[x] Advanced Trickleback Procedures - Implemented on multiple levels by Dian, Rikard, Abdul, Rene, Oriacarius, and Maticus a wide variety of seemingly minor improvements have been instituted drastically improving survival rates in combat. *-25% fatalities in combat*
The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
- Location
- Elsewhere
He only just got the job, so he's only going to be on Terra the upcoming turn.
- Location
- Kansas City area
[X] Advanced Trickleback Procedures - Implemented on multiple levels by Dian, Rikard, Abdul, Rene, Oriacarius, and Maticus a wide variety of seemingly minor improvements have been instituted drastically improving survival rates in combat. *-25% fatalities in combat*
- Location
- Grandview
[X] Advanced Trickleback Procedures
- Location
- Elsewhere
I'll be closing the vote around this time tomorrow. Until then though, feel free to break the tie!
@Daemon Hunter Question, but does guardsmen hybrid squad benefit Orion or does he need to come back first to gain it? I'm assuming he has to come back but I figured I'd ask.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
@Daemon Hunter Speaking of the current vote, to make sure people in the thread are informed, how is the current morale with the Imperial Army in the Maelstrom? With and without Kesar's actions in the recent coup?
- Location
- Elsewhere
He needs to return to get the benefit.
It's pretty bath. Right now the average guardsmen within the Maelstrom hates the work that they're doing, but thanks to Karcer's actions, and your Legion deferring to her in appearance, it's reduced it to merely large distaste. With Kesar's actions though, the discontent has spiked into passive resistance for the most part, which is going to cause the Maelstrom Crusade to grind to a halt when combined with the details uncovered from Epsilon on how dangerous that AI is.
So as my final appeal for the hybrid Astartes-guardsmen squad vote, I'm going to bring up something that has been talked about in the discord involving one of the most powerful traits the Wardens have been building xp toward that is related to extreme casualties. The Primarch Lion el' Johnson led the Rangdan Xenocides and as a result of the casualties his legion took, he has an extremely high-tier trait described as this.
"Lost dice rolls are capped at a difference of 40. "
What this means is that even if an enemy rolls 100 over his result and he loses with 5 degrees of failure, Lion can reduce that to a loss by 40 and only lose with 2 degrees of failure, saving likely thousands of Astartes and hundreds of millions, if not billions of guardsmen with each success negated. This trait allows him to be hyper-aggressive in his deployments as he can always be certain he'll never be badly fucked over even on the worst possible result, which is something we desperately need.
And we can have that trait for our entire legion.
It will likely be vastly reduced in scale, or even limited to certain threats like Warp-based ones, but even then, this trait would give us so much more flexibility with our deployment patterns.
The problem, however, is that to gain this trait, we need to lose 40k Wardens on a single compliance, nearly half of our legion.
This is a problem, as, at the moment, our 25 percent casualty reduction means we would only need to lose 50-60k Wardens before the reduction to gain that trait. If we instead choose to upgrade our casualty reduction, said the threat would need to, before reductions, do enough damage that we would lose 80000 Wardens representing nearly the totality of our entire legion.
There would have to be a catastrophic fuckup and then a beyond-heroic recovery for us to face a threat that could make us lose 80k astartes and then still win, representing the deaths of nearly our entire legion, likely several heroes and proto-heroes, and almost certainly even our Primarch as we would be deploying almost everything we have to such threat.
Facing a threat worth 50-60k astartes before reductions would also be a major sting, but it's far more manageable, and the hybrid Astartes-guardsmen squads would help improve the Wardens' performance, the Imperial Army's performance, and also likely give us a chance to save our protos or other named characters that are present.
The hybrid vote is likely the only way we will actually be able to see this trait as Imperial Army morale is reaching a breaking point within the Maelstrom and it is entirely possible that the Maelstrom Reclamation will end by Year 60 if not earlier due to the Imperial army refusing to fight, drastically reducing the chance of us seeing a world that actually reaches that level of danger.
And besides, this will not be our last chance to gain casualty reduction traits. But this may very well be our last attempt to integrate the IA within our legion and start building a relationship with them before the whole of the Imperial Army starts fracturing into violent factions.
"Lost dice rolls are capped at a difference of 40. "
What this means is that even if an enemy rolls 100 over his result and he loses with 5 degrees of failure, Lion can reduce that to a loss by 40 and only lose with 2 degrees of failure, saving likely thousands of Astartes and hundreds of millions, if not billions of guardsmen with each success negated. This trait allows him to be hyper-aggressive in his deployments as he can always be certain he'll never be badly fucked over even on the worst possible result, which is something we desperately need.
And we can have that trait for our entire legion.
It will likely be vastly reduced in scale, or even limited to certain threats like Warp-based ones, but even then, this trait would give us so much more flexibility with our deployment patterns.
The problem, however, is that to gain this trait, we need to lose 40k Wardens on a single compliance, nearly half of our legion.
This is a problem, as, at the moment, our 25 percent casualty reduction means we would only need to lose 50-60k Wardens before the reduction to gain that trait. If we instead choose to upgrade our casualty reduction, said the threat would need to, before reductions, do enough damage that we would lose 80000 Wardens representing nearly the totality of our entire legion.
There would have to be a catastrophic fuckup and then a beyond-heroic recovery for us to face a threat that could make us lose 80k astartes and then still win, representing the deaths of nearly our entire legion, likely several heroes and proto-heroes, and almost certainly even our Primarch as we would be deploying almost everything we have to such threat.
Facing a threat worth 50-60k astartes before reductions would also be a major sting, but it's far more manageable, and the hybrid Astartes-guardsmen squads would help improve the Wardens' performance, the Imperial Army's performance, and also likely give us a chance to save our protos or other named characters that are present.
The hybrid vote is likely the only way we will actually be able to see this trait as Imperial Army morale is reaching a breaking point within the Maelstrom and it is entirely possible that the Maelstrom Reclamation will end by Year 60 if not earlier due to the Imperial army refusing to fight, drastically reducing the chance of us seeing a world that actually reaches that level of danger.
And besides, this will not be our last chance to gain casualty reduction traits. But this may very well be our last attempt to integrate the IA within our legion and start building a relationship with them before the whole of the Imperial Army starts fracturing into violent factions.
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[X] Hybrid Astartes-Guardsmen Squads
- Location
- Canada
[X] Hybrid Astartes-Guardsmen Squads
- Location
- Elsewhere
Looks like hybrid Astartes-Guardsmen squads wins.
- Location
- USA
Hope that helps with the guardsmen.
Maybe they decide we are one of the good primarchs or can at least be on friendlier terms with the ones that are thinking of rebelling.
Maybe they decide we are one of the good primarchs or can at least be on friendlier terms with the ones that are thinking of rebelling.
The Secret Relationship
The Secret Relationship
Aldrich Baelsar had spent limited time on Macragge, yet he found the experience remarkably pleasant compared to Terra. It was also something of a windfall of luck that brought him to this planet. Euten Tarasha offered him a job. He wisely took the offer because he was suddenly a free man again.
Truth be told, when the invitation from Euten arrived, he couldn't deny feeling intrigued at the prospect of spending more time with her. Her letters, shining bright during his tenure as Lord Militant, suggested a mutual connection and one that, admittedly, he wanted to explore a little further.
Her offer was quite impressive. Aldrich would assume the position of Praesidius Legatus, an honorary command title for the Realm of Ultramar, which proved to be a seamless transition when the time came to accept it. Considering most of his command staff from Terra, including Jiro and Frida, accompanied Aldrich and helped facilitate his role as Legatus, he could get to work soon enough upon arrival.
At Euten's behest, his new office was situated in Macragge City and within distance of the capital fortress of Roboute Guilliman. This would make it easier to visit Euten. Fortunately, her reasons were more practical and legitimate. She needed Aldrich to start working as soon as possible, even if it was just minor tasks. Among her concerns was improving the Realm of Ultramar's logistical network and maintaining the overly large standing army.
Privately, Euten disclosed her need for someone trustworthy to oversee affairs, particularly after a message summoned her to Terra two years prior. Representing her son and other Primarchs in the new Consilium, orchestrated by his successor, Lord Militant Lanatus, was a prospect Aldrich hadn't welcomed.
In private discussions with Euten, Aldrich revealed his bitterness and anger over his abrupt dismissal from Terra. His attempt to leave formally was thwarted as the higher-ups aimed for a public transition of power. For the second time, he found himself forced into early retirement.
Eli's ascent to the office garnered praise before approving funding requests, adding salt to Aldrich's wounds. "The Tyrant of Terra has been overthrown!" – an officer's words that stung deeply. However, Euten's warm welcome on Macragge, complete with an entourage of Astartes, Ultramar Auxilia, and Titans, erased some of the bitterness. She personally bestowed his title, position, and an adamantine power gauntlet, the Sentinels Hand.
Aldrich owed Euten a great deal and expressed his gratitude. Her smug response, "You do, don't you?" elicited a genuine laugh. Considering this, Aldrich grew anxious when news of a coup on Terra reached Macragge while the Consilium Princips were still there. Sparse information fueled uncertainty, prompting talks of a potential liberation force against a foreign element seizing control of Sol.
Thankfully, the all-clear was issued a few days later, and reports confirmed the Imperial Palace's return to loyalists. The wording was curious – 'returned' – leaving everyone puzzled. Relieved to learn of Euten's swift return to the Realm of Ultramar, Aldrich wondered what the hell was going on with the Throneworld.
One month after the Coup…
The Palace of Ultramar…
Euten was finally back in the system and arriving back on Macragge. To which Aldrich would be the first to greet her. Technically, Aldrich's presence wasn't necessary, but the alternative was Marius Gage, the new Legatus, who willingly offered to take on the responsibility. Aldrich, with only a handful of servants and servitors, arrived to greet Euten.
As the shuttle safely landed on the secured pad, a pair of First Company Ultramarines was the first to disembark, followed by Euten and two other marines. Seeing Aldrich, Euten smiled, reciprocated by Aldrich. Moments later, servants and servitors began collecting Euten's belongings.
Wasting no time, Euten addressed the marines, "You four report to the Chapter Master for debriefing. The Legatus will escort me the rest of the way." If the Astartes harbored any objections, they kept them to themselves, nodding before leaving the landing pad.
Turning back to Aldrich, Euten's smile shifted into a grimace. "You and I need to talk privately. I've learned of something monumental involving Roboute."
Suspecting the severity of the matter, Aldrich merely nodded before cautiously inquiring, "He had a hand in whatever happened on Terra?"
"Of course, but that's not what I'm talking about," Euten corrected with a small wave of dismissals. "What I've learned is more important than the coup." More important than the entire coup? Aldrich questioned if this revelation required the Chapter Master's input or perhaps even the Primarch himself.
Without waiting for his response, Euten grabbed Aldrich's right arm and stuck to his side. "Come on, we'll head to my private study. It's secured. I have it swept for bugs and listening devices every day."
If Aldrich was worried about the word of this interaction getting around, he wisely decided not to voice it. Besides, it wasn't like he was about to tell Euten "no" or anything.
Fifteen minutes later…
Aldrich believed that individuals harbored what he considered "sacred" spaces regardless of their backgrounds or proclivities toward faith. These weren't necessarily temples or shrines but rather locations that carried profound meaning. They could take various forms—a library, bedroom, kitchen, or garden. Regardless of the type, these places bore the unmistakable imprint of a person's personal touch and belongings.
For Tarasha Euten, her private study undeniably held the essence of her sacred space. Tucked away and shielded by a stasis field, it likely boasted an automated defense system to deter intruders. Surveying its contents, Aldrich found a rationale in the security measures.
Contrary to what one might expect from a workspace or office, the room primarily served as a haven for a mother and wife. Randomly placed pieces of artwork, books, paintings, and various items adorned the space. The furniture, though old, exuded comfort, complemented by rugs and tapestries bearing heraldries or commemorating past victories.
The room emitted the nostalgic scent of wood and leather, reminiscent of Aldrich's pre-conscription days in the Imperial Army. However, what truly captured his attention were the photos above a small fireplace. He observed a younger Euten with a man he presumed to be her husband, Konor Guilliman, on their wedding day. Adjacent to that was a photo of the couple with a toddler exhibiting blue eyes and blond hair—a depiction of the Primarch at a very young age.
Suddenly, Aldrich felt a twinge of awkwardness. Unsure he was meant to witness this private aspect, he took cues from Euten's lack of objections or directives. Deciding it best not to comment for the time being, the Legatus maintained a respectful silence while he watched as Euten approached what looked to be an old cedar chest and started rummaging through it.
"Where is it?" She muttered while Aldrich watched as she pulled out what looked to be a few knickknacks that seemed to have belonged to a child. Again, probably Guillimans. A moment later, Euten pulled out a small wooden box. "Aha! Found it."
Aldrich crossed his arms, looking expectantly, "Dare I even ask?"
Sauntering over to a pair of small leather seats, Euten replied, "Believe me, it's important. It's been on my mind since I left Terra." She gestured for Aldrich to take the other seat, causing a momentary hesitation. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that it might have been her husband's seat at one point, but Aldrich brushed it aside as he took his seat.
While awaiting an explanation for the significance of the box, Aldrich observed Euten fiddling with it, turning a small knob. It became evident that it was a musical box as a lovely melody began to play a few seconds later. The tune had a charm fit for a child's bedside.
Curious for answers, Aldrich turned to Euten and was perplexed to see not a look of relief but exasperation and anxiety. "Oh...oh, Roboute, what have you gotten yourself into now?"
"I'm glad the music box unveiled some secret to you," Aldrich quipped with a deadpan expression. "Euten, what's going on here? What exactly did Roboute even do?"
She grimaced before looking expectantly at Aldrich. "Promise me that whatever I say here doesn't leave this room."
Aldrich rolled his eyes. "I promise. Not like I'd survive the attempt to undermine you."
"I mean it, Aldrich." Euten emphasized with her next words, "If this information were to get out before I could spin things, it could cause unnecessary chaos across the Realm of Ultramar."
"God." Aldrich thought he knew what happened now: "Roboute was the mastermind behind the coup." It tracked with the data that the Primarch had shown involving Eli's budget proposals and pretty much cemented to Aldrich that the Lord Militant might have lost his mind.
But to his surprise, Euten shook her head, "No, that's not it. Although he did have a part in it."
That blew a hole in one of his theories. "Then…this is related to the economic woes facing the Realm of Ultramar?"
Euten had a small smirk on her face. "Not that either."
Aldrich stared momentarily before rubbing his wary eyes. "Alright, I give up. What exactly did you find out?"
"First, I need to explain a few things," Euten began, "Especially with what happened on Terra." She placed the music box on a small nearby table and recounted her tale.
One month ago…
The Imperial Palace on Terra…
A futile exercise. That's the only conclusion Euten drew after the latest Consilium meeting. Despite her efforts to find value in this renewed attempt at governance, all she perceived was another instance of rubber-stamping the Sigillite's plans, veiled under the guise of greater objectivity.
When she assumed the role of Primarch Princips, it was meant to be a temporary position, which Euten acknowledged. Her true priorities lay back on Macragge, and Terra offered little for her to appreciate. The eyesore of a palace and the persistent migraine induced by the Golden Throne's presence only fueled her desire to depart.
Nevertheless, she had to endure these sessions and, more importantly, strive to influence votes in directions that could, above all else, yield positive outcomes for the Imperium. This was all that Roboute requested of her. He and Corvus had already committed 100,000 marines and ships to reinforce the Imperium. Yet, rectifying the impending economic crisis demanded more than an army of Astartes.
The growing fixation on authority and power on Terra had reached absurd and perilous levels of incompetence. Euten found herself disapproving of how easily others embraced the execution of Angron. Did the Red Angel deserve such a fate? Perhaps. However, it set a perilous precedent. If one Primarch could be sentenced to death, who's to say others wouldn't follow?
Then came the heated debate over Eli's debt spending and plans for the Imperial economy. The less Euten delved into that, the better. She couldn't fathom how many of the Princips were acquiescing to this, revealing how many were just mouthpieces for Malcador.
Euten would be dishonest if she claimed not to anticipate skullduggery and backroom politicking; she knew true democracy was a distant prospect. Yet, she had hoped for more theater, perhaps even a semblance of genuine change. Once again, reality shattered her expectations.
All she could do now was strive to sway someone to her side of a vote, a task made both incredibly difficult and oddly facile by the Sigillite. Euten could, if she chose, converse with any Consilium member privately, but that brought numerous risks to her platform and station. Carefulness was paramount to avoid overstepping bounds or revealing her hand prematurely.
Moreover, Euten acknowledged that she likely wasn't a popular figure among the "Pro-Sigillite" camp. So far, only Sota-Nul and Maria had approached her. Vandal also sought her out by wanting a more "animated" debate. Something was disconcerting about him. It felt akin to being in the presence of Konor at the peak of his power and fame, mixed with the sensation of standing before her grandfather. A truly disorienting experience.
Yet, what significance did it hold now? The next major votes were still a month away, and by then, Euten's successor would hopefully be chosen. She'd then be on her way out of the Consilium and aboard a ship bound for Macragge. At least that meant no one would try to assassinate her. Granted, Euten seriously doubted anyone was going to in the first place.
Hence, Euten was quite baffled when, upon hearing a loud knocking on her door and checking the security pict, she saw what looked to be a group of five Solar Auxillas outside her room within the specifically prepared apartments of the Princips.
Hence, Euten was confused when a resounding knock echoed through her door, prompting her to inspect the security pict. Her servants had been sent away, and her guards shouldn't have, let alone close to her quarters. So when she saw a group of five Solar Auxillas standing outside her room within the specially designated apartments of the Princips, she assumed something was wrong.
"What in the...?" Euten muttered to herself. "Where are my guards?" The Seneschal cautiously approached the door and reached out to grab a special master-crafted compact laspistol, which she most certainly wasn't carrying during the Consilium sessions.
Activating the intercom for the door, Euten inquired, "Who is it?"
"Tarasha Euten?" A vox-scrambled voice answered, which wasn't a good sign.
"Are you looking for her?" Euten replied, ensuring she wasn't directly in front of the door. "She just stepped out."
Anticipating either another inquiry or a possible escalation, Euten was caught off guard when the trooper speaking suddenly noticed the pict-recorder. Extracting something from a vest pocket, they held it up to the recorder, and Euten's eyes widened in recognition.
The figure displaying the coin stated, "Roboute said this should be more than enough proof for you."
"Who the..." Euten muttered audibly, then grit her teeth before unlocking and opening the door smoothly. Now facing the five troopers, she appeared both annoyed and confused. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you better have a damn good reason for possessing that!"
"What the hell did they have?" Aldrich interrupted the story, clearly perplexed. "Also, you opened the door to a potential squad of heavily-armored assassins?"
Euten waved off his concern, "Please. If they wanted to kill me, they probably would have succeeded by breaking down the door. Those were disguises anyway." As she rummaged through a familiar small purse that Aldrich often saw her carry at her hip, she continued,
"As for what she showed me…" Euten pulled out what appeared to be an old-looking coin and handed it to Aldrich. He examined it closely. Two faces were minted on each side, one unmistakably that of Konor Guilliman and the other a less-than-beloved figure, a man once known as the traitor, Gallan. He also noticed that the metal on the coin had been eroded by something.
"My late husband gave Roboute that coin when he was still a boy. He said the coin represents Macragge. You'd have to ask Roboute what Konor said, but he took it to heart," Euten explained. "Roboute then returned it to his father one day, saying that he felt like some of his luck had rubbed off onto it." She sighed, appearing lost in memory. "The metal is stained by the spillover from the neurotoxin that killed Konor."
"God," Aldrich breathed out, more concerned about bringing up such a painful memory for Euten once more. "That's some mark of trust, alright." He returned the coin to Euten, who carefully placed it beside her chair. "Still, why would Guilliman part with something that important?"
"If you let me continue, you'll know why, and this is where the story gets very complicated."
"As I mentioned, Roboute sent us," the group's leader responded, "We are here to escort you to a safe place."
Still marveling at how this coin ended up in their possession, Euten nearly missed their words. "Escort me?" She looked at them in confusion. "Oh, for the love of Macragge, is someone actually trying to assassinate me? Wonderful."
To her surprise, they shook their heads. "No. War is coming to the palace."
Hearing such an absurd claim almost prompted Euten to laugh. "The Imperial Palace, the most heavily guarded location in perhaps the known galaxy?"
Her would-be savior nodded. "A force led by a man with a soul of growing grey shall soon descend upon it. Already, his forces are in position. Time is of the essence. We must leave. Now."
If this had been anyone else or any other time, Euten might have dismissed them. However, knowing Roboute attached such personal value to these strangers made her believe in their sincerity. The issue, however, was that she couldn't just up and leave.
"Do you have a shuttle ready?"
"We were able to commandeer a... what was it called, a Halo Barge?" They turned to one of their compatriots, who nodded. The unfamiliarity with the term worked in her favor.
Euten nodded before heading back to her bedroom. "I need to get my staff. They'll be ready to go in ten minutes."
"That will greatly increase the chance of our escape being noticed," the lead figure replied, sounding annoyed. "We were told to take only you."
"Well, your mission parameters have just changed," Euten remarked as she hastily packed a bag, including a personal cogitator. "Because if I leave without my staff, one of them could eventually give away my location to any interrogator since they are quite aware of my safehouse on Terra."
"We could just eliminate them before we leave," another trooper suggested, causing the leader to tense up. Euten, however, dismissed the idea with a shake of her head.
"Too much of a hassle. Most of them are already separated. If you gathered them in one place, you might as well take them with us on the barge. Besides, they are useful to us; they can help cover our tracks." Finishing her impromptu packing, Euten approached the squad. "At this point, you're better off following my lead."
Stepping out with her new escort, Euten knew where to find a few of her staff. "I'll send a message for a meeting, but I need to know which hangar or landing pad we're heading to. So, if you'd all be so kind?"
If there was any internal debate, it remained unspoken. Euten suspected that opinions might surface once she was out of earshot. Nonetheless, the group's leader hesitantly nodded. "Very well, if that is your desire."
Euten felt a sense of satisfaction. "Good to know you're a cooperative bunch." Her experience in dealing with Astartes had equipped her with the skills to command compliance from just about anyone.
With that out of the way, Euten and her would-be saviors began their escape from the Imperial Palace.
"After that, most of my entourage made it to one of the hangars in the palace. If I didn't know any better, it was almost like most security wasn't even paying attention," Euten explained to Aldrich, who wore a displeased expression. "What?"
He grimaced before speaking, "Are you telling me there were conspirators within the security details of the palace? Where were the Lucifer Blacks or the Custodes?"
Euten shrugged, "Caught out of place, distracted, or undermanned. The Emperor and Malcador took most of his forces in Sol off to fight something important. From what I learned after the coup, all of this was coordinated to make for a perfect strike."
"Who led this coup then? Was it another Primarch other than Roboute?"
"Corvus Corax was one of the masterminds," Euten answered, "But the man who actually orchestrated everything was the Lord Commander Solar, Orbán Vilmo."
For a moment, Aldrich looked flabbergasted, "Orbán was the one behind this?! I knew he was a crazed murderer, but a traitor?"
"He did the right thing," Euten refuted him, "Eli's plans would have set the Imperium on a path to destruction and mayhem."
"I'm not arguing that he didn't do the right thing, but the fact that of all the people that had the guts to do the right thing…" Aldrich looked and sounded tired now, "What the hell happened to the Imperial Army I fought alongside? We were conquerors, but I remember so many of us willing to do the right thing. Did we lose sight of what good the Great Crusade was meant to do? What could it have been?"
To his surprise, Euten's hand reached out and gently touched his. "At least someone I know did try to change things for the better before everything went to hell." Hearing that from her did make the old man in him feel better. Aldrich lost a lot of face for his efforts to make things better for everyone. But to know that he and Orbán Vilmo, the infamous Skullface, were in the same mindset made the Archangel feel dirty.
Euten and her entourage successfully escaped from the Imperial Palace, skillfully masking their departure with a fabricated excuse and falsified ship identification. Leveraging her Princips-level access codes, she left behind a deceptive trail, making it appear that the Halo Barge she took was merely on a routine mission to dispose of waste.
With their getaway achieved, the next step was laying low for an undetermined period. Fortunately, the Realm of Ultramar had holdings on Terra, including a property in the purified lands of Ursh. A sprawling 2,000-acre plot with a modest mansion provided a comfortable refuge befitting Euten's high status.
Shortly after the entourage arrived at the secluded estate, reports from Euten's remaining agents within the Imperial Palace hinted at significant unrest. Troop movements, including Black Brigades, were observed under cover of night, setting up checkpoints and blockades. As events unfolded, Euten's mysterious benefactors retreated into a secluded section of the mansion, promising a private conversation in due time. Despite the gratitude for their assistance, Euten couldn't shake a lingering suspicion about these enigmatic individuals.
A few more hours passed, and suddenly, all transmissions from the Imperial Palace ceased. Reports of a battle over Luna surfaced, signaling a coup underway. The realization struck Euten: Terra had become a volatile and dangerous place. Moreover, the disappearance of Princips would inevitably draw attention.
Just as Euten believed the situation couldn't become more peculiar, one of her enigmatic "saviors" approached her, still clad in sealed body armor. The perplexity of this person's continued anonymity struck Euten—over a day had passed since their escape, and the imperative to conceal their identity seemed unnecessary, or so she thought.
"Our leader wishes to speak to you," came the cryptic order from the figure. Sensing the need for answers, Euten opted not to contest the directive. The protectors had chosen a secluded section of the mansion that most staff seldom visited, although, given the estate's size, it hardly made a noticeable difference—capable of comfortably housing over 500 individuals.
During the interim, Euten speculated on the identity of her protectors. Perhaps they were a specialized mercenary group, individuals encountered by Roboute or Corvus during the Great Crusade, or even Astartes scouts or assassins aligned with the coup. However, upon opening the door to the rooms commandeered by her mysterious benefactors, Euten was met with an unexpected sight—a quartet of Eldar reclining on couches like bored lordlings. Each member exuded unnatural beauty, but the one adorned in leader's armor stood out, boasting long, exquisite platinum blonde hair.
"Ah, good," the Eldar woman spoke with confidence. "We can finally get introductions out of the way. I apologize for the deception, but I think you'd agree that if anyone spotted Aeldari moving about the perfidious keep you call the Imperial Palace, it might have caused a small panic."
It took Euten an embarrassingly protracted five seconds to gather her bearings and respond, "That's putting it...mildly." Suddenly laden with questions, Euten realized that introductions were in order. "And you are...?"
"Yvraine," the woman answered succinctly, "I am an agent of the Aeldari people."
"And what sort of relationship does an agent of the Aeldari people have with a Primarch like Roboute?" Euten, unaware of Roboute's alliances and dealings, hoped he would exercise serious caution when dealing with Xenos.
This woman, Yvraine, merely laughed, which sounded like wind chimes. "I've done him a few favors, and he's done the same for me and my people."
