It is the 31st Millenium. Four legions have been shattered, a primarch slain, tens of thousands of space marines lost on Isstvan V during the Dropsite Massacre. Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars, learns of this too late to change the outcome of the battle, but not so late that he is unable to change the outcome of the war.
The Prodigal Son: A Jaghatai Khan Quest (WH30K AU)
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0. Chondax System - Swordstorm
THE PRODIGAL SON
A JAGHATAI KHAN QUEST
0. CHONDAX SYSTEM - SWORDSTORM
A JAGHATAI KHAN QUEST
0. CHONDAX SYSTEM - SWORDSTORM
A bell chimed.
Illya Ravallion woke - it didn't take much now, to wake her. Youth had many advantages, but of the perilous few old age possessed, little need for a full night's sleep was one she did not mind.
"A moment," she said, fingers going through her short, austere hair, patting it into some semblance of order as she swung her feet off the bed and into slippers. A robe was next, thicker than regulation. Even after so many years, no gold or silver acccented her wardrobe as it did so many of the White Scars and even the occasional menial who did so in imitatation of the Khan. No one looked down upon her for it: indeed, most seemed to take it as writ that a szu would not want such worldly things. The only concession she made to vanity was an antique silver chronometer which kept Terra standard with fanciful analog hands that glowed pale blue in the darkness. The chrono, as it so happened, had an unseemly hour upon it.
"Be welcome," she called, quickly strapping it onto her wrist.
The doors to her personal quarters slid open noiselessly and Halji, her assigned adjutant, appeared. Had he been a normal man, the corridor's lumens would have been blinding.
Haljii was not a normal man, and in full armor, the space marine would have stood a full third taller than her, and fully eclipsed the doorway. Even without the armor he was a hulking presence.
"Szu Illya, I beg pardon for disturbing your rest. You wished to be notified of when-"
Like ice water being thrown in her face, she was fully alert and already moving past Halji who had gracefully given way and then fallen into step with her. His dark Chogorian skin contrasted sharply with her paler features.
"The Choir receives?"
Halji nodded. "Yes, szu-Illya. The Khagan is with the Master of Astropaths already. A new hunt ordered by the Warmaster, no doubt."
There was a relish in his voice that was at odds with his usual courtesy. But then again, for all that they were very similar, the White Scars as a whole defied easy categorization and simple stereotypes.
It had been months since the last astropathic communication. The White Scars, in their typical way, seemed to care very little about the fact that they were out of touch with the wider Imperium: the stragglers and would-be inheritors of warlord Urlaak Urruk gave them more than enough xenos to hunt, and they who had ventured faster and further than their brother legions were well aware how how fickle the warp could be. They had once lost contact with the Imperium for two years, something which Illya had verified as being both true and something of a bitter pill for the Departmento heads who occasionally fancied themselves the true backbone of the Great Crusades.
While the White Scars might not have cared, Illya did. Without communication from Terra she felt unmoored. There was a strange feeling of loss which accompanied knowing that the rest of the galaxy was moving on without them, and that she, with her mind that forgot nothing once seen, and preferred tidy, rational administration of resources, thought that even if the White Scars were undeniably effective here, it wasn't where they were needed. She could try to rationalize a hundred thousand troop deployments that the White Scars were wont to manage in their willy-nilly manner, but none of it mattered an iota if they were not where they needed to be.
In other words, the White Scars did not see their assignment here as an insult or demotion in the same way she did. They were probably right to do so, but she did not believe she was totally wrong either. Someone wanted them out of the way, and while she wasn't one to officially doubt the Warmaster, looking at accounts of previous campaigns, it was very hard not to see Legion XVI as one which stole others' glory.
She had voiced such doubts to the Khan, years and years ago, long before Chondax, and he had laughed in her face. One did not speak of glory between brothers. Glory for one was glory for all, and if Horus did not always keep to agreements and timetables while in warzones and on battlefronts, such was only fair: neither did he nor the White Scars. One seized the moment where possible. Doubt, in oneself or one's brothers could only end in strife and torment, something which he had had his fill of, he had added dryly.
Having just finished a campaign with IV Legion which had necessitated working alongside the legendarily mercurial Primarch Perturabo, who was undoubtedly a genius, but also undoubtedly difficult to work with, as well as I Legion, which was headed by the redoubtable, but enigmatic and in many ways equally difficult to work with Lion, she took his meaning and did not bring it up again.
Yet, her spirits brightened at the prospect of news from the outside.
That feeling lasted precisely as long as it took to reach the command bridge. The Master of Astropaths, it seemed, had left his nest coppery synapse conduits to descend to the command throne. The Primarch was there, standing, dressed in his usual unarmored finery, expression thunderous. The Master's head was bowed - as was every warrior surrounding the Khagan.
Illya was silent, as was Halji. There was a stillness in the air which presumed violence.
"Say that again," the Khan said.
The sentence fell from the Master of Astropaths' cracked and scarred lips like a black hole, swallowing everything she thought she knew about the Imperium.
"The Warmaster is dead."
-----
Of course, it wasn't that simple. How could it be? Bad news, in Illya's vast recollection of facts and figures, never came in threes. It came in storms.
