You know, most of the time, I don't exactly enjoy reading SI fanfics.
Which is lie, because I...
Which is lie, because I...
The Third Son. (WH30K SI)
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SneakyWalrus
Is the Water Free?
You know, most of the time, I don't exactly enjoy reading SI fanfics.
Which is lie, because I enjoy reading them a lot, but it's the initial introduction to the plot & character of the SI that always throws me slightly.
Usually, that's because the SI becomes this personal bastion of moral direction, with the plot folding around them to make them seem like they're actually always in the right, even when they're really not. Of course, you could argue that this is because of two reasons, firstly, in that that they have direct knowledge of what the actual plot-line is going follow, with certain characters being completely out-of-character dickheads or the massive, originally awesome plot twist that was really enjoyable during the original story being inverted or completely tossed out in order to fluff up the SI instead of the story characters. This isn't saying I'm against that, but we've all heard about those stories that do follow that general path. And, secondly, it's because the SI is usually in a position of absolute power and ability, usually either by dint of birth (through possessing some central character to the plot itself or maybe even being introduced into a side character to just nudge stories this way and that to suit their own devices) or by being in control of character directly after some major difficult even has occurred, leaving them to avoid all the pitfalls and failures of the original story and set things right.
Not to mention, the entire 'uplifting' the 'savages' aspect that goes on in some, not to point fingers at people or anything but the word 'canals' distinctly leaps to the forefront of my mind as I write this, with a distinct helping of the word 'Gunpowder'. Course, this ain't ragging on some other SI's, because most of them are pretty awesome, like the assorted ASOIAF ones both on SV and elsewhere on the internet, mostly because I'm watching most of them and they're all actually fairly interesting.
Then there is the entire BROB thing, which is fair enough I suppose.
Of course, this didn't exactly start with said BROB in my situation. No, to be more precise, it started on a Monday morning, with me half dressed in a pair of boxers and an undershirt at seven in the morning. Now, I'm the first to admit, I can be rather slow to get out of bed, especially since I'd rather just lie in bed and fiddle around on the internet for a bit before going through the entire rigmarole of getting up, getting ready, etcetera etcetera. So, come the massive, reverberating noise drowning out the shrill buzzing of my alarm clock, I was vaguely prepared to meet the day.
Which resulted in me, cup of tea in one hand, cigarette in the other and dressed in what can only be described as 'unkempt' clothing, coming face to face with an individual we all know and love as Big Daddy E, or, to put it more casually, the Eternal God-Emperor of Mankind, Golden Sovereign and Shepard of the trillions of teeming masses that exist throughout the desolate and war-filled universe.
Yeah.
Not the best start, all things considered.
I don't even know if this is a SI story, or if I'm just still trying to make sense of everything and this is the best way I can think of doing so.
Still, it's a better start than Angron got, but honestly, the Remembrancers and Iterators kinda kept it out of the usual propaganda feed for a reason. They say it's because it doesn't 'gel' with the usual image they try to put out for the others, but honestly, I think Russy put it best.
Nobody wants to sing tales of the Primarch who's first meeting with Father involved a teapot.
Yeah.
So, picture if you would, a vaguely five-foot Caucasian man, hailing from a literal spit of land at the bottom of the world (New Zealand for those interested), with a beard that's more overgrown than any distinct style, competing with awkward bed-hair in terms of messiness, dressed in a pair of unwashed track-pants and a bland grey t-shirt.
Now, to continue that picture, set said vaguely five-foot Caucasian man in the doorway of a rented property sitting on a hill, while a massive Imperial Shuttle sits in the middle of the road, complete with the assorted mean-looking Solar Auxilia standing in an awkward parade formation while a massive golden plated titan of a man makes footprints into your driveway as he waits.
Now, to top it all off, add the most disappointed frown you can possibly imagine to that giant golden titan of a man, and you'll have the entire scene down pat.
I think, for those reading, now would be an excellent time to move more towards my train of thought at this point, rather than just running through the pointless pleasantries of what happened. Everybody already has a vague idea, but I feel like it'd be best to run this through my own perspective at the time rather than looking back on it.
