Avangelion
Princess Astra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Lmao the duckling horde will grow- maybe get some other ducks to help herd the lmao, or however the analogy goes
I bet Seven-Six'll end up going with them before they leave the planet XD
Morningstars [Warhammer 40k] [Overpowered OC Fixes/Causes Problems] [Primarchs Involved]
- Thread starter dragonsaffron
- Start date
- Sci-Fi Action
I bet Seven-Six'll end up going with them before they leave the planet XD
Baron Ouroboros
Emerald Leaves and Crimson Petals
- Location
- Vancouver
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I like this story! Looking forward to see what's next. Ksaiwon's got a long journey ahead of them.
Antilia 1
New
- Pronouns
- She/They
Amphis frowned, a slight twitch of the eyebrows. "An… election?"
"You do know what that is, don't you?" Ksaiwon replied.
"I have heard of the concept," Amphis said carefully. "I'm not sure that many of your soldiers will have."
"To be expected, I suppose. You'll just have to introduce the idea to them. Think of it, like… like a group appointment. Instead of having one person appoint the commanding officers, everyone appoints the officers, and whoever gets appointed the most, gets the job."
The creases on Amphis's forehead deepened ever so slightly. "I still do not think it will work," he said. "It is not how things have ever been done. They will not have faith in the process."
"They have faith in me, don't they? And I'm telling them to do it this way."
Amphis remained visibly skeptical. Ksaiwon sighed, finally standing up from their desk, pressing the button to save the diagram currently on their sketch-slate before turning to face him directly.
"I just don't know enough about the 20th to do this the normal way. Each cohort needs a captain; 1st is easy, they're your daemonkin, so you lead them. But the other three? I don't have the necessary experience to pick out the individual with the most potential, and we can't afford to go tens of days without having any actual officers. The captains can pick out lieutenants, and the squads already have their champions, but the captaincies need filling, and this is the best way I can think of to fill it. The troops know each other, so the troops get to pick."
For a minute, Ksaiwon seriously thought that this was going to be the breaking point, the moment where they'd gone too far and the 20th could comply no longer. They'd already rewritten the entire force chart, molding an Astartes battle-host into something resembling a skitarii macroclade, not to mention all the time spent intervening to make it clear that abusive behavior towards the human support staff was not to be accepted. But democracy? That was clearly a bridge too far.
And then Amphis nodded. "Very well. I shall do my best to explain the concept to them."
"Thank you," Ksaiwon said, almost deflating with relief. "I'm glad you've decided to trust me on this."
"If I did not trust you, you would be alone with your dragon in the middle of a field, and I would be halfway to Sicarius on a stolen warship." Amphis turned around, walking calmly towards the entrance of the tent.
"And make sure they understand that the humans get a vote, too. Your opinion doesn't count for extra because of how many organs you have."
Amphis didn't stop to listen, or even slow down, but the pensive grunt told Ksaiwon that he'd understood the order. Once again, and for only a few minutes, Ksaiwon was blissfully alone. They collapsed into their chair and gazed down at the sketch-slate. The design was for a new sort of mechatendril, both stronger and more agile than the typical models: even as Ksaiwon picked up their stylus once again, they could tell it wasn't going to be an easy blueprint to work out.
Commanding a force wasn't an easy job. Not if that force was an entire planetary army, not if it was a macroclade, not if it was a single infantry squad. But it was a job that Ksaiwon had been literally built to do, and one they had been doing since the age of fourteen, and so the role was one into which they could always slide with remarkable ease. However, when Ksaiwon had finally given in, accepted their apparent destiny and taken command of the 20th, they had failed to realize the existence of all of the extra challenges that would come with the position. They weren't sure which was harder: learning to cope with an army of a different species, or having to deal with the logistical challenges of total isolation.
Skitarii were precise, by their nature, data-driven and numerical. If Ksaiwon asked a skitarius a question, they would get a response promptly and with error bars. Astartes, on the other hand, seemed to see the world like some sort of grand poem, every word weighed down with inscrutable meaning. The deep religiosity of the 20th only worsened the trouble. Half the time when Ksaiwon needed to understand the structure of something, or learn some piece of information about the Host's capabilities, they would get an answer that sounded like a fucking riddle.
