants of their race to the winds and as far as possible.
Now, Ulthwe wasn't nicknamed the damned because of how much people cursed its name (and let's be honest, a place where farseer was the prime career path was bound to be the target of curses and swearwords. Lots of them). It was due to the fact that it was a tad too close (and bound to) a very nice place the Emperor nick-named "The torn asshole in reality to Hell".
Which meant the eldar of Ulthwe were having a few issues with daemons. Which meant they were on the verge of being collectively being skullfucked into oblivion by the chaos forces.
He should have seen it coming. Then again during that time, in the original crusade, he was too busy a) building a military b) helping (in quite a loose term) Malcador set the adminstration) c) making the primarch project and d) Debating what kind of aesthetic the new regime ought to go (Rennaisance was a very big no-no to him, due to the bitter hatred he developed towards Da Vinci). It was either an ultra-gothic style or go for a rococo-tier baroque one. The hardest (and with the best pay-off, in his opinion) decision in his life.
All in all not the best time to be bothered by a bunch of dying eldar and their current political situation. He had enough of them during the five previous millenia after all, and the Great Crusade was supposed to be about unifying mankind, not getting the eldar on rehab.
Now that he thought of it... his thunder warriors hadn't been purged. Yet.
Huh, now he was starting to see a plan...
TBC soontm
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
FULL CHAPTER INCOMING! *ducks into cover*
Chapter 2. Operation Tears of Slaanesh:
To say the Emperor had made an alliance was something... rather farfetched. At best.
You see, not even a century ago, the pointy aired assholes had orgied into existance Slaanesh whose birth/mass-mind-rape had driven them into near extinction and scattered the remnants of their race to the winds and as far as possible.
Now, Ulthwe wasn't nicknamed the damned because of how much people cursed its name (and let's be honest, a place where farseer was the prime career path was bound to be the target of curses and swearwords. Lots of them). It was due to the fact that it was a tad too close (and bound to) a very nice place the Emperor nick-named "The torn asshole in reality that connected to Hell", or the Hell's Hole to make its shorter.
Which meant the eldar of Ulthwe were having a few issues with daemons. Which meant they were on the verge of being collectively being skullfucked into oblivion by the chaos forces. On a daily basis.
He should have seen it coming. Then again during that time, in the original crusade, he was too busy a) building a military b) helping (in quite a loose term) Malcador set the adminstration) c) making the primarch project and d) Debating what kind of aesthetic the new regime ought to go (Rennaisance was a very big no-no to him, due to the bitter hatred he developed towards Da Vinci). It was either an ultra-gothic style or go for a rococo-tier baroque one. The hardest (and with the best pay-off, in his opinion) decision in his life.
All in all not the best time to be bothered by a bunch of dying eldar and their current political situation. He had enough of them during the five previous millenia after all, and the Great Crusade was supposed to be about unifying mankind, not getting the eldar on rehab.
Now that he thought of it... his thunder warriors hadn't been purged. Yet.
Huh, now he was starting to see a plan..
====================================
Irithil was a baker, not a soldier. How in Isha's name had he ended up wielding a rifle and shooting at daemons?
This could only happen in Ulthwe. Damn his poor luck, he should have left the coreworlds years ago!
They were inside Kiel Spire, one of the closest to the usual outbreak area. There, the furniture had been sung with a different purpose: not to be pleasing to the eye, but to provide better cover and shooting vantages behind holofields and phantasm smoke launchers to make the sighting harder for the enemy.
While the bonesingers took painstaking efforts to upkeep the areas after each invasion, one could still see the scars of previous battles: crushed battlements, burning scars on the walls and floor, cracked wraithbone floor and the like. Which would most likely increase the amount of disrepairs (and corpses)
"For Ulthwe!" Shouted a nearby warlock while striking a very dramatic pose, his blade pointing at the enemy and his fist clenched in a defiant fist raised towards the sky.
Suffice to say, ti made him a very nice target to those pesky mindbullets properly powerful (and trained) psykers could do. His head burst like a pimple of red and pinkish content.