Living in New Zealand, Earthquakes are a fact of live, especially in the more active regions of the country. So, stumbling as best I can towards the nearest doorway during this ridiculous shaking, two distinct thoughts hit me at roughly the same time. The first is 'Jesus Christ this is the big one they always went on about and we never updated the survival container oh god oh god' and the second is 'This shaking isn't right for an earthquake, it's more like a high wind than anything.'
Stumbling forward, teacup, still miraculously unspilt, held in one hand and recently lit cigarette in the other, I'm only barely balancing inside the living room doorway before the shaking begins to subside, the rough wooden frame of my flat beginning to cease it's shaking and reach a less wobbly stance, only really coming to a full stop as I balance myself in the doorway, elbows held outward and hands rather stupidly still clasped around the two key components of my usual early morning ritual as the shaking subsides.
Shaking my head to try and focus somewhat, I look around, checking to see if anything had fallen over, with only the few papers atop the living room table being perturbed before jamming my smoke between my lips and yanking my front door open, uncaring of my current state of dress in an attempt to get outside and see how everyone else reacted to the quake, a mixture of the usual half-baked christian morals and worried curiosity swelling in my breast.
And outside there is a spaceship.
A duller part of my brain can only really point out the vague similarities between said spaceship and my own personal hobbies, but in the moment whatever thoughts I had gathered in the forefront of my mind were washed away in a sea of sheer confusion and slight absurdism at the very sight before me. Fat and bulky, the ship was more akin to a brick than anything aerodynamic, complete with massive stubby wings folded upwards and ribbed with a number of golden lines to emulate an eagles wings. A multitude of guns in assorted shapes and forms bristled across the entire thing, many like oversized gun barrels while others where more peculiar, formed around what I can only assume where retro sci-fi inspired lasers, the cockpit of the craft itself more like an eagles claw in form and shape than a head, curving downwards with a sharp tip at the very front, obsidian coloured and covered in a number of brilliant golden symbols, such as skulls and eagles and skull-faced eagles.
What had caused the earlier shaking was, presumably, the massive glowing engines, their faint glow causing a distinct haze to appear above the rear of the ship, those elongated barrels that made the gigantic bucket of a ship fly perched above a now-lowered ramp, down which a number of strangely clothed soldiers stepped. Well, I assumed they were soldiers at any rate, my brain quietly absorbing the details and slotting them into place even as my mind struggled through the sheer implications of such a vehicle landing in the middle of my street.
In such a state, you'd think basic reasoning would take over, but they were like no soldier I'd ever seen. Their gear was more akin to that of a deep-sea diver than anything 'soldiery', a rich naval blue colour that some childhood cadet part of me approved of tinting their leathery underclothes while a number of thick brass-coloured plates sat in place of regular armour, the assorted troopers lining up outside the spaceship and standing in a parade-ground perfect stance, not a foot out of line as they stood at attention along the steep, angled road. After that sight, the next one was just a big a shock.
The sheer size of the man before me was, to put it bluntly, ridiculous. He had a feet meters on me, and was armoured in so much gold plating that the reflection of the early morning sun was making him all but blaze with power. Every single piece was handcrafted, judging by the meticulous quality, and they all were covered in a number of sigils and decorations, ranging from outstretched eagles in flight to grimacing human faces. His legs were already thicker than my torso, and as my eyes wander upwards across his chest, there was no difference, his entire body big enough that he could probably slot a few dozen of me into that suit and still have room to spare. His face thought, his face was potentially the scariest thing of all to me.
His features were, quite bluntly, beautiful. I've heard tell that some people find revelations when looking upon some famous piece of artwork and having a sudden realization about their self and their place in the universe, but his face was entirely something different. It was as if someone had taken flesh ad carved it into the literal perfect being, skipping over all that uncanny valley bullshit and hitting directly on utter perfection, his skin flawless and sun kissed, ebony hair wafting in some gentle, non-existent wind.
And to top it all off, the look of intense and utter disappointment upon his face.
