The Lost Primarch Quest

[SouvikKundu]

Ruoult History Part Nine: Age of War Ends
​

Even leaderless, the Ork WAAAGH! continued forward, sweeping away entire worlds in their wake. The various Ork Chieftains had decided that each shall try to do as much damage as possible and they stayed out of each other's way. For each planet that belonged to the Empire, there were at least three Ork warbands, prepared to rampage across Ruoult territory and kill all they find. Hundreds of planets, thousands of battles, countless warriors, this is all that the Ruoult Empire lost in this gruesome war. For the next 1000 years, this war on every front continued. Entire libraries were filled with all the heroic deeds and notable events that transpired in this era of destruction, but none were as worthy of mention as when the Orks assaulted the heart of the Empire, the planet Muliv.

In M28, the Ork Warboss Zagtrakk Da Red had rallied several smaller warbands to him and decided to attack the single most well-defended world in the entire Empire. Empress Out'Rargth could only watch as her Empire crumbled around her, but she did not surrender, nor did she waver. She decided that she shall lead her people from the front lines, and ensure victory for the Empire. Out'Rargth would go forth to meet her enemy, while an army of one billion Clanguards marched beside him. The Ruoult fleets of 300,000 ships tried to stave off the Ork fleet that numbered in nearly twice that much. The battle in the sky raged on, but some Rokks managed to drop into the atmosphere and crashed on top of the Celestial Cities, breaching their shields, and unleashing millions of Orks into the holy capital of the Ruoults.

Across the planet, black fumes arose, cities were burning, wreckages of Ork Trukks and Ruoult Centruroids littered the battlefields and corpses were piling up on both sides. Not one would give up, not one would waver, all would fight bitterly to their very last breath. Meanwhile, beyond the skies, the fleets were hammering at each other. The natural asteroid belt of Muliv proved as an excellent battlefield for the Ruoult ships to outmaneuver the lumbering and cumbersome Ork vessels. Wrecks were polluting the space around the planet and some would even descend into the atmosphere, crashing into the warzone, bringing death from above to countless souls. However, those Orks that crash-landed on the surface of Muliv would find the raging storms and vicious monsters far more frightening than any Ruoult they had ever faced and it would only be a matter of time before they were hunted down by the very planet they wanted to destroy.

Decades have passed since the First Siege of Muliv started. Over time, both sides would have received more reinforcements, to be sent out to die in that meat grinder of a conflict. What seemed to be the remaining Ork forces on the ground had regrouped a few miles from the Empirical Royal Palace and it looked as if they were going to try one last desperate assault. Out'Rargth and her personal Royal Guard had spearheaded the advance, in an attempt to slay Warboss Zagtrakk and lift the siege. But once Out'Rargth attacked the Orks and fought them in the streets of the Celestial Cities, she and her Guard were ambushed by Orks that crawled out from the sewers. Among these assailants were Zagtrakk himself and he engaged the Ruoult Empress in one-on-one combat. In the end, Out'Rargth sliced the Ork's right arm with her shining blade. Zagtrakk screamed in agony as blood poured out from the hole where there was once a limb. He fell back to the shadows of the streets and escaped in the sewers, while many of his Boyz followed. This was a victory, but Out'Rargth was wounded, and she collapsed to the ground. Her Royal Guard took her unconscious body and fell back to the Royal Palace, where they would tend to her injuries, while the rest of the Clanguards tried to follow the fleeing Greenskins.

Only a few days later, Zagtrakk Da Red returned, with a Power Klaw to compensate for his wound, and with him, he brought every single Ork on the planet. The Empirical Royal Palace was besieged and the Royal Guards, as well as the remainder of Ruoult forces, rallied to its gates, to defend their sacred ground, and with it the still wounded Empress at all costs. The battle that ensued was bloody and merciless, as chaos and pure hatred between the two races erupted like wildfire. Zagtrakk wanted to breach the gates and finish of Empress Out'Rargth, but in his way stood the Overlord of the Gaan'Lak Clan, Zen'Shriel, who was also a close friend and loyal servant of the Sixth Ruoult Empress.

Their duel was legendary, of which many heroic deeds were inspired and bloodstained legends were made. Zen'Shriel attempted to stab the Ork's heart with her spear, but Zagtrakk picked her up with his Power Klaw and chuckled as the Ruoult Overlord could not break loose. Zagtrakk brought the Ruoult closer to his ugly face, to see if there was any fear in Zen'Shriel's eyes, but all he saw was pure hate. In a moment, Zen'Shriel launched herself forward and sunk her teeth into the Ork's bare skull. Zagtrakk tried to pull the mad Ruoult away, but the Ruoult's teeth bore too deep. With a single strong pull, Zen'Shriel tore a chunk of the Ork's face clean off, and Warboss Zagtrakk Da Red died right there. With a bloodcurdling roar, Overlord Zen'Shriel signaled the death of the Ork leader, which inspired the Clanguards to fight on. The massacre that ensued had finalized the siege of Muliv, and every last Ork was hunted down and killed, thus the Ruoult's victory was assured.

 

[jjffjhjf]

A Day in the Life of a Totally Normal Eternal Warden
​

Huron was a perfectly normal member of the Eternal Wardens Legion. He walked through the halls of the sh, still pondering over how he felt about the new training simulations being run throughout the Legion. The Captains all being put into impossible scenarios and forced to deal with them. None had so far succeeded. Well, other than Oriacarius, but he didn't really count, outlier that he is. The man had a plan for everything! Including somehow a snowball fight started by their Primarch, who even thinks of that?

Younger Astartes walked past him, Neophytes still learning to control their new bodies, as he headed to talk to Scafrir. This project their father had sent them on was one that was... well... odd. Being sent to make peace with Xenos instead of kill them? It went against the entire purpose of their existence. Yet, it was what their Lord desired of them, and so it was what they would do.

Ducking under the hatchway to the entrance of the Scout training facility, which was clearly not built for an Astartes in their full wargear to enter, Huron looked around for the master Scout trainer. Seeing nothing at first, he immediately turned and looked behind himself, fully expecting to see Scafrir behind him somehow, the man was the best stealth expert in the Legion. Still though, he saw no one but the Neophytes moving between training rooms. So he turned back to look at the room.

Right in front of him, with a self-satisfied grin on his face, was Scafrir. "Do you always have to be exactly where no one expects you to be, whenever someone comes looking for you? You act like you want to be in the Alpha Legion, brother."

Answering with a roll of his eyes, Scafrir just scoffs at the idea, "As if they are the only ones who can be stealthy. If nothing else you should take is as incentive to train harder at situational awareness, what if I was a warp xenos? How would you survive? As I've tried to teach all those Neophytes who come through these halls, knowledge is power, and knowledge of the enemies location is one of the most powerful pieces of knowledge of them all." He finishes with a poke to Huron's chest. "Now, I'm sure you didn't come to speak with me about my predilection for turning every meeting into a lesson on situational awareness brother, what brings you here?"

Dour now at the reminder of his goal, Huron responds softly, "I worry Scout-Captain, we are tasked with meeting a Xenos polity, and establishing peace with them. I don't think this is something that has been done since the Great Crusade started. Can we really trust these Xenos? Especially without our full might here to keep them honest? We've only brought 13,000 of our brothers here. While I'm confident in our skills, it doesn't seem like nearly enough to stop this race if they prove hostile."