At the head of the attack was a host of "daemonettes", avatars and harbingers of She-Who-Thirsts. Their androginous would have been intoxicating (to the point of forgetting about the crab claws and the multiple horns and spike around their bodies) if it weren't for the uncanny feeling they evoked to eldar. Just seeing them made Irithil shiver and feel weak.
Behind were handfuls of plaguebearers and bloodletters, led by a herald of tzeentch atop a big soulgrinder wielding a massive sword.
They'd have to retreat to another spire. Again.
"Bring in the wraithguard!" Irilith heard between shots of his catapult.
Hulking wraith constructs, a new brand of defense the Craftworld had devised when casualties started to mount, walked forward. There were barely a dozen of them, as there were few made and thinly spread across the invasion perimeter.
"Unleash the D-Scythes!"
No blast or noise followed. Distorsion scythes severed the Crone's cords of their targets. The souls were cut off from their mortal coils and banished to the warp. Which meant daemons simply vanished as if they were made of sand and the wind blew. The tide's front ranks were wiped out and the stream slowed down.
Slowed but wasn't halted. So many of them fell but there was an endless tide surging onwards.
The guardian next to him got assaulted by a daemonetter, Irythil quicly turned his catapult towards the screeching monstruosity and blasted its head, as it had clawed and mauled his companion's.
More of the fiends got over the holofields and barricades as shouts of retreats began to be uttered to provide a tactical withdrawal to the second and third row of defenders while the first one tried to save as much as it could.
A blood letter jumped over the barricade, ready to kill Irylith with its blade.
*BLAM*
A massive blast of psychic might blew away the eldritch monster.
What followed was a blur, for Irylith's mind suddenly became gripped by an intense and very unpleasant pain. His mind faded quickly as a massive golden warrior in baroque armor flashed through his decreasing field of view and he could see mighty warrior-women following him.
=============================================
Turns out, it was a mon'keigh that went by the (totally not pompous) name of "The Emperor". Turns out, his force had gone all out and crushed the daemonn invasion and, as the eldar gathered towards the center and surroundings of the craftworld's center (next to the hall of the Seers), a whole armada was pulling their craftworld out of the massive Warp-rift that was once their empire.
But that took a second seat respect what was in front of the eldar mass.
Well, eldar and mon'keigh mass. Amidst the ranks of the citizens where the troops of the "Emperor". One could distinguish up to three variants:
The ones that stuck out the most were clad, like their leader, in very ornate and overdesigned armor. Towering the other variants (and eldar) by half a head this statuesque warriors wielded giant spears with oversized guns strapped to the shafts. The second variant, less impossing but almost equaly garish in dress, were a bunch of inmense (thought not as big as the first tier) warriors wearing purple and clumsy-looking
"Shh! Silence you maggots! The emperor is about to begin!" Hushed a tanned and balding man clad in the third tier of armor, though he wore a red cape and a powersword at his hip.
Clad in glittery and overly ornate a giant made his way down the steps of Ulthwe's council. He was flanked by a couple of the golden giants and few maidens who gave an eery feeling-nulls most lilkely- and the council of seers from Ulthwe. Furthermore, he recognized the colors of Althansar and Biel-Tan. Three Craftworlds and an Emperor, this clearly wasn't something minor, that was a given.
The mon'keigh in question... spoke in pitch perfect eldar. He recited, in a voice that would make even the best of poets blush in jealousy, the song of the Fall, how his kin was orphaned from their home. Yet the song had a different conclusion, one that spoke of hope, not of despair and mourning.
"Millenia ago, Mankind-mon'keigh if you want-committed severe mistakes and sinned of dire carelessness. Centuries ago, the eldarin commited many a debauchery and sinned of dire carelessness. Both our kins had ignored the world they lived in and were blinded by their hubris, making us all pay in the progresss."
The speech went on for a while, he spoke of the Fall, both of Man and Eldar. He, though, quickly switched to a more galvanizing subject: survival and triumph.