Unsettled by the vagueness, Euten probed further. "What sort of favors?"
Yvraine gave her a smug grin. "Like saving his surrogate mother." She leaned back onto the couch and continued, "I'll be sure not to dangle that over his head as much."
Uncertain about this enigmatic figure, Euten narrowed her eyes. "What exactly is your mission here, then? Was it truly just to keep me alive?"
"You'd be surprised to know that is indeed my objective." Yvraine reached out to grab a small bottle of some expensive-looking vodka. "The Aeldari don't need the Realm of Ultramar or the Primarch causing chaos because his mother was killed in a potential crossfire."
Finding the explanation reasonable, Euten pressed on. "So, you are just here to make sure nothing happens to me until whatever is happening blows over, and then you just disappear into the night?"
"Correct." Yvraine poured herself a rather large amount of the liquor into a glass. "If all goes well, we will be gone in under two weeks. If not, well, we can readjust accordingly."
Euten, with lingering questions, shifted her focus to the coin. "Why did my son give you that coin? I find it hard to believe that Roboute passed on his coin to someone like you if he didn't explicitly trust your capabilities and loyalty. I'm having a hard time believing it, though."
Rather than be offended, Yvraine only shrugged, "Believe whatever you will. In fact, I dare say you best get to thinking up whatever story you need to tell others if anyone finds out about this little alliance."
However, Euten kept pressing the subject, "Roboute can be very headstrong at times, but he doesn't give out his trust easily, especially not something that holds serious sentimental value to him." She crossed her arms and looked expectantly at the Eldar, "He must actually hold you in high esteem."
For a moment, Yvraine looked slightly surprised but hid it skillfully and with all the grace of a lady at court. "I suppose you can say the Primarch has seen our alliance as a considerably beneficial one."
"So you say." Euten felt something was off here. "In any case, there is still much more to discuss. For starters, your group can't be seen. At all. Stay here and use the intercom to contact one of the servants for your needs."
Yvraine and the other Eldar looked unhappy, "You expect us to be caged in here?"
"Expect? That implies you have a choice in the matter. This isn't that." Euten remarked with the tone of a seasoned Seneschal, Lady at Court, and Mother of a Primarch, "Stay in this wing and don't leave. Understood?"
"You can't-" Yvraine was cut off from the challenging look on Euten's face. The Eldar scoffed before backing down. "Fine. If it makes you feel more in control, Mon'Keigh."
Euten didn't know what that word meant, but it was most certainly not all that flattering. "I'll let that insult slide, but don't use it again." She warned once more. "Regardless, I'll stop by to update you on the situation as I learn of it."
Sensing the Eldar aren't too happy with this arrangement, Euten threw them a bone, as the old saying went. "Fine. Let's change things up. Your people stay here, but you, Ms. Yvraine, can come and go as you please. Deal?"
Yvraine said nothing, only sighing before nodding her head and going back to enjoy her pilfered liquor quietly. Euten didn't need to read the room further to see that they were likely unhappy with this, but considering the circumstances, they didn't push for any sort of change.
There was still much more to discuss, and if Euten was being honest, it made for a decent distraction over being in a room full of xenos. Something about Yvraine also piqued the Seneschal's interest. Just what sort of alliance or favors did she have with Roboute?
"You're telling me that not only was there a breach into the palace defenses, but it was done by a small group of Eldar?" Aldrich couldn't believe what he was hearing. The thought was so outrageous that he laughed, although not out of amusement. "What a shitshow. Do you have any idea what sort of chaos that would cause if people found out? Especially since they reached a member of Consilium?!"
"Along with getting most of my entourage out as well," Euten added with a shrug. "Yvraine seems quite capable."
"Euten, are you aware that you committed treason?" Aldrich asked slowly and cautiously. "Even if you didn't, you know how bad this looks and sounds. You escaped from the coup via alien intervention."
She nodded. "The thought has crossed my mind." Euten gave him a placating smile. "But my options were rather limited. Besides, at the time, I didn't know they were Eldar until that point."
"But from the sounds of things, they stayed with you?" Aldrich inquired. "You allowed aliens to stay under your roof, which constitutes aiding an enemy of the state."
"I'm aware," Euten answered plainly and without concern. "I'm surprised this is rattling you so much."
"Considering what happened to Magnus the Red and his homeworld?" Aldrich remarked. "One or a thousand Eldar, it doesn't matter, Euten. You aren't sanctioned or legally allowed to shelter even an official representative of an alien species on Macragge, let alone on Terra."
"Spare me from the legality of it all, Aldrich," Euten remarked with frustration. "I am a member of the Consilium. Just because no one has examined the legality of it yet probably doesn't disqualify me from speaking or sheltering a group of aliens. Besides, how much chicanery and backroom dealing is happening in the Imperial Palace? I wouldn't be surprised if the Sigillite or Emperor have made deals with alien entities without a second thought."
Aldrich's rebuttal was typical of his thinking, "If we all start going over the heads of our leader's proclamations and rules, it will lead to chaos and destruction eventually."
Euten remained steadfast, "Spoken like a true patriot and soldier."
"My loyalty to humanity remains absolute," Aldrich said with conviction. "Human history has shown that once individuals start deciding things independently and ignoring common sense, we all pay the price for it."
"You might be right about that," Euten conceded, "but even you must agree that if the people in charge making all these rules lack common sense or context, it will cause eventual harm to everyone regardless."
She reached out to touch Aldrich's hand once more, "The Imperium is in danger. Not because of an outside threat, at least not an overt one, but because the ones making the decisions have lost sight of what matters most. And I refuse to believe that I, or Roboute, made the wrong choice in getting the help of some Eldar, especially in a life or death situation."
"Hrm..." Aldrich pondered for a moment, "I suppose, given the circumstances, getting you somewhere safe was in the best interest of everyone involved. For all any of us knew, the Imperial Palace might have been destroyed in the coup."
Euten smirked, "Considering what happened near the very end of the coup, you are right to believe that."
The more he heard this, the more Aldrich craved a drink, "Is there anything like a mini-bar in this room or...?"
She pointed to a small cabinet across the room. The former Lord-Militant stood and walked over to help himself, "Be a dear, Aldrich, and prepare me a whisky neat."
Aldrich was surprised to hear such a refined noble like her ask for a drink like that, "You drink whisky neat?" he asked while opening the cabinet door and discovering a collection of expensive-looking liquors and spirits.
"Don't think that just because I've spent most of my life at court, I didn't pick up a few bad habits." She gestured to the bottle of amber liquid, "Surprised you know what whisky is. Most people only know amasec."
Pouring generous amounts of the beverage into crystal glasses for himself and Euten, Aldrich chuckled, "I received a bottle of the stuff when I became a Lord-General. A personalized gift from a former mentor in the Anoach 19th, Colonel Priprian Galagher."
Returning to his seat, Aldrich handed the other glass to Euten, "Priprian said I was one of the few good things to have survived in the Imperial Army."
"That makes two of us. I'm glad you survived as well," Euten remarked before sipping her whisky, either ignoring or not noticing the surprised look from Aldrich. He decided to take the compliment as friendly rather than anything else.
After the pair took a moment to enjoy their drinks, Aldrich returned to his questions, "So...this is the big secret then? Guilliman is working with the Eldar and had a hand in the coup?"
"Oh, that isn't the biggest bombshell out of this story."
A week passed, during which Euten witnessed what was initially thought to be a series of strategic and tactical masterstrokes by Orbán Vilmo, allowing him to take the Imperial Palace with limited loss of life and damages. By all accounts, the coup had succeeded.
Yet while Euten tried focusing on this otherwise extraordinary unfolding, her attention was split between this and her Eldar savior, Yvraine. Rather than keeping to her compatriots and ignoring the humans in the mansion, Yvraine decided to speak with Euten privately.
Perhaps out of curiosity or boredom, Yvraine and Euten began having conversations. The Seneschal used this opportunity to learn more about one of humanity's oldest enemies, especially why someone like the Eldar would have allied with Roboute.
No matter how hard Euten tried, Yvraine was more interested in being aloof and cryptic in these interactions. Instead of explaining things specifically, Yvraine threw back questions to Euten and only answered once she felt satisfied. Strangely enough, Euten suspected this was some sort of ploy or maybe even a test by Yvraine. Drawing on her experience with someone like Corvus, who had seemingly become Roboute's closest ally and friend, Euten recognized Yvraine's similar tendency to deflect and change subjects when uncomfortable.
It felt like Yvraine was playing the part of the haughty, superior alien. While that might be acceptable in other instances, Euten still wanted to understand how Yvraine gained the trust of her son and the basis of their alliance.
Yvraine mentioned that she had fought alongside Roboute, assisting him in certain delicate matters. In turn, the Primarch helped the Aeldari with high-value objectives and "promised" her alien gods that he wasn't doing anything to harm humanity; quite the opposite, in fact. While Euten believed her, it still didn't answer her question about their relationship.
As the coup approached its conclusion, with an announcement that Eli had escaped and the Consilium was being gathered upon the demand of Kesar Dorlin, Euten suspected that she would never know the true extent of the Eldar and Roboute connection until she found time to interrogate her son.
By now, the Eldar had decided it was time for them to leave. The coup was undoubtedly over, and whatever came next didn't matter, as Euten was safe. Deciding that the best course of action was to slip away in the resulting chaos, the Eldar was ready to leave the mansion and find another escape off-world.
Deciding to repay them for their efforts, Euten located a ship whose crew and captain wouldn't ask any questions in exchange for a small fortune she could provide. Deciding to go and speak and thank Yvraine directly, Euten made her way over to the secluded side of the mansion.
Looking around, Euten saw that the Eldar seemed to be all gone. Unfortunate. They left right before they could get their ticket off-world. Yet just as Euten was ready to turn around and leave, she heard the most peculiar thing. It was a beautiful melody. Beautiful and strangely familiar.
'Why does this sound so familiar...?' Euten sought out the source of the melody. Heading toward one of the bedrooms, she heard a voice singing or perhaps humming it. Taking a moment to close her eyes and listen, trying to place the memory, something came to mind, although the thought was so jarring she almost couldn't believe it.
However, the melody seemed to fit with the memory, causing Euten to blink, almost surprised with herself at the realization more than anything, "How the hell...?" Deciding to confront this head-on, the Pricips quickly knocked on the door.
A few seconds later, a surprised and almost embarrassed Yvraine appeared, who then quickly tried to look calm and collected, "Ah, Lady Guilliman. Here to see us off? Alas, most of my compatriots have gone ahead of me."
Euten stared momentarily before crossing her arms, "Well, I caught you, and that matters more than anything. I arranged for you and your team a means to get off-world."
"Oh, how magnanimous of you."
"I know," Euten remarked before asking her next question, "Where did you learn that song?"
For a brief second, Yvraine lost her composure, "Pardon?"
"You were...humming? Singing? Whatever. The melody was quite familiar to me. Did Roboute teach you that?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Yvraine tried acting aloof again, "You clearly misheard whatever I was doing."
"Yvraine," Euten started, "I am an old woman, at least by human standards. My body, even with modification, enhancements, and rejuve treatments, will ultimately fail me in due time. But if you think for a second that my mind or hearing has left me, you are sadly mistaken."
Rather than continue questioning her, Euten pulled out a small data chit from her dress, "Here are the coordinates, instructions, and a passcode that you can use to get past any defense monitors or ships." The Seneschal bowed to the Eldar, "I don't know what might have happened if I stayed at the Palace, but I believe you took considerable risk to ensure no harm came to me. So, from the bottom of my heart and from my family, I am eternally grateful. You are forever welcomed upon Macragge if you so decide to visit."
If Yvraine had any objections or quips about Euten's offer to visit Macragge, she kept such comments to herself. The Eldar was, in fact, looking warily at Guilliman's mother, almost like she had just been caught underestimating her. "I will...consider your offer."
"That is all I ask. May your travels be safe and swift." Euten gave her a dangerous smile, "And if you come across Roboute, do tell him I will have words with him about this...relationship you and your people have with him."
Yvraine kept a neutral look on her face, "I'll keep that in mind as well. May you walk in the grace of the gods, Tarasha Euten."
"After that, we departed, and I returned to the Imperial Palace," Euten finished her story, with Aldrich still looking expectantly at her, "Oh, yes, I suppose you are keen to know what happened at the Consilium."
Her companion nodded, "Considering you still haven't revealed the big secret to this whole interaction…" Aldrich looked confused, "So, this Eldar was singing a song that reminded you of something?"
Then it clicked for him, "The musical box." Aldrich snapped his fingers at his epiphany, "You think the song she was singing is similar to the one in the box?"
"It's the same song."
"Euten..." Aldrich remarked, sounding weary, "The odds that some Eldar heard a song that you've heard before versus it being just a little bit similar to a song that the Eldar know is quite unlikely."
"Oh, for the love-" Euten angrily placed her empty glass down, "Is a little faith in me too much to ask, Aldrich?!"
"I'm not here to be a yes-man if that's what you expect." Aldrich's rebuttal was a bit harsh, but it felt necessary, "Euten, I'm hearing a lot of crazy shit, and I've barely had enough time or liquor to process it, and now you are throwing me this story about you hearing some alien woman singing some old tune that-"
"Roboute made the song." She then held up the musical box, "Made this."
Aldrich stared for a moment, "What?"
"It was a birthday gift to me." Euten explained, "Roboute was doing such incredible things, but he decided to show off his attempt at making something mechanical and composed such a beautiful song..." She gently held the box in her hands. "He taught Konor and me the melody but explained that he'd only teach it to the people he loved the most."
It took Aldrich a moment to start piecing things together and what Euten implied. The coin. The Eldar coming to Euten's aid. How this Yvraine knows a song that Roboute evidently only taught to people he loved.
A woman that he would have to love as well.
"You aren't..." Aldrich cleared his throat, "Euten, you aren't implying that your son, the Primarch, is-"
"He's most likely romantically involved with an Eldar," Euten looked at him with all the seriousness this situation called for, "Yes, that is exactly what I am saying here."
The silence that followed was choking before something took hold of Aldrich, and he started to slowly laugh, almost aghast at the situation's absurdity. "This is absurd. Outrageous, even."
He stood up and looked expectantly at Euten, "You are positive of this?"
"Not 100%," She admitted, "But my intuition as a mother and a woman is screaming at me."
Aldrich looked unhappy with that answer, "If this is just a great misunderstanding...we need to be absolutely certain." Trying to wrap his head around this, he continued, "Your son is committing a treasonous and immoral act."
Such a remark caused Euten to stand in a huff, "Roboute hasn't done anything treasonous or immoral!"
"He's literally sleeping with the enemy!" Aldrich countered, "We don't even know what the purpose of this supposed relationship is. If he was quietly bedding her, that could be swept aside, maybe even forgiven. But if he is serious? And he thinks this is love? You talked about how this could destabilize the Realm of Ultramar, and you are right. If word of this got out, his own people would be calling for his head, and that's before an army of Custodes and his brothers appeared over Macragge!"
"Our people won't turn on him." Euten sounded offended, "You're still an outsider, Aldrich. You haven't been here long enough to know that the Realm of Ultramar will follow their lord after bringing him all the prosperity his genius gave them."
"Until the rest of the Imperium starts bombing and occupying their homes and cities." Aldrich shook his head, "And all because he took an alien for a wife? You think people will fight and die for a ruler's selfish desire?"
"Roboute is owed happiness." The remark was so quiet that Aldrich barely heard it, "He has sacrificed so much already, given his all to ensure prosperity in our realm and the Imperium at large. He's kept the galactic economy afloat and used his wealth to bring worlds peacefully into the Imperium. His sons have saved hundreds of trillions of lives. So if he found someone that he can be happy with, after everything he's accomplished, I refuse to believe he should be punished for that."
"That's a nice sentiment, but it won't hold up to the average citizen, who will only see a freak of nature at best and a slaver at worst." Aldrich tried his hardest to make her understand how this would end: "The people are going to turn against him. The Imperium and his brothers will turn against him as well. His own sons might."
"No," Euten held firm, "Not all of his brothers nor will his sons. For all Roboute's faults, he has only ever been a man who has helped his kin and family. I know plenty will stand by his side when the time comes."
He scoffed, "Until the Emperor arrives." They both knew how that would go and end.
That, however, didn't seem to deter Euten. "Fuck him." She hissed with an expression befitting a ganger, "He might be his progenitor, but Konor was his true father. We taught Roboute to be a strong and just ruler. Heavens knows he hasn't always been like that, but he's learned from every mistake and sin he's committed so he can do and be better."
She wrung her hands, a nervous gesture evident on her face, "My son deserves happiness. If he wants to be with an alien woman... fine. We've allowed powerful leaders to get away with all sorts of things. After speaking with Yvraine, I realized she's not my first or second choice, but she's not an evil creature or some deceitful woman."
The pair fell silent, a moment of reflection passing, or in Aldrich's case, an attempt to calm down after hearing all this. "Just... we need to address this, alright?" Whatever gave him the courage or audacity to reach out and gently grip her hands probably came from the whisky, "I've already promised that whatever happens won't leave this room. You still have my word on that. And at this point, I'm already an accomplice to treason, so I might as well do my part in helping you with this."
"Heh," Euten smiled softly, "That's kind of you to say." She keenly noticed that her hands remained in his. "It's funny, but this isn't the first time I've argued with someone in this room." Now she pulled her hands away, "Konor and I fought here a few times. Made sure to do it away from Roboute. It was never about our family. More about what we had to do for the good of Macragge and Roboute."
Sitting back down in her seat, Euten looked guilty, "I think I just tried to keep him away from politics as long as possible, which was next to impossible. Konor knew Roboute would surpass all expectations, but I thought I could just... give him a few more years of happiness."
Aldrich didn't mince his next response, "Unfortunately, it's his supposed happiness that is coming back to haunt him." He said before sitting back down, "So, what is our next step in this?"
"I need to confront Roboute about this," Euten admitted, "I can't pretend this never happened." She shook her head, "I don't want to sound upset with his choice, but couldn't he have picked a princess or Arthron?"
"I don't think being in a relationship with a psyker would've done him a lot of good."
Euten waved off that remark, "I'm sure it could have worked." Then she paused and wondered, "I do hope Roboute doesn't try his luck with trying to be in a relationship with Yvraine and Arthron. A polygamist relationship with an alien and psyker might be a bit much..."
"That's putting it lightly." Aldrich's observation was quite dry, "Might I suggest we deal with one hurdle at a time?"
"Yes, yes." Euten looked like she needed another drink. "I need them to get married," she suddenly declared.
"What did I just say about one hurdle at a time?"
"Oh, hush," she gently chastised Aldrich, "I'm thinking. A marriage will cause chaos but will cement the relationship beyond just carnal desire."
"You think a more traditional approach will look good?" Aldrich mulled that over and saw some merit to the idea. "It might work. At least he wouldn't come off as some warlord."
Thinking on it a little more, Aldrich had a rather "gruesome" thought. He braced himself, "There is... a means to spin this whole thing, especially with the marriage proposal."
"I'm all ears, Legatus."
"You aren't going to like it."
"Do I look like a woman who has many choices?!" Euten remarked testily, "Spit it out."
Leaning back into his chair, Aldrich pursed his lips, "Do you know what a war bride is?"
"Are you serious?" Evidently, she did. "Absolutely NOT."
Aldrich continued to explain his reasoning, "Most people will understand that Roboute took on an alien wife if it was assumed that he won her in conquest. It's a tribal mentality. He took a female from the opposition and made her his. Humans will at least understand the logic there."
"Oh, and maybe he can bring back some of the Eldar's furs and shiny rocks to show off to the other ferals!" Euten looked quite unhappy at the suggestion, "As I said, absolutely not. I will not subject Roboute or Yvraine to some... primordial showmanship. We're a civilized people, or so I've had to tell myself since my last visit to Terra."
"Are you sure about that?"
The two stared at each other briefly before both briefly snorted in tandem at knowing better.
"You know what I meant," Euten remarked, "Do you have any other suggestions? Real ones, I mean."
Aldrich didn't have another one but asked, "Why the marriage? I mean, beyond the legality and showmanship."
"Because it means that no matter what anyone says, their relationship wasn't a fluke or somehow Roboute losing his mind. A marriage is still a sacred thing. No matter the culture or world, people will always see it as having some sort of meaning, even if it's just pure political theater."
"A purely sentimental value, then." Aldrich couldn't necessarily agree with this thinking, but he understood it. "I suppose that is something."
"It makes for a good story, anyway."
Aldrich wanted to sigh once more, "Let's try and make sure this story is a nice one and not a tragedy first." He pointedly looked at her, "Again, why the marriage?"
Euten looked embarrassed momentarily and then profoundly aware of something, "Because...I don't want to die without knowing that Roboute had someone else to take care of him."
"You think this woman will be able to care for him?" Aldrich sounded almost amused at the idea, "Come on, Euten. A good wife or husband goes a long way, but..."
"Don't take this the wrong way, Aldrich, but you've never been married to someone who relied upon you just as much as you relied upon them." Euten's remark was rather piercing to the Centurian bachelor. "Konor and I supported each other, which let us care for Roboute. We were partners and friends before lovers and rulers."
"I took care of Konor. He took care of me. When he died, I cared for Roboute as best I could, but by then, he was basically his own man. Everything I've done since then has been, before all else, an exercise in just trying to keep myself going and seeing my son ready for whatever glorious fate awaits him. I will not live to see it. As such, I need to make sure those who stand by his side, especially those he calls a lover, can care for him in his times of need."
Aldrich nodded and tried not to focus on whether or not he was now in a similar position. He quickly pushed those thoughts away. He had no right to place that mantle upon himself. This was just a meeting between two lords. A husband and lover, he was not. But he was Euten's friend, at least for now.
"Very well," He answered once more, "But you'll have to be the one to convince both of them to such an arrangement."
"I'll figure something out." Euten sounded confident enough, "We still have other matters to attend to anyway."
"If I am being completely honest, and I am," Aldrich quipped, "I believe we need to discuss matters of state, particularly concerning what happened on Terra. While the Primarch's romantic interests are now matters of great concern, they aren't exactly public or time-sensitive... at least not yet."
"Fine," Euten did look considerably tired now, "It's been a long...month, really."
Aldrich nodded, "A little rest will do you some good, then." Deciding to test his luck one more time, he approached and offered her a hand to help her up.
She looked dismissively at it, "I'm not that old, Aldrich."
"No, we're both old." He half-joked to her, "The young have complicated things for us both. Such is the price of having to keep up with them."
Euten grimaced before taking his hand. "Not a good time for jokes."
He smirked, "It's gonna get worse." Aldrich gently patted her hand, "If those two can have a child, you are going to be a grandmoth-"
"If you finish that sentence, I will shoot you." Euten half-glared at him, and Aldrich idly wondered if she kept a gun on her person. He wisely decided to stay quiet. "Someone is touchy."
"Hush." She grabbed his arm once more, "Granted, if I can hold a grandchild in my arms at least once, I can die peacefully."
As the pair left the room, Aldrich kept pressing his luck, "What if you survive for the next hundred years? And those children have families of their own? Wouldn't that make you a great-grand-"
"Where is my gun?" She started looking around while Aldrich gently laughed before a fuming Euten quietly joined him. For a moment, they both didn't feel so old in the face of a growing storm that surrounded the Primarch and his secret alliances and relationships.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, time for another big one.
Aldrich Baelsar had spent limited time on Macragge, yet he found the experience remarkably pleasant compared to Terra. It was also something of a windfall of luck that brought him to this planet. Euten Tarasha offered him a job. He wisely took the offer because he was suddenly a free man again.
Truth be told, when the invitation from Euten arrived, he couldn't deny feeling intrigued at the prospect of spending more time with her. Her letters, shining bright during his tenure as Lord Militant, suggested a mutual connection and one that, admittedly, he wanted to explore a little further.
Her offer was quite impressive. Aldrich would assume the position of Praesidius Legatus, an honorary command title for the Realm of Ultramar, which proved to be a seamless transition when the time came to accept it. Considering most of his command staff from Terra, including Jiro and Frida, accompanied Aldrich and helped facilitate his role as Legatus, he could get to work soon enough upon arrival.
At Euten's behest, his new office was situated in Macragge City and within distance of the capital fortress of Roboute Guilliman. This would make it easier to visit Euten. Fortunately, her reasons were more practical and legitimate. She needed Aldrich to start working as soon as possible, even if it was just minor tasks. Among her concerns was improving the Realm of Ultramar's logistical network and maintaining the overly large standing army.
Privately, Euten disclosed her need for someone trustworthy to oversee affairs, particularly after a message summoned her to Terra two years prior. Representing her son and other Primarchs in the new Consilium, orchestrated by his successor, Lord Militant Lanatus, was a prospect Aldrich hadn't welcomed.
In private discussions with Euten, Aldrich revealed his bitterness and anger over his abrupt dismissal from Terra. His attempt to leave formally was thwarted as the higher-ups aimed for a public transition of power. For the second time, he found himself forced into early retirement.
Eli's ascent to the office garnered praise before approving funding requests, adding salt to Aldrich's wounds. "The Tyrant of Terra has been overthrown!" – an officer's words that stung deeply. However, Euten's warm welcome on Macragge, complete with an entourage of Astartes, Ultramar Auxilia, and Titans, erased some of the bitterness. She personally bestowed his title, position, and an adamantine power gauntlet, the Sentinels Hand.
Aldrich owed Euten a great deal and expressed his gratitude. Her smug response, "You do, don't you?" elicited a genuine laugh. Considering this, Aldrich grew anxious when news of a coup on Terra reached Macragge while the Consilium Princips were still there. Sparse information fueled uncertainty, prompting talks of a potential liberation force against a foreign element seizing control of Sol.
Thankfully, the all-clear was issued a few days later, and reports confirmed the Imperial Palace's return to loyalists. The wording was curious – 'returned' – leaving everyone puzzled. Relieved to learn of Euten's swift return to the Realm of Ultramar, Aldrich wondered what the hell was going on with the Throneworld.
One month after the Coup…
The Palace of Ultramar…
Euten was finally back in the system and arriving back on Macragge. To which Aldrich would be the first to greet her. Technically, Aldrich's presence wasn't necessary, but the alternative was Marius Gage, the new Legatus, who willingly offered to take on the responsibility. Aldrich, with only a handful of servants and servitors, arrived to greet Euten.
As the shuttle safely landed on the secured pad, a pair of First Company Ultramarines was the first to disembark, followed by Euten and two other marines. Seeing Aldrich, Euten smiled, reciprocated by Aldrich. Moments later, servants and servitors began collecting Euten's belongings.
Wasting no time, Euten addressed the marines, "You four report to the Chapter Master for debriefing. The Legatus will escort me the rest of the way." If the Astartes harbored any objections, they kept them to themselves, nodding before leaving the landing pad.
Turning back to Aldrich, Euten's smile shifted into a grimace. "You and I need to talk privately. I've learned of something monumental involving Roboute."
Suspecting the severity of the matter, Aldrich merely nodded before cautiously inquiring, "He had a hand in whatever happened on Terra?"