Now, I've seen disappointment from friends, family and space-family. I've seen the way they look, how skin crinkles and brows furrow, how their lips turn down and muscles tense.
But this? This was something more akin to bone-deep, soul-crushing disappointment. Like someone had told him a horrific, unchangeable fact of life to his face, like he was a child and someone had told him that every single thing he held dear was pointless and false. To put it in a more blunt manner, it looked like someone had shit in his cereal that morning.
Before I could even muster up some kind of statement, some kind of answer to this entire event, he spoke first.
"Hello son."
And it turns out he could sound pretty damn disappointed too.
Standing in front of a literal spaceman claiming to be my father, outside my shitty little flat, in the early morning, all of this was barely getting into my head, barely worming it's way though. So, I reacted as naturally as I could.
"Hi."
Even as I spoke it came as flaccid and underwhelming, especially in comparison to Him. Like someone had played the greatest known musical number ever devised, and then during the quiet pause between final moments of finishing and thunderous applause, an awkward fart has squeaked out in the form of me.
"Would you like to... uh" The distinct nervousness was clear in my voice, drawing out the 'uh' far longer than it should, before I managed to force my brain back on track. "Come in?"
He blinked once, before nodding.
Turning back, I robotically walked back through the hallway and turned into the kitchen, pulling out another teacup and setting it on top the counter-top, pouring in milk, mixing in sugar, going through the motions. His voice was undeniable, and any denial I could try to make died not just on my lips but in my mind, the very thought of claiming to be something else having withered up inside. He was my Father, and that was simply that.
The Kettle boiled, and I could hear his heavy footsteps in my living room. How he got inside was something I couldn't really conceive, and the laughable notion of him trying to squeeze in through the doorway forced a choking sob out of my mouth. My mind continued to jumble it's way forward, "Why am I terrified?" , "Why is my mind reacting like this?", and so on and so forth, something deeply unsettling about his very person altering my mind at the thought of Him.
The Kettle clicked, the small electronic device finally done, and I poured the boiling water into the cup before carrying it out to the living room to the sight of him standing amid the room. If he was anything else, I would have thought he was nervous, but my mind could only supply confidence in his being.
And that annoyed me.
My whole body was practically shaking at the sight of him, my mind was still losing itself over the absurd nature of what was occurring and here I was offering a cup of tea to veritable gold-clad titan standing in the middle of my house. I swallowed, heavily, spit and bile sliding down my throat as I tried to exert some vague control over myself, before taking a long drag on the flickering nub of my cigarette, letting the taste of nicotine add some kind of semblance of normality to my life.
Sure He's big, and gold. Sure He's massive and terrifying, but this is my house dammit!
My teeth grit against one another, and I finally open my mouth, keeping at least some kind of leash over the words that threatened to tumble out, ashen grey smoke wafting through the air.
"So, you're my Dad?"
"Yes."
"So, that spaceship out there is yours?"
"Yes."
"Neat."
I could almost smack myself for those last words, even as I desperately tried to pull them back.
His response was less of a smile and more like a slight loosening of his tight grimace. God, even the cup is too small for him, it barely fits between his fingers.
"You shouldn't exist."
"What."
"You shouldn't be here."
What confusion there was gave way to the tiniest sparks of annoyance in my mind.
"Excuse me?"
The gigantic titan of a being before me rolled his eyes before ever so gently setting down the tea cup I'd handed him.
"You were a cast-off, an accident of nature bought you to being."
I can't stop myself this time.
"No, my parents did plan for me."
Oh god fucking dammit.
And that got the ball rolling. A jumble of ill-thought words and messages slipped from between my lips, all pointless observations and questions, insults and praises, a horrible mixture that I could tell would not end well.
"It's not like I was an accident, they did plan for me and all. Went down to the hospital in England, went though the usual planning and all that naff, out popped me after a few months, and here we are. Granted I'm not my brother but still, I think they like me, all things considering." And now I'm babbling, each word clashing with the next. "Course, then we moved here, but I prefer it over England, better weather discarding the wind, and the rain, but the greenery is nice at times. When it's not getting burnt down by spaceships, well I think it's getting burnt down. And trampled, definitely trampled, what with all the space soldiers outside standing on it. Not that I mind, but it's in the Tenancy agreement so I'd rather that they didn't and all that, you know?"