Only a small frown comes to Scafrir's face at this questioning of the mission their Lord gave them, "I understand your concerns brother, but these Ruoult seem to hate the warp xenos as much as we do. They have saved many human lives in the process of fighting those who have been Lost to the warp. Our cousins in the XIIIth managed to keep peaceful talks with them for awhile, before their less disciplined members caused an issue. This is a dangerous mission Huron, I will not deny that, but it is one that can save many lives in the short term if it goes well, and significantly more in the long term, as they help us clear out dangerous worlds."

Mighty brows on Huron's face come together at this, "I understand what you say Scout-Captain, but trusting a Xenos race? Working with one? It makes my skin crawl and my trigger finger itch."

In the training room, the two are alone, something Scafrir verifies with a quick look around before responding, "I share your feelings brother, but this is a task that our Lord has given us. I will not disappoint our father. If he thinks bringing peace between the Imperium and these Xenos will be better for all mankind than simply getting rid of them, and removing the risk of their existence from the galaxy? Then I will trust that he has weighed the pros and cons far better than I ever could, and so I will do my best to see this mission through. We will have peace between the Ruoult and the Imperium brother, anything else would be failing in our duty, and so is unthinkable."

Now that its been presented as a matter of duty, Huron's face clears. "You are right of course, Scout-Captain. It is not for us to question the will of the Primarch, but to do our best to fulfill his wishes. If he wants us to find some means by which we can bring peace between the Imperium and this Xenos race, I will hold back my hatred for the Xenos, and hopefully, learn that I was wrong to hate them, as our cooperation leads to more humans thriving than could be possible without them. If nothing else, it will be good to have a year with little risk of casualties among our legion. We can definitely make use of the time to rebuild."

An easy smile comes across Scafrir's face now, "Exactly brother. Do not always seek war, even against the Xenos. Every world brought peacefully to serve the Imperium, is a world that our brothers and our auxiliaries need not die on. If we could bring humanity to safety in this galaxy without having to fight a single new battle, I would happily do so. Sadly, that is not possible. So save your rage for those more deserving of it, there are plenty of Orks out there for us to kill I'm sure. The things breed like nothing else in the galaxy."

Taking a moment to consider the idea of peace, Huron finds himself frowning, "If we ever do bring peace to the galaxy, what purpose would we then have? We were built for war, were we not? Once every war has been won, what other task could we be given?"

Understanding fills Scafrir's mind, for this was something he'd wrestled with as well. However, he'd come up with an answer. "Ha! Huron, you were not the first to consider such a thing, and I have a simple question in response. Why stop at just the galaxy?"

Slowly comprehension comes to Huron, "Ha! But of course! There is far more to be faced beyond the galaxy, and just keeping the peace across such distances will surely require our skills. You are wise indeed Scout-Captain Scafrir! I have much to think on, thank you again for your time." he responds. Giving a nod of respect and turning to leave back to his regular quarters. He had many brothers to talk to, spreading these thoughts and ideas to those like him who had questioned.

 

[Kirbstomp]

Our Cousins Did Fall, But We Will Not
​

Across the 11th legion and Kesar's domain, a new tradition was being enacted. Reports were provided, plans drawn up and stories were told, all in the interest of integrating the Primarch's newest custom into the culture of his people. Missives were received by hundreds of thousands, containing their new orders and the words that they would take to heart.


Our Cousins Did Fall, But We Will Not.


In the dimly lit barracks, between deployments, Captain Julian Hectus read his own package. He marvelled at the reports detailing the resources engaged in moving remains and constructing monuments to their cousins long thought lost to time. The time spent locating all their fallen cousins, let along learning their stories must have taken a colossal amount of effort and coordination. His own missive contained the story of a marine, so much like his own. Recruited from a backwater planet that fought for survival, having barely the capacity of a post-agricultural society. He had faced many trials before and after receiving the gene seed that exalted him so highly that he could barely be called human. He had made mistakes. His name was Mathius Arl.

Captain Julian entered the forge closest to his quarters, Forge B3-1, to find it as bustling as expected. Techpriests and Astartes alike were working away at various projects, most huddled over some equipment to execute the Rite of Remembrance. Julian retreated to one of the few stations left unused to fulfil his own duty by engraving the tale he had read, the name we had learned and the decree he would ensure.


Our Cousins Did Fall, But We Will Not.


While the neophytes did rest between gruelling training sessions, their Drill Sargent however would not allow their lessons to cease for a moment. He often dictated to them the histories of their legion, the stories of the fallen and the customs that had resulted from dearly paid experience. The tale of a long deceased Primarch and his sons, he argued, were no less important than the those of their own legion. He recited the story of the 2nd Primarch, the accounts he had already memorised and expected the neophytes to replicate. Of the great heights and devastating lows that he had experienced before his ultimate end. Of the sons that stood with him, and those that stood against. Of the lessons the Drill Sargent intended to engrave into his charge's heads, even physically if he must. The recruits must learn the burden of their duty and the consequences of failure that he would not allow. They were given their orders, the most important before all others. They would never fall.


Our Cousins Did Fall, But We Will Not.


All across Valhalla, immense amounts of resources were transported and consumed in the efforts to revitalise the Primarch's home. Most went to laying down infrastructure and building the factories required to feed the war machine of the growing Imperium, but a small fraction was diverted to cultural efforts. Arguably the grandest of all was a monument, newly constructed in an unassuming corner of the Capital Hive which looked upon the frosty plains of their home world. Many from within the Legion, and from across the Imperium, would make the pilgrimage to bear witness and to remember.

Imposing metal urns stood upon pedestals, numbering in the tens of thousands and arranged as if an army standing at attention. Contained within each urn we the ashes of Astartes that had been retrieved from the far corners of the known galaxy, often from sectors still embroiled in war. Engraved upon each urn was the name of the deceased, the legend they had lived, the lessons they so dearly learned but could only teach in death.

Towards the back of the square lay a wall that wrapped around the urns. It too was made of the ashes of the fallen and engraved with their names in alignment to the formation, mimicking the urns before it. At the very centre of the wall stood engraved the name of the 2nd Primarch, Abel Simeon, and the words of his brother Primarch:

HERE IN THE PRESENCE OF VALHALLA IN THE SEVENTH YEAR SINCE REUNION WITH HUMANITY, WE HONOR THE PRIMARCH AND SONS OF THE SECOND LEGION WHO TOOK UP THE STRUGGLE DURING THE GREAT CRUSADE AND MADE THE SACRIFICES TO PERPETUATE THE GIFT OUR SOVEREIGN ENTRUSTED TO US:

AN IMPERIUM CONCEIVED IN ENLIGHTENMENT AND UNITY.

OUR COUSINS DID FALL, BUT WE WILL NOT.​

---
A/n: My second omake, let me know what you think.

 

[jjffjhjf]

Research on the Machine Spirit​

The Adeptus Mechanicus had been working on something in secret lately. It wasn't something Kesar could really miss, with the way he had been interacting with them lately. All throughout his fleet, he'd seen signs of tests done, work that clearly wasn't purely maintenance. Eventually he'd simply decided to ask flat out what they had been working on. Thankfully, after he'd shared so much tech, the various members of the Mechanicus viewed him quite highly. So while they swore him to secrecy, to keep this knowledge from any unfit to know of it, they told him of the effects his Legion's Rite of Remembrance had on the Machine Spirits. How while it was a minor thing, often something even an Astartes couldn't notice, there was a real and measurable effect as the Machine Spirit become more responsive do to the Rite.