Which made it much more difficult to cope with the second problem, that being that the 20th Host was entirely unmoored from any kind of support structure. The crashed food transport was a miracle, but one that only delayed the problem. So long as they stayed put, food was not a limited resource. Ammunition and repairs remained in finite supply, and as soon as they started moving, they'd have about ten days before the Astartes began to starve. Ksaiwon didn't want to know what would happen then. So, with reliable resupply off the table, there were three options remaining: unreliable sources of resupply, somehow making a reliable source from scratch, or massively extending the Host's mobile storage capacity. It was a calculus that Ksaiwon desperately needed to resolve if they wanted to get this whole organization off the ground.
And that was why Ksaiwon so much preferred to work on their technical knowledge. Machines were like puzzles: not the kind of puzzle that could kill if one made a mistake, but the easy kind, the kind that Mother had used to test Ksaiwon's mental development. Setting a goal, then figuring out how to accomplish that goal using the fewest number of parts made from the most widely-available materials. It was soothing and easy. It did not matter if the newest ion gun design could not actually be constructed without a manufactory complex and a stockpile of exotic metals, the elegance alone of the design was—
Ksaiwon was jolted out of their own thoughts by the sound of shouting and screaming. It was distant, muffled, perhaps quiet enough that someone with human-level hearing could have ignored it. But Ksaiwon was more acute than that. They grabbed Claw as they went, then broke into a sprint. It took fourteen seconds from when Ksaiwon heard the sound to when they arrived at its source.
A squad of marines stood in the midst of a crowd of human followers. Ksaiwon vaguely recognized them as members of the 4th cohort, the veterans, best of the best. They stood in a V-formation, brandishing combi-bolters, chainswords, and plasma pistols at the rapidly-scattering mass of humans. One, marked by his sigil-painted armor as the squad champion, had grabbed a human by the skull, and was in the process of crushing him to death with his bare hands.
Ksaiwon slowed as they took this all in, but did not stop. A man's life was on the line, and just because the perpetrator was a subordinate did not mean Ksaiwon would go easy. The first thing they noticed was that he wasn't wearing his helmet: that would make it easier.
Ksaiwon re-accelerated, faster than any human sprint but slow enough to be controlled. The height advantage had to be overcome, which Ksaiwon did with a single step, using the knee joint of the power armor as a platform to bring themself up and over. One arm latched onto the back of the marine's shoulder before he even had the chance to react to the new weight, giving leverage as Ksaiwon went up, much too high, then pulled back down with all their might. The other arm bent, sending the spike of the elbow directly down onto the crown of the space marine's skull.
Ksaiwon's elbow impacted onto the ceramic-enhanced, ultra-thickened bone with the force of a pneumatic hammer, enough force to turn a human skull into pulp. The marine flinched just long enough for Ksaiwon to strike again, properly stunning him. The marine fell onto his knees and Ksaiwon went with him, pausing just for an instant to ensure that the cultist was, indeed, escaping unharmed.
The marine tried a counterattack, throwing his elbow into where Ksaiwon's face would have been, had they not already been somewhere else. That somewhere was on the ground, hands pressed into the dry soil as both legs kicked out, not to strike, but to grab. Ksaiwon's strength was great, but not unlimited: against larger opponents, they had always been trained to make use of the legs to maintain control. Titanite shins wrapped safely around the space marine's midsection, and the entirety of Ksaiwon's body, from thigh to hip to midsection to shoulder, powered a one-hundred-eighty degree throw, sending the Astartes from kneeling position to the ground.
Ksaiwon rose, standing atop the space marine's chest with Claw pointed at his head while an auspex scan checked for anybody who'd decided to come to his aid. The entire fight had taken about two seconds: the other marines were just realizing who it was that had shown up, combat instincts fading away to be replaced by deference.
Ksaiwon had control of the situation. "Violence against human support staff is unacceptable. That is the rule."
"They cheated," said the space marine. He sounded, at most, vaguely winded from all the violence. "Conspiracy and subterfuge."
It took a moment for Ksaiwon to realize what he was talking about. Claw shifted to the side. "The election?"
"Yes, host-lord."
Ksaiwon grimaced. "Don't call me that. 'Commander' is fine enough. And if you wished to report electoral interference, you should have come to me."
