The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
- Location
- Elsewhere
That's essentially the case, albeit there's a fair bit of nuance that's different between the two. As I mentioned on Discord, Leman doesn't think the civil war can be avoided, but he's doing what he can nonetheless. But he's also prepping for it in a way that minimizes damage done.
I can confirm that Mortarion is an exceptionally complex individual, now so more than ever. He'd absolutely start a fight if given a chance, but he's likely only to do so if it's advantageous. Mortarion is a much better politician than most people think, which makes him both safer and more dangerous at once.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Alright, going to call the vote here. Looks like Maelstrom prep and War prevention wins. Also, here's a prophecy Magnus divined that'll be in the next update.
In the forge of fate, where stars are wrought and destinies forged.
The automaton strides amidst the tempest's roar.
Yet when he places his weight upon the balanced scales,
His fate shall be sealed, his valor a crimson tide.
Yet there are two sides to a coin, with a third a remote possibility.
For a single stone can change the river's flow.
In the forge of fate, where stars are wrought and destinies forged.
The automaton strides amidst the tempest's roar.
Yet when he places his weight upon the balanced scales,
His fate shall be sealed, his valor a crimson tide.
Yet there are two sides to a coin, with a third a remote possibility.
For a single stone can change the river's flow.
Angels Grace
---
Angels Grace
There was no air in the Warp. No atmosphere. No sense of up or down. Time and matter existed only as tools. In here was the existence and decay of everything, and everywhere and everywhen that which has been, that is and forever will be. But a constant had been forced upon the Warp.
War.
Just as it had been subjugated to such glorious and destructive times during the War in Heaven, it returned with the thunder of invaders. The Orks had come to bring war upon it, for it was their only joy and purpose.
But to Khorne and his ilk, war was their trade. They would not be shown up by these savages, and only through blood spilled, theirs or the enemies, shall they proclaim themselves the masters of it.
It was a war of monsters and daemons. Where a triad of gods battled unseen among a seemingly infinitesimal battlefield. How long had it been waged now? A few years? A few eons? None of that mattered to the fighters and champions, the villains and heroes of this great conflict. Perhaps it had always been this way.
Parts of the warp had turned into battlefields that stretched no further than a mile, while others were light-years in length. Distance became a fleeting concept, measured only by the corpses and ruins that littered the ever-shifting battlefield. Orkish warbands surged forth, their numbers bolstered by mechanical monstrosities, carving out what could generously be described as "territories" amidst the destruction.
The fallen became macabre landmarks, their corpses forming bridges and citadels in the tumultuous sea of conflict. Meanwhile, the Khornates erected their own grotesque strongholds, fashioned from the very essence of the Warp itself. To comprehend this nightmarish tableau was to teeter on the brink of madness as the unrelenting violence and carnage beckoned mortals to join the fray.
Were a normal, thinking sapient creature to try and grasp this configuration, it would inevitably drive not into insanity, for that would be a blessing, but would instead lead them to the desire to contribute their flesh and blood to these gruesome islands and bridges. To take up arms for the Blood God or for Gork and Mork, even if they never believed in such creatures but because their souls were howling for blood and thunder.
Because all that remained was the marching feet of blood-soaked daemons and the thundering laughter of eager monsters. For those drawn into the infernal maelstrom, there were no bystanders. They were either fodder for the insatiable hunger of the war machine or eager combatants driven by a primal urge for glory and bloodshed. Some sought validation through battle, while others were propelled by a lifetime steeped in violence and strife.
Yet amidst the chaos, a new player stepped, or more specifically, soared into this bloody conflagration. With the visage of an angel and wings of feathered blades, casting a shadow that whispered of a royal destiny, a prince who was once promised to a mighty empire would soon partake in the Blood and Thunder War and leave his mark.
It was strange to imagine a daemon of Khorne being bored during a war such as this, but it was possible. For all the glories and brutality of the Blood and Thunder War, it seemed to fall the same trend as any conflict within the materium. The ebb and flow often end up in great and terrible battles before arriving at the tedium of waiting.
For one such Exalted, it drove him to a fury not seen since the Ritual War. Vasu'Senar, the Crimson Star of Khorne, abhorred stagnation with every fiber of his being. Hated the waiting, rallying, and preparation of war. The blathering pomp and ceremony of armies were abhorrently boring, almost distastefully so.
And he would sooner face defeat and destruction than endure the stifling monotony of these bloody stalemates. Even in this seemingly relentless conflict against the Orks, moments of inactivity were an unavoidable torment. A joke that only someone like Tzeetch could have been playing, but that paranoiac bird was too busy pretending to have everything under control.
Perhaps the materials would have enjoyed the reprieve. Maybe even found solace in the idleness, but Vasu'Senar saw only the agony of anticipation, yearning for another battle to begin, but alas, he was stuck strategizing and coordinating with his "officers" and lesser lords.
Compounding his frustration was the meager force at his disposal, a mere fraction of what he deemed necessary for his ambitions. It was insulting. He had eight legions of daemonkin under his command, a force that could have conquered a thousand star systems in any other instance, and it was barely working against the Orks. Worse yet, he had seven cohorts of archers in his force.
The first time he heard that his kind was using ranged units, Vasu'Senar just about puked blood at such a disgraceful development. Those who carried about the Orks had a "range disparity" and were just weak or incapable of killing Orks fast enough. It wasn't his problem, but the Blood God thought otherwise.
Somehow, Vasu'Senar was given a group of them. He hated that they were also quite useful and that he thought the same thing after they achieved considerable success in repelling the last Ork offensive. The Crimson Star needed every advantage he could. The Blood and Thunder War was changing the rules constantly. Entire boundaries and battle lines blurred, shifting with every passing moment. New theaters of conflict emerged unpredictably, offering fleeting opportunities for glory and renown.
But such opportunities came with grave risks. Venturing alone into the fray against the Orks was a perilous endeavor, as many would-be champions had learned to their peril. The greenskins, relentless in their ferocity, started to match the Exalted blow for blow, their own champions proving formidable adversaries and worthy prizes for the Blood God if one could take their skulls in battle.
That last part was vital. Khorne demanded excellence from his chosen champions, expecting nothing less than unyielding strength and unwavering conquest in the face of the Greentide. That sounded nice, but for Vasu'Senar, this relentless pursuit of martial glory was a constant source of frustration and resentment. All because the Blood God demanded it of his champions.
Vasu'Senar refused to be treated as a mere underling, yet the specter of Khorne's displeasure loomed over him, a constant reminder of the Blood God's ability to easily crush even his own Exalted. Despite his private defiance, Vasu'Senar understood the risks of challenging Khorne's authority, particularly during such a monumental conflict. The Blood God's power may have waned, but his influence remained potent, his approval a coveted prize among the Exalted.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you asked, the war wasn't ending anytime. As the war dragged on, Khorne's champions were called upon to assume the roles of generals and lords, commanding forces and shaping the course of battle. It was a tempting prospect, promising greater power and prestige. Yet, Vasu'Senar himself was mired in campaigns that, despite their magnitude, proved drearily mundane and devoid of the exhilaration he was craving.
Adding newcomers to his ranks was a bitter pill for Vasu'Senar to swallow. The Stormcasts, outsiders who dared to align themselves with the Blood God, stirred a deep-seated resentment within him. Their allegiance felt hollow, their commitment lacking the fervor of true Khornates. Yet, Khorne's decree was clear: these interlopers would be incorporated into their ranks.
Though begrudgingly accepted, Vasu'Senar seethed at the thought of these newcomers receiving any semblance of glory or recognition. To him, they were little more than unwelcome intruders, their victories only to further inflate their egos rather than honor the Blood God.
Khorne's directive, however, offered a modicum of solace. The Stormcasts were to be deployed on the most perilous missions, their mettle tested in battle. There would be no handouts or charity in the Blood and Thunder War. Victory belonged to the Khornates alone, while defeat would be the burden of the interlopers.
This moment allowed Vasu'Senar to reflect on his begrudging respect for the Greenskins. Their unrelenting savagery still embodied a primal and pure essence of warfare, a quality that resonated with the Khornates. In comparison, the Stormcasts were mercenary in nature.
When the fresh contingent of Stormcasts arrived, Vasu'Senar paid them little heed, his focus consumed by the relentless pursuit of his Ork adversaries. Among them, the notorious Da Krew Boyz had earned the Crimson Star's attention with their tenacity and ability to cheat death, providing a constant thorn in his side. Despite the frustration they caused, Vasu'Senar couldn't deny the thrill of facing such formidable opponents.
As he plotted his next move against the Orks, Vasu'Senar's attention was drawn to a disturbance among his ranks. A commander approached, informing him of the commotion caused by the presence of a supposed Primarch among the Stormcasts. Initially dismissive of the notion, Vasu'Senar scoffed and didn't know whether to laugh or bash the daemon's face for saying something so preposterous in the extreme.
Surely, if a Primarch had joined their ranks, the tumultuous warp would have heralded such a momentous event. Khorne would have announced loudly if one of the Primarchs had joined the cause. Secondly, if a Primarch had joined, there would be an endless line of daemons trying to kill the bastard.
However, curiosity piqued, Vasu'Senar turned his gaze toward the Stormcasts, only to be met with a surprising sight. Indeed, standing among them was a figure resembling the Great Angel, Sanguinius. At least until, upon closer inspection, it became evident that this was no loyal son of the Emperor but another daemon, albeit one not in disguise. A strange occurrence.
Intrigued by this unexpected turn of events, Vasu'Senar summoned the faux-Primarch to his fortress for a meeting. The Exalted observed subtle yet significant differences in the creature's presence, such as metal wings and smoldering red eyes. Vasu'Senar couldn't deny the creature's captivating presence despite his disdain for anything resembling so beautiful, as it would remind him too much of Slaanesh's ilk.
"What's your name?" Vasu'Senar asked with the voice of cracking crystal, "And where do you hail from, mimic?" The daemon was proud of himself for coming up with that title.
"I have no name." The faux-Primarch spoke with all the regalness and sway of a nascent god-king, "I am the Promised Prince. I am the child of Emperor Malachi Vortannis, the Master of Mankind."
"A worthless title from an equally worthless lineage." Vasu'Senar's sneer was unseen but would have split mountains from the ferocity of it, "Are you from a different portent of reality, hmm? One of the many realities that the gods play in?"
The Prince shook his head with the grace of a gentle breeze, "No. I am from this one."
"Then why have you bothered coming here?" Vasu'Senar's question was simple: "Have you come to gain prestige and power?"
"Among other rewards." The Prince answered truthfully, "I wish to hold court with your master."
Vasu'Senar stared at the princeling before his laughter rumbled across his fortress as if an avalanche had begun. It took the Exalted a moment to collect himself, "Khorne does not meet with anyone. He has no reason or desire to meet with a mockery of his foes. The only part of you shall hold court with him is your skull adorned upon his throne."
"Perhaps." The Prince answered with a small smile that irritated Vasu'Senar. It was almost innocent.
Vasu'Senar was having trouble grasping what this creature wanted; he admitted wanting power and prestige, so naturally, its designs would seek to gain it. The Crimson Star could use that very well: "If you are so set on your death, then I might as well put you to good use."
"Of course." The Prince sounded almost eager, "This meeting presents me with an opportunity. I've heard that an Ork Warlord is controlling what might be considered an Ordinati scale weapon; with your permission, I'd like to lead the Stormcasts in an assault to eliminate it and the Warlord, along with carrying your banner into battle."
There was still a moment in the air before Vasu'Senar leaned down ominously to the Prince, "Now, why should I allow you either of those things? The Stormcasts are mine to control, you are mine to control, and maybe I'm saving that Ork and his blasted weapon for fun."
"And yet you aren't interested in it. Your prize is another target." The Prince answered with a grin, "I'm offering you the chance to go and down something you enjoy while I'm allowed to prove my worth here and take care of a problem in your stead."
The Exalted narrowed his eyes before moving faster than any mere mortal could have ever hoped to achieve. He moved so fast that the Prince barely had time to stop Vasu'Senar's blade from nearly removing the faux-Primarch's head with a spear of burning golden light.
"Don't ever assume what you are allowed to do in my stead." Vasu'Senar hissed with the sound of a napalmed corpse. Then he pulled away his blade. "But if you want to make yourself useful, I won't stop you from leading a suicide charge or enacting whatever plan you seem to have in mind."
The Prince lowered his spear, "Then I have your blessing?"
"Bah!" Vasu'Senar grunted before waving a crystalized arm, "If you think you'll impress me with this act, you are sorely mistaken, but if you succeed, I only gain prestige. So it behooves me to let you take my banner into battle for this."
"Thank you," The Prince sounded almost gracious. "Then might I put forward a plan to accomplish this?"
Vasu'Senar looked skeptical, "You haven't even been here for one battle, let alone what passes for a day in this blood-forsaken place, and you, somehow, have a plan?"
"I scouted the Ork's positions before joining the Stormcasts." The Prince smiled with the pride of a young man showing initiative. How very Tzeetchian of him.
He didn't overconfident daemons. Unless he was fighting them. Overconfidence was a killer, after all. Still, Vasu'Senar's skepticism deepened at the Prince's confidence. "Scouted, have you?" he echoed, a hint of derision coloring his tone. "And what did you learn from your brief reconnaissance?"
The Prince's smile remained unwavering, unaffected by Vasu'Senar's doubt. "Enough to formulate a strategy," he replied calmly, his demeanor exuding an air of self-assurance that bordered on arrogance. Vasu'Senar could at least respect the Prince's taking this seriously. The Crimson Star's prey was on the line.
"Very well, let's hear your plan," he conceded, intrigued despite himself. After all, if the Prince's scheme proved successful, it would alleviate this endless boredom.
Navigating time within the chaos of the Blood and Thunder War was akin to grasping at shadows, elusive yet not entirely beyond comprehension, and all at once remains a fool's errand. There was, however, a method to the madness as a peculiar dating system emerged, marked by the ebb and flow of offensives, counter-offensives, and the thunderous crescendo of artillery barrages acting as hourly chimes.
Understanding these rules required a mind unshackled by mortal constraints and basic sanity. This chaotic chronology made a strange sense for beings such as daemons or Orks, providing a semblance of direction amidst the anarchy. One might even call it a boon of the Blood and Thunder War, allowing all that participated not to be undermined by the lack of time.
Such things aside, it had been five pitched battles and two daring raids since the Prince joined Vasu'Senar forces. The enigmatic presence of the princely creature stirred anticipation and intrigue among those awaiting battle. Despite the skepticism and initial hostility he might have faced, his charisma quickly won over the hearts of both Stormcast and Khornate warriors alike.
As expected, numerous attempts were made on his life, yet the Prince's strength surpassed all expectations, leaving his would-be assailants humbled and in awe. In a departure from the customary bloodshed typical of Khornates, the Prince refrained from delivering fatal blows to his challengers.
This unexpected restraint earned him disdain and admiration within their ranks, a testament to his uncommon approach to combat. Vasu'Senar foresaw a surge of new challengers should the Prince survive his audacious gambit.
With confident assurance, the Prince revealed his knowledge of a vulnerability in the Ork's defenses, providing the opportunity for a decisive assault on the Greenskins' prized weapon, the "Shok'n'Aw," commanded by the notorious Warlord BuzzKilla. A curious hybrid of Flyboy and Mekboy, BuzzKilla soared above the battlefield on his customized Deffkopta.
Vasu'Senar had no respect for the Warlord, as he refused to fight on the ground. The Crimson Star was forced to rely on Archers to stop him from bombing the battlefield. Disgraceful and cowardly, and not worth the effort by Vasu'Senar. If the Prince wanted to take him on, so be it.
Finally, during a lull in battle and sensing an opportune moment amidst the tumult, Vasu'Senar resolved that the time had come to unleash their planned offensive. It was not merely about breaking the Orks' grip on the territory but seizing the chance to confront the elusive Da Krew Boyz and finally enjoy himself.
As Vasu'Senar's forces assembled, he decided to grace the Stormcasts with his presence, curious to gauge the readiness of the Prince for the impending battle. As lesser daemons and mortal warriors bowed in reverence, the Crimson Star approached the Prince, who exuded a radiant calmness.
Acknowledging the Prince's presence with a nod, Vasu'Senar's tone betrayed his disinterest. "For you and these dregs, perhaps," he remarked, his voice rumbling indifferently. "This skirmish holds little significance, save for the antics of the Da Krew Boyz that amuse me."
Unfazed by Vasu'Senar's skepticism, the Prince offered a smirk. "Then allow me to provide the entertainment you seek," he replied, rising to his feet and brandishing his blazing spear. "Watch the skies, Crimson Star. They will soon be yours to command."
"Enough theatrics," Vasu'Senar grumbled, signaling a lesser daemon to unfurl his banner, pulsating with dark power. "Place my banner upon the ruins of their machine and bring me the Warlord's head. Do not return empty-handed."
Accepting the banner with a solemn nod, the Prince swiftly assembled it upon a standard, lifting it high as he rallied the troops. "FOR KHORNE AND VASU'SENAR! Hail the Crimson Star!" The thunderous cheer that followed echoing through the ranks, seemed to satisfy the Prince as if the acclaim were directed solely at him.
Vasu'Senar simply glared at the Prince before turning back around. He still had a battle to command and an enemy to slay.
As the artillery thundered against the Ork lines, signaling the commencement of the battle, Vasu'Senar issued the command for his forces to advance. Emerging from the shadows of the metal trenches and blood-soaked battlements, a formidable array of infantry, heavy elites, and mounted cavalry marched forth with disciplined precision onto the field.
In ages past, such coordination and organization among the daemons of Khorne would have been unthinkable. Yet, amidst the chaos of the Blood and Thunder War, they gradually evolved from a frenzied horde of bloodthirsty killers into a formidable, albeit still blood-crazed, fighting force.
As the Orks retaliated against the advancing daemon legions, unleashing a barrage of guns, rockets, and cannons, it became apparent that mortal forces would have swiftly succumbed to such firepower. However, the Khornates, with their warp-forged weapons, armor, and physiology, proved to be beyond sturdy and deadly. Their shield walls, born of brass and blood, stood firm against the onslaught, resilient to everything except the mightiest tank fire or heaviest bombardment.
Daemonic engines roared to life behind the imposing Legions of Brass and Blood. Hundreds of Skull Cannons of Khorne unleashed torrents of literal hellfire upon the Ork lines in a relentless counter-battery assault.
As the Orks deployed their faster-moving bikers and trukks, the Khornate archers, often disparagingly referred to as "cowards," unleashed volleys of barbed and exploding arrows upon the vehicles. Meanwhile, Bloodcrushers of Khorne charged forward to intercept the Ork vehicles, engaging in brutal close-quarters combat. The Khornate infantry steadily advanced across the battlefield, undeterred by the chaos around them.
The Orks, recognizing the looming threat of Vasu'Senar's imminent approach, redirected their firepower toward him, fully cognizant that chaos would ensue once he reached their ranks. This macabre routine of clash and carnage between the Orks and Khornates had played out countless times before, often signaling the arrival of BuzzKilla and his aerial forces.
As Vasu'Senar surveyed the turbulent sky, his eyes fixated on the distant swarm of Deffships and Deffkoptas. They hovered at a considerable distance, engrossed in what appeared to be a defense of their Ordinati against the Prince and his Stormcasts.
A sinister grin etched itself across the Exalted's face. Either BuzzKilla diverted his aerial might to reinforce the front lines, or they risked losing control of Shok'n'Aw. And should the Prince succeed in his mission, BuzzKilla would find himself on the chopping block. Vasu'Senar's laughter reverberated across the battlefield as he raised his weapon high, rallying his forces with a thunderous roar.
The Orks responded in kind, charging out from their trenches and dugouts as the Greentide crashed into the Bloodtide. All the while, Vasu'Senar was cleaving through entire platoons of Orks and slicing through any Meganobs that tried their luck. Where in the warp were the Da Krew Boyz?
Just as Vasu'Senar turned away for a second, a trio of Orks burst out of a spider hole near his position and fired off a trio of heavily modified Deffguns, which hit the Crimson Star's left arm, causing it to burst into burning crystal and bone. Another five Orks appeared seemingly out of nowhere and charged him with chain-choppas.
Yet rather than discouraged over his missing arm and the ambushed, Vasu'Senar bellowed out in laughter, "There you are!" He exclaimed loudly at seeing Da Krew Boyz, "No more distractions! Time we finish our little duel!"
With a single swing of his blade, Vasu'Senar caught an Ork wearing a familiar set of body armor and cleaved him into two. Another of the Krew he merely kicked so hard that his entire body exploded.
"Oi, where iz da air support?!" One of the Orks called out as he fired off his Deffgun at the Exalted, who merely dodged. "Someone get BuzzKilla on da horn!"
As Da Krew scrambled to react, Vasu'Senar reveled in the chaos, already claiming the lives of two of the eight members. With six more foes to dispatch, not even the threat of an airborne Ork could deter him. Soon, the Exalted became consumed by the exhilaration of combat.
However, as time wore on and Vasu'Senar dispatched four additional members of Da Krew, a brilliant burst of light followed by a distant explosion marked the obliteration of the Ordinati known as Shok'n'Aw. For a fleeting moment, the entire battlefield paused in stunned silence before both sides resumed their relentless onslaught.
Despite the ongoing bloodshed, Vasu'Senar found some satisfaction in the accomplishment. At the very least, the Prince had achieved one of his objectives. However, as usual, something had to spoil his fun.
The duel against the remaining members of Da Krew was abruptly interrupted when Vasu'Senar noticed a burning and battered Deffkopta, bearing the markings of Warlord BuzzKilla, hurtling toward his position. Perhaps BuzzKilla had decided to make one final gambit to try and take him out?
As the Deffkopta careened dangerously close, Vasu'Senar observed the Prince burst forth from the flaming wreckage just before it crashed and exploded in front of him. Though the explosion left him unscathed, it was a bothersome disruption to his duel.
The Prince landed gracefully, presenting the severed head of BuzzKilla. "Oh, Vasu'Senar. Fancy meeting you here," he remarked casually, raising the Warlord's head alongside the Exalted's banner. "I hope you don't mind, but the Stormcast ensured the destruction of the Ordinati, and I couldn't bear to see your banner lost."
Vasu'Senar shot the Prince a stern glare, even as the Khornates roared triumphantly and the Orks began retreating. Ignoring the cheers around him, the Crimson Star turned his attention to the last two retreating members of Da Krew and swiftly dispatched them with a pair of thrown blades, ending their lives as if they were hit with the force of a heavy bolter.
The Da Krew Boyz and BuzzKilla's demise occurred within a few minutes, an inglorious end that left Vasu'Senar unsatisfied. Couldn't he at least enjoy a fleeting moment of triumph?
"Are you alright?" The Prince inquired, glancing at Vasu'Senar's missing arm, though his expression betrayed little concern. "I can carry the head or banner for you if you'd like?"
With a disdainful huff, Vasu'Senar extended his remaining arm and seized BuzzKilla's head. "Make yourself useful and fly the banner above my forces," he commanded tersely.
The Prince nodded in acquiescence, but just before taking off, Vasu'Senar issued a warning. "We'll have words after this battle. Clearly, you possess some skills. I might consider putting you to work."
"A wise choice," the Prince acknowledged. "Perhaps you might be willing to act as a patron to me?"
"Don't push your luck," Vasu'Senar retorted, his visage contorting into a sneer. "You want more power and prestige? You follow my orders to the letter, keep the Stormcasts in line, and don't take action without my permission. You prove yourself enough, and then I'll consider if you're worthy of maybe training someday."
Undeterred, the Prince maintained his composure and offered a confident smile. "I'll prove myself sooner than you think." With those words, he ascended into the skies, leaving behind the cheers of the Khornates. Vasu'Senar couldn't shake the feeling that the Prince had orchestrated BuzzKilla's demise in full view of the forces to gain prestige by association—an audacious move reminiscent of Tzeentchian tactics, which annoyed Vasu'Senar.
Still, despite his reservations, Vasu'Senar couldn't deny a grudging admiration for the Prince's boldness and audacity. Unlike many outsiders who stumbled into the Blood and Thunder War, the Prince showed competence. Perhaps, with some guidance, he could even transform the Stormcasts into a useful auxiliary force.
However, Vasu'Senar quickly dismissed the notion as wishful thinking. He had more pressing matters at hand. While he had reclaimed this territory for Khorne, it was but a minor victory in the grand scheme of the Blood God's plans. Sooner or later, Khorne would demand more from the Crimson Star, just as he did from all his daemons. For now, having a useful minion like the Prince was a rare boon.
One might even call it a miracle. But miracles were few and far between in the brutal landscape of the Blood and Thunder War. No angels soared through these skies, not even mimics like the Prince. Only the strong survived in this war, and Vasu'Senar intended to ensure that he remained among them.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, quick omake for the Prince and what he's up too.
Angels Grace
There was no air in the Warp. No atmosphere. No sense of up or down. Time and matter existed only as tools. In here was the existence and decay of everything, and everywhere and everywhen that which has been, that is and forever will be. But a constant had been forced upon the Warp.
War.
Just as it had been subjugated to such glorious and destructive times during the War in Heaven, it returned with the thunder of invaders. The Orks had come to bring war upon it, for it was their only joy and purpose.
But to Khorne and his ilk, war was their trade. They would not be shown up by these savages, and only through blood spilled, theirs or the enemies, shall they proclaim themselves the masters of it.
It was a war of monsters and daemons. Where a triad of gods battled unseen among a seemingly infinitesimal battlefield. How long had it been waged now? A few years? A few eons? None of that mattered to the fighters and champions, the villains and heroes of this great conflict. Perhaps it had always been this way.
Parts of the warp had turned into battlefields that stretched no further than a mile, while others were light-years in length. Distance became a fleeting concept, measured only by the corpses and ruins that littered the ever-shifting battlefield. Orkish warbands surged forth, their numbers bolstered by mechanical monstrosities, carving out what could generously be described as "territories" amidst the destruction.
The fallen became macabre landmarks, their corpses forming bridges and citadels in the tumultuous sea of conflict. Meanwhile, the Khornates erected their own grotesque strongholds, fashioned from the very essence of the Warp itself. To comprehend this nightmarish tableau was to teeter on the brink of madness as the unrelenting violence and carnage beckoned mortals to join the fray.
Were a normal, thinking sapient creature to try and grasp this configuration, it would inevitably drive not into insanity, for that would be a blessing, but would instead lead them to the desire to contribute their flesh and blood to these gruesome islands and bridges. To take up arms for the Blood God or for Gork and Mork, even if they never believed in such creatures but because their souls were howling for blood and thunder.
Because all that remained was the marching feet of blood-soaked daemons and the thundering laughter of eager monsters. For those drawn into the infernal maelstrom, there were no bystanders. They were either fodder for the insatiable hunger of the war machine or eager combatants driven by a primal urge for glory and bloodshed. Some sought validation through battle, while others were propelled by a lifetime steeped in violence and strife.
Yet amidst the chaos, a new player stepped, or more specifically, soared into this bloody conflagration. With the visage of an angel and wings of feathered blades, casting a shadow that whispered of a royal destiny, a prince who was once promised to a mighty empire would soon partake in the Blood and Thunder War and leave his mark.
It was strange to imagine a daemon of Khorne being bored during a war such as this, but it was possible. For all the glories and brutality of the Blood and Thunder War, it seemed to fall the same trend as any conflict within the materium. The ebb and flow often end up in great and terrible battles before arriving at the tedium of waiting.
For one such Exalted, it drove him to a fury not seen since the Ritual War. Vasu'Senar, the Crimson Star of Khorne, abhorred stagnation with every fiber of his being. Hated the waiting, rallying, and preparation of war. The blathering pomp and ceremony of armies were abhorrently boring, almost distastefully so.