But of the blizzard of information that now came, three facts stood out.
First, was Isstvan V. There, the Warmaster had died at the hands of traitors, but he had not fallen alone: Magnus, Vulkan and Sanguinius were missing, presumed dead, their legions, like those of the Luna Wolves shattered in the same fell event that had lain low the Warmaster. Though attempts had been made to obfuscate, they were desultory things. Someone wanted it known, widely known, that the Imperium had lost its first and foremost son.
Second, was the obvious subterfuge regarding the perpetrators of the massacre. False reports - which knew the signs of surety and thus meant all, or most channels were compromised- were so voluminous as to make it impossible to ascertain any truths on the ground. Even the White Scars had been singled out as the masterminds of the massacre at Isstvan V, though it seemed little effort had been expended to actually make that accusation stick: more common were those against the Space Wolves, World Eaters and Night Lords. The barbarians and madmen, tearing down the best of the Legions. An explanation that sat a little too neatly for Illya's liking, and, besides, she did not think the three equal to their opponents.
Third, Terra was silent. Not a single verifiable message had left Sol system in months. That, more than anything else, terrified her.
Upon the command dais, Jaghatai Khan looked at the assembled warriors and generals. The early fury was missing but not gone, leashed until it could be put to some greater purpose. When he spoke his voice was sonorously resonant.
"My warriors - the storm is upon us. Our eyes are blinded, our ears full of thunder, our path treacherous. I seek now your counsel."
She waited a heartbeat, out of politeness.
"My lord," said Illya, in Imperial Gothic, when it seemed no one else had an actionable idea, "return to Terra."
He gave her a heavy lidded stare that once would have sent her stumbling and stammering.
"Why?"
"With no news, it is imperative we return - this information blackout is no coincidence, the Throneworld is probably under attack at this very moment."
"With respect, szu-Illya, I disagree," said Hasik Noyan Khan in the Terran lingua franca, though it still fit awkwardly in his mouth. One of the few remaining White Scars who had fought with the Khan on Chogoris before the coming of the Imperium, he had adapted remarkably well, save for the accent. "Not with your assessment, which none, I think, would find fault with, but where your conclusions lead. So much falsehood, and yet silence from Terra is truth? No, it is lure. All roads to Terra are known, all are watched. We go, we die like Warmaster."
"Do you fear death?" asked the Khan, switching to Chogorian.
"No, Khagan, never that!" Hasik's voice was fervent. "But to die in a traitor's snare, to die without having exacted vengeance - I fear that, I fear that much more than I fear my own extinction."
"Good," said Jaghatai Khan. "That is as it should be. Ukhrakh, utsakh. Withdraw, then return. We go to Terra, but not now, not until more is known. We will go, this I swear. Death may come for us all, but not before we take our tithe in souls with us. Where, then, does the hunt start? Qin Xa what say you?"
Qin Xa had been, until then, a silent, watchful presence. Unlike most White Scars, he never seemed to be without his armor, nor the two mighty dao power swords strapped to his waist. He was, it was said, closest to the perfection of the blade that the Khan had achieved. He was also, Illya knew, one of the most dependable and thoughtful of the White Scars.
"We must find Yesugei."
The Khan nodded. "Yes, if ever there was a time for his wisdom this would be it. So, you would counsel a return to Chogoris?"
A heavy nod. "Khagan, I would."
There were other nods from the makeshift war council: Qin Xa was popular despite or because of his stoicism and the White Scars would obviously jump at the opportunity to return to their homeworld. It did not hurt that, beyond the somewhat quixotic task of finding one space marine in a galaxy where planet -hopping was trivial, it was genuinely good advice. Yesugei, leader of the stormseers, the White Scars' librarians, had been set on some secret task that involved other legions before the fleet had gone to Chondax. If anyone could be trusted to know the going-ons of what had occurred, it would be him.
"Then go," said the Khan. "Jemulan Noyan Khan and the Horde of Earth will go with you. Together you will find Yesugei and learn what has happened to my father's empire during our absence."
Both warriors clasped a fist to their heart. "Your will be done!"
They departed immediately: there would be some time before they left, but not much. When pressed to move, the White Scars set an astonishing pace.
"Where else must we roam?" asked the Khan.
If they were to split up the fleet in what was essentially a fact-finding mission, then the answer was obvious. Before Illya could say it, Hasik beat her there:
"The worlds of your fallen brothers. Cthonia, Nocturne, Baal, Prospero - I know not where the survivors of the shattered legions have chosen the ground of their last stands, but assuredly some have gone home to regroup."
"Cthonia lies too close to Terra," said Illya. "And Nocturne too far from Isstvan V, but yes, I agree."
"Some must go to Nocturne regardless of the distance," said the Khan. He must have seen her doubt for he added, wryly. "But yes, a smaller group."
The rest of the war council was spent hammering out the whos and wheres and whens. Illya, it seemed, would be seconded to Hasik Noyan-Khan in order to help muster those elements of the fleet too dispersed to make it in time for departure of the hordes. New authentication codes were being generated, all specific to each Noyan Khan. All told, the war council took a quarter of an hour. Still, there was one element left unattended.
"Where, my lord, will you go?" asked Illya.
-------
Where does the Khan go?