Before I can continue, his presence seems to increase, the air becoming heavier. It does little to stop my mouth from running, but it does force it to trail off, descending into an extremely awkward silence.
"You are my Son, but you were never meant to be. A discarded sequences of genes and tissue that somehow came into being."
Ow.
"Come, this discussion is pointless as it is now. You are confused and lost, but given time, you will learn what your brothers know."
And then he turns, walking away through the living room and out the front door, leaving me with a single bland thought. How the fuck did he get out without destroying the door frame?
And then I tugged on some clothing, awkwardly walked outside and spent the next hour feeling extremely uncomfortable while sitting across from my new Dad.
Yeah.
It was as awkward as you think it is.
Now just imagine how bad it was to meet my two brothers.
So, this is a Primarch SI, but less godly powers and more random shmuck. Look on the bright side me, at least I get to meet Horus and Leman next. Surely that'll go well!
Which is lie, because I enjoy reading them a lot, but it's the initial introduction to the plot & character of the SI that always throws me slightly.
Usually, that's because the SI becomes this personal bastion of moral direction, with the plot folding around them to make them seem like they're actually always in the right, even when they're really not. Of course, you could argue that this is because of two reasons, firstly, in that that they have direct knowledge of what the actual plot-line is going follow, with certain characters being completely out-of-character dickheads or the massive, originally awesome plot twist that was really enjoyable during the original story being inverted or completely tossed out in order to fluff up the SI instead of the story characters. This isn't saying I'm against that, but we've all heard about those stories that do follow that general path. And, secondly, it's because the SI is usually in a position of absolute power and ability, usually either by dint of birth (through possessing some central character to the plot itself or maybe even being introduced into a side character to just nudge stories this way and that to suit their own devices) or by being in control of character directly after some major difficult even has occurred, leaving them to avoid all the pitfalls and failures of the original story and set things right.
Not to mention, the entire 'uplifting' the 'savages' aspect that goes on in some, not to point fingers at people or anything but the word 'canals' distinctly leaps to the forefront of my mind as I write this, with a distinct helping of the word 'Gunpowder'. Course, this ain't ragging on some other SI's, because most of them are pretty awesome, like the assorted ASOIAF ones both on SV and elsewhere on the internet, mostly because I'm watching most of them and they're all actually fairly interesting.
Then there is the entire BROB thing, which is fair enough I suppose.
Of course, this didn't exactly start with said BROB in my situation. No, to be more precise, it started on a Monday morning, with me half dressed in a pair of boxers and an undershirt at seven in the morning. Now, I'm the first to admit, I can be rather slow to get out of bed, especially since I'd rather just lie in bed and fiddle around on the internet for a bit before going through the entire rigmarole of getting up, getting ready, etcetera etcetera. So, come the massive, reverberating noise drowning out the shrill buzzing of my alarm clock, I was vaguely prepared to meet the day.
Which resulted in me, cup of tea in one hand, cigarette in the other and dressed in what can only be described as 'unkempt' clothing, coming face to face with an individual we all know and love as Big Daddy E, or, to put it more casually, the Eternal God-Emperor of Mankind, Golden Sovereign and Shepard of the trillions of teeming masses that exist throughout the desolate and war-filled universe.
Yeah.
Not the best start, all things considered.
I don't even know if this is a SI story, or if I'm just still trying to make sense of everything and this is the best way I can think of doing so.
Still, it's a better start than Angron got, but honestly, the Remembrancers and Iterators kinda kept it out of the usual propaganda feed for a reason. They say it's because it doesn't 'gel' with the usual image they try to put out for the others, but honestly, I think Russy put it best.
Nobody wants to sing tales of the Primarch who's first meeting with Father involved a teapot.
Yeah.