And he would sooner face defeat and destruction than endure the stifling monotony of these bloody stalemates. Even in this seemingly relentless conflict against the Orks, moments of inactivity were an unavoidable torment. A joke that only someone like Tzeetch could have been playing, but that paranoiac bird was too busy pretending to have everything under control.
Perhaps the materials would have enjoyed the reprieve. Maybe even found solace in the idleness, but Vasu'Senar saw only the agony of anticipation, yearning for another battle to begin, but alas, he was stuck strategizing and coordinating with his "officers" and lesser lords.
Compounding his frustration was the meager force at his disposal, a mere fraction of what he deemed necessary for his ambitions. It was insulting. He had eight legions of daemonkin under his command, a force that could have conquered a thousand star systems in any other instance, and it was barely working against the Orks. Worse yet, he had seven cohorts of archers in his force.
The first time he heard that his kind was using ranged units, Vasu'Senar just about puked blood at such a disgraceful development. Those who carried about the Orks had a "range disparity" and were just weak or incapable of killing Orks fast enough. It wasn't his problem, but the Blood God thought otherwise.
Somehow, Vasu'Senar was given a group of them. He hated that they were also quite useful and that he thought the same thing after they achieved considerable success in repelling the last Ork offensive. The Crimson Star needed every advantage he could. The Blood and Thunder War was changing the rules constantly. Entire boundaries and battle lines blurred, shifting with every passing moment. New theaters of conflict emerged unpredictably, offering fleeting opportunities for glory and renown.
But such opportunities came with grave risks. Venturing alone into the fray against the Orks was a perilous endeavor, as many would-be champions had learned to their peril. The greenskins, relentless in their ferocity, started to match the Exalted blow for blow, their own champions proving formidable adversaries and worthy prizes for the Blood God if one could take their skulls in battle.
That last part was vital. Khorne demanded excellence from his chosen champions, expecting nothing less than unyielding strength and unwavering conquest in the face of the Greentide. That sounded nice, but for Vasu'Senar, this relentless pursuit of martial glory was a constant source of frustration and resentment. All because the Blood God demanded it of his champions.
Vasu'Senar refused to be treated as a mere underling, yet the specter of Khorne's displeasure loomed over him, a constant reminder of the Blood God's ability to easily crush even his own Exalted. Despite his private defiance, Vasu'Senar understood the risks of challenging Khorne's authority, particularly during such a monumental conflict. The Blood God's power may have waned, but his influence remained potent, his approval a coveted prize among the Exalted.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on who you asked, the war wasn't ending anytime. As the war dragged on, Khorne's champions were called upon to assume the roles of generals and lords, commanding forces and shaping the course of battle. It was a tempting prospect, promising greater power and prestige. Yet, Vasu'Senar himself was mired in campaigns that, despite their magnitude, proved drearily mundane and devoid of the exhilaration he was craving.
Adding newcomers to his ranks was a bitter pill for Vasu'Senar to swallow. The Stormcasts, outsiders who dared to align themselves with the Blood God, stirred a deep-seated resentment within him. Their allegiance felt hollow, their commitment lacking the fervor of true Khornates. Yet, Khorne's decree was clear: these interlopers would be incorporated into their ranks.
Though begrudgingly accepted, Vasu'Senar seethed at the thought of these newcomers receiving any semblance of glory or recognition. To him, they were little more than unwelcome intruders, their victories only to further inflate their egos rather than honor the Blood God.
Khorne's directive, however, offered a modicum of solace. The Stormcasts were to be deployed on the most perilous missions, their mettle tested in battle. There would be no handouts or charity in the Blood and Thunder War. Victory belonged to the Khornates alone, while defeat would be the burden of the interlopers.
This moment allowed Vasu'Senar to reflect on his begrudging respect for the Greenskins. Their unrelenting savagery still embodied a primal and pure essence of warfare, a quality that resonated with the Khornates. In comparison, the Stormcasts were mercenary in nature.
When the fresh contingent of Stormcasts arrived, Vasu'Senar paid them little heed, his focus consumed by the relentless pursuit of his Ork adversaries. Among them, the notorious Da Krew Boyz had earned the Crimson Star's attention with their tenacity and ability to cheat death, providing a constant thorn in his side. Despite the frustration they caused, Vasu'Senar couldn't deny the thrill of facing such formidable opponents.
As he plotted his next move against the Orks, Vasu'Senar's attention was drawn to a disturbance among his ranks. A commander approached, informing him of the commotion caused by the presence of a supposed Primarch among the Stormcasts. Initially dismissive of the notion, Vasu'Senar scoffed and didn't know whether to laugh or bash the daemon's face for saying something so preposterous in the extreme.
Surely, if a Primarch had joined their ranks, the tumultuous warp would have heralded such a momentous event. Khorne would have announced loudly if one of the Primarchs had joined the cause. Secondly, if a Primarch had joined, there would be an endless line of daemons trying to kill the bastard.
However, curiosity piqued, Vasu'Senar turned his gaze toward the Stormcasts, only to be met with a surprising sight. Indeed, standing among them was a figure resembling the Great Angel, Sanguinius. At least until, upon closer inspection, it became evident that this was no loyal son of the Emperor but another daemon, albeit one not in disguise. A strange occurrence.
Intrigued by this unexpected turn of events, Vasu'Senar summoned the faux-Primarch to his fortress for a meeting. The Exalted observed subtle yet significant differences in the creature's presence, such as metal wings and smoldering red eyes. Vasu'Senar couldn't deny the creature's captivating presence despite his disdain for anything resembling so beautiful, as it would remind him too much of Slaanesh's ilk.
"What's your name?" Vasu'Senar asked with the voice of cracking crystal, "And where do you hail from, mimic?" The daemon was proud of himself for coming up with that title.
"I have no name." The faux-Primarch spoke with all the regalness and sway of a nascent god-king, "I am the Promised Prince. I am the child of Emperor Malachi Vortannis, the Master of Mankind."
"A worthless title from an equally worthless lineage." Vasu'Senar's sneer was unseen but would have split mountains from the ferocity of it, "Are you from a different portent of reality, hmm? One of the many realities that the gods play in?"
The Prince shook his head with the grace of a gentle breeze, "No. I am from this one."
"Then why have you bothered coming here?" Vasu'Senar's question was simple: "Have you come to gain prestige and power?"
"Among other rewards." The Prince answered truthfully, "I wish to hold court with your master."
Vasu'Senar stared at the princeling before his laughter rumbled across his fortress as if an avalanche had begun. It took the Exalted a moment to collect himself, "Khorne does not meet with anyone. He has no reason or desire to meet with a mockery of his foes. The only part of you shall hold court with him is your skull adorned upon his throne."
"Perhaps." The Prince answered with a small smile that irritated Vasu'Senar. It was almost innocent.
Vasu'Senar was having trouble grasping what this creature wanted; he admitted wanting power and prestige, so naturally, its designs would seek to gain it. The Crimson Star could use that very well: "If you are so set on your death, then I might as well put you to good use."
"Of course." The Prince sounded almost eager, "This meeting presents me with an opportunity. I've heard that an Ork Warlord is controlling what might be considered an Ordinati scale weapon; with your permission, I'd like to lead the Stormcasts in an assault to eliminate it and the Warlord, along with carrying your banner into battle."
There was still a moment in the air before Vasu'Senar leaned down ominously to the Prince, "Now, why should I allow you either of those things? The Stormcasts are mine to control, you are mine to control, and maybe I'm saving that Ork and his blasted weapon for fun."
"And yet you aren't interested in it. Your prize is another target." The Prince answered with a grin, "I'm offering you the chance to go and down something you enjoy while I'm allowed to prove my worth here and take care of a problem in your stead."
The Exalted narrowed his eyes before moving faster than any mere mortal could have ever hoped to achieve. He moved so fast that the Prince barely had time to stop Vasu'Senar's blade from nearly removing the faux-Primarch's head with a spear of burning golden light.
"Don't ever assume what you are allowed to do in my stead." Vasu'Senar hissed with the sound of a napalmed corpse. Then he pulled away his blade. "But if you want to make yourself useful, I won't stop you from leading a suicide charge or enacting whatever plan you seem to have in mind."
The Prince lowered his spear, "Then I have your blessing?"
"Bah!" Vasu'Senar grunted before waving a crystalized arm, "If you think you'll impress me with this act, you are sorely mistaken, but if you succeed, I only gain prestige. So it behooves me to let you take my banner into battle for this."
"Thank you," The Prince sounded almost gracious. "Then might I put forward a plan to accomplish this?"
Vasu'Senar looked skeptical, "You haven't even been here for one battle, let alone what passes for a day in this blood-forsaken place, and you, somehow, have a plan?"
"I scouted the Ork's positions before joining the Stormcasts." The Prince smiled with the pride of a young man showing initiative. How very Tzeetchian of him.
He didn't overconfident daemons. Unless he was fighting them. Overconfidence was a killer, after all. Still, Vasu'Senar's skepticism deepened at the Prince's confidence. "Scouted, have you?" he echoed, a hint of derision coloring his tone. "And what did you learn from your brief reconnaissance?"
The Prince's smile remained unwavering, unaffected by Vasu'Senar's doubt. "Enough to formulate a strategy," he replied calmly, his demeanor exuding an air of self-assurance that bordered on arrogance. Vasu'Senar could at least respect the Prince's taking this seriously. The Crimson Star's prey was on the line.
"Very well, let's hear your plan," he conceded, intrigued despite himself. After all, if the Prince's scheme proved successful, it would alleviate this endless boredom.
Navigating time within the chaos of the Blood and Thunder War was akin to grasping at shadows, elusive yet not entirely beyond comprehension, and all at once remains a fool's errand. There was, however, a method to the madness as a peculiar dating system emerged, marked by the ebb and flow of offensives, counter-offensives, and the thunderous crescendo of artillery barrages acting as hourly chimes.
Understanding these rules required a mind unshackled by mortal constraints and basic sanity. This chaotic chronology made a strange sense for beings such as daemons or Orks, providing a semblance of direction amidst the anarchy. One might even call it a boon of the Blood and Thunder War, allowing all that participated not to be undermined by the lack of time.
Such things aside, it had been five pitched battles and two daring raids since the Prince joined Vasu'Senar forces. The enigmatic presence of the princely creature stirred anticipation and intrigue among those awaiting battle. Despite the skepticism and initial hostility he might have faced, his charisma quickly won over the hearts of both Stormcast and Khornate warriors alike.
As expected, numerous attempts were made on his life, yet the Prince's strength surpassed all expectations, leaving his would-be assailants humbled and in awe. In a departure from the customary bloodshed typical of Khornates, the Prince refrained from delivering fatal blows to his challengers.
This unexpected restraint earned him disdain and admiration within their ranks, a testament to his uncommon approach to combat. Vasu'Senar foresaw a surge of new challengers should the Prince survive his audacious gambit.
With confident assurance, the Prince revealed his knowledge of a vulnerability in the Ork's defenses, providing the opportunity for a decisive assault on the Greenskins' prized weapon, the "Shok'n'Aw," commanded by the notorious Warlord BuzzKilla. A curious hybrid of Flyboy and Mekboy, BuzzKilla soared above the battlefield on his customized Deffkopta.
Vasu'Senar had no respect for the Warlord, as he refused to fight on the ground. The Crimson Star was forced to rely on Archers to stop him from bombing the battlefield. Disgraceful and cowardly, and not worth the effort by Vasu'Senar. If the Prince wanted to take him on, so be it.
Finally, during a lull in battle and sensing an opportune moment amidst the tumult, Vasu'Senar resolved that the time had come to unleash their planned offensive. It was not merely about breaking the Orks' grip on the territory but seizing the chance to confront the elusive Da Krew Boyz and finally enjoy himself.
As Vasu'Senar's forces assembled, he decided to grace the Stormcasts with his presence, curious to gauge the readiness of the Prince for the impending battle. As lesser daemons and mortal warriors bowed in reverence, the Crimson Star approached the Prince, who exuded a radiant calmness.
Acknowledging the Prince's presence with a nod, Vasu'Senar's tone betrayed his disinterest. "For you and these dregs, perhaps," he remarked, his voice rumbling indifferently. "This skirmish holds little significance, save for the antics of the Da Krew Boyz that amuse me."
Unfazed by Vasu'Senar's skepticism, the Prince offered a smirk. "Then allow me to provide the entertainment you seek," he replied, rising to his feet and brandishing his blazing spear. "Watch the skies, Crimson Star. They will soon be yours to command."
"Enough theatrics," Vasu'Senar grumbled, signaling a lesser daemon to unfurl his banner, pulsating with dark power. "Place my banner upon the ruins of their machine and bring me the Warlord's head. Do not return empty-handed."
Accepting the banner with a solemn nod, the Prince swiftly assembled it upon a standard, lifting it high as he rallied the troops. "FOR KHORNE AND VASU'SENAR! Hail the Crimson Star!" The thunderous cheer that followed echoing through the ranks, seemed to satisfy the Prince as if the acclaim were directed solely at him.
Vasu'Senar simply glared at the Prince before turning back around. He still had a battle to command and an enemy to slay.
As the artillery thundered against the Ork lines, signaling the commencement of the battle, Vasu'Senar issued the command for his forces to advance. Emerging from the shadows of the metal trenches and blood-soaked battlements, a formidable array of infantry, heavy elites, and mounted cavalry marched forth with disciplined precision onto the field.
In ages past, such coordination and organization among the daemons of Khorne would have been unthinkable. Yet, amidst the chaos of the Blood and Thunder War, they gradually evolved from a frenzied horde of bloodthirsty killers into a formidable, albeit still blood-crazed, fighting force.
As the Orks retaliated against the advancing daemon legions, unleashing a barrage of guns, rockets, and cannons, it became apparent that mortal forces would have swiftly succumbed to such firepower. However, the Khornates, with their warp-forged weapons, armor, and physiology, proved to be beyond sturdy and deadly. Their shield walls, born of brass and blood, stood firm against the onslaught, resilient to everything except the mightiest tank fire or heaviest bombardment.
Daemonic engines roared to life behind the imposing Legions of Brass and Blood. Hundreds of Skull Cannons of Khorne unleashed torrents of literal hellfire upon the Ork lines in a relentless counter-battery assault.
As the Orks deployed their faster-moving bikers and trukks, the Khornate archers, often disparagingly referred to as "cowards," unleashed volleys of barbed and exploding arrows upon the vehicles. Meanwhile, Bloodcrushers of Khorne charged forward to intercept the Ork vehicles, engaging in brutal close-quarters combat. The Khornate infantry steadily advanced across the battlefield, undeterred by the chaos around them.
The Orks, recognizing the looming threat of Vasu'Senar's imminent approach, redirected their firepower toward him, fully cognizant that chaos would ensue once he reached their ranks. This macabre routine of clash and carnage between the Orks and Khornates had played out countless times before, often signaling the arrival of BuzzKilla and his aerial forces.
As Vasu'Senar surveyed the turbulent sky, his eyes fixated on the distant swarm of Deffships and Deffkoptas. They hovered at a considerable distance, engrossed in what appeared to be a defense of their Ordinati against the Prince and his Stormcasts.
A sinister grin etched itself across the Exalted's face. Either BuzzKilla diverted his aerial might to reinforce the front lines, or they risked losing control of Shok'n'Aw. And should the Prince succeed in his mission, BuzzKilla would find himself on the chopping block. Vasu'Senar's laughter reverberated across the battlefield as he raised his weapon high, rallying his forces with a thunderous roar.
The Orks responded in kind, charging out from their trenches and dugouts as the Greentide crashed into the Bloodtide. All the while, Vasu'Senar was cleaving through entire platoons of Orks and slicing through any Meganobs that tried their luck. Where in the warp were the Da Krew Boyz?
Just as Vasu'Senar turned away for a second, a trio of Orks burst out of a spider hole near his position and fired off a trio of heavily modified Deffguns, which hit the Crimson Star's left arm, causing it to burst into burning crystal and bone. Another five Orks appeared seemingly out of nowhere and charged him with chain-choppas.
Yet rather than discouraged over his missing arm and the ambushed, Vasu'Senar bellowed out in laughter, "There you are!" He exclaimed loudly at seeing Da Krew Boyz, "No more distractions! Time we finish our little duel!"
With a single swing of his blade, Vasu'Senar caught an Ork wearing a familiar set of body armor and cleaved him into two. Another of the Krew he merely kicked so hard that his entire body exploded.
"Oi, where iz da air support?!" One of the Orks called out as he fired off his Deffgun at the Exalted, who merely dodged. "Someone get BuzzKilla on da horn!"
As Da Krew scrambled to react, Vasu'Senar reveled in the chaos, already claiming the lives of two of the eight members. With six more foes to dispatch, not even the threat of an airborne Ork could deter him. Soon, the Exalted became consumed by the exhilaration of combat.
However, as time wore on and Vasu'Senar dispatched four additional members of Da Krew, a brilliant burst of light followed by a distant explosion marked the obliteration of the Ordinati known as Shok'n'Aw. For a fleeting moment, the entire battlefield paused in stunned silence before both sides resumed their relentless onslaught.
Despite the ongoing bloodshed, Vasu'Senar found some satisfaction in the accomplishment. At the very least, the Prince had achieved one of his objectives. However, as usual, something had to spoil his fun.
The duel against the remaining members of Da Krew was abruptly interrupted when Vasu'Senar noticed a burning and battered Deffkopta, bearing the markings of Warlord BuzzKilla, hurtling toward his position. Perhaps BuzzKilla had decided to make one final gambit to try and take him out?
As the Deffkopta careened dangerously close, Vasu'Senar observed the Prince burst forth from the flaming wreckage just before it crashed and exploded in front of him. Though the explosion left him unscathed, it was a bothersome disruption to his duel.
The Prince landed gracefully, presenting the severed head of BuzzKilla. "Oh, Vasu'Senar. Fancy meeting you here," he remarked casually, raising the Warlord's head alongside the Exalted's banner. "I hope you don't mind, but the Stormcast ensured the destruction of the Ordinati, and I couldn't bear to see your banner lost."
Vasu'Senar shot the Prince a stern glare, even as the Khornates roared triumphantly and the Orks began retreating. Ignoring the cheers around him, the Crimson Star turned his attention to the last two retreating members of Da Krew and swiftly dispatched them with a pair of thrown blades, ending their lives as if they were hit with the force of a heavy bolter.
The Da Krew Boyz and BuzzKilla's demise occurred within a few minutes, an inglorious end that left Vasu'Senar unsatisfied. Couldn't he at least enjoy a fleeting moment of triumph?
"Are you alright?" The Prince inquired, glancing at Vasu'Senar's missing arm, though his expression betrayed little concern. "I can carry the head or banner for you if you'd like?"
With a disdainful huff, Vasu'Senar extended his remaining arm and seized BuzzKilla's head. "Make yourself useful and fly the banner above my forces," he commanded tersely.
The Prince nodded in acquiescence, but just before taking off, Vasu'Senar issued a warning. "We'll have words after this battle. Clearly, you possess some skills. I might consider putting you to work."
"A wise choice," the Prince acknowledged. "Perhaps you might be willing to act as a patron to me?"
"Don't push your luck," Vasu'Senar retorted, his visage contorting into a sneer. "You want more power and prestige? You follow my orders to the letter, keep the Stormcasts in line, and don't take action without my permission. You prove yourself enough, and then I'll consider if you're worthy of maybe training someday."
Undeterred, the Prince maintained his composure and offered a confident smile. "I'll prove myself sooner than you think." With those words, he ascended into the skies, leaving behind the cheers of the Khornates. Vasu'Senar couldn't shake the feeling that the Prince had orchestrated BuzzKilla's demise in full view of the forces to gain prestige by association—an audacious move reminiscent of Tzeentchian tactics, which annoyed Vasu'Senar.
Still, despite his reservations, Vasu'Senar couldn't deny a grudging admiration for the Prince's boldness and audacity. Unlike many outsiders who stumbled into the Blood and Thunder War, the Prince showed competence. Perhaps, with some guidance, he could even transform the Stormcasts into a useful auxiliary force.
However, Vasu'Senar quickly dismissed the notion as wishful thinking. He had more pressing matters at hand. While he had reclaimed this territory for Khorne, it was but a minor victory in the grand scheme of the Blood God's plans. Sooner or later, Khorne would demand more from the Crimson Star, just as he did from all his daemons. For now, having a useful minion like the Prince was a rare boon.
One might even call it a miracle. But miracles were few and far between in the brutal landscape of the Blood and Thunder War. No angels soared through these skies, not even mimics like the Prince. Only the strong survived in this war, and Vasu'Senar intended to ensure that he remained among them.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, quick omake for the Prince and what he's up too.
Inchoate Planning
Inchoate Planning
Nervous. Anxious. Ashamed. Hesitant. Words that could never be applied to Horus Lupercal. No one would have dared utter such notions aloud in his presence. They'd sooner insult him by calling him a tyrant or murderer. Admittedly, Horus would have agreed with those last two accusations.
Yet, despite his outward bravado, Horus grappled with feelings he could never openly admit. Nervousness clawed at the edges of his mind, anxiety gnawed at his resolve, and a shameful hesitation weighed heavily on his heart. Most of all, he felt an overwhelming sense of reluctance. If anyone were to discover the truth behind these emotions, Horus knew he would be compelled to silence them permanently. He was contemplating treason. Even worse, he was considering the unspeakable sin of kinslaying.
To kill one's own flesh and blood was a concept universally condemned. Even on the savage streets of Cthonia, where loyalty was often measured in blood, the Law of the Blade decreed that kinfolk who turned against each other were doomed to wander the underworld as cursed spirits for eternity. The mere thought that his actions might condemn his homeworld to such a fate filled Horus with a cold dread.
In the annals of human civilization, certain laws were sacrosanct. A son did not raise arms against his family, a brother did not betray his siblings, and parents did not abandon their children. These principles were as ancient as the oldest civilizations of Old Earth itself. Human society depended on preserving such laws, even amidst the chaos and brutality of the galaxy, because it meant a chance to build something—a chance to survive.
Thus, the turmoil in his soul was deep and painful. Horus grappled with the realization that his kin were on the brink of fratricidal conflict, with humanity caught in the middle or to be used as pawns. He couldn't ignore the stark reality. A civil war loomed on the horizon, demanding decisive action. As he contemplated his next move, Horus was repulsed by the dark thoughts creeping into his mind once again.
Because he had to entertain certain realities, though he cherished his brothers and deeply loved humanity, Horus understood that duty sometimes demanded sacrifice. The welfare of the Imperium and its people had to take precedence above all else. Honor and loyalty compelled him to confront the grim reality before him, even as he struggled to reconcile his noble intentions with the abhorrent act he contemplated.
Such noble sentiments to justify a terrible deed.
"The end justifies the means" was a mantra often employed by the morally bankrupt, a convenient excuse used to absolve oneself of wrongdoing. Horus couldn't help but ponder how many revered saints and celebrated heroes throughout history found themselves in similar moral quandaries, their actions justified by the simple fact that they emerged victorious. After all, it was difficult for the dead to condemn your deeds from beyond the grave.
Caught in the throes of a similar dilemma, Horus grappled with the task of rationalizing his thoughts as he began to craft a plan. A plan that could potentially cripple two entire legions. Despite his efforts, the Primarch couldn't shake the creeping sense of descent into madness. Even his closest sons, those privy to his innermost circle, voiced doubts and concerns over the path he was treading.
It amused Horus to hear them merely "suggest" their objections as if trying to feign ignorance of the gravity of his intentions. Perhaps they were simply unwilling to acknowledge the grim reality of what lay ahead – the prospect of battling their own kin, of spilling the blood of their brethren.
Abaddon privately voiced his objections to Horus in a rare display of defiance. He warned of the potential fracturing within the Luna Wolves and cautioned against tarnishing the legion's honor. Despite his dissent, Abaddon pledged his unwavering loyalty, willing to follow Horus even into the darkest abyss.
Acknowledging the validity of Abaddon's concerns, Horus realized the need for an alternate perspective, someone who could provide clarity and strategic insight. The silver lining in the impending civil war was the solidarity among his disillusioned brothers. Many would rally to his cause in due time.
However, one brother stood out as a beacon of rationality amidst the chaos – Perturabo. Driven by logic and foresight, the Lord of Iron possessed a keen intellect and a knack for strategic planning. Horus suspected that Perturabo was aware of the Imperium's precarious state and had likely taken his own precautions.
Seeking his aid, Horus hoped for validation in his actions, though he grappled with uncertainty regarding the rightness of his course. Whatever path lay ahead, Horus hoped for reassurance that he was steering them all toward a better future. If not, he'd have to let history decide his fate.
A few weeks passed. Horus's thoughts were still of the shame and anxiety of murderous intentions. He wondered why he never felt this way about the number of worlds he put to the sword. Some sick joke, perhaps about the death of a single person, meant more than a statistical graph of a billion souls. Regardless, there was work to be done.
Perturabo required little prompting to arrange a direct audience with Horus. The War-Marshal found himself deeply engrossed in a crucial compliance alongside Ferrus and Fulgrim, a task deemed significant enough by the Imperium's upper echelons to warrant the attention of four Primarchs.
Fortuitously, Ferrus and Fulgrim remained weeks away from the designated rendezvous point, affording Horus ample opportunity to engage in private discourse with the Lord of Iron once the ceremonial formalities concluded. Adhering to the decorum befitting the Great Crusade was requisite, yet Horus recognized its dual purpose in maintaining appearances, even if Perturabo was unaware of this necessity.
But there was still more to be done. In the ensuing days, Horus and Perturabo devoted their energies to establishing a robust command structure for the compliance, familiarizing their officers with the mission's intricacies, and fine-tuning logistical arrangements. Discussions were hade with the Mechanicum representatives, and the heroes of their two legions wanted to hold a brief tournament.
Amidst the whirlwind of activity, Horus found a fleeting sense of solace in the tasks that occupied his mind and hands. It was a brief respite, a momentary distraction from the weight of impending decisions. He couldn't help but ponder whether he would one day reflect on these early days with a tinge of melancholy and regret.
Despite the pomp and ceremony surrounding them, Horus seized a rare moment to request a private audience with Perturabo, a proposition to which his brother responded with characteristic stoicism. Over the decades, Perturabo had undergone a profound transformation, evolving into a figure marked by efficiency and purpose rather than the disdainful aloofness of old.
Horus endeavored to initiate their conversation with customary pleasantries as they entered a secure chamber, meticulously fortified with wards from Kesar and salvaged technology from various compliances.
"Drink?" Horus offered, gesturing towards a meticulously crafted wooden cellarette.
The Lord of Iron declined with a raised hand. "No, thank you."
Horus poured himself generously, the amber liquid swirling gently in the glass. Perturabo's observation didn't escape his notice. "When did you start drinking?" the Lord of Iron inquired with a hint of curiosity.
"A few years ago," Horus replied somberly, his gaze fixed on the swirling contents of his glass. "After my first encounter with some denizens of the warp."
Perturabo nodded in understanding, his expression a mask of empathy. "That is a reasonable response," he offered, his tone devoid of judgment.
"Do you truly believe so?" Horus sank into his seat opposite Perturabo. Despite their imposing presence, both Primarchs were unarmored, a rarity that spoke of the intimacy of their conversation. "The fact that I still grapple with it after all these years... It weighs heavily on me."
Perturabo leaned back, his features softened by the flickering light. "You'd be surprised at the lengths men will go to cope with encounters with daemons and their ilk," he remarked, a flicker of distaste crossing his face. "In the grand scheme of things, one could acquire far worse vices."
Horus nodded thoughtfully before taking another sip of his drink. "I find the strong flavor serves as a distraction... helps keep certain thoughts at bay," he admitted, his gaze distant.