[x] Nocturne
Vulkan's homeworld.
[x] Baal
Sanguinius' homeworld.
[x] Prospero
Magnus' homeworld.
-----------
QM Note: Heyo! I've been really into White Scars recently and one of the more compelling parts of their lore during the Horus Heresy was, upon discovering it had happened, their Primarch went: ughh, a family squabble. Let's try to be slightly objective and try to figure out who's actually in the right here.
Now you get to do the same! This is an AU where things have gone differently. Loyalists and traitors are all up in the air and you gotta figure out what is what. Past events in this AU are similar but not identical to canon ones. This will also be my excuse should there be a piece of lore I have misinterpreted or am unaware of.
- Location
- Belgium
[x] Prospero
[x] Prospero
RepThe21st
21st of his Name
- Location
- Greece
[x] Baal
Pure BA bias? Why yes, thank you for asking. But also, more so that I would rather not go to Prospero, as that would more than likely just confuse and obfuscate things further. Nocturne is acceptable, but for the same reasons so is Baal, and the idea of Sanguinius/the 9th Legion on Istvaan 5 is a curious one that I would like to learn more about.
Pure BA bias? Why yes, thank you for asking. But also, more so that I would rather not go to Prospero, as that would more than likely just confuse and obfuscate things further. Nocturne is acceptable, but for the same reasons so is Baal, and the idea of Sanguinius/the 9th Legion on Istvaan 5 is a curious one that I would like to learn more about.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Baal
daedalus725
Kell of Kells, godking of Planet X
- Location
- Daedalus crater, The moon
[x] Prospero
Magnus' homeworld.
To find our closest of brothers
Magnus' homeworld.
To find our closest of brothers
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[x] Prospero
Chance of two brothers being there if Mangus survived and Russ was still ordered to get him. The AU part has unleashed so many unknown elements, oh what fun.
Chance of two brothers being there if Mangus survived and Russ was still ordered to get him. The AU part has unleashed so many unknown elements, oh what fun.
[x] Baal
avatar11792
Et Sic Incipit
- Location
- Planet Earth, North America
[x] Prospero
Figuring out what happened to the only psyker Primarch is probably a good idea.
Figuring out what happened to the only psyker Primarch is probably a good idea.
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- Location
- Canada
Do mine eyes deceive me, a Khan Quest, with a alternate Herasy we have little to no idea what's going on about. Be still my beating heart.
[X] Prospero
Khan and Magnus got along pretty well and even if some reports are being weird, being there to potentially play peacemaker between Russ and Magnus is something to consider. even if we just find some of his sons, Psykers are useful and Prospero is full of them.
[X] Prospero
Khan and Magnus got along pretty well and even if some reports are being weird, being there to potentially play peacemaker between Russ and Magnus is something to consider. even if we just find some of his sons, Psykers are useful and Prospero is full of them.
[x] Prospero
Voting closed: looks like it's a win for Prospero.
1.1 Prospero
Prospero.
Jaghatai Khan had not been to that planet for at least a century and did not lightly return. One did not thoughtlessly hold another's heart in their hands and Prospero was undoubtedly much of Magnus' too-large, too-generous heart.
"Oh, but you must come," Magnus had told him, all those years ago, the first of his brothers to make such an invitation. "Call it a training exercise if it pleases you, but - ah, such wonders I have to show you brother."
There was something of a pure childishness in the offer, an eagerness to share that Jaghatai Khan had not understood. They had conducted their training exercises - and surprisingly useful ones which became the bedrock upon which their warriors so effectively worked together - and then they toured Prospero, Yesugei and his stormseers acting as his honor guard instead of the customary keshig.
Yesugei, however, was wise and knew what the Khan had wanted when selecting them. Soon, the weathermakers were deep in discussion with their Prosperean counterparts: once Yesugei and Ahriman had wandered off the rest of the stormseers had taken it as tacit permission to disperse and explore, much like how children everywhere went wandering when neighboring tribes met for trade and negotiations while the adults did their duty of talking of matters of state and politics.
So Jaghatai Khan had found himself alone with his strangest of brothers, walking towards the Pyramid of Photep, a beautiful creation of gold and silver and glass, so different, and yet so similar to the palace monasteries of Khum Kharta. It was as pure an expression of Prospero as existed turned into architecture. Large, imposing, wondrous - and accessible.
"Your sons are poets, are they not?" Magnus had asked. "Not all, but many."
Jaghatai had blinked. Not one other soul not from Chogoris had noticed, not even Horus.
"Are not all warriors poets?" he had replied.
Magnus had laughed, golden cuirass trembling to contain his mirth. "Not in my experience, brother. Could you imagine the Night Lords writing poetry? Or the World Eaters?"
Jaghatai considered it. "It would be interesting, I think."
Magnus beamed. "It would, wouldn't it? Art is like that. Precious and strange."
They walked some more, and then out of nowhere: "You are a good father, Jaghatai. You protect your sons from becoming mere engines of war."
It was perhaps the greatest compliment he had or ever would receive from a member of his strange Terran family. He felt, not shame, exactly, more like embarrassment, that he had not learnt as much about his brother's legion as Magnus had so clearly learnt of his.
