Chronicles of Baldur: Regret, Regret, Regret...
Altered
Duality | Redeemed
- Location
- Terra
Chronicles of Baldur: Regret, Regret, Regret...
There was much in his life that he regretted, decades of life had given way to such feelings - but even now he didn't let it overwhelm him. He was a lonely island amidst a roiling sea, though waves crashed down upon his shores he'd remain standing - battered, bruised, but never broken.
That meeting with Kesar? It would forever remain yet another of those regrets. One that would inevitably persist until something larger came up, but even then all was all subordinate to one simple regret: Valhalla.
It was his greatest loss. His chief showing of how dismissal his skills were, not only as a commander - but as a leader and as a Warden. He'd been underprepared despite the briefing, arrogant in his own actions and blind to options that were available.
Those Witch Hunters knew such truths, even now they utilized such against him. Each appearance, each meeting - purity seals, detections and more paved the way. A stark reminder of his refusal to cooperate at first with them - when he held far too much faith and trust in his own abilities and that of his men.
He allowed it.
The Voluspa that followed him would forever record such actions, it was engraved in his armor - on his heart, in his mind, and across his soul. The saga of an arrogant man who led his men and thousands of others to death all because of his inadequacies.
Had his mother or father borne witness to such an affair… well it was better that they had died on Terra. Their loss had created who he was and that was perhaps one of the few things he'd hate to corrupt and taint with the present and all the baggage it carried.
All it had taken was a few simple words, a few extra hours - some safety precautions and he'd denied them. Now ninety-two souls were forever consigned to be lost eternally, wondering about their souls the very playthings to cruel, thirsting capricious beings who viewed everything as an ant or annoyance. Three hundred and seventy-eight others had their own lives cut short, their potential never lived up to.
What a commander. What a leader. What an example.
Those cultists on Valhalla had placed an artifact in their barracks, something the Witch Hunters had been all too keen to point out afterwards, a testament to his sin and failure. The lack of proper screening protocols hadn't caught that or the corruption in time and his men fell or died slowly.
He shook his head, the meeting with Kesar had reminded him much of Valhalla. Of his own inability to see other options, of so many issues that he'd once thought rectified.
Why had he treated it like such? His beginning statement had done nothing but fanned flames of distrust and dislike. He'd immediately said that the Primarch was making a foolish decision - even if that was the truth, such blunt phrasing was unacceptable.
It wasn't a phrase let alone a starting statement that would truly see his way garnered, he'd been lucky that as the Primarch had said, his mind was that alongside his own. Yet he'd tainted such a thing, he hadn't and still even now didn't fully believe that.
Kesar had demonstrated time and time again that he didn't like sending his men off to doom themselves. Gehenna was why. If something seemed imminent of a terrible terrible fate for the Wardens he often withheld them until proper preparation or adequate forces were amassed. Aleph had been an exception, with the presence of his brothers being the catalyst for his trust in marching men into a meat grinder.
It's why the 11th Primarch was the primary one dispatched in taking down the Extremis and above threats, calling in favors or collaborating with others for tit-for-tat aid. It had only been recently that Oriacarius himself managed to get one assigned solely to him. It was also why multiple figures like Matticus or Doom served as back-up, grouped together.
The Gene-Sire of the Eternal Wardens husbanded his forces carefully and it while proving useful in nurturing a caring, cautious Legion with morals better then most cost plenty chances to rise up and prove themselves. He could point out on his own hand how many of the Librarius Brothers would have garnered much from leading brothers and taking down planets upon the Medium tier while devoting a council of those along his level to working together in formatting strategies to take down worlds at a higher difficulty.
Perhaps it was the Primarch's own planet and upbringings but it was something very much ultimately adopted by the Heroes of the Wardens and the Legion itself. Too much individual domineering of pieces, all with the focus of caution - of pushing themself at the forefront in hopes of minimizing casualties.
Matticus often commanded and charged into battles like Kesar, he'd adopted far too much from his father and Scafrir prior to his death had perhaps been the worst - such sentimentality could and was able to be utilized against him. Doomslayer while having grown was still much the same as Matticus right out there at the very front, slaying and killing as much as possible - thankfully he was prone to working with others.
Oriacarius was perhaps the best developed in looking to unite the Wardens and at the same time one driven to take charge the most. He'd united them through his contingencies, drilling relentlessly into them key points that would ultimately save their lives later on - but at the same time it came from when he called the shots. Not when he worked with others, but from when he himself developed it and called those shots.
Oriacarius could sacrifice his men, but Gehenna haunted him even to this day. It was something that shamed him and internally a little piece of him chipped and broke with each Warden he consigned to death.
Sometimes it was better to take those intermediaries between the Wardens not at officer level or not demonstrating a degree of astounding skill in their field and ask them to come up with solutions. It'd create a stronger secondary tier, it'd see their use rather than be regulated to serving at the heroes and champions' own command without a degree of flexibility or space to grow.
How much more might Captain Aurelian have grown in his own talent where he not suborned to Oriacarius at almost every chance? How much more might Aurelian have transformed when given equal status with a group of individuals able to empathize with him. Able to talk to them and discuss plans and options not as a subordinate to a leader and not as a leader to a subordinate but as a peer to a peer?