Perturabo regarded him with a knowing expression. "I tend to run simulations in my head," he confessed, his tone matter-of-fact. "And if that fails, I resort to calculations involving black holes and gravity. It's a frustrating exercise, but one I find strangely comforting."
Horus couldn't help but be intrigued by his brother's approach. "So, frustration takes the edge off for you?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
Perturabo nodded. "Be angry at superficial subjects in the face of damnation," he replied cryptically. "It's a way to channel that frustration into productive thinking."
Horus couldn't help but be impressed by Perturabo's unconventional philosophy. "I never thought of you embracing what almost sounds like whimsy," he remarked with a hint of amusement.
The Lord of Iron's expression softened slightly. "I've had to reassess how I approach challenges," he explained, a trace of pride in his voice. "There are many avenues to resolve a crisis of the self, or what some might call 'faith,' if we're being poetic."
"Naturally, you don't consider yourself a faithful man in that sense," Horus smirked as he took another sip from his drink.
"Forgive me for sounding pedantic," Perturabo began, his tone earnest, "but I put my faith in tested truths and hopeful hypotheses these days. There's comfort in the things I understand and hope for what I may learn someday."
Horus couldn't help but be struck by Perturabo's sincerity. "I'm actually starting to feel envious of you," he admitted, a tinge of admiration in his voice.
The Lord of Iron scoffed lightly. "You give me too much credit," he responded modestly.
Horus shook his head. "I'm not giving you enough, honestly," he insisted. "It's good to know that you're doing well, brother."
Perturabo shrugged a hint of humility in his demeanor. "Well enough," he remarked. "Too many setbacks in my activities and obstacles still require a deft hand. I don't want to take back the contents of my words, but I'm still the man I've always been."
Setting down his glass, Horus regarded Perturabo thoughtfully. "Do you feel bitter about what happened in the past?" he inquired, his tone gentle.
"I do," Perturabo admitted candidly. "But that is in the past. It might as well be another lifetime ago. We've all changed. Some for the better, some for the worse, and others have just... embraced certain aspects."
Horus understood the sentiment. The passage of time had transformed them all in profound ways. "And do you think you've changed for the better?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Better and worse," Perturabo replied cryptically, offering no further explanation. "What about you?"
Horus hesitated, grappling with his own self-assessment. "Me?" he repeated, his voice betraying uncertainty. "I don't know... No, that's a lie. I do know. I've gotten worse, I feel like."
"That's strange to hear from you," Perturabo observed, surprised. "Our most recent victories were quite sound and glorious."
"And that means something to me and those who fought for us. But for the rest of humanity and the Imperium? It does nothing for them," Horus countered somberly.
"We stopped the Hierarchy from purging entire systems. I dare say we saved many worlds," Perturabo argued, sensing that more was weighing on Horus's mind. "You're concerned about something else."
"I'm concerned about the Imperium. About Father and Malcador. About all of us," Horus replied quietly, his tone laden with worry. "The familiar specter of war returns, and I doubt it will be in our favor this time."
Perturabo furrowed his brow, trying to grasp the full extent of Horus's concerns. "If you are referencing the coup, I will admit that it highlights a series of problems none of us have addressed, but whatever happens to Corvus isn't your fault or mine, or anyone else's. He'd be the one to tell you that, even."
"It's not just him I'm worried about. Even if he still hates me, I respect his courage, even if it was misguided, to try and do something," Horus confessed, feeling the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. "I've been having thoughts, Pert. Dangerous ones. Unsightly ones. Worse yet, I know they aren't born of an intelligence that isn't my own."
His brother frowned, showing a hint of uncertainty. "So you say," Perturabo responded, his expression becoming more guarded. "I might not be the best person to share whatever concerns you have."
"Unfortunately, you are the only person that I feel I can," Horus admitted with a tinge of regret. "And for that, I am sorry. But if you are uncomfortable, we can simply end this conversation and pretend it never happened."
Perturabo snorted dismissively. "If I became uncomfortable at the thought of talking with a brother, then I would be much less inclined to do even a third of the unpleasant things I've had to do in my life," he remarked, fixing his gaze on Horus. "If you are looking for answers or someone to discuss whatever plagues your mind, I might not give you what you seek."
Horus shook his head resolutely. "If you have answers or advisement after what you hear, I shall listen gladly. If not, then you simply listening is more than enough."
"Is what to be discussed not to leave the room?" Perturabo inquired, his tone becoming more serious.
"Yes."
"How sensitive is it?" he pressed further.
"It involves potential treason and kinslaying," Horus admitted honestly, bracing for Perturabo's reaction. To his surprise, Perturabo merely nodded.
"Ah, I see," the Primarch responded calmly. He glanced back at the cellarette. "Is that offer for a drink still available?"
One doesn't just plan to commit treason on a whim. Horus had meticulously gathered significant evidence over months, poring over reports, double-checking data, and contemplating the implications. While a normal man might have recognized the trajectory and considered options, a Primarch had the intellect and foresight to see beyond the surface.
Insight and perspective often clashed with the cold numbers and statistics. There was a human element that couldn't be overlooked. Humanity hadn't persevered by simply observing graphs and conceding to imminent defeat. The human spirit allowed for the recognition that there was always another path, another solution.
Yet, Horus found that the choices presented to him were often grim, leading him to the one he now faced.
Civil war loomed on the horizon, an unavoidable consequence of the brewing tensions. Horus had gleaned from his operatives and spies on Terra that a confrontation between the Emperor and Vulkan was imminent, though he couldn't ascertain its outcome. If the Emperor chose to purge Vulkan and potentially Konrad's legions, along with their supporters, it would ignite widespread conflict among the loyal and the dissidents.
But it wasn't the prospect of conflict alone that troubled Horus, although it weighed heavily on his mind. No, what haunted him was the realization that if war erupted, he would be forced to choose sides, to fight against his own brothers.
In the face of this grim reality, Horus concluded that it was better to seize control and gain the upper hand on his own terms. He resolved that the only logical course of action would be to leverage the upcoming compliance to potentially eliminate Fulgrim and Ferrus, along with their legions, from the equation of civil war.
Seeking Perturabo's aid in planning and executing this scheme, Horus was effectively asking the Lord of Iron to become an accomplice to kinslaying, to murder.
It took several hours for Horus to lay out his plans and articulate his reasoning meticulously. Throughout this time, Perturabo remained silent, absorbing the wealth of data Horus had collected, some of which he had encountered in reports from Roboute. Even after Horus had concluded his exposition, the Lord of Iron refrained from posing questions.
Finally, Perturabo lifted his gaze from the data, his expression neutral yet weighted with gravity. "What you are proposing is utter madness," he began, his tone measured. "It's criminal. Dishonorable as well. It would undoubtedly cast you as a villain in the eyes of many."
Horus acknowledged this grim assessment with a hesitant nod. "Are you advising against proceeding with this course of action?" he inquired.
"I am neither endorsing nor dissuading you," Perturabo replied evenly. "However, I will offer this: It is not unwise to meticulously plan for such contingencies." Despite the condemnation inherent in his words, Perturabo refrained from outright condemning Horus. For a fleeting moment, a sliver of relief coursed through Horus, though he knew he should be consumed by shame.
Reflecting on Perturabo's response, Horus sought clarity. "Do you believe this warrants careful planning, then?"
"Based on the evidence presented, it would be prudent to consider the potential outcomes if your worst fears materialize," Perturabo responded, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. "You have already ventured into treasonous territory with your intentions. If you seek counsel grounded in evidence, then I would strongly advise you to prepare for conflict."
Perturabo maintained a composed facade, though Horus sensed the turmoil brewing beneath. "I need to know, do you concur with my assessment?" Horus pressed, seeking his brother's unfiltered thoughts.
"The evidence unequivocally points toward an impending internal conflict within the next decade, barring significant intervention," Perturabo replied, his tone measured. "At best, we face the prospect of a large-scale rebellion within the Imperial Army or the secession of several thousand worlds. At worst, we confront the grim reality of multiple Primarchs or factions within the Mechanicum declaring anti-Imperial sentiments and triggering a catastrophic civil war. Numerous potential flashpoints exist, but such a conflict would splinter our ranks into loyalist, rebel, and neutral factions."
He paused to take a contemplative sip of brandy before continuing. "Given these circumstances, I agree with your assertion that, should we choose to escalate, it must be on our terms. Regrettably, this may necessitate the elimination of certain potential…adversaries." Perturabo's voice trailed off, his expression pained at the thought of branding their brethren as enemies.
"Fulgrim and Ferrus," Horus interjected, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions. "They are not deserving of such a fate. They have served the Imperium with distinction and honor. How many times have we fought beside them? I tell myself that, but all I can think is, if this happens, what do I do next?"
Perturabo nodded solemnly, acknowledging the truth of Horus's words. "To kill them would be to eliminate a pair of exemplars of humanity," he concurred. "However, in the face of what is to come, sentimentality must yield to pragmatism. The question then becomes: How do we proceed with the necessary course of action?"
That was the question: How do you potentially kill two Primarchs and their legions?
Moirai was to be the site of their next compliance. Scouts from the 157th Expedition had already made contact with the planet and found it to be home to a peculiar cult known as the Trinity of Ages, who worshipped a trio of Titans. The planet's population seemed to have begun worshiping the Titans, claiming they represented the three ages of Humanity: the Age of Exploration, the Age of Technology, and the Age of Strife.
However, the Trinity of Ages was oblivious to the imminent decree from the Imperium's higher echelons: "Annihilate the Titans and exterminate the populace." This critical information remained concealed from the Moiraians, granting Fulgrim precious time to summon aid from Ferrus, Horus, and Perturabo while amassing intelligence on the planet's defenses. Moirai boasted a formidable military, bolstered by numerous Ordinatii—a daunting challenge for any single Primarch, but with four united on the battlefield, victory seemed plausible.
The only way it would truly be dangerous is if their forces were caught completely by surprise, but Fulgrim's agents had gotten an exceptional amount of data on the Moiraian defense. With this information, Perturabo and Horus started planning a possible decapitation strike on the 3rd and 10th Legions and their brothers.
Ferrus and Fulgrim would be part of the first wave, leading it from the front. The primary objective would be to take the primary defensive wall of the Moiraian capital hive, known as the Ageless Stones. Once this is taken, a second wave of the Luna Wolves and Iron Warriors would land, as now that the artillery and anti-air were silenced, more forces could be deployed safely.
In reality, the plan was to stagger the deployment of the second wave such that Fulgrim and Ferrus were better served by fording forward and for the Iron Warriors to shore up the backline with artillery and other heavy weapons aimed directly at the rear of the 3rd and 10th Legions, after which the Luna Wolves and Iron Warriors will be on the walls while their allies were within the hive itself facing the defenders.
At this point, things will get bad for all involved. Perturabo suggested that Horus inform the Trinity of Ages, informing them that the only reason this was happening was that the Emperor ordered this, and upon a successful repulsion, they would leave. Horus would also clarify that any captured Astartes would be safely handed over, and any executions would incur his wraith.
If all else failed, they could give the defenders bad intel and deal with them after everything concluded. Perturabo believed it would be best to have the Moiraians take the brunt of the casualties to make them second-guess backstabbing Horus.
Horus then suggested that he deploy Luna Wolves squads attached to the Primarchs to monitor their movements and activities better. This caused a bit of a discourse between Horus and Perturabo.
"I do not relish the idea of our sons being reduced to spies and saboteurs," Perturabo began, his brow furrowed with concern. "It's not merely a tactical consideration; it strikes at the core of our Legion's honor. If their actions were exposed, it could cast suspicion on all Astartes involved in exchange programs, jeopardizing trust and cohesion."
Horus listened intently, realizing the gravity of the situation. "You believe it would erode the trust built through the exchange program?"
"Precisely," Perturabo affirmed. "The program thrives on mutual respect and trust. If our warriors were perceived as acting against that trust, it could lead to widespread suspicion and division among the Legions."
Horus grimaced, acknowledging the unforeseen consequences. The prospect of a Legion civil war cast a shadow of doubt over every Astartes' loyalty, regardless of their Legion's reputation.
Perturabo proposed an alternative: deploying battle-automata with tracking capabilities. It seemed like an elegant solution until Horus pointed out the flaw—Ferrus and Fulgrim would quickly discern their purpose.
"True," Perturabo conceded, "But by then, it will be too late. We will have the information we need."
Horus sighed wearily, realizing the burden of responsibility. "I cannot involve you in this any further, Pert."
Perturabo's confusion turned to indignation. "What do you mean?"
"You cannot be implicated in this," Horus insisted. "I will bear the consequences alone."
Perturabo bristled at the suggestion. "And what good will that accomplish? We are in this together, Horus. I will not let you shoulder the blame alone."
Horus shook his head, weariness evident in his demeanor. "I am thinking of the future, Pert. You are the War-Marshal, respected by all. Your neutrality in this conflict, I believe, will be vital for any potential peace plan because you can make an argument based entirely on logic or at least force enough of us to hold council."
Perturabo met his brother's gaze with a steely resolve. "But it will leave you isolated," he retorted. "Not only politically, but also on the battlefield. We have yet to address the repercussions if Fulgrim and Ferrus evade capture or turn the tide against us. And what of the potential rebellion among our own ranks or the swift defeat of the Moiraians?"
"That will be something I handle," Horus answered succinctly.
However, the response elicited a look of anger from Pert. The Primarch caught himself, tempering his words. "Horus, there is no merit in sacrificing yourself needlessly when I am prepared to share this burden with you."
Horus smiled gently, his appreciation evident. "Your loyalty means the world to me, Pert. But I need you to prevent any rash actions. If the War-Marshal were to align himself from the outset, it would only fuel escalation. However, by maintaining neutrality and intervening only in cases of extreme necessity, it will serve as a deterrent to reckless behavior."
Perturabo hesitated, doubting his influence. "You overestimate my sway, Horus. Do you truly believe others will heed my counsel?"
Horus reached out, firm yet gentle. "You are not the same man you were half a century ago. You are the War-Marshal. You are the architect of victory in the Maelstrom War, a visionary, and a genius. Your words carry weight, Pert. Now more than ever, they can shape the course of events in our favor."
"So you say," Perturabo challenged Horus, his tone edged with skepticism, "But if I were to feel compelled to intervene on the side of the loyalists, you'd hold a potent leverage over me."
Horus wrestled with the implications, momentarily silenced by the weight of their conversation. Blackmail seemed trivial compared to the gravity of their discussions about fratricide.
"I concede that your plan has its merits despite my reservations," Perturabo continued, his expression grim. "But should I need to intervene in this treason, I will do so. In that event, brother, you would do well to accept my assistance."
"Very well, but I remain opposed to your proposal regarding the battle-automata," Horus replied firmly.
"Then you'll likely taint the exchange program entirely. A trifling thing when we weigh it next to all other crimes we've discussed." Perturabo wasn't wrong about that. "Just so we clear the air, if we carry out this plan and I find out that it was done so with ill intention, I don't care if you will tell the entire galaxy that I had a hand in the Gorgon and Phoenix's death because I will ensure that the next time you and I met, it will only be as enemies."
"Of course." Horus knew the stakes, "If the stars are merciful, this entire plan will be kept between only a dozen people, including you and me."
Perturabo didn't look entirely satisfied with that answer, "I've come to believe that the only mercy in this galaxy exists at the whims of creatures who merely ignored the concept. Nevertheless, this plot is necessary if we've all reached the point of no return."
"The point of no return." It sounded so final to Horus. "The Imperium will either survive or die in the end. If it survives, it will never be the same." Horus felt psychological nausea as he realized the weight of their plot succeeding or failing, yet a troubling sense of relief washed over him. "I really hope we are doing the right thing," Horus remarked to Perturabo.
"We are doing the correct thing in the face of mounting evidence. But correct doesn't mean right or even wrong," Perturabo answered, his voice tinged with resignation. "We've both done terrible things because it was the correct way to obtain success or victory. What constitutes as being right, though, I've often found to be a multifaceted issue. In that sense, following a valid course of action is often the most uncomplicated."
Horus couldn't help but grimace, grappling with the moral implications. "I wonder what that says about us."
"Which criteria of 'us' are you referring to?" Perturabo inquired.
"You and me. Ferrus and Fulgrim. Our brothers and sons. The Emperor and Malcador. Humanity." He leveled a pointed gaze at Perturabo. "Do you think we've taken the correct path to victory at the cost of something greater?"
"The path to victory can cost a man quite a bit of his sanity if the price is too high." the Lord of Iron remarked, his tone somber. "But I would wager that all life will take the most unobstructed and uncomplicated path toward survival and growth. Do we have the ability to choose or construct a path that is both morally right and pragmatically correct? I believe so. Does the galaxy let us? No. I've seen enough to realize that no one can grant us salvation without conditions attached."
"Only we can save ourselves," Horus remarked, his voice heavy with resignation. "A nice sentiment. But it sounds like we are just making excuses, then."
Perturabo nodded gravely. "I've found that is often the case. Sentimentality keeps us grounded, but it can blind us as well. Does one brother killing another justify their actions? Depends on the circumstances. Yet I'd argue that in any instance, regardless of cause or reason, either man is tainted in that outcome."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Horus muttered, feeling the weight of their predicament settle heavily upon him. His right hand clenched into a fist, betraying the turmoil within. "Vulkan and Konrad might be thinking the same thing. Corvus probably as well."
"I can say, though only through personal attestation, that you and they aren't the only ones thinking that. Take what little comfort you can get from that," Perturabo offered, though his words brought little solace.
Horus couldn't find comfort in the knowledge that others shared his burden. Even after the meeting concluded, the first of many more to come, sadly, the Lupercal had to face the reality of his plot. The only control he had was either to carry it out or not. Because he still had a choice. That was the most crucial point to remember. He could not go through with this, regardless of what came next.
The moment Horus told himself that he had "no choice" would be the moment that he knew he was damned. He could not allow it. But the Primarch wondered if it would be the only "correct" solution when the time came.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, another omake.
Nervous. Anxious. Ashamed. Hesitant. Words that could never be applied to Horus Lupercal. No one would have dared utter such notions aloud in his presence. They'd sooner insult him by calling him a tyrant or murderer. Admittedly, Horus would have agreed with those last two accusations.
Yet, despite his outward bravado, Horus grappled with feelings he could never openly admit. Nervousness clawed at the edges of his mind, anxiety gnawed at his resolve, and a shameful hesitation weighed heavily on his heart. Most of all, he felt an overwhelming sense of reluctance. If anyone were to discover the truth behind these emotions, Horus knew he would be compelled to silence them permanently. He was contemplating treason. Even worse, he was considering the unspeakable sin of kinslaying.
To kill one's own flesh and blood was a concept universally condemned. Even on the savage streets of Cthonia, where loyalty was often measured in blood, the Law of the Blade decreed that kinfolk who turned against each other were doomed to wander the underworld as cursed spirits for eternity. The mere thought that his actions might condemn his homeworld to such a fate filled Horus with a cold dread.
In the annals of human civilization, certain laws were sacrosanct. A son did not raise arms against his family, a brother did not betray his siblings, and parents did not abandon their children. These principles were as ancient as the oldest civilizations of Old Earth itself. Human society depended on preserving such laws, even amidst the chaos and brutality of the galaxy, because it meant a chance to build something—a chance to survive.
Thus, the turmoil in his soul was deep and painful. Horus grappled with the realization that his kin were on the brink of fratricidal conflict, with humanity caught in the middle or to be used as pawns. He couldn't ignore the stark reality. A civil war loomed on the horizon, demanding decisive action. As he contemplated his next move, Horus was repulsed by the dark thoughts creeping into his mind once again.
Because he had to entertain certain realities, though he cherished his brothers and deeply loved humanity, Horus understood that duty sometimes demanded sacrifice. The welfare of the Imperium and its people had to take precedence above all else. Honor and loyalty compelled him to confront the grim reality before him, even as he struggled to reconcile his noble intentions with the abhorrent act he contemplated.
Such noble sentiments to justify a terrible deed.
"The end justifies the means" was a mantra often employed by the morally bankrupt, a convenient excuse used to absolve oneself of wrongdoing. Horus couldn't help but ponder how many revered saints and celebrated heroes throughout history found themselves in similar moral quandaries, their actions justified by the simple fact that they emerged victorious. After all, it was difficult for the dead to condemn your deeds from beyond the grave.
Caught in the throes of a similar dilemma, Horus grappled with the task of rationalizing his thoughts as he began to craft a plan. A plan that could potentially cripple two entire legions. Despite his efforts, the Primarch couldn't shake the creeping sense of descent into madness. Even his closest sons, those privy to his innermost circle, voiced doubts and concerns over the path he was treading.
It amused Horus to hear them merely "suggest" their objections as if trying to feign ignorance of the gravity of his intentions. Perhaps they were simply unwilling to acknowledge the grim reality of what lay ahead – the prospect of battling their own kin, of spilling the blood of their brethren.
Abaddon privately voiced his objections to Horus in a rare display of defiance. He warned of the potential fracturing within the Luna Wolves and cautioned against tarnishing the legion's honor. Despite his dissent, Abaddon pledged his unwavering loyalty, willing to follow Horus even into the darkest abyss.
Acknowledging the validity of Abaddon's concerns, Horus realized the need for an alternate perspective, someone who could provide clarity and strategic insight. The silver lining in the impending civil war was the solidarity among his disillusioned brothers. Many would rally to his cause in due time.
However, one brother stood out as a beacon of rationality amidst the chaos – Perturabo. Driven by logic and foresight, the Lord of Iron possessed a keen intellect and a knack for strategic planning. Horus suspected that Perturabo was aware of the Imperium's precarious state and had likely taken his own precautions.
Seeking his aid, Horus hoped for validation in his actions, though he grappled with uncertainty regarding the rightness of his course. Whatever path lay ahead, Horus hoped for reassurance that he was steering them all toward a better future. If not, he'd have to let history decide his fate.
A few weeks passed. Horus's thoughts were still of the shame and anxiety of murderous intentions. He wondered why he never felt this way about the number of worlds he put to the sword. Some sick joke, perhaps about the death of a single person, meant more than a statistical graph of a billion souls. Regardless, there was work to be done.
Perturabo required little prompting to arrange a direct audience with Horus. The War-Marshal found himself deeply engrossed in a crucial compliance alongside Ferrus and Fulgrim, a task deemed significant enough by the Imperium's upper echelons to warrant the attention of four Primarchs.
Fortuitously, Ferrus and Fulgrim remained weeks away from the designated rendezvous point, affording Horus ample opportunity to engage in private discourse with the Lord of Iron once the ceremonial formalities concluded. Adhering to the decorum befitting the Great Crusade was requisite, yet Horus recognized its dual purpose in maintaining appearances, even if Perturabo was unaware of this necessity.
But there was still more to be done. In the ensuing days, Horus and Perturabo devoted their energies to establishing a robust command structure for the compliance, familiarizing their officers with the mission's intricacies, and fine-tuning logistical arrangements. Discussions were hade with the Mechanicum representatives, and the heroes of their two legions wanted to hold a brief tournament.
Amidst the whirlwind of activity, Horus found a fleeting sense of solace in the tasks that occupied his mind and hands. It was a brief respite, a momentary distraction from the weight of impending decisions. He couldn't help but ponder whether he would one day reflect on these early days with a tinge of melancholy and regret.
Despite the pomp and ceremony surrounding them, Horus seized a rare moment to request a private audience with Perturabo, a proposition to which his brother responded with characteristic stoicism. Over the decades, Perturabo had undergone a profound transformation, evolving into a figure marked by efficiency and purpose rather than the disdainful aloofness of old.
Horus endeavored to initiate their conversation with customary pleasantries as they entered a secure chamber, meticulously fortified with wards from Kesar and salvaged technology from various compliances.
"Drink?" Horus offered, gesturing towards a meticulously crafted wooden cellarette.
The Lord of Iron declined with a raised hand. "No, thank you."
Horus poured himself generously, the amber liquid swirling gently in the glass. Perturabo's observation didn't escape his notice. "When did you start drinking?" the Lord of Iron inquired with a hint of curiosity.
"A few years ago," Horus replied somberly, his gaze fixed on the swirling contents of his glass. "After my first encounter with some denizens of the warp."
Perturabo nodded in understanding, his expression a mask of empathy. "That is a reasonable response," he offered, his tone devoid of judgment.
"Do you truly believe so?" Horus sank into his seat opposite Perturabo. Despite their imposing presence, both Primarchs were unarmored, a rarity that spoke of the intimacy of their conversation. "The fact that I still grapple with it after all these years... It weighs heavily on me."
Perturabo leaned back, his features softened by the flickering light. "You'd be surprised at the lengths men will go to cope with encounters with daemons and their ilk," he remarked, a flicker of distaste crossing his face. "In the grand scheme of things, one could acquire far worse vices."
Horus nodded thoughtfully before taking another sip of his drink. "I find the strong flavor serves as a distraction... helps keep certain thoughts at bay," he admitted, his gaze distant.
Perturabo regarded him with a knowing expression. "I tend to run simulations in my head," he confessed, his tone matter-of-fact. "And if that fails, I resort to calculations involving black holes and gravity. It's a frustrating exercise, but one I find strangely comforting."
Horus couldn't help but be intrigued by his brother's approach. "So, frustration takes the edge off for you?" he inquired, genuinely curious.
Perturabo nodded. "Be angry at superficial subjects in the face of damnation," he replied cryptically. "It's a way to channel that frustration into productive thinking."
Horus couldn't help but be impressed by Perturabo's unconventional philosophy. "I never thought of you embracing what almost sounds like whimsy," he remarked with a hint of amusement.
The Lord of Iron's expression softened slightly. "I've had to reassess how I approach challenges," he explained, a trace of pride in his voice. "There are many avenues to resolve a crisis of the self, or what some might call 'faith,' if we're being poetic."
"Naturally, you don't consider yourself a faithful man in that sense," Horus smirked as he took another sip from his drink.
"Forgive me for sounding pedantic," Perturabo began, his tone earnest, "but I put my faith in tested truths and hopeful hypotheses these days. There's comfort in the things I understand and hope for what I may learn someday."
Horus couldn't help but be struck by Perturabo's sincerity. "I'm actually starting to feel envious of you," he admitted, a tinge of admiration in his voice.
The Lord of Iron scoffed lightly. "You give me too much credit," he responded modestly.
Horus shook his head. "I'm not giving you enough, honestly," he insisted. "It's good to know that you're doing well, brother."
Perturabo shrugged a hint of humility in his demeanor. "Well enough," he remarked. "Too many setbacks in my activities and obstacles still require a deft hand. I don't want to take back the contents of my words, but I'm still the man I've always been."
Setting down his glass, Horus regarded Perturabo thoughtfully. "Do you feel bitter about what happened in the past?" he inquired, his tone gentle.
"I do," Perturabo admitted candidly. "But that is in the past. It might as well be another lifetime ago. We've all changed. Some for the better, some for the worse, and others have just... embraced certain aspects."
Horus understood the sentiment. The passage of time had transformed them all in profound ways. "And do you think you've changed for the better?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Better and worse," Perturabo replied cryptically, offering no further explanation. "What about you?"
Horus hesitated, grappling with his own self-assessment. "Me?" he repeated, his voice betraying uncertainty. "I don't know... No, that's a lie. I do know. I've gotten worse, I feel like."
"That's strange to hear from you," Perturabo observed, surprised. "Our most recent victories were quite sound and glorious."
"And that means something to me and those who fought for us. But for the rest of humanity and the Imperium? It does nothing for them," Horus countered somberly.
"We stopped the Hierarchy from purging entire systems. I dare say we saved many worlds," Perturabo argued, sensing that more was weighing on Horus's mind. "You're concerned about something else."