"They were made to die, but that does not mean they cannot live."
"Made to die - is that how you see our Father's work?"
Jaghatai shrugged. "All warriors are ultimately made to kill and thus made to die."
"Some more than others," said Magnus, a pall coming over him. He then shook it off, like a dog might rainwater after a sudden storm. "But enough of that sorry subject. I would like to ask you if any of your sons would be willing to share with me their poetry-"
A good memory.
Jaghatai opened his eyes.
Standing on the observation deck as Swordstorm broke into real space, Jaghatai could feel it, the bass drumbeat of blood and smoke, seconds before the sensorium master made the announcement and the proximity spheres showed the signs of the White Scars fleet, as well as: "Khagan, the Space Wolves are here in force-"
"I see it," he said reading the blizzard of auspex signs. A picture was becoming clear. "They fight each other."
Indeed, the Fenrisians appeared to have descended into a civil war. If a fleet not quite the size of the Khan's current forces was present, it was only because they had ground down the rest. Prosperean space was littered with burning void engines and abandoned space hulks. One went past the viewport even as he watched. The Thousand Sons did not defend their own planet: the Space Wolves did. Like regicide, with Prospero as the king, and all pieces the same color.
The Khan had always preferred Go.
Neither side hailed him: either they had not thought to set their auspexes to scan for new arrivals at the jump-point or they did not care. Either option defied the most basics of war in the void.
He frowned. The Space Wolves were reputed as many things, but bad at war-making was not one of them.
"Full burn towards Prospero," he growled. A quarter fleet or not, his legion was fresh, and fit for battle. The endless fighting between siblings would have worn both sides down and in this, he did not see the hand of his brother Leman Russ. He did not doubt that the White Scars could rout them all if it came to it: sometimes, warriors were glad to have a reason to retreat especially when the killing became ugly. There were no uglier deaths than those between brothers. "Find out who the commanders of this madness are and get them to stand down. If they do not, we will make them. Get me a direct channel with Prospero."
The heart salute. "Khagan!"
Somewhere below, he could hear the lances warming up. Void shields sprang into existence as the gellar fields went down.
Then, like the jaws of a steel trap, in the fractions of a heartbeat between the transition between gellar and void, the wolves struck.
It was a strike force, suicidally brave, or just plain suicidal. Six space marines in slate gray Terminator armor popped into existence on the bridge, bodies swathed in fur, spikes across their battle plate, holding the old weapons: maul, axe, sword; another missed the teleport window, and appeared as half a man, collapsing wetly upon marble as his knees hit the ground and his entrails spilled out upon the floor, entire torso missing.
It was a bold maneuver.
It might have even worked had they been willing to go to greater, more dishonorable lengths, but against a Primarch, one needed more than boldness and blades.
Before the half man had even fully pressed his guts upon the ground, the Khan was amongst them. A kick struck the closest with a deafening boom that deformed a chestplate, shattered the ossmodular rib cage beneath it, and sent the wolf hurtling helplessly through the air and into one of his comrades and then both into a bank of pictcasters, weapons tumbling from their hands as glass and plasteel shattered about them. Others had begun moving, but time became syrup, streams of action-reaction, cause-and-effect, possibility-and-impossibility flashed like lightning through posthuman synapses. More than one of his brothers could see the future. The Khan merely predicted it.
"If our brothers only knew," Magnus had once said, after a sparring match, chest heaving as he took in deep, gulping breaths. "I can read your mind, but not quickly enough. You think like light itself."
The snap-hiss of the Khan's masterforged tulwar's energy field engaged with a soft blue light.
Undaunted, the wolves howled and leapt.
One fell to lightning as Naranbataar, sigils glowing blue upon his armor, helm missing to reveal a face contorted with fury, so odd to see when it was the color and texture of old, knotted wood, and usually creased in laughter, took hold of the storm and channeled the warp into him.
A second dropped as a kiril dagger punctured the eye-lens, spearing into the brain behind it.
A third swung his axe, but as he met it, catching the gauntlet before it could complete the motion, the Khan knew. The Wolves did not expect to fight him. They did not, perhaps, expect to fight men at all. They fought not in anger, but self-preservation and even that was beginning to wear thin.
Jaghatai averted a killing stroke that would have cut through the gorget of the wolf, tulwar instead scoring a deep rent through the reinforced adamantine and plasteel alloys of the man's helm, cutting, or so he judged, the man's cheek.
He held a halting fist up before his sons passed judgment and turned them into meat fit only for carrion crows.
"You play dangerous games, Wolves."
There was a hiss-release of a space marine opening the seals on their helm. The smell that emanated from it was that of a warrior who had lived in his armor for weeks, if not months.
"Jarl Khan," the Space Wolf said. Beneath his helm, a knotted leather hood still covered his head, shaped fright mask hiding his face, slots within it revealing two lantern yellow eyes. "We thought you in sickness. Let our threads- and our threads alone - be cut as payment for this trespass upon your hall." A glance back, towards Naranbataar. "You harbor maleficarum, but I beg that you allow us to tell our tale."
The Khan disengaged his blade's energy field. He looked at the half man, pooling blood the bright red of astartes, then at the Wolves.