"We've endured the Long Night, the incoming darkness of the fell powers of Chaos. So tell me my companions in exile and suffering: are you willing to fade into the night quietly!? Are you going to wait here, cowering amidst the halls of your homes as they batter your defenses!?"
Many shouts regarding the aversion to such fate came, both by humans and eldar. Irythil himself, though he hadn't shouted, felt himself a bit riled up.
"Mankind and Eldar are riven, separated by the cataclisms. But tell, has that stopped our wits? It is possible that we can't even find our brethen next by? Have we been left stunted both in body count and mind?"
NO! Was the overall response. Irythill
"There's a hope: united and with power the ancestral enemy once wielded-the blackstone fortresses and more- we have a chance to deal definitevely against the forces of Chaos!"
Many more now shouted their agreement, though some were aprehensive of the usage of necron armaments.
"You know, this whole stuff of daemons and magic is almost incredible," whispered the officer who had bellowed "silence you maggots!".
"Haven't you seen them with your own eyes?" Irythil was about to roll his own eyes at such stupidity.
"Yeah, and I believe it now, figure my face when I discover "gods" and "magic" are real-and by and large bad."
"Will you shut up legate? The emperor is speaking!" Admonished in hushes one of his soldiers.
The "legate" excused himself just as they had missed the most exhilarating part of the speech that had left everyone in an uproar.
Next followed an Eldarin Woman, with lithe fair skin and complexion, hazel eyes and chestnut hair, clad in the livery of Biel-Tann's Autarchs and bearing the same dour and borderline zealous facial expression that characterized them.
" I Lugael-"
It went on for quite a while. And it could be surmissed all as: now we are buddies with mankind, suck it up both parties, and let's help each other.
On the other hand he didn't mind fellows like Legate Nigel Udina. Maybe they weren't that bad.
==================
"Uff, that felt tiring," commented the Emperor as he rubbed his temples. "Influencing so many people to be more receptive to one's ideas is tougher with you guys."
"You want to make sure we don't backstab you? Do the effort," deadpanned High-Autarch Lugael of Biel-Tann.
"I know, I know."
And I prefer a bit of a head-ache now rather than having you be a massive thorn stuck up on my side.
Chapter 2. Operation Tears of Slaanesh:
To say the Emperor had made an alliance was something... rather farfetched. At best.
You see, not even a century ago, the pointy aired assholes had orgied into existance Slaanesh whose birth/mass-mind-rape had driven them into near extinction and scattered the remnants of their race to the winds and as far as possible.
Now, Ulthwe wasn't nicknamed the damned because of how much people cursed its name (and let's be honest, a place where farseer was the prime career path was bound to be the target of curses and swearwords. Lots of them). It was due to the fact that it was a tad too close (and bound to) a very nice place the Emperor nick-named "The torn asshole in reality that connected to Hell", or the Hell's Hole to make its shorter.
Which meant the eldar of Ulthwe were having a few issues with daemons. Which meant they were on the verge of being collectively being skullfucked into oblivion by the chaos forces. On a daily basis.
He should have seen it coming. Then again during that time, in the original crusade, he was too busy a) building a military b) helping (in quite a loose term) Malcador set the adminstration) c) making the primarch project and d) Debating what kind of aesthetic the new regime ought to go (Rennaisance was a very big no-no to him, due to the bitter hatred he developed towards Da Vinci). It was either an ultra-gothic style or go for a rococo-tier baroque one. The hardest (and with the best pay-off, in his opinion) decision in his life.
All in all not the best time to be bothered by a bunch of dying eldar and their current political situation. He had enough of them during the five previous millenia after all, and the Great Crusade was supposed to be about unifying mankind, not getting the eldar on rehab.
Now that he thought of it... his thunder warriors hadn't been purged. Yet.
Huh, now he was starting to see a plan..
====================================
Irithil was a baker, not a soldier. How in Isha's name had he ended up wielding a rifle and shooting at daemons?
This could only happen in Ulthwe. Damn his poor luck, he should have left the coreworlds years ago!