"I'm concerned about the Imperium. About Father and Malcador. About all of us," Horus replied quietly, his tone laden with worry. "The familiar specter of war returns, and I doubt it will be in our favor this time."
Perturabo furrowed his brow, trying to grasp the full extent of Horus's concerns. "If you are referencing the coup, I will admit that it highlights a series of problems none of us have addressed, but whatever happens to Corvus isn't your fault or mine, or anyone else's. He'd be the one to tell you that, even."
"It's not just him I'm worried about. Even if he still hates me, I respect his courage, even if it was misguided, to try and do something," Horus confessed, feeling the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. "I've been having thoughts, Pert. Dangerous ones. Unsightly ones. Worse yet, I know they aren't born of an intelligence that isn't my own."
His brother frowned, showing a hint of uncertainty. "So you say," Perturabo responded, his expression becoming more guarded. "I might not be the best person to share whatever concerns you have."
"Unfortunately, you are the only person that I feel I can," Horus admitted with a tinge of regret. "And for that, I am sorry. But if you are uncomfortable, we can simply end this conversation and pretend it never happened."
Perturabo snorted dismissively. "If I became uncomfortable at the thought of talking with a brother, then I would be much less inclined to do even a third of the unpleasant things I've had to do in my life," he remarked, fixing his gaze on Horus. "If you are looking for answers or someone to discuss whatever plagues your mind, I might not give you what you seek."
Horus shook his head resolutely. "If you have answers or advisement after what you hear, I shall listen gladly. If not, then you simply listening is more than enough."
"Is what to be discussed not to leave the room?" Perturabo inquired, his tone becoming more serious.
"Yes."
"How sensitive is it?" he pressed further.
"It involves potential treason and kinslaying," Horus admitted honestly, bracing for Perturabo's reaction. To his surprise, Perturabo merely nodded.
"Ah, I see," the Primarch responded calmly. He glanced back at the cellarette. "Is that offer for a drink still available?"
One doesn't just plan to commit treason on a whim. Horus had meticulously gathered significant evidence over months, poring over reports, double-checking data, and contemplating the implications. While a normal man might have recognized the trajectory and considered options, a Primarch had the intellect and foresight to see beyond the surface.
Insight and perspective often clashed with the cold numbers and statistics. There was a human element that couldn't be overlooked. Humanity hadn't persevered by simply observing graphs and conceding to imminent defeat. The human spirit allowed for the recognition that there was always another path, another solution.
Yet, Horus found that the choices presented to him were often grim, leading him to the one he now faced.
Civil war loomed on the horizon, an unavoidable consequence of the brewing tensions. Horus had gleaned from his operatives and spies on Terra that a confrontation between the Emperor and Vulkan was imminent, though he couldn't ascertain its outcome. If the Emperor chose to purge Vulkan and potentially Konrad's legions, along with their supporters, it would ignite widespread conflict among the loyal and the dissidents.
But it wasn't the prospect of conflict alone that troubled Horus, although it weighed heavily on his mind. No, what haunted him was the realization that if war erupted, he would be forced to choose sides, to fight against his own brothers.
In the face of this grim reality, Horus concluded that it was better to seize control and gain the upper hand on his own terms. He resolved that the only logical course of action would be to leverage the upcoming compliance to potentially eliminate Fulgrim and Ferrus, along with their legions, from the equation of civil war.
Seeking Perturabo's aid in planning and executing this scheme, Horus was effectively asking the Lord of Iron to become an accomplice to kinslaying, to murder.
It took several hours for Horus to lay out his plans and articulate his reasoning meticulously. Throughout this time, Perturabo remained silent, absorbing the wealth of data Horus had collected, some of which he had encountered in reports from Roboute. Even after Horus had concluded his exposition, the Lord of Iron refrained from posing questions.
Finally, Perturabo lifted his gaze from the data, his expression neutral yet weighted with gravity. "What you are proposing is utter madness," he began, his tone measured. "It's criminal. Dishonorable as well. It would undoubtedly cast you as a villain in the eyes of many."
Horus acknowledged this grim assessment with a hesitant nod. "Are you advising against proceeding with this course of action?" he inquired.
"I am neither endorsing nor dissuading you," Perturabo replied evenly. "However, I will offer this: It is not unwise to meticulously plan for such contingencies." Despite the condemnation inherent in his words, Perturabo refrained from outright condemning Horus. For a fleeting moment, a sliver of relief coursed through Horus, though he knew he should be consumed by shame.
Reflecting on Perturabo's response, Horus sought clarity. "Do you believe this warrants careful planning, then?"
"Based on the evidence presented, it would be prudent to consider the potential outcomes if your worst fears materialize," Perturabo responded, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. "You have already ventured into treasonous territory with your intentions. If you seek counsel grounded in evidence, then I would strongly advise you to prepare for conflict."
Perturabo maintained a composed facade, though Horus sensed the turmoil brewing beneath. "I need to know, do you concur with my assessment?" Horus pressed, seeking his brother's unfiltered thoughts.
"The evidence unequivocally points toward an impending internal conflict within the next decade, barring significant intervention," Perturabo replied, his tone measured. "At best, we face the prospect of a large-scale rebellion within the Imperial Army or the secession of several thousand worlds. At worst, we confront the grim reality of multiple Primarchs or factions within the Mechanicum declaring anti-Imperial sentiments and triggering a catastrophic civil war. Numerous potential flashpoints exist, but such a conflict would splinter our ranks into loyalist, rebel, and neutral factions."
He paused to take a contemplative sip of brandy before continuing. "Given these circumstances, I agree with your assertion that, should we choose to escalate, it must be on our terms. Regrettably, this may necessitate the elimination of certain potential…adversaries." Perturabo's voice trailed off, his expression pained at the thought of branding their brethren as enemies.
"Fulgrim and Ferrus," Horus interjected, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions. "They are not deserving of such a fate. They have served the Imperium with distinction and honor. How many times have we fought beside them? I tell myself that, but all I can think is, if this happens, what do I do next?"
Perturabo nodded solemnly, acknowledging the truth of Horus's words. "To kill them would be to eliminate a pair of exemplars of humanity," he concurred. "However, in the face of what is to come, sentimentality must yield to pragmatism. The question then becomes: How do we proceed with the necessary course of action?"
That was the question: How do you potentially kill two Primarchs and their legions?
Moirai was to be the site of their next compliance. Scouts from the 157th Expedition had already made contact with the planet and found it to be home to a peculiar cult known as the Trinity of Ages, who worshipped a trio of Titans. The planet's population seemed to have begun worshiping the Titans, claiming they represented the three ages of Humanity: the Age of Exploration, the Age of Technology, and the Age of Strife.
However, the Trinity of Ages was oblivious to the imminent decree from the Imperium's higher echelons: "Annihilate the Titans and exterminate the populace." This critical information remained concealed from the Moiraians, granting Fulgrim precious time to summon aid from Ferrus, Horus, and Perturabo while amassing intelligence on the planet's defenses. Moirai boasted a formidable military, bolstered by numerous Ordinatii—a daunting challenge for any single Primarch, but with four united on the battlefield, victory seemed plausible.
The only way it would truly be dangerous is if their forces were caught completely by surprise, but Fulgrim's agents had gotten an exceptional amount of data on the Moiraian defense. With this information, Perturabo and Horus started planning a possible decapitation strike on the 3rd and 10th Legions and their brothers.
Ferrus and Fulgrim would be part of the first wave, leading it from the front. The primary objective would be to take the primary defensive wall of the Moiraian capital hive, known as the Ageless Stones. Once this is taken, a second wave of the Luna Wolves and Iron Warriors would land, as now that the artillery and anti-air were silenced, more forces could be deployed safely.
In reality, the plan was to stagger the deployment of the second wave such that Fulgrim and Ferrus were better served by fording forward and for the Iron Warriors to shore up the backline with artillery and other heavy weapons aimed directly at the rear of the 3rd and 10th Legions, after which the Luna Wolves and Iron Warriors will be on the walls while their allies were within the hive itself facing the defenders.
At this point, things will get bad for all involved. Perturabo suggested that Horus inform the Trinity of Ages, informing them that the only reason this was happening was that the Emperor ordered this, and upon a successful repulsion, they would leave. Horus would also clarify that any captured Astartes would be safely handed over, and any executions would incur his wraith.
If all else failed, they could give the defenders bad intel and deal with them after everything concluded. Perturabo believed it would be best to have the Moiraians take the brunt of the casualties to make them second-guess backstabbing Horus.
Horus then suggested that he deploy Luna Wolves squads attached to the Primarchs to monitor their movements and activities better. This caused a bit of a discourse between Horus and Perturabo.
"I do not relish the idea of our sons being reduced to spies and saboteurs," Perturabo began, his brow furrowed with concern. "It's not merely a tactical consideration; it strikes at the core of our Legion's honor. If their actions were exposed, it could cast suspicion on all Astartes involved in exchange programs, jeopardizing trust and cohesion."
Horus listened intently, realizing the gravity of the situation. "You believe it would erode the trust built through the exchange program?"
"Precisely," Perturabo affirmed. "The program thrives on mutual respect and trust. If our warriors were perceived as acting against that trust, it could lead to widespread suspicion and division among the Legions."
Horus grimaced, acknowledging the unforeseen consequences. The prospect of a Legion civil war cast a shadow of doubt over every Astartes' loyalty, regardless of their Legion's reputation.
Perturabo proposed an alternative: deploying battle-automata with tracking capabilities. It seemed like an elegant solution until Horus pointed out the flaw—Ferrus and Fulgrim would quickly discern their purpose.
"True," Perturabo conceded, "But by then, it will be too late. We will have the information we need."
Horus sighed wearily, realizing the burden of responsibility. "I cannot involve you in this any further, Pert."
Perturabo's confusion turned to indignation. "What do you mean?"
"You cannot be implicated in this," Horus insisted. "I will bear the consequences alone."
Perturabo bristled at the suggestion. "And what good will that accomplish? We are in this together, Horus. I will not let you shoulder the blame alone."
Horus shook his head, weariness evident in his demeanor. "I am thinking of the future, Pert. You are the War-Marshal, respected by all. Your neutrality in this conflict, I believe, will be vital for any potential peace plan because you can make an argument based entirely on logic or at least force enough of us to hold council."
Perturabo met his brother's gaze with a steely resolve. "But it will leave you isolated," he retorted. "Not only politically, but also on the battlefield. We have yet to address the repercussions if Fulgrim and Ferrus evade capture or turn the tide against us. And what of the potential rebellion among our own ranks or the swift defeat of the Moiraians?"
"That will be something I handle," Horus answered succinctly.
However, the response elicited a look of anger from Pert. The Primarch caught himself, tempering his words. "Horus, there is no merit in sacrificing yourself needlessly when I am prepared to share this burden with you."
Horus smiled gently, his appreciation evident. "Your loyalty means the world to me, Pert. But I need you to prevent any rash actions. If the War-Marshal were to align himself from the outset, it would only fuel escalation. However, by maintaining neutrality and intervening only in cases of extreme necessity, it will serve as a deterrent to reckless behavior."
Perturabo hesitated, doubting his influence. "You overestimate my sway, Horus. Do you truly believe others will heed my counsel?"
Horus reached out, firm yet gentle. "You are not the same man you were half a century ago. You are the War-Marshal. You are the architect of victory in the Maelstrom War, a visionary, and a genius. Your words carry weight, Pert. Now more than ever, they can shape the course of events in our favor."
"So you say," Perturabo challenged Horus, his tone edged with skepticism, "But if I were to feel compelled to intervene on the side of the loyalists, you'd hold a potent leverage over me."
Horus wrestled with the implications, momentarily silenced by the weight of their conversation. Blackmail seemed trivial compared to the gravity of their discussions about fratricide.
"I concede that your plan has its merits despite my reservations," Perturabo continued, his expression grim. "But should I need to intervene in this treason, I will do so. In that event, brother, you would do well to accept my assistance."
"Very well, but I remain opposed to your proposal regarding the battle-automata," Horus replied firmly.
"Then you'll likely taint the exchange program entirely. A trifling thing when we weigh it next to all other crimes we've discussed." Perturabo wasn't wrong about that. "Just so we clear the air, if we carry out this plan and I find out that it was done so with ill intention, I don't care if you will tell the entire galaxy that I had a hand in the Gorgon and Phoenix's death because I will ensure that the next time you and I met, it will only be as enemies."
"Of course." Horus knew the stakes, "If the stars are merciful, this entire plan will be kept between only a dozen people, including you and me."
Perturabo didn't look entirely satisfied with that answer, "I've come to believe that the only mercy in this galaxy exists at the whims of creatures who merely ignored the concept. Nevertheless, this plot is necessary if we've all reached the point of no return."
"The point of no return." It sounded so final to Horus. "The Imperium will either survive or die in the end. If it survives, it will never be the same." Horus felt psychological nausea as he realized the weight of their plot succeeding or failing, yet a troubling sense of relief washed over him. "I really hope we are doing the right thing," Horus remarked to Perturabo.
"We are doing the correct thing in the face of mounting evidence. But correct doesn't mean right or even wrong," Perturabo answered, his voice tinged with resignation. "We've both done terrible things because it was the correct way to obtain success or victory. What constitutes as being right, though, I've often found to be a multifaceted issue. In that sense, following a valid course of action is often the most uncomplicated."
Horus couldn't help but grimace, grappling with the moral implications. "I wonder what that says about us."
"Which criteria of 'us' are you referring to?" Perturabo inquired.
"You and me. Ferrus and Fulgrim. Our brothers and sons. The Emperor and Malcador. Humanity." He leveled a pointed gaze at Perturabo. "Do you think we've taken the correct path to victory at the cost of something greater?"
"The path to victory can cost a man quite a bit of his sanity if the price is too high." the Lord of Iron remarked, his tone somber. "But I would wager that all life will take the most unobstructed and uncomplicated path toward survival and growth. Do we have the ability to choose or construct a path that is both morally right and pragmatically correct? I believe so. Does the galaxy let us? No. I've seen enough to realize that no one can grant us salvation without conditions attached."
"Only we can save ourselves," Horus remarked, his voice heavy with resignation. "A nice sentiment. But it sounds like we are just making excuses, then."
Perturabo nodded gravely. "I've found that is often the case. Sentimentality keeps us grounded, but it can blind us as well. Does one brother killing another justify their actions? Depends on the circumstances. Yet I'd argue that in any instance, regardless of cause or reason, either man is tainted in that outcome."
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," Horus muttered, feeling the weight of their predicament settle heavily upon him. His right hand clenched into a fist, betraying the turmoil within. "Vulkan and Konrad might be thinking the same thing. Corvus probably as well."
"I can say, though only through personal attestation, that you and they aren't the only ones thinking that. Take what little comfort you can get from that," Perturabo offered, though his words brought little solace.
Horus couldn't find comfort in the knowledge that others shared his burden. Even after the meeting concluded, the first of many more to come, sadly, the Lupercal had to face the reality of his plot. The only control he had was either to carry it out or not. Because he still had a choice. That was the most crucial point to remember. He could not go through with this, regardless of what came next.
The moment Horus told himself that he had "no choice" would be the moment that he knew he was damned. He could not allow it. But the Primarch wondered if it would be the only "correct" solution when the time came.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, another omake.
New Blood and Sparks (Must Read)
I'm making good progress on my omakes it seems.
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New Blood and Sparks
It had been 30 years since Lord-General Indomitius Alden had last seen Oaharai, let alone stepped foot on it. Such as it was, he almost became numb to the feeling of never seeing home again. And yet, Alden often found himself not thinking about it these days.
He thought it a betrayal at first. That Alden had forgotten the sacrifices of his comrades and his people. Even after joining the Eldar, he promised himself that he'd never give up on the hope of returning to his beautiful Oaharai, no matter how fleeting.
Yet time moved forward, and rather than find misery and despair, their people found new purpose and joy. There had been hard-won victories, and in some cases, they had done good work for the Eldar, fighting foes that were so vile that it felt like they had done something worthwhile for the galaxy.
Losses were mourned, for war was a brutal teacher, but amid the struggles, there emerged opportunities for retirement, although no Fire Hunter ever stopped being a soldier. Many found roles in rear echelons, contributing to garrison duties, logistical endeavors, training programs, and civic projects. The Eldar were always hungry for new human instructors.
Amidst these changes, Alden witnessed the passing of the torch. New faces replaced old among his command staff, and soldiers who once served as young privates rose to the ranks of captains and majors, their hair now touched with silver, their ranks of descendants growing. It was a strange but wonderful feeling. Their culture and tradition were being passed down.
There had been an agreement to remove the fraternization restriction. Granted, certain social norms had to be respected, and rank had to be considered before all else. That didn't stop people from trying. It was equally strange to see the tech-priests who had come with the Oaharaians all those years ago loosening up.
Georgius and Kati now had two children, a testament to the union between a tech-priestess mother and an agnostic father—an unlikely pairing that seemed to embody the boundless wonders of the universe. Alden and Luci were affectionately regarded as "grandparents" by the young ones.
Such comments caused Luci and Alden to agree to get married finally.
The new generation of Oaharaians, dubbed "emberborne" in homage to their regiment, grew up amidst tales of their ancestral homeworld, Oaharia. However, it was a distant legend to them—a place of myth and memory passed down through their parents. Yet, despite never having set foot on Oaharia soil, its legacy remained a powerful unifying force among the emberborne. History became their shared heritage, a common thread that bound them together as they mingled with other human cultures.
However, amidst the camaraderie and shared history, Alden couldn't ignore a pressing concern. The Fire Hunters faced a looming shortage of native-born Oaharaians, the lifeblood of their regiment. Despite their resilience, skill, and determination, their numbers dwindled with each passing campaign.
There was a grand total of three million Oaharaian exiles still alive. Not bad for a penal regiment destined to die on some faraway battlefield like the Imperium wanted. Meanwhile, the supposed enemies of humanity had treated them better than anyone could have hoped for, but the Aeldari also put their vassals to work.
Alden didn't mind. But that didn't stop the losses. The casualties and retirements meant a steady and noticeable decline in personnel more than anything. Of the 70% no longer in it, 20% died, and the other 50% retired to easier positions over time. The most recent campaign caused the largest drive of retires, and Alden couldn't blame them.
No one wanted to talk about Gynok. The levels of human depravity got so bad that even allied Druhkari had to get involved. Alden had seen a lot of dark things in his time, but Gynok was something foul.
Pushing such dark thoughts aside, the Fire Hunters were left with choices. By the grace of whatever gods and the warp, their officer corps was still incredibly strong, and future generations would retain their skill level, but they still needed bodies. The irony was palpable in some sense.
Two decades prior, Alden grappled with the daunting challenge of sustaining their logistical train to support their tanks and troops. Now, they enjoyed the luxury of first pick for every tool and asset necessary for waging war, courtesy of their Aeldari allies. Even specialized ammunition, including Wraithbone shells, entered their arsenal. Remarkably, a select group of elite Oaharaians was undergoing training to pilot a new super-heavy tank equipped with a Displacer Cannon—a testament to the Fire Hunters' unique position in the human auxiliaries.
Yet, at the current attrition rate, the Fire Hunters would be at half-strength within a generation or less, depending on if the next major battle went bad for all of them. The clock was ticking, and thus, a solution had to be found. Once more, Alden went to the Aeldari for aid.
Unsurprisingly, the Aeldari had options for him. More importantly, they had an offer and opportunity. Recent developments had seen them with a windfall of new armies and commanders, but it was disorganized. It was sort of funny to Alden. Made him think of a farmer getting in over their heads after getting a bunch of animals and discovering just how much of a mess it was to get them all squared away.
Such amusing thoughts aside, the Aeldari wanted the Fire Hunters to take on a large contingent of soldiers from a world called Shamballa. These soldiers were part of the Shamballa Royal Expeditionary Corps, all veterans of their war against Mathlann and its daemonic host. They came highly recommended by the Howling Banshees shrine, meaning Alden had to take them regardless of any objections he might have had.
That was the problem with the Aeldari. Their "insinuations" and "suggestions" were often cleverly disguised orders. Disobeying them puts you at risk. No one spurred a favor of the Aspect Shrines. Otherwise, you ran the risk of not getting their aid and instead just their ire.
All that said, the Fire Hunters would be reinforced with five million Shamballans. In that case, the idea would be for the Oaharaians to slowly transition toward full-time leadership and elite troop detachments within the regiment. Sounded doable enough. The issue that Alden saw was naturally trying to bridge the gap between the two cultures, but the Fire Hunters had accumulated their own tech-priests into the fold.
The Shamballans were soldiers. As were the Oaharaians. Soldiers tended to bond better when they weren't killing each other. To that end, Alden was asked for one more favor by the Aeldari…
Somewhere in a world known as Laron IV
It was curious to consider that the Eldar found Laron IV unsuitable for their refined tastes, but Alden attributed it to the Aeldari's discerning nature. Nevertheless, Laron IV held a familiar charm for the Lord-General, reminiscent of home—a sentiment that prompted the Oaharaians to settle there alongside neighboring groups.
Laron IV boasted a temperate climate, its wilderness untamed and inviting. Discovered by the Aeldari during scouting expeditions, it proved a promising prospect for their human auxiliaries. Humanity wasted no time, swiftly constructing cities and industries to support future governance.
It offered the promise of prime land for settlers like Georgius and Kati. They chose a picturesque parcel near the designated capital, envisioning it as their own slice of paradise, even if Kati had to make some improvements, such as installing a shrine to the Machine God.
Despite Alden's aversion to unexpected visits, the warmth of familial reunion was undeniable. The Lord-General and his wife spent cherished moments with Georgius, Kati, and their children before Alden and Georgius slipped away for a private conversation.
"I'm considering starting a fishing enterprise," Georgius disclosed as they strolled by a large lake his family now owned, "Though I wouldn't be the one running it—I'd invest in it. Just be something to do in the meanwhile."
Alden chuckled, "Since when did you take up fishing?"
"Just started about a month ago," Georgius replied with a smirk. "It's surprisingly relaxing."
"I can imagine," Alden nodded, reflecting on the importance of leisure amidst duty. "A welcome diversion from work."
"Exactly. Plus, it's a great way to spend time with the kids," Georgius added, acknowledging the demands of their roles within the regiment.
"Yes, family time is invaluable," Alden agreed, mindful of the sacrifices made by his trusted friends amidst the regiment's restructuring. "Events are unfolding swiftly."
Georgius nodded, his gaze drifting towards his home. "Kati's been focused on upgrading the Chariot. It's still our most formidable asset, but it needs attention. And officer training isn't straightforward either."
Alden understood the challenges faced by his friends, particularly amidst the influx of new responsibilities. "On that note, I've been approached by the Aeldari—they're planning to establish a war academy for their auxiliaries. They offered me a teaching position, but I suggested you for the role instead, both here and at the academy."
"What?" Georgius appeared bewildered. "But why here? And why my name?"
"This place may seem remote, but a war academy could bring considerable growth, especially since this has one of the largest contingents of our people," Alden explained. "Besides, you're one of our finest field and tank commanders. Your expertise is invaluable."
Georgius paused, incredulous. "You're replacing me as XO of the regiment?"
"More like reassigning," Alden clarified, though he couldn't deny the truth of it. "But yes, essentially, that's the case. The Aeldari are adamant about having a Shamballan as my second. At first, I was hesitant, but then I realized it could serve a dual purpose. With certain conditions attached, I could have you focus on training the next generation while being here with your family."
"But Kati-" Georgius began, concern etched in his features.
"Kati will remain here as well," Alden reassured him. "Her expertise with the Mechanicum, particularly those more open to collaboration with Xenos, is invaluable. Besides, her leadership as the lead Prime Enginseer here will strengthen our position."
Georgius seemed poised to argue further. "Indomitius, we've been through too much, even before the exile, to simply part ways now."
"You won't be alone," Alden insisted, gesturing towards their home. "I'll have Luci and the others with me. And this assignment is temporary—twenty years, give or take. I expect both you and Kati to return with significantly honed skills."
"Twenty years?" Georgius frowned, clearly displeased. "That's... quite a commitment."
Alden chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't let the timeline deter you. Just because your children call me grandpa doesn't mean I'm that old. Remember, we can live for over 500 years with Eldar rejuvenation treatments. So what's twenty years? Especially if it means seeing your kids grow up?"
He offered a reassuring pat on Georgius's shoulder. "There aren't many of us left. Your decision to stay here and help train a new generation of soldiers and tankers means more than you realize. Oaharai may be lost to us, but we can still pass on the knowledge and values our ancestors instilled in us. Establishing the means to do so is crucial."
Georgius appeared uncertain. "I'm uncomfortable leaving you with strangers to watch your back." He regarded Alden with a questioning gaze. "What do we really know about Shamballa?"
"From what I've gathered, they possess a deep loyalty to the Eldar," Alden replied, recalling the tidbits he'd heard. "They seem to value honor and integrity, perhaps to an extreme degree. But that also suggests they understand the importance the Aeldari place on the Fire Hunters."
Alden turned his gaze back to the lake, contemplating the future. "And let's not forget—one of their Aspect Shrines is vouching for them."
"That does count for something, doesn't it?" Georgius acknowledged.
"I certainly hope so," Alden murmured, a hint of uncertainty coloring his tone. You never knew what it was like regarding different human cultures these days.
Sometime later, on Shamballa…
As Alden gazed down at Shamballa from the vantage point of orbit, he couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle unfolding below. It was as if the Eldar had spared no expense in repaying their debts, for the world almost seemed to hum with the promise of something glorious. A myriad of Aeldari vessels and orbital structures dotted the space above it, while the bustling activity of human ships added to the activity.
From his position on the bridge of his ship, he got a good look at this world, and even from this distance, it was a captivating blend of natural beauty and technological marvels. Below, the sprawling cities twinkled like jewels against the backdrop of lush greenery and shimmering bodies of water. He had been told there were still scars from the war against Mathlann's deluge, but the Eldar seemed to have done well on their promise to restore and transform Shamballa into something better.
Upon descending to the surface, Alden was greeted by a grand procession of Shamballa and Eldar dignitaries, their regal bearing a testament to the world's newfound prosperity. Over the course of sixteen days, he was immersed in a whirlwind of celebrations and meetings, each moment offering glimpses into Shamballa culture.
Given the chance to explore it further, he ventured into the heart of Shamballan civilization; Alden found himself impressed by the sheer magnitude of their achievements in such a short time, but he also chalked it up to the Aeldari support. The people had rebuilt if there had ever been a war for survival. It made him wonder if the Imperium had even provided a tenth of the support to help with Oaharai's recovery.
Towering spires of gleaming metal reached toward the sky, their sleek forms blending seamlessly with the natural landscape. Advanced plasma reactors and fusion engines hummed with power while pollution-free factories churned out goods with remarkable efficiency. Farms stretched as far as the eye could see, their bounty enough to sustain Shamballa and countless other worlds. Alden marveled at seeing so many hovercraft gliding effortlessly through the air, their graceful movements.
And because they clearly cared about their presence in this world. Alden saw fortresses of wraithbone that rose like ethereal sentinels, their presence a permanent reminder of the world's alliance with the Eldar. Alden could even feel the faint hum of psychic energy emanating from these structures, a sensation that stirred memories of his time within the hallowed halls of the Black Library.
He saw things subtly hidden in plain sight among these fortresses—runes to their gods and what looked to be wards as well. Alden slowly realized that many were, in actuality, more likely temples to Khaine, Morai-Heg, and even the Phoenix Lord, Jain Zar. The Shamballa had every right and reason to start worshiping the Aeldari gods, but even Alden thought that was a bit much.
Then again, if the Aeldari brought this prosperity and growth to Oaharai, why wouldn't the people begin to see their gods as their own? Humanity was too often swayed by the promises of power and wealth from supposed leaders claiming to have their best interests at heart. Alden knew that the Eldar expected much from Shamballa for all this, but he also realized that the Eldar didn't necessarily need them.