"Of course, but that's not what I'm talking about," Euten corrected with a small wave of dismissals. "What I've learned is more important than the coup." More important than the entire coup? Aldrich questioned if this revelation required the Chapter Master's input or perhaps even the Primarch himself.
Without waiting for his response, Euten grabbed Aldrich's right arm and stuck to his side. "Come on, we'll head to my private study. It's secured. I have it swept for bugs and listening devices every day."
If Aldrich was worried about the word of this interaction getting around, he wisely decided not to voice it. Besides, it wasn't like he was about to tell Euten "no" or anything.
Fifteen minutes later…
Aldrich believed that individuals harbored what he considered "sacred" spaces regardless of their backgrounds or proclivities toward faith. These weren't necessarily temples or shrines but rather locations that carried profound meaning. They could take various forms—a library, bedroom, kitchen, or garden. Regardless of the type, these places bore the unmistakable imprint of a person's personal touch and belongings.
For Tarasha Euten, her private study undeniably held the essence of her sacred space. Tucked away and shielded by a stasis field, it likely boasted an automated defense system to deter intruders. Surveying its contents, Aldrich found a rationale in the security measures.
Contrary to what one might expect from a workspace or office, the room primarily served as a haven for a mother and wife. Randomly placed pieces of artwork, books, paintings, and various items adorned the space. The furniture, though old, exuded comfort, complemented by rugs and tapestries bearing heraldries or commemorating past victories.
The room emitted the nostalgic scent of wood and leather, reminiscent of Aldrich's pre-conscription days in the Imperial Army. However, what truly captured his attention were the photos above a small fireplace. He observed a younger Euten with a man he presumed to be her husband, Konor Guilliman, on their wedding day. Adjacent to that was a photo of the couple with a toddler exhibiting blue eyes and blond hair—a depiction of the Primarch at a very young age.
Suddenly, Aldrich felt a twinge of awkwardness. Unsure he was meant to witness this private aspect, he took cues from Euten's lack of objections or directives. Deciding it best not to comment for the time being, the Legatus maintained a respectful silence while he watched as Euten approached what looked to be an old cedar chest and started rummaging through it.
"Where is it?" She muttered while Aldrich watched as she pulled out what looked to be a few knickknacks that seemed to have belonged to a child. Again, probably Guillimans. A moment later, Euten pulled out a small wooden box. "Aha! Found it."
Aldrich crossed his arms, looking expectantly, "Dare I even ask?"
Sauntering over to a pair of small leather seats, Euten replied, "Believe me, it's important. It's been on my mind since I left Terra." She gestured for Aldrich to take the other seat, causing a momentary hesitation. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that it might have been her husband's seat at one point, but Aldrich brushed it aside as he took his seat.
While awaiting an explanation for the significance of the box, Aldrich observed Euten fiddling with it, turning a small knob. It became evident that it was a musical box as a lovely melody began to play a few seconds later. The tune had a charm fit for a child's bedside.
Curious for answers, Aldrich turned to Euten and was perplexed to see not a look of relief but exasperation and anxiety. "Oh...oh, Roboute, what have you gotten yourself into now?"
"I'm glad the music box unveiled some secret to you," Aldrich quipped with a deadpan expression. "Euten, what's going on here? What exactly did Roboute even do?"
She grimaced before looking expectantly at Aldrich. "Promise me that whatever I say here doesn't leave this room."
Aldrich rolled his eyes. "I promise. Not like I'd survive the attempt to undermine you."
"I mean it, Aldrich." Euten emphasized with her next words, "If this information were to get out before I could spin things, it could cause unnecessary chaos across the Realm of Ultramar."
"God." Aldrich thought he knew what happened now: "Roboute was the mastermind behind the coup." It tracked with the data that the Primarch had shown involving Eli's budget proposals and pretty much cemented to Aldrich that the Lord Militant might have lost his mind.
But to his surprise, Euten shook her head, "No, that's not it. Although he did have a part in it."
That blew a hole in one of his theories. "Then…this is related to the economic woes facing the Realm of Ultramar?"
Euten had a small smirk on her face. "Not that either."
Aldrich stared momentarily before rubbing his wary eyes. "Alright, I give up. What exactly did you find out?"
"First, I need to explain a few things," Euten began, "Especially with what happened on Terra." She placed the music box on a small nearby table and recounted her tale.
One month ago…
The Imperial Palace on Terra…
A futile exercise. That's the only conclusion Euten drew after the latest Consilium meeting. Despite her efforts to find value in this renewed attempt at governance, all she perceived was another instance of rubber-stamping the Sigillite's plans, veiled under the guise of greater objectivity.
When she assumed the role of Primarch Princips, it was meant to be a temporary position, which Euten acknowledged. Her true priorities lay back on Macragge, and Terra offered little for her to appreciate. The eyesore of a palace and the persistent migraine induced by the Golden Throne's presence only fueled her desire to depart.
Nevertheless, she had to endure these sessions and, more importantly, strive to influence votes in directions that could, above all else, yield positive outcomes for the Imperium. This was all that Roboute requested of her. He and Corvus had already committed 100,000 marines and ships to reinforce the Imperium. Yet, rectifying the impending economic crisis demanded more than an army of Astartes.
The growing fixation on authority and power on Terra had reached absurd and perilous levels of incompetence. Euten found herself disapproving of how easily others embraced the execution of Angron. Did the Red Angel deserve such a fate? Perhaps. However, it set a perilous precedent. If one Primarch could be sentenced to death, who's to say others wouldn't follow?
Then came the heated debate over Eli's debt spending and plans for the Imperial economy. The less Euten delved into that, the better. She couldn't fathom how many of the Princips were acquiescing to this, revealing how many were just mouthpieces for Malcador.
Euten would be dishonest if she claimed not to anticipate skullduggery and backroom politicking; she knew true democracy was a distant prospect. Yet, she had hoped for more theater, perhaps even a semblance of genuine change. Once again, reality shattered her expectations.
All she could do now was strive to sway someone to her side of a vote, a task made both incredibly difficult and oddly facile by the Sigillite. Euten could, if she chose, converse with any Consilium member privately, but that brought numerous risks to her platform and station. Carefulness was paramount to avoid overstepping bounds or revealing her hand prematurely.
Moreover, Euten acknowledged that she likely wasn't a popular figure among the "Pro-Sigillite" camp. So far, only Sota-Nul and Maria had approached her. Vandal also sought her out by wanting a more "animated" debate. Something was disconcerting about him. It felt akin to being in the presence of Konor at the peak of his power and fame, mixed with the sensation of standing before her grandfather. A truly disorienting experience.
Yet, what significance did it hold now? The next major votes were still a month away, and by then, Euten's successor would hopefully be chosen. She'd then be on her way out of the Consilium and aboard a ship bound for Macragge. At least that meant no one would try to assassinate her. Granted, Euten seriously doubted anyone was going to in the first place.
Hence, Euten was quite baffled when, upon hearing a loud knocking on her door and checking the security pict, she saw what looked to be a group of five Solar Auxillas outside her room within the specifically prepared apartments of the Princips.
Hence, Euten was confused when a resounding knock echoed through her door, prompting her to inspect the security pict. Her servants had been sent away, and her guards shouldn't have, let alone close to her quarters. So when she saw a group of five Solar Auxillas standing outside her room within the specially designated apartments of the Princips, she assumed something was wrong.
"What in the...?" Euten muttered to herself. "Where are my guards?" The Seneschal cautiously approached the door and reached out to grab a special master-crafted compact laspistol, which she most certainly wasn't carrying during the Consilium sessions.
Activating the intercom for the door, Euten inquired, "Who is it?"
"Tarasha Euten?" A vox-scrambled voice answered, which wasn't a good sign.
"Are you looking for her?" Euten replied, ensuring she wasn't directly in front of the door. "She just stepped out."
Anticipating either another inquiry or a possible escalation, Euten was caught off guard when the trooper speaking suddenly noticed the pict-recorder. Extracting something from a vest pocket, they held it up to the recorder, and Euten's eyes widened in recognition.
The figure displaying the coin stated, "Roboute said this should be more than enough proof for you."
"Who the..." Euten muttered audibly, then grit her teeth before unlocking and opening the door smoothly. Now facing the five troopers, she appeared both annoyed and confused. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you better have a damn good reason for possessing that!"
"What the hell did they have?" Aldrich interrupted the story, clearly perplexed. "Also, you opened the door to a potential squad of heavily-armored assassins?"
Euten waved off his concern, "Please. If they wanted to kill me, they probably would have succeeded by breaking down the door. Those were disguises anyway." As she rummaged through a familiar small purse that Aldrich often saw her carry at her hip, she continued,
"As for what she showed me…" Euten pulled out what appeared to be an old-looking coin and handed it to Aldrich. He examined it closely. Two faces were minted on each side, one unmistakably that of Konor Guilliman and the other a less-than-beloved figure, a man once known as the traitor, Gallan. He also noticed that the metal on the coin had been eroded by something.
"My late husband gave Roboute that coin when he was still a boy. He said the coin represents Macragge. You'd have to ask Roboute what Konor said, but he took it to heart," Euten explained. "Roboute then returned it to his father one day, saying that he felt like some of his luck had rubbed off onto it." She sighed, appearing lost in memory. "The metal is stained by the spillover from the neurotoxin that killed Konor."
"God," Aldrich breathed out, more concerned about bringing up such a painful memory for Euten once more. "That's some mark of trust, alright." He returned the coin to Euten, who carefully placed it beside her chair. "Still, why would Guilliman part with something that important?"
"If you let me continue, you'll know why, and this is where the story gets very complicated."
"As I mentioned, Roboute sent us," the group's leader responded, "We are here to escort you to a safe place."
Still marveling at how this coin ended up in their possession, Euten nearly missed their words. "Escort me?" She looked at them in confusion. "Oh, for the love of Macragge, is someone actually trying to assassinate me? Wonderful."
To her surprise, they shook their heads. "No. War is coming to the palace."
Hearing such an absurd claim almost prompted Euten to laugh. "The Imperial Palace, the most heavily guarded location in perhaps the known galaxy?"
Her would-be savior nodded. "A force led by a man with a soul of growing grey shall soon descend upon it. Already, his forces are in position. Time is of the essence. We must leave. Now."
If this had been anyone else or any other time, Euten might have dismissed them. However, knowing Roboute attached such personal value to these strangers made her believe in their sincerity. The issue, however, was that she couldn't just up and leave.
"Do you have a shuttle ready?"
"We were able to commandeer a... what was it called, a Halo Barge?" They turned to one of their compatriots, who nodded. The unfamiliarity with the term worked in her favor.
Euten nodded before heading back to her bedroom. "I need to get my staff. They'll be ready to go in ten minutes."
"That will greatly increase the chance of our escape being noticed," the lead figure replied, sounding annoyed. "We were told to take only you."
"Well, your mission parameters have just changed," Euten remarked as she hastily packed a bag, including a personal cogitator. "Because if I leave without my staff, one of them could eventually give away my location to any interrogator since they are quite aware of my safehouse on Terra."
"We could just eliminate them before we leave," another trooper suggested, causing the leader to tense up. Euten, however, dismissed the idea with a shake of her head.
"Too much of a hassle. Most of them are already separated. If you gathered them in one place, you might as well take them with us on the barge. Besides, they are useful to us; they can help cover our tracks." Finishing her impromptu packing, Euten approached the squad. "At this point, you're better off following my lead."
Stepping out with her new escort, Euten knew where to find a few of her staff. "I'll send a message for a meeting, but I need to know which hangar or landing pad we're heading to. So, if you'd all be so kind?"
If there was any internal debate, it remained unspoken. Euten suspected that opinions might surface once she was out of earshot. Nonetheless, the group's leader hesitantly nodded. "Very well, if that is your desire."
Euten felt a sense of satisfaction. "Good to know you're a cooperative bunch." Her experience in dealing with Astartes had equipped her with the skills to command compliance from just about anyone.
With that out of the way, Euten and her would-be saviors began their escape from the Imperial Palace.
"After that, most of my entourage made it to one of the hangars in the palace. If I didn't know any better, it was almost like most security wasn't even paying attention," Euten explained to Aldrich, who wore a displeased expression. "What?"
He grimaced before speaking, "Are you telling me there were conspirators within the security details of the palace? Where were the Lucifer Blacks or the Custodes?"
Euten shrugged, "Caught out of place, distracted, or undermanned. The Emperor and Malcador took most of his forces in Sol off to fight something important. From what I learned after the coup, all of this was coordinated to make for a perfect strike."
"Who led this coup then? Was it another Primarch other than Roboute?"
"Corvus Corax was one of the masterminds," Euten answered, "But the man who actually orchestrated everything was the Lord Commander Solar, Orbán Vilmo."
For a moment, Aldrich looked flabbergasted, "Orbán was the one behind this?! I knew he was a crazed murderer, but a traitor?"
"He did the right thing," Euten refuted him, "Eli's plans would have set the Imperium on a path to destruction and mayhem."
"I'm not arguing that he didn't do the right thing, but the fact that of all the people that had the guts to do the right thing…" Aldrich looked and sounded tired now, "What the hell happened to the Imperial Army I fought alongside? We were conquerors, but I remember so many of us willing to do the right thing. Did we lose sight of what good the Great Crusade was meant to do? What could it have been?"
To his surprise, Euten's hand reached out and gently touched his. "At least someone I know did try to change things for the better before everything went to hell." Hearing that from her did make the old man in him feel better. Aldrich lost a lot of face for his efforts to make things better for everyone. But to know that he and Orbán Vilmo, the infamous Skullface, were in the same mindset made the Archangel feel dirty.
Euten and her entourage successfully escaped from the Imperial Palace, skillfully masking their departure with a fabricated excuse and falsified ship identification. Leveraging her Princips-level access codes, she left behind a deceptive trail, making it appear that the Halo Barge she took was merely on a routine mission to dispose of waste.
With their getaway achieved, the next step was laying low for an undetermined period. Fortunately, the Realm of Ultramar had holdings on Terra, including a property in the purified lands of Ursh. A sprawling 2,000-acre plot with a modest mansion provided a comfortable refuge befitting Euten's high status.
Shortly after the entourage arrived at the secluded estate, reports from Euten's remaining agents within the Imperial Palace hinted at significant unrest. Troop movements, including Black Brigades, were observed under cover of night, setting up checkpoints and blockades. As events unfolded, Euten's mysterious benefactors retreated into a secluded section of the mansion, promising a private conversation in due time. Despite the gratitude for their assistance, Euten couldn't shake a lingering suspicion about these enigmatic individuals.
A few more hours passed, and suddenly, all transmissions from the Imperial Palace ceased. Reports of a battle over Luna surfaced, signaling a coup underway. The realization struck Euten: Terra had become a volatile and dangerous place. Moreover, the disappearance of Princips would inevitably draw attention.
Just as Euten believed the situation couldn't become more peculiar, one of her enigmatic "saviors" approached her, still clad in sealed body armor. The perplexity of this person's continued anonymity struck Euten—over a day had passed since their escape, and the imperative to conceal their identity seemed unnecessary, or so she thought.
"Our leader wishes to speak to you," came the cryptic order from the figure. Sensing the need for answers, Euten opted not to contest the directive. The protectors had chosen a secluded section of the mansion that most staff seldom visited, although, given the estate's size, it hardly made a noticeable difference—capable of comfortably housing over 500 individuals.
During the interim, Euten speculated on the identity of her protectors. Perhaps they were a specialized mercenary group, individuals encountered by Roboute or Corvus during the Great Crusade, or even Astartes scouts or assassins aligned with the coup. However, upon opening the door to the rooms commandeered by her mysterious benefactors, Euten was met with an unexpected sight—a quartet of Eldar reclining on couches like bored lordlings. Each member exuded unnatural beauty, but the one adorned in leader's armor stood out, boasting long, exquisite platinum blonde hair.
"Ah, good," the Eldar woman spoke with confidence. "We can finally get introductions out of the way. I apologize for the deception, but I think you'd agree that if anyone spotted Aeldari moving about the perfidious keep you call the Imperial Palace, it might have caused a small panic."
It took Euten an embarrassingly protracted five seconds to gather her bearings and respond, "That's putting it...mildly." Suddenly laden with questions, Euten realized that introductions were in order. "And you are...?"
"Yvraine," the woman answered succinctly, "I am an agent of the Aeldari people."
"And what sort of relationship does an agent of the Aeldari people have with a Primarch like Roboute?" Euten, unaware of Roboute's alliances and dealings, hoped he would exercise serious caution when dealing with Xenos.
This woman, Yvraine, merely laughed, which sounded like wind chimes. "I've done him a few favors, and he's done the same for me and my people."
Unsettled by the vagueness, Euten probed further. "What sort of favors?"
Yvraine gave her a smug grin. "Like saving his surrogate mother." She leaned back onto the couch and continued, "I'll be sure not to dangle that over his head as much."
Uncertain about this enigmatic figure, Euten narrowed her eyes. "What exactly is your mission here, then? Was it truly just to keep me alive?"
"You'd be surprised to know that is indeed my objective." Yvraine reached out to grab a small bottle of some expensive-looking vodka. "The Aeldari don't need the Realm of Ultramar or the Primarch causing chaos because his mother was killed in a potential crossfire."
Finding the explanation reasonable, Euten pressed on. "So, you are just here to make sure nothing happens to me until whatever is happening blows over, and then you just disappear into the night?"
"Correct." Yvraine poured herself a rather large amount of the liquor into a glass. "If all goes well, we will be gone in under two weeks. If not, well, we can readjust accordingly."
Euten, with lingering questions, shifted her focus to the coin. "Why did my son give you that coin? I find it hard to believe that Roboute passed on his coin to someone like you if he didn't explicitly trust your capabilities and loyalty. I'm having a hard time believing it, though."
Rather than be offended, Yvraine only shrugged, "Believe whatever you will. In fact, I dare say you best get to thinking up whatever story you need to tell others if anyone finds out about this little alliance."
However, Euten kept pressing the subject, "Roboute can be very headstrong at times, but he doesn't give out his trust easily, especially not something that holds serious sentimental value to him." She crossed her arms and looked expectantly at the Eldar, "He must actually hold you in high esteem."
For a moment, Yvraine looked slightly surprised but hid it skillfully and with all the grace of a lady at court. "I suppose you can say the Primarch has seen our alliance as a considerably beneficial one."
"So you say." Euten felt something was off here. "In any case, there is still much more to discuss. For starters, your group can't be seen. At all. Stay here and use the intercom to contact one of the servants for your needs."
Yvraine and the other Eldar looked unhappy, "You expect us to be caged in here?"
"Expect? That implies you have a choice in the matter. This isn't that." Euten remarked with the tone of a seasoned Seneschal, Lady at Court, and Mother of a Primarch, "Stay in this wing and don't leave. Understood?"
"You can't-" Yvraine was cut off from the challenging look on Euten's face. The Eldar scoffed before backing down. "Fine. If it makes you feel more in control, Mon'Keigh."
Euten didn't know what that word meant, but it was most certainly not all that flattering. "I'll let that insult slide, but don't use it again." She warned once more. "Regardless, I'll stop by to update you on the situation as I learn of it."
Sensing the Eldar aren't too happy with this arrangement, Euten threw them a bone, as the old saying went. "Fine. Let's change things up. Your people stay here, but you, Ms. Yvraine, can come and go as you please. Deal?"
Yvraine said nothing, only sighing before nodding her head and going back to enjoy her pilfered liquor quietly. Euten didn't need to read the room further to see that they were likely unhappy with this, but considering the circumstances, they didn't push for any sort of change.
There was still much more to discuss, and if Euten was being honest, it made for a decent distraction over being in a room full of xenos. Something about Yvraine also piqued the Seneschal's interest. Just what sort of alliance or favors did she have with Roboute?
"You're telling me that not only was there a breach into the palace defenses, but it was done by a small group of Eldar?" Aldrich couldn't believe what he was hearing. The thought was so outrageous that he laughed, although not out of amusement. "What a shitshow. Do you have any idea what sort of chaos that would cause if people found out? Especially since they reached a member of Consilium?!"
"Along with getting most of my entourage out as well," Euten added with a shrug. "Yvraine seems quite capable."
"Euten, are you aware that you committed treason?" Aldrich asked slowly and cautiously. "Even if you didn't, you know how bad this looks and sounds. You escaped from the coup via alien intervention."
She nodded. "The thought has crossed my mind." Euten gave him a placating smile. "But my options were rather limited. Besides, at the time, I didn't know they were Eldar until that point."
"But from the sounds of things, they stayed with you?" Aldrich inquired. "You allowed aliens to stay under your roof, which constitutes aiding an enemy of the state."
"I'm aware," Euten answered plainly and without concern. "I'm surprised this is rattling you so much."
"Considering what happened to Magnus the Red and his homeworld?" Aldrich remarked. "One or a thousand Eldar, it doesn't matter, Euten. You aren't sanctioned or legally allowed to shelter even an official representative of an alien species on Macragge, let alone on Terra."
"Spare me from the legality of it all, Aldrich," Euten remarked with frustration. "I am a member of the Consilium. Just because no one has examined the legality of it yet probably doesn't disqualify me from speaking or sheltering a group of aliens. Besides, how much chicanery and backroom dealing is happening in the Imperial Palace? I wouldn't be surprised if the Sigillite or Emperor have made deals with alien entities without a second thought."
Aldrich's rebuttal was typical of his thinking, "If we all start going over the heads of our leader's proclamations and rules, it will lead to chaos and destruction eventually."
Euten remained steadfast, "Spoken like a true patriot and soldier."
"My loyalty to humanity remains absolute," Aldrich said with conviction. "Human history has shown that once individuals start deciding things independently and ignoring common sense, we all pay the price for it."
"You might be right about that," Euten conceded, "but even you must agree that if the people in charge making all these rules lack common sense or context, it will cause eventual harm to everyone regardless."
She reached out to touch Aldrich's hand once more, "The Imperium is in danger. Not because of an outside threat, at least not an overt one, but because the ones making the decisions have lost sight of what matters most. And I refuse to believe that I, or Roboute, made the wrong choice in getting the help of some Eldar, especially in a life or death situation."
"Hrm..." Aldrich pondered for a moment, "I suppose, given the circumstances, getting you somewhere safe was in the best interest of everyone involved. For all any of us knew, the Imperial Palace might have been destroyed in the coup."
Euten smirked, "Considering what happened near the very end of the coup, you are right to believe that."
The more he heard this, the more Aldrich craved a drink, "Is there anything like a mini-bar in this room or...?"
She pointed to a small cabinet across the room. The former Lord-Militant stood and walked over to help himself, "Be a dear, Aldrich, and prepare me a whisky neat."
Aldrich was surprised to hear such a refined noble like her ask for a drink like that, "You drink whisky neat?" he asked while opening the cabinet door and discovering a collection of expensive-looking liquors and spirits.
"Don't think that just because I've spent most of my life at court, I didn't pick up a few bad habits." She gestured to the bottle of amber liquid, "Surprised you know what whisky is. Most people only know amasec."
Pouring generous amounts of the beverage into crystal glasses for himself and Euten, Aldrich chuckled, "I received a bottle of the stuff when I became a Lord-General. A personalized gift from a former mentor in the Anoach 19th, Colonel Priprian Galagher."
Returning to his seat, Aldrich handed the other glass to Euten, "Priprian said I was one of the few good things to have survived in the Imperial Army."
"That makes two of us. I'm glad you survived as well," Euten remarked before sipping her whisky, either ignoring or not noticing the surprised look from Aldrich. He decided to take the compliment as friendly rather than anything else.
After the pair took a moment to enjoy their drinks, Aldrich returned to his questions, "So...this is the big secret then? Guilliman is working with the Eldar and had a hand in the coup?"
"Oh, that isn't the biggest bombshell out of this story."
A week passed, during which Euten witnessed what was initially thought to be a series of strategic and tactical masterstrokes by Orbán Vilmo, allowing him to take the Imperial Palace with limited loss of life and damages. By all accounts, the coup had succeeded.
Yet while Euten tried focusing on this otherwise extraordinary unfolding, her attention was split between this and her Eldar savior, Yvraine. Rather than keeping to her compatriots and ignoring the humans in the mansion, Yvraine decided to speak with Euten privately.
Perhaps out of curiosity or boredom, Yvraine and Euten began having conversations. The Seneschal used this opportunity to learn more about one of humanity's oldest enemies, especially why someone like the Eldar would have allied with Roboute.
No matter how hard Euten tried, Yvraine was more interested in being aloof and cryptic in these interactions. Instead of explaining things specifically, Yvraine threw back questions to Euten and only answered once she felt satisfied. Strangely enough, Euten suspected this was some sort of ploy or maybe even a test by Yvraine. Drawing on her experience with someone like Corvus, who had seemingly become Roboute's closest ally and friend, Euten recognized Yvraine's similar tendency to deflect and change subjects when uncomfortable.
It felt like Yvraine was playing the part of the haughty, superior alien. While that might be acceptable in other instances, Euten still wanted to understand how Yvraine gained the trust of her son and the basis of their alliance.
Yvraine mentioned that she had fought alongside Roboute, assisting him in certain delicate matters. In turn, the Primarch helped the Aeldari with high-value objectives and "promised" her alien gods that he wasn't doing anything to harm humanity; quite the opposite, in fact. While Euten believed her, it still didn't answer her question about their relationship.
As the coup approached its conclusion, with an announcement that Eli had escaped and the Consilium was being gathered upon the demand of Kesar Dorlin, Euten suspected that she would never know the true extent of the Eldar and Roboute connection until she found time to interrogate her son.
By now, the Eldar had decided it was time for them to leave. The coup was undoubtedly over, and whatever came next didn't matter, as Euten was safe. Deciding that the best course of action was to slip away in the resulting chaos, the Eldar was ready to leave the mansion and find another escape off-world.
Deciding to repay them for their efforts, Euten located a ship whose crew and captain wouldn't ask any questions in exchange for a small fortune she could provide. Deciding to go and speak and thank Yvraine directly, Euten made her way over to the secluded side of the mansion.
Looking around, Euten saw that the Eldar seemed to be all gone. Unfortunate. They left right before they could get their ticket off-world. Yet just as Euten was ready to turn around and leave, she heard the most peculiar thing. It was a beautiful melody. Beautiful and strangely familiar.
'Why does this sound so familiar...?' Euten sought out the source of the melody. Heading toward one of the bedrooms, she heard a voice singing or perhaps humming it. Taking a moment to close her eyes and listen, trying to place the memory, something came to mind, although the thought was so jarring she almost couldn't believe it.
However, the melody seemed to fit with the memory, causing Euten to blink, almost surprised with herself at the realization more than anything, "How the hell...?" Deciding to confront this head-on, the Pricips quickly knocked on the door.
A few seconds later, a surprised and almost embarrassed Yvraine appeared, who then quickly tried to look calm and collected, "Ah, Lady Guilliman. Here to see us off? Alas, most of my compatriots have gone ahead of me."