They were inside Kiel Spire, one of the closest to the usual outbreak area. There, the furniture had been sung with a different purpose: not to be pleasing to the eye, but to provide better cover and shooting vantages behind holofields and phantasm smoke launchers to make the sighting harder for the enemy.
While the bonesingers took painstaking efforts to upkeep the areas after each invasion, one could still see the scars of previous battles: crushed battlements, burning scars on the walls and floor, cracked wraithbone floor and the like. Which would most likely increase the amount of disrepairs (and corpses)
"For Ulthwe!" Shouted a nearby warlock while striking a very dramatic pose, his blade pointing at the enemy and his fist clenched in a defiant fist raised towards the sky.
Suffice to say, ti made him a very nice target to those pesky mindbullets properly powerful (and trained) psykers could do. His head burst like a pimple of red and pinkish content.
At the head of the attack was a host of "daemonettes", avatars and harbingers of She-Who-Thirsts. Their androginous would have been intoxicating (to the point of forgetting about the crab claws and the multiple horns and spike around their bodies) if it weren't for the uncanny feeling they evoked to eldar. Just seeing them made Irithil shiver and feel weak.
Behind were handfuls of plaguebearers and bloodletters, led by a herald of tzeentch atop a big soulgrinder wielding a massive sword.
They'd have to retreat to another spire. Again.
"Bring in the wraithguard!" Irilith heard between shots of his catapult.
Hulking wraith constructs, a new brand of defense the Craftworld had devised when casualties started to mount, walked forward. There were barely a dozen of them, as there were few made and thinly spread across the invasion perimeter.
"Unleash the D-Scythes!"
No blast or noise followed. Distorsion scythes severed the Crone's cords of their targets. The souls were cut off from their mortal coils and banished to the warp. Which meant daemons simply vanished as if they were made of sand and the wind blew. The tide's front ranks were wiped out and the stream slowed down.
Slowed but wasn't halted. So many of them fell but there was an endless tide surging onwards.
The guardian next to him got assaulted by a daemonetter, Irythil quicly turned his catapult towards the screeching monstruosity and blasted its head, as it had clawed and mauled his companion's.
More of the fiends got over the holofields and barricades as shouts of retreats began to be uttered to provide a tactical withdrawal to the second and third row of defenders while the first one tried to save as much as it could.
A blood letter jumped over the barricade, ready to kill Irylith with its blade.
*BLAM*
A massive blast of psychic might blew away the eldritch monster.
What followed was a blur, for Irylith's mind suddenly became gripped by an intense and very unpleasant pain. His mind faded quickly as a massive golden warrior in baroque armor flashed through his decreasing field of view and he could see mighty warrior-women following him.
=============================================
Turns out, it was a mon'keigh that went by the (totally not pompous) name of "The Emperor". Turns out, his force had gone all out and crushed the daemonn invasion and, as the eldar gathered towards the center and surroundings of the craftworld's center (next to the hall of the Seers), a whole armada was pulling their craftworld out of the massive Warp-rift that was once their empire.
But that took a second seat respect what was in front of the eldar mass.
Well, eldar and mon'keigh mass. Amidst the ranks of the citizens where the troops of the "Emperor". One could distinguish up to three variants:
The ones that stuck out the most were clad, like their leader, in very ornate and overdesigned armor. Towering the other variants (and eldar) by half a head this statuesque warriors wielded giant spears with oversized guns strapped to the shafts. The second variant, less impossing but almost equaly garish in dress, were a bunch of inmense (thought not as big as the first tier) warriors wearing purple and clumsy-looking
"Shh! Silence you maggots! The emperor is about to begin!" Hushed a tanned and balding man clad in the third tier of armor, though he wore a red cape and a powersword at his hip.
Clad in glittery and overly ornate a giant made his way down the steps of Ulthwe's council. He was flanked by a couple of the golden giants and few maidens who gave an eery feeling-nulls most lilkely- and the council of seers from Ulthwe. Furthermore, he recognized the colors of Althansar and Biel-Tan. Three Craftworlds and an Emperor, this clearly wasn't something minor, that was a given.