But Alden also knew enough that the Craftworlders would neither be tyrannical nor heavyhanded in their rule. Before all else, the Aeldari wanted a disciplined and motivated army of humans. He figured it was a pittance for the Eldar to give out technology and aid like this. Return on investment seemed to be strongly in their favor…
Sometime later…
As Alden arrived at the imposing Drakar Citadel, the grandeur of its architecture and the aura of disciplined orderliness that greeted him instantly reminded him of the regimented decorum he had known back on Oaharai. This fortress, serving as the administrative hub and training grounds for the Shamballa Royal Expeditionary Corps, exuded an air of martial significance and strategic importance.
Instead of being greeted by the entire five million-strong Expeditionary Corps, Alden was met by a select company of 25,000 soldiers. However, it was immediately evident to Alden that this was no ordinary company; each soldier bore wraithbone daggers at their sides, marking them as an elite unit among the Shamballan forces.
Alden finally encountered his new executive officer. With a demeanor that exuded confidence and competence, the officer approached Alden with a respectful nod. His tannish complexion hinted at a life spent under the Shamballan sun, reminiscent of a seasoned farmer. He also noticed that, unlike his fellows, this one had a wraithbone sword at his side.
"Lord-General Alden," the officer addressed him in accented Low Gothic, "I am Keeper Tenzin Chakrin of the Royal Rigden Fusiliers. It is a privilege to meet you finally."
Alden couldn't help but wonder what impressions the Aeldari had conveyed to Tenzin and the other Shamballans. Then again, considering the Fire Lord's arrival clad in his bespoke Aeldari armor, it seemed these people esteemed those who garnered the most extravagant displays of favor.
"The privilege is all mine," Alden replied warmly, extending his hand to shake Tenzin's. "The Eldar spoke highly of you. Not many regiments can boast the favor of a Phoenix Lord."
"Just as few can claim the recognition of the Great Seer, like the Fire Hunters," Tenzin remarked, motioning for Alden to follow as they embarked on a sort of parade tour of the Fusiliers. These elite infantrymen were undoubtedly valuable, yet Alden knew that most of the expeditionary corps would eventually transition into tank warfare.
"I see they all carry wraithbone knives," Alden observed, unable to stifle his curiosity.
"A symbol of their battlefield prowess," Tenzin explained, gesturing toward one of the soldiers who appeared as seasoned as Georgius. "In addition to combat experience, each Fusilier must be sponsored by a family that lost a member during the Deluge. Then, they must either survive a one-on-one duel with a Banshee for five minutes or draw first blood."
It was an intriguing vetting process, Alden noted. Beyond proving their mettle in combat, each Fusilier had to earn the respect of their comrades and the civilians of their world, culminating in a trial to win the approval of the Aeldari.
"I couldn't help but notice your sword, as opposed to a dagger," Alden remarked.
Tenzin nodded in acknowledgment. "I drew first blood in my duel."
Alden sensed there was more to the story. "You're the only one to have achieved that?"
"Oh, no," Tenzin replied with evident pride. "Many among the men and women you see here have accomplished the same feat. It's just that I drew first blood against an Exarch."
"A noteworthy achievement indeed," Alden remarked, understanding the significance of such a feat.
Tenzin exuded an aura of danger, undoubtedly an exceptionally capable commander. Yet, Alden couldn't shake the feeling that Georgius possessed superior strategic acumen.
As they inspected the Fusiliers, Alden posed a few questions, eliciting the standard responses expected from soldiers meeting a foreign general: loud, disciplined, and respectful. However, he couldn't ignore the undercurrent of tension among the soldiers in the Fire Lord's presence—an odd observation he couldn't quite decipher.
"Tenzin, what tales have the Aeldari spun about me?" Alden inquired once they were out of earshot of the Fusiliers. "Because it seems your men are... uneasy around me."
"They are," Tenzin confirmed with a nod. "We received detailed reports of your triumphs and exploits, not only from the Aeldari but also from the Imperium."
"And that warrants such reverence?" Alden pressed, genuinely curious.
"It does," Tenzin affirmed. "Besides, you're being modest. You've faced daemons, Astartes, humans, aliens, machines, and even confronted an entity you deemed the Nowhere King—a foe that would challenge even the Aeldari."
"Well, my people didn't fare well against the Astartes," Alden admitted.
"And mine would have undoubtedly fallen to the Deluge if not for the intervention of the Phoenix Lord and her kin," Tenzin conceded. "Victories and defeats define us. I dare say the defeats from which you can emerge only strengthen your experience more than any victory could."
Alden couldn't necessarily disagree with Tenzin's outlook. However, he harbored reservations about the reverence being shown to him. Experience had taught him that the luster of living legends often faded with time. Nonetheless, Alden found himself genuinely impressed with the Fusiliers.
Tenzin's next remark caught his attention. "The Fire Hunters were primarily an armored regiment. Rest assured, while the Fusiliers are more elite infantry, the rest of the Corps shall endeavor to maintain Oaharaian standards."
Alden chuckled at the notion. "These days, the Fire Hunters are more of a mixed regiment of mechanized and armored units. I doubt it will ever revert to being solely composed of tankers."
"Perhaps not," Tenzin conceded. "But the Aeldari have a unique approach to armored warfare, as you can imagine. As a token of respect from the Royal Expeditionary Corps, we would like your officers and crews to train alongside ours for a special project granted to us by the Aeldari."
Intrigued, Alden pressed for more information. "What sort of special project?"
The collaboration between the Shamballans and the Aeldari was evident in the remarkable prototype Tenzin showcased to Alden.
Dubbed the "Snow Lion," its name pays homage to the royal family's emblem, symbolizing celestial origins rooted in ancient Earth mythology. As Alden admired its sleek design and hovering capability, Tenzin explained its unique features.
"It's remarkable," Alden remarked, taking in the Snow Lion's impressive aesthetics. "But it seems to lack Aeldari weaponry."
Tenzin nodded, steering the tank through the test grounds with practiced ease. "That's right. The Aeldari are cautious about sharing their advanced armaments."
Alden leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, the Fire Hunters managed to secure access to a Displacer Cannon. It seems like we've become their favorites."
Tenzin chuckled in agreement. "Seems so. The Aeldari have their ways."
Alden couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected exchange of military secrets between their forces. "How many Snow Lions do you plan to produce?"
"Just this one for now," Tenzin admitted. "Building more will take time, but this prototype is ready for field testing."
As they prepared for a live-fire exercise, Alden quickly realized that the Snow Lion operated on a different principle than conventional tanks like the Olympia. Stepping into the gunner suite, he immediately noticed the absence of standard HEAT or HEAP shells, which had been replaced by an unfamiliar power distribution system.
"Is this using a lascannon?" Alden inquired, examining the unique setup.
"Coil," Tenzin clarified. "This vehicle isn't designed for traditional tank warfare. It's more suited for engaging heavily armored infantry."
"Troops in power armor?" Alden ventured.
Tenzin nodded. "Astartes, Wraithguard, Daemons, cyborgs—the Snow Lion is meant to take down any formidable opponent from a safe distance."
"A sniper tank," Alden mused.
"More like a marksman tank," Tenzin corrected. "It's part of a coordinated strategy, providing precision fire support. The targeting system alone took us years to perfect, and that's where the Snow Lion truly excels."
To demonstrate, Alden took aim at moving targets and was impressed by the accuracy, speed, and range of the Coil Cannon. However, he also noted its limitations.
"It's fast, accurate, and powerful," Alden observed, "but lacks real armor. And the recharge time between shots leaves it vulnerable."
Tenzin nodded in agreement. "It's a glass cannon—potent but fragile. Improving its stealth capabilities and durability would require significant redesign, perhaps even incorporating Wraithbone technology. But that is a rather difficult allowance to make at this time."
"The reward of innovation is often that of disappointment," Alden remarked, recalling a warning that Kati liked to give. "The ancients probably had something better. But we aren't the ancients and don't have any alternatives. As far as I am concerned, you must make more of these Snow Lions."
Tenzin seemed relieved to hear the Fire Lords praise, "Shamballa has influence over two entire forge worlds, but those factories and forges are being used to produce tried and true equipment and weapons. If you can put forward a recommendation at some point, it might go a long way to sway my peers."
"Wouldn't they listen to you more than anything?" Alden inquired. "I don't have any sway with your government."
"Those closely aligned or highly regarded by the Aeldari hold significant influence," Tenzin cautioned. "Be mindful of your words and actions, even with harmless intentions. Some of my people are deeply devoted."
"Devoted how?" Alden pressed for clarification.
"You'll understand when you meet the expeditionary Aspect Heralds," Tenzin replied enigmatically.
Alden made a mental note to look into this further, especially if he wanted to prevent any issues between the Shamballans and Oaharaians. Still, this information was strange. How much stock did people here put into soldiers like Alden or Tenzin, who seemed to have the favor of the Eldar?
The rest of the tour of Drakar Citadel concluded smoothly. Tenzin and the Fusiliers were a seamless fit with the Fire Hunter elites and commanders. While the remaining expeditionary corps remained untested, Alden harbored hope for their potential.
As night descended upon Shamballa, a message arrived for Alden, bearing word that the regent of this world—the Phoenix Lord—desired a private audience with him. Tenzin regarded this as a great honor, but Alden couldn't shake the feeling that it might entail certain expectations from the Eldar.
His shuttle ride to the fortress temple of Jain Zar proceeded without incident. Even when informed that he was to meet with the Phoenix Lord alone, his entourage voiced concerns, but Alden dismissed them. He doubted she intended any harm.
If Jain Zar wished him dead, Alden reckoned he would already be. So, as he navigated through the wraithbone and crystal halls, he found the architecture, though beautiful, failed to captivate him. Having spent ample time in the Black Library, Aeldari interiors held little novelty for him.
The absence of Aeldari in the halls didn't unsettle Alden. In the Black Chambers of the library, he knew the Harlequins, and their master watched his every move. It was always disconcerting, particularly encountering Pagliacci the Joyless.
That individual unnerved Alden more than the Nowhere King. He had conversed with shell-shocked troopers who exhibited more joy than Pagliacci. Once, he inquired if Pagliacci was one of the Solitaire, but a Harlequin denied it, explaining that he was simply an Aeldari devoid of laughter and joy.
Such remarks gave Alden pause because the Aeldari seldom exaggerated their negative traits, often out of vanity but also to warn others. They meant it if they asserted that Pagliacci could no longer experience joy. It underscored Alden's caution when interacting with Aeldari leaders, especially considering the reputation of the Phoenix Lords as beings akin to Primarchs or demigods, with minds and aspirations beyond mortal comprehension.
A pair of towering wraithbone gates briefly barred Alden's path before gracefully parting to reveal a spacious chamber beyond. At its heart sat a figure of graceful menace, Jain Zar, the Phoenix Lord of the Howling Banshees Shrine, upon a throne crafted from wraithbone with the delicate intricacy of coral.
Jain Zar embodied deadly elegance, her presence as immaculate and ethereal as the Harlequins had described. Yet, despite her regal bearing, Alden sensed an undercurrent of boredom, as if she awaited the mundane offerings of court petitioners to punctuate her otherwise eventful existence.
Even in her apparent repose, Jain Zar's authority loomed large, with Zhai Morenn and Jainas Mor poised within her orbit. Alden noted that any dismissal from her court would likely not bode well for the departing individual—a chilling reminder of the Phoenix Lord's unforgiving nature. There was nothing more daunting than a queen poised to unleash her wrath.
With no other attendees present, Alden pondered the appropriate courtly decorum. Opting for a stance of parade rest, he addressed her with deference, "Lord-General Indomitius Alden of the Fire Hunters, reporting as per your summons."
A moment of silence lingered before Jain Zar's voice, regal and resonant like distant thunder, filled the chamber, "Summons, indeed. If we are to indulge in pleasantries." She rose from her throne with a fluid motion, accentuating her towering stature compared to other Aeldari.
"I am surprised you did not prioritize our meeting," Jain Zar remarked as she closed the distance between them. "Many would consider it an obligation to pay homage to the ruler of a world, particularly when extended an invitation."
Alden offered a nonchalant shrug. "I found myself engrossed in discussions with your esteemed lords and generals, your grace," he replied, recalling the advice imparted to him by the Harlequins. "And I was informed you have little patience for empty flattery and hollow pleasantries."
"Hmm..." Jain Zar's expression betrayed a hint of contemplation. "I value action over words, especially from those who profess allegiance to my cause." As she trailed a slender finger of Zhai Morenn along the smooth wraithbone floor, a faint, eerie scraping filled the chamber, sending a subtle shiver down Alden's spine.
"I wished to ascertain the individual leading my forces," she continued.
"I trust you have already acquainted yourself with the particulars of my background," Alden replied evenly.
Jain Zar offered no immediate response, instead circling Alden thoughtfully. "You possess a certain proficiency in warfare," she observed.
"Your acknowledgment is appreciated," Alden replied, keeping his gaze fixed ahead as she moved around him. "Does this suggest particular expectations on your part?"
"Hardly," Jain Zar responded, her tone enigmatic. "Mere prowess in combat holds little significance to me. I am more intrigued by the facets of your character beyond the battlefield."
Alden's curiosity piqued, unsure of the Phoenix Lord's intentions. "And what aspects of my character interest you?" he inquired cautiously.
The Phoenix Lord stood before him, her mask lending an unsettling aura. "What drives you to continue to fight?" she asked, her voice tinged with a curious expectation. "You have an intensity in your soul that goes beyond your duty."
Jain Zar awaited Alden's response. Yet his answer was simple, borne from a genuine place within him. "I fight because I feel a responsibility towards those who followed me out of Oaharai," he stated firmly.
But his response seemed to fall short of her expectations. "Do you truly believe that?" she questioned, her tone tinged with skepticism.
Alden's brows furrowed slightly. "Is there reason to doubt it?" he countered.
"I do," Jain Zar replied before returning to her throne. "Or perhaps you are unwilling to acknowledge the truth within your heart."
Alden was left momentarily speechless, uncertain how to respond. "If my answer is unsatisfactory, I trust it will not impede my role in leading your forces," he stated, attempting to maintain a diplomatic tone.
The Banshee Queen regarded him with a lazy gaze. "It will not," she assured him. "I am merely disappointed. Perhaps you will undergo a transformation in time, but for now, you lack the intrigue Eldrad had suggested."
"I apologize for any disappointment I may have caused," Alden offered earnestly, unwilling to provoke the ire of a Phoenix Lord. "Is there anything else you require of me?"
"Nothing," Jain Zar replied, her tone dismissive. "Unless you have questions for me."
"In fact, I have an observation to share," Alden interjected. "Or perhaps a word of advice, if you will. It concerns Shamballa."
The Phoenix Lord's interest was piqued. "Please, continue."
Alden's expression softened into a thoughtful smile. "Do not allow random humans to arrive on this world, particularly from the Imperium, unless they have been thoroughly vetted," he cautioned.
Jain Zar's curiosity was evident as she regarded him. "Explain."
"Shamballa enjoys unparalleled prosperity, even after enduring a daemonic incursion and the loss of billions of lives," Alden elaborated. "The Aeldari may view this as a gift to the Shamballans, but to others, it may seem like an opportunity or a threat."
He paused, considering the implications. "These people live in a paradise that most of humanity can only dream of. And while it may not have been the Aeldari's intention, it could attract unwanted attention. The Imperium or other factions may covet Shamballa's prosperity, leading to conflict. Alternatively, the Shamballans may feel compelled to share their abundance, inadvertently sparking conflicts elsewhere."
Jain Zar listened intently, her expression unreadable. "These challenges will be for the Shamballans to face," she replied calmly. "They have endured their trials and will determine the lessons they glean from them."
Alden felt a flicker of anger rise within him, swiftly suppressed. "You are setting them up for conflict," he countered. "Conflict that may one day engulf them if the Imperium or other powers deem Shamballa worthy of conquest. Or if the Shamballans decide to spread their prosperity to other worlds."
The Banshee Queen remained unperturbed. "These are challenges for the Shamballans to confront," she reiterated. "They have emerged from their crucible, and it is for them to decide their path forward. It is a prospect your people have faced, albeit from a different perspective - defeat and devastation."
Alden's anger simmered beneath the surface, though he maintained his composure. Jain Zar seemed momentarily intrigued by his emotional response before her expression shifted as if she had realized something exciting.
"There was a spark there," she noted, her tone tinged with interest. "A faint glimmer of anger and resentment. The bitter taste of ignoble defeat."
He didn't respond immediately; Alden held the Phoenix Lord's gaze with defiance and curiosity. Was this some sort of test, or was Jain Zar genuinely probing into his psyche?
"You're right," he admitted after a moment, his tone steady. "I have faced defeat and carry the weight of it daily. But dwelling on the past won't change anything."
The sharp impact of Zhai Morenn hitting the ground startled him, and Alden felt a surge of pain pierce his skull, momentarily disorienting him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision as Jain Zar's voice echoed in his mind.
"Don't cower before me like a defeated general," she admonished, her words cutting through the tension in the chamber.
Alden gritted his teeth. "I don't know what you expect from me," he retorted, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Oaharai is lost. My allegiance lies with the Eldar now. The Imperium—"
"The Imperium is crumbling," Jain Zar interrupted, her voice ringing with certainty. "In time, it will fall, consumed by its own decay."
That was the first time Alden heard about this. A feeling of hope bloomed in his chest, along with the familiar feeling of anger, but once more, the Fire Lord stomped upon those thoughts.
"The Fire Hunters serve the Eldar now. Are you expecting me to run off with my forces one day to try and liberate my homeworld?"
"Perhaps." Jain Zar sounded almost hopeful, "I might even join you if you impress me enough. It would be a fool's endeavor now, but perhaps someday you could achieve victory as the galaxy burns."
Alden didn't understand what was happening here, "Why do you care? Why would you ever care about the fate of my people or Oaharai?"
"You think I care about your people or some insignificant world?" The Banshee Queen sounded almost insulted at the thought, "Once more, humanity remains blind to their own potential." She remarked with mirth.
"You have a spark of greatness, Indomitius Alden. And someday, you will use that spark to light a firestorm within the soul of an individual who will become a living legend of their time. But you hamstring yourself and impede your potential because of the shame and guilt of losing against demigods. But you allow shame and guilt to hold you back. You trade ambition for complacency, stifling your own potential."
Alden felt an indignation rising within him, mingled with a flicker of self-doubt. "I serve the Eldar faithfully," he insisted. "What more could you ask of me?"
"You seek validation in service," Jain Zar observed, her tone almost pitying. "But true respect must be earned. Embrace your ambition. Embrace your ambition. Unleash your potential. Use your fury. Only then will you truly honor the Aeldari and me."
As Jain Zar's piercing words reverberated in the chamber, Alden felt the weight of her scrutiny bearing down on him. "I don't need your validation," he shot back, his voice laced with defiance. "Everything I do, I do for my people. That's all that matters to me."
The Phoenix Lord regarded him with a knowing gaze, her eyes probing deeper. "And what about the future of those you left behind?" she pressed, her words striking a chord within Alden.
He paused, grappling with the weight of her question. What about the future of Oaharai, the dreams he had abandoned along with his people? Could he truly justify his actions, or was he merely seeking refuge in the service of the Eldar, avoiding the harsh realities of his past?
Alden found himself wrestling with doubt and uncertainty, his resolve faltering in the face of Jain Zar's unwavering scrutiny. Had he been making excuses all along, shielding himself from the painful truth?
Sensing his inner turmoil, Jain Zar seemed weary of the conversation. "I'm sure you have plenty to think about," she remarked dismissively. "You're dismissed. Leave me, but consider what I have told you, Fire Lord Alden."
With a sense of frustration gnawing at him, Alden turned to leave. He cast one final glance at the Banshee Queen, a mixture of defiance and resentment flickering in his eyes before he strode out of the chamber without a word, eager to escape the suffocating confines of the fortress.
As Alden grappled with Jain Zar's cutting assessment, he told himself that life wasn't as straightforward as the Phoenix Lord made it out to be. His duty, after all, remained steadfastly rooted in safeguarding those under his command. But as he reflected on his time with the Aeldari and the prosperity they had brought to those he cared for, a nagging doubt crept into his mind.
Had he become complacent? Had he allowed himself to stagnate while the world around him changed? Questions swirled in his mind, casting shadows of doubt over his convictions. Had he forsaken his own aspirations, his pride, his people?
Alden grappled with a profound sense of uncertainty as he wondered how he got to this point. Who could he turn to for guidance in such tumultuous times? And even if he found someone willing to offer advice, what actions could he take to reconcile his inner turmoil?
Jain Zar's words echoed in his mind, urging him to unleash his ambition and fury. But was anger and vengeance truly the path forward? The thought of risking the lives of his friends and family, perhaps even his entire world, filled him with a chilling sense of dread.
Yet amidst the turmoil, Alden welcomed a flicker of determination rather than a spark of rage. He would not embrace the fury, but he would his potential. If the Aeldari were watching his every move, then he would show them that he was ready to rise to the challenge. Jain Zar was right. It was time to embrace ambition and seize control of his life. Maybe even whatever destiny awaited him.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, one more omake.
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New Blood and Sparks
It had been 30 years since Lord-General Indomitius Alden had last seen Oaharai, let alone stepped foot on it. Such as it was, he almost became numb to the feeling of never seeing home again. And yet, Alden often found himself not thinking about it these days.
He thought it a betrayal at first. That Alden had forgotten the sacrifices of his comrades and his people. Even after joining the Eldar, he promised himself that he'd never give up on the hope of returning to his beautiful Oaharai, no matter how fleeting.
Yet time moved forward, and rather than find misery and despair, their people found new purpose and joy. There had been hard-won victories, and in some cases, they had done good work for the Eldar, fighting foes that were so vile that it felt like they had done something worthwhile for the galaxy.
Losses were mourned, for war was a brutal teacher, but amid the struggles, there emerged opportunities for retirement, although no Fire Hunter ever stopped being a soldier. Many found roles in rear echelons, contributing to garrison duties, logistical endeavors, training programs, and civic projects. The Eldar were always hungry for new human instructors.
Amidst these changes, Alden witnessed the passing of the torch. New faces replaced old among his command staff, and soldiers who once served as young privates rose to the ranks of captains and majors, their hair now touched with silver, their ranks of descendants growing. It was a strange but wonderful feeling. Their culture and tradition were being passed down.
There had been an agreement to remove the fraternization restriction. Granted, certain social norms had to be respected, and rank had to be considered before all else. That didn't stop people from trying. It was equally strange to see the tech-priests who had come with the Oaharaians all those years ago loosening up.
Georgius and Kati now had two children, a testament to the union between a tech-priestess mother and an agnostic father—an unlikely pairing that seemed to embody the boundless wonders of the universe. Alden and Luci were affectionately regarded as "grandparents" by the young ones.
Such comments caused Luci and Alden to agree to get married finally.
The new generation of Oaharaians, dubbed "emberborne" in homage to their regiment, grew up amidst tales of their ancestral homeworld, Oaharia. However, it was a distant legend to them—a place of myth and memory passed down through their parents. Yet, despite never having set foot on Oaharia soil, its legacy remained a powerful unifying force among the emberborne. History became their shared heritage, a common thread that bound them together as they mingled with other human cultures.
However, amidst the camaraderie and shared history, Alden couldn't ignore a pressing concern. The Fire Hunters faced a looming shortage of native-born Oaharaians, the lifeblood of their regiment. Despite their resilience, skill, and determination, their numbers dwindled with each passing campaign.
There was a grand total of three million Oaharaian exiles still alive. Not bad for a penal regiment destined to die on some faraway battlefield like the Imperium wanted. Meanwhile, the supposed enemies of humanity had treated them better than anyone could have hoped for, but the Aeldari also put their vassals to work.
Alden didn't mind. But that didn't stop the losses. The casualties and retirements meant a steady and noticeable decline in personnel more than anything. Of the 70% no longer in it, 20% died, and the other 50% retired to easier positions over time. The most recent campaign caused the largest drive of retires, and Alden couldn't blame them.
No one wanted to talk about Gynok. The levels of human depravity got so bad that even allied Druhkari had to get involved. Alden had seen a lot of dark things in his time, but Gynok was something foul.
Pushing such dark thoughts aside, the Fire Hunters were left with choices. By the grace of whatever gods and the warp, their officer corps was still incredibly strong, and future generations would retain their skill level, but they still needed bodies. The irony was palpable in some sense.
Two decades prior, Alden grappled with the daunting challenge of sustaining their logistical train to support their tanks and troops. Now, they enjoyed the luxury of first pick for every tool and asset necessary for waging war, courtesy of their Aeldari allies. Even specialized ammunition, including Wraithbone shells, entered their arsenal. Remarkably, a select group of elite Oaharaians was undergoing training to pilot a new super-heavy tank equipped with a Displacer Cannon—a testament to the Fire Hunters' unique position in the human auxiliaries.
Yet, at the current attrition rate, the Fire Hunters would be at half-strength within a generation or less, depending on if the next major battle went bad for all of them. The clock was ticking, and thus, a solution had to be found. Once more, Alden went to the Aeldari for aid.
Unsurprisingly, the Aeldari had options for him. More importantly, they had an offer and opportunity. Recent developments had seen them with a windfall of new armies and commanders, but it was disorganized. It was sort of funny to Alden. Made him think of a farmer getting in over their heads after getting a bunch of animals and discovering just how much of a mess it was to get them all squared away.
Such amusing thoughts aside, the Aeldari wanted the Fire Hunters to take on a large contingent of soldiers from a world called Shamballa. These soldiers were part of the Shamballa Royal Expeditionary Corps, all veterans of their war against Mathlann and its daemonic host. They came highly recommended by the Howling Banshees shrine, meaning Alden had to take them regardless of any objections he might have had.
That was the problem with the Aeldari. Their "insinuations" and "suggestions" were often cleverly disguised orders. Disobeying them puts you at risk. No one spurred a favor of the Aspect Shrines. Otherwise, you ran the risk of not getting their aid and instead just their ire.
All that said, the Fire Hunters would be reinforced with five million Shamballans. In that case, the idea would be for the Oaharaians to slowly transition toward full-time leadership and elite troop detachments within the regiment. Sounded doable enough. The issue that Alden saw was naturally trying to bridge the gap between the two cultures, but the Fire Hunters had accumulated their own tech-priests into the fold.
The Shamballans were soldiers. As were the Oaharaians. Soldiers tended to bond better when they weren't killing each other. To that end, Alden was asked for one more favor by the Aeldari…
Somewhere in a world known as Laron IV
It was curious to consider that the Eldar found Laron IV unsuitable for their refined tastes, but Alden attributed it to the Aeldari's discerning nature. Nevertheless, Laron IV held a familiar charm for the Lord-General, reminiscent of home—a sentiment that prompted the Oaharaians to settle there alongside neighboring groups.
Laron IV boasted a temperate climate, its wilderness untamed and inviting. Discovered by the Aeldari during scouting expeditions, it proved a promising prospect for their human auxiliaries. Humanity wasted no time, swiftly constructing cities and industries to support future governance.
It offered the promise of prime land for settlers like Georgius and Kati. They chose a picturesque parcel near the designated capital, envisioning it as their own slice of paradise, even if Kati had to make some improvements, such as installing a shrine to the Machine God.
Despite Alden's aversion to unexpected visits, the warmth of familial reunion was undeniable. The Lord-General and his wife spent cherished moments with Georgius, Kati, and their children before Alden and Georgius slipped away for a private conversation.
"I'm considering starting a fishing enterprise," Georgius disclosed as they strolled by a large lake his family now owned, "Though I wouldn't be the one running it—I'd invest in it. Just be something to do in the meanwhile."