So, picture if you would, a vaguely five-foot Caucasian man, hailing from a literal spit of land at the bottom of the world (New Zealand for those interested), with a beard that's more overgrown than any distinct style, competing with awkward bed-hair in terms of messiness, dressed in a pair of unwashed track-pants and a bland grey t-shirt.
Now, to continue that picture, set said vaguely five-foot Caucasian man in the doorway of a rented property sitting on a hill, while a massive Imperial Shuttle sits in the middle of the road, complete with the assorted mean-looking Solar Auxilia standing in an awkward parade formation while a massive golden plated titan of a man makes footprints into your driveway as he waits.
Now, to top it all off, add the most disappointed frown you can possibly imagine to that giant golden titan of a man, and you'll have the entire scene down pat.
I think, for those reading, now would be an excellent time to move more towards my train of thought at this point, rather than just running through the pointless pleasantries of what happened. Everybody already has a vague idea, but I feel like it'd be best to run this through my own perspective at the time rather than looking back on it.
~~~~~~
Living in New Zealand, Earthquakes are a fact of live, especially in the more active regions of the country. So, stumbling as best I can towards the nearest doorway during this ridiculous shaking, two distinct thoughts hit me at roughly the same time. The first is 'Jesus Christ this is the big one they always went on about and we never updated the survival container oh god oh god' and the second is 'This shaking isn't right for an earthquake, it's more like a high wind than anything.'
Stumbling forward, teacup, still miraculously unspilt, held in one hand and recently lit cigarette in the other, I'm only barely balancing inside the living room doorway before the shaking begins to subside, the rough wooden frame of my flat beginning to cease it's shaking and reach a less wobbly stance, only really coming to a full stop as I balance myself in the doorway, elbows held outward and hands rather stupidly still clasped around the two key components of my usual early morning ritual as the shaking subsides.
Shaking my head to try and focus somewhat, I look around, checking to see if anything had fallen over, with only the few papers atop the living room table being perturbed before jamming my smoke between my lips and yanking my front door open, uncaring of my current state of dress in an attempt to get outside and see how everyone else reacted to the quake, a mixture of the usual half-baked christian morals and worried curiosity swelling in my breast.
And outside there is a spaceship.
A duller part of my brain can only really point out the vague similarities between said spaceship and my own personal hobbies, but in the moment whatever thoughts I had gathered in the forefront of my mind were washed away in a sea of sheer confusion and slight absurdism at the very sight before me. Fat and bulky, the ship was more akin to a brick than anything aerodynamic, complete with massive stubby wings folded upwards and ribbed with a number of golden lines to emulate an eagles wings. A multitude of guns in assorted shapes and forms bristled across the entire thing, many like oversized gun barrels while others where more peculiar, formed around what I can only assume where retro sci-fi inspired lasers, the cockpit of the craft itself more like an eagles claw in form and shape than a head, curving downwards with a sharp tip at the very front, obsidian coloured and covered in a number of brilliant golden symbols, such as skulls and eagles and skull-faced eagles.
What had caused the earlier shaking was, presumably, the massive glowing engines, their faint glow causing a distinct haze to appear above the rear of the ship, those elongated barrels that made the gigantic bucket of a ship fly perched above a now-lowered ramp, down which a number of strangely clothed soldiers stepped. Well, I assumed they were soldiers at any rate, my brain quietly absorbing the details and slotting them into place even as my mind struggled through the sheer implications of such a vehicle landing in the middle of my street.
In such a state, you'd think basic reasoning would take over, but they were like no soldier I'd ever seen. Their gear was more akin to that of a deep-sea diver than anything 'soldiery', a rich naval blue colour that some childhood cadet part of me approved of tinting their leathery underclothes while a number of thick brass-coloured plates sat in place of regular armour, the assorted troopers lining up outside the spaceship and standing in a parade-ground perfect stance, not a foot out of line as they stood at attention along the steep, angled road. After that sight, the next one was just a big a shock.
