It is the designated date 781.M31
The Imperium of Mankind stretches once more across a million worlds, the wounds of the Great Heresy scarring as an Age of Legends comes to a close.
Gone are the days of the Legions, those loyal having their strength scattered by the Second Founding, those of the traitors ilk now trapped forever in a hell of their own choosing, their singular refuge the great Eye of Terror, a great rend in reality, far from the light of Holy Terra. At best their incursions are sporadic, their lives trapped in an endless cycle of self-destructive warfare as old grudges are played out tenfold, battling for pride and the right to scavenge their scarce resources, doomed to whither away in lack of any leader capable of inspiring true unity....
Gone are the days of mighty Primarchs, True Demi-gods that walked as men,
Rogal Dorn, the Praetorian now Regent of the Imperium is left as the last of the sons of the God-Emperor,
to rebuild its crumbling ruin brick by brick as his brothers leave his side through battle, treachery or reasons only known to themselves.
Gone are the days of the Great Crusade, of the Imperial Truth and hope for the future.
Now is a time of faith and rejoicing, for the worst has past and mankind can rebuild its glory in the God-Emperor's light.
But every light leaves a shadow....
On Holy Terra, Lord Commander Rogal Dorn continues his work in stabilizing the Imperium's crumbling wreck, the borders no longer in retreat and humanities future safeguarded for now.
Yet horrors stir in the dark.
Across the Imperium, the dreams of Psykers are wracked with nightmares.
False Prophets cry out their message as cults once thought destroyed emerge.
The Great Eye opens, the passage into real-space stabilizing for now.
Within the Eye of Terror, the Legion Wars come to a bloody close, the Black Legion's birth marked in the death of the Son's of Horus.
Abbadon's rivals are few, for now, yet no less deadly.
And Drach'nyen's call reaches the ears of the ambitious, promising them the title of Everchosen should they prove worthy of wielding the blade.
It is a ship of legend, one of glorious duty in the service of the Emperor and humanity, one of the premier ships of the Great crusade. Humanity's shining golden age, one where the Imperium was based on reason and hope and mankind looked to the stars and knew that the worst has passed.
Unfortunately for them they were wrong.
For the Emperor had betrayed them all, he had lied to them about the truths of the universe and he had sought to use them to impose his vision upon the galaxy, and when they had done so he would have tossed them aside as tools that had no use anymore. The commander of this vessel was shown this by one of the beings the Emperor tried to hide from them.
Grandfather Nurgle.
In his comforting embrace Typhus was told the truth of it all and was showed how he could prevent it. So he had plotted to bring an end to it all, slowly bringing more and more members of his legion to the light. Showing them the ultimate truth of it all, and it seems he was not alone in all this. Soon the galaxy had exploded in a war once thought unthinkable to the Imperium. Legion went against Legion, brother against brother, and in this war demi gods, the mighty Primarch lords thought so utterly unbeatable, were killed. And within this great war Typhus has shown his brothers the truth and brought them to Grandfathers embrace.
But they lost, the one primarch that shouldn't have fallen did and they all ran from the wrath of a vengeful imperium. Ran towards the sole place they could not, and would not follow.
The Eye.
It is here the ghosts of the past have hidden, falling upon each other in their insanity old grudges coming to the fore once again. It is here, within the Eye aboard his beautiful ship that Typhus sits on the command chair looking over the Nurgle blessed bridge. With Nurglings playing on the shoulders of his blessed terminator armor that Typhus thinks.
He has heard the call of the Plague Father, has been bidden to leave the Eye and bring enlightenment to Humanity once more, and he has been shown the way out of the Eye. The way where Typhus would be able to best suit Nurgles wish's.
Cadia.
It is there where Typhus will start the Grand enlightenment of the Imperium. It is there where he will bring Grandfather Nurgles wonderful gifts. It is there where Typhus will begin his destiny as the Herald of Nurgle.
It is there where the monsters of the past step out of the shadows to ravage the Imperium once more.
The Conclave has granted the resources I require for my task, with the turmoil my astropaths have detected within the warp that has been felt across the Imperium. While it's exact cause is still not known, my colleagues have at the very least agreed with me that across all the visions, mad ramblings and prophecies there exists one constant. They all speak of a Daemonic eye crying a single black tear.
There is no doubt in my mind that the eye is the Eye of Terror and if something were to emerge from it then there is only one route it might take. It had been a monumental task to convince his colleagues of that, but with the task done I now find myself faced with the grim reality of what the future will bring. Should my worst fears prove true then we will soon be facing a force of evil not seen since the days of the Heresy.