Blades were not the weapons for ambushes and boarding actions against men. They were, however, the only tool of any use against daemons and yaksha.
He stowed his tulwar.
"Sensorium Master - let me know if there are more wolves aboard the ship."
"Yes, Khagan!"
There was a crash as the two wolves the Khan had earlier kicked finally extricated themselves from the wreckage they had made of the pictcasters. The ones in front backed, ever so slightly, towards them. The Khan gestured and they threw down their arms.
"Tell your tale, then."
The Space Wolf nodded.
"Gerri was our skjald, so I will tell it simple. We hold the hearth-fire-"
"I am not familiar with the idiom."
A pause. The Fenrisian language was closer to Imperial Gothic than Chogorian, but not so close they spoke it easily. Finally, he said: "We protect Prospero from fell things."
For a moment, the Khan had returned to Chogoris, conversing with warriors of the defeated upon the Altak. He snapped his fingers. "Liquor."
Though it took long seconds, Menials came scurrying, eyes bugging out at the scene of carnage, holding goblets and bottles. In the Khan's and wolves hands they became tumblers fitted for children.
The Wolves looked in askance.
"A man may die as easy as he breathes, but for a tale, I must give my due as host."
One of the wolves, the one whose armor now held an imprint of his boot, accepted and held the tiny goblet aloft.
"A toast to your hospitality and generosity, jarl."
Like a dam bursting, they all accepted.
"A toast! A toast!"
They drank. Then they drank more, pouring liquor out for their dead. An apothecary had been called: what could be salvaged would be given to them for safe-keeping. He had offered hospitality: he would not rescind it save if they thought to make war upon him once more.
By now, some of the White Scars had come. Some sat, some tended their weapons, some drank. It was a scene the Khan had not witnessed for two hundred years. There were no enemies that had been their peers like this. No, perhaps there were, but they had not been allowed to be.
A loss.
The wolves, drinking, had become more uninhibited. One, even, had descended into nagging.
"Faffner, let me tell it."
"Bo Sorensen, shut your insolent mouth."
"Faffner," the man whined. "You talk like a horse shits. All one big clump."
"And you know how a horse shits."
"I've seen the data-picts."
"Tell it, then."
The Wolf stood and swaggered forward.
"Jarl Khan. Scar-brothers. I am Bo Sorensen, in fealty to Sesc Company, of the Rout, of Vlka Fenryka. We came, a year ago, to this fat, fell-wyrd world. Blue skies. Air so warm and fine it was like silk to walk through it. Maleficarum everywhere, but -" he shrugged. "Tame, maleficarum, you know? More interested in runes and paper than people. Might destroy a world like a dropped cup, but an accident, not on purpose. Would feel wrong, killing them."
Jaghatai Khan's gauntlets creaked.
"Jarl Magnus and Russ spoke long in the pyramid. We came here with a task, see? The Allfather wanted Jarl Magnus and all his maleficarum to go to Terra. We would bring them - as our guests, or as their gaolers. But this is a fat, lazy world. Jarl Magnus would come, but refused to strip it of its mightiest sons."
"So. Russ conversed with Jarl Magnus, and Jarl Magnus Russ. Day by day they were closeted. It went on for so long that we thought we would make war with the fat folk. But no, Russ had the wisdom to see through the riddle. Jarl Magnus would only come if Prospero were defended, so Russ swore a blood oath that he would keep the hearth-fire lit in Jarl Magnus' stead. It became, then, Sesc Company's task to hold the planet until its rightful defenders returned. We stayed. We kept our oaths. We defended Jarl Magnus' hearth though many called it Maleficarum's hearth and said we invited the fell-wyrd."
Jaghatai could hear the Wolf's teeth grind.
"News reached us of Isstvan V. We did not understand. Russ had sworn to bring them to the Allfather and there they were at Isstvan V. Someone was lying, spreading untruths. We wished to go. We were the Emperor's Executioners and suddenly that was important. But then our brothers returned. At first we thought we were being relieved, our blood oath transferred to another company. But no," his voice was becoming more animated, spittle flying, the goblet in his fingers moving about alarmingly, "our brothers, they were thrallspawn and faith-breakers and cursed murder makers. They came without end as if they break free from the underworld after death. They said Russ has fallen, that the Allfather has fallen-"
"And what do you believe?" the Khan asked quietly.
A deep breath.
"I believe that if I were to meet Russ, it would not be as one who had broken faith. He gave his oath and trusted us to keep it. Who else could claim that honor?"
The Khan had wondered why the wolves would go to such lengths. Even he would not come up with this tactic of blind hopping into enemy vessels, likely from skeleton crews in derelict space hulks arranged artfully near jump points.
Formidable, Leman's sons.
The Khan stood.
"Blockade the gate," Jaghatai said and men jumped to comply and relay the message. "Full burn to Prospero. We-"
-----
[x] "-take your oath as our own."
The Khan commits to defending Prospero. Some Space Wolves will join the White Scars, seeing their duty complete should at least some of their brethren stay. If Prospero calls for aid, the Khan will be duty-bound to answer.
Loss of about a tenth of the fleet which will garrison here. Access to some new Space Wolves tactics.
[x] "-hunt for traitors."