The gulf of difference, the perspective might have allowed for a truly unique secondary cadre to form. And yet? Nothing.
Instead they were all sheep before the shepherd and his dogs.
They might be the sheep that lead the other sheep, but that was their place. Nothing more and nothing less.
Baldur had been thankful for the Great Crusade's escalation, oh he'd hated it. But at the end of the day the escalation allowed his brother's to grow - to become more and in doing so elevate others.
Even now he tried to create this, talk to those of such levels. It was hard. Very hard when mostly he relied on transmissions and messages rather than individual meetings. Constantly being ferried from world to world for diplomacy had done that.
So had the fact most quelled in the face of Kesar, it was something normal to all Space Marines. They'd all found it incredibly hard to disagree, to differ from the leader - the one whose blood and DNA they carried within them.
This Ritual of Kesar's? It would strengthen them at a horrible price. Many of that cadre would be dead and much of that blame was left on the Primarch… and him. Something he'd let drive his words during that meeting.
Anger. Frustration. Shock. Guilt. Such negativity all actively reinforced by his own self-hatred.
Anger at the Primarch for not having seen something, anger at himself for being angry at Kesar over something he knew the Primarch didn't have to see, and anger at himself for not having spoken up earlier about it.
Frustration in knowing his anger was wrong and yet still feeling it, frustration in himself for the words he said only deepened a gulf of dislike between the two, and frustration at the galaxy for having created this entire affair.
Shock, for he couldn't believe that the Primarch thought him worthy. Shock that the Primarch believed this to be possible. And shock that he was going to willingly march his men into hell and death.
Guilt at his own perceived lack of actions. Guilt for having known of something, of being able to have pushed harder to see it established but not doing so. Guilt for the lives he knew that would be lost thanks to his past actions.
It'd been so easy to let it guide him. To let such emotions pick his words.
And now he's paying the price. Brothers would die in droves, those who might have saved them would fall alongside them - casualties in this endless war against Chaos and their ilk. All because he didn't push hard enough, because he stayed silent, and because he ultimately chose the easier path of targeting another rather than accepting his own share of the blame he was apportioned.
Like Valhalla he'd trapped himself.
And like Valhalla it was another regret to weigh him down… eternally so.
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AN: Talked with Daemon, while Baldur wasn't the main Captain on Valhalla at the time he was actually one of the ones present and as such chooses to blame himslf given he was one of the few survivors of the Cultist Corruption that netted us Doomslayer, Bader, Hektor, and created Malachiel the Servant of Chaos who somehow is replacing Lorgar.
There was much in his life that he regretted, decades of life had given way to such feelings - but even now he didn't let it overwhelm him. He was a lonely island amidst a roiling sea, though waves crashed down upon his shores he'd remain standing - battered, bruised, but never broken.
That meeting with Kesar? It would forever remain yet another of those regrets. One that would inevitably persist until something larger came up, but even then all was all subordinate to one simple regret: Valhalla.
It was his greatest loss. His chief showing of how dismissal his skills were, not only as a commander - but as a leader and as a Warden. He'd been underprepared despite the briefing, arrogant in his own actions and blind to options that were available.
Those Witch Hunters knew such truths, even now they utilized such against him. Each appearance, each meeting - purity seals, detections and more paved the way. A stark reminder of his refusal to cooperate at first with them - when he held far too much faith and trust in his own abilities and that of his men.
He allowed it.
The Voluspa that followed him would forever record such actions, it was engraved in his armor - on his heart, in his mind, and across his soul. The saga of an arrogant man who led his men and thousands of others to death all because of his inadequacies.
Had his mother or father borne witness to such an affair… well it was better that they had died on Terra. Their loss had created who he was and that was perhaps one of the few things he'd hate to corrupt and taint with the present and all the baggage it carried.
All it had taken was a few simple words, a few extra hours - some safety precautions and he'd denied them. Now ninety-two souls were forever consigned to be lost eternally, wondering about their souls the very playthings to cruel, thirsting capricious beings who viewed everything as an ant or annoyance. Three hundred and seventy-eight others had their own lives cut short, their potential never lived up to.
What a commander. What a leader. What an example.
Those cultists on Valhalla had placed an artifact in their barracks, something the Witch Hunters had been all too keen to point out afterwards, a testament to his sin and failure. The lack of proper screening protocols hadn't caught that or the corruption in time and his men fell or died slowly.
He shook his head, the meeting with Kesar had reminded him much of Valhalla. Of his own inability to see other options, of so many issues that he'd once thought rectified.
Why had he treated it like such? His beginning statement had done nothing but fanned flames of distrust and dislike. He'd immediately said that the Primarch was making a foolish decision - even if that was the truth, such blunt phrasing was unacceptable.
It wasn't a phrase let alone a starting statement that would truly see his way garnered, he'd been lucky that as the Primarch had said, his mind was that alongside his own. Yet he'd tainted such a thing, he hadn't and still even now didn't fully believe that.