The mon'keigh in question... spoke in pitch perfect eldar. He recited, in a voice that would make even the best of poets blush in jealousy, the song of the Fall, how his kin was orphaned from their home. Yet the song had a different conclusion, one that spoke of hope, not of despair and mourning.
"Millenia ago, Mankind-mon'keigh if you want-committed severe mistakes and sinned of dire carelessness. Centuries ago, the eldarin commited many a debauchery and sinned of dire carelessness. Both our kins had ignored the world they lived in and were blinded by their hubris, making us all pay in the progresss."
The speech went on for a while, he spoke of the Fall, both of Man and Eldar. He, though, quickly switched to a more galvanizing subject: survival and triumph.
"We've endured the Long Night, the incoming darkness of the fell powers of Chaos. So tell me my companions in exile and suffering: are you willing to fade into the night quietly!? Are you going to wait here, cowering amidst the halls of your homes as they batter your defenses!?"
Many shouts regarding the aversion to such fate came, both by humans and eldar. Irythil himself, though he hadn't shouted, felt himself a bit riled up.
"Mankind and Eldar are riven, separated by the cataclisms. But tell, has that stopped our wits? It is possible that we can't even find our brethen next by? Have we been left stunted both in body count and mind?"
NO! Was the overall response. Irythill
"There's a hope: united and with power the ancestral enemy once wielded-the blackstone fortresses and more- we have a chance to deal definitevely against the forces of Chaos!"
Many more now shouted their agreement, though some were aprehensive of the usage of necron armaments.
"You know, this whole stuff of daemons and magic is almost incredible," whispered the officer who had bellowed "silence you maggots!".
"Haven't you seen them with your own eyes?" Irythil was about to roll his own eyes at such stupidity.
"Yeah, and I believe it now, figure my face when I discover "gods" and "magic" are real-and by and large bad."
"Will you shut up legate? The emperor is speaking!" Admonished in hushes one of his soldiers.
The "legate" excused himself just as they had missed the most exhilarating part of the speech that had left everyone in an uproar.
Next followed an Eldarin Woman, with lithe fair skin and complexion, hazel eyes and chestnut hair, clad in the livery of Biel-Tann's Autarchs and bearing the same dour and borderline zealous facial expression that characterized them.
" I Lugael-"
It went on for quite a while. And it could be surmissed all as: now we are buddies with mankind, suck it up both parties, and let's help each other.
On the other hand he didn't mind fellows like Legate Nigel Udina. Maybe they weren't that bad.
==================
"Uff, that felt tiring," commented the Emperor as he rubbed his temples. "Influencing so many people to be more receptive to one's ideas is tougher with you guys."
"You want to make sure we don't backstab you? Do the effort," deadpanned High-Autarch Lugael of Biel-Tann.
"I know, I know."
And I prefer a bit of a head-ache now rather than having you be a massive thorn stuck up on my side.
- Location
- new york
Continue this story or I will hate you 
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Now I'll totally abandon it MUAHAHAHAAH!!!
TortugaGreen
Constantly out of the loop
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It seemed like there were things at the end of these quotes that got cut off.
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Oh crud, not again.
- Location
- Asia
So I am guessing the three variants were - Primarchs, Space Marines and Solar Auxilia ?
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
Nope, the three variants were Custodes, Thunder Warriors and Solar Auxilia.
- Location
- Asia
Ah, that makes sense. I wasn't sure if there was a time skip or not. Wonder how the Custodes and Thunder Warriors see each other..
Also I enjoyed it very much and hope you will continue this.
LordKragan
The one and only lord of muttonchops
- Location
- Spain, Barcelona, bar du madam celona
I'll once I sort out a couple of loose ends on a certain... deal of mine.
Vaalintine
Wild Wondorous Wolfalope
My guess is that he used future knowledge of the primarchs to upgrade the Thunder Warriors, while fixing their flaws. And mixing in anti-chaos stuff as well.
- Location
- Earth
I like it. Needs threadmarks though.