The Khan rids the system of the traitorous space wolves, but does not commit to its future defense. Space Wolves stay at Prospero.
No change to the fleet.
-----
The Khan and the Crimson King were closer here than they were in canon. What did this change?
[x] Mind's Eye
Though he has not his gift, sparring with his brother turned Jaghatai from an incredible swordsman into a superlative one. Nothing supranatural phases him and creatures of the warp fall quickly beneath his blows.
Result: Khan is the best all-around duellist in the Imperium.
[x] Secrets
Jaghatai knows of the sickness his nephews of the Thousand Legions occasionally contracted - more than that, during his forays, brought Magnus materials from the galactic rim to aid him in finding a cure. As a result he is privy to secrets most know not.
Result: Access to more story options. These will still be in-character, but he has a chance to recognize things he otherwise wouldn't.
Jaghatai Khan had not been to that planet for at least a century and did not lightly return. One did not thoughtlessly hold another's heart in their hands and Prospero was undoubtedly much of Magnus' too-large, too-generous heart.
"Oh, but you must come," Magnus had told him, all those years ago, the first of his brothers to make such an invitation. "Call it a training exercise if it pleases you, but - ah, such wonders I have to show you brother."
There was something of a pure childishness in the offer, an eagerness to share that Jaghatai Khan had not understood. They had conducted their training exercises - and surprisingly useful ones which became the bedrock upon which their warriors so effectively worked together - and then they toured Prospero, Yesugei and his stormseers acting as his honor guard instead of the customary keshig.
Yesugei, however, was wise and knew what the Khan had wanted when selecting them. Soon, the weathermakers were deep in discussion with their Prosperean counterparts: once Yesugei and Ahriman had wandered off the rest of the stormseers had taken it as tacit permission to disperse and explore, much like how children everywhere went wandering when neighboring tribes met for trade and negotiations while the adults did their duty of talking of matters of state and politics.
So Jaghatai Khan had found himself alone with his strangest of brothers, walking towards the Pyramid of Photep, a beautiful creation of gold and silver and glass, so different, and yet so similar to the palace monasteries of Khum Kharta. It was as pure an expression of Prospero as existed turned into architecture. Large, imposing, wondrous - and accessible.
"Your sons are poets, are they not?" Magnus had asked. "Not all, but many."
Jaghatai had blinked. Not one other soul not from Chogoris had noticed, not even Horus.
"Are not all warriors poets?" he had replied.
Magnus had laughed, golden cuirass trembling to contain his mirth. "Not in my experience, brother. Could you imagine the Night Lords writing poetry? Or the World Eaters?"
Jaghatai considered it. "It would be interesting, I think."
Magnus beamed. "It would, wouldn't it? Art is like that. Precious and strange."
They walked some more, and then out of nowhere: "You are a good father, Jaghatai. You protect your sons from becoming mere engines of war."
It was perhaps the greatest compliment he had or ever would receive from a member of his strange Terran family. He felt, not shame, exactly, more like embarrassment, that he had not learnt as much about his brother's legion as Magnus had so clearly learnt of his.
"They were made to die, but that does not mean they cannot live."
"Made to die - is that how you see our Father's work?"
Jaghatai shrugged. "All warriors are ultimately made to kill and thus made to die."
"Some more than others," said Magnus, a pall coming over him. He then shook it off, like a dog might rainwater after a sudden storm. "But enough of that sorry subject. I would like to ask you if any of your sons would be willing to share with me their poetry-"
A good memory.
Jaghatai opened his eyes.
Standing on the observation deck as Swordstorm broke into real space, Jaghatai could feel it, the bass drumbeat of blood and smoke, seconds before the sensorium master made the announcement and the proximity spheres showed the signs of the White Scars fleet, as well as: "Khagan, the Space Wolves are here in force-"
"I see it," he said reading the blizzard of auspex signs. A picture was becoming clear. "They fight each other."
Indeed, the Fenrisians appeared to have descended into a civil war. If a fleet not quite the size of the Khan's current forces was present, it was only because they had ground down the rest. Prosperean space was littered with burning void engines and abandoned space hulks. One went past the viewport even as he watched. The Thousand Sons did not defend their own planet: the Space Wolves did. Like regicide, with Prospero as the king, and all pieces the same color.
The Khan had always preferred Go.
Neither side hailed him: either they had not thought to set their auspexes to scan for new arrivals at the jump-point or they did not care. Either option defied the most basics of war in the void.
He frowned. The Space Wolves were reputed as many things, but bad at war-making was not one of them.
"Full burn towards Prospero," he growled. A quarter fleet or not, his legion was fresh, and fit for battle. The endless fighting between siblings would have worn both sides down and in this, he did not see the hand of his brother Leman Russ. He did not doubt that the White Scars could rout them all if it came to it: sometimes, warriors were glad to have a reason to retreat especially when the killing became ugly. There were no uglier deaths than those between brothers. "Find out who the commanders of this madness are and get them to stand down. If they do not, we will make them. Get me a direct channel with Prospero."
The heart salute. "Khagan!"
Somewhere below, he could hear the lances warming up. Void shields sprang into existence as the gellar fields went down.
Then, like the jaws of a steel trap, in the fractions of a heartbeat between the transition between gellar and void, the wolves struck.