Euten stared momentarily before crossing her arms, "Well, I caught you, and that matters more than anything. I arranged for you and your team a means to get off-world."
"Oh, how magnanimous of you."
"I know," Euten remarked before asking her next question, "Where did you learn that song?"
For a brief second, Yvraine lost her composure, "Pardon?"
"You were...humming? Singing? Whatever. The melody was quite familiar to me. Did Roboute teach you that?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Yvraine tried acting aloof again, "You clearly misheard whatever I was doing."
"Yvraine," Euten started, "I am an old woman, at least by human standards. My body, even with modification, enhancements, and rejuve treatments, will ultimately fail me in due time. But if you think for a second that my mind or hearing has left me, you are sadly mistaken."
Rather than continue questioning her, Euten pulled out a small data chit from her dress, "Here are the coordinates, instructions, and a passcode that you can use to get past any defense monitors or ships." The Seneschal bowed to the Eldar, "I don't know what might have happened if I stayed at the Palace, but I believe you took considerable risk to ensure no harm came to me. So, from the bottom of my heart and from my family, I am eternally grateful. You are forever welcomed upon Macragge if you so decide to visit."
If Yvraine had any objections or quips about Euten's offer to visit Macragge, she kept such comments to herself. The Eldar was, in fact, looking warily at Guilliman's mother, almost like she had just been caught underestimating her. "I will...consider your offer."
"That is all I ask. May your travels be safe and swift." Euten gave her a dangerous smile, "And if you come across Roboute, do tell him I will have words with him about this...relationship you and your people have with him."
Yvraine kept a neutral look on her face, "I'll keep that in mind as well. May you walk in the grace of the gods, Tarasha Euten."
"After that, we departed, and I returned to the Imperial Palace," Euten finished her story, with Aldrich still looking expectantly at her, "Oh, yes, I suppose you are keen to know what happened at the Consilium."
Her companion nodded, "Considering you still haven't revealed the big secret to this whole interaction…" Aldrich looked confused, "So, this Eldar was singing a song that reminded you of something?"
Then it clicked for him, "The musical box." Aldrich snapped his fingers at his epiphany, "You think the song she was singing is similar to the one in the box?"
"It's the same song."
"Euten..." Aldrich remarked, sounding weary, "The odds that some Eldar heard a song that you've heard before versus it being just a little bit similar to a song that the Eldar know is quite unlikely."
"Oh, for the love-" Euten angrily placed her empty glass down, "Is a little faith in me too much to ask, Aldrich?!"
"I'm not here to be a yes-man if that's what you expect." Aldrich's rebuttal was a bit harsh, but it felt necessary, "Euten, I'm hearing a lot of crazy shit, and I've barely had enough time or liquor to process it, and now you are throwing me this story about you hearing some alien woman singing some old tune that-"
"Roboute made the song." She then held up the musical box, "Made this."
Aldrich stared for a moment, "What?"
"It was a birthday gift to me." Euten explained, "Roboute was doing such incredible things, but he decided to show off his attempt at making something mechanical and composed such a beautiful song..." She gently held the box in her hands. "He taught Konor and me the melody but explained that he'd only teach it to the people he loved the most."
It took Aldrich a moment to start piecing things together and what Euten implied. The coin. The Eldar coming to Euten's aid. How this Yvraine knows a song that Roboute evidently only taught to people he loved.
A woman that he would have to love as well.
"You aren't..." Aldrich cleared his throat, "Euten, you aren't implying that your son, the Primarch, is-"
"He's most likely romantically involved with an Eldar," Euten looked at him with all the seriousness this situation called for, "Yes, that is exactly what I am saying here."
The silence that followed was choking before something took hold of Aldrich, and he started to slowly laugh, almost aghast at the situation's absurdity. "This is absurd. Outrageous, even."
He stood up and looked expectantly at Euten, "You are positive of this?"
"Not 100%," She admitted, "But my intuition as a mother and a woman is screaming at me."
Aldrich looked unhappy with that answer, "If this is just a great misunderstanding...we need to be absolutely certain." Trying to wrap his head around this, he continued, "Your son is committing a treasonous and immoral act."
Such a remark caused Euten to stand in a huff, "Roboute hasn't done anything treasonous or immoral!"
"He's literally sleeping with the enemy!" Aldrich countered, "We don't even know what the purpose of this supposed relationship is. If he was quietly bedding her, that could be swept aside, maybe even forgiven. But if he is serious? And he thinks this is love? You talked about how this could destabilize the Realm of Ultramar, and you are right. If word of this got out, his own people would be calling for his head, and that's before an army of Custodes and his brothers appeared over Macragge!"
"Our people won't turn on him." Euten sounded offended, "You're still an outsider, Aldrich. You haven't been here long enough to know that the Realm of Ultramar will follow their lord after bringing him all the prosperity his genius gave them."
"Until the rest of the Imperium starts bombing and occupying their homes and cities." Aldrich shook his head, "And all because he took an alien for a wife? You think people will fight and die for a ruler's selfish desire?"
"Roboute is owed happiness." The remark was so quiet that Aldrich barely heard it, "He has sacrificed so much already, given his all to ensure prosperity in our realm and the Imperium at large. He's kept the galactic economy afloat and used his wealth to bring worlds peacefully into the Imperium. His sons have saved hundreds of trillions of lives. So if he found someone that he can be happy with, after everything he's accomplished, I refuse to believe he should be punished for that."
"That's a nice sentiment, but it won't hold up to the average citizen, who will only see a freak of nature at best and a slaver at worst." Aldrich tried his hardest to make her understand how this would end: "The people are going to turn against him. The Imperium and his brothers will turn against him as well. His own sons might."
"No," Euten held firm, "Not all of his brothers nor will his sons. For all Roboute's faults, he has only ever been a man who has helped his kin and family. I know plenty will stand by his side when the time comes."
He scoffed, "Until the Emperor arrives." They both knew how that would go and end.
That, however, didn't seem to deter Euten. "Fuck him." She hissed with an expression befitting a ganger, "He might be his progenitor, but Konor was his true father. We taught Roboute to be a strong and just ruler. Heavens knows he hasn't always been like that, but he's learned from every mistake and sin he's committed so he can do and be better."
She wrung her hands, a nervous gesture evident on her face, "My son deserves happiness. If he wants to be with an alien woman... fine. We've allowed powerful leaders to get away with all sorts of things. After speaking with Yvraine, I realized she's not my first or second choice, but she's not an evil creature or some deceitful woman."
The pair fell silent, a moment of reflection passing, or in Aldrich's case, an attempt to calm down after hearing all this. "Just... we need to address this, alright?" Whatever gave him the courage or audacity to reach out and gently grip her hands probably came from the whisky, "I've already promised that whatever happens won't leave this room. You still have my word on that. And at this point, I'm already an accomplice to treason, so I might as well do my part in helping you with this."
"Heh," Euten smiled softly, "That's kind of you to say." She keenly noticed that her hands remained in his. "It's funny, but this isn't the first time I've argued with someone in this room." Now she pulled her hands away, "Konor and I fought here a few times. Made sure to do it away from Roboute. It was never about our family. More about what we had to do for the good of Macragge and Roboute."
Sitting back down in her seat, Euten looked guilty, "I think I just tried to keep him away from politics as long as possible, which was next to impossible. Konor knew Roboute would surpass all expectations, but I thought I could just... give him a few more years of happiness."
Aldrich didn't mince his next response, "Unfortunately, it's his supposed happiness that is coming back to haunt him." He said before sitting back down, "So, what is our next step in this?"
"I need to confront Roboute about this," Euten admitted, "I can't pretend this never happened." She shook her head, "I don't want to sound upset with his choice, but couldn't he have picked a princess or Arthron?"
"I don't think being in a relationship with a psyker would've done him a lot of good."
Euten waved off that remark, "I'm sure it could have worked." Then she paused and wondered, "I do hope Roboute doesn't try his luck with trying to be in a relationship with Yvraine and Arthron. A polygamist relationship with an alien and psyker might be a bit much..."
"That's putting it lightly." Aldrich's observation was quite dry, "Might I suggest we deal with one hurdle at a time?"
"Yes, yes." Euten looked like she needed another drink. "I need them to get married," she suddenly declared.
"What did I just say about one hurdle at a time?"
"Oh, hush," she gently chastised Aldrich, "I'm thinking. A marriage will cause chaos but will cement the relationship beyond just carnal desire."
"You think a more traditional approach will look good?" Aldrich mulled that over and saw some merit to the idea. "It might work. At least he wouldn't come off as some warlord."
Thinking on it a little more, Aldrich had a rather "gruesome" thought. He braced himself, "There is... a means to spin this whole thing, especially with the marriage proposal."
"I'm all ears, Legatus."
"You aren't going to like it."
"Do I look like a woman who has many choices?!" Euten remarked testily, "Spit it out."
Leaning back into his chair, Aldrich pursed his lips, "Do you know what a war bride is?"
"Are you serious?" Evidently, she did. "Absolutely NOT."
Aldrich continued to explain his reasoning, "Most people will understand that Roboute took on an alien wife if it was assumed that he won her in conquest. It's a tribal mentality. He took a female from the opposition and made her his. Humans will at least understand the logic there."
"Oh, and maybe he can bring back some of the Eldar's furs and shiny rocks to show off to the other ferals!" Euten looked quite unhappy at the suggestion, "As I said, absolutely not. I will not subject Roboute or Yvraine to some... primordial showmanship. We're a civilized people, or so I've had to tell myself since my last visit to Terra."
"Are you sure about that?"
The two stared at each other briefly before both briefly snorted in tandem at knowing better.
"You know what I meant," Euten remarked, "Do you have any other suggestions? Real ones, I mean."
Aldrich didn't have another one but asked, "Why the marriage? I mean, beyond the legality and showmanship."
"Because it means that no matter what anyone says, their relationship wasn't a fluke or somehow Roboute losing his mind. A marriage is still a sacred thing. No matter the culture or world, people will always see it as having some sort of meaning, even if it's just pure political theater."
"A purely sentimental value, then." Aldrich couldn't necessarily agree with this thinking, but he understood it. "I suppose that is something."
"It makes for a good story, anyway."
Aldrich wanted to sigh once more, "Let's try and make sure this story is a nice one and not a tragedy first." He pointedly looked at her, "Again, why the marriage?"
Euten looked embarrassed momentarily and then profoundly aware of something, "Because...I don't want to die without knowing that Roboute had someone else to take care of him."
"You think this woman will be able to care for him?" Aldrich sounded almost amused at the idea, "Come on, Euten. A good wife or husband goes a long way, but..."
"Don't take this the wrong way, Aldrich, but you've never been married to someone who relied upon you just as much as you relied upon them." Euten's remark was rather piercing to the Centurian bachelor. "Konor and I supported each other, which let us care for Roboute. We were partners and friends before lovers and rulers."
"I took care of Konor. He took care of me. When he died, I cared for Roboute as best I could, but by then, he was basically his own man. Everything I've done since then has been, before all else, an exercise in just trying to keep myself going and seeing my son ready for whatever glorious fate awaits him. I will not live to see it. As such, I need to make sure those who stand by his side, especially those he calls a lover, can care for him in his times of need."
Aldrich nodded and tried not to focus on whether or not he was now in a similar position. He quickly pushed those thoughts away. He had no right to place that mantle upon himself. This was just a meeting between two lords. A husband and lover, he was not. But he was Euten's friend, at least for now.
"Very well," He answered once more, "But you'll have to be the one to convince both of them to such an arrangement."
"I'll figure something out." Euten sounded confident enough, "We still have other matters to attend to anyway."
"If I am being completely honest, and I am," Aldrich quipped, "I believe we need to discuss matters of state, particularly concerning what happened on Terra. While the Primarch's romantic interests are now matters of great concern, they aren't exactly public or time-sensitive... at least not yet."
"Fine," Euten did look considerably tired now, "It's been a long...month, really."
Aldrich nodded, "A little rest will do you some good, then." Deciding to test his luck one more time, he approached and offered her a hand to help her up.
She looked dismissively at it, "I'm not that old, Aldrich."
"No, we're both old." He half-joked to her, "The young have complicated things for us both. Such is the price of having to keep up with them."
Euten grimaced before taking his hand. "Not a good time for jokes."
He smirked, "It's gonna get worse." Aldrich gently patted her hand, "If those two can have a child, you are going to be a grandmoth-"
"If you finish that sentence, I will shoot you." Euten half-glared at him, and Aldrich idly wondered if she kept a gun on her person. He wisely decided to stay quiet. "Someone is touchy."
"Hush." She grabbed his arm once more, "Granted, if I can hold a grandchild in my arms at least once, I can die peacefully."
As the pair left the room, Aldrich kept pressing his luck, "What if you survive for the next hundred years? And those children have families of their own? Wouldn't that make you a great-grand-"
"Where is my gun?" She started looking around while Aldrich gently laughed before a fuming Euten quietly joined him. For a moment, they both didn't feel so old in the face of a growing storm that surrounded the Primarch and his secret alliances and relationships.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, time for another big one.
*Looks out window of Train*
What do you mean Trains are supposed to have brakes? And what oncoming Train?
*Shovels even MORE coal into boiler and opens up throttle* More seriously, it could have been worse, Ultra-mom. At least you arent Ultra-Grandma.
What do you mean Trains are supposed to have brakes? And what oncoming Train?
*Shovels even MORE coal into boiler and opens up throttle* More seriously, it could have been worse, Ultra-mom. At least you arent Ultra-Grandma.
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The Primarchs
The Primarchs
Lion El'Johnson:
+120 total command bonus
Gain an escalating bonus to some unexpected vector as the fight goes on
Can choose what he loses in a duel or command.
Absurdly loyal. Absurd standards for those under his command
Narrative survival bonus when in hostile terrain
Lost dice rolls are capped at 40 a difference of 40.
Never crit fails. Enemies never crit succeed.
Can choose to scale casualties by 2 up or down
Adds 1 degree of success to strategic victories if he wins
+30 to retreating from a battle
Can retroactively change his battle plan based on the rolls
Negates outnumbered bonuses
+10 against enemies with precognition
The Lion Upon The Wall- +20 to social rolls with Dorn
+20 to resist poisons
Fulgrim:+130 total combat bonus
+10 to all wound thresholds
First wound threshold is 30 above the norm (60)
+120 total command bonus
Emperor's Children get a +40 when he is present
Halve morale penalties
Ties go his way in army combat. Counts as effectively a quarter of a success.
+20 when doing what he views as the right thing
-10 to last stand. +20 to escaping last stand situations.
Primarch Tier Artist
Has a decent grasp of politics. Understands political situations well.
+20 when fighting with Ferrus
The Phoenix Rises - Reroll during duels
Perturabo:
+80 total combat bonus
+120 to command
Builds fortifications 1 narrative unit faster
Can trade 10% of his forces for a +10
Increase fallback bonus by 30 for withdrawing to a secondary line
-5 to social checks
Reduced penalty for micromanagement
Primarch Specialty Applied Mathematics
Has a narrative understanding of how a battle will end if he is present
Tier 3 Warsmith
- Can command one unit from further away than normal without penalty
- Autokill those with a bonus smaller than +80 in duels
- -10% casualties to forces under his command
Jaghatai Khan:
+105 total combat bonus
+100 to hit and run attacks
+80 to disengaging
Kills scale based on how outnumbered he is
Pinnacle biker, horse rider
-50% White Scar casualties when present
-10 CR (partially depressed)
Understands his mental state and own biases
Can command with up to 2 command layers missing without penalty
Knows the result of battle or a duel shortly before the roll occurs
Highly distrusts Malcador and the Emperor
Leman Russ:
Halve enemy wound thresholds in group duels if they have a lower combat bonus than him
+125 total combat bonus
+40 to Legion Combat
When in battle, if Leman causes a wound in a duel, reroll both dice. Add wounds Leman does to the original. Leman can't be wounded by this. This does run recursively.
+40 CR when with Bjorn
+10 to Space Wolve hero duels when Leman is present
Halve numbers bonuses in duels
+40 against psykers
+20 against Astartes, +10 against Primarchs in duels to the death
Double collateral damage, increase enemy chance to surrender
Can reduce round lengths by a factor of 2
+5 when wounded
The Howl- counts as in melee range with other psykers at all times
Rogal Dorn:
Fear of the Fallen - Increase false positives for corruption ten fold
??????????
Konrad Curze:
+100 to stealth
+150 total combat bonus
Rerolls all personal dice
+20 to rolls when performing a morally dubious action for the greater good
Reroll when in duels with narratively important individuals
50% chance to get a +50 bonus for critical rolls
+220 to investigation.
Automatically detect lies from non-Primarchs.
-80 morale bonus for enemies.
-20 morale bonus for allies.
Konrad will be fated to die shortly after killing a Primarch.
If Konrad is killed, his killer will be fated to die.
Can torture anything with free will
+10 morale bonus for allies that have interacted with him in some way
-40 malus if he believes he has violated his sense of justice
Primarch level lawyer
Negate one reroll gained via divination during duels.
+20 when finding Corrupted Astartes
Rerolls dice which would make him gain insanity
There is no escape- +100 to chasing down individuals
The Voices Scream- Cannot be taken by surprise
Sanguinius:
Bloodied Angel - -10 against gods, +5 to combat
Slayer of False Gods, Usurper of Divinity - Narrative bonus to divination
+160 total combat bonus
+120 total command bonus
Reroll personal rolls for combat/stealth
+40 to diplomacy
+20 to Blood Angel combat rolls when present
Reduce casualties by half when in command
Increase main commander bonus if assisting by an amount depending on their relationship
Half negative morale effect
Tier 3 Vampire (The Angel, The Red Thirst, the Black Rage)
- The Angel - Minor narrative bonus to swaying people to his viewpoint
- The Red Thirst - Can heal by drinking blood/eating human flesh. Applies stacking insanity to do so.
- The Black Rage - If last stand is triggered, gain a +50 to combat, unable to identify friend or foe temporarily. Can be controlled in very limited circumstances.
Ferrus Manus:
+90 total combat bonus
Iron Shackle- -20 to enemy disengage rolls
??????????
Mortarion:
+80 total Combat Bonus
Quadruple Wound Threshold. Cannot fight defensively.
Quadruple wounds. Divide wound penalty by 4 (round down)
Immune to Exhaustion
Immune to poisons that provide less than a -80 (Basically Honored tier)
Can extend combat rounds by a factor of 4 if desired
Can scale casualties by a factor of 4 downwards if desired
Can increase collateral damage in exchange for bonuses. +10/20/30/40 for notable, major, massive, and total.
+60 total command bonus.
Can exchange strategic wins to reduce casualties by a factor of 4 per win given up
Magnus the Red:
The Timeless - Aware of temporal paradoxes that they are a part of that begin after they get this trait
Revelations of Perfection - Magnus achieves incredible self-awareness. Increased trait gain permanently.
??????????
Angron:
+200 Combat Bonus
Immune to Exhaustion
Negate numbers bonus for both sides, cannot fight defensively
Autokills nonheroes in duels
On death, double combat bonus and provide a final wound. Negate wound penalties.
??????????
Roboute Guilliman:
+110 total combat bonus
Able to take a -10 in exchange for cutting army cost by 50%, or a -20 for 75%, -30 for 90%. Only applies to things he commands. (Retroactive)
Increases the difficulty of detecting financial fraud he commits by 20. Doubles time to track it down.
Double productivity of his domain
Can upgrade planets up to all levels regardless of narrative requirements. Requires direct attention to do so.
Reduce time for admin projects by a half
Reduce difficulty of admin projects by a sliding scale based on usefulness
-25% casualties
+100 total command bonus
+20 to isolating enemy heroes, -60 to intrigue actions
Can be very obvious what tactics he is using to reduce tactical options for enemies.
Immune to exhaustion
Cold Fury- +5 to all rolls when genuinely angered
Horus Lupercal:
+150 total combat bonus
+120 total command bonus
Negate first wound
Bonus to heroes in combat when nearby
??????????
Vulkan:
Primarch Forgemaster
Efficient Construction- Halves creation time
Legendary Artificer- Can upgrade what he makes for extra time spent
All in - +10 to Vulkan's rolls when committing to a single path
Negates first wound that would "kill" him
??????????
Corvas Corax:
The Dead Are Not Silent - Learns enemy traits and secrets with time
The Raven Lord - +120 to stealth commanding
The Raven - Triple Ambush bonuses, can choose 50 vs 50 on the first roll of combat
God of Admirals - Floor of 50 on all naval rolls. Gain an escalating +5 per round.
Autosucceeds on disengage rolls
Halves penalties to army and stealth rolls
+80 to combat
Doubles thresholds for espionage against him
+80 countersecurity
Appollonia - +30 to first roll in combat. +5 afterwards.
Through the Fire and the Flames- Increased Pain Tolerance
The Pontifex - +10 to god related rolls
Alpharius:
I am the Hydra- Does not roll for corruption on anything besides named daemons and above.
Unleash the Vipers - The Twins can now deploy a set of 10 Astartes at a moments notice anywhere in the galaxy regardless of circumstances once a decade
+10 to hiding the fact that there are 2 Primarchs.
??????????
Omegon:
I am the Hydra- Does not roll for corruption on anything besides named daemons and above.
Unleash the Vipers - The Twins can now deploy a set of 10 Astartes at a moments notice anywhere in the galaxy regardless of circumstances once a decade
+30 to direct combat. (unknown total)
??????????
Note that not all of the Primarchs' traits are known to us.
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Four Rifts, Four Rounds.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake focused on one of our Chief Librarians, Nasin the Master of Relief from the Thousand Sons, following the recent 'Cemetery' compliance him and the rest of Triquetra did with Aengus that became a truly incredible war that turned the four of them into Proto-Heroes (the compliance is described in more detail here). After seeing the results I had to write this, hope I did it well!
-----
Four Rifts, Four Rounds.
You are Nasin, Pyrae Adept of the Thousand Sons as well as the Master of Relief for the Eternal Wardens, and after over a decade of life within the Eleventh Legion this is the war that will define your role in it.
It had been an interesting time. You had learned a lot and others had learned from you. What more could you really ask for than that, with such a role you were gifted and surrounded by such brilliant warriors? Even when Kesar Dorlin had deemed you worthy of elevation and integration, you never really expected things to end up like this.
Now lead by Force Commander Aengus, prodigy of the blade and veteran of battle from the war that banished the Maelstrom into a faded reef, the Triquetra were diving straight into hell. Which included you.
Since the moment you received your position, to be a part of the Eleventh Legion in such a critical way, you knew this day was coming. Where you would fight against the foe that defined so much of your cousins, of those that followed the Daemonsbane Primarch. After this trial period to judge your presence, the Triquetra system as a whole, it was time to see it all in action.
You hadn't really been in the vast site of the former rift before. Or fought against daemons or Chaos cultists. Or act to help close four giant tears into the Great Ocean. Or live-tested for corruption and purity against such a menacing force of malefic spirits.
Astartes were moulded by the Emperor of Mankind to know no fear or doubt, to be the brilliant warriors who would conquer the galaxy and bring about humanity's salvation, but fear and doubt you did because how could you not? This was a foe beyond anything you have faced before.
This was a foe that once brought forth the Flesh-Change on Cadia. That Magnus the Red had warned you heavily about since you received your position. That was behind countless names carved on the armour and weapons of the Eleventh.
This was the foe that had ravaged the Cemetery for centuries.
A world that had been populated by mankind in a time long before the Imperium had been risen, when the Unification Wars had been at their devastating height, that had once known a time of prosperity even during the calamitous Age of Strife. A relative paradise compared to tens of thousands of planets, a shining gem of technology and progress, until it became an infernal hell that few colonised worlds could match.
Four rifts torn open by the unwitting acts of ancient geniuses, whom were described to have managed a means to safely thin the borders of the Materium and Immaterium, until the Maelstrom broke the balance as it swallowed the celestial body and all those who remained upon it. The 'Last Cities' being the only place of civilization, heavily fortified remnants of once beautiful construction.
So fatalistic yet determined in mindset, a culture dedicated to survival and persistence in the face of absolute ruin. There were billions that lived and all they cared about was fighting against Chaos and the monsters that made up their endless numbers, struggling for the sake of defiance. It was a tragedy but they didn't care anymore.
You didn't voice it out directly to the Astartes around you, but you could tell there was a massive feeling of sympathy and understanding between the sons of Kesar Dorlin and the Cemetery's populace. With grief and positive feelings of brotherhood exchanged for numb anger and detachment.
That was going to change. Already had there been tangible hope that manifested across the people when first contact was made with the Imperium. A promise to save them and seal the rifts. To rebuild afterwards into a world that was beautiful once more. A wondrous dream that would need to be brought into reality before it could be believed, yet it was already shifting the mindset of those in the Last Cities.
It was up to the Triquetra and the Eternal Wardens to end this once endless war.
You check your Exitus rifle one last time. It was a perfect weapon, an immaculate construction of a sniper rifle, well-maintained by the Master of the Forge and carefully calibrated by your experienced hands. Something that was beyond even your psychic powers in terms of granting death to an enemy, not that the two were exclusive elements.
The scope was more sophisticated than the sensors in your helmet, by several orders of magnitude. The sensors and systems integrated were beyond almost any weapon you saw an Astartes wield, outside of the best Techmarines.
The prototype ammunition that was made for you was taken, every single solid slug that was made by Bodin for you. Weighted and placed carefully so you could use them all to banish the nightmares they would be used for. Savinath had managed to carve Runes onto several of them for help, although he didn't have time to do them all. Next to all of those rounds were…
Four shots had been granted by the Vindicare assassin that had given you their sniper rifle. Each one was specialised and unique in purpose. The Shield-Breaker, the Toxiferran Diffuser, the Turbo-penetrator and the Hyphosphus Incendiary. Four rounds that you would never be able to get again after they were used up. Ammunition beyond what even a Chief Techmarine was capable of making.
You knew that you were going to have to use those four shots to make it through this war.
-----
The first two targets were, relative to those at the polar caps, right next to each other.
Surrounded by hurricane both literal and metaphysical, the winds howling amidst the sound of screams, the rain falling and glittering as shards of crystal, ethereal fire coursing across the heavens as a malignant aurora.
The former capital of the world. The centre for which most, if not all, the reality thinning technology that lead to the planet's accursed fate. Twin giants that were like colossal shards of broken glass, cutting through light into prismatic displays, eerily still in ways that no disaster should be.
Seen from orbit it was like looking at two unblinking eyes painted over an existing image, glaring at you and the Eternal Wardens. It was difficult to look at the gleaming aura that surrounded the twisted space. You could feel something over yourself, by your shoulder, the corners of your eyes.
An omnipresent feeling that tried to claw itself deeper as you thought about it, carving its presence in your brain, an animal instinct warning you away from something dangerous and not meant to be faced. You focus your mind as best as you can to resist it and maintain as much calm as possible, dedicate yourself to this grand mission.