Ksaiwon stepped off of the champion's chest, taking a proper look around. It didn't look as though anybody had been seriously injured, and the others present confirmed that to be the case when asked. Good.
"Now then. Your name?"
"Uktanu Majagar," he said, finally realizing that he had permission to stand.
"Uktanu, what precisely happened?"
"The humans conspired amongst each other, in secret, without the knowledge of my brothers. When the time came to vote, they did so as one, electing one of their own to the Captaincy!"
Ksaiwon paused, breathless, heart racing. Then they laughed, a single quick bark at the absurdity of the situation. "Champion Uktanu, what you describe is referred to as 'campaigning' and I assure you it is a fully allowed and expected part of the process. I did, after all, say that the humans were to be allowed to vote as well, did I not?"
Several of the Astartes nodded in acknowledgment.
"So, who was it? Who'd they all vote for?"
There was another long pause. Everyone acted as though someone else had agreed to say it beforehand. Finally, one of the humans spoke up quietly.
"Titaneira's not here," she said. "As soon as she realized she'd pulled it off, she just ran. I don't think she's anywhere in the camp any more."
Ksaiwon sighed. "Very well then. In absentia, I must declare her officially to be Captain Titaneira of the 4th cohort. Anyone who does violence against her will be treated as if they had done violence against me. Should any of you happen to speak to her, tell her that I'd like to see her in my personal quarters."
They paused, looking around at the situation. The matter of Captain Titaneira was not the only one that needed resolution: eight Astartes had raised arms against their inferiors, and although nobody had been hurt, that kind of violence still needed correction. Ksaiwon had a punishment in mind.
"As for Uktanu and your squad, and anybody else who was engaged in this barbarity, the sentence is as follows: one hundred days of total disarmament. You will lay down your bolters, your blades, your knives, any implement of violence whatsoever, and may not pick them up for two thousand four hundred standard hours. You will not train; your days will instead be spent on cooking, repairing armor, carrying heavy loads, and other tasks traditionally performed by humans. If we fall under attack during that time period, you shall defend yourselves with bare or gauntleted hand, or not at all. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Commander!" eight deep voices said as one.
"Excellent. I'll be in my quarters if anybody needs me."
Ksaiwon returned to their deign work. Over the remainder of the afternoon, the result of the other two elections came in. To Ksaiwon's total lack of surprise, Ishtar had won in the 2nd cohort, and been named Captain Ishtar. The 3rd cohort's Captain was a marine Ksaiwon had never heard of, by the name of Kordant.
Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that, Ksaiwon would meet with all the Captains and continue the organizational project. For that day, their thoughts were divided: one half on the intellectual work of technological design, and one part on what had happened earlier. There was a sick satisfaction in punishment, and in the ability to hand out punishment. Someday, Ksaiwon hoped, this power would no longer lie in their hand alone; there would be systems in check, courts and other things whose names lurked in the murky bedrock of their mind, to keep everything in balance. And always the question: why did they hate space marines so much, that depriving them of arms felt so disgustingly good?
Ksaiwon's sleep that night was unsteady and rocked by strange dreams. They dreamt of the foreign forest, of faces half-remembered and unnamed, of tender physical touch on their bloated, rugose form. And then they awoke, abruptly thrust into the dark and silence of the night.
Even with their eyes closed, Ksaiwon could tell something was off. There was slight movement in the air, the sound of suppressed breathing, as though someone with a good deal of experience in it was trying very hard to be stealthy. Also, there was a bit of cold metal on their throat which felt quite a bit like the sharp edge of a knife being pressed directly against the carotid artery. An auspex pulse confirmed this: someone had snuck into Ksaiwon's chamber and was holding a knife to their throat.
Several plans of action flashed through Ksaiwon's mind: move quickly and try to disarm the invader before their slower reflexes could catch on. Send Mags a message, telling her to come quickly and start roaring. Use a mechatendril they didn't have to— That last one made no sense and was discarded as a byproduct of the awakening process. But Ksaiwon had a guess about who was holding that knife, and settled on an entirely different type of action. Instead, they opened their eyes.
"Captain Titaneira, I presume? You know, it is considered very bad manners for a high-ranking officer such as yourself to hold her superior at knife point. I invited you in, after all."
"You do know what that is, don't you?" Ksaiwon replied.