They still didn't know what caused it. Not really, and they were afraid to test it on any truly powerful Machine Spirit, in case it reacted badly, and yet the thought of what it might mean for a more developed Machine Spirit to be more responsive? It was difficult to refrain. Especially since from what those in the Fleet had tested, the larger the Machine Spirit the more of an effect it had, though they weren't entirely certain why.

All this Kesar pondered while going through the diagnostics of his own weapons and armor. He had been the first of his Legion to do what was being called the Rite of Remembrance, so it made sense his armor had been improved as well, and a Primarch's wargear had powerful Machine Spirits indeed. Perhaps it would be prudent to truly test his equipment? To specifically look for differences between its performance now, and before that that terrible day. So he removed all of his wargear, set all of it to its most dormant state, and brought it to his personal training area. Here he methodically went through its Rites of Activation, directly paying attention to how long it took the Machine Spirit to respond at every step, and comparing it to the memories he had of every time he did this before carving the names and stories of his sons into them. No normal human, or even Astartes could possibly have the level of detail in their memories, or even perception for the differences, and yet the differences were there nonetheless. His weapons and armor both seemed just that slightest bit more awake, more aware, quicker to respond.

Now, this had potential. How much further could the Machine Spirits be coaxed? What kind of effect would such a thing have? How could he go about further awakening the Machine Spirits that served his Legion? For to do so would surely be incredibly helpful for keeping his sons alive, and destroying the enemies of Man... and Ruoult as well now he supposed, chuckling at the novel idea. Still though, this new information needed to be tested, verified, understood.

Determined now, to see just what he could do with this, he ordered a hundred different suits of Mark II armor to be brought to his personal workshop. After the Mark IIB production facilities had been brought online, many thousands of suits of armor earmarked for new recruits were now taking up space in the holds, set aside for potential future need. Their armor instead being gifted to them by their more veteran brothers who were switching to the more advanced armor. Here though, was a more immediate use for them, and if they needed to be used at some point in future? Well, time may be short, and if this Rite of Remembrance had a positive impact on their performance, best to get it done now.

Once the armor was brought in, he set to work. The first step was ensuring that he had a good baseline for every individual suit of armor. He tested every aspect of them he could think of, and even contacted the Mechanicus on board for the advice of their most senior armorer. To verify that every conceivable test was run, ensuring he had plenty of data to use for comparison. This process took days. Kesar refused to leave anything to chance or guesswork. Only after he had full data for every component of every suit of armor was he satisfied.

Now he could begin the actual experiments. He started with a single name, etched at a size of a single millimeter per letter, directly on the breastplate. Then checked for any changes in the machine spirit. Nothing. So he tried the same thing on 9 more suits of armor. No response. Or at least, none that even his most advanced diagnostic tools or sensors could notice. Nodding he carried on, adding a single name at a time. All around the same location. Checking across 10 different suits of armor to see if any difference showed up between them. Eventually at a thousand names he started to notice a response. Ever so faint at first, but yet there. Noticeable, document-able. Here was the beginning of the change. Now he just had to figure out why. Was it the thousand names? The location? The surface area covered? The orientation of the names? He refused to assume he knew precisely what caused this effect, because he had not initially thought it would have any effect at all. Kesar kept working through, trying various different ways of etching the names, even varying etching tools, always ensuring there was but a single variable he could control between his different tests. Eventually though, he realized he was missing something, something potentially important.

So he called up the Thousand Sons, still traveling with him. Nephews that had done their duty well in the years they had been assigned to help him. He asked their leader for their most sensitive Technomancers, determined to check all possible sources of this effect. They were happy to comply, sharing in their Father's interest in research, and happy to work with one of their Father's most respected Brothers. Nerso Abraxes was the senior Technopath assigned to help the XIth Legion, and upon joining Kesar in his workshop, and being informed of exactly what was being tested, he found himself honored, and very intrigued. This had the potential to be incredibly useful across the Imperium, though perhaps especially so for his own Legion, at least if Kesar's suspicions were correct, and there was some aspect of the warp effecting the results.

So Kesar started again, with but a single rune at a time, across 10 different sets of armor. And this time, there were results right away. Nerso Abraxes, son of Magnus, is an incredibly powerful and sensitive psyker. Here that sensitivity was of far greater importance. For as the first name was etched onto the first suit of armor for this test, he could perceive a small change in the warp, centered around that name, and the Machine Spirit of the armor. This first time, could have been anything, the Warp is a chaotic place, but with each new suit of armor being etched with a name, the same slight ripple occurred, as the Machine Spirit responded to the name, in the most insignificant of ways, but to a psyker as skilled as Abraxes? Sufficient to be noticeable. Once this first batch of 10 all had their first name, and each had reacted in the same way, Abraxes informed Kesar of his findings, and to this Kesar was quite excited, excitement shared by Abraxes himself. This was new knowledge, pertaining to the Warp, and likely to help his own Legion. So he was quite happy to continue this project. Kesar lead additional testing, repeating his initial experiment, but this time having a psyker to notice as each name caused some small effect. Nothing that seemed to change the operation of the armor, not until that thousandth name. At that point, the small ripple in the warp Abraxes had noticed from each individual name seemed to occur again all at once, condensing around the small ember in the Warp that was the Machine Spirit, causing a qualitative change. It was now brighter, barely noticeable but there. This then, seemed to be the source of the change in the Machine Spirit, the confluence of warp ripples strengthened the Machine Spirit, woke it up perhaps? More testing would need to be done. What things might effect the ripples, or their strengthening of the Machine Spirit, or even the effects this strengthening had. But it was a start, and who knew what kind of potential this knowledge had? But both Kesar Dorlin and Nerso Abraxes were determined to find out.

 

[SouvikKundu]

Ruoult History Part Ten: Age of Sorrow
​

Before the Fall, during humanity's Dark Age of Technology, the Eldar had an immense galaxy-spanning empire comprising thousands of worlds. The Eldar lived in relative peace -- barbarian races such as the Orks were kept at easily manageable numbers and never had the strength to threaten the might of the Eldar Empire. Life on the Eldar worlds was idyllic, with fantastically sophisticated machines that took care of all the labor and manufacturing required to keep an advanced society functioning, leaving the Eldar free to indulge in other, more aesthetic pursuits. They began to explore more deeply the arts of pleasure, delving ever deeper into hedonism. This descent into decadence spanned millennia.

Among the pleasure-seekers and the interminably curious of the Eldar were those whose pursuit of excess became ever more extreme. These included a great proportion of the aristocracy of ancient Eldar society, who possessed the wealth and time to truly explore the meanings of decadence. One by one, the leaders of the Pleasure Cults that were becoming the centrepiece of Eldar society became obsessed with their own power. They relocated their headquarters to the Labyrinthine Dimension known as the Eldar Webway, for so great was their political influence that they could command the construction of entire extradimensional sub-realms just for themselves.

This process lasted for thousands of standard years, as depravity riddled every aspect of Eldar society, the Pleasure Cults sought ever more violent thrills. Before long the streets of Eldar cities ran with their blood. The elegant architecture of their palaces became battlegrounds as the Eldar preyed upon each other, reveling in the cruelest of crimes. Their insanity and tainted passions poured into the Warp until it finally achieved critical mass. With an apocalyptic bellow that tore the heart out of the Eldar empire, a new Chaos God was born, Slaanesh the Dark Prince of Excess. An almighty psychic shockwave scythed across the galaxy, destroying countless billions of Eldar souls as Slaanesh's birth cries echoed through the material realm.