The sheer size of the man before me was, to put it bluntly, ridiculous. He had a feet meters on me, and was armoured in so much gold plating that the reflection of the early morning sun was making him all but blaze with power. Every single piece was handcrafted, judging by the meticulous quality, and they all were covered in a number of sigils and decorations, ranging from outstretched eagles in flight to grimacing human faces. His legs were already thicker than my torso, and as my eyes wander upwards across his chest, there was no difference, his entire body big enough that he could probably slot a few dozen of me into that suit and still have room to spare. His face thought, his face was potentially the scariest thing of all to me.
His features were, quite bluntly, beautiful. I've heard tell that some people find revelations when looking upon some famous piece of artwork and having a sudden realization about their self and their place in the universe, but his face was entirely something different. It was as if someone had taken flesh ad carved it into the literal perfect being, skipping over all that uncanny valley bullshit and hitting directly on utter perfection, his skin flawless and sun kissed, ebony hair wafting in some gentle, non-existent wind.
And to top it all off, the look of intense and utter disappointment upon his face.
Now, I've seen disappointment from friends, family and space-family. I've seen the way they look, how skin crinkles and brows furrow, how their lips turn down and muscles tense.
But this? This was something more akin to bone-deep, soul-crushing disappointment. Like someone had told him a horrific, unchangeable fact of life to his face, like he was a child and someone had told him that every single thing he held dear was pointless and false. To put it in a more blunt manner, it looked like someone had shit in his cereal that morning.
Before I could even muster up some kind of statement, some kind of answer to this entire event, he spoke first.
"Hello son."
And it turns out he could sound pretty damn disappointed too.
Standing in front of a literal spaceman claiming to be my father, outside my shitty little flat, in the early morning, all of this was barely getting into my head, barely worming it's way though. So, I reacted as naturally as I could.
"Hi."
Even as I spoke it came as flaccid and underwhelming, especially in comparison to Him. Like someone had played the greatest known musical number ever devised, and then during the quiet pause between final moments of finishing and thunderous applause, an awkward fart has squeaked out in the form of me.
"Would you like to... uh" The distinct nervousness was clear in my voice, drawing out the 'uh' far longer than it should, before I managed to force my brain back on track. "Come in?"
He blinked once, before nodding.
Turning back, I robotically walked back through the hallway and turned into the kitchen, pulling out another teacup and setting it on top the counter-top, pouring in milk, mixing in sugar, going through the motions. His voice was undeniable, and any denial I could try to make died not just on my lips but in my mind, the very thought of claiming to be something else having withered up inside. He was my Father, and that was simply that.
The Kettle boiled, and I could hear his heavy footsteps in my living room. How he got inside was something I couldn't really conceive, and the laughable notion of him trying to squeeze in through the doorway forced a choking sob out of my mouth. My mind continued to jumble it's way forward, "Why am I terrified?" , "Why is my mind reacting like this?", and so on and so forth, something deeply unsettling about his very person altering my mind at the thought of Him.
The Kettle clicked, the small electronic device finally done, and I poured the boiling water into the cup before carrying it out to the living room to the sight of him standing amid the room. If he was anything else, I would have thought he was nervous, but my mind could only supply confidence in his being.
And that annoyed me.
My whole body was practically shaking at the sight of him, my mind was still losing itself over the absurd nature of what was occurring and here I was offering a cup of tea to veritable gold-clad titan standing in the middle of my house. I swallowed, heavily, spit and bile sliding down my throat as I tried to exert some vague control over myself, before taking a long drag on the flickering nub of my cigarette, letting the taste of nicotine add some kind of semblance of normality to my life.
Sure He's big, and gold. Sure He's massive and terrifying, but this is my house dammit!
My teeth grit against one another, and I finally open my mouth, keeping at least some kind of leash over the words that threatened to tumble out, ashen grey smoke wafting through the air.
"So, you're my Dad?"
"Yes."
"So, that spaceship out there is yours?"
"Yes."
"Neat."
I could almost smack myself for those last words, even as I desperately tried to pull them back.
His response was less of a smile and more like a slight loosening of his tight grimace. God, even the cup is too small for him, it barely fits between his fingers.