Despite what the ignorant want to believe we can't afford to believe that the puppets of chaos from those dark days have been truly defeated. Where the fools try to pretend that the Great Enemy has been laid low and that there exist no more foes who might challenge the Imperium, I shall not. The foe which we fight is not one which can be defeated by mere strength of arms, it's tendrils are subtle and insidious.
This is a foe that the Emperor has been fighting against for thousands of years, even while we were blinded by our own arrogance it was he who guarded us from the darkness encroaching on our souls. He had a plan, I know that he did and even now as he sits upon his throne that plan is in motion. I have vowed to uncover his grand plan, to submit myself to his will and strive to fulfill my duty until one day Humanity can truly be safe from it's influence.
But until then I will search, I will discover the knowledge that I need to achieve the Emperor's great goal.
The Great Enemy will bleed, the Great Enemy can die and Humanity will plunge the blade into it's heart.
Autek Mor - Chapter Master of the Red Talons and Black Sheep of the Children of Ferrus
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Red Talon floated silently above Cadia, with numerous other warships of Battlefield Cadia and the Black Templar sitting above in the sky. Surrounding the ancient Grand Cruiser were the more modern Strike Cruisers, hovering around the vessel like a pack of wolves surrounding the alpha. And deep within the bowls of this warship, who's name is still spoken of in fear for the violence it brought to the traitors, lay the Crimson Lord himself, Autek Mor. Chapter Master of the Red Talons and one of the last great warriors who still remembered the Great Crusade.
After all, thought Mor bitterly, all of his captains and warriors were younger now. The veterans and captains old by the younger marines standards but they had only fought through the Heresy. They had never witnessed the glories of the Great Crusade. And it was due to this broken dream that the Crimson Lord had come to Cadia. It was beyond this world that the traitors lurked. Mor sneered at the thought of it. Damned traitors hiding out, unable of taking vengeance and justice for their wretched actions. Mor swore to his first captain that he would see them all dead.
The Immaterium is host to all manner of oddities. Some bizarre, others capable of driving those of less flexible minds to insanity, should they be fortunate.
Yet perhaps, it has never encountered something like this before.
Ezekyle Abbadon and Thagus Daravek
The two great rivals within the Eye for a mantle fit for only one.
Both know that true victory requires the other dead, that their endless spiral of skirmishes must come to a bloody end at some point in order to begin the True War.
The Long War
Yet to escape requires running the gauntlet of the Warps grasping tides,
Paying it's heavy toll in souls and ships,
To navigate and make sense of a realm lacking reason or sanity.
It is upon one of these many inconclusive battles that the twin would-be Warmasters encounter a strange astartes moving through the fog of war.
Lacking sigil or insignia, armor the colour of bone flaked ash.
"You are lost." The warrior intones, as though speaking from script.
"What toll would you pay to find your way?"
The Emperor's Son Rogal Dorn speaks to the Imperium after the crisis that just passed.
Rogal Dorn, also known as The Vigilant, the Praetorian of Terra and the Unyielding One, and to his gene-sons by Defiance, the Primarch of the Imperial Fists Space Marine Legion and one of the greatest heroes in the history of the Imperium of Man steps forward on the tall stage, below him quadrillions of men, women, elders, children, soldiers, clerks, there is no distinction between them as they stand at attention in front of the Emperor's Son as he speaks to Terra, his words would go beyond it, beyond the void to the millions of worlds of the Imperium.
"I have full confidence that if all do their duty to the Imperium if nothing is neglected, if one's discipline is unyielding, and if the best arrangements are made. We shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our homes from the tide of Chaos, to ride out the Warp Storms, and to outlive the menace of Xenos, if necessary for all of eternity. That is the resolve of the Imperium and every one of its citizens! You will not disappoint me or my Father! Victory is our tradition!"
"That is the will of the Emperor and of the Imperium and you shall make it yours! We are linked together in a cause and in a need to defend to the death our families and worlds, aiding each other like good brothers to the utmost of our strength. Even though large tracts of the Imperium and many old and famous worlds have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Xeno or Chaos, we shall not flag or fail."
"We shall go on to the end, we will fight in Cadia's Gate, we will fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the vast void, we will defend the Imperium, whatever the cost may be, we will fight on their own Daemon Worlds if need be; we will never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment even fathom, Terra or a large part of the Imperium were subjugated and starving, then our worlds beyond their reach, armed and guarded by the Imperial Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in the Emperor's good time, the far worlds of the Imperium, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of humanity."
"Do not forget those words, hold them close to your heart and you will brave any danger fearlessly. Loyalty until Death. Strength in Unity."