The change that was wrought upon those Eldar sealed within the Webway was far subtler. Rather than having their psychic essences, their souls, consumed in one great draught by Slaanesh, their souls slowly drained away into the Warp, taken over time by She Who Thirsts. Where the Eldar of the Craftworlds learned to deny Slaanesh's hold upon them by using the mystical Spirit Stones, the Infinity Circuits and the philosophies of the Eldar Paths to safeguard their souls from consumption by She Who Thirsts, the Eldar of the Webway became exceptionally good at ensuring that other beings suffered in their place. As long as they steeped themselves in the evillest and savagely decadent acts, the Eldar of the Webway found that the curse of Slaanesh upon their race could be avoided. The agony of others nourished their diminished souls and kept them vital and strong, filling their spare frames with unnaturally robust energies. An Eldar Noble named Ucharit was first to discover this fact, and he needed test subjects to support this theory and Ruoults were his first choice as test subjects. He was observing Ruoults for a long time and he was thrilled by their passion, potential, and unbending willpower. To him, they were prized cattle's waiting to be butchered for his benefit and the siege of Muliv finally gave him the opportunity to do just that.

Even though the Ruoults had lifted the siege of Muliv, there were still many Orks left in Ruoult space, but they were not the only threat the Ruoults were facing. Sensing weakness, the Ucharit, and his Armada had gathered and started raiding weakened worlds within the Empire, pillaging and enslaving anything they find. There were very few worlds within the Ruoult Empire left to stand up to this threat. Usually, the Eldar would start their assaults not long after an Ork horde was defeated. Such attacks were many and sometimes, entire worlds would succumb to these dark piratical marauders. The Ruoults believed that a true warrior must fight his enemies head-on with all his might, but the those Eldar preferred trickery and deceit, skulking in shadows, finding weak points and commencing ambushes. Such tactics were seen as cowardly and dishonorable by all Ruoults and thus they began to hate the Eldar almost instantly.

No world was safe from the Eldar, not even the strongest of footholds or the mightiest of fortresses. Only a few months after the First Siege of Muliv was ruined and the Orks were expunged from the planet, the Ucharit attacked viciously, taking down many outlying defenses and beginning to spread their forces further. It was like this that the Second Siege of Muliv begun. It seemed as if every single outpost, city, and stronghold was assailed by this new enemy. The attackers were in fact from various Pleasure Cults, but they were all coordinated by Archon Ucharit.

To meet this threat, Empress Out'Rargth, followed by Overlord Zen'Shriel had rallied the Clanguards and went to battle once more. Unlike the First Siege, where Orks and Ruoults would meet each other headfirst into bloody combat of attrition, the Second Siege was more of a series of ambushes and guerrilla combats. The Proto Dark Eldar preferred to utilize the compact streets and alleys of the Celestial Cities to their advantage and the Ruoults could only be ever so vigilant to where to step. Out'Rargth thought that instead of searching for their enemies, they should make the enemy come to them. She told her warriors to gather everything worth of value and pile them up in fortified positions. The Ruoult Clanguards would form around these "pockets", which would be stationed on strategically valuable positions. Eventually, Ucharit saw no choice but to attack the Ruoults right there. Finally, the Ruoults could fight on their own terms and victory was in their grasp. After seven years of war, Ucharit finally mustered enough forces to attack the Empirical Royal Palace, but the Ruoults were ready. The heavy fortifications of the Palace and the numerous warriors that had assembled had weathered the raids and crushed any offensive the Eldar could launch.

Eventually, They saw that they had no other choice but an all-out assault. Seeing this, Out'Rargth decided that she and her Royal Guard shall finish this war themselves. The Archon and his Incubi fought against the Empress and his Retinue, while Overlord Zen'Shriel led the Clanguards in a counter-attack to destroy the remaining invaders. Ucharit and Out'Rargth faced against one another in single combat. The Ruoult Empress was clearly larger and stronger, thus she was physically superior, but the Archon had speed and agility to his side. Ucharit had dodged blow after blow from Out'Rargth's sword. Out'Rargth wanted to land a single decisive blow when suddenly Ucharit grasped a knife and stabbed her neck. The blade was tipped with deadly poison and Out'Rargth collapsed to the ground, struggling to breathe as blood gushed from her throat.

The Royal Guard could not react fast enough and Ucharit had managed to retreat before the mass of Ruoult warriors descended upon his Incubi and furiously butchered them in a blind rage. Overlord Zen'Shriel quickly picked up Out'Rargth's body and entered the inner sanctum of the Palace, with the Empire's best healers desperately trying to save their Empress, while the Royal Guard stood to watch over the Palace entrance. But as much as they tried, the poison was too strong and Out'Rargth had lost too much blood already. On that day, The Sixth Sovereign Empress of the Grand Ruoult Empire died. Overlord Zen'Shriel of the Gaan'Lak Clan had sworn revenge upon Ucharit and his vile kin. It was not long before the very last of the Eldar were expunged from Muliv, but the Archon and the survivors of his Armada managed to escape. Zen'Shriel had then picked up what remained of the Ruoult fleet above Muliv and went in pursuit. Meanwhile, the Royal Augurs tried to contact the Great Spirits once again, to find out who will lead the Ruoults in this great time of need.

As all this transpired, more worlds of the Ruoult Empire would fall silent, either due to Ork warbands or Eldar raids. Many can agree that this was the climax of Nak'Qrakag, the Age of War. The day of Out'Rargth's death would spread both lament and rage to every last Ruoult in the Empire.

 

[SouvikKundu]

Ruoult History Part Eleven: Age of Retribution
​

It took only a few days for the rest of the Ruoult Empire to receive the news of Out'Rargth's death. This had driven the remainder of the Clans to fight on not just for survival, but for retribution. It was the Gaan'Lak Clan, which originates from Muliv, which led the offensive against every last invader who would dare to trespass on Ruoult territory. There were still many smaller Ork WAAAGH!s left and Eldar were starting to appear at an alarming rate. From the several hundred planets the Ruoult Empire used to have, there was but a few left.

Even so, despite the odds, Overlord Zen'Shriel had amassed every last Clan available and began her crusade of vengeance. With bloodthirsty resolve, planet after planet was purged of Greenskins, and every last raider was hunted down ruthlessly. There was no place to run, and no place to hide, because the Ruoults had a greater agenda to fulfill, and they would not be denied. The invaders would have to pay for their crimes in blood, and they would pay it in full.

Zen'Shriel herself tried to pursue the Archon Ucharit and his broken Armada, across Ruoult space. It took her 200 years but finally, She caught up to them near the planet Borg'Krag, and her fleet assaulted the Them with great ferocity. Ruoult Clanguards started to board the Eldar vessels and massacre their misbegotten kind in close combat, where the Ruoults reigned supreme.

Ucharit tried to flee, and his Incubi had followed him, but Zen'Shriel and her Veteran Clanguards caught up to them. The Incubi Retinue was annihilated, while Zen'Shriel dragged Ucharit to his ship. Kicking and screaming, Ucharit tried to plead for mercy, but there was none to be given, and he saw that as every single of his warriors were being put to death.