"I have heard of the concept," Amphis said carefully. "I'm not sure that many of your soldiers will have."
"To be expected, I suppose. You'll just have to introduce the idea to them. Think of it, like… like a group appointment. Instead of having one person appoint the commanding officers, everyone appoints the officers, and whoever gets appointed the most, gets the job."
The creases on Amphis's forehead deepened ever so slightly. "I still do not think it will work," he said. "It is not how things have ever been done. They will not have faith in the process."
"They have faith in me, don't they? And I'm telling them to do it this way."
Amphis remained visibly skeptical. Ksaiwon sighed, finally standing up from their desk, pressing the button to save the diagram currently on their sketch-slate before turning to face him directly.
"I just don't know enough about the 20th to do this the normal way. Each cohort needs a captain; 1st is easy, they're your daemonkin, so you lead them. But the other three? I don't have the necessary experience to pick out the individual with the most potential, and we can't afford to go tens of days without having any actual officers. The captains can pick out lieutenants, and the squads already have their champions, but the captaincies need filling, and this is the best way I can think of to fill it. The troops know each other, so the troops get to pick."
For a minute, Ksaiwon seriously thought that this was going to be the breaking point, the moment where they'd gone too far and the 20th could comply no longer. They'd already rewritten the entire force chart, molding an Astartes battle-host into something resembling a skitarii macroclade, not to mention all the time spent intervening to make it clear that abusive behavior towards the human support staff was not to be accepted. But democracy? That was clearly a bridge too far.
And then Amphis nodded. "Very well. I shall do my best to explain the concept to them."
"Thank you," Ksaiwon said, almost deflating with relief. "I'm glad you've decided to trust me on this."
"If I did not trust you, you would be alone with your dragon in the middle of a field, and I would be halfway to Sicarius on a stolen warship." Amphis turned around, walking calmly towards the entrance of the tent.
"And make sure they understand that the humans get a vote, too. Your opinion doesn't count for extra because of how many organs you have."
Amphis didn't stop to listen, or even slow down, but the pensive grunt told Ksaiwon that he'd understood the order. Once again, and for only a few minutes, Ksaiwon was blissfully alone. They collapsed into their chair and gazed down at the sketch-slate. The design was for a new sort of mechatendril, both stronger and more agile than the typical models: even as Ksaiwon picked up their stylus once again, they could tell it wasn't going to be an easy blueprint to work out.
Commanding a force wasn't an easy job. Not if that force was an entire planetary army, not if it was a macroclade, not if it was a single infantry squad. But it was a job that Ksaiwon had been literally built to do, and one they had been doing since the age of fourteen, and so the role was one into which they could always slide with remarkable ease. However, when Ksaiwon had finally given in, accepted their apparent destiny and taken command of the 20th, they had failed to realize the existence of all of the extra challenges that would come with the position. They weren't sure which was harder: learning to cope with an army of a different species, or having to deal with the logistical challenges of total isolation.
Skitarii were precise, by their nature, data-driven and numerical. If Ksaiwon asked a skitarius a question, they would get a response promptly and with error bars. Astartes, on the other hand, seemed to see the world like some sort of grand poem, every word weighed down with inscrutable meaning. The deep religiosity of the 20th only worsened the trouble. Half the time when Ksaiwon needed to understand the structure of something, or learn some piece of information about the Host's capabilities, they would get an answer that sounded like a fucking riddle.
Which made it much more difficult to cope with the second problem, that being that the 20th Host was entirely unmoored from any kind of support structure. The crashed food transport was a miracle, but one that only delayed the problem. So long as they stayed put, food was not a limited resource. Ammunition and repairs remained in finite supply, and as soon as they started moving, they'd have about ten days before the Astartes began to starve. Ksaiwon didn't want to know what would happen then. So, with reliable resupply off the table, there were three options remaining: unreliable sources of resupply, somehow making a reliable source from scratch, or massively extending the Host's mobile storage capacity. It was a calculus that Ksaiwon desperately needed to resolve if they wanted to get this whole organization off the ground.