The Archdaemon Tzeentch had ruled the capital portals, the dual rifts aligned to one purpose, their fell influence tainting the ruins in a dark storm that had not stopped for hundreds of years. Debris that seemed to be from the original city was hanging in the air by telekinetic force, chunks of buildings wrapped in twisted metal, a cyclone of ruin stuck in the moment when the apocalypse began.
Force Commander Aengus had decided to take on the former centre of the world. It was a wise course of action, beyond simply taking down two rifts as quickly as possible. As a member of the Thousand Sons, you knew all too well that to leave an army of psykers to prepare was akin to handing them the keys to an large artillery cohort and the coordinates to precisely use them.
The principal was similar with daemons, magnified to far worse degrees. Already you could see macro-rituals being formed, flying beasts surging in swarms across the open window between realms, Warpflame bellowing from the glass 'eyes' that constantly stared into your soul. The more that the conflict was delayed, the worse the war would go.
You tense as the vox-network activates with the voice of Aengus asking for final confirmation. You, Savinath and Raz give it as the Triquetra. Then he shouts out the order to charge forward, the command sent towards everyone.
You fall into battle with your brothers. The sky is alight with millions and then billions of laser beams, missiles striking the floating remnants of a dead city, drop-pods screaming down from the heavens. Lightning strikes from every angle, channelled by cabals of sorcerers hidden below.
The daemonic army surges instantly in response. The closest portal seems to expand, space unfolding itself, hairline fractures exponentially growing, hordes of shifting flesh and burning logic spill forth like ink into water. Blood and bones are fly everywhere around them when struck, their fellow monsters dead and their remains trampled upon by others without a care.
Artillery from the Imperial Army barks out and cleaves the surrounding land, aircraft flying forward to shred apart and bomb anything in sight. The Cemetery's populace rushing forward with a fervour that would have been praised for Astartes to possess, transport vehicles granted to their numbers were pushed to the absolute limit. 'Mortals' numbering in the billions against the worst nightmares made manifest.
You are all mortal here, that descriptor had no meaning between those like you and those that weren't granted a Primarch's connection. You were all just humans fighting against beings that should not exist. You were all fighting together and here was the glory of the Eternal Wardens against their greatest enemy.
After what felt like hours, your drop-pod fell by the border of the conflict, far enough to suit your abilities and near enough to be in danger. You instantly rushed out as psychic blasts and flying beasts descended on your location. A Bolter pistol taken out and immediately put to use. Fire wreathes the end of your gun as you shoot every abomination in sight, pyromancy-infused shells burning through spiritual flesh.
The sky above seems to shake and tear from explosions mundane and magical, clouds of dust and shattered rock flying everywhere. You're so close to the rift that you can see its infinite dancing colours wrap around the world. You have to hurry, have to get into position and bring and end to this hell.
From your hands comes balls of flame that detonate against, incinerating the mad hordes that rampage across the battlefield. Vox-feeds relay the horrific casualties that were being suffered as you fought, trying to get as much useful information in a sea of death.
Millions more dying in the time it takes to even finishing hearing any reports of demise. Vehicles turned into swollen cauldrons of steam, gleaming mist and crackling energy. Fighter pilots torn out from their aircraft by aquatic fauna that swim through the sky, biting through Adamantium, screaming for support against the swarms. Ritual circles blink in the air and either summon more forces or conjure illusions to further confuse everything.
The rift had to close to end this, before its neighbour came to assist and end your attempts to save this planet before they could begin. But first you had to get into position and you couldn't do it alone.
A force of a hundred Eternal Wardens rush to your position, fighting against those that tried to cut down one of the few Librarians that could bring down these rifts. Turrets are deployed around the battlefield to make a space free from enemy presence, artillery called closer to your position than you'd have wished was necessary.
You focus your mind and soul, your flames surging across the tips of your fingers, focusing on the vox-system as the biggest target is made apparent. A leading champion of arcane madness, a tyrant of Chaos, a Herald of Tzeentch.
Their staff called down storm clouds that launched sharp shards of crystal. A wave of their hundred hands turns an Imperial Army soldier into a mutated pile of writhing flesh. A crown of lightning surges above their head. They meditate upon a shifting cube of silver, floating within the nexus of hovering debris, nine layers of telekinetic shielding visibly protecting their open sanctum.
They channelled the raw power of the rift and ordered the insane hordes that spewed endlessly from its maw, cackling so loudly that it could be heard amidst all the weaponry and explosions. It was a voice of cruel glee and the laughter childish delight at the destruction around them. They babbled words of power as a beast would howl in the night, primal sounds of madness granted lethal weight.
The Exitus rifle comes from your back as you take a stance at an elevated enough point, protected by the Eleventh Legion that fought around you, and carefully load the Shield-Breaker round into the weapon.
"Any target with a Warp-based force field will not be protected against this round."
"Any target?"
The question was considered deeply, the Vindicare assassin completely still, several seconds passing before an answer was given. "Do not use it on anything you'd consider or compare to the most skilled psykers you've seen and it will work."
Against a normal wielder of the Warp you knew this would spell nothing but death. Against a daemon? You could only hope that it was enough.
The targeting systems align to the Herald, the sensors charting the perfect path through the explosions and howling air, the storm of power ripping apart everything analysed for the path of lease resistance. Your clear your mind of all distractions, the vox-systems becoming silent to your ears, and you harness flame around the Rune-etched bullet.
Your scope becomes your eye. You see everything you need to strike true. Just a little more patience…
A few heartbeats later and the perfect moment arrives. Where falling debris and melting fragments clears up, where the furious clouds dissipate just enough as they swallow aircraft and artillery shots, where the sensors found the path they needed to fulfil the purpose of the rifle.
You fire.
An Exitus weapon was normally completely silent when it was used, built to be unheard of unless a loud calling card was required. The bullet came out of the barrel with a pristine noiselessness, the air visibly pierced by its force, yet it then roars as loud as volcanic eruption from the infusion of pyromancy.
A trail of flame follows the round, making it seem similar to a Bolter shell, marking its journey across the battlefield as a burning comet. It twists slightly as the guidance-cogitators inside the round, ensuring that nothing less than a direct hit would ensue. It disappears past bright clouds reflecting madness, the Warpflames of burning souls, the debris of a tank launched into the sky.
The Herald of Tzeentch turns a moment to late, their ritual focus disrupted, their hundred eyes widen as they realised they missed a crucial detail. Nine shields crack apart against arcane technology, pyromantic enchantment and the etching of Purity. It's too late to stop the bullet's journey.
The shifting cube shudders and shatters into nine thousand pieces, silver shards falling into hordes of daemons that are cut and crushed, the still screaming body carried off by the great storm as it turned to ash. Artillery and aircraft bombard the remains of the crumbling platform, as well as surrounding servants of the dark mage.
Psychic disruptions cascade briefly around the battlefield, the chaotic surge momentarily turning against everyone than being a tool for the enemy. It didn't last long, the daemons were able to recover far better and faster from unravelling Warp energy than any psyker would have been able to manage, but only a single moment of havoc and could be enough to turn the tide.
Countless soldiers perish as they grind down the monsters that rule the ruins of the capital, charging ahead as ancient walls lose their psychic wards. The fury of the Cemetery warriors against the daemons almost visible to your eyes as the idea of victory, charging against the portal that had made life so full of hellish suffering, vengeance against the spirits of the Great Ocean.
You couldn't focus upon them, on the Eternal Wardens or even the battle itself. Your duty came first as you braved the centrepiece of this conflict, shared by the two others in the Triquetra. Using the most complicated rituals within the Eleventh's Librarium to bring an end
The first rift was closed, as billions of bodies laid scattered around its former presence, and it was almost deafening to hear the cries of victory from the native people of the world. Discipline beaten into a populace that only knew hopeless defiance had finally seen a light at the end of the tunnel, zealous fury mixed with unparalleled relief.
The sky began to clear for the first time in centuries.
-----
Despite the massive losses in combat power to our overall forces, the dwindling morale for the Imperial Army soldiers in stark juxtaposition with the Cemetery warriors, Force Commander Aengus ordered you all to press on to the second rift into the Warp.
Daemons and the Warp itself didn't follow time the same way life in the galaxy did. Cause and effect was observed, and thank goodness for that or else things would be a lot more difficult, but things happened a lot sooner. The Great Ocean was an impatient beast, it didn't care about moments where 'nothing' occurred.
The more you learned about the Eternal Wardens' archenemy, the more you understood the nature of their strategies and caution regarding the capabilities of Chaos. There was always more to learn and for once you wished you didn't know so much, or at least that some of it wasn't true.
Yet you all had to push on for the sake of victory.
The capital area was a large site of ruin, much more so after this brief but devastating battle had concluded. A vast crater made from an explosion that tore open four holes in reality, the boundary between realms torn open, surrounded by layers of debris and still burning fires. The remains of daemons were being set alight by both the Eternal Wardens and the Cemetery soldiers, particularly the 'Outer Sentires' whom were the most experienced of the local anti-Chaos experts.
It was interesting to learn more about the native populace and their culture more directly, having a brief time and chance to talk to them about more than battle-plans and warfare assets. The zealous energy was worrying to interact with, more than a little uncomfortable due to how they looked upon you all as if you were divine salvation made manifest, but you had to admit it did help to make them open up.
You wished you could see the day when their culture changed from its fatalistic outlook and dedication against Chaos into something else. To fight against such monsters was a good thing, it'd be all too hypocritical for a member integrated to the Eleventh Legion to say otherwise, but even the most bleak-minded Eternal Wardens had some care. You just had to look at the etchings on their armour.
These people didn't really care if they or those around them died, not in an emotional sense at least. They cared about killing daemons and to keep killing them and that was it. Seeing such a mindset made you glad at how different Kesar Dorlin and his sons were in such beliefs. At least it was useful for the upcoming conflict.
The other 'eye' kept glaring upon you all, jagged glass cutting the light that fell upon everyone, the psychic intensity you felt was significantly reduced in power but not in focus. The rift shuddered with ripples of power as you all approached, as the daemons inside rushed to be ready to claw against all mortals they could find.
While you and Raz were focused between the overall battle-plan and your role in closing the rifts the third member of your order was determined to bring an end to these hellish portals. Savinath, the Glyphmaster of the Triquetra, was dedicating all his attention towards could towards his duties.
Servo-skulls swarmed around him in a number you only saw Masters of the Forge lead at a single time. Each one was decorated with a Rune dedicated to fighting against Chaos in all its forms. Silver, Banishment, Purge and Purity.
Normally to place the higher tier Runes onto such disposable drones was frowned upon, especially if it was directly carved into the machine itself instead of used as a vessel to carry an etched talisman. A waste of resources, effort and time.
Yet it was done for the sake of providing as much reach as possible for a wide area, to cover such a wide region of corrupted space, both in battle and while committing to this rift banishment ritual. The number of Librarians that would have been recommended to seal these portals were not available, so this was the next best thing to supplement the war effort.
Savinath was still trying to carve one more Rune even as you all marched to the next rift. His dedication and focus was inspirational, the utmost care given for each step. While some could claim that he was cursed, horrific misfortune clinging to him deeply, none could say anything against his willpower and capability.
He was the best dedicated Daemonologist of the Library. He dedicated so much of his time to be a breaker of curses and a carver of Runes, and here he put the effort of both subjects to use with his array of Rune-skulls. Without his efforts, things would take a whole lot longer and be far more bloodier.
You were glad you could call him a friend.
The battle began when the earth itself began to shake. Rituals to destroy and destabilise the land and everything on it. The already ruined form of the capital collapsed into a jagged mess, avalanches of rubble tumbling down, mud thickly flowing from the rain mixing with the broken rockcrete and dirt.
From corners that did not exist in physical space came the daemons, leaping from nothingness in angles that did not conform to any logic. Muttering things with claws that tried to whisper ancient truths folded in lies. Burning monsters that darted across the battlefield, ensuring everything was set ablaze. The sky began to grow dark as invisible phantoms tried to lunge as assassins hidden in higher planes, blades piercing through all defence.
The remnants of the Imperial Army fell in great numbers once more, to a foe that the soldiers were simply not prepared to face. The warriors of this world were quicker and more capable, experience proving to be a life saver, yet against such an onslaught. Alone the two forces would have been completely overwhelmed.
But the Eternal Wardens were here and they were meant to win such battles.
The Eleventh rush to action as contingency codes are barked across the vox. Formations, strategies, tactics and priorities settled with a few words. Blades match ethereal claws. Bolts are fired into beings the moment they manifest. Thousands of monochrome Astartes charge ahead and push back a tide that would easily overwhelm millions of warriors.
Force Commander Aengus rushes into the thick of combat, fighting with a skill and strength that inspired all around him to press further, as leader and companion to those that delved into the second rift's presence. Artillery thundered in the distance, louder than the storms that raged up in the sky. Lights flashing in the darkness from all the shots and arcane spells striking opposite sides.
Everything coming together for this moment. Your twin hearts hammered in your chest as you rushed forward to do your part. Flame flies from your hand, a sidearm shooting fire-infused death into gibbering blobs of flesh and malice, doing your best to get as close to the rift as possible to seal it as you had already done before.
The battle was more direct and bloody for you than the last one. Where the Imperial Army and the Cemetery populace had been the hammer on the anvil, striking directly and with their great force, here it was the space marines like you that faced the full army.
A bolt of psychic energy lanced past your head and struck down an Eternal Warden. Another was telekinetically lifted by nine sorcerors and twisted into pieces as they all pulled in different directions. Despite the strength, experience and will that the Eleventh had against Chaos, that did not translate to immunity. You had to rush ahead to-
Savinath screamed a warning to you, the words making you stop dead in your tracks as you belatedly felt a pressure building around yourself. The Glyphmaster's daemonology channelled to open a tunnel through the Warp, forcing the constant waves away for someone to pass, focused to teleport towards your location.
He manifests in less than a second and he simply tells you to run back, the weight behind his words making you heed the warning without question. You rush back while he stays behind, directing several of his Servo-skulls to his location as you realise what was happening.
There was a bright flash that would have blinded your eyes if they weren't augmented or were protected by your helmet. It seemed to outshine every explosion, laser beam and plasma blast that was sent across the battlefield.
From the storm itself came a surge of lightning that writhed like a coiling serpent as it descended, slithering rapidly across the clouds in a way that defied nature, growing in size. It shined with the fury of a star, its brilliance matching the scintillating rift you desperately tried to close.
There was a sound that vibrated your bones, shook your flesh, cracked your armour. It echoed beyond physical space as it lightly rippled with the Great Ocean's power. The thunderclap that heralded death and destruction.
It had struck Savinath directly.
His armour was glowing with heat, radiant sparks cascading off his plate, disfigured in some portions as electronics melted or exploded. Several skull drones were left in blasted pieces around him, still falling upon his form. The Runes engraved on his armour seemed to glow brighter and dim in response to the attack, perhaps the only reason he wasn't a pile of ash.
Around his feet was a molten crater that bubbled and hissed as the rain fell upon it, the earth was raised and petrified into fulgurite branches that were frozen reflections of the bolt that spawned them. Like hands reaching out to grasp for a lifeline, twisted fingers stretched out.
Savinath slowly lifted their arms, the movements stiff with how damaged their armour was, let alone what happened to their body. They tore off their helmet, the visor dark and lifeless, steam and smoke rising from within. Their flesh was singed but not wholly burnt. They tried to trudge through the liquid earth encasing their legs.
He had saved you.
"Apothecary!" Raz shouted before anyone else could, their voice echoing across the vox towards everyone in the Eternal Wardens. "To the Glyphmaster!"
Others nearby were affected worse than your saviour had been, horrific burns visible where their armour had been blasted apart or been wounded enough already that the bolt had been their doom. Astartes broken by the
Your snap your gaze back towards the rift, your eyes open to the psychic energies that surrounded the area. Such an attack could not have been done without someone there to cast it, a ritual needed to be enacted.
In less than a second did you see it flicker in the distance, so faint and small that it would have been missed if you hadn't been following the ripples. Hidden in a veil that lead to a folded space where something dwelled within, unfettered by the limitations of the Materium, a tiny opening being all that was needed to fully channel their power to outside reality.
While the battle rages around you, madness made manifest against desperate resistance, you become still. You take out your Exitus rifle once more, all focus dedicated to bringing an end to the one who hurt your companion and tried to end you, and load the Toxiferran Diffuser into the gun.
"For all psychic targets, this round will ensure their demise."
"To think the infamous works of Fourteenth would also find its way to you, even before Mortarion was found. You're sure it will kill anything?"
"If it doesn't bring death directly, it will make them suffer like nothing else you could possibly do."
Hatred lingers on your thoughts and courses through your hands, flames ignited by fury swirl within the barrel and are sucked into the bullet.
You fire.
A lot could be said about the Death Guard, and indeed much was said about them amongst the Thousand Sons, but nobody could deny their expertise in toxic concoctions. Even the infamous Phosphex had its throne of destruction challenged by the anti-psychic poison wrought by the Dusk Raiders.
As the round streaked across the battlefield, lightly twisting around the debris that came down from rocket fire, the mixture inside was already beginning to react to your psychic power. A thin amount of smoke began to spew from the round, reacting to all Immaterium energy with destructive results, like a cloud of acid as it passed by daemons. You just hoped it would last long enough to reach its true destination.
The toxic comet flew past veiled horrors that were scalded, invisible flames that were extinguished and clouds of shifting logic that dissipated. Its burning fumes disappeared within the small hole in reality, the pocket dimension rippling, the opening flickered and expanded slightly.
For a moment nothing more happened.
Then in the next there was a sound of an explosion, your eyes blinking away the sight of space unfolding in a way that shouldn't have been possible, the screams of daemons within that were being burnt in a way that they had never suffered before. Many-limbed beasts made of glass and crystal, pulsating energy that writhes in pain, coughing up smoke that passed through. Several had gaping holes where the round had passed through directly, melting down their bodies with agony courtesy of the red-handed sons of Mortarion.
The battle devolves into a brutal, bloody mess as it progresses. Hundreds of Eternal Wardens perish in the conflict, but in turn achieve victory against the arcane swarms. Yet more unaugmented soldiers fall in droves to achieve any small triumph, numbers dwindling into cataclysmic amounts, but they hold firmly despite everything. You once more bear the weight of a screaming Warp rift in order to cast it out from the sky.
In the end, despite his injuries and the words of Raz and yourself, Savinath still took part and guided his array of Servo-skulls into the optimal banishment locations. Time passes in whispers, agony and doubt but the second rift finally closed.
The storm above was fully cleared of direct Chaos influence. Unnatural clouds began to disperse rapidly dissipate into near-nothingness. The old capital city, the ruined centrepiece of this world's demise, was finally clear after so long. An ancient front from which armies of hell marched into the planet had been destroyed.
Only two portals remained.
-----
Stormbirds and Thunderhawks flew across the clearing skies, followed by a fleet of Imperial Army troop transports, heading to the south pole region.
A lot more aircraft than expected hadn't risen up to join the battle, with so many dead soldiers. Instead a few were given to the Cemetery natives, either marked for recovery or delivered directly to one of their Last Cities. It was partly out of practicality and to build relations, for they were firm allies still fighting battles across the planet and the vehicles were unused, and partly due to the building response from Chaos.
While the first two rifts had belonged to the Archdaemon known as Tzeentch, the twin eyes that overlooked the ruined city, the last two belonged to the one known as Nurgle. As the capital city had been besieged by the Imperium, the Nurglite hordes had surged forward while their opposition was focused together.
A tide of death was overtaking as much land, as much people and as much as possible. Already one of the Last Cities was reported as fallen, with a small percentage of its people able to escape from the diseased beasts that rampaged against the Cemetery's salvation. So many creatures and dark warriors roaming freely, spreading poison and plagues by mere presence, a nightmare to fully cleanse let alone fight off to reach that point.
Your thoughts drift from the grim circumstances of the war effort, knowing that it wasn't your job to be the commander here, and instead towards your own role within it.
Perhaps your own feelings of worry, dread and uncertainty were not wholly your own. To second guess one's mind was an expected practice against the Warp for the Thousand Sons, but it was taken to far greater extremes when one directly faced Chaos. Every emotion and lack of emotion, every thought considered and disregarded, could be a toll for the enemy.
With all that said, daemons or not, you had to admit to yourself that this was still definitely exhausting to deal with. Your respect for your cousins in the Eleventh Legion grew further as you finally faced the foe they dedicated everything for, and also feeling the weight of that dedication.
You rode with Raz and Savinath, the three of you preparing for the third rift. The Triquetra had proven itself thus far, able to take down two of the vast portals into the realms of Chaos, but it was not without cost.
Savinath's armour was unable to be saved, having to be torn off from his damaged flesh and replaced with spare armour that was lacking the careful psychic inscriptions that he once had. Apothecaries had tried to get the Glyphmaster to take more of a rest, or stay out of the conflict entirely, but nothing could have pried away his determination to keep fighting as long as possible.
You couldn't say you entirely disagreed with him, knowing what was behind his arguments. It was a haunting thing to see the sight of those Wardens fallen in the earth, their carefully etched armour bent and burnt, knowing that five-hundred names would have to be carved and carried by their brothers.
To spend so much time and effort into this, so much cost and difficulty with maintenance and repair, was the greatest proof of the willpower behind the Eternal Wardens. To be so struck with grief that literally weighed over all warriors, including the Primarch, and yet carrying it forward no matter how densely packed the names become or the time spent to place each one.
Was your name going to end up on the memorials worn by the Eleventh, one day? Would it be today? Would-
You call upon the mental rituals of Prospero and bring calm to your mind. All you had to do to prevent such a fate was to win. That was a nice thought, one you'd hold onto to bring to the battle ahead.
Turning your gaze towards an interior display, you witness the next battlefield. The south lands were a twisted mire of a feverish jungle, a bog oozing with putrid essence, a fungus-filled forest. The rift had belonged to those dedicated to the Lord of Decay for nearly fifty years, managing to remain firmly in diseased hands despite fierce resistance, and in that time came a realm of overgrown filth and rot.
Thankfully you weren't going to take part in the lengthy clean-up operation that was going to happen after this. All that mattered was the banishment of the insect-ridden vortex, a hive that grew in an infernal cycle of life.
Gigantic bugs swarmed the sky the deeper one ventured into the southern swamps. Some the size of your fist, some your torso, some larger than a jetbike. Bloated monsters spawned directly from nightmares, poisonous and parasitic, some used as steeds for aerial riders that periodically raided any nearby settlements. Nesting across the impossible flora.
Supporting aircraft fighters did their best to gun down the beasts that came for us, incendiary bombs to burn down the forests where we could, the rainforests of Nurgle put to the torch to stop the swarms that infested them. The manifestations of decay were hardy things, endurance personified in the worst possible ways, but fire was an ancient tool of cleansing.
There were still a few transports that were brought down, unable to fight off the creatures that rusted metal by touch and tore through the jets with yellowed teeth.
As the plant life grew denser, putrid rivers connecting to form lakes and oceans of foetid waters, the rift came into sight. A giant oozing wound of reality, the barrier between realms glowing sickly greens and browns, the edges teeming with colossal maggots that seemed to eat through the barriers between realms. The sight sickened you in ways that few things had ever managed to do.
Quickly finding a landing spot was a difficult endeavour, given the dense foliage, mud-filled ground and the teeming amount of daemonic entities within it all. To delay was to invite the whole rotten army and more together to defend the rift, ensuring defeat for this war.
Haste was necessary and while through the psychic senses the Triquetra collectively possessed helped determine less dangerous spots, able to see the infusion of Nurglite energy in its myriad degrees here, there was only so much the three of you could accomplish. Some transports began to sink into the soft earth, others hissing as caustic soil ate away at their frames, but enough survived intact enough to begin the battle to take the third vortex.
You step out into the jungle, your armoured boots trudging through the wet soil of the southern polar region, smelling the stench of long-dead corpses that you knew should have been impossible to sense with your helmet filters. The towering trees and dead leaves nearly blocking you from physically seeing the great rift you were here to destroy.
On several of the Servo-skulls, the armour of many Eternal Wardens, visibly seen on several of the most critical transports for Astartes and the Imperial Army. The Rune of Immunity, to ward against disease both physically and spiritually. It was perhaps going to be one of the greatest assets here to help survive against the inevitable assault, as was the great Rune of Purity.
There is little more time to take in the sights of what was around you before you hear a warning from Force Commander Aengus, who already stood at the furthest edge of the perimeter. The sound of rustling leaves quickly follows his words. The air itself grows still and heavy, beginning to be tainted by the attention forced on your location.
In less then a moment it truly begins.
Facing the forces of Nurgle was not like facing the mad hordes of Tzeentch. While daemons could all exist, manifest and fight in a theoretically infinite variety there were patterns of behaviour that were ingrained to their collective natures. This was no exception.
From the trees coil worms that look exactly like the vines, acidic mucus coating their lengthy forms. From the air comes biting flies with razor-edged maws and stinging carrion feeders, buzzing wings beating together as war drums. From the ground comes out things that looked to have been made from animated remains, gnarled hands that were more like branches and claws than bone wrapped in flesh.
They came slow but they would not stop. Nature itself turned to the supernatural. Descending like sickness, as omnipresent as despair, as inevitable as death itself.
You take a knife from your waist and cut a fanged beetle into two. Whatever these things represented, whatever power they held, they were also able to die and that was enough.
Despite how closely you had all landed to the vortex, it would still be a march to actually reach its location. Just as the growing number of monsters came against you would you all slowly but surely push against everything in your collective way.
Fire ignites across the forest as flamer-wielding squads move ahead, Terminators carrying large tanks on their backs full of the highest grade of promethium. The tanks that were brought fired shells and energy blasts into the coiled trees, as did the artillery platforms. You did your best to contribute, pyromancy unleashed with full wrath, but the Nurglite flora was harder to burn than it looked.
But burn it did. Black smoke rose up and dominated the skies. Foul rain began to pour down, heavier and more toxic than it had been before in the capital city.
Time passes in a siege that feels like it lasts hours, days, longer. The creatures that came were larger than before, flesh more swollen with energy radiating entropic influence, acting more with cruelty and hatred than simply animalistic reactions. The sensations of moments passing seemed to drag in ways that were not natural. Erosion to the will enforced by this hellish realm.
A worm covered in fangs that ripped a tank into two, its flesh made from harvested skin. A walking hive made from a tree that fed itself on a pile of corpses, their silhouettes visible from its branches. A spectre of putrid air, congealed into being before being cut down by the Force Commander.
You all pressed onwards towards the gaping maw when the threat rapidly increases, as you become surrounded by daemons. Savinath had been struck down before he could react, a spike jutting from their chest. Arrows made of serrated bone had been launched through the mass of greenery, archers moving through the impossible dense forest with a speed that defied their rotting forms.
Surrounding Wardens formed a phalanx against the onslaught, using their own armoured frame as human shields while Bolter and Volkites were let loose. Some of the tanks and artillery turned away from their focus on advancing, by blowing up the tangled mess of diseased life, trying to land as many shots as possible into what seemed to be a colossal horde. The fires weren't spreading as they had been before. It wasn't enough.