Once aboard his ship, Zen'Shriel and Ucharit were placed together in a caged arena. Zen'Shriel took off her armor and picked up only her spear to use, while Ucharit was leashed of all his gear as well, except for his Agonizer. Zen'Shriel then officially issued a challenge to Archon Ucharit, and that if she won in this match, then she had her word as a warrior that he would be set free, but this was a battle of life and death. The Ruoult Clanguards watched and cheered as the two leaders fought one another for their very lives. Dust was being picked up, blood was spilled, scars were made and names were earned. But, Zen'Shriel had her revenge. She first sliced Ucharit's legs off, then picked up his body with one arm and tore the Ucharit's heart out with her other. Ucharit could only watch as Ruoult held his very life in her hands. The very last thing he saw was his heart being crushed by Zen'Shriel's bare hands. The Ruoult Overlord had then thrown the Archon's lifeless body to the ground and gave one victorious shout. Her vengeance was now complete, and her warriors cheered, seeing this as a victory.

When Zen'Shriel's fleet returned to Muliv, they went to the Empirical Royal Palace to see Out'Rargth's dead body. There, they saw at the throne room, the carcass of their former Empress sitting, while the undertakers performed the last of their rituals, preparing the body for its final journey. Rows of the Royal Guards had formed in line to greet the Overlord and her warriors. It was then that the Royal Augurs came and brought the word of the Great Spirits. They said that the Spirits themselves had chosen the Overlord Zen'Shriel, to be the Seventh Sovereign Empress of the Grand Ruoult Empire. Zen'Shriel took this as a great honor, and she accepted it fully.

When Zen'Shriel became Empress, her first order was to call for the Overseers and introduce them to this war. When the war started, the Overseers were too weak to help, and if they were involved, then there would be chances that they would become extinct. But at the end of M29, when Zen'Shriel became Empress, they became strong enough to wage this war.

A single messenger was sent, calling for the aid of the Overseers.

The first to respond was Grand Chancellor Mathew of the Ilos Council. He went to Muliv to find the scene of Out'Rargth's death, and all the carnage that ensued not just on Muliv, but in the rest of the Empire as well. He had then sent the full report back to the Overseer Republic. Fortunately, General Alexander, the Commander in Chief of all Overseer forces, had already amassed a fleet of heavy proportions and a sizeable army. He then ordered the Overseer forces to spread out to critical locations within what was left of the Ruoult Empire, while he and his veteran forces went to Muliv.

Once there, they had encountered several fragments of both Ork hordes and Eldar, but they still managed to get to Muliv with sufficient forces to relieve the planet of any fragments of resistance that remained, such as Greenskins in the sewers, or outposts still held by Eldar. General Alexander went to the Empirical Royal Palace, where he met up with Chancellor Mathew and Empress Zen'Shriel, which were discussing the matters at hand. After a tactical meeting, the two races, both Human and Ruoult had decided to bring a swift end to this conflict. This was the climax of the Nak'Qrakag, and from here forth, there would be many glorious victories. From M29, many planets were liberated from attack by the allied forces, and they would later try to retake any worlds lost in past conflicts. For the next thousand years, the Ruoult Empire was gaining momentum, as it swept across its former territories, avenging all the souls beyond count that sacrificed themselves so the Ruoult race could live on through this horrid age.

By M30, the war was over, but it was a Pyrrhic victory at best. In the end, the Ruoult Empire only had eight Clans left, and less than a hundred planets under its reign. The Orks, Eldar and any other invaders that had assaulted the Empire have been driven off, but the Ruoult had discovered a new enemy, one from within. At the end of the conflict, the Fau'Wyk Clan declared themselves a renegade faction and left the Empire. To Ruoults, a race that upholds honor above all else, treason was the highest of sins. Even with all that had befallen the Empire, the Ruoult race had survived, and they managed to live through this terrible era. Zen'Shriel had ordered all hostilities to end and redirected her resources to rebuild the Empire instead, to perhaps one day, bring back the former glory of the Ruoult race.

'Mark my words brethren, one-day things will change. We will take the fight to their land, to their race, to their blood.'--------Empress Zen'Shriel's first declaration

 

[Daemon Hunter]

Alright, you have unlocked your first megastructure project. These are projects that exist in multiple phases, not unlike research, but the difference is that there are different places to take them. The Monument Megastructure has 5 phases: site survey, design phase, foundations, embellishments, and polish.

For the Site Survey, you basically pick an option that you like, and it is planned around and the area is surveyed. For this, you have the following options, plus whatever options you can come up. Anything is allowed. One example would be having a monument battleship, although that would be unexpected.

*Valhalla IV where Kesar killed a Lord of Change
*Valhalla IV where Kesar met the Emperor
*Gehenna Station
*Write-in

Then, you get to the design phase. This is more complicated, with a set of write-ins since that is what I want to do with it. These write-ins cover the following: the size of the monument, the level of detail, what it constitutes, and the lavishness. Basically, write-in a description, and then it will be designed.

*Write-in

Then, you get the foundations phase. In this stage, you get a scale of quality vs time it takes. A perfect foundation would take 50 years, while a crap one would take 1. Unlike other choices, I am not going to say what the time-scale actually effects because I feel like that would be more interesting. Basically write-in a number between 1 and 50 that will determine how long this phase takes.

*Write-in a number between 1 and 50

Then, we get to the embellishments phase. This is basically taking the foundation and adding detail. For this, you get a set of options for who to place on the monument, how detailed you want those stories, and how fancy you want it to be. These add up to a time it takes to finish this stage of the monument. The base timescale for this section is 10 years.

Names:
*Just the Eternal Wardens – x1 to timescale
*All the Legions – x20 to timescale
*Everyone in the Imperium – x1000 to timescale
*Write-in

Detail:
*Name and rank – x0.001 to timescale
*Name, rank, and honors – x0.01 to timescale
*Brief history of service – x0.1 to timescale
*Full Description of service – x1 to timescale
*Full Description with Images – x2 to timescale
*Full Description with artistic depictions such as sculptures – x10 to timescale
*Write-in

Fanciness
*Simplistic – x1 to timescale
*Lavish – x5 to timescale
*Extravagant x10 to timescale
*Write-in

Finally, we get to the polish. For this, you set what you want on a d100 to be rolled. Then, you roll until you meet that DC. This roll is then added to the accrued bonuses, that are hidden, before the final reward is revealed. I will say that the rewards for this can vary massively.

*Write-in dice roll DC

Please note that this will only have a vote in Year 8, and even then it will just be the first phase.

 

[Altered]

Chronicles of Baldur: Aetus and its fall | A New Hope for Hopeless Martyrs

The chanting started up again, and Guardsmen raised their weapons taking aim upon the established chokepoints. For some inane reason the audience room of the Governor's Palace was reachable by multiple tunnels who gates had long since been torn down. With squads focusing on suppression and others on flyers, the cultists had expended thousands of men trying to claim the 13th Regiment's last bastion of safety and loyalty. Beset on all sides, with no allies to come the men still fought on willing to fight to the last.
Alone they fought, alone they would die. Hopeless and lonely, yet still they stood.
The cultists poured in droves, forcing their way through fire, bullets and explosions making it to the corpses of those who had failed. And like the others, they chanted. Words in languages so horrible each man was given a splitting headache, and yet through the pain they fought. These Human Cultists driven insane by their beliefs and the monstrosities fighting alongside them charged the entrenched troopers, the cohesion they had once held as loyalists lost.
Through pain and despair, they bravely trudged onwards.
Hundreds died within seconds of charging, and as it turned into minutes thousands met their death. Yet their goal was still being accomplished, for each death - for each charge, hundreds if not thousands of rounds of ammunition where spent.
One round, one enemy. A thousand rounds, a thousand enemies. No rounds, all the enemies.
Standing at the central gate, Davik led from the front with a group of men following him. Equipped with melee weapons as to conserve their ammunition, the men fought and beat back the cultists that survived the kill-zone. Cutting through bodies, and stabbing others as they tried to break through.
If a leader does not lead, how can his men follow
The air was enough to make a man faint, yet him and his fought on ignoring the stench that slowly but surely crept through the room. A stench of rot and ruin, of death and decay, burning flesh and coppery metallic blood all tainted the air, burning the noses of the Cultists and Imperium alike. And then came the cultist, bringing forth their own rank scent. A stench wafting off the dead corpses and living bodies alike - a sweet pungent smell, doing little to bely the rot and corruption that their twisted bodies portrayed so excellently. Mutations that turned humans into a thing of horror, reflected right back to their hideous souls. A sight and smell that had informed Davik they were truly fighting amongst the pits of hell.
Truly they were in war, for even hell had spared the innocent
Still regardless of the place, Davik and his men fought on. Letting anger fuel their bodies as they killed and killed, minutes passing by seeming like hours. And though each of them were exhausted, they continued to stand and fight - unwilling to let any pass, unwilling to fall.
When we faced with extinction men do crazy things.
----
A Few Hours After the Last Charge:

They lost a dozen men in that assault, torn apart by the few daemons that survived the concentration of fire. Yet none of them had died fearing their end, no they died with a curse upon their lips and a last shot willingly fired at their killers. Or in the case of Leeroy, a grenade shoved into a Daemon's gullet. That man always knew how to attract the wrong sorts of attention.
Raging against the dying light
As they collected and burned the bodies, holding a service for the fallen a voice boomed throughout the room, echoing through the remains of the palace. Coming from both outside and inside, through the vox-speakers was a voice not entirely human. Struggling to stand, Davik saw some of his men on the ground clutching their ears screaming as blood leaked through their hands.

"Soldiers of Aetus, of the Imperium…" It called out, naming them. "No help is coming yet you still resist. You know death is your only fate, yet you still fight on. Why die in such misery or cruelty?"
Give in... give up. Surrender to your fate.
Aware no answer was coming, it spoke once more. "We the true leaders and people of Aetus offer you this: Throw down your weapons, surrender unto us and we shall grant you a mercy death. No sacrificial one, simply a mercy kill. Spit upon our offering and we shall continue what we've been doing for the past few weeks, only this time you will truly fall before the dark powers of our masters."

Minutes passed by, and Davik looked at his men. Seeing their eyes intently focused on him, the Colonel held up his sword and drew a line in the ground. Pointing at the line he had drawn, he spoke, "Men! Anyone who crosses this line is a traitor and is to be shot on sight. I will kill them myself. We are the Son and Daughters of Aetus, the last loyalist. The Hopeless Martyrs! We knew what we were getting into and none shall back out."

Pointing his sword from the line to his troops, he continued his speech. "We held the line weeks ago, we shall hold the line now. When the enemy comes screaming for our deaths, what do we say?"

"Not today, Colonel!" Came the resounding shout, each man and woman giving it their all. Their words echoing of the hall's walls, a testament to their resolve..

Looking over the brave souls who chose to fight with him till the end, the Captain spoke on. "When the enemy comes through those chokepoints, what do we greet them with?" He asked pointing towards the barricades that blocked the entrances.

"Fire, Steel, and Fury, Colonel!" They screamed out the answer, pumping their weapons in the air. None had held back, all had joined in and the Captain could not be prouder.

"Good," Davik said, nodding approvingly as he surveyed the room. "Now 13th Regiment, let's get back to our posts and give the enemy one hell of a fight before Plan Nova shall be activated."

Nodding grimly, the moved to their positions. No more cheers, no more roars, no more shouts. It was time for actions, not words.


----
An Hour after the Motivational Speech:

An hour later, the chanting returned and so did the screams of the damned. Charging their position were cultists with Daemons of greater size and likely strength. The first to die was Tellen, his pulse gone before the first bullet was even fired. His skull exploded, coating the others in blood and gore, grey brain matter sticking to their bodies. Barely a minute later they exploded. And it was then Davik knew what was going on.

"Everyone, covered in blood from Squad 3 charge at the enemy! Fire you guns, and when you feel a tingling sensation pull the pins on the frak grenades!" He shouted, ordering those hit with the affliction to their deaths. A pragmatic reaction and one that pained him greatly.

The men charged, rushing towards the barricades and leaping over into the crowd of enemies. Fingers holding the triggers of their Lasguns down, firing into the sea of horror they'd found themselves in. One by one, they fell - pulling the pin on the grenade going out in an explosion of gore and red mist, coating the enemies in countless droplets of blood.

As the Squad 3 fought on bravely to the end, the rest of the Regiment opened fire together at full power. With what little explosive ordinance they had left in reserved being aimed at the Daemons, while others concentrated fire on the cultist. Though many fell, just as many charged forwards away from the fray and to them.

A quiet pop was heard, then repeated and repeated and repeated. All throughout the cultists lines bodies began to explode apart, the witchcraft curse having turned against them in a display of great cunning. Screams of terror echoed through the air as the traitors realized their own powers had turned on them, maybe not willingly but all the same they were on them.

Shouts of anger filled the air, and soon the two sided battle unfolded into a indecipherable one as the cultists turned on one another shooting at the others and what little cohesion they had fell apart.

Ordering a retreat, Davik and his men activated the traps before running deeper into the palace to another prepared section. Knowing the distraction and traps wouldn't last for long, but they had to make the best of it.

---
An Hour after the retreat and the chaos caused:

Again and again, they charged and unrelentless tide. The hour he'd bought with the lucky tactic had allowed them to restock and prepare - yet against a ocean of enemies, the preparations could only hold them off for so long.

Mines filling the air with acidic gas, and others setting it on fire had scorched the rooms and melted entire bodies, yet they still piled up covering the ground before them. An sea of blood painted what visible parts of the floor there were a crimson red.

Still they fought on, denying the enemies their easy victory. Each member of 13th region taking no less than a dozen lives for their own. And yet they would lose, for against millions what hope did thousands... no only hundreds have Thule wondered sadly. None. Though they would rage against this dying light not going quietly into the night.

Daemonic monsters charged forth, only to scurry away in fear as the 13th began to utilize the Palace's few plasma based weapons. Cultists fell by the droves, yet more poured forth their numbers seemingly threatening to overrun the colonel and his men, only to melt away as clever traps and grenades tore them apart.

Looking left, he saw a trooper impaled through the chest by a daemon firing his Lasgun into its head while a hand came up stabbing it's jaw with power knife. Screaming pain the daemon split the man in two, only to see laughter coming from the top half as he did what they were all trained to do and turned his weapon into one giant grenade. Surprise lit up the monstrosity's face, only for it to disappear as it was engulfed in bright white light. When the light too faded away, all that was left was two burnt husks.

Raged and anger filled him, yet he did not allow it control facing front he took aim and squeezed his trigger enjoying the sight of ruby red lights piercing the tide before him. Yet for all the damage he and his companions did, the enemy kept coming. Backpedalling, the Colonel kept firing and firing, backing away as they poured in.

Eventually he reached a doorway, where the charges were planted broadcasting over his vox-channel retreat, he waited. Firing into the crowd, scoring more kills then any man had right to. The 13th fell back, retreating to his position and eventually through the doorway fighting all the way. As the last of his men fell back and the enemy rushed head on, he pressed the red button and was greeted by the sight of an entire room exploding as the explosives did their job. Though not empty when massive ball of fire, smoke, and light cleared up many had died.