Brothers. Sisters. You have gathered here today because you have seen, as I have, that things simply cannot go on as they have.
How long? How long have we toiled, bled, and sweated, for a class of men that see as us little more than expendable? How many have died, ground up in the twisted mills of Industry?
A hundred Years? A Thousand? How long have you toiled, Brothers and Sisters, with no chance of it ever getting better, with no end in sight to debt and labor for you or your children or the children of your children, as your fathers and mothers and their fathers and mothers did before you? And how could you do anything else? What other option is there? Joining one of the Regiments of the Imperial Guard, so that you may fight and die on a far-away planet, with no chance to ever see your home again?
There has to be another way. There has to be a way forward, out of the shackles of slavery and into the light of liberty.
There has to be a way for things to change.
My Brothers and Sisters, I come before you today to tell you that such a way exists. There is hope, yet, for those that dare to hope, freedom for those brave enough to grasp it, a dream for those brave enough to dream it.
And that is what is required, make no mistake. Bravery, Endurance, the Willingness to think for yourself, to throw of the shackles placed on your mind by those that would keep you enslaved.
The first truth is the simplest, yet it might be the hardest to swallow. There is nothing but a Corpse, on the Golden Throne.
Do not draw false hope from the lies of crazed Preachers and false Prophets: the Emperor is no god. Even if he was, he would not care for you, as he did not care for you when he still walked these lands.
The Emperor was simply a grand Tyrant, unable to accept the fact that humanity could outgrow him, that they would find fulfilment in the light of the True Gods.
And this is the second Truth, harder to explain yet also full of joy.
The Emperor is nothing but a false God, yet there are true Gods.
Gods of Pleasure, and of Joy, and of Honor.
Above all, there is a God of that which we all of us strive for. A God of Hope. A God of Change.
Tzeentch, the Weaver of Fate, he who sees all, and smiles upon those seeking to improve their station.
Rejoice, my Brothers and Sisters, for there is Hope yet.
The Immaterium is host to all manner of oddities. Some bizarre, others capable of driving those of less flexible minds to insanity, should they be fortunate.
Yet perhaps, it has never encountered something like this before.
Ezekyle Abbadon and Thagus Daravek
The two great rivals within the Eye for a mantle fit for only one.
Both know that true victory requires the other dead, that their endless spiral of skirmishes must come to a bloody end at some point in order to begin the True War.
The Long War
Yet to escape requires running the gauntlet of the Warps grasping tides,
Paying it's heavy toll in souls and ships,
To navigate and make sense of a realm lacking reason or sanity.
It is upon one of these many inconclusive battles that the twin would-be Warmasters encounter a strange astartes moving through the fog of war.
Lacking sigil or insignia, armor the colour of bone flaked ash.
"You are lost." The warrior intones, as though speaking from script.
"What toll would you pay to find your way?"
Aboard his flagship Thagus regarded the wisp. He knew not what they were, who they were, but he knew they were an emissary of the gods. The bridge of his flagship seemed to dim as the figure spoke, the Illuminating flames that licked the rusted and dirty walls seemed to become mere pinpricks. And So Thagus, Battle King of the legion host spoke; his voice surprisingly soft given the immense corruption of his body.
'To walk my path; the path to my victory over the false Emperor's dogs, the path which will see the God's truth of the universe made manifest to all and for mankind to be reunified under my will, I will pay whatever toll is necessary.
I would drown the stars in blood, burn worlds to the mantel in the name of the gods, I will make a trillion voices scream out in Despair, loathing and Pain. I will make whatever sacrifice is necessary; you need only tell me what I must do.'
The Cadian system was awash with ships, their drives flickering in the darkness of the void, blending amidst the carpet of stars. More arrived by the hour, from sleek hunter-killers to mighty, slab-hulled war-barques. They dropped out of the warp like a steady stream, before forming into battle squadrons or burning for the Cadian system's fourth planet, a verdant world bearing the same name.
But one fleet stood apart from the others, facing the roiling and twisting wound in reality that opened at the opposite end of the system. They had been there before any pthers, and they would be here once they left.
The Black Templars had stood vigil for centuries, and though the Eternal Crusade never ceased, a portion of their strength had remained here. Though the Imperium might forget, lull itself into thinking the horrors of war were behind it, the Templars never faltered.
And now their patience and vigilance had paid off. The traitors were coming, returning to despoil the galaxy they had already failed to conquer once before.
Squadron after squadron of sable-hulled warships rolled in the void, arranged in a geometric formation of destroyer squadrons, strike cruisers and massive battle-barges. And at the center of