Aengus had rushed to the Glyphmaster's position before the next volley of arrows could arrive, his shield raised to block what would have been a lethal shot. One of the larger ones had managed to strike straight through his sword arm, dripping with poison that seemed to gleam with radiant madness, but despite dropping his blade he did not fall as he kept the shield up.
Without one of the Triquetra, the rift would be far harder to close. Without the Force Commander, the war would spiral further into disaster. Without being able to make progress, everything was…
You unleash fire as you had never done so before. Your arm seemed to become engulfed in an inferno.
Your eyes open to the arrow that had pierced Aengus's arm, seeing it spark and bubble as it connected back to the one whom fired it, an anchor meant to inflict all manner of disease and decay to those that suffered its wrath. You follow the tendril that clings to the projectile and its user, seeing the Herald that dwelled within the dark.
The Exitus rifle comes back to your hands without you even being aware that you had reached for it. The Turbo-penetrator round is loaded in, the scope to your eyes, calculating the perfect shot.
"It relies on a two-stage process meant to punch through as much armour as possible."
"What are the limits of its piercing capability?"
"So long as you know where they are, almost nothing will block its path."
This wasn't the ideal place to use it. There was no armour that you could see, no fortress to shoot through, no large crowd to pierce through.
But you needed to make sure it hit, to penetrate through the dense walls of unnatural greenery and be fast enough to actually hit the leader of the archers. This was all you had to guarantee such a thing, and you were going to make sure that you hit these damned monsters where it hurt.
You hold in a breath. Unnecessary to stabilise the weapon but done so in the name of focus, to the shot and to your powers. Flame wraps itself around the gun and sinks into the bullet. As the lead archer stops momentarily to take another shot, lanky arms already pulling the string far back, the sensors find the trajectory you must aim at and so you do.
You fire.
For a moment it seemed like you were using a las weapon, as a giant beam of fire erupted from the end of the rifle, the bullet moving so fast that it'd have extinguished the flames if they hadn't been made with psychic powers. Branches that could withstand tank rounds snapped off as they tried to move in front of the round. Several large insects exploded as they flew in the way of the shot. Moving so fast you couldn't see it, and then faster.
Everything that was in the way of the bullet was destroyed. It cut through the hand that held the bow, snapping the thing in two by the force, and it burned a gaping wound through the heart of the nightmare. Still standing in place, unable to react to the damage until the arrow fell and so did its body.
After it struck the Herald of Nurgle it then kept going somewhere off into the distance, doing what little but significant damage it could to the overgrown lands that surrounded the vortex, until a moment later it finally stopped.
It was not the end of the conflict here, far from it, yet it was something.
It was a slow and agonising process. Savinath had to be taken back to a more defended location, having to be treated by surviving Chirurgeons from the Imperial Army and the Cemetery. More vehicles sank into the putrid soul or were broken down by sudden rust. But finally the destination was reached.
The portal was the most disgusting thing you had ever beheld, the colossal maggots that chewed at its edges shot down by artillery fire. Your powers used with Raz to grasp hold of the wound and seal it shut while everyone else fought off the enraged hordes, the few remaining Servo-skulls that Savinath left behind being used to help where they could, and then finally it was done.
All of you were exhausted, depleted and beaten down by everything you had suffered through. With barely a chance to recover, the survivors went back into the transport craft and headed to the last rift of the Cemetery.
-----
It was a long journey to the opposite side of the planet.
Some aircraft had to be diverted from their destination due to outbreaks of disease erupting within. Lingering illnesses caught by some members and then spreading to the rest, unable to be fully quarantined without too much risk involved and time that could not be afforded. Debilitating squads, platoons, companies and whoever else were in the transports.
It didn't matter if the soldiers in the transports were fully isolated from the air and water, untouched by rusted blades and poisonous vines, the Warp-based plagues could infect a person by presence or by a whispering thought or simply due to the pathogens manifesting inside from nothingness. Without the Rune of Immunity, the remnants of the Imperial Army here might well have all perished already.
Others simply carried those too wounded to fight, yet were able to survive long enough for a medic or Apothecary to do what they could to stabilise them. Savinath was on one of those so severely wounded, carefully guarded and sent far away from this war that nearly killed him. The Triquetra had nearly lost a member.
You nearly lost a brother.
Your mind shook itself from that thought as you focused on what really mattered, this war and how to end it. While the south pole was a melted cesspool covered in nightmarish greenery, the north pole was a frozen hellscape that reflected another aspect of death. So cold that it would kill an exposed man in moments, a blizzard that tore at anyone who came with howling winds, a wasteland teeming with daemons hidden within the frigid storm.
The rift was in the middle of it all, a window into a place where absolute zero was far from how cold things could truly become, and all you had to do was brave the wasteland and its defenders.
You turn your head to regard the two other passengers in the Stormbird you were with. Raz, Astral Champion of the Eleventh, had become silent where once he kept the spirits up despite how things had turned out. Force Commander Aengus was also here, his sword and shield switching hands after his wrist had been so damaged, and only occasionally gave orders when needed.
You could feel the weight that was over you all, more than just Nurglite influence. Already so much was lost, from material to manpower. Billions had died just to seal one rift. With the cost of the three piled up so high…
Were you really going to die here?
That thought lingered on your mind. The Emperor of Mankind had made the Astartes and said that they would have no fear, and in the normal fields of battle you were fine, but against such horrors of the Warp that were cruelty and fear made manifest? Doubt was impossible to shake off, especially in a situation like this.
You'd like to think that you made peace with the concept of falling in battle, for the Imperium, the Thousand Sons, the Eternal Wardens. In a way that was true, you went into all these conflicts knowing that you'd
You don't want to die here. There were worse things than an end when Chaos held victory, far worse fates than just leaving a corpse when daemons clutched at your body. To be torn apart, your flesh twisted like the curse that had plagued your Legion, your mind in shatters…
But you all came so far. You had all lost so much. The end was in sight and to turn away now was unthinkable despite how tempting it might seem.
The Exitus rifle on your back was loaded with the final round you were given by the Vindicare, the one must attuned to your power, the Hyphosphus Incendiary.
"This will burn everything around the target into ash. It'd melt a Titan down to molten sludge if given enough time."
"How long do the flames last?"
"Last?" the assassin repeated, confused by the question. "This is high grade Phosphex. It will burn until there is nothing left to burn."
You hadn't wanted to use the round, the destructive nature of the concoction was infamous even to the Death Guard. It tainted the land in ways arguably worse than the aftermath of an atomic bomb or a regiment using rad-weapons. Yet against an army of daemons, in such a situation as this, you decided that it was more than justified to bring this much destruction.
As you looked over to see the blizzard you were within, the energy of Chaos intermingling with the snow that fell and buried the ground, you knew that you needed everything you could bring. It wasn't as if the land wasn't already heavily tainted and inhospitable, after all.
A distant sound of an explosion shakes you from your thoughts. You turn and see one of the troop transports burning as it spiralled to the ground. Giant shards of ice the size of tanks had fallen from the sky, glowing with the energy of the Warp, embedding the aircraft and immediately killing everyone on board.
Evasive manoeuvres were taken by the rest of the fleet, as giant clumps of frozen poison fall as crude artillery and anti-air. You ready your rifle as you prepare to make your last bullet count. The final Chaos rift is in sight and at any moment the order would be given to drop down and fight through the daemons here.
Aircraft fighters and bombers destroy what enemies they can in this wasteland, blinded as they were by the snow that blanketed the skies. Frost crawling across the glass and clogging the sensors. Energy rapidly depleting, temperature following along as heat was sapped. This was a place of stasis and finality, its nature was death in a more 'pure' form.
Aengus shouts out the order, lifting up his sword and hefting his shield, the doors open and you all descend into the fray. You can feel the cold bite at you despite being protected by your armour. You are rendered half-blind and half-deaf despite your augmented senses, and those of the helmet you wore.
A hand cracks from the thick layer of ice, bending as a jagged mess that was stretched beyond what any human limb should be capable of, its touch felt colder than the void of space. You take out a knife and cut off the hand, then use the blade to pry off the rigid grip the severed fingers still had around your leg.
While it was difficult to see anything, it was easy to see the position of surrounding Astartes with digital markers. With this, the Force Commander brings order into the disarray and battle formations are made.
Some were corpses that had died fighting against impossible cold, crushed by the gigantic ice, or sporting deep wounds made by dull blades that corroded through all mortal creation. Those unlucky few that were attacked when they could not defend themselves.
Only a squad or two had fallen like this. The rest were ready to fight. Bolters barked against the muffling snow, Astartes trudging through the snow that came over their heads, ice cracking underneath as more daemons erupted from below. The weight of the frozen residue that fell down, thawing back into corrosive sludge, the wind that was strong enough to press against power armour.
Pyromancy was your speciality, your power, your identity and yet it could barely melt this ice. It wasn't just water that was frozen it was toxins, unnatural sludge, solidified Chaos energy. Everything resisted you and you could barely even see. The snow piled up higher and higher. Every step had more weight on it. You couldn't even tell if the Imperial Army remnants had survived, the Cemetery populace, the-
From the side, shrouded by the ice and snow, came a spectre that was an ancient corpse risen from permafrost. It pierced straight through your guts with a spire of sharpened bone, a spear made from the long years that passed under the ground, like a fossil stalagmite. The rime around the tip was already melting inside your warm body, the poison seeping in and mixing with your blood.
You grab the daemon's head with one hand and make it burn into cinders. It screams and pulls away from you. With the other hand you plunge your knife into its heart, a frozen and still thing that is cracked rather than cut, and finally kick it back into the depths it came from.
You try to march through the slush, the ice, the wind and the snow. Heading towards the closest squads to begin properly heading towards a rift you could not physically see but spiritually sense all around you. Pain flaring up from where you were stabbed.
While the Eternal Wardens were experienced with hellish terrain, quite literally from the stories you heard of Aleph and the Maelstrom, you were far from an expert on Warp-twisted environments. They find you before you find them, and thankfully one of them was an Apothecary who tried to treat the spreading infections you got. You keep your mind away from the burning pain and just on your task. The last rift had to go.
Time passes in a blur of cold, battle, screams and endurance. You only focus on what orders or warnings you're given, directions towards your target, against the enemies that try to rise up against you.
March, fight, survive. The cycle repeats. You deafen most outside sound within your helmet and focus on the vox, on the whispering presence of your foe, on the mental rituals of the Thousand Sons to reinforce your mind.
You push forwards until you're close enough to begin the ritual, Raz having already managed to arrive to face the frigid portal. Keeping the pain of your wound contained elsewhere, the cold and the poison ignored, your mind clear and ready to bear the weight of the tear in reality. Without a word did you take position and begin the sealing formation.
With how weakened you were, and without the whole Triquetra too, the vortex felt especially harsh to bare. It was like holding fire in your hands, suffering lighting surge through your nerves, freezing water fill your lungs. Suffocating while still being able to breathe. Holding the intangible storm while trying not to be swept away.
The weight is lessened as you feel Raz divert some of his focus to do what he did best, telepathic support to help your mind withstand the Chaos rift. An armoured hand flashing in your thoughts, strangling the choking vines that wrap around your very being, the Astral Champion fighting a battle within as you both stood together to bring an end to this dire conflict.
You hold on. You hold on like you've never held on before. Your physical body is as still as a statue as you bear the storm to bring the giant vortex to a halt.
Finally there is a sound of something shattering, backwards and forwards, a rush of air moving towards a sudden absence. The swirl of energy that infused the planet shuddered, the daemonic armies twisting against the turning of reality. A moment where the flow of the Warp begins to reverse.
Then cold storm suddenly died down. The scratching winds began to calm, the snow began to lessen in intensity, the frigid feeling lost the horrific edge it possessed. A weight that had been pushing against your very soul began to lift and your mind could clear up from the fog of battle. A peace brought over the looming disaster that reigned for centuries.
The final rift was cleared. The influence of the Warp significantly died down. The Cemetery was free.
Despite everything, it had been done.
You had all won.
But the battle was not over.
You turn, the motion so difficult after the ordeal you had just gone through, and while the rift and the blizzard had faded away the same was not true for most of the daemons.
You were all completely surrounded. There were thousands of them that directly encircled you, and tens of thousands more, then more and more in the distance. Nurglite monsters rising up from the melting snow, toxic gases and liquids able to freely move than be stuck in ice, using the lingering Chaos energy to propel themselves forward before most would be banished back.
Already thousands of Eternal Wardens were struck down to get to this point. The thousand that remained were mostly dying against the sheer numbers that they faced, spread out in various pockets of resistance, with over a hundred surrounding the Force Commander in a last stand.
Further still were the remains of the Imperial Army that had arrived to the planet to support the Astartes here. From five billion to what seemed to be less than five thousand. Everyone giving it there all as they pushed forward.
Raz was already running towards the combat as fast as he could go, taking out a Bolter from a fallen brother and firing towards every living nightmare in sight, while you stayed behind.
You were injured and tired, having done so much in just helping seal the Warp rifts, yet you were still alive and thus could still fight.
And you had one more shot left.
The Exitus rifle sways slightly in your hands as you take position, aiming towards the largest concentration of daemons that were far enough away from the Eternal Wardens.
You take a breath. You call upon the First Enumeration, the one which almost all members of the Thousand Sons knew, to calm and focus one's mind by reciting the names of the original founders.
"Ahtep," you whisper. "Luxanhtep, Phanek, Thothmes, Imhoden, Hastar, Memphia, Cythega, Amon, Magnus the Red."
Flame writhes across the length of the weapon as you think about the other psychic order you were now a part of.
"Savinath, Raz, Nasin."
What emerges from the end of the rifle's barrel is an inferno. In less than a second could you see cracks visibly worm around the round, the dense materials cracking under the power you pushed into the bullet, glowing red-hot with heat. The Phosphex inside activates and escapes in mid-air, a white-blue cloud of death, incinerating everything it touched by flame both chemical and arcane.
Hundreds of daemons die in agony from the trail of living fire, hundreds more have to run away from the hateful flames that will chase and overtake them, thousands diverted from a wall of death that would melt ice into nothingness and leave no twisted remains to taint this realm. The unlucky nightmare that was directly struck by the bullet didn't even last a second.
You take a moment to regard the last gift of the assassin, the scope lowered as you bore witness to what would ordinarily be the worst thing any environment could be inflicted with. Then you slowly push yourself forwards, knowing what end you'd likely face in this conflict, you follow Raz's path against the heavy layers of toxic snow that were still so difficult to traverse.
The last battle would almost end in loss. You could all die here. But you'd die together in victory.
The war was already won. The main objectives were complete. You had done what an outsider might consider more than enough, yet not one of the Eleventh.
On the Cemetery, under clear skies and a centuries long war, the Eternal Wardens, the Imperial Army and one of the Thousand Sons would die as saviours against the last daemons of the four rifts.
Well, you supposed it would be was far from the worst of ways to go.
-----
The Plaguebearer tried to crawl away from its inevitable demise, its bloated form already too burnt to walk or shamble away.
The burning club rose up once and fell down onto the monster's head, crushing it into paste and leaving the twitching body to become ash.
You look up from the and glance around the battlefield. A few more Nurglings had been shot down by the surviving Imperial Army soldiers, the lasguns incinerating the loathsome horrors and the corrosive snow that the things had been hiding in. Other than that you couldn't see any more daemonic entities.
It was truly over.
A sigh leaves your lips as you almost fall to your knees. Then the flames that were infused to the Exitus rifle were finally extinguished, as you carefully holster the empty gun over your back once more. You were unmoving for a while, just watching the corpse of the monster before you burn away.
You didn't think using the rifle in melee would work so effectively. The toughness of the material and the craftsmanship of the Vindicare was far better than you expected. You just hoped the machine spirit didn't hate you so much for using it as a bludgeon that it'd stop letting you use it at all.
"Found an intact Narthecium!" Raz spoke across the vox-link, with you being the only person who could answer him. The cheer in his voice was forced through the naked exhaustion he felt, as well as the pain from his own injuries, but it was a welcome sound to your ears after all this. "We should be able to stabilise the Force Commander now!"
"Is there enough for you and me too?" you ask, looking down at the awful wound in your abdomen.
"Uh… perhaps?"
"We'll figure it out." you laugh as you force yourself up, a hand placed over the poisoned wound. "Help me carry Aengus back to one of the Stormbirds. We should probably head back to somewhere- no, anywhere than here for now."
One day the Eleventh Legion would come back for the bodies of all the Eternal Wardens and Imperial Army soldiers that had died, the armour and weapons taken to be reused elsewhere, the dead given their respect while the planet's zealous populace had erupted in celebration. The day of victory already declared a holiday, a time and legendary deed that would be remembered so long as people lived on the world.
For now you would collapse into a living Apothecary's care along with Savinath, Raz and the Force Commander. The Triquetra and the Prodigy proven despite the calamity and horrific losses that had occurred. The Cemetery, cleansed of the rifts and feeling such joy after generations of bleak despair and defiance, would now join the domain of Kesar Dorlin.
You were looking forward to writing to your Primarch about your experiences here. Working with the Eleventh Legion was certainly enlightening about matters related to the Warp.
-----
Four Rifts, Four Rounds.
You are Nasin, Pyrae Adept of the Thousand Sons as well as the Master of Relief for the Eternal Wardens, and after over a decade of life within the Eleventh Legion this is the war that will define your role in it.
It had been an interesting time. You had learned a lot and others had learned from you. What more could you really ask for than that, with such a role you were gifted and surrounded by such brilliant warriors? Even when Kesar Dorlin had deemed you worthy of elevation and integration, you never really expected things to end up like this.
Now lead by Force Commander Aengus, prodigy of the blade and veteran of battle from the war that banished the Maelstrom into a faded reef, the Triquetra were diving straight into hell. Which included you.
Since the moment you received your position, to be a part of the Eleventh Legion in such a critical way, you knew this day was coming. Where you would fight against the foe that defined so much of your cousins, of those that followed the Daemonsbane Primarch. After this trial period to judge your presence, the Triquetra system as a whole, it was time to see it all in action.
You hadn't really been in the vast site of the former rift before. Or fought against daemons or Chaos cultists. Or act to help close four giant tears into the Great Ocean. Or live-tested for corruption and purity against such a menacing force of malefic spirits.
Astartes were moulded by the Emperor of Mankind to know no fear or doubt, to be the brilliant warriors who would conquer the galaxy and bring about humanity's salvation, but fear and doubt you did because how could you not? This was a foe beyond anything you have faced before.
This was a foe that once brought forth the Flesh-Change on Cadia. That Magnus the Red had warned you heavily about since you received your position. That was behind countless names carved on the armour and weapons of the Eleventh.
This was the foe that had ravaged the Cemetery for centuries.
A world that had been populated by mankind in a time long before the Imperium had been risen, when the Unification Wars had been at their devastating height, that had once known a time of prosperity even during the calamitous Age of Strife. A relative paradise compared to tens of thousands of planets, a shining gem of technology and progress, until it became an infernal hell that few colonised worlds could match.
Four rifts torn open by the unwitting acts of ancient geniuses, whom were described to have managed a means to safely thin the borders of the Materium and Immaterium, until the Maelstrom broke the balance as it swallowed the celestial body and all those who remained upon it. The 'Last Cities' being the only place of civilization, heavily fortified remnants of once beautiful construction.
So fatalistic yet determined in mindset, a culture dedicated to survival and persistence in the face of absolute ruin. There were billions that lived and all they cared about was fighting against Chaos and the monsters that made up their endless numbers, struggling for the sake of defiance. It was a tragedy but they didn't care anymore.
You didn't voice it out directly to the Astartes around you, but you could tell there was a massive feeling of sympathy and understanding between the sons of Kesar Dorlin and the Cemetery's populace. With grief and positive feelings of brotherhood exchanged for numb anger and detachment.
That was going to change. Already had there been tangible hope that manifested across the people when first contact was made with the Imperium. A promise to save them and seal the rifts. To rebuild afterwards into a world that was beautiful once more. A wondrous dream that would need to be brought into reality before it could be believed, yet it was already shifting the mindset of those in the Last Cities.
It was up to the Triquetra and the Eternal Wardens to end this once endless war.
You check your Exitus rifle one last time. It was a perfect weapon, an immaculate construction of a sniper rifle, well-maintained by the Master of the Forge and carefully calibrated by your experienced hands. Something that was beyond even your psychic powers in terms of granting death to an enemy, not that the two were exclusive elements.
The scope was more sophisticated than the sensors in your helmet, by several orders of magnitude. The sensors and systems integrated were beyond almost any weapon you saw an Astartes wield, outside of the best Techmarines.
The prototype ammunition that was made for you was taken, every single solid slug that was made by Bodin for you. Weighted and placed carefully so you could use them all to banish the nightmares they would be used for. Savinath had managed to carve Runes onto several of them for help, although he didn't have time to do them all. Next to all of those rounds were…
Four shots had been granted by the Vindicare assassin that had given you their sniper rifle. Each one was specialised and unique in purpose. The Shield-Breaker, the Toxiferran Diffuser, the Turbo-penetrator and the Hyphosphus Incendiary. Four rounds that you would never be able to get again after they were used up. Ammunition beyond what even a Chief Techmarine was capable of making.
You knew that you were going to have to use those four shots to make it through this war.
-----
The first two targets were, relative to those at the polar caps, right next to each other.
Surrounded by hurricane both literal and metaphysical, the winds howling amidst the sound of screams, the rain falling and glittering as shards of crystal, ethereal fire coursing across the heavens as a malignant aurora.
The former capital of the world. The centre for which most, if not all, the reality thinning technology that lead to the planet's accursed fate. Twin giants that were like colossal shards of broken glass, cutting through light into prismatic displays, eerily still in ways that no disaster should be.
Seen from orbit it was like looking at two unblinking eyes painted over an existing image, glaring at you and the Eternal Wardens. It was difficult to look at the gleaming aura that surrounded the twisted space. You could feel something over yourself, by your shoulder, the corners of your eyes.
An omnipresent feeling that tried to claw itself deeper as you thought about it, carving its presence in your brain, an animal instinct warning you away from something dangerous and not meant to be faced. You focus your mind as best as you can to resist it and maintain as much calm as possible, dedicate yourself to this grand mission.
The Archdaemon Tzeentch had ruled the capital portals, the dual rifts aligned to one purpose, their fell influence tainting the ruins in a dark storm that had not stopped for hundreds of years. Debris that seemed to be from the original city was hanging in the air by telekinetic force, chunks of buildings wrapped in twisted metal, a cyclone of ruin stuck in the moment when the apocalypse began.
Force Commander Aengus had decided to take on the former centre of the world. It was a wise course of action, beyond simply taking down two rifts as quickly as possible. As a member of the Thousand Sons, you knew all too well that to leave an army of psykers to prepare was akin to handing them the keys to an large artillery cohort and the coordinates to precisely use them.
The principal was similar with daemons, magnified to far worse degrees. Already you could see macro-rituals being formed, flying beasts surging in swarms across the open window between realms, Warpflame bellowing from the glass 'eyes' that constantly stared into your soul. The more that the conflict was delayed, the worse the war would go.
You tense as the vox-network activates with the voice of Aengus asking for final confirmation. You, Savinath and Raz give it as the Triquetra. Then he shouts out the order to charge forward, the command sent towards everyone.
You fall into battle with your brothers. The sky is alight with millions and then billions of laser beams, missiles striking the floating remnants of a dead city, drop-pods screaming down from the heavens. Lightning strikes from every angle, channelled by cabals of sorcerers hidden below.
The daemonic army surges instantly in response. The closest portal seems to expand, space unfolding itself, hairline fractures exponentially growing, hordes of shifting flesh and burning logic spill forth like ink into water. Blood and bones are fly everywhere around them when struck, their fellow monsters dead and their remains trampled upon by others without a care.
Artillery from the Imperial Army barks out and cleaves the surrounding land, aircraft flying forward to shred apart and bomb anything in sight. The Cemetery's populace rushing forward with a fervour that would have been praised for Astartes to possess, transport vehicles granted to their numbers were pushed to the absolute limit. 'Mortals' numbering in the billions against the worst nightmares made manifest.
You are all mortal here, that descriptor had no meaning between those like you and those that weren't granted a Primarch's connection. You were all just humans fighting against beings that should not exist. You were all fighting together and here was the glory of the Eternal Wardens against their greatest enemy.
After what felt like hours, your drop-pod fell by the border of the conflict, far enough to suit your abilities and near enough to be in danger. You instantly rushed out as psychic blasts and flying beasts descended on your location. A Bolter pistol taken out and immediately put to use. Fire wreathes the end of your gun as you shoot every abomination in sight, pyromancy-infused shells burning through spiritual flesh.
The sky above seems to shake and tear from explosions mundane and magical, clouds of dust and shattered rock flying everywhere. You're so close to the rift that you can see its infinite dancing colours wrap around the world. You have to hurry, have to get into position and bring and end to this hell.
From your hands comes balls of flame that detonate against, incinerating the mad hordes that rampage across the battlefield. Vox-feeds relay the horrific casualties that were being suffered as you fought, trying to get as much useful information in a sea of death.
Millions more dying in the time it takes to even finishing hearing any reports of demise. Vehicles turned into swollen cauldrons of steam, gleaming mist and crackling energy. Fighter pilots torn out from their aircraft by aquatic fauna that swim through the sky, biting through Adamantium, screaming for support against the swarms. Ritual circles blink in the air and either summon more forces or conjure illusions to further confuse everything.
The rift had to close to end this, before its neighbour came to assist and end your attempts to save this planet before they could begin. But first you had to get into position and you couldn't do it alone.
A force of a hundred Eternal Wardens rush to your position, fighting against those that tried to cut down one of the few Librarians that could bring down these rifts. Turrets are deployed around the battlefield to make a space free from enemy presence, artillery called closer to your position than you'd have wished was necessary.
You focus your mind and soul, your flames surging across the tips of your fingers, focusing on the vox-system as the biggest target is made apparent. A leading champion of arcane madness, a tyrant of Chaos, a Herald of Tzeentch.
Their staff called down storm clouds that launched sharp shards of crystal. A wave of their hundred hands turns an Imperial Army soldier into a mutated pile of writhing flesh. A crown of lightning surges above their head. They meditate upon a shifting cube of silver, floating within the nexus of hovering debris, nine layers of telekinetic shielding visibly protecting their open sanctum.
They channelled the raw power of the rift and ordered the insane hordes that spewed endlessly from its maw, cackling so loudly that it could be heard amidst all the weaponry and explosions. It was a voice of cruel glee and the laughter childish delight at the destruction around them. They babbled words of power as a beast would howl in the night, primal sounds of madness granted lethal weight.
The Exitus rifle comes from your back as you take a stance at an elevated enough point, protected by the Eleventh Legion that fought around you, and carefully load the Shield-Breaker round into the weapon.
"Any target with a Warp-based force field will not be protected against this round."