Shutting the door, he urged his men deeper into the heart of the palace. Further down into the depths of hell, he thought oh-so brightly. Eventually all that will be left to defend is its room, in which case they'd activate the Last Resort when they were about to be overwhelmed…

---
Deep within the Governor's Palace, in "its" room:

"Men, this shall be our true Last Stand!" Roared Colonel Thule, as he and his men watched the enemy once more push towards them, bodies falling forward pushed by the mass of people behind them. "We knew our chances of survival, and this shall only confirm them. We know what we are fighting. These traitors and horrors." Firing into the crowd, the Captain continued his speech. "No one will remember us now, for we are lost to the Imperium." Pain filled his voice at those words, and he continued on killing. "This our tomb, our burial ground, and we shall build our memorial here. The planet may be lost, the Imperium may never know we existed…" Davik yelled, his voice getting louder and louder the further into the speech he progressed. "But the Enemy - they will know we existed. The Enemy will remember us for years to come, knowing that us few mortal men, dealt such deadly defeat that they can never forget not even as the stars burn out. When our enemy dies they shall know it was us who delivered this gift unto them, their last thought shall be of us and defeat we shall grant them. This is our memorial - we shall carve it into their hearts and into the galaxy, letting all know that we did not lose here."

His men cheered at his words, their spirits uplifted and even more deadset at the task they'd given themselves. And then Davik spoke his final words, "We can not lose, we Hopeless Martyrs have already won! Remember this 13th Regiment, it is us who shall win here. It is us who shall deny these Warp Abominations and traitors this planet! Fight on, until your dead and keep on fighting!"

It was with those final words to be said that peace fell over the men of Aetus's 13th Regiment. They would die today, but they would sell their lives dearly. And when the enemy thought they had triumphed, they would turn that triumph into the taste of bitter defeat, as they lost. They would fight on, for they had already won. The enemy just didn't know it yet.

So as the traitors charged the line with their daemonic masters expecting some form of terror, all they were greeted with was las fire and sheer resolve. Men fell, dying to the unending swarm that came yet they stood tall towering over all - fighting all the way. Despair and terror held no control over their mind, for they were doing the Emperor work - holding their oaths till their dying breaths and even in death defending this Imperium which they so dearly died for.

Slowly but surely they were whittled down, these brave souls their story coming to a close. They were strong in heart, strong in soul, and yet it was not enough, never enough in this dark galaxy where hope and countless men died - outnumbered by the enemies who cared not for their skill, for their strength, only for their deaths.
It's always darkest before the dawn…

As they dropped, the enemy renewed their push tasting the blood that had fallen into the water. Yet even as they died, these men did not falter. Did not break. Holding the line here, their backs to a wall and their trap already sprung. Death had come, and they would deliver a feast.

And it was not to be, for as they fought on viciously to the end something occurred. Explosions rocked the building, so powerful that even at these depths it could be felt. Loud screams and gunfire could be heard from above and the back of the room. Even as the enemy had a portion turn to face it, their defeat grew all the more apparent.

Fighting on the surviving few of 13th Regiment only grew emboldened, long had they fought without hope. Long had they fought knowing no one was coming, but now… everything may have changed. And though they wished to charge out, making way for the upper floors - they stayed in place, holding the line.

Firing what little ammo they had left, and scavenging from their fallen they fought on. Red ruby lights that had once utterly dominated the room, now merely filled the air - jumping forth into the mass of enemies. Cultist fell, bodies smoking and the smell of burnt flesh filling the room just like it had before and would again.

Minutes passed and as the horde became finite, the men began to receive respite from the charges. Less and less rushed forth as more and more began to die. A far cry from the past few weeks. And eventually they stopped altogether allowing Davik to see the pitiful few that were left.

Thirteen brave souls, including him. These were all that had lived, all that had survived the hell. Thirteen who would still fight to their death if it was called for.

A shadow laid cast over him and his troopers, looking up and armed Davik saw something he'd never thought he'd see before. The Emperor's Angels, the Angels of Death. Space Marines. Bearing upon themselves black armor, with white decals they moved into the chamber. Blood dripped from a gauntlet while gore slid off another's armor. And yet they still looked beautiful to the last Colonel.

Trembling in hope and relief, the only officer left spoke. "A little late, but you'll do." A smirk fixed upon his face as he leaned back against the barricades wall.

The Astartes just looked at the human unamused, or perhaps they were stricken with laughter underneath that armor. Either way you could never tell with them. "We misread the map."

Raising an eyebrow in response he asked, "Rescued or pushed back into the fight?" Dearly praying so that they had come to rescue them, rather then shove them back into the fight.

Without hesitance the giant before him answered. "Rescued."

Good, he thought. Happy that his men and him would finally rest, their jobs done. "Ah," was all he could say as he bonelessly slumped to the ground. "Good... "

"Rank and Regiment, any other loyalists?" Came the question not caring of his current state.

"Colonel, 13th Regiment." Was Davik's tired response. "None, we're all that's left.

"Your planet still lives on," said one of the Giants. "Surely you are not alone?"

"The people broke before the planet, and now those unbroken would break the planet to save the broken." Came the cryptic response of the tired Colonel.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Asked the Astartes somewhat urgently.

"Life-eater Viral Bomb set to go off in the next 24 hours." He said barely remaining conscious, the fatigue and pain of his wounds catching up with him. "We gave it weeks, months even. And when no help came, we did as necessary. We Hopeless Martyrs would fight till the end and cheat the Enemy of their victory."

"Codes," was all the leader of the Space Marines said.

"Thirteen, eleven, two." Davik managed to say as darkness encroached his vision. "Do not forget us," he heard a voice pleading only to realize it was his and with that, he finally gave in. Falling into the black nothingness.

 

[Derkan]

Omake: Dorlin Rebuke

Kesar Dorlin: How i learned to stop worrying and hate daemons: The biography of the Primarch of the 11th legion

Chapter 7 Relationships
[...]
While the relationship between Dorlin and Lorgar was never more than frozen and strained politeness they actually managed to work together for the First Campaign at Lave V.
While Dorlin's Rebuke was the final event that broke the relationship between the two Primarchs, the seeds of that event were created years before, and it would have happened sooner or later:
During their only campaign together, the Word Bearers Legion suffered a significant amount of casualty before the arrival of the 11th Legion souring the Urizen opinion of his brother, making him refuse any help beyond the strict minimum and asking him to leave before the Ork empire was completely exterminated, which created the seed for the Second Lave V Campaign.
That disastrous first meeting could have possibly been corrected had the Primarchs not possessed such different and opposing philosophical point of view and religions:
When Lorgar learned that Dorlin considered the Emperor an example to be followed instead of a god to be worshiped, he flew into a furious rage and decided to confront him, leaving his campaign unfinished and causing an colossal amount of Dark Angel and Salamanders casualties ruining his relationship with those two legions and Primarchs.
When Lorgar and Dorlin met for what would be the final time on "friendly terms", Lorgar immediately began his fiery sermon which was a miracle of rhetoric trying to convince to see the emperor as a god for what else could he be, and that not worshipping the emperor as a god was heresy.
Even then the relationship could possibly be continued even if even more strained had Dorlin not launched his famous rebuke:
"You have eyes but you do not see,
You have ears but you do not hear,
You have a mind but you do not think,
You have belief but not faith in the being you so preach,
For he does not want worship,
Either the Emperor is a god or he is not,
Worship in both case is either obscenity or heresy,
For if he is a man you should emulate him
And if he is a god should you not obey him ?"
[...]