"You shouldn't exist."
"What."
"You shouldn't be here."
What confusion there was gave way to the tiniest sparks of annoyance in my mind.
"Excuse me?"
The gigantic titan of a being before me rolled his eyes before ever so gently setting down the tea cup I'd handed him.
"You were a cast-off, an accident of nature bought you to being."
I can't stop myself this time.
"No, my parents did plan for me."
Oh god fucking dammit.
And that got the ball rolling. A jumble of ill-thought words and messages slipped from between my lips, all pointless observations and questions, insults and praises, a horrible mixture that I could tell would not end well.
"It's not like I was an accident, they did plan for me and all. Went down to the hospital in England, went though the usual planning and all that naff, out popped me after a few months, and here we are. Granted I'm not my brother but still, I think they like me, all things considering." And now I'm babbling, each word clashing with the next. "Course, then we moved here, but I prefer it over England, better weather discarding the wind, and the rain, but the greenery is nice at times. When it's not getting burnt down by spaceships, well I think it's getting burnt down. And trampled, definitely trampled, what with all the space soldiers outside standing on it. Not that I mind, but it's in the Tenancy agreement so I'd rather that they didn't and all that, you know?"
Before I can continue, his presence seems to increase, the air becoming heavier. It does little to stop my mouth from running, but it does force it to trail off, descending into an extremely awkward silence.
"You are my Son, but you were never meant to be. A discarded sequences of genes and tissue that somehow came into being."
Ow.
"Come, this discussion is pointless as it is now. You are confused and lost, but given time, you will learn what your brothers know."
And then he turns, walking away through the living room and out the front door, leaving me with a single bland thought. How the fuck did he get out without destroying the door frame?
~~~~~~
And then I tugged on some clothing, awkwardly walked outside and spent the next hour feeling extremely uncomfortable while sitting across from my new Dad.
Yeah.
It was as awkward as you think it is.
Now just imagine how bad it was to meet my two brothers.
~~~~~~
A/N
A/N
So, this is a Primarch SI, but less godly powers and more random shmuck. Look on the bright side me, at least I get to meet Horus and Leman next. Surely that'll go well!
- Location
- Right here
This is certainly a bit of a different take on the lost primarchs 
Or accidental kids, I suppose. I figure the Lost Primarchs were, in fact, supposed to exist.
Or accidental kids, I suppose. I figure the Lost Primarchs were, in fact, supposed to exist.
The Stormbringer
Worm Fanfic & Crack Connoisseur
- Location
- Spaaaaace~!
So, I'm curious. Did the Emperor travel back in time to retrieve you? Did you somehow get slingshot into the future? Displaced onto another planet? I need answers, Sneaky!
Doctor Blood
Immoralist
- Location
- Known Space
Possible explanations:
1. Warp shenanigans
2. 'Our' earth is one of the many, many world terraformed to match Terra back in the Dark Age of Technology
3. Did I mention that the Warp is kind of a strange place?
1. Warp shenanigans
2. 'Our' earth is one of the many, many world terraformed to match Terra back in the Dark Age of Technology
3. Did I mention that the Warp is kind of a strange place?
Numen
Long Time Creeper
- Location
- Canada
Interesting. I can see you becoming a Sigilite type figure. A trusted prime minister figure who helps run the Imperium. You're probably immortal too. The Emperor is disappointed in your genes, but even cast off genes from the Emperor are superhuman compared to mere mortals.
If the heresy even happens, you might actually become a major authority figure in the Imperium, presuming you survived.
If the heresy even happens, you might actually become a major authority figure in the Imperium, presuming you survived.
Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito did this movie back in the 80's.
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Does this mean the SI actually got all the good genes and he just needs to believe in himself?
Ruin his dreams, why dontcha?
Yzarc
The Spark of Madness
And they are called the Imperial Guard.
Imperial Helldog
410,757,864,530 DEAD LIZARDS
Just become the Primarch of the Imperial Army. They're the real heroes of the setting anyway.
"So, you're our brother? Bit disappointing, really."