Alden chuckled, "Since when did you take up fishing?"
"Just started about a month ago," Georgius replied with a smirk. "It's surprisingly relaxing."
"I can imagine," Alden nodded, reflecting on the importance of leisure amidst duty. "A welcome diversion from work."
"Exactly. Plus, it's a great way to spend time with the kids," Georgius added, acknowledging the demands of their roles within the regiment.
"Yes, family time is invaluable," Alden agreed, mindful of the sacrifices made by his trusted friends amidst the regiment's restructuring. "Events are unfolding swiftly."
Georgius nodded, his gaze drifting towards his home. "Kati's been focused on upgrading the Chariot. It's still our most formidable asset, but it needs attention. And officer training isn't straightforward either."
Alden understood the challenges faced by his friends, particularly amidst the influx of new responsibilities. "On that note, I've been approached by the Aeldari—they're planning to establish a war academy for their auxiliaries. They offered me a teaching position, but I suggested you for the role instead, both here and at the academy."
"What?" Georgius appeared bewildered. "But why here? And why my name?"
"This place may seem remote, but a war academy could bring considerable growth, especially since this has one of the largest contingents of our people," Alden explained. "Besides, you're one of our finest field and tank commanders. Your expertise is invaluable."
Georgius paused, incredulous. "You're replacing me as XO of the regiment?"
"More like reassigning," Alden clarified, though he couldn't deny the truth of it. "But yes, essentially, that's the case. The Aeldari are adamant about having a Shamballan as my second. At first, I was hesitant, but then I realized it could serve a dual purpose. With certain conditions attached, I could have you focus on training the next generation while being here with your family."
"But Kati-" Georgius began, concern etched in his features.
"Kati will remain here as well," Alden reassured him. "Her expertise with the Mechanicum, particularly those more open to collaboration with Xenos, is invaluable. Besides, her leadership as the lead Prime Enginseer here will strengthen our position."
Georgius seemed poised to argue further. "Indomitius, we've been through too much, even before the exile, to simply part ways now."
"You won't be alone," Alden insisted, gesturing towards their home. "I'll have Luci and the others with me. And this assignment is temporary—twenty years, give or take. I expect both you and Kati to return with significantly honed skills."
"Twenty years?" Georgius frowned, clearly displeased. "That's... quite a commitment."
Alden chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't let the timeline deter you. Just because your children call me grandpa doesn't mean I'm that old. Remember, we can live for over 500 years with Eldar rejuvenation treatments. So what's twenty years? Especially if it means seeing your kids grow up?"
He offered a reassuring pat on Georgius's shoulder. "There aren't many of us left. Your decision to stay here and help train a new generation of soldiers and tankers means more than you realize. Oaharai may be lost to us, but we can still pass on the knowledge and values our ancestors instilled in us. Establishing the means to do so is crucial."
Georgius appeared uncertain. "I'm uncomfortable leaving you with strangers to watch your back." He regarded Alden with a questioning gaze. "What do we really know about Shamballa?"
"From what I've gathered, they possess a deep loyalty to the Eldar," Alden replied, recalling the tidbits he'd heard. "They seem to value honor and integrity, perhaps to an extreme degree. But that also suggests they understand the importance the Aeldari place on the Fire Hunters."
Alden turned his gaze back to the lake, contemplating the future. "And let's not forget—one of their Aspect Shrines is vouching for them."
"That does count for something, doesn't it?" Georgius acknowledged.
"I certainly hope so," Alden murmured, a hint of uncertainty coloring his tone. You never knew what it was like regarding different human cultures these days.
Sometime later, on Shamballa…
As Alden gazed down at Shamballa from the vantage point of orbit, he couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle unfolding below. It was as if the Eldar had spared no expense in repaying their debts, for the world almost seemed to hum with the promise of something glorious. A myriad of Aeldari vessels and orbital structures dotted the space above it, while the bustling activity of human ships added to the activity.
From his position on the bridge of his ship, he got a good look at this world, and even from this distance, it was a captivating blend of natural beauty and technological marvels. Below, the sprawling cities twinkled like jewels against the backdrop of lush greenery and shimmering bodies of water. He had been told there were still scars from the war against Mathlann's deluge, but the Eldar seemed to have done well on their promise to restore and transform Shamballa into something better.
Upon descending to the surface, Alden was greeted by a grand procession of Shamballa and Eldar dignitaries, their regal bearing a testament to the world's newfound prosperity. Over the course of sixteen days, he was immersed in a whirlwind of celebrations and meetings, each moment offering glimpses into Shamballa culture.
Given the chance to explore it further, he ventured into the heart of Shamballan civilization; Alden found himself impressed by the sheer magnitude of their achievements in such a short time, but he also chalked it up to the Aeldari support. The people had rebuilt if there had ever been a war for survival. It made him wonder if the Imperium had even provided a tenth of the support to help with Oaharai's recovery.
Towering spires of gleaming metal reached toward the sky, their sleek forms blending seamlessly with the natural landscape. Advanced plasma reactors and fusion engines hummed with power while pollution-free factories churned out goods with remarkable efficiency. Farms stretched as far as the eye could see, their bounty enough to sustain Shamballa and countless other worlds. Alden marveled at seeing so many hovercraft gliding effortlessly through the air, their graceful movements.
And because they clearly cared about their presence in this world. Alden saw fortresses of wraithbone that rose like ethereal sentinels, their presence a permanent reminder of the world's alliance with the Eldar. Alden could even feel the faint hum of psychic energy emanating from these structures, a sensation that stirred memories of his time within the hallowed halls of the Black Library.
He saw things subtly hidden in plain sight among these fortresses—runes to their gods and what looked to be wards as well. Alden slowly realized that many were, in actuality, more likely temples to Khaine, Morai-Heg, and even the Phoenix Lord, Jain Zar. The Shamballa had every right and reason to start worshiping the Aeldari gods, but even Alden thought that was a bit much.
Then again, if the Aeldari brought this prosperity and growth to Oaharai, why wouldn't the people begin to see their gods as their own? Humanity was too often swayed by the promises of power and wealth from supposed leaders claiming to have their best interests at heart. Alden knew that the Eldar expected much from Shamballa for all this, but he also realized that the Eldar didn't necessarily need them.
But Alden also knew enough that the Craftworlders would neither be tyrannical nor heavyhanded in their rule. Before all else, the Aeldari wanted a disciplined and motivated army of humans. He figured it was a pittance for the Eldar to give out technology and aid like this. Return on investment seemed to be strongly in their favor…
Sometime later…
As Alden arrived at the imposing Drakar Citadel, the grandeur of its architecture and the aura of disciplined orderliness that greeted him instantly reminded him of the regimented decorum he had known back on Oaharai. This fortress, serving as the administrative hub and training grounds for the Shamballa Royal Expeditionary Corps, exuded an air of martial significance and strategic importance.
Instead of being greeted by the entire five million-strong Expeditionary Corps, Alden was met by a select company of 25,000 soldiers. However, it was immediately evident to Alden that this was no ordinary company; each soldier bore wraithbone daggers at their sides, marking them as an elite unit among the Shamballan forces.
Alden finally encountered his new executive officer. With a demeanor that exuded confidence and competence, the officer approached Alden with a respectful nod. His tannish complexion hinted at a life spent under the Shamballan sun, reminiscent of a seasoned farmer. He also noticed that, unlike his fellows, this one had a wraithbone sword at his side.
"Lord-General Alden," the officer addressed him in accented Low Gothic, "I am Keeper Tenzin Chakrin of the Royal Rigden Fusiliers. It is a privilege to meet you finally."
Alden couldn't help but wonder what impressions the Aeldari had conveyed to Tenzin and the other Shamballans. Then again, considering the Fire Lord's arrival clad in his bespoke Aeldari armor, it seemed these people esteemed those who garnered the most extravagant displays of favor.
"The privilege is all mine," Alden replied warmly, extending his hand to shake Tenzin's. "The Eldar spoke highly of you. Not many regiments can boast the favor of a Phoenix Lord."
"Just as few can claim the recognition of the Great Seer, like the Fire Hunters," Tenzin remarked, motioning for Alden to follow as they embarked on a sort of parade tour of the Fusiliers. These elite infantrymen were undoubtedly valuable, yet Alden knew that most of the expeditionary corps would eventually transition into tank warfare.
"I see they all carry wraithbone knives," Alden observed, unable to stifle his curiosity.
"A symbol of their battlefield prowess," Tenzin explained, gesturing toward one of the soldiers who appeared as seasoned as Georgius. "In addition to combat experience, each Fusilier must be sponsored by a family that lost a member during the Deluge. Then, they must either survive a one-on-one duel with a Banshee for five minutes or draw first blood."
It was an intriguing vetting process, Alden noted. Beyond proving their mettle in combat, each Fusilier had to earn the respect of their comrades and the civilians of their world, culminating in a trial to win the approval of the Aeldari.
"I couldn't help but notice your sword, as opposed to a dagger," Alden remarked.
Tenzin nodded in acknowledgment. "I drew first blood in my duel."
Alden sensed there was more to the story. "You're the only one to have achieved that?"
"Oh, no," Tenzin replied with evident pride. "Many among the men and women you see here have accomplished the same feat. It's just that I drew first blood against an Exarch."
"A noteworthy achievement indeed," Alden remarked, understanding the significance of such a feat.
Tenzin exuded an aura of danger, undoubtedly an exceptionally capable commander. Yet, Alden couldn't shake the feeling that Georgius possessed superior strategic acumen.
As they inspected the Fusiliers, Alden posed a few questions, eliciting the standard responses expected from soldiers meeting a foreign general: loud, disciplined, and respectful. However, he couldn't ignore the undercurrent of tension among the soldiers in the Fire Lord's presence—an odd observation he couldn't quite decipher.
"Tenzin, what tales have the Aeldari spun about me?" Alden inquired once they were out of earshot of the Fusiliers. "Because it seems your men are... uneasy around me."
"They are," Tenzin confirmed with a nod. "We received detailed reports of your triumphs and exploits, not only from the Aeldari but also from the Imperium."
"And that warrants such reverence?" Alden pressed, genuinely curious.
"It does," Tenzin affirmed. "Besides, you're being modest. You've faced daemons, Astartes, humans, aliens, machines, and even confronted an entity you deemed the Nowhere King—a foe that would challenge even the Aeldari."
"Well, my people didn't fare well against the Astartes," Alden admitted.
"And mine would have undoubtedly fallen to the Deluge if not for the intervention of the Phoenix Lord and her kin," Tenzin conceded. "Victories and defeats define us. I dare say the defeats from which you can emerge only strengthen your experience more than any victory could."
Alden couldn't necessarily disagree with Tenzin's outlook. However, he harbored reservations about the reverence being shown to him. Experience had taught him that the luster of living legends often faded with time. Nonetheless, Alden found himself genuinely impressed with the Fusiliers.
Tenzin's next remark caught his attention. "The Fire Hunters were primarily an armored regiment. Rest assured, while the Fusiliers are more elite infantry, the rest of the Corps shall endeavor to maintain Oaharaian standards."
Alden chuckled at the notion. "These days, the Fire Hunters are more of a mixed regiment of mechanized and armored units. I doubt it will ever revert to being solely composed of tankers."
"Perhaps not," Tenzin conceded. "But the Aeldari have a unique approach to armored warfare, as you can imagine. As a token of respect from the Royal Expeditionary Corps, we would like your officers and crews to train alongside ours for a special project granted to us by the Aeldari."
Intrigued, Alden pressed for more information. "What sort of special project?"
The collaboration between the Shamballans and the Aeldari was evident in the remarkable prototype Tenzin showcased to Alden.
Dubbed the "Snow Lion," its name pays homage to the royal family's emblem, symbolizing celestial origins rooted in ancient Earth mythology. As Alden admired its sleek design and hovering capability, Tenzin explained its unique features.
"It's remarkable," Alden remarked, taking in the Snow Lion's impressive aesthetics. "But it seems to lack Aeldari weaponry."
Tenzin nodded, steering the tank through the test grounds with practiced ease. "That's right. The Aeldari are cautious about sharing their advanced armaments."
Alden leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, the Fire Hunters managed to secure access to a Displacer Cannon. It seems like we've become their favorites."
Tenzin chuckled in agreement. "Seems so. The Aeldari have their ways."
Alden couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected exchange of military secrets between their forces. "How many Snow Lions do you plan to produce?"
"Just this one for now," Tenzin admitted. "Building more will take time, but this prototype is ready for field testing."
As they prepared for a live-fire exercise, Alden quickly realized that the Snow Lion operated on a different principle than conventional tanks like the Olympia. Stepping into the gunner suite, he immediately noticed the absence of standard HEAT or HEAP shells, which had been replaced by an unfamiliar power distribution system.
"Is this using a lascannon?" Alden inquired, examining the unique setup.
"Coil," Tenzin clarified. "This vehicle isn't designed for traditional tank warfare. It's more suited for engaging heavily armored infantry."
"Troops in power armor?" Alden ventured.
Tenzin nodded. "Astartes, Wraithguard, Daemons, cyborgs—the Snow Lion is meant to take down any formidable opponent from a safe distance."
"A sniper tank," Alden mused.
"More like a marksman tank," Tenzin corrected. "It's part of a coordinated strategy, providing precision fire support. The targeting system alone took us years to perfect, and that's where the Snow Lion truly excels."
To demonstrate, Alden took aim at moving targets and was impressed by the accuracy, speed, and range of the Coil Cannon. However, he also noted its limitations.
"It's fast, accurate, and powerful," Alden observed, "but lacks real armor. And the recharge time between shots leaves it vulnerable."
Tenzin nodded in agreement. "It's a glass cannon—potent but fragile. Improving its stealth capabilities and durability would require significant redesign, perhaps even incorporating Wraithbone technology. But that is a rather difficult allowance to make at this time."
"The reward of innovation is often that of disappointment," Alden remarked, recalling a warning that Kati liked to give. "The ancients probably had something better. But we aren't the ancients and don't have any alternatives. As far as I am concerned, you must make more of these Snow Lions."
Tenzin seemed relieved to hear the Fire Lords praise, "Shamballa has influence over two entire forge worlds, but those factories and forges are being used to produce tried and true equipment and weapons. If you can put forward a recommendation at some point, it might go a long way to sway my peers."
"Wouldn't they listen to you more than anything?" Alden inquired. "I don't have any sway with your government."
"Those closely aligned or highly regarded by the Aeldari hold significant influence," Tenzin cautioned. "Be mindful of your words and actions, even with harmless intentions. Some of my people are deeply devoted."
"Devoted how?" Alden pressed for clarification.
"You'll understand when you meet the expeditionary Aspect Heralds," Tenzin replied enigmatically.
Alden made a mental note to look into this further, especially if he wanted to prevent any issues between the Shamballans and Oaharaians. Still, this information was strange. How much stock did people here put into soldiers like Alden or Tenzin, who seemed to have the favor of the Eldar?
The rest of the tour of Drakar Citadel concluded smoothly. Tenzin and the Fusiliers were a seamless fit with the Fire Hunter elites and commanders. While the remaining expeditionary corps remained untested, Alden harbored hope for their potential.
As night descended upon Shamballa, a message arrived for Alden, bearing word that the regent of this world—the Phoenix Lord—desired a private audience with him. Tenzin regarded this as a great honor, but Alden couldn't shake the feeling that it might entail certain expectations from the Eldar.
His shuttle ride to the fortress temple of Jain Zar proceeded without incident. Even when informed that he was to meet with the Phoenix Lord alone, his entourage voiced concerns, but Alden dismissed them. He doubted she intended any harm.
If Jain Zar wished him dead, Alden reckoned he would already be. So, as he navigated through the wraithbone and crystal halls, he found the architecture, though beautiful, failed to captivate him. Having spent ample time in the Black Library, Aeldari interiors held little novelty for him.
The absence of Aeldari in the halls didn't unsettle Alden. In the Black Chambers of the library, he knew the Harlequins, and their master watched his every move. It was always disconcerting, particularly encountering Pagliacci the Joyless.
That individual unnerved Alden more than the Nowhere King. He had conversed with shell-shocked troopers who exhibited more joy than Pagliacci. Once, he inquired if Pagliacci was one of the Solitaire, but a Harlequin denied it, explaining that he was simply an Aeldari devoid of laughter and joy.
Such remarks gave Alden pause because the Aeldari seldom exaggerated their negative traits, often out of vanity but also to warn others. They meant it if they asserted that Pagliacci could no longer experience joy. It underscored Alden's caution when interacting with Aeldari leaders, especially considering the reputation of the Phoenix Lords as beings akin to Primarchs or demigods, with minds and aspirations beyond mortal comprehension.
A pair of towering wraithbone gates briefly barred Alden's path before gracefully parting to reveal a spacious chamber beyond. At its heart sat a figure of graceful menace, Jain Zar, the Phoenix Lord of the Howling Banshees Shrine, upon a throne crafted from wraithbone with the delicate intricacy of coral.
Jain Zar embodied deadly elegance, her presence as immaculate and ethereal as the Harlequins had described. Yet, despite her regal bearing, Alden sensed an undercurrent of boredom, as if she awaited the mundane offerings of court petitioners to punctuate her otherwise eventful existence.
Even in her apparent repose, Jain Zar's authority loomed large, with Zhai Morenn and Jainas Mor poised within her orbit. Alden noted that any dismissal from her court would likely not bode well for the departing individual—a chilling reminder of the Phoenix Lord's unforgiving nature. There was nothing more daunting than a queen poised to unleash her wrath.
With no other attendees present, Alden pondered the appropriate courtly decorum. Opting for a stance of parade rest, he addressed her with deference, "Lord-General Indomitius Alden of the Fire Hunters, reporting as per your summons."
A moment of silence lingered before Jain Zar's voice, regal and resonant like distant thunder, filled the chamber, "Summons, indeed. If we are to indulge in pleasantries." She rose from her throne with a fluid motion, accentuating her towering stature compared to other Aeldari.
"I am surprised you did not prioritize our meeting," Jain Zar remarked as she closed the distance between them. "Many would consider it an obligation to pay homage to the ruler of a world, particularly when extended an invitation."
Alden offered a nonchalant shrug. "I found myself engrossed in discussions with your esteemed lords and generals, your grace," he replied, recalling the advice imparted to him by the Harlequins. "And I was informed you have little patience for empty flattery and hollow pleasantries."
"Hmm..." Jain Zar's expression betrayed a hint of contemplation. "I value action over words, especially from those who profess allegiance to my cause." As she trailed a slender finger of Zhai Morenn along the smooth wraithbone floor, a faint, eerie scraping filled the chamber, sending a subtle shiver down Alden's spine.
"I wished to ascertain the individual leading my forces," she continued.
"I trust you have already acquainted yourself with the particulars of my background," Alden replied evenly.
Jain Zar offered no immediate response, instead circling Alden thoughtfully. "You possess a certain proficiency in warfare," she observed.
"Your acknowledgment is appreciated," Alden replied, keeping his gaze fixed ahead as she moved around him. "Does this suggest particular expectations on your part?"
"Hardly," Jain Zar responded, her tone enigmatic. "Mere prowess in combat holds little significance to me. I am more intrigued by the facets of your character beyond the battlefield."
Alden's curiosity piqued, unsure of the Phoenix Lord's intentions. "And what aspects of my character interest you?" he inquired cautiously.
The Phoenix Lord stood before him, her mask lending an unsettling aura. "What drives you to continue to fight?" she asked, her voice tinged with a curious expectation. "You have an intensity in your soul that goes beyond your duty."
Jain Zar awaited Alden's response. Yet his answer was simple, borne from a genuine place within him. "I fight because I feel a responsibility towards those who followed me out of Oaharai," he stated firmly.
But his response seemed to fall short of her expectations. "Do you truly believe that?" she questioned, her tone tinged with skepticism.
Alden's brows furrowed slightly. "Is there reason to doubt it?" he countered.
"I do," Jain Zar replied before returning to her throne. "Or perhaps you are unwilling to acknowledge the truth within your heart."
Alden was left momentarily speechless, uncertain how to respond. "If my answer is unsatisfactory, I trust it will not impede my role in leading your forces," he stated, attempting to maintain a diplomatic tone.
The Banshee Queen regarded him with a lazy gaze. "It will not," she assured him. "I am merely disappointed. Perhaps you will undergo a transformation in time, but for now, you lack the intrigue Eldrad had suggested."
"I apologize for any disappointment I may have caused," Alden offered earnestly, unwilling to provoke the ire of a Phoenix Lord. "Is there anything else you require of me?"
"Nothing," Jain Zar replied, her tone dismissive. "Unless you have questions for me."
"In fact, I have an observation to share," Alden interjected. "Or perhaps a word of advice, if you will. It concerns Shamballa."
The Phoenix Lord's interest was piqued. "Please, continue."
Alden's expression softened into a thoughtful smile. "Do not allow random humans to arrive on this world, particularly from the Imperium, unless they have been thoroughly vetted," he cautioned.
Jain Zar's curiosity was evident as she regarded him. "Explain."
"Shamballa enjoys unparalleled prosperity, even after enduring a daemonic incursion and the loss of billions of lives," Alden elaborated. "The Aeldari may view this as a gift to the Shamballans, but to others, it may seem like an opportunity or a threat."
He paused, considering the implications. "These people live in a paradise that most of humanity can only dream of. And while it may not have been the Aeldari's intention, it could attract unwanted attention. The Imperium or other factions may covet Shamballa's prosperity, leading to conflict. Alternatively, the Shamballans may feel compelled to share their abundance, inadvertently sparking conflicts elsewhere."
Jain Zar listened intently, her expression unreadable. "These challenges will be for the Shamballans to face," she replied calmly. "They have endured their trials and will determine the lessons they glean from them."
Alden felt a flicker of anger rise within him, swiftly suppressed. "You are setting them up for conflict," he countered. "Conflict that may one day engulf them if the Imperium or other powers deem Shamballa worthy of conquest. Or if the Shamballans decide to spread their prosperity to other worlds."
The Banshee Queen remained unperturbed. "These are challenges for the Shamballans to confront," she reiterated. "They have emerged from their crucible, and it is for them to decide their path forward. It is a prospect your people have faced, albeit from a different perspective - defeat and devastation."
Alden's anger simmered beneath the surface, though he maintained his composure. Jain Zar seemed momentarily intrigued by his emotional response before her expression shifted as if she had realized something exciting.
"There was a spark there," she noted, her tone tinged with interest. "A faint glimmer of anger and resentment. The bitter taste of ignoble defeat."
He didn't respond immediately; Alden held the Phoenix Lord's gaze with defiance and curiosity. Was this some sort of test, or was Jain Zar genuinely probing into his psyche?
"You're right," he admitted after a moment, his tone steady. "I have faced defeat and carry the weight of it daily. But dwelling on the past won't change anything."
The sharp impact of Zhai Morenn hitting the ground startled him, and Alden felt a surge of pain pierce his skull, momentarily disorienting him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision as Jain Zar's voice echoed in his mind.
"Don't cower before me like a defeated general," she admonished, her words cutting through the tension in the chamber.
Alden gritted his teeth. "I don't know what you expect from me," he retorted, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Oaharai is lost. My allegiance lies with the Eldar now. The Imperium—"
"The Imperium is crumbling," Jain Zar interrupted, her voice ringing with certainty. "In time, it will fall, consumed by its own decay."
That was the first time Alden heard about this. A feeling of hope bloomed in his chest, along with the familiar feeling of anger, but once more, the Fire Lord stomped upon those thoughts.
"The Fire Hunters serve the Eldar now. Are you expecting me to run off with my forces one day to try and liberate my homeworld?"
"Perhaps." Jain Zar sounded almost hopeful, "I might even join you if you impress me enough. It would be a fool's endeavor now, but perhaps someday you could achieve victory as the galaxy burns."
Alden didn't understand what was happening here, "Why do you care? Why would you ever care about the fate of my people or Oaharai?"
"You think I care about your people or some insignificant world?" The Banshee Queen sounded almost insulted at the thought, "Once more, humanity remains blind to their own potential." She remarked with mirth.
"You have a spark of greatness, Indomitius Alden. And someday, you will use that spark to light a firestorm within the soul of an individual who will become a living legend of their time. But you hamstring yourself and impede your potential because of the shame and guilt of losing against demigods. But you allow shame and guilt to hold you back. You trade ambition for complacency, stifling your own potential."
Alden felt an indignation rising within him, mingled with a flicker of self-doubt. "I serve the Eldar faithfully," he insisted. "What more could you ask of me?"
"You seek validation in service," Jain Zar observed, her tone almost pitying. "But true respect must be earned. Embrace your ambition. Embrace your ambition. Unleash your potential. Use your fury. Only then will you truly honor the Aeldari and me."
As Jain Zar's piercing words reverberated in the chamber, Alden felt the weight of her scrutiny bearing down on him. "I don't need your validation," he shot back, his voice laced with defiance. "Everything I do, I do for my people. That's all that matters to me."
The Phoenix Lord regarded him with a knowing gaze, her eyes probing deeper. "And what about the future of those you left behind?" she pressed, her words striking a chord within Alden.
He paused, grappling with the weight of her question. What about the future of Oaharai, the dreams he had abandoned along with his people? Could he truly justify his actions, or was he merely seeking refuge in the service of the Eldar, avoiding the harsh realities of his past?
Alden found himself wrestling with doubt and uncertainty, his resolve faltering in the face of Jain Zar's unwavering scrutiny. Had he been making excuses all along, shielding himself from the painful truth?
Sensing his inner turmoil, Jain Zar seemed weary of the conversation. "I'm sure you have plenty to think about," she remarked dismissively. "You're dismissed. Leave me, but consider what I have told you, Fire Lord Alden."
With a sense of frustration gnawing at him, Alden turned to leave. He cast one final glance at the Banshee Queen, a mixture of defiance and resentment flickering in his eyes before he strode out of the chamber without a word, eager to escape the suffocating confines of the fortress.
As Alden grappled with Jain Zar's cutting assessment, he told himself that life wasn't as straightforward as the Phoenix Lord made it out to be. His duty, after all, remained steadfastly rooted in safeguarding those under his command. But as he reflected on his time with the Aeldari and the prosperity they had brought to those he cared for, a nagging doubt crept into his mind.
Had he become complacent? Had he allowed himself to stagnate while the world around him changed? Questions swirled in his mind, casting shadows of doubt over his convictions. Had he forsaken his own aspirations, his pride, his people?
Alden grappled with a profound sense of uncertainty as he wondered how he got to this point. Who could he turn to for guidance in such tumultuous times? And even if he found someone willing to offer advice, what actions could he take to reconcile his inner turmoil?
Jain Zar's words echoed in his mind, urging him to unleash his ambition and fury. But was anger and vengeance truly the path forward? The thought of risking the lives of his friends and family, perhaps even his entire world, filled him with a chilling sense of dread.
Yet amidst the turmoil, Alden welcomed a flicker of determination rather than a spark of rage. He would not embrace the fury, but he would his potential. If the Aeldari were watching his every move, then he would show them that he was ready to rise to the challenge. Jain Zar was right. It was time to embrace ambition and seize control of his life. Maybe even whatever destiny awaited him.
---
@Daemon Hunter Alright, one more omake.
Years 51 - 55 Part 2 - Discovering Current Events
- Location
- Elsewhere
In the forge of fate, where stars are wrought and destinies forged.
The automaton strides amidst the tempest's roar.
Yet when he places his weight upon the balanced scales,
His fate shall be sealed, his valor a crimson tide.
Yet there are two sides to a coin, with a third a remote possibility.
For a single stone can change the river's flow.
Magnus stared at the prophecy he had written, wondering what it all meant.