"Any target?"
The question was considered deeply, the Vindicare assassin completely still, several seconds passing before an answer was given. "Do not use it on anything you'd consider or compare to the most skilled psykers you've seen and it will work."
Against a normal wielder of the Warp you knew this would spell nothing but death. Against a daemon? You could only hope that it was enough.
The targeting systems align to the Herald, the sensors charting the perfect path through the explosions and howling air, the storm of power ripping apart everything analysed for the path of lease resistance. Your clear your mind of all distractions, the vox-systems becoming silent to your ears, and you harness flame around the Rune-etched bullet.
Your scope becomes your eye. You see everything you need to strike true. Just a little more patience…
A few heartbeats later and the perfect moment arrives. Where falling debris and melting fragments clears up, where the furious clouds dissipate just enough as they swallow aircraft and artillery shots, where the sensors found the path they needed to fulfil the purpose of the rifle.
You fire.
An Exitus weapon was normally completely silent when it was used, built to be unheard of unless a loud calling card was required. The bullet came out of the barrel with a pristine noiselessness, the air visibly pierced by its force, yet it then roars as loud as volcanic eruption from the infusion of pyromancy.
A trail of flame follows the round, making it seem similar to a Bolter shell, marking its journey across the battlefield as a burning comet. It twists slightly as the guidance-cogitators inside the round, ensuring that nothing less than a direct hit would ensue. It disappears past bright clouds reflecting madness, the Warpflames of burning souls, the debris of a tank launched into the sky.
The Herald of Tzeentch turns a moment to late, their ritual focus disrupted, their hundred eyes widen as they realised they missed a crucial detail. Nine shields crack apart against arcane technology, pyromantic enchantment and the etching of Purity. It's too late to stop the bullet's journey.
The shifting cube shudders and shatters into nine thousand pieces, silver shards falling into hordes of daemons that are cut and crushed, the still screaming body carried off by the great storm as it turned to ash. Artillery and aircraft bombard the remains of the crumbling platform, as well as surrounding servants of the dark mage.
Psychic disruptions cascade briefly around the battlefield, the chaotic surge momentarily turning against everyone than being a tool for the enemy. It didn't last long, the daemons were able to recover far better and faster from unravelling Warp energy than any psyker would have been able to manage, but only a single moment of havoc and could be enough to turn the tide.
Countless soldiers perish as they grind down the monsters that rule the ruins of the capital, charging ahead as ancient walls lose their psychic wards. The fury of the Cemetery warriors against the daemons almost visible to your eyes as the idea of victory, charging against the portal that had made life so full of hellish suffering, vengeance against the spirits of the Great Ocean.
You couldn't focus upon them, on the Eternal Wardens or even the battle itself. Your duty came first as you braved the centrepiece of this conflict, shared by the two others in the Triquetra. Using the most complicated rituals within the Eleventh's Librarium to bring an end
The first rift was closed, as billions of bodies laid scattered around its former presence, and it was almost deafening to hear the cries of victory from the native people of the world. Discipline beaten into a populace that only knew hopeless defiance had finally seen a light at the end of the tunnel, zealous fury mixed with unparalleled relief.
The sky began to clear for the first time in centuries.
-----
Despite the massive losses in combat power to our overall forces, the dwindling morale for the Imperial Army soldiers in stark juxtaposition with the Cemetery warriors, Force Commander Aengus ordered you all to press on to the second rift into the Warp.
Daemons and the Warp itself didn't follow time the same way life in the galaxy did. Cause and effect was observed, and thank goodness for that or else things would be a lot more difficult, but things happened a lot sooner. The Great Ocean was an impatient beast, it didn't care about moments where 'nothing' occurred.
The more you learned about the Eternal Wardens' archenemy, the more you understood the nature of their strategies and caution regarding the capabilities of Chaos. There was always more to learn and for once you wished you didn't know so much, or at least that some of it wasn't true.
Yet you all had to push on for the sake of victory.
The capital area was a large site of ruin, much more so after this brief but devastating battle had concluded. A vast crater made from an explosion that tore open four holes in reality, the boundary between realms torn open, surrounded by layers of debris and still burning fires. The remains of daemons were being set alight by both the Eternal Wardens and the Cemetery soldiers, particularly the 'Outer Sentires' whom were the most experienced of the local anti-Chaos experts.
It was interesting to learn more about the native populace and their culture more directly, having a brief time and chance to talk to them about more than battle-plans and warfare assets. The zealous energy was worrying to interact with, more than a little uncomfortable due to how they looked upon you all as if you were divine salvation made manifest, but you had to admit it did help to make them open up.
You wished you could see the day when their culture changed from its fatalistic outlook and dedication against Chaos into something else. To fight against such monsters was a good thing, it'd be all too hypocritical for a member integrated to the Eleventh Legion to say otherwise, but even the most bleak-minded Eternal Wardens had some care. You just had to look at the etchings on their armour.
These people didn't really care if they or those around them died, not in an emotional sense at least. They cared about killing daemons and to keep killing them and that was it. Seeing such a mindset made you glad at how different Kesar Dorlin and his sons were in such beliefs. At least it was useful for the upcoming conflict.
The other 'eye' kept glaring upon you all, jagged glass cutting the light that fell upon everyone, the psychic intensity you felt was significantly reduced in power but not in focus. The rift shuddered with ripples of power as you all approached, as the daemons inside rushed to be ready to claw against all mortals they could find.
While you and Raz were focused between the overall battle-plan and your role in closing the rifts the third member of your order was determined to bring an end to these hellish portals. Savinath, the Glyphmaster of the Triquetra, was dedicating all his attention towards could towards his duties.
Servo-skulls swarmed around him in a number you only saw Masters of the Forge lead at a single time. Each one was decorated with a Rune dedicated to fighting against Chaos in all its forms. Silver, Banishment, Purge and Purity.
Normally to place the higher tier Runes onto such disposable drones was frowned upon, especially if it was directly carved into the machine itself instead of used as a vessel to carry an etched talisman. A waste of resources, effort and time.
Yet it was done for the sake of providing as much reach as possible for a wide area, to cover such a wide region of corrupted space, both in battle and while committing to this rift banishment ritual. The number of Librarians that would have been recommended to seal these portals were not available, so this was the next best thing to supplement the war effort.
Savinath was still trying to carve one more Rune even as you all marched to the next rift. His dedication and focus was inspirational, the utmost care given for each step. While some could claim that he was cursed, horrific misfortune clinging to him deeply, none could say anything against his willpower and capability.
He was the best dedicated Daemonologist of the Library. He dedicated so much of his time to be a breaker of curses and a carver of Runes, and here he put the effort of both subjects to use with his array of Rune-skulls. Without his efforts, things would take a whole lot longer and be far more bloodier.
You were glad you could call him a friend.
The battle began when the earth itself began to shake. Rituals to destroy and destabilise the land and everything on it. The already ruined form of the capital collapsed into a jagged mess, avalanches of rubble tumbling down, mud thickly flowing from the rain mixing with the broken rockcrete and dirt.
From corners that did not exist in physical space came the daemons, leaping from nothingness in angles that did not conform to any logic. Muttering things with claws that tried to whisper ancient truths folded in lies. Burning monsters that darted across the battlefield, ensuring everything was set ablaze. The sky began to grow dark as invisible phantoms tried to lunge as assassins hidden in higher planes, blades piercing through all defence.
The remnants of the Imperial Army fell in great numbers once more, to a foe that the soldiers were simply not prepared to face. The warriors of this world were quicker and more capable, experience proving to be a life saver, yet against such an onslaught. Alone the two forces would have been completely overwhelmed.
But the Eternal Wardens were here and they were meant to win such battles.
The Eleventh rush to action as contingency codes are barked across the vox. Formations, strategies, tactics and priorities settled with a few words. Blades match ethereal claws. Bolts are fired into beings the moment they manifest. Thousands of monochrome Astartes charge ahead and push back a tide that would easily overwhelm millions of warriors.
Force Commander Aengus rushes into the thick of combat, fighting with a skill and strength that inspired all around him to press further, as leader and companion to those that delved into the second rift's presence. Artillery thundered in the distance, louder than the storms that raged up in the sky. Lights flashing in the darkness from all the shots and arcane spells striking opposite sides.
Everything coming together for this moment. Your twin hearts hammered in your chest as you rushed forward to do your part. Flame flies from your hand, a sidearm shooting fire-infused death into gibbering blobs of flesh and malice, doing your best to get as close to the rift as possible to seal it as you had already done before.
The battle was more direct and bloody for you than the last one. Where the Imperial Army and the Cemetery populace had been the hammer on the anvil, striking directly and with their great force, here it was the space marines like you that faced the full army.
A bolt of psychic energy lanced past your head and struck down an Eternal Warden. Another was telekinetically lifted by nine sorcerors and twisted into pieces as they all pulled in different directions. Despite the strength, experience and will that the Eleventh had against Chaos, that did not translate to immunity. You had to rush ahead to-
Savinath screamed a warning to you, the words making you stop dead in your tracks as you belatedly felt a pressure building around yourself. The Glyphmaster's daemonology channelled to open a tunnel through the Warp, forcing the constant waves away for someone to pass, focused to teleport towards your location.
He manifests in less than a second and he simply tells you to run back, the weight behind his words making you heed the warning without question. You rush back while he stays behind, directing several of his Servo-skulls to his location as you realise what was happening.
There was a bright flash that would have blinded your eyes if they weren't augmented or were protected by your helmet. It seemed to outshine every explosion, laser beam and plasma blast that was sent across the battlefield.
From the storm itself came a surge of lightning that writhed like a coiling serpent as it descended, slithering rapidly across the clouds in a way that defied nature, growing in size. It shined with the fury of a star, its brilliance matching the scintillating rift you desperately tried to close.
There was a sound that vibrated your bones, shook your flesh, cracked your armour. It echoed beyond physical space as it lightly rippled with the Great Ocean's power. The thunderclap that heralded death and destruction.
It had struck Savinath directly.
His armour was glowing with heat, radiant sparks cascading off his plate, disfigured in some portions as electronics melted or exploded. Several skull drones were left in blasted pieces around him, still falling upon his form. The Runes engraved on his armour seemed to glow brighter and dim in response to the attack, perhaps the only reason he wasn't a pile of ash.
Around his feet was a molten crater that bubbled and hissed as the rain fell upon it, the earth was raised and petrified into fulgurite branches that were frozen reflections of the bolt that spawned them. Like hands reaching out to grasp for a lifeline, twisted fingers stretched out.
Savinath slowly lifted their arms, the movements stiff with how damaged their armour was, let alone what happened to their body. They tore off their helmet, the visor dark and lifeless, steam and smoke rising from within. Their flesh was singed but not wholly burnt. They tried to trudge through the liquid earth encasing their legs.
He had saved you.
"Apothecary!" Raz shouted before anyone else could, their voice echoing across the vox towards everyone in the Eternal Wardens. "To the Glyphmaster!"
Others nearby were affected worse than your saviour had been, horrific burns visible where their armour had been blasted apart or been wounded enough already that the bolt had been their doom. Astartes broken by the
Your snap your gaze back towards the rift, your eyes open to the psychic energies that surrounded the area. Such an attack could not have been done without someone there to cast it, a ritual needed to be enacted.
In less than a second did you see it flicker in the distance, so faint and small that it would have been missed if you hadn't been following the ripples. Hidden in a veil that lead to a folded space where something dwelled within, unfettered by the limitations of the Materium, a tiny opening being all that was needed to fully channel their power to outside reality.
While the battle rages around you, madness made manifest against desperate resistance, you become still. You take out your Exitus rifle once more, all focus dedicated to bringing an end to the one who hurt your companion and tried to end you, and load the Toxiferran Diffuser into the gun.
"For all psychic targets, this round will ensure their demise."
"To think the infamous works of Fourteenth would also find its way to you, even before Mortarion was found. You're sure it will kill anything?"
"If it doesn't bring death directly, it will make them suffer like nothing else you could possibly do."
Hatred lingers on your thoughts and courses through your hands, flames ignited by fury swirl within the barrel and are sucked into the bullet.
You fire.
A lot could be said about the Death Guard, and indeed much was said about them amongst the Thousand Sons, but nobody could deny their expertise in toxic concoctions. Even the infamous Phosphex had its throne of destruction challenged by the anti-psychic poison wrought by the Dusk Raiders.
As the round streaked across the battlefield, lightly twisting around the debris that came down from rocket fire, the mixture inside was already beginning to react to your psychic power. A thin amount of smoke began to spew from the round, reacting to all Immaterium energy with destructive results, like a cloud of acid as it passed by daemons. You just hoped it would last long enough to reach its true destination.
The toxic comet flew past veiled horrors that were scalded, invisible flames that were extinguished and clouds of shifting logic that dissipated. Its burning fumes disappeared within the small hole in reality, the pocket dimension rippling, the opening flickered and expanded slightly.
For a moment nothing more happened.
Then in the next there was a sound of an explosion, your eyes blinking away the sight of space unfolding in a way that shouldn't have been possible, the screams of daemons within that were being burnt in a way that they had never suffered before. Many-limbed beasts made of glass and crystal, pulsating energy that writhes in pain, coughing up smoke that passed through. Several had gaping holes where the round had passed through directly, melting down their bodies with agony courtesy of the red-handed sons of Mortarion.
The battle devolves into a brutal, bloody mess as it progresses. Hundreds of Eternal Wardens perish in the conflict, but in turn achieve victory against the arcane swarms. Yet more unaugmented soldiers fall in droves to achieve any small triumph, numbers dwindling into cataclysmic amounts, but they hold firmly despite everything. You once more bear the weight of a screaming Warp rift in order to cast it out from the sky.
In the end, despite his injuries and the words of Raz and yourself, Savinath still took part and guided his array of Servo-skulls into the optimal banishment locations. Time passes in whispers, agony and doubt but the second rift finally closed.
The storm above was fully cleared of direct Chaos influence. Unnatural clouds began to disperse rapidly dissipate into near-nothingness. The old capital city, the ruined centrepiece of this world's demise, was finally clear after so long. An ancient front from which armies of hell marched into the planet had been destroyed.
Only two portals remained.
-----
Stormbirds and Thunderhawks flew across the clearing skies, followed by a fleet of Imperial Army troop transports, heading to the south pole region.
A lot more aircraft than expected hadn't risen up to join the battle, with so many dead soldiers. Instead a few were given to the Cemetery natives, either marked for recovery or delivered directly to one of their Last Cities. It was partly out of practicality and to build relations, for they were firm allies still fighting battles across the planet and the vehicles were unused, and partly due to the building response from Chaos.
While the first two rifts had belonged to the Archdaemon known as Tzeentch, the twin eyes that overlooked the ruined city, the last two belonged to the one known as Nurgle. As the capital city had been besieged by the Imperium, the Nurglite hordes had surged forward while their opposition was focused together.
A tide of death was overtaking as much land, as much people and as much as possible. Already one of the Last Cities was reported as fallen, with a small percentage of its people able to escape from the diseased beasts that rampaged against the Cemetery's salvation. So many creatures and dark warriors roaming freely, spreading poison and plagues by mere presence, a nightmare to fully cleanse let alone fight off to reach that point.
Your thoughts drift from the grim circumstances of the war effort, knowing that it wasn't your job to be the commander here, and instead towards your own role within it.
Perhaps your own feelings of worry, dread and uncertainty were not wholly your own. To second guess one's mind was an expected practice against the Warp for the Thousand Sons, but it was taken to far greater extremes when one directly faced Chaos. Every emotion and lack of emotion, every thought considered and disregarded, could be a toll for the enemy.
With all that said, daemons or not, you had to admit to yourself that this was still definitely exhausting to deal with. Your respect for your cousins in the Eleventh Legion grew further as you finally faced the foe they dedicated everything for, and also feeling the weight of that dedication.
You rode with Raz and Savinath, the three of you preparing for the third rift. The Triquetra had proven itself thus far, able to take down two of the vast portals into the realms of Chaos, but it was not without cost.
Savinath's armour was unable to be saved, having to be torn off from his damaged flesh and replaced with spare armour that was lacking the careful psychic inscriptions that he once had. Apothecaries had tried to get the Glyphmaster to take more of a rest, or stay out of the conflict entirely, but nothing could have pried away his determination to keep fighting as long as possible.
You couldn't say you entirely disagreed with him, knowing what was behind his arguments. It was a haunting thing to see the sight of those Wardens fallen in the earth, their carefully etched armour bent and burnt, knowing that five-hundred names would have to be carved and carried by their brothers.
To spend so much time and effort into this, so much cost and difficulty with maintenance and repair, was the greatest proof of the willpower behind the Eternal Wardens. To be so struck with grief that literally weighed over all warriors, including the Primarch, and yet carrying it forward no matter how densely packed the names become or the time spent to place each one.
Was your name going to end up on the memorials worn by the Eleventh, one day? Would it be today? Would-
You call upon the mental rituals of Prospero and bring calm to your mind. All you had to do to prevent such a fate was to win. That was a nice thought, one you'd hold onto to bring to the battle ahead.
Turning your gaze towards an interior display, you witness the next battlefield. The south lands were a twisted mire of a feverish jungle, a bog oozing with putrid essence, a fungus-filled forest. The rift had belonged to those dedicated to the Lord of Decay for nearly fifty years, managing to remain firmly in diseased hands despite fierce resistance, and in that time came a realm of overgrown filth and rot.
Thankfully you weren't going to take part in the lengthy clean-up operation that was going to happen after this. All that mattered was the banishment of the insect-ridden vortex, a hive that grew in an infernal cycle of life.
Gigantic bugs swarmed the sky the deeper one ventured into the southern swamps. Some the size of your fist, some your torso, some larger than a jetbike. Bloated monsters spawned directly from nightmares, poisonous and parasitic, some used as steeds for aerial riders that periodically raided any nearby settlements. Nesting across the impossible flora.
Supporting aircraft fighters did their best to gun down the beasts that came for us, incendiary bombs to burn down the forests where we could, the rainforests of Nurgle put to the torch to stop the swarms that infested them. The manifestations of decay were hardy things, endurance personified in the worst possible ways, but fire was an ancient tool of cleansing.
There were still a few transports that were brought down, unable to fight off the creatures that rusted metal by touch and tore through the jets with yellowed teeth.
As the plant life grew denser, putrid rivers connecting to form lakes and oceans of foetid waters, the rift came into sight. A giant oozing wound of reality, the barrier between realms glowing sickly greens and browns, the edges teeming with colossal maggots that seemed to eat through the barriers between realms. The sight sickened you in ways that few things had ever managed to do.
Quickly finding a landing spot was a difficult endeavour, given the dense foliage, mud-filled ground and the teeming amount of daemonic entities within it all. To delay was to invite the whole rotten army and more together to defend the rift, ensuring defeat for this war.
Haste was necessary and while through the psychic senses the Triquetra collectively possessed helped determine less dangerous spots, able to see the infusion of Nurglite energy in its myriad degrees here, there was only so much the three of you could accomplish. Some transports began to sink into the soft earth, others hissing as caustic soil ate away at their frames, but enough survived intact enough to begin the battle to take the third vortex.
You step out into the jungle, your armoured boots trudging through the wet soil of the southern polar region, smelling the stench of long-dead corpses that you knew should have been impossible to sense with your helmet filters. The towering trees and dead leaves nearly blocking you from physically seeing the great rift you were here to destroy.
On several of the Servo-skulls, the armour of many Eternal Wardens, visibly seen on several of the most critical transports for Astartes and the Imperial Army. The Rune of Immunity, to ward against disease both physically and spiritually. It was perhaps going to be one of the greatest assets here to help survive against the inevitable assault, as was the great Rune of Purity.
There is little more time to take in the sights of what was around you before you hear a warning from Force Commander Aengus, who already stood at the furthest edge of the perimeter. The sound of rustling leaves quickly follows his words. The air itself grows still and heavy, beginning to be tainted by the attention forced on your location.
In less then a moment it truly begins.
Facing the forces of Nurgle was not like facing the mad hordes of Tzeentch. While daemons could all exist, manifest and fight in a theoretically infinite variety there were patterns of behaviour that were ingrained to their collective natures. This was no exception.
From the trees coil worms that look exactly like the vines, acidic mucus coating their lengthy forms. From the air comes biting flies with razor-edged maws and stinging carrion feeders, buzzing wings beating together as war drums. From the ground comes out things that looked to have been made from animated remains, gnarled hands that were more like branches and claws than bone wrapped in flesh.
They came slow but they would not stop. Nature itself turned to the supernatural. Descending like sickness, as omnipresent as despair, as inevitable as death itself.
You take a knife from your waist and cut a fanged beetle into two. Whatever these things represented, whatever power they held, they were also able to die and that was enough.
Despite how closely you had all landed to the vortex, it would still be a march to actually reach its location. Just as the growing number of monsters came against you would you all slowly but surely push against everything in your collective way.
Fire ignites across the forest as flamer-wielding squads move ahead, Terminators carrying large tanks on their backs full of the highest grade of promethium. The tanks that were brought fired shells and energy blasts into the coiled trees, as did the artillery platforms. You did your best to contribute, pyromancy unleashed with full wrath, but the Nurglite flora was harder to burn than it looked.
But burn it did. Black smoke rose up and dominated the skies. Foul rain began to pour down, heavier and more toxic than it had been before in the capital city.
Time passes in a siege that feels like it lasts hours, days, longer. The creatures that came were larger than before, flesh more swollen with energy radiating entropic influence, acting more with cruelty and hatred than simply animalistic reactions. The sensations of moments passing seemed to drag in ways that were not natural. Erosion to the will enforced by this hellish realm.
A worm covered in fangs that ripped a tank into two, its flesh made from harvested skin. A walking hive made from a tree that fed itself on a pile of corpses, their silhouettes visible from its branches. A spectre of putrid air, congealed into being before being cut down by the Force Commander.
You all pressed onwards towards the gaping maw when the threat rapidly increases, as you become surrounded by daemons. Savinath had been struck down before he could react, a spike jutting from their chest. Arrows made of serrated bone had been launched through the mass of greenery, archers moving through the impossible dense forest with a speed that defied their rotting forms.
Surrounding Wardens formed a phalanx against the onslaught, using their own armoured frame as human shields while Bolter and Volkites were let loose. Some of the tanks and artillery turned away from their focus on advancing, by blowing up the tangled mess of diseased life, trying to land as many shots as possible into what seemed to be a colossal horde. The fires weren't spreading as they had been before. It wasn't enough.
Aengus had rushed to the Glyphmaster's position before the next volley of arrows could arrive, his shield raised to block what would have been a lethal shot. One of the larger ones had managed to strike straight through his sword arm, dripping with poison that seemed to gleam with radiant madness, but despite dropping his blade he did not fall as he kept the shield up.
Without one of the Triquetra, the rift would be far harder to close. Without the Force Commander, the war would spiral further into disaster. Without being able to make progress, everything was…
You unleash fire as you had never done so before. Your arm seemed to become engulfed in an inferno.
Your eyes open to the arrow that had pierced Aengus's arm, seeing it spark and bubble as it connected back to the one whom fired it, an anchor meant to inflict all manner of disease and decay to those that suffered its wrath. You follow the tendril that clings to the projectile and its user, seeing the Herald that dwelled within the dark.
The Exitus rifle comes back to your hands without you even being aware that you had reached for it. The Turbo-penetrator round is loaded in, the scope to your eyes, calculating the perfect shot.
"It relies on a two-stage process meant to punch through as much armour as possible."
"What are the limits of its piercing capability?"
"So long as you know where they are, almost nothing will block its path."
This wasn't the ideal place to use it. There was no armour that you could see, no fortress to shoot through, no large crowd to pierce through.
But you needed to make sure it hit, to penetrate through the dense walls of unnatural greenery and be fast enough to actually hit the leader of the archers. This was all you had to guarantee such a thing, and you were going to make sure that you hit these damned monsters where it hurt.
You hold in a breath. Unnecessary to stabilise the weapon but done so in the name of focus, to the shot and to your powers. Flame wraps itself around the gun and sinks into the bullet. As the lead archer stops momentarily to take another shot, lanky arms already pulling the string far back, the sensors find the trajectory you must aim at and so you do.
You fire.
For a moment it seemed like you were using a las weapon, as a giant beam of fire erupted from the end of the rifle, the bullet moving so fast that it'd have extinguished the flames if they hadn't been made with psychic powers. Branches that could withstand tank rounds snapped off as they tried to move in front of the round. Several large insects exploded as they flew in the way of the shot. Moving so fast you couldn't see it, and then faster.
Everything that was in the way of the bullet was destroyed. It cut through the hand that held the bow, snapping the thing in two by the force, and it burned a gaping wound through the heart of the nightmare. Still standing in place, unable to react to the damage until the arrow fell and so did its body.
After it struck the Herald of Nurgle it then kept going somewhere off into the distance, doing what little but significant damage it could to the overgrown lands that surrounded the vortex, until a moment later it finally stopped.
It was not the end of the conflict here, far from it, yet it was something.
It was a slow and agonising process. Savinath had to be taken back to a more defended location, having to be treated by surviving Chirurgeons from the Imperial Army and the Cemetery. More vehicles sank into the putrid soul or were broken down by sudden rust. But finally the destination was reached.
The portal was the most disgusting thing you had ever beheld, the colossal maggots that chewed at its edges shot down by artillery fire. Your powers used with Raz to grasp hold of the wound and seal it shut while everyone else fought off the enraged hordes, the few remaining Servo-skulls that Savinath left behind being used to help where they could, and then finally it was done.
All of you were exhausted, depleted and beaten down by everything you had suffered through. With barely a chance to recover, the survivors went back into the transport craft and headed to the last rift of the Cemetery.
-----
It was a long journey to the opposite side of the planet.
Some aircraft had to be diverted from their destination due to outbreaks of disease erupting within. Lingering illnesses caught by some members and then spreading to the rest, unable to be fully quarantined without too much risk involved and time that could not be afforded. Debilitating squads, platoons, companies and whoever else were in the transports.
It didn't matter if the soldiers in the transports were fully isolated from the air and water, untouched by rusted blades and poisonous vines, the Warp-based plagues could infect a person by presence or by a whispering thought or simply due to the pathogens manifesting inside from nothingness. Without the Rune of Immunity, the remnants of the Imperial Army here might well have all perished already.
Others simply carried those too wounded to fight, yet were able to survive long enough for a medic or Apothecary to do what they could to stabilise them. Savinath was on one of those so severely wounded, carefully guarded and sent far away from this war that nearly killed him. The Triquetra had nearly lost a member.
You nearly lost a brother.
Your mind shook itself from that thought as you focused on what really mattered, this war and how to end it. While the south pole was a melted cesspool covered in nightmarish greenery, the north pole was a frozen hellscape that reflected another aspect of death. So cold that it would kill an exposed man in moments, a blizzard that tore at anyone who came with howling winds, a wasteland teeming with daemons hidden within the frigid storm.