And that was why Ksaiwon so much preferred to work on their technical knowledge. Machines were like puzzles: not the kind of puzzle that could kill if one made a mistake, but the easy kind, the kind that Mother had used to test Ksaiwon's mental development. Setting a goal, then figuring out how to accomplish that goal using the fewest number of parts made from the most widely-available materials. It was soothing and easy. It did not matter if the newest ion gun design could not actually be constructed without a manufactory complex and a stockpile of exotic metals, the elegance alone of the design was—
Ksaiwon was jolted out of their own thoughts by the sound of shouting and screaming. It was distant, muffled, perhaps quiet enough that someone with human-level hearing could have ignored it. But Ksaiwon was more acute than that. They grabbed Claw as they went, then broke into a sprint. It took fourteen seconds from when Ksaiwon heard the sound to when they arrived at its source.
A squad of marines stood in the midst of a crowd of human followers. Ksaiwon vaguely recognized them as members of the 4th cohort, the veterans, best of the best. They stood in a V-formation, brandishing combi-bolters, chainswords, and plasma pistols at the rapidly-scattering mass of humans. One, marked by his sigil-painted armor as the squad champion, had grabbed a human by the skull, and was in the process of crushing him to death with his bare hands.
Ksaiwon slowed as they took this all in, but did not stop. A man's life was on the line, and just because the perpetrator was a subordinate did not mean Ksaiwon would go easy. The first thing they noticed was that he wasn't wearing his helmet: that would make it easier.
Ksaiwon re-accelerated, faster than any human sprint but slow enough to be controlled. The height advantage had to be overcome, which Ksaiwon did with a single step, using the knee joint of the power armor as a platform to bring themself up and over. One arm latched onto the back of the marine's shoulder before he even had the chance to react to the new weight, giving leverage as Ksaiwon went up, much too high, then pulled back down with all their might. The other arm bent, sending the spike of the elbow directly down onto the crown of the space marine's skull.
Ksaiwon's elbow impacted onto the ceramic-enhanced, ultra-thickened bone with the force of a pneumatic hammer, enough force to turn a human skull into pulp. The marine flinched just long enough for Ksaiwon to strike again, properly stunning him. The marine fell onto his knees and Ksaiwon went with him, pausing just for an instant to ensure that the cultist was, indeed, escaping unharmed.
The marine tried a counterattack, throwing his elbow into where Ksaiwon's face would have been, had they not already been somewhere else. That somewhere was on the ground, hands pressed into the dry soil as both legs kicked out, not to strike, but to grab. Ksaiwon's strength was great, but not unlimited: against larger opponents, they had always been trained to make use of the legs to maintain control. Titanite shins wrapped safely around the space marine's midsection, and the entirety of Ksaiwon's body, from thigh to hip to midsection to shoulder, powered a one-hundred-eighty degree throw, sending the Astartes from kneeling position to the ground.
Ksaiwon rose, standing atop the space marine's chest with Claw pointed at his head while an auspex scan checked for anybody who'd decided to come to his aid. The entire fight had taken about two seconds: the other marines were just realizing who it was that had shown up, combat instincts fading away to be replaced by deference.
Ksaiwon had control of the situation. "Violence against human support staff is unacceptable. That is the rule."
"They cheated," said the space marine. He sounded, at most, vaguely winded from all the violence. "Conspiracy and subterfuge."
It took a moment for Ksaiwon to realize what he was talking about. Claw shifted to the side. "The election?"
"Yes, host-lord."
Ksaiwon grimaced. "Don't call me that. 'Commander' is fine enough. And if you wished to report electoral interference, you should have come to me."
Ksaiwon stepped off of the champion's chest, taking a proper look around. It didn't look as though anybody had been seriously injured, and the others present confirmed that to be the case when asked. Good.
"Now then. Your name?"
"Uktanu Majagar," he said, finally realizing that he had permission to stand.
"Uktanu, what precisely happened?"
"The humans conspired amongst each other, in secret, without the knowledge of my brothers. When the time came to vote, they did so as one, electing one of their own to the Captaincy!"
Ksaiwon paused, breathless, heart racing. Then they laughed, a single quick bark at the absurdity of the situation. "Champion Uktanu, what you describe is referred to as 'campaigning' and I assure you it is a fully allowed and expected part of the process. I did, after all, say that the humans were to be allowed to vote as well, did I not?"
Several of the Astartes nodded in acknowledgment.
"So, who was it? Who'd they all vote for?"