"Father, it's good to see you," Oriacarius briefly embraced his father, allowing a genuine smile to grace his lips. "I wish it was under better circumstances."
Kesar saw the First Captain's expression shift, recognizing that his son was treating this akin to a debriefing. "What happened?"
"Captain Solarus has been captured by Epsilon, an abominable intelligence." Kesar let out a despairing sigh, he never wanted to hear about his sons' deaths. Yet it was an inevitability. "We have been given proof of his survival, even if Epsilon is keeping him sedated."
"What are our options?" The Primarch asked, "We could involve the Raven Guard, perhaps even the Eldar if you think it prudent." Kesar tapped his chin in thought, "Do we have a location? I could teleport in if we can take down the void shields."
"Only a rough location," Oriacarius explained, "our diviners were able to isolate Solarus within a complex cluster, but they reported odd interference. And I suspect Epsilon may be moving the prisoners around, it's what I would do."
"How do we know it won't simply execute Solarus as a hostage?" Kesar reluctantly asked. "We are trusting an abominable intelligence after all."
"We don't," replied the First Captain. "While our psychological analysis indicates it won't, that relies on Epsilon acting as it has up to this point. And quite frankly, it's too intelligent to be predictable."
"In any case, it seems I know where I shall head within the Maelstrom," Kesar spoke with steel in his voice. "Any advice for this? Don't feel pressured to respond immediately, I have plenty of time to prepare."
"I understand this may be cliche, but be careful." Oriacarius demanded, "Act more cautiously than you would normally, while you are one of the Imperium's best duelists, I doubt Epsilon doesn't have counters for you." The First Captain furrowed his eyebrows in thought, "It mentioned it had fought the Aeldari before … it likely has very advanced warptech."
Kesar's interest was piqued, his mind thinking of hypothetical technologies he would use against the Aeldari Dominion of the past. "Then it will have many options," he eventually hummed, "I will take your advice into consideration, my son."
Expecting that to be the only knowledge bomb in their discussion, Kesar was surprised when the First Captain's posture didn't change. "There's more I must cover."
The Primarch sighed, "When it rains, it pours."
"We'll have to fight the actual Eldar as well." Kesar's eyes turned sharp, but Oriacarius preempted his request for more information, "Different Eldar than the ones we may sell daemonic artifacts to." The First Captain paused, "For the record, I'm still against that, not unless I can review their safety procedures."
"We've fought the Eldar before," Kesar said easily, "are these Craftworld Eldar or Dark Eldar?" A handful of years ago, the Primarch would have thought the two the same, but now he knew better.
"Both?" Oriacarius hesitantly put forward, "They seem more like the Aeldari Dominion, with attributes of both the Craftworlds and their darker kin. And they have shown the ability to channel pseudo-divine power."
"We may want Auro to take a look," Kesar thought out loud. "His presence may prove critical should the worst occur." Thinking up possibilities of daemonic incursions, the Primarch's mind churned out hypotheticals and countermeasures. "Regardless, ensure additional Purity runes are at hand, just in case."
"Of course," Oriacarius agreed, and with that, Kesar once more expected their talk to turn towards a more lighthearted tone. Yet his son showed no indication of that.
"What next?" Kesar sighed.
"I've managed to find an Eldar contact," Oriacarius replied with a hint of distaste in his voice. "They are so much more irritating than I ever expected."
"Guilliman did warn me," Kesar placed a hand soothingly on his son's shoulder. "We could send them to Baldur instead, he may be able to temper some of the Harlequins' worst tendencies."
"No, this is a Dark Eldar," came a reply the Second Anathema didn't expect. "One that has proven very helpful, and I hate him for it."
"Who are they?"
"His name is Asdrubael Vect and we worked together at Detroik when the auction fell apart. He knew more about our affairs than I could have imagined and what's worse is that I had not the slightest idea how. He knew us so well that when our forces allied against the other participating factions, he didn't even need to familiarize himself with how the Legion operated." Oriacarius shared rapidly. "He implied most of his information came from Rogal Dorn's domain, which I cannot confirm, and that he's personally spoken to Konrad Curze." He eyed Kesar to ensure he had his father's full attention. "He also, quite smugly I will add, claimed to be assisting Corvus with an endeavor of his."
"We'll have to do a counter-security sweep again," Kesar sighed. "Order the Legion to take on 24-hour shifts for a while, we can run a level 5 sweep."
"I'd feel more comfortable with a level 6," Oriacarius suggested. "We could run skeleton crews for a few months to manage it."
Kesar pursed his lips, having most of the Legion be called in for interviews would take a significant amount of resources, but he could understand the paranoia at play. "No, I don't want to risk an incursion on one of our vessels."
"Understandable," the First Captain admitted. "Regardless, Vect concerns me, and his ties with Corvus concern me far more."
"My brother is playing with fire," the Primarch groused. "First the Eldar, then the study of gods, then the coup, and now he works with Dark Eldar." Kesar massaged his temple, "Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to judge, perhaps Corvus is simply using Vect." Judging by the look on Oriacarius' face, that was an unlikely possibility. "More likely, I fear, is if they are both using the other."
"At least he isn't sleeping with a Dark Eldar," Oriacarius added to the complaints.
"Hopefully," Kesar said amused. "Is that everything with the Eldar?"
The answer was no, of course, it was no. "No, I also entered into a psychically enclosed realm known as the 'Webway'. A vast network of tunnels and other locations that exist deep in the Warp, under the Aeldari's control, that stretches across, seemingly, the entire galaxy. I entered on the annoyingly riddle-woven request of one of the Harlequins. On that note," Oriacarius pointed to a name on Kesar's left gauntlet. "Durante is alive."
"Alive like flesh-and-blood, or alive like Scafrir?" Kesar's eyes briefly glowed, as he tried to find some sort of resonance in the carved name, only to see nothing out of the ordinary.
"Flesh-and-blood," the First Captain replied, "but there is a guardswoman with him that is alive like Scafrir was."
"Fascinating," Kesar mused, thinking of the implications. "Is Durante acting as a spiritual anchor? Or is she able to roam freely?"
"The former, I believe, Vergil reports feeling uncomfortably cold the further she walks from him. For obvious reasons, we haven't forced the issue."
"Magnus may know more," Kesar muttered, "we are headed to Prospero, perhaps the Thousand Sons may have more information from us."
"Perhaps," the First Captain demurred.
"Now," Kesar clapped his hands in the hopes that there were no more knowledge bombs, "is that everything? I was hoping to practice with you to shake off the rust."
The Primarch didn't like the silence that followed. "Not at this time."
"Ori …" Kesar began, "is there something I should know?"
"Only speculation I wish to clarify," came the reply. "I need time to delve into it further, father."
"Very well," the Second Anathema hesitantly accepted. "Keep someone in the loop, however, just to be safe."
"Of course," the Astartes almost seemed insulted at the insinuation he wouldn't be careful, "I have multiple contingencies for this."
Kesar smiled, it seemed the time for serious discussion was at an end for now.
When Kesar heard that Konrad was on Prospero recovering from his injuries, his initial reaction was shock and surprise. Primarchs normally recover within days, for one to require rest for a half-decade… the only thing Kesar could think of that would cause that were curses and high-end psychic attacks. At least he could take solace in the certainty that Konrad had won his fight and killed the psyker, he wouldn't be alive otherwise.
Stepping off the Stormbird onto Prospero, his first sight was bizarre enough to bring Oriacarius to a screeching halt. The presence of Ahriman and Sevatar wasn't unexpected, and while Ahriman's eyeless sockets may intimidate people, Kesar had seen worse. No, the truly bizarre sight was what looked to be a 10-year-old girl perched on Sevatar's shoulders who Kesar was certain was an Alpha psyker based on his witchsight.
The Primarch forced himself to look away from the sight, but Oriacarius was not so wise. Sevatar seemed to delight in the confusion of the Warden, giving a shark smile that only caused Oriacarius to stare harder. In the end, the stalemate was broken by the girl seemingly hiding behind Sevatar from Oriacarius and whispering, "he's scary."
Kesar looked at the Night Lord, eyeing the three flensed human skulls dangling from his hip and the multiple human rib bones that decorated his armor. Then he looked at his son, who appeared to be trying to decode one of Malcador's ciphers. Then he looked down at his armor, it was clean and polished as always. Looking back up, he couldn't help but dig deeper. "And Sevatar isn't?" Kesar asked, hiding his surprise as best he could.
"No," the child innocently stated, patting the Night Lord on the head as she did. "Uncle Sevatar is nice."
Oriacarius looked at Kesar to make sure neither one was hallucinating. "I haven't heard those words in that combination before," the First Captain admitted. "I can't say I expected this."
"That's a little hurtful," Sevatar replied in a tone that was at odds with his expression. Amused sadism could be seen on his face, despite his voice sounding genuinely insulted. Looking up in the direction of the alpha psyker child, Sevatar asked. "Why does everyone think I'm scary, Carrie?"
Keasr idly noticed that Sevatar didn't ask Carrie to apologize for the comment. "Iunno," was the eloquent response from Carrie. Then she looked at Oriacarius with a glare that Kesar could physically feel. "You're mean."
Before the First Captain could reply, Sevatar reached a hand up and patted Carrie on the head, "I feel better already." The alpha psyker broke eye contact with Oriacarius, who seemed unaffected beyond a healthy degree of bafflement and embarrassment.
"You seem to be enjoying this," the Warden groused. "Sorry for … agreeing you're intimidating."
"She takes some getting used to," Ahriman interrupted. "It took me a few days to wrap my head around how she thinks of Lord Primarch Curze."
"Carrie," Kesar directed an apology towards the alpha psyker. "I'm sorry for what I implied about Sevatar, he can be rather scary when focused."
"Hmm," Carrie stared at Kesar suspiciously before looking back at Sevatar. "Uncle Sevatar, is he telling the truth?"
"It seems like it," the Night Lord replied, eyeing Kesar as he spoke. "So, what do you think of Curze's brother?"
"He's not as cool as Uncle Konrad." Was the blunt reply, which caused both Kesar and Sevatar to laugh.
"Ha, I don't doubt that," he said more to fill in the silence than actually agreeing with the statement. "He must have made quite the impression on you."
Of all the expressions he expected, guilt, regret, and sorrow weren't what he predicted. "Yeah…" the young girl trailed off. "He's really nice." She visibly bit her lip, refusing to say more.
"I think Lord Primarch Dorlin has to get going now," Sevatar's expression made it clear that it wasn't a request. "Would you like to learn more about Oriacarius? See if he can learn to be more polite?"
The First Captain of the Wardens sighed, "I'm about to be bullied by a small child, aren't I?" He said quietly enough so only Kesar and Ahriman could hear him.
"You'll get used to it," were the wise words shared by the Thousand Son. "Sevatar has learned to weaponize children quite well."
When Kesar saw Konrad, he wasn't surprised his brother would need years to fully recover. Psychic burns coated his hands, with trace power still visible to Kesar's eyes. Oddly, much of the injury was spread on the inside of his arms, as if he had embraced a column of flame. The Night Haunter's face was odder still, looking strangely pristine. His hair, which Kesar thought had been improving over time, looked better than ever before, neatly groomed in a manner that reminded the Second Anathema of Sanguinius.
"How are you feeling brother?" Kesar asked, leaning against the wall to relax.
Konrad considered the question, wincing as he rotated his wrists. "In pain," the Night Haunter exhaled, wincing once more as he forced himself to stretch. "But I'm satisfied."
"Was Carrie the one that injured you?" Kesar questioned, doing what he could to keep his tone neutral.
"Strictly speaking, yes," was the first part of the response. "But I slew her mother," Konrad said as if the word personally disgusted him. "And despite how transactional their relationship was, I cannot fault a girl for loving the one who raised her. So yes, but her actions were justified."
"And now she thinks the world of you," Kesar stated, unable to hide the smile on his lips. "What has Vulkan said about this?"
"That I did something incredible," Konrad reluctantly admitted. "And to never do it again," he admitted with a genuine smile.
"Even Magnus would struggle to subdue a psyker of her level," Kesar admitted. "As would I, Vulkan speaks truly on both counts."
"Subdue? No, nothing like that. It wasn't a fight." Konrad dismissed, treating the situation as if that wasn't worthy of even more praise.
"You talked down a rampaging alpha psyker?" Kesar asked with awe in his voice, "No wonder Vulkan hopes you never do so." The Daemonsbane briefly paused before an idea came to him, "Have you codified your de-escalation tactics? They may prove useful."
Kesar saw a rare sight, a surprised Night Haunter. Visibly thinking about the matter, Konrad eventually agreed, "I have time, I'll compile some packets for you."
*The Eternal Wardens gain Advanced De-escalation Procedures - +5 to Diplomacy*
Over the next few hours, that was what the two Primarchs worked on. Compiling what Konrad had gained through practical experience into a more cohesive, more generalized framework. While there was still quite a bit to do, the Night Haunter explained that he would work on the rest in his own time. And so Kesar switched to the conversation he wished to discuss.
"Brother," Kesar trepidatiously started, "I had heard you and Vulkan met with one of the Gamma blocs."
Whatever emotions Konrad was feeling died in an instant, the Night Haunter's face turning into a careful blank mask, with eyes that stared into the very depths of Kesar's soul. Kesar forced himself to look into his brother's eyes, something perhaps ten Astartes in the galaxy could manage when the Night Haunter was in a state like this. "Do you have a problem with that?"
The words were spoken without malice, they were spoken without any emotion whatsoever, as if Konrad was probing Kesar's true thoughts. "It depends on what you discussed," Kesar replied in an equally bland tone. "And what actions Mara Greyshroud takes in the future."
The Night Haunter slowly nodded his head, "We met with her recently." Konrad admitted, "She is well-liked among the army."
"I've heard," Kesar replied. "She's been active only a few years, and already has billions of guardsmen defecting to her. More than 200 coups have been performed in her name in the scant years she has been active, and those that oppose her bicker and fight amongst themselves." Kesar shifted in his stance, forcing himself to appear more relaxed. "She is well-liked among the army, she has my respect for her ideals but not my approval." The Second Anathema narrowed his eyes at Konrad, demanding an answer. "I wish to know if she has yours, and how far you're willing to support her aims."
"She has both my respect and my approval," Konrad stated quite bluntly. "She is no parrot that approves of everything Vulkan says, the three of us have differing beliefs, and for that, she has my respect. She is devoted to her cause, making efforts to both de-escalate but also taking action to ensure her beliefs are respected and applied. And for that, she has my approval."
"And does she have your support?" Kesar asked, getting to the heart of the matter. "Horus and I worry about this, no one wants a civil war. And the path that leads to such an event has steps that you seem to be treading upon."
Konrad looked a bit uncertain on how to respond for a moment, "She has tired eyes." He remarked, "But there is a spark of determination. Mara wants to make something better. She's made her peace with whatever happens next."
The Second Anathema sighed, "You're willing to fight with her, aren't you?"
The Night Haunter looked Kesar in the eyes, "If circumstances line up, yes." Konrad closed his eyes, "a hive burns to the ground, transhumans in golden armor watching over billions of executions. The dead are thrown into a flaming pit until naught but ashes remain." He opened his eyes, "That future isn't set in stone," Konrad admitted, "but if the Custodes begin burning worlds for daring to demand better, Vulkan and I will step in."
"I have burnt worlds before," Kesar bluntly stated, "you and Vulkan have as well. As unfortunate as it is, it would be the height of hypocrisy to use an exterminatus as justification for war."
"Some of those decisions were justified," Konrad admitted, "if you destroy a world full of daemonic cultists, that is acceptable. If you destroy a world full of monsters, that is justified." He looked back to Kesar, "But not every world is filled with cultists, not every world is filled with monsters. You've seen the reports on Lord General Greyshroud's defectors, are they monsters?" Kesar was forced to admit that they were not. "The amount of hypocrisy we've all engaged in is staggering." Konrad remarked, "Perhaps we've become too accustomed, comfortable, to it. The truth, whatever that is now, is difficult to accept."
"We have all made mistakes," Kesar admitted, thinking back to decisions he made throughout the Crusade. "And sometimes there are no good choices, and civilians die alongside the enemy." The Primarch sighed, "It sounds monstrous, massively so, but Konrad, the Emperor can and will declare them traitors and rebels." Despite the faint hope Kesar had for Horus' silver tongue, he doubted his brother could convince the Master of Man to allow Mara's faction to continue.
Konrad's smile seemed almost sorrowful, "There's a chance he won't." He seemed as if he wanted to convince himself of the words. "Perhaps he will be content assassinating more of Mortarion's sons."
"There's no proof of that," Kesar hissed, "Perhaps it was the Dark Eldar. Perhaps it was a rogue agent. Perhaps the world they were on was more dangerous than expected. There are hundreds of explanations for the annihilation of the Death Guard force besides the Vindicare Temple."
"Do you believe that, Kesar? Do you think there isn't proof, mountains of it? It's been there since the day our father rose up and began killing everyone who disagreed with him. Even without the curse of my vision, is this really a surprise?" Konrad snarled, forcing himself to stand.
"Malcador is more subtle than that," Kesar shot back. "There are thousands of entities that would love nothing more than an Imperial civil war, it is more likely they framed the Sigillite than it is that Malcador was simply sloppy."
"And have you talked to Mortarion yet?"
"Both Horus and Magnus already have," Kesar pointed out, "I don't think he wants my alternate theories as well."
"Do you think he would believe it was Malcador for no reason?" Konrad replied. "He has his hatred for the Emperor, but he is not so monstrous to make false claims like this."
"Just because Mortarion believes it is true, that doesn't mean it is true."
Konrad reluctantly conceded the point, "I can't refute that." The Night Haunter kept standing, his frame still quite tense. "But at the end of the day, it is irrelevant to our discussion. If the Emperor begins exterminating civilians for siding with Lord General Greyshroud, Vulkan and I will interfere." He placed a hand on Kesar's shoulder. "Should that happen, I hope you will fight at our side, and if not, continue your work in the Maelstrom. No matter what others say, your actions will help secure humanity's future."
"And if I side with the Emperor?" Kesar idly asked.
The Night Haunter looked at him, a flash of steel passing through his eyes. "Then hopefully you surrender, otherwise …" Konrad nodded his head towards Epitaph, "...only one of us will walk out alive."
You have 14 research years to spend. With 1 research year locked.
For the tiers, research is done on a flat d100, with basic being DC 10, advanced DC 20, master DC 30, grandmaster DC 40, and pioneer DC 50. Each has a different timescale. Basic takes 1 year, advanced takes 2 years, master takes 3 years, grandmaster takes 4 years, and pioneer takes 8 years. If the research roll fails, then research for that year will not progress. Paragon researches have no DC or roll and take 4 years. Transcendent researchers have no DC and take 8 years.
[] Vortex Safety Procedures – Advanced (1/2)
[] Theoretical Ork Genetics – Grandmaster
[] Basic Psyker Genetic Indicators – Master
[] Navigator Genome Selective Breeding – Master (0/2)
[] Theoretical Object Concept Bonding – Grandmaster (1/4)
[] Higher Order Fundamental Modelling - Grandmaster
[] Architectural Reflection Manipulation – Advanced (1/2)
[] Frequency Analysis – Advanced
[] Null Rod Construction – Pioneer (0/7)
[] Atomic Structures - Grandmaster
[] Nanostructures - Grandmaster
[] Microstructures - Grandmaster
[] Macro Structures- Grandmaster
[] Analytical Material Science – Grandmaster
[] Specialized Design Principles – Grandmaster
[] Basic Xeno Design Principles – Advanced
[] Multidimensional Physics – Master
[] Warp Theory – Pioneer
[] Lexicographic Cyphers – Advanced
[] Quantum Cryptography – Master
[] Integer Factorization Algorithms – Master
[] Bare Bones Custodes Genetic Modelling – Pioneer (0/7)
[] Linking Basic Runes – Grandmaster (2/4)
[] Soul Makeup – Master (1/3)
[] Comprehensive Understanding of Cultist Behavior - Grandmaster
[] Cultist Ritual Counters - Master
[] Master Cultist Countermeasures - Grandmaster
[] Gellar Field Stabilization – Master (2/3)
[] Crossing Advanced Runes – Pioneer
[] Machine Spirit Understanding – Master (1/3)
[] Voidship Runic Patterns – Pioneer
[] Runic Network Theory – Pioneer
[] Gravitational Well Emergency Jump – Master
[] Expressions of Materials - Advanced
[] Teleportation Safety – Paragon
[] Personnel Shield Stability – Grandmaster
[] Project GI - ??? (Can devote as many years as you wish, expires this turn)
[X] Vivisection - Basic
[] Write-in
You have 5 research years to use on runic research, with 5 research years locked.
[] Write-in (effective +5 bonus)
[X] Rune Planet (5 Years) (effective +35 bonus)
The automaton strides amidst the tempest's roar.
Yet when he places his weight upon the balanced scales,
His fate shall be sealed, his valor a crimson tide.
Yet there are two sides to a coin, with a third a remote possibility.
For a single stone can change the river's flow.
Magnus stared at the prophecy he had written, wondering what it all meant.
[X] Malestorm prep and War prevention
-[X] Perturabo
-[X] Konrad
-[X] Lord General Militant Karcer
-[X] Oriacarius
-[X] Sacrifice 1 social for 5 research years.
-[X] Perturabo
-[X] Konrad
-[X] Lord General Militant Karcer
-[X] Oriacarius
-[X] Sacrifice 1 social for 5 research years.
"Father, it's good to see you," Oriacarius briefly embraced his father, allowing a genuine smile to grace his lips. "I wish it was under better circumstances."
Kesar saw the First Captain's expression shift, recognizing that his son was treating this akin to a debriefing. "What happened?"
"Captain Solarus has been captured by Epsilon, an abominable intelligence." Kesar let out a despairing sigh, he never wanted to hear about his sons' deaths. Yet it was an inevitability. "We have been given proof of his survival, even if Epsilon is keeping him sedated."
"What are our options?" The Primarch asked, "We could involve the Raven Guard, perhaps even the Eldar if you think it prudent." Kesar tapped his chin in thought, "Do we have a location? I could teleport in if we can take down the void shields."
"Only a rough location," Oriacarius explained, "our diviners were able to isolate Solarus within a complex cluster, but they reported odd interference. And I suspect Epsilon may be moving the prisoners around, it's what I would do."
"How do we know it won't simply execute Solarus as a hostage?" Kesar reluctantly asked. "We are trusting an abominable intelligence after all."
"We don't," replied the First Captain. "While our psychological analysis indicates it won't, that relies on Epsilon acting as it has up to this point. And quite frankly, it's too intelligent to be predictable."
"In any case, it seems I know where I shall head within the Maelstrom," Kesar spoke with steel in his voice. "Any advice for this? Don't feel pressured to respond immediately, I have plenty of time to prepare."
"I understand this may be cliche, but be careful." Oriacarius demanded, "Act more cautiously than you would normally, while you are one of the Imperium's best duelists, I doubt Epsilon doesn't have counters for you." The First Captain furrowed his eyebrows in thought, "It mentioned it had fought the Aeldari before … it likely has very advanced warptech."
Kesar's interest was piqued, his mind thinking of hypothetical technologies he would use against the Aeldari Dominion of the past. "Then it will have many options," he eventually hummed, "I will take your advice into consideration, my son."
Expecting that to be the only knowledge bomb in their discussion, Kesar was surprised when the First Captain's posture didn't change. "There's more I must cover."
The Primarch sighed, "When it rains, it pours."
"We'll have to fight the actual Eldar as well." Kesar's eyes turned sharp, but Oriacarius preempted his request for more information, "Different Eldar than the ones we may sell daemonic artifacts to." The First Captain paused, "For the record, I'm still against that, not unless I can review their safety procedures."
"We've fought the Eldar before," Kesar said easily, "are these Craftworld Eldar or Dark Eldar?" A handful of years ago, the Primarch would have thought the two the same, but now he knew better.
"Both?" Oriacarius hesitantly put forward, "They seem more like the Aeldari Dominion, with attributes of both the Craftworlds and their darker kin. And they have shown the ability to channel pseudo-divine power."
"We may want Auro to take a look," Kesar thought out loud. "His presence may prove critical should the worst occur." Thinking up possibilities of daemonic incursions, the Primarch's mind churned out hypotheticals and countermeasures. "Regardless, ensure additional Purity runes are at hand, just in case."
"Of course," Oriacarius agreed, and with that, Kesar once more expected their talk to turn towards a more lighthearted tone. Yet his son showed no indication of that.
"What next?" Kesar sighed.
"I've managed to find an Eldar contact," Oriacarius replied with a hint of distaste in his voice. "They are so much more irritating than I ever expected."
"Guilliman did warn me," Kesar placed a hand soothingly on his son's shoulder. "We could send them to Baldur instead, he may be able to temper some of the Harlequins' worst tendencies."
"No, this is a Dark Eldar," came a reply the Second Anathema didn't expect. "One that has proven very helpful, and I hate him for it."
"Who are they?"
"His name is Asdrubael Vect and we worked together at Detroik when the auction fell apart. He knew more about our affairs than I could have imagined and what's worse is that I had not the slightest idea how. He knew us so well that when our forces allied against the other participating factions, he didn't even need to familiarize himself with how the Legion operated." Oriacarius shared rapidly. "He implied most of his information came from Rogal Dorn's domain, which I cannot confirm, and that he's personally spoken to Konrad Curze." He eyed Kesar to ensure he had his father's full attention. "He also, quite smugly I will add, claimed to be assisting Corvus with an endeavor of his."
"We'll have to do a counter-security sweep again," Kesar sighed. "Order the Legion to take on 24-hour shifts for a while, we can run a level 5 sweep."
"I'd feel more comfortable with a level 6," Oriacarius suggested. "We could run skeleton crews for a few months to manage it."
Kesar pursed his lips, having most of the Legion be called in for interviews would take a significant amount of resources, but he could understand the paranoia at play. "No, I don't want to risk an incursion on one of our vessels."
"Understandable," the First Captain admitted. "Regardless, Vect concerns me, and his ties with Corvus concern me far more."
"My brother is playing with fire," the Primarch groused. "First the Eldar, then the study of gods, then the coup, and now he works with Dark Eldar." Kesar massaged his temple, "Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to judge, perhaps Corvus is simply using Vect." Judging by the look on Oriacarius' face, that was an unlikely possibility. "More likely, I fear, is if they are both using the other."
"At least he isn't sleeping with a Dark Eldar," Oriacarius added to the complaints.
"Hopefully," Kesar said amused. "Is that everything with the Eldar?"
The answer was no, of course, it was no. "No, I also entered into a psychically enclosed realm known as the 'Webway'. A vast network of tunnels and other locations that exist deep in the Warp, under the Aeldari's control, that stretches across, seemingly, the entire galaxy. I entered on the annoyingly riddle-woven request of one of the Harlequins. On that note," Oriacarius pointed to a name on Kesar's left gauntlet. "Durante is alive."
"Alive like flesh-and-blood, or alive like Scafrir?" Kesar's eyes briefly glowed, as he tried to find some sort of resonance in the carved name, only to see nothing out of the ordinary.
"Flesh-and-blood," the First Captain replied, "but there is a guardswoman with him that is alive like Scafrir was."
"Fascinating," Kesar mused, thinking of the implications. "Is Durante acting as a spiritual anchor? Or is she able to roam freely?"
"The former, I believe, Vergil reports feeling uncomfortably cold the further she walks from him. For obvious reasons, we haven't forced the issue."
"Magnus may know more," Kesar muttered, "we are headed to Prospero, perhaps the Thousand Sons may have more information from us."
"Perhaps," the First Captain demurred.
"Now," Kesar clapped his hands in the hopes that there were no more knowledge bombs, "is that everything? I was hoping to practice with you to shake off the rust."