"Don't worry. Father gave me the balls he took from you."
"So, you're our brother? Bit disappointing, really."
"Don't worry. Father gave me the balls he took from you."
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- Location
- Sweden
And thus he became the 30K version of Ciaphas Cain by pure luck and a healthy dose of common sense.
- Location
- Ireland
And thus began the Legend of Sneaky Walrus, Buzz-killer of the Imperium!
"Fair enough Dad, great crusade got it... but how about, you take enough world to pay for that webway thingy you're cooking in the man cave downstairs, then just scry-and-die the rest of it?"
"Look, I'm just saying, how about you meet the Primarchs advisors? it's like twenty meetings tops, I mean these people will have more influence on the crusade than some governers... And some of the lads have dodgy taste in friends frankly."
"Wolf is a great word Russy, not saying it's not... maybe it's the best word; but if you use it to name one more thing, you have to give Magnus a kiss on the cheek in public per use."
"Fair enough Dad, great crusade got it... but how about, you take enough world to pay for that webway thingy you're cooking in the man cave downstairs, then just scry-and-die the rest of it?"
"Look, I'm just saying, how about you meet the Primarchs advisors? it's like twenty meetings tops, I mean these people will have more influence on the crusade than some governers... And some of the lads have dodgy taste in friends frankly."
"Wolf is a great word Russy, not saying it's not... maybe it's the best word; but if you use it to name one more thing, you have to give Magnus a kiss on the cheek in public per use."
- Location
- In a stand
I think i means he doesnt have legion..
Beyogi
and a fairy
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Honestly, no idea why Emps bothered anyway.
"Dude you're a total failure."
"Sure, so what do you want with me"
Anyway looks interesting so far.
The Magician
Yeet
- Location
- The Basement
So I was not the only one expecting him to go "So wat you doing here?"
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Syn0
QoP of Pain
- Location
- Low Priority T_T
"What, Slaanesh steal your sock and did some freaky shit with it?"
Older-than-Time
[Eating My Muse]
- Location
- Somewhere in the Sol System
- Pronouns
- He/Him/ThatIdiot
"So...dad...Emperor...yeah. How many brothers do I have again?"
"Twenty, huh...and...they're all sorta-clones of you."
"Now, this may be just a little crazy, but did you ever plan on making us some sisters?"
"NO! Not for that! For when everything is more peaceful since my brothers are all basically warriors. Everyone of them besides Roboute, Rogal and Konrad have productive hobbies outside their war-mongering. If we had some peaceful sisters to manage everything not having to do with conquest and war, well..."
"...okay, if you wanna be stubborn about this, imagine the succession rights if you get put into a coma. Who's gonna lead when you're busy with shit in your man-cave?"
"...no, they will not resolve shit peacefully. You basically found all of them and put them in charge of fighting a galaxy-spanning war without any real training. Did you think they'd all magically learn peaceful means of governance and negotiation?"
"...you did? Wow, so what's your backup plan?"
"Twenty, huh...and...they're all sorta-clones of you."
"Now, this may be just a little crazy, but did you ever plan on making us some sisters?"
"NO! Not for that! For when everything is more peaceful since my brothers are all basically warriors. Everyone of them besides Roboute, Rogal and Konrad have productive hobbies outside their war-mongering. If we had some peaceful sisters to manage everything not having to do with conquest and war, well..."
"...okay, if you wanna be stubborn about this, imagine the succession rights if you get put into a coma. Who's gonna lead when you're busy with shit in your man-cave?"
"...no, they will not resolve shit peacefully. You basically found all of them and put them in charge of fighting a galaxy-spanning war without any real training. Did you think they'd all magically learn peaceful means of governance and negotiation?"
"...you did? Wow, so what's your backup plan?"
Older-than-Time
[Eating My Muse]
- Location
- Somewhere in the Sol System
- Pronouns
- He/Him/ThatIdiot
FTFY.SI :"Dude. You gave 20 humans infinite power. And hoped for them to not fuck up. There is something fundamentally wrong with that reasoning."