The rift was in the middle of it all, a window into a place where absolute zero was far from how cold things could truly become, and all you had to do was brave the wasteland and its defenders.
You turn your head to regard the two other passengers in the Stormbird you were with. Raz, Astral Champion of the Eleventh, had become silent where once he kept the spirits up despite how things had turned out. Force Commander Aengus was also here, his sword and shield switching hands after his wrist had been so damaged, and only occasionally gave orders when needed.
You could feel the weight that was over you all, more than just Nurglite influence. Already so much was lost, from material to manpower. Billions had died just to seal one rift. With the cost of the three piled up so high…
Were you really going to die here?
That thought lingered on your mind. The Emperor of Mankind had made the Astartes and said that they would have no fear, and in the normal fields of battle you were fine, but against such horrors of the Warp that were cruelty and fear made manifest? Doubt was impossible to shake off, especially in a situation like this.
You'd like to think that you made peace with the concept of falling in battle, for the Imperium, the Thousand Sons, the Eternal Wardens. In a way that was true, you went into all these conflicts knowing that you'd
You don't want to die here. There were worse things than an end when Chaos held victory, far worse fates than just leaving a corpse when daemons clutched at your body. To be torn apart, your flesh twisted like the curse that had plagued your Legion, your mind in shatters…
But you all came so far. You had all lost so much. The end was in sight and to turn away now was unthinkable despite how tempting it might seem.
The Exitus rifle on your back was loaded with the final round you were given by the Vindicare, the one must attuned to your power, the Hyphosphus Incendiary.
"This will burn everything around the target into ash. It'd melt a Titan down to molten sludge if given enough time."
"How long do the flames last?"
"Last?" the assassin repeated, confused by the question. "This is high grade Phosphex. It will burn until there is nothing left to burn."
You hadn't wanted to use the round, the destructive nature of the concoction was infamous even to the Death Guard. It tainted the land in ways arguably worse than the aftermath of an atomic bomb or a regiment using rad-weapons. Yet against an army of daemons, in such a situation as this, you decided that it was more than justified to bring this much destruction.
As you looked over to see the blizzard you were within, the energy of Chaos intermingling with the snow that fell and buried the ground, you knew that you needed everything you could bring. It wasn't as if the land wasn't already heavily tainted and inhospitable, after all.
A distant sound of an explosion shakes you from your thoughts. You turn and see one of the troop transports burning as it spiralled to the ground. Giant shards of ice the size of tanks had fallen from the sky, glowing with the energy of the Warp, embedding the aircraft and immediately killing everyone on board.
Evasive manoeuvres were taken by the rest of the fleet, as giant clumps of frozen poison fall as crude artillery and anti-air. You ready your rifle as you prepare to make your last bullet count. The final Chaos rift is in sight and at any moment the order would be given to drop down and fight through the daemons here.
Aircraft fighters and bombers destroy what enemies they can in this wasteland, blinded as they were by the snow that blanketed the skies. Frost crawling across the glass and clogging the sensors. Energy rapidly depleting, temperature following along as heat was sapped. This was a place of stasis and finality, its nature was death in a more 'pure' form.
Aengus shouts out the order, lifting up his sword and hefting his shield, the doors open and you all descend into the fray. You can feel the cold bite at you despite being protected by your armour. You are rendered half-blind and half-deaf despite your augmented senses, and those of the helmet you wore.
A hand cracks from the thick layer of ice, bending as a jagged mess that was stretched beyond what any human limb should be capable of, its touch felt colder than the void of space. You take out a knife and cut off the hand, then use the blade to pry off the rigid grip the severed fingers still had around your leg.
While it was difficult to see anything, it was easy to see the position of surrounding Astartes with digital markers. With this, the Force Commander brings order into the disarray and battle formations are made.
Some were corpses that had died fighting against impossible cold, crushed by the gigantic ice, or sporting deep wounds made by dull blades that corroded through all mortal creation. Those unlucky few that were attacked when they could not defend themselves.
Only a squad or two had fallen like this. The rest were ready to fight. Bolters barked against the muffling snow, Astartes trudging through the snow that came over their heads, ice cracking underneath as more daemons erupted from below. The weight of the frozen residue that fell down, thawing back into corrosive sludge, the wind that was strong enough to press against power armour.
Pyromancy was your speciality, your power, your identity and yet it could barely melt this ice. It wasn't just water that was frozen it was toxins, unnatural sludge, solidified Chaos energy. Everything resisted you and you could barely even see. The snow piled up higher and higher. Every step had more weight on it. You couldn't even tell if the Imperial Army remnants had survived, the Cemetery populace, the-
From the side, shrouded by the ice and snow, came a spectre that was an ancient corpse risen from permafrost. It pierced straight through your guts with a spire of sharpened bone, a spear made from the long years that passed under the ground, like a fossil stalagmite. The rime around the tip was already melting inside your warm body, the poison seeping in and mixing with your blood.
You grab the daemon's head with one hand and make it burn into cinders. It screams and pulls away from you. With the other hand you plunge your knife into its heart, a frozen and still thing that is cracked rather than cut, and finally kick it back into the depths it came from.
You try to march through the slush, the ice, the wind and the snow. Heading towards the closest squads to begin properly heading towards a rift you could not physically see but spiritually sense all around you. Pain flaring up from where you were stabbed.
While the Eternal Wardens were experienced with hellish terrain, quite literally from the stories you heard of Aleph and the Maelstrom, you were far from an expert on Warp-twisted environments. They find you before you find them, and thankfully one of them was an Apothecary who tried to treat the spreading infections you got. You keep your mind away from the burning pain and just on your task. The last rift had to go.
Time passes in a blur of cold, battle, screams and endurance. You only focus on what orders or warnings you're given, directions towards your target, against the enemies that try to rise up against you.
March, fight, survive. The cycle repeats. You deafen most outside sound within your helmet and focus on the vox, on the whispering presence of your foe, on the mental rituals of the Thousand Sons to reinforce your mind.
You push forwards until you're close enough to begin the ritual, Raz having already managed to arrive to face the frigid portal. Keeping the pain of your wound contained elsewhere, the cold and the poison ignored, your mind clear and ready to bear the weight of the tear in reality. Without a word did you take position and begin the sealing formation.
With how weakened you were, and without the whole Triquetra too, the vortex felt especially harsh to bare. It was like holding fire in your hands, suffering lighting surge through your nerves, freezing water fill your lungs. Suffocating while still being able to breathe. Holding the intangible storm while trying not to be swept away.
The weight is lessened as you feel Raz divert some of his focus to do what he did best, telepathic support to help your mind withstand the Chaos rift. An armoured hand flashing in your thoughts, strangling the choking vines that wrap around your very being, the Astral Champion fighting a battle within as you both stood together to bring an end to this dire conflict.
You hold on. You hold on like you've never held on before. Your physical body is as still as a statue as you bear the storm to bring the giant vortex to a halt.
Finally there is a sound of something shattering, backwards and forwards, a rush of air moving towards a sudden absence. The swirl of energy that infused the planet shuddered, the daemonic armies twisting against the turning of reality. A moment where the flow of the Warp begins to reverse.
Then cold storm suddenly died down. The scratching winds began to calm, the snow began to lessen in intensity, the frigid feeling lost the horrific edge it possessed. A weight that had been pushing against your very soul began to lift and your mind could clear up from the fog of battle. A peace brought over the looming disaster that reigned for centuries.
The final rift was cleared. The influence of the Warp significantly died down. The Cemetery was free.
Despite everything, it had been done.
You had all won.
But the battle was not over.
You turn, the motion so difficult after the ordeal you had just gone through, and while the rift and the blizzard had faded away the same was not true for most of the daemons.
You were all completely surrounded. There were thousands of them that directly encircled you, and tens of thousands more, then more and more in the distance. Nurglite monsters rising up from the melting snow, toxic gases and liquids able to freely move than be stuck in ice, using the lingering Chaos energy to propel themselves forward before most would be banished back.
Already thousands of Eternal Wardens were struck down to get to this point. The thousand that remained were mostly dying against the sheer numbers that they faced, spread out in various pockets of resistance, with over a hundred surrounding the Force Commander in a last stand.
Further still were the remains of the Imperial Army that had arrived to the planet to support the Astartes here. From five billion to what seemed to be less than five thousand. Everyone giving it there all as they pushed forward.
Raz was already running towards the combat as fast as he could go, taking out a Bolter from a fallen brother and firing towards every living nightmare in sight, while you stayed behind.
You were injured and tired, having done so much in just helping seal the Warp rifts, yet you were still alive and thus could still fight.
And you had one more shot left.
The Exitus rifle sways slightly in your hands as you take position, aiming towards the largest concentration of daemons that were far enough away from the Eternal Wardens.
You take a breath. You call upon the First Enumeration, the one which almost all members of the Thousand Sons knew, to calm and focus one's mind by reciting the names of the original founders.
"Ahtep," you whisper. "Luxanhtep, Phanek, Thothmes, Imhoden, Hastar, Memphia, Cythega, Amon, Magnus the Red."
Flame writhes across the length of the weapon as you think about the other psychic order you were now a part of.
"Savinath, Raz, Nasin."
What emerges from the end of the rifle's barrel is an inferno. In less than a second could you see cracks visibly worm around the round, the dense materials cracking under the power you pushed into the bullet, glowing red-hot with heat. The Phosphex inside activates and escapes in mid-air, a white-blue cloud of death, incinerating everything it touched by flame both chemical and arcane.
Hundreds of daemons die in agony from the trail of living fire, hundreds more have to run away from the hateful flames that will chase and overtake them, thousands diverted from a wall of death that would melt ice into nothingness and leave no twisted remains to taint this realm. The unlucky nightmare that was directly struck by the bullet didn't even last a second.
You take a moment to regard the last gift of the assassin, the scope lowered as you bore witness to what would ordinarily be the worst thing any environment could be inflicted with. Then you slowly push yourself forwards, knowing what end you'd likely face in this conflict, you follow Raz's path against the heavy layers of toxic snow that were still so difficult to traverse.
The last battle would almost end in loss. You could all die here. But you'd die together in victory.
The war was already won. The main objectives were complete. You had done what an outsider might consider more than enough, yet not one of the Eleventh.
On the Cemetery, under clear skies and a centuries long war, the Eternal Wardens, the Imperial Army and one of the Thousand Sons would die as saviours against the last daemons of the four rifts.
Well, you supposed it would be was far from the worst of ways to go.
-----
The Plaguebearer tried to crawl away from its inevitable demise, its bloated form already too burnt to walk or shamble away.
The burning club rose up once and fell down onto the monster's head, crushing it into paste and leaving the twitching body to become ash.
You look up from the and glance around the battlefield. A few more Nurglings had been shot down by the surviving Imperial Army soldiers, the lasguns incinerating the loathsome horrors and the corrosive snow that the things had been hiding in. Other than that you couldn't see any more daemonic entities.
It was truly over.
A sigh leaves your lips as you almost fall to your knees. Then the flames that were infused to the Exitus rifle were finally extinguished, as you carefully holster the empty gun over your back once more. You were unmoving for a while, just watching the corpse of the monster before you burn away.
You didn't think using the rifle in melee would work so effectively. The toughness of the material and the craftsmanship of the Vindicare was far better than you expected. You just hoped the machine spirit didn't hate you so much for using it as a bludgeon that it'd stop letting you use it at all.
"Found an intact Narthecium!" Raz spoke across the vox-link, with you being the only person who could answer him. The cheer in his voice was forced through the naked exhaustion he felt, as well as the pain from his own injuries, but it was a welcome sound to your ears after all this. "We should be able to stabilise the Force Commander now!"
"Is there enough for you and me too?" you ask, looking down at the awful wound in your abdomen.
"Uh… perhaps?"
"We'll figure it out." you laugh as you force yourself up, a hand placed over the poisoned wound. "Help me carry Aengus back to one of the Stormbirds. We should probably head back to somewhere- no, anywhere than here for now."
One day the Eleventh Legion would come back for the bodies of all the Eternal Wardens and Imperial Army soldiers that had died, the armour and weapons taken to be reused elsewhere, the dead given their respect while the planet's zealous populace had erupted in celebration. The day of victory already declared a holiday, a time and legendary deed that would be remembered so long as people lived on the world.
For now you would collapse into a living Apothecary's care along with Savinath, Raz and the Force Commander. The Triquetra and the Prodigy proven despite the calamity and horrific losses that had occurred. The Cemetery, cleansed of the rifts and feeling such joy after generations of bleak despair and defiance, would now join the domain of Kesar Dorlin.
You were looking forward to writing to your Primarch about your experiences here. Working with the Eleventh Legion was certainly enlightening about matters related to the Warp.
Years 46 - 50 Part 9 - Horus' Thoughts
- Location
- Elsewhere
[X] Hybrid Astartes-Guardsmen Squads - Surprisingly, integrating guardsmen alongside Astartes has led to a slightly improved combat efficacy across the board. Instituting these squads in combat is likely to be difficult even with the experience gained, but could pay dividends. *Soft benefits. Improves survivability of named characters and proto-heroes*
Hectus was an old hand at war. A Warden that had fought and survived for decades, one that wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, yet one that still played his role. A solid, dependable Captain, one that could be trusted to handle moderately difficult compliances with acceptable losses. At this point, he had grown past such things as book learning and was now solidly in the realm of highly experienced.
His command reflected that mindset, of past experiences being utilized to solve new problems. The Thestrals proved to be such a solvable problem, with the daemons attempting to stymie and bamboozle him. Yet such actions only served to provide him with a greater understanding of what must be done, allowing him to bring forward a swift, decisive victory with losses that all could accept.
*Julian Hectus gains The Old Hand - +10 to Command*
Aegnus was tired, so, so tired.
He couldn't move his right wrist, the bone within shattered and warped. Having long since swapped his shield to it, every blow he took on it drove spikes of pain through his exhausted body.
He looked to his right, seeing Raz, the man nearly dead on his feet. Then he looked to his left, seeing an ad hoc regiment of guardsmen, the last survivors of the Imperial Army remaining. Then he looked to the front, spotting the last dregs of daemons charging forward for one final clash.
It would not be the fight of armies, nor the fight of heroes. No, it would be the fight of mortals and monsters whose spirits had been ground to nothing. Whose minds and bodies had nothing left to give, whose efforts over the past few weeks had been stressed to the limits.
Yet it was almost done. Words that Aengus clung to to remain standing. He had done everything asked of him. Four rifts had been sealed, armies of daemons banished, and the Cemetery given the gift of a future. If he closed his eyes and died now, he would be happy with what he had accomplished.
He understood now why the God of Despair and Decay was so dangerous. After everything he had done, everything he had fought, he was closer to falling than he ever had been before. And closer than he ever would be again.
The first rift had taken the lives of 9 in 10 mortals to seal. Yet he had pressed on, determined to achieve victory.
The second cost 500 Astartes and Savinath multiple burns from tangling with daemonic sorcerers.
The third shattered Aengus' wrist and Savinath only survived thanks to mortal medics.
The fourth rift was the most costly of all, the Wardens and Imperial Army being annihilated by the spawn of Nurgle, leaving just three Astartes standing alongside a paltry few thousand guardsmen.
He had one final task, one last objective to accomplish before he could rest.
There were daemons left standing, he would not fall before they did.
His left arm felt as heavy as death. Yet he still lifted it to slice his sword through a Nurgling.
He was alive, so he would fight. And if he died, he would still fight.
Raz followed, his brother fighting at his side until he was no longer able to, yet he would not die, for Aengus still fought. And the daemons had no time to finish the immobile, wounded Astartes when there was still a wounded Astartes fighting.
Three strikes struck his shield, and he wished to scream in pain. Yet screaming took energy, and he had none left to give. He let it drop, swinging his sword in such a poor arc that he could practically feel Lares wincing worlds away. But it did what it was supposed to, and the daemon died.
He went to pull his sword back, surprised at the lack of resistance or feeling of weight. "Oh," he uttered, staring at his mangled left hand. "How did that happen …" he wondered, half delirious from blood loss and exhaustion.
A daemon sought to take advantage of his confusion, only to find that Aengus' shield still served as an excellent weapon when the Astartes met the Nurglings leap with the edge of his shield, pulping its skull.
The Warden fell to his knee, trying and failing to stand. Glancing at it, he let out a disappointed sigh at the sight of a rusted dagger piercing the joint, and his slipping of consciousness as his Sus-An Membrane activated.
The world tilted, yet Aengus didn't fall, caught by gentle, caring hands, "rest brother, I will take up what remains of your burden."
"Thanks Lares," the Warden slurred as his mind shut down.
Nasin lay Aengus on the ground, only pausing to ensure he still lived. Turning towards the handful of daemons left, he experimentally hefted his Exitus rifle by the barrel, "I really hope this is as sturdy as they claimed."
The rifle survived the ensuing fight, but only most of Nasin's body did.
*The Triquetra gains Last to Die - +20 to Duels*
*Nasin gains The Right Moment - Triple the effect of nat 100s he rolls*
*Aengus gains What Must be Done - Negate first death in a duel, Negate first wipe for forces under his command*
*-6500 Astartes*
With his time on Terra finally at an end, Kesar was more than glad to leave immediately. While he had initially planned to meet with Horus and Vulkan to present their arguments to Malcador, the Sigillite had delayed it once more due to the coup. So now the entire disagreement was in public, as there was simply no way to keep it quiet with how many Primarchs were involved along with Astartes providing their insights.
As it was, Horus was loath to simply let Kesar head to the Maelstrom without being able to wish him luck. Or at least that was what the letter had said, even if the Second Anathema could tell there was something the Lupercal wished to say in person. His mind continued to churn as the Luna Wolves escorted him to their Genefather, leading him to a plain room where Horus was just wrapping up a conversation with Abaddon. "Ensure success my son, no matter what must be done."
"It will be done, father."
Once the Astartes left, Kesar looked at Horus with a concerned expression, "Is everything alright?"
"No, not even slightly." The Lupercal gestured for Kesar to approach, before showcasing what appeared to be a warp map of the galaxy. "I just tasked Abaddon with ensuring Mortarion doesn't declare war on the Emperor. There has been so much upheaval in my view of the Imperium recently Kesar … at this point the coup Corvus tried is unimportant."
"Corvus didn't support the coup," Kesar said more for the sake of appealing to the narrative the Raven was trying to achieve. He likely didn't succeed based on Horus' amused eye roll. "But what do you mean by Mortarion starting a war?"
"He believes Malcador ordered the deaths of his sons," Horus bluntly replied, "and Mortarion is understandably furious."
"Did … did he really do that?" Kesar's face paled, he … he would, wouldn't he? "Is there proof?"
"Unfortunately there is no proof," Horus visibly deflated, "it'd make it so much easier if there was. Then I could have agreed with Mortarion and started a war." He slouched forward, letting his head fall into his hands, "instead I have to be objective, convincing a grieving father that the target of his ire may be misplaced."
"Who else could it have been?"
"That is the problem," Horus muttered, "the only possibility would be either one of the Custodes, or it's a Xeno conspiracy as the Consilium has been crowing about."
"And who do you think was responsible?" Kesar asked with bated breath, hoping beyond hope that Horus would say someone besides the Sigillite.
"He has motive, means, and opportunity." Horus shattered his hopes, "He is without mercy when he needs to be, devoted to the point of insanity, and utterly uncaring of mankind's worst so long as he succeeds at his goals."
"My First Captain thinks similarly," Kesar muttered, he'd heard about Oriacarius' near-death when Solar Auxilia forces tried to kill Karcer. "He himself was injured in one of Malcador's schemes, even if he wasn't a target but merely present."
"That's the irritating part," Horus commented, "was it truly accidental? Or was he simply a stretch goal?"
The Second Anathema visibly stopped moving, eyes alight in deep contemplation. A thousand possibilities were pondered and discarded in a fraction of a second before he moved on to the only conclusion he could. "We will only know if Malcador chooses to inform us. And even then …" Kesar trailed off into a whisper, "we wouldn't be able to trust him."
"In hindsight, trusting the Emperor or Malcador was one of my biggest mistakes," Horus seemed resigned as if he had thought over these words for years. "The Imperium I have fought for is an empire that were I to encounter, I would have fought it without hesitation. I have slain innocents to assuage my own guilt, and bolstered the strength of monsters in human skin solely because they will join my side." The Lupercal gave a sad smile to his brother, "None of the Primarchs are free of sin, yet I fear a civil war would damage far more than it fixes."
"And what of the threats we have yet to reach," Kesar added. "They remain beyond our borders growing in strength as we pacify monsters and the madness within the warp. Once the galaxy is claimed by humanity, only then can we turn upon ourselves." Kesar let out a breath, "Until then, we must bear the burden."
"I agree," Horus replied with a genuine smile that brought relief to Kesar's heart. "I told Mortarion similarly, that despite everything, we cannot afford war. But he is right to feel fury and sorrow. As is the right of guardsmen to feel fear and betrayal when the Imperium's promises are stripped from them. As is the right of Vulkan to demand mankind change for the better. Promises to change once all is done is logical, yet none of us are machines." Horus had a distant look in his eye as he quoted a man he greatly respected, "What does the miner with black lung care about change two generations from now when his daughter is placed within the earth below?"
"You're more philosophical than before," Kesar realized, recalling his past talks with his brother. "What happened?" Horus moved to speak, but the XIth cut him off, "And I don't mean with Mortarion, this is something deeper than that."
"I took a long look into the mirror," Horus almost whispered, "and I didn't like what I saw."
"...perhaps with less metaphor?"
The Lupercal chuckled, a bit of levity reentering the conversation, "I fought with Vulkan," at Kesar's lack of judgment, Horus sighed, "It wasn't just verbal."
"What in the warp did you do?" Asked a horrified Kesar.
"I shoved him," Horus explained, "threw him off his feet in front of his sons right after he and I were screaming at each other for minutes." The Primarch sighed, "I apologized but …" he held his hands up helplessly, "I wasn't welcome to stay any longer."
"Why would you do that?" Kesar prodded, "It's not like you to lose your temper to that degree."
"He wanted to head down a path I knew would end in war," came the explanation, "and eventually he said he accepted the risk." Horus was clearly remembering the moment, his hand clenching as some of the emotions of the past came rushing back, "I just … I just wanted everyone to stop. For all of us to do what is best for humanity instead of what we're doing now."
"And you realized it wasn't Vulkan you should be angry with," Kesar finished for his brother, "it was everything else."
"All it took was me turning on one of the kindest brothers I have," Horus chuckled bitterly, "I know he'd forgive me, but I know I won't forgive myself until I make amends."
Kesar surprised Horus with an embrace, "and how do you plan to do so?"
"By making preparations for the future," Horus explained, "and being ready when war comes to our doorstep."
"And what of prevention?" Kesar asked, "There is much we could do to sidestep a conflict."
The Primarch of the Luna Wolves looked at him with sad eyes, "There is nothing we can do now." He gestured towards the warp map on display, "The guardsmen that are rebelling have sent missives to Vulkan." He tapped a connection on the map. "He will say he supports their actions but cannot and will not send forces to assist." He tapped the symbol of a hammer. "The Emperor and Malcador will care little for this, deploying their forces to crush uprisings." He tapped the icon of the Lion, Leman, and the Custodes, moving them towards a series of three strategic locations. "And Vulkan will take issue with this, and respond." He moved the symbol of the Salamanders and Night Lords in. "And from there, everything will spiral out of control."
"Unless we break the chain of events." Kesar interjected, "Surely you don't mean to give up?"
Horus rolled his eyes and huffed, "Of course not, I'm simply being realistic." He gestured towards four ambiguous tokens on his war map. "The first domino requires the guard to continue rebellion, something near impossible to stop." He pushed two of the tokens forward, "Impossibility is no reason not to try, and so I have tasked Guilliman and Fulgrim to do what they can." He pushed a third token onto Terra, "the second domino is when the Emperor overreacts, and so I shall try and convince him to take a more moderate stance."
"And you want me to tackle the third domino," the Second Anathema added, pushing the fourth token toward the Salamanders. "You wish for me to try and convince Vulkan of what exactly? To avoid commenting on the rebels? Or to only support them with words and platitudes?"
"That's blunter than I expected," Horus winced, masking it with a chuckle. "But the former is futile, Vulkan has excellent reasons to do so, and almost no reason not to. It shouldn't be inflammatory at all, but the Emperor is not the wisest." He huffed once more, "Therefore, we'll have to convince Vulkan to wait until the Crusade ends before we turn on the Imperium."
"Is this it? We just wait and plot for rebellion?"
"Look around you, Kesar," Horus remarked with a grimness that seemed out of place even for him. "Our brothers plot against one force or another, while the people we are sworn to serve are devouring each other. We're one crisis away from civil war and one foot already into the madness of it."
"You speak as if it's already decided." Kesar cautiously asked.
"It is." The Second Anathema, the Primarch with the strongest mental willpower to have ever lived and ever will live gazed into his brother's eyes, taking measure of how committed he was to his chosen path. He found no room for doubt, no room for argument. Should he lose everything in the process and be given a chance to repeat his choice, he would do so without thought. In that moment, Kesar saw himself within his brother, the unflinching adamantium that would not degrade or rust with time.
"And what … would you have me do?" The XIth questioned. "What if I refused to take a side?"
"You'll join us, Kesar," Horus stated as if the future was set in stone. "I know you will."
"I'm not so sure myself," came the honest reply. "There are centuries of work left within the Maelstrom, and I refuse to leave the Archdaemons to their own devices."
"Then do me a favor," the Lupercal requested, placing his hand on Kesar's shoulder. "Seek out Omegon, Perturabo, and Konrad. Ask them for their thoughts on the future." Horus gave a sad smile, "All four of you will be far wiser for it."
"I'll think about it," Kesar promised.
"That's all I can ask."
When the talks with Horus ended, Kesar found himself believing
[] War is coming, and he would be ready for it. *Kesar will commit to preparing and planning for a civil war he knows is coming.*
[] War is coming, and he will do everything in his power to stop it. *Kesar believes, like Horus, that a civil war is inevitable. Yet he will do everything possible to stop it.*
[] War is on the horizon, and he would do everything in his power to stop it. *Kesar believes a civil war can be avoided, and he will do everything possible to stop it.*
[] War is on the horizon, and he would be ready if it does. *Kesar believes a civil war is coming but can be avoided. Yet he will prepare for it nonetheless.*
[] He will fight hell first. *Kesar will commit to the Maelstrom War, and he will ensure it is finished. Regardless of what occurs.*
[] Write-in
[] He will fight hell first. *Kesar will commit to the Maelstrom War, and he will ensure it is finished. Regardless of what occurs.*
Gonna vote for this one because I'm tired of all this politics and family drama two things that shouldn't even be mixed in the first place, at least we would have our own Mini pocket Empire from the riches of Malestorm if Imperium falls into civil war.
Gonna vote for this one because I'm tired of all this politics and family drama two things that shouldn't even be mixed in the first place, at least we would have our own Mini pocket Empire from the riches of Malestorm if Imperium falls into civil war.