It was a strike force, suicidally brave, or just plain suicidal. Six space marines in slate gray Terminator armor popped into existence on the bridge, bodies swathed in fur, spikes across their battle plate, holding the old weapons: maul, axe, sword; another missed the teleport window, and appeared as half a man, collapsing wetly upon marble as his knees hit the ground and his entrails spilled out upon the floor, entire torso missing.
It was a bold maneuver.
It might have even worked had they been willing to go to greater, more dishonorable lengths, but against a Primarch, one needed more than boldness and blades.
Before the half man had even fully pressed his guts upon the ground, the Khan was amongst them. A kick struck the closest with a deafening boom that deformed a chestplate, shattered the ossmodular rib cage beneath it, and sent the wolf hurtling helplessly through the air and into one of his comrades and then both into a bank of pictcasters, weapons tumbling from their hands as glass and plasteel shattered about them. Others had begun moving, but time became syrup, streams of action-reaction, cause-and-effect, possibility-and-impossibility flashed like lightning through posthuman synapses. More than one of his brothers could see the future. The Khan merely predicted it.
"If our brothers only knew," Magnus had once said, after a sparring match, chest heaving as he took in deep, gulping breaths. "I can read your mind, but not quickly enough. You think like light itself."
The snap-hiss of the Khan's masterforged tulwar's energy field engaged with a soft blue light.
Undaunted, the wolves howled and leapt.
One fell to lightning as Naranbataar, sigils glowing blue upon his armor, helm missing to reveal a face contorted with fury, so odd to see when it was the color and texture of old, knotted wood, and usually creased in laughter, took hold of the storm and channeled the warp into him.
A second dropped as a kiril dagger punctured the eye-lens, spearing into the brain behind it.
A third swung his axe, but as he met it, catching the gauntlet before it could complete the motion, the Khan knew. The Wolves did not expect to fight him. They did not, perhaps, expect to fight men at all. They fought not in anger, but self-preservation and even that was beginning to wear thin.
Jaghatai averted a killing stroke that would have cut through the gorget of the wolf, tulwar instead scoring a deep rent through the reinforced adamantine and plasteel alloys of the man's helm, cutting, or so he judged, the man's cheek.
He held a halting fist up before his sons passed judgment and turned them into meat fit only for carrion crows.
"You play dangerous games, Wolves."
There was a hiss-release of a space marine opening the seals on their helm. The smell that emanated from it was that of a warrior who had lived in his armor for weeks, if not months.
"Jarl Khan," the Space Wolf said. Beneath his helm, a knotted leather hood still covered his head, shaped fright mask hiding his face, slots within it revealing two lantern yellow eyes. "We thought you in sickness. Let our threads- and our threads alone - be cut as payment for this trespass upon your hall." A glance back, towards Naranbataar. "You harbor maleficarum, but I beg that you allow us to tell our tale."
The Khan disengaged his blade's energy field. He looked at the half man, pooling blood the bright red of astartes, then at the Wolves.
Blades were not the weapons for ambushes and boarding actions against men. They were, however, the only tool of any use against daemons and yaksha.
He stowed his tulwar.
"Sensorium Master - let me know if there are more wolves aboard the ship."
"Yes, Khagan!"
There was a crash as the two wolves the Khan had earlier kicked finally extricated themselves from the wreckage they had made of the pictcasters. The ones in front backed, ever so slightly, towards them. The Khan gestured and they threw down their arms.
"Tell your tale, then."
The Space Wolf nodded.
"Gerri was our skjald, so I will tell it simple. We hold the hearth-fire-"
"I am not familiar with the idiom."
A pause. The Fenrisian language was closer to Imperial Gothic than Chogorian, but not so close they spoke it easily. Finally, he said: "We protect Prospero from fell things."
For a moment, the Khan had returned to Chogoris, conversing with warriors of the defeated upon the Altak. He snapped his fingers. "Liquor."
Though it took long seconds, Menials came scurrying, eyes bugging out at the scene of carnage, holding goblets and bottles. In the Khan's and wolves hands they became tumblers fitted for children.
The Wolves looked in askance.
"A man may die as easy as he breathes, but for a tale, I must give my due as host."
One of the wolves, the one whose armor now held an imprint of his boot, accepted and held the tiny goblet aloft.
"A toast to your hospitality and generosity, jarl."
Like a dam bursting, they all accepted.
"A toast! A toast!"
They drank. Then they drank more, pouring liquor out for their dead. An apothecary had been called: what could be salvaged would be given to them for safe-keeping. He had offered hospitality: he would not rescind it save if they thought to make war upon him once more.
By now, some of the White Scars had come. Some sat, some tended their weapons, some drank. It was a scene the Khan had not witnessed for two hundred years. There were no enemies that had been their peers like this. No, perhaps there were, but they had not been allowed to be.
A loss.
The wolves, drinking, had become more uninhibited. One, even, had descended into nagging.
"Faffner, let me tell it."
"Bo Sorensen, shut your insolent mouth."
"Faffner," the man whined. "You talk like a horse shits. All one big clump."
"And you know how a horse shits."
"I've seen the data-picts."
"Tell it, then."