The Primarch didn't like the silence that followed. "Not at this time."
"Ori …" Kesar began, "is there something I should know?"
"Only speculation I wish to clarify," came the reply. "I need time to delve into it further, father."
"Very well," the Second Anathema hesitantly accepted. "Keep someone in the loop, however, just to be safe."
"Of course," the Astartes almost seemed insulted at the insinuation he wouldn't be careful, "I have multiple contingencies for this."
Kesar smiled, it seemed the time for serious discussion was at an end for now.
When Kesar heard that Konrad was on Prospero recovering from his injuries, his initial reaction was shock and surprise. Primarchs normally recover within days, for one to require rest for a half-decade… the only thing Kesar could think of that would cause that were curses and high-end psychic attacks. At least he could take solace in the certainty that Konrad had won his fight and killed the psyker, he wouldn't be alive otherwise.
Stepping off the Stormbird onto Prospero, his first sight was bizarre enough to bring Oriacarius to a screeching halt. The presence of Ahriman and Sevatar wasn't unexpected, and while Ahriman's eyeless sockets may intimidate people, Kesar had seen worse. No, the truly bizarre sight was what looked to be a 10-year-old girl perched on Sevatar's shoulders who Kesar was certain was an Alpha psyker based on his witchsight.
The Primarch forced himself to look away from the sight, but Oriacarius was not so wise. Sevatar seemed to delight in the confusion of the Warden, giving a shark smile that only caused Oriacarius to stare harder. In the end, the stalemate was broken by the girl seemingly hiding behind Sevatar from Oriacarius and whispering, "he's scary."
Kesar looked at the Night Lord, eyeing the three flensed human skulls dangling from his hip and the multiple human rib bones that decorated his armor. Then he looked at his son, who appeared to be trying to decode one of Malcador's ciphers. Then he looked down at his armor, it was clean and polished as always. Looking back up, he couldn't help but dig deeper. "And Sevatar isn't?" Kesar asked, hiding his surprise as best he could.
"No," the child innocently stated, patting the Night Lord on the head as she did. "Uncle Sevatar is nice."
Oriacarius looked at Kesar to make sure neither one was hallucinating. "I haven't heard those words in that combination before," the First Captain admitted. "I can't say I expected this."
"That's a little hurtful," Sevatar replied in a tone that was at odds with his expression. Amused sadism could be seen on his face, despite his voice sounding genuinely insulted. Looking up in the direction of the alpha psyker child, Sevatar asked. "Why does everyone think I'm scary, Carrie?"
Keasr idly noticed that Sevatar didn't ask Carrie to apologize for the comment. "Iunno," was the eloquent response from Carrie. Then she looked at Oriacarius with a glare that Kesar could physically feel. "You're mean."
Before the First Captain could reply, Sevatar reached a hand up and patted Carrie on the head, "I feel better already." The alpha psyker broke eye contact with Oriacarius, who seemed unaffected beyond a healthy degree of bafflement and embarrassment.
"You seem to be enjoying this," the Warden groused. "Sorry for … agreeing you're intimidating."
"She takes some getting used to," Ahriman interrupted. "It took me a few days to wrap my head around how she thinks of Lord Primarch Curze."
"Carrie," Kesar directed an apology towards the alpha psyker. "I'm sorry for what I implied about Sevatar, he can be rather scary when focused."
"Hmm," Carrie stared at Kesar suspiciously before looking back at Sevatar. "Uncle Sevatar, is he telling the truth?"
"It seems like it," the Night Lord replied, eyeing Kesar as he spoke. "So, what do you think of Curze's brother?"
"He's not as cool as Uncle Konrad." Was the blunt reply, which caused both Kesar and Sevatar to laugh.
"Ha, I don't doubt that," he said more to fill in the silence than actually agreeing with the statement. "He must have made quite the impression on you."
Of all the expressions he expected, guilt, regret, and sorrow weren't what he predicted. "Yeah…" the young girl trailed off. "He's really nice." She visibly bit her lip, refusing to say more.
"I think Lord Primarch Dorlin has to get going now," Sevatar's expression made it clear that it wasn't a request. "Would you like to learn more about Oriacarius? See if he can learn to be more polite?"
The First Captain of the Wardens sighed, "I'm about to be bullied by a small child, aren't I?" He said quietly enough so only Kesar and Ahriman could hear him.
"You'll get used to it," were the wise words shared by the Thousand Son. "Sevatar has learned to weaponize children quite well."
When Kesar saw Konrad, he wasn't surprised his brother would need years to fully recover. Psychic burns coated his hands, with trace power still visible to Kesar's eyes. Oddly, much of the injury was spread on the inside of his arms, as if he had embraced a column of flame. The Night Haunter's face was odder still, looking strangely pristine. His hair, which Kesar thought had been improving over time, looked better than ever before, neatly groomed in a manner that reminded the Second Anathema of Sanguinius.
"How are you feeling brother?" Kesar asked, leaning against the wall to relax.
Konrad considered the question, wincing as he rotated his wrists. "In pain," the Night Haunter exhaled, wincing once more as he forced himself to stretch. "But I'm satisfied."
"Was Carrie the one that injured you?" Kesar questioned, doing what he could to keep his tone neutral.
"Strictly speaking, yes," was the first part of the response. "But I slew her mother," Konrad said as if the word personally disgusted him. "And despite how transactional their relationship was, I cannot fault a girl for loving the one who raised her. So yes, but her actions were justified."
"And now she thinks the world of you," Kesar stated, unable to hide the smile on his lips. "What has Vulkan said about this?"
"That I did something incredible," Konrad reluctantly admitted. "And to never do it again," he admitted with a genuine smile.
"Even Magnus would struggle to subdue a psyker of her level," Kesar admitted. "As would I, Vulkan speaks truly on both counts."
"Subdue? No, nothing like that. It wasn't a fight." Konrad dismissed, treating the situation as if that wasn't worthy of even more praise.
"You talked down a rampaging alpha psyker?" Kesar asked with awe in his voice, "No wonder Vulkan hopes you never do so." The Daemonsbane briefly paused before an idea came to him, "Have you codified your de-escalation tactics? They may prove useful."
Kesar saw a rare sight, a surprised Night Haunter. Visibly thinking about the matter, Konrad eventually agreed, "I have time, I'll compile some packets for you."
*The Eternal Wardens gain Advanced De-escalation Procedures - +5 to Diplomacy*
Over the next few hours, that was what the two Primarchs worked on. Compiling what Konrad had gained through practical experience into a more cohesive, more generalized framework. While there was still quite a bit to do, the Night Haunter explained that he would work on the rest in his own time. And so Kesar switched to the conversation he wished to discuss.
"Brother," Kesar trepidatiously started, "I had heard you and Vulkan met with one of the Gamma blocs."
Whatever emotions Konrad was feeling died in an instant, the Night Haunter's face turning into a careful blank mask, with eyes that stared into the very depths of Kesar's soul. Kesar forced himself to look into his brother's eyes, something perhaps ten Astartes in the galaxy could manage when the Night Haunter was in a state like this. "Do you have a problem with that?"
The words were spoken without malice, they were spoken without any emotion whatsoever, as if Konrad was probing Kesar's true thoughts. "It depends on what you discussed," Kesar replied in an equally bland tone. "And what actions Mara Greyshroud takes in the future."
The Night Haunter slowly nodded his head, "We met with her recently." Konrad admitted, "She is well-liked among the army."
"I've heard," Kesar replied. "She's been active only a few years, and already has billions of guardsmen defecting to her. More than 200 coups have been performed in her name in the scant years she has been active, and those that oppose her bicker and fight amongst themselves." Kesar shifted in his stance, forcing himself to appear more relaxed. "She is well-liked among the army, she has my respect for her ideals but not my approval." The Second Anathema narrowed his eyes at Konrad, demanding an answer. "I wish to know if she has yours, and how far you're willing to support her aims."
"She has both my respect and my approval," Konrad stated quite bluntly. "She is no parrot that approves of everything Vulkan says, the three of us have differing beliefs, and for that, she has my respect. She is devoted to her cause, making efforts to both de-escalate but also taking action to ensure her beliefs are respected and applied. And for that, she has my approval."
"And does she have your support?" Kesar asked, getting to the heart of the matter. "Horus and I worry about this, no one wants a civil war. And the path that leads to such an event has steps that you seem to be treading upon."
Konrad looked a bit uncertain on how to respond for a moment, "She has tired eyes." He remarked, "But there is a spark of determination. Mara wants to make something better. She's made her peace with whatever happens next."
The Second Anathema sighed, "You're willing to fight with her, aren't you?"
The Night Haunter looked Kesar in the eyes, "If circumstances line up, yes." Konrad closed his eyes, "a hive burns to the ground, transhumans in golden armor watching over billions of executions. The dead are thrown into a flaming pit until naught but ashes remain." He opened his eyes, "That future isn't set in stone," Konrad admitted, "but if the Custodes begin burning worlds for daring to demand better, Vulkan and I will step in."
"I have burnt worlds before," Kesar bluntly stated, "you and Vulkan have as well. As unfortunate as it is, it would be the height of hypocrisy to use an exterminatus as justification for war."
"Some of those decisions were justified," Konrad admitted, "if you destroy a world full of daemonic cultists, that is acceptable. If you destroy a world full of monsters, that is justified." He looked back to Kesar, "But not every world is filled with cultists, not every world is filled with monsters. You've seen the reports on Lord General Greyshroud's defectors, are they monsters?" Kesar was forced to admit that they were not. "The amount of hypocrisy we've all engaged in is staggering." Konrad remarked, "Perhaps we've become too accustomed, comfortable, to it. The truth, whatever that is now, is difficult to accept."
"We have all made mistakes," Kesar admitted, thinking back to decisions he made throughout the Crusade. "And sometimes there are no good choices, and civilians die alongside the enemy." The Primarch sighed, "It sounds monstrous, massively so, but Konrad, the Emperor can and will declare them traitors and rebels." Despite the faint hope Kesar had for Horus' silver tongue, he doubted his brother could convince the Master of Man to allow Mara's faction to continue.
Konrad's smile seemed almost sorrowful, "There's a chance he won't." He seemed as if he wanted to convince himself of the words. "Perhaps he will be content assassinating more of Mortarion's sons."
"There's no proof of that," Kesar hissed, "Perhaps it was the Dark Eldar. Perhaps it was a rogue agent. Perhaps the world they were on was more dangerous than expected. There are hundreds of explanations for the annihilation of the Death Guard force besides the Vindicare Temple."
"Do you believe that, Kesar? Do you think there isn't proof, mountains of it? It's been there since the day our father rose up and began killing everyone who disagreed with him. Even without the curse of my vision, is this really a surprise?" Konrad snarled, forcing himself to stand.
"Malcador is more subtle than that," Kesar shot back. "There are thousands of entities that would love nothing more than an Imperial civil war, it is more likely they framed the Sigillite than it is that Malcador was simply sloppy."
"And have you talked to Mortarion yet?"
"Both Horus and Magnus already have," Kesar pointed out, "I don't think he wants my alternate theories as well."
"Do you think he would believe it was Malcador for no reason?" Konrad replied. "He has his hatred for the Emperor, but he is not so monstrous to make false claims like this."
"Just because Mortarion believes it is true, that doesn't mean it is true."
Konrad reluctantly conceded the point, "I can't refute that." The Night Haunter kept standing, his frame still quite tense. "But at the end of the day, it is irrelevant to our discussion. If the Emperor begins exterminating civilians for siding with Lord General Greyshroud, Vulkan and I will interfere." He placed a hand on Kesar's shoulder. "Should that happen, I hope you will fight at our side, and if not, continue your work in the Maelstrom. No matter what others say, your actions will help secure humanity's future."
"And if I side with the Emperor?" Kesar idly asked.
The Night Haunter looked at him, a flash of steel passing through his eyes. "Then hopefully you surrender, otherwise …" Konrad nodded his head towards Epitaph, "...only one of us will walk out alive."
You have 14 research years to spend. With 1 research year locked.
For the tiers, research is done on a flat d100, with basic being DC 10, advanced DC 20, master DC 30, grandmaster DC 40, and pioneer DC 50. Each has a different timescale. Basic takes 1 year, advanced takes 2 years, master takes 3 years, grandmaster takes 4 years, and pioneer takes 8 years. If the research roll fails, then research for that year will not progress. Paragon researches have no DC or roll and take 4 years. Transcendent researchers have no DC and take 8 years.
[] Vortex Safety Procedures – Advanced (1/2)
[] Theoretical Ork Genetics – Grandmaster
[] Basic Psyker Genetic Indicators – Master
[] Navigator Genome Selective Breeding – Master (0/2)
[] Theoretical Object Concept Bonding – Grandmaster (1/4)
[] Higher Order Fundamental Modelling - Grandmaster
[] Architectural Reflection Manipulation – Advanced (1/2)
[] Frequency Analysis – Advanced
[] Null Rod Construction – Pioneer (0/7)
[] Atomic Structures - Grandmaster
[] Nanostructures - Grandmaster
[] Microstructures - Grandmaster
[] Macro Structures- Grandmaster
[] Analytical Material Science – Grandmaster
[] Specialized Design Principles – Grandmaster
[] Basic Xeno Design Principles – Advanced
[] Multidimensional Physics – Master
[] Warp Theory – Pioneer
[] Lexicographic Cyphers – Advanced
[] Quantum Cryptography – Master
[] Integer Factorization Algorithms – Master
[] Bare Bones Custodes Genetic Modelling – Pioneer (0/7)
[] Linking Basic Runes – Grandmaster (2/4)
[] Soul Makeup – Master (1/3)
[] Comprehensive Understanding of Cultist Behavior - Grandmaster
[] Cultist Ritual Counters - Master
[] Master Cultist Countermeasures - Grandmaster
[] Gellar Field Stabilization – Master (2/3)
[] Crossing Advanced Runes – Pioneer
[] Machine Spirit Understanding – Master (1/3)
[] Voidship Runic Patterns – Pioneer
[] Runic Network Theory – Pioneer
[] Gravitational Well Emergency Jump – Master
[] Expressions of Materials - Advanced
[] Teleportation Safety – Paragon
[] Personnel Shield Stability – Grandmaster
[] Project GI - ??? (Can devote as many years as you wish, expires this turn)
[X] Vivisection - Basic
[] Write-in
You have 5 research years to use on runic research, with 5 research years locked.
[] Write-in (effective +5 bonus)
[X] Rune Planet (5 Years) (effective +35 bonus)
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TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Here's my suggestion for what research we should do this turn, in no particular order.
Do you want to be able to teleport somebody without any inherent big risk of losing somebody to the Warp (unless we literally send 10,000 people at once or something)? Do you want to teleport into a Titan or a Knight or even a Voidship, capture or shoot the pilot and anybody else there, and take the enemy asset without damaging it or struggling greatly in a fight? Do you want to siege fortresses by bypassing their walls entirely, like Kesar and Konrad did using teleportation on an intact Dark Age of Technology fortress over a decade ago?
Do you want to have the Mechanicum be willing to have us Teleport Knights and Titans, fucking giant mecha, into a battlefield without them raising a massive concern over them being lost to the Warp?
I rest my case. Paragon is four actions and no rolls required.
With the minds and memories of Astartes imprinted onto these selected soldiers, to grant them skill beyond what most humans would naturally possess or attain. Equipment to handle threats even the elite of the Imperial Army are not meant to normally face. With a cohesion and ability that can make them thrive in battle. Already granted tremendous resources and overseen by Chief Apothecary Fabius, who is perhaps one of the greatest biologists humanity has ever seen.
Already, the fruits of this work has been seen. With only the first iteration of the physical augmentations installed, no mind or soul additions, the prototypes of Project Gi were the reason why the recent coup on Terra didn't manage to kill or secure Lord Commander Eli. Outnumbered and caught by surprise, yet they fought like demons. (Mechanically, this has delayed the completion of the Project but also improved its results due to 'live testing').
Also, we promised Eli we'd spend five actions on this, so let's put five actions on this. Kesar is many things, and a man of his word is one of them
If we don't take this now, sidenote, we'll never be able to get involved in this research. Which would mean, while delayed, the Project would be overseen only by the man who was willing to torch the Imperium's economy into an apocalypse and the biologist who in canon became one of the most infamous servants of Chaos. Let's not give them total free reign, and add in Kesar Dorlin to not make them both go too far.
Also useful for, say, dealing with Artificial Intelligence like the current biggest threat in the Maelstrom. Or in helping research AI, like what Perturabo is doing and would be grateful for help with (as AI is super powerful)! Let's spend two actions here, as one of them was already done by omake!
Let's spend two actions here, as one of them was already done by omake!
Prospero is also a great place to study this, due to it probably being built using these principles! With that in mind, and with an omake already giving us one year, I say we take this!
(We're also meeting Perturabo later. Imagine the shit he could do with this.)
Before I make any suggestion of what we get now, here's some important news a lot of you may not know. We can nearly get this Grandmaster tier Rune (four actions, DC 40):
We have not fulfilled the requirement yet, we need 2-8 more as it says here and to get the lower number done we need Runes that are different from the ones we've already got. So don't get the Rune of Gold, as we already have the Rune of Silver, and not the Rune of Frost as we already got the Rune of Ice etc. etc. (Here's the list of all the Runes we have right now, so you can see for yourself!)
With that all said, here's three Grandmaster tier Runes (which hopefully fit the 'be different enough criteria) that we can get:
Almost uniquely, four actions are required but due to Kesar's Anti-Chaosness this has no rolls required to create.
THIS. GET THIS. WE NEED IT.
Do you want to be able to teleport somebody without any inherent big risk of losing somebody to the Warp (unless we literally send 10,000 people at once or something)? Do you want to teleport into a Titan or a Knight or even a Voidship, capture or shoot the pilot and anybody else there, and take the enemy asset without damaging it or struggling greatly in a fight? Do you want to siege fortresses by bypassing their walls entirely, like Kesar and Konrad did using teleportation on an intact Dark Age of Technology fortress over a decade ago?
Do you want to have the Mechanicum be willing to have us Teleport Knights and Titans, fucking giant mecha, into a battlefield without them raising a massive concern over them being lost to the Warp?
I rest my case. Paragon is four actions and no rolls required.
For anybody who needs a refresher, 'Project Gestalt Instrumentality' is the great plan of the former Lord Commander Militant Eli Lanatus to create a new type of augmented supersoldier, a step beyond the already elite Solar Auxilia by adding augmentations to the body, mind and soul. Something that would be a much, much needed boon for the Imperial Army and the Imperium as a whole to have.
With the minds and memories of Astartes imprinted onto these selected soldiers, to grant them skill beyond what most humans would naturally possess or attain. Equipment to handle threats even the elite of the Imperial Army are not meant to normally face. With a cohesion and ability that can make them thrive in battle. Already granted tremendous resources and overseen by Chief Apothecary Fabius, who is perhaps one of the greatest biologists humanity has ever seen.
Already, the fruits of this work has been seen. With only the first iteration of the physical augmentations installed, no mind or soul additions, the prototypes of Project Gi were the reason why the recent coup on Terra didn't manage to kill or secure Lord Commander Eli. Outnumbered and caught by surprise, yet they fought like demons. (Mechanically, this has delayed the completion of the Project but also improved its results due to 'live testing').
Also, we promised Eli we'd spend five actions on this, so let's put five actions on this. Kesar is many things, and a man of his word is one of them
If we don't take this now, sidenote, we'll never be able to get involved in this research. Which would mean, while delayed, the Project would be overseen only by the man who was willing to torch the Imperium's economy into an apocalypse and the biologist who in canon became one of the most infamous servants of Chaos. Let's not give them total free reign, and add in Kesar Dorlin to not make them both go too far.
Machine Spirits are very important! They're the heart of the Imperium's technology, as best seen with the really awake and powerful spirit of the Vigilance, and they're in everything! Best understand them, as the Cult Mechanicum would say!
Also useful for, say, dealing with Artificial Intelligence like the current biggest threat in the Maelstrom. Or in helping research AI, like what Perturabo is doing and would be grateful for help with (as AI is super powerful)! Let's spend two actions here, as one of them was already done by omake!
While Kesar Dorlin is a master of Warp-Biology, and very good at regular biology too, now it's time to focus on the other aspect of this branch, how souls work! With this known, a lot more can be understood about Warp-Biology (psykers, Astartes, Thunder Warriors, Navigators etc. etc.), about the Warp as a whole and of course soul stuff! A wide range of topics!
Let's spend two actions here, as one of them was already done by omake!
This research will let us use Research Actions or Other Actions to create designs for any building or starship and such, or even stuff like shipping containers, that are granted by buffs from the Warp! Better fortresses, better ships, better houses, better... fountains? You name it, it can be done! With the help of a psyker, which isn't needed but can empower whatever is being built, these designs can become a reality that can make battles or transport or just life in general much better for the inhabitants! (Of critical use for the Maelstrom!)
Prospero is also a great place to study this, due to it probably being built using these principles! With that in mind, and with an omake already giving us one year, I say we take this!
(We're also meeting Perturabo later. Imagine the shit he could do with this.)
Okay... okay...
Before I make any suggestion of what we get now, here's some important news a lot of you may not know. We can nearly get this Grandmaster tier Rune (four actions, DC 40):
We can double the amount of Runes we can make, and also make it easier for others to understand and make Runes (it was mentioned that getting this would affect the Rune World stages).
We have not fulfilled the requirement yet, we need 2-8 more as it says here and to get the lower number done we need Runes that are different from the ones we've already got. So don't get the Rune of Gold, as we already have the Rune of Silver, and not the Rune of Frost as we already got the Rune of Ice etc. etc. (Here's the list of all the Runes we have right now, so you can see for yourself!)
With that all said, here's three Grandmaster tier Runes (which hopefully fit the 'be different enough criteria) that we can get:
Time is a powerful concept and could help out a lot, Magnus the Red (as we're on Prospero) is currently a super expert of time, Crescum Auro (a Librarian Hero unit we have) is a super expert of time and also made a... Time-Death based enchantment engine we can make, and we're facing a super powerful AI (Epsilon-354) who is a super-duper expert of time and is dangerous. It was also omaked (though not rewarded yet).
Psykers are very important, there's fuck tons of them in the galaxy and they need all the help we can get, Astartes have Librarians who can benefit off of this, we have the Rune World meant to have loads of psykers make Runes, Kesar is a Psyker and right now there's Magnus the Red, Konrad Curze, Carrie Justine the Alpha Psyker, Crescum Auro the Librarian Eternal Warden, Azhek Ahriman and the rest of Prospero that could also help out in making this. Super worth it.
This is a good one. Likely only useable by Kesar Dorlin and the Heroes of the Eternal Wardens, this Grandmaster one can be empowered by every Daemonsbane we have (which is all but Orion and Solarus rn), and while ordinarily it'd be a good idea to wait for at least Solarus first there's a strong case to get this now. Epsilon was mentioned in the Discord server as being very potentially willing to trade Solarus for one of these Runes, as it's now very interested in Daemonsbane stuff (as they want to kill a Chaos God and Daemonsbanes are good for that).
Almost uniquely, four actions are required but due to Kesar's Anti-Chaosness this has no rolls required to create.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
@Daemon Hunter Does the Rune of Psyker get enhanced only if we spend an action on it this turn or does all of Kesar's interaction here do it by default?
- Location
- Elsewhere
The number of psykers present mean it'll happen by default.
- Location
- colombia
Kesar mindset seems naive to me
"Why cant we return to what we used to do"
And
"I done it before,so why make a fuss about it now?"
Is like a man trying to still behave like a kid well into his 30s
The context that made imperial hypocresy justifiable are not eternal and everlasting
"End justify the means" only works if you are actually making progress towards said end
What the MC seems to implicitly support implies eternally stagnating in the "horrible means" phase
Wich would lead to a even worse breakdown years down the line
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TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
@Daemon Hunter What does the Rune of Time do, actually? Since we might soon vote for it?
Rune of Psyker too?
Rune of Psyker too?
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
That... isn't what he was saying at all. He was saying that suddenly deciding that repeat of what has already been done many times before is now something worth full-on revolting against the Imperium for is an inconsistent standard which many would not consider justifiable. Because it is. Every Legion has conducted Exterminatus, some more than others admittedly, and there has not been so massive a change in the state of the galaxy that it could be reasonably stated that now it is unacceptable but barely a decade or two ago it was completely fine. Saying "changing our standards all of a sudden isn't feasible, nor is it a good idea" is very different from "I want everything to stay the same forever".
Hell, he'd agree that it's fucked up to do that to these people, and Kesar would personally not do that if he could at all avoid it, but the Imperium has been doing that pretty much since its inception and has continued to all the way up to that very conversation. Logically speaking you can't draw that line.
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Um, can someone tell me when Kurze got an Alpha Level Psyker?!
I think she was on of his red threats this turn
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
Correct. It nearly killed him but he managed to talk her down
Gellar fields and vortex safety seem kind of important, and only need one more unit each.
Given the issues with psyker infrastructure in the imperium there's probably a lot to be said for trying to use psyker runes to help get that sorted out. Maybe also a rune of anti-possession, or something.
Given the issues with psyker infrastructure in the imperium there's probably a lot to be said for trying to use psyker runes to help get that sorted out. Maybe also a rune of anti-possession, or something.
Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
[X] Plan Nerd Bonding
-[X] Architectural Reflection Manipulation x1
-[X] Soul Makeup x2
-[X] Gellar Field Stabilization x1
-[X] Machine Spirit Understanding x2
-[X] Teleportation Safety x4
-[X] Project GI x4
-[X] Grandmaster Rune of Time x4
--[X] If only at 3/4 successes, consume action for Fire*Ice to make an additional roll
-[X] Rune of Fire*Ice x1
So I am basically doing all Tiny's recommendations here BUT Project GI only gets 4 actions so we can complete Gellar Field Stabilization. Because recently the Black Covenants have been more active and have on one occasion breached Doom Slayer's ship during Warp transit in order to ambush him. He kicked their asses of course, but the fact they can do this is concerning on its own, as some of them may actually be powerful enough to kill one of our Heroes if they get the jump on 'em. Gellar Field Stabilization hopefully would make this harder, thus keeping our Astartes safer. It would also almost certainly make the Imperial Army in the Maelstrom a bit happier because now their Gellar Fields are more reliable and so they're less likely to get eaten by Daemons whilst traversing the tumultuous Immaterium in the region.
-[X] Architectural Reflection Manipulation x1
-[X] Soul Makeup x2
-[X] Gellar Field Stabilization x1
-[X] Machine Spirit Understanding x2
-[X] Teleportation Safety x4
-[X] Project GI x4
-[X] Grandmaster Rune of Time x4
--[X] If only at 3/4 successes, consume action for Fire*Ice to make an additional roll
-[X] Rune of Fire*Ice x1
So I am basically doing all Tiny's recommendations here BUT Project GI only gets 4 actions so we can complete Gellar Field Stabilization. Because recently the Black Covenants have been more active and have on one occasion breached Doom Slayer's ship during Warp transit in order to ambush him. He kicked their asses of course, but the fact they can do this is concerning on its own, as some of them may actually be powerful enough to kill one of our Heroes if they get the jump on 'em. Gellar Field Stabilization hopefully would make this harder, thus keeping our Astartes safer. It would also almost certainly make the Imperial Army in the Maelstrom a bit happier because now their Gellar Fields are more reliable and so they're less likely to get eaten by Daemons whilst traversing the tumultuous Immaterium in the region.
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Nicholas Brooks
Redeemer and Destroyer
- Location
- United States
It was 5 locked in back when he was still LCM, due to the expected pace and funding of the project. Now that he's out and Project GI isn't being rushed we can go down to 4 if we want. Not like 4 actions from the best Primarch geneticist is insignificant anyway.