There was another long pause. Everyone acted as though someone else had agreed to say it beforehand. Finally, one of the humans spoke up quietly.
"Titaneira's not here," she said. "As soon as she realized she'd pulled it off, she just ran. I don't think she's anywhere in the camp any more."
Ksaiwon sighed. "Very well then. In absentia, I must declare her officially to be Captain Titaneira of the 4th cohort. Anyone who does violence against her will be treated as if they had done violence against me. Should any of you happen to speak to her, tell her that I'd like to see her in my personal quarters."
They paused, looking around at the situation. The matter of Captain Titaneira was not the only one that needed resolution: eight Astartes had raised arms against their inferiors, and although nobody had been hurt, that kind of violence still needed correction. Ksaiwon had a punishment in mind.
"As for Uktanu and your squad, and anybody else who was engaged in this barbarity, the sentence is as follows: one hundred days of total disarmament. You will lay down your bolters, your blades, your knives, any implement of violence whatsoever, and may not pick them up for two thousand four hundred standard hours. You will not train; your days will instead be spent on cooking, repairing armor, carrying heavy loads, and other tasks traditionally performed by humans. If we fall under attack during that time period, you shall defend yourselves with bare or gauntleted hand, or not at all. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Commander!" eight deep voices said as one.
"Excellent. I'll be in my quarters if anybody needs me."
Ksaiwon returned to their deign work. Over the remainder of the afternoon, the result of the other two elections came in. To Ksaiwon's total lack of surprise, Ishtar had won in the 2nd cohort, and been named Captain Ishtar. The 3rd cohort's Captain was a marine Ksaiwon had never heard of, by the name of Kordant.
Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that, Ksaiwon would meet with all the Captains and continue the organizational project. For that day, their thoughts were divided: one half on the intellectual work of technological design, and one part on what had happened earlier. There was a sick satisfaction in punishment, and in the ability to hand out punishment. Someday, Ksaiwon hoped, this power would no longer lie in their hand alone; there would be systems in check, courts and other things whose names lurked in the murky bedrock of their mind, to keep everything in balance. And always the question: why did they hate space marines so much, that depriving them of arms felt so disgustingly good?
Ksaiwon's sleep that night was unsteady and rocked by strange dreams. They dreamt of the foreign forest, of faces half-remembered and unnamed, of tender physical touch on their bloated, rugose form. And then they awoke, abruptly thrust into the dark and silence of the night.
Even with their eyes closed, Ksaiwon could tell something was off. There was slight movement in the air, the sound of suppressed breathing, as though someone with a good deal of experience in it was trying very hard to be stealthy. Also, there was a bit of cold metal on their throat which felt quite a bit like the sharp edge of a knife being pressed directly against the carotid artery. An auspex pulse confirmed this: someone had snuck into Ksaiwon's chamber and was holding a knife to their throat.
Several plans of action flashed through Ksaiwon's mind: move quickly and try to disarm the invader before their slower reflexes could catch on. Send Mags a message, telling her to come quickly and start roaring. Use a mechatendril they didn't have to— That last one made no sense and was discarded as a byproduct of the awakening process. But Ksaiwon had a guess about who was holding that knife, and settled on an entirely different type of action. Instead, they opened their eyes.
"Captain Titaneira, I presume? You know, it is considered very bad manners for a high-ranking officer such as yourself to hold her superior at knife point. I invited you in, after all."
Avangelion
Princess Astra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Oooooh, Titaniera OwO
Lots to handle, wonder what they decide on for the food issue XD
Lots to handle, wonder what they decide on for the food issue XD
- Location
- Australia
There's some great stuff in this story but it took a while to get there.
Not gonna lie, reading the first chapter "Prologue one" doesn't feel like a proper first chapter, it imparts backstory for sure but doesn't feel interesting enough to grab enough readers interest especially since the first character turns out to be a nobody traitor leader that we never see again and kind of doesn't have anything to do with the main character apart from where his genetic template came from.
As for potential fixes I'm not sure maybe a proper chapter 1 of Ksaiwon doing cool shit in the future in a cool location with a possible voice in his head(or memories of one) would lead into prologue one? Maybe him standing on top of a dinosaur in front of a bunch of kneeling Astartes with a generic thought "how did this happen to me?"
Looking forward to more to come
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