The Wolf stood and swaggered forward.
"Jarl Khan. Scar-brothers. I am Bo Sorensen, in fealty to Sesc Company, of the Rout, of Vlka Fenryka. We came, a year ago, to this fat, fell-wyrd world. Blue skies. Air so warm and fine it was like silk to walk through it. Maleficarum everywhere, but -" he shrugged. "Tame, maleficarum, you know? More interested in runes and paper than people. Might destroy a world like a dropped cup, but an accident, not on purpose. Would feel wrong, killing them."
Jaghatai Khan's gauntlets creaked.
"Jarl Magnus and Russ spoke long in the pyramid. We came here with a task, see? The Allfather wanted Jarl Magnus and all his maleficarum to go to Terra. We would bring them - as our guests, or as their gaolers. But this is a fat, lazy world. Jarl Magnus would come, but refused to strip it of its mightiest sons."
"So. Russ conversed with Jarl Magnus, and Jarl Magnus Russ. Day by day they were closeted. It went on for so long that we thought we would make war with the fat folk. But no, Russ had the wisdom to see through the riddle. Jarl Magnus would only come if Prospero were defended, so Russ swore a blood oath that he would keep the hearth-fire lit in Jarl Magnus' stead. It became, then, Sesc Company's task to hold the planet until its rightful defenders returned. We stayed. We kept our oaths. We defended Jarl Magnus' hearth though many called it Maleficarum's hearth and said we invited the fell-wyrd."
Jaghatai could hear the Wolf's teeth grind.
"News reached us of Isstvan V. We did not understand. Russ had sworn to bring them to the Allfather and there they were at Isstvan V. Someone was lying, spreading untruths. We wished to go. We were the Emperor's Executioners and suddenly that was important. But then our brothers returned. At first we thought we were being relieved, our blood oath transferred to another company. But no," his voice was becoming more animated, spittle flying, the goblet in his fingers moving about alarmingly, "our brothers, they were thrallspawn and faith-breakers and cursed murder makers. They came without end as if they break free from the underworld after death. They said Russ has fallen, that the Allfather has fallen-"
"And what do you believe?" the Khan asked quietly.
A deep breath.
"I believe that if I were to meet Russ, it would not be as one who had broken faith. He gave his oath and trusted us to keep it. Who else could claim that honor?"
The Khan had wondered why the wolves would go to such lengths. Even he would not come up with this tactic of blind hopping into enemy vessels, likely from skeleton crews in derelict space hulks arranged artfully near jump points.
Formidable, Leman's sons.
The Khan stood.
"Blockade the gate," Jaghatai said and men jumped to comply and relay the message. "Full burn to Prospero. We-"
-----
[x] "-take your oath as our own."
The Khan commits to defending Prospero. Some Space Wolves will join the White Scars, seeing their duty complete should at least some of their brethren stay. If Prospero calls for aid, the Khan will be duty-bound to answer.
Loss of about a tenth of the fleet which will garrison here. Access to some new Space Wolves tactics.
[x] "-hunt for traitors."
The Khan rids the system of the traitorous space wolves, but does not commit to its future defense. Space Wolves stay at Prospero.
No change to the fleet.
-----
The Khan and the Crimson King were closer here than they were in canon. What did this change?
[x] Mind's Eye
Though he has not his gift, sparring with his brother turned Jaghatai from an incredible swordsman into a superlative one. Nothing supranatural phases him and creatures of the warp fall quickly beneath his blows.
Result: Khan is the best all-around duellist in the Imperium.
[x] Secrets
Jaghatai knows of the sickness his nephews of the Thousand Legions occasionally contracted - more than that, during his forays, brought Magnus materials from the galactic rim to aid him in finding a cure. As a result he is privy to secrets most know not.
Result: Access to more story options. These will still be in-character, but he has a chance to recognize things he otherwise wouldn't.
[X] "-take your oath as our own."
The Khan commits to defending Prospero. Some Space Wolves will join the White Scars, seeing their duty complete should at least some of their brethren stay. If Prospero calls for aid, the Khan will be duty-bound to answer.
Loss of about a tenth of the fleet which will garrison here. Access to some new Space Wolves tactics.
[X] Secrets
Jaghatai knows of the sickness his nephews of the Thousand Legions occasionally contracted - more than that, during his forays, brought Magnus materials from the galactic rim to aid him in finding a cure. As a result he is privy to secrets most know not.
Result: Access to more story options. These will still be in-character, but he has a chance to recognize things he otherwise wouldn't.
The Khan commits to defending Prospero. Some Space Wolves will join the White Scars, seeing their duty complete should at least some of their brethren stay. If Prospero calls for aid, the Khan will be duty-bound to answer.
Loss of about a tenth of the fleet which will garrison here. Access to some new Space Wolves tactics.
[X] Secrets
Jaghatai knows of the sickness his nephews of the Thousand Legions occasionally contracted - more than that, during his forays, brought Magnus materials from the galactic rim to aid him in finding a cure. As a result he is privy to secrets most know not.
Result: Access to more story options. These will still be in-character, but he has a chance to recognize things he otherwise wouldn't.
[X] "-take your oath as our own."
[X] Secrets
[X] Secrets