Kesar had demonstrated time and time again that he didn't like sending his men off to doom themselves. Gehenna was why. If something seemed imminent of a terrible terrible fate for the Wardens he often withheld them until proper preparation or adequate forces were amassed. Aleph had been an exception, with the presence of his brothers being the catalyst for his trust in marching men into a meat grinder.
It's why the 11th Primarch was the primary one dispatched in taking down the Extremis and above threats, calling in favors or collaborating with others for tit-for-tat aid. It had only been recently that Oriacarius himself managed to get one assigned solely to him. It was also why multiple figures like Matticus or Doom served as back-up, grouped together.
The Gene-Sire of the Eternal Wardens husbanded his forces carefully and it while proving useful in nurturing a caring, cautious Legion with morals better then most cost plenty chances to rise up and prove themselves. He could point out on his own hand how many of the Librarius Brothers would have garnered much from leading brothers and taking down planets upon the Medium tier while devoting a council of those along his level to working together in formatting strategies to take down worlds at a higher difficulty.
Perhaps it was the Primarch's own planet and upbringings but it was something very much ultimately adopted by the Heroes of the Wardens and the Legion itself. Too much individual domineering of pieces, all with the focus of caution - of pushing themself at the forefront in hopes of minimizing casualties.
Matticus often commanded and charged into battles like Kesar, he'd adopted far too much from his father and Scafrir prior to his death had perhaps been the worst - such sentimentality could and was able to be utilized against him. Doomslayer while having grown was still much the same as Matticus right out there at the very front, slaying and killing as much as possible - thankfully he was prone to working with others.
Oriacarius was perhaps the best developed in looking to unite the Wardens and at the same time one driven to take charge the most. He'd united them through his contingencies, drilling relentlessly into them key points that would ultimately save their lives later on - but at the same time it came from when he called the shots. Not when he worked with others, but from when he himself developed it and called those shots.
Oriacarius could sacrifice his men, but Gehenna haunted him even to this day. It was something that shamed him and internally a little piece of him chipped and broke with each Warden he consigned to death.
Sometimes it was better to take those intermediaries between the Wardens not at officer level or not demonstrating a degree of astounding skill in their field and ask them to come up with solutions. It'd create a stronger secondary tier, it'd see their use rather than be regulated to serving at the heroes and champions' own command without a degree of flexibility or space to grow.
How much more might Captain Aurelian have grown in his own talent where he not suborned to Oriacarius at almost every chance? How much more might Aurelian have transformed when given equal status with a group of individuals able to empathize with him. Able to talk to them and discuss plans and options not as a subordinate to a leader and not as a leader to a subordinate but as a peer to a peer?
The gulf of difference, the perspective might have allowed for a truly unique secondary cadre to form. And yet? Nothing.
Instead they were all sheep before the shepherd and his dogs.
They might be the sheep that lead the other sheep, but that was their place. Nothing more and nothing less.
Baldur had been thankful for the Great Crusade's escalation, oh he'd hated it. But at the end of the day the escalation allowed his brother's to grow - to become more and in doing so elevate others.
Even now he tried to create this, talk to those of such levels. It was hard. Very hard when mostly he relied on transmissions and messages rather than individual meetings. Constantly being ferried from world to world for diplomacy had done that.
So had the fact most quelled in the face of Kesar, it was something normal to all Space Marines. They'd all found it incredibly hard to disagree, to differ from the leader - the one whose blood and DNA they carried within them.
This Ritual of Kesar's? It would strengthen them at a horrible price. Many of that cadre would be dead and much of that blame was left on the Primarch… and him. Something he'd let drive his words during that meeting.
Anger. Frustration. Shock. Guilt. Such negativity all actively reinforced by his own self-hatred.
Anger at the Primarch for not having seen something, anger at himself for being angry at Kesar over something he knew the Primarch didn't have to see, and anger at himself for not having spoken up earlier about it.
Frustration in knowing his anger was wrong and yet still feeling it, frustration in himself for the words he said only deepened a gulf of dislike between the two, and frustration at the galaxy for having created this entire affair.
Shock, for he couldn't believe that the Primarch thought him worthy. Shock that the Primarch believed this to be possible. And shock that he was going to willingly march his men into hell and death.
Guilt at his own perceived lack of actions. Guilt for having known of something, of being able to have pushed harder to see it established but not doing so. Guilt for the lives he knew that would be lost thanks to his past actions.
It'd been so easy to let it guide him. To let such emotions pick his words.
And now he's paying the price. Brothers would die in droves, those who might have saved them would fall alongside them - casualties in this endless war against Chaos and their ilk. All because he didn't push hard enough, because he stayed silent, and because he ultimately chose the easier path of targeting another rather than accepting his own share of the blame he was apportioned.
Like Valhalla he'd trapped himself.
And like Valhalla it was another regret to weigh him down… eternally so.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AN: Talked with Daemon, while Baldur wasn't the main Captain on Valhalla at the time he was actually one of the ones present and as such chooses to blame himslf given he was one of the few survivors of the Cultist Corruption that netted us Doomslayer, Bader, Hektor, and created Malachiel the Servant of Chaos who somehow is replacing Lorgar.