 

[jjffjhjf]

Frustration
​

Kesar had far too many things he needed to do. Beyond just leading his sons, he had to administer his realm, maintain diplomatic relations with a variety of groups throughout the Imperium, and, and this is the part that truly took up a massive amount of his time, he had to improve his Legion. Make sure they were able to handle the ever more present threats of the Galaxy. He'd gone through a wide variety of different methods to do so, and devised even more since. From better understanding the Gene-seed that his father had devised, so as to help ensure more candidates made it through the difficult implantation process, to runes and their potential effects across every aspect of the Imperium, to figuring out ways to improve warp engines and Gellar fields to better travel the warp. The biggest issue he had with all these methods of improvement is that he often didn't understand why the things he did worked, merely that they did. Which made it so much more difficult to figure out how to proceed. Instead he had to simply brute force the issue with trial and error.

Quite simply this wasn't good enough for long term progress. He needed to understand the underlying rules by which reality operated, truly master the forces of the cosmos in order to have a chance to properly lead his sons through more grueling campaigns like Gehanna Station. All the skill in world can't compare to simply having more effective equipment. A Gellar field strong enough to handle the deeper levels of the warp, allowing for significantly faster travel through it to wherever forces were needed could be the difference between victory and defeat. Improved Void Shields could see thousands of his sons saved where otherwise their ships destruction would ensure their downfall. He had so many different things he needed to do. But his understanding simply wasn't sufficient. He needed to learn how to understand these mechanisms better. To more effectively guide his research to ensure that never again did he lose half his sons in a single engagement.

To this end, he communicated with every Tech-Priest in his fleet, gathering as much data as he could from every sensor throughout it. Trying to find every connection between the data points provided he possibly could. Questions nagged at him, why were certain planets of the same size producing more or less powerful gravity wells? Why did stars have different sizes, and burn at different temperatures? Why were planets so universally round? What about different elements in the air mean one atmosphere could be breathed by a normal human and others couldn't? By what mechanism did a normal person heal, was it different from his sons who had so much greater capacity for it? If so, did that apply to the difference between himself and his sons?

He had so many questions, and he began to hypothesize, to come up with different reasons WHY such things are true. His conversations with the Mechanicus were often maddening. They understood so little of why their machines operated as they did, what caused the effects they saw, or why different rituals had different effects, merely that they did. He found himself raging against this ignorance. Found himself questioning their pursuit of the Quest for Knowledge. The Knowledge of the Ancients Stands Above Question! They told him, and yet when he responded with Understanding is the True Path to Comprehension, and Comprehension is the Key to All Things, they could give no answer beyond their comprehension of how the rituals worked, and their understanding of their importance. This simply did not satisfy him. Kesar desired to actually understand the how and why of the rituals, as opposed to just the when, where, and what.

This frustration boiled within him, until he eventually snapped at the council of Magos he'd gathered to discussing these matters with, masters of strange and esoteric rituals, and means of fabrication all, that their Quest for Knowledge simply wasn't enough. To only go out and find the knowledge of the Ancients left behind out and about through the Galaxy? That was inefficient, insufficient, unambitious, even a dereliction of duty to their Faith. No, he would embark on a new aspect of the Quest for Knowledge. The Ancients had gathered and created all the knowledge that was possible to be known, and they had done so without any others before them. If they could do it, even if it was difficult, it must be possible to do so again, Kesar refused to hear any argument to the contrary. He would do his best to match the Ancients, and while he fully respected their accomplishments, and was sure to communicate that to the Magos in the council, only finding their dregs, piecemeal, was not enough.

So Kesar began testing and experiments, fully encouraging the Magos under him to do their own. He sent messages to his brothers, save for Lorgar who he knew was far too angry to be reasonable, asking for their insights into the world, hoping to set up regular sharing of the knowledge he gleaned to better support the Crusade. He contacted Kelbor-Hal, regarding his desire to further the Quest for Knowledge by simply re-creating the methods the Ancients used, and asked for his help and support. Missives went back to Terra, to his Father and Malcador, requesting their support. All this he worked for, because he knew it was needed. The warp xenos were an ever present threat, Ork realms existed that had not been curtailed for millenia, unknown xenos existed out across the galaxy. There were far too many dangers, they simply needed to do better, and he could think of no better way to do so.

All throughout his Legion his sons saw their father's devotion to the task, his passion to learn more, all driven by a desire to see the Imperium of Man succeed, to decrease the number of fallen, to protect against the terror of the Lost, and to see mankind find their place in the galaxy in safety. They saw this, and were driven to help. Tech-Marines were inundated with questions that before their lay-brothers had simply seen no value in knowing about. More brothers volunteered for Tech-Marine training. Others worked to create their own tests, often related to battle directly, for that is what they knew best. But they questioned and they learned. Experts of the blade questioned, what about a certain aspect of a swing made it more effective at killing their enemy, and was there some other aspect they could use to make it more effective? Why did certain brothers respond better or worse to different training methods, and could that knowledge be utilized to better improve training plans asked the Sergeants. All these questions and more were asked throughout the Legion, and they worked to answer them, often failing. They were not used to this task, they were not trained for it, they were not designed to question. But question they did, and they learned. To little effect at first, but knowledge is a powerful thing, and builds on itself. What might start as a small discovery with little impact can like a snowball rolling down a mountain, gather more to itself, and become a mighty thing smashing all in its way. Yet still it would take time for that snowball to grow, and for now it was small and easily broken.

Outside of the Legion however, there were far different effects. Many of the Mechanicus scoffed at the idea, to do as the Ancients did? Impossible. Even as others viewed the idea with hope. Many a debate raged as hot as the fires of Mars' many forges. Kelbor-Hal received the letters and found himself concerned. This idea went against thousands of years of Martian dogma, and yet, to discover the knowledge of the ancients for their own? A tempting goal. Meanwhile in Magma-City Korial Zeth recieved the news and wondered.

On Terra, different concerns were had. When Malcador read Kesar's missive, his request for support and help in what he could only think of as a worthy goal, and he grew concerned. An Ambition of this scope and scale? It was sure to draw the attention of that most cunning of the Emperor's true enemies, perhaps it even set Kesar on this path. He would have to watch, keeping a careful eye on him to ensure these good intentions did not pave the way to damnation. While of the Emperor's thoughts none outside the Imperial Palace knew, at least at first.

Among the other Legions, the results were mixed. Most cared not for such things, beyond how their results could benefit their Legions, and instead were quite happy to allow someone else to do the work for it. For Vulkan, Magnus, Perturabo, and Ferrus Manus though? Well, they found the idea very interesting indeed. Still they were quite busy on their own projects, and whether they would have the time and opportunity to work together on these things? That was a different matter entirely, still... perhaps they could be convinced to dedicate their valuable time to the task, if present with the right arguments.

Outside the Imperium of Man, forces moved, because this could lead to great changes for the Galaxy, from the grand and wonderful, to the dark and twisted. Beings intent on both worked behind the scenes to make one or the other more likely. A Cabal took notice of this change in the path they had expected, and wondered as to the source. While beyond the Materium itself, forces clashed, looking to stop such a method of change or to twist it to their own ends.

In his workshop Kesar worked, unaware of the thoughts of others, but dedicated to see progress happen, to ensure his sons lives were not wasted, and to see mankind thrive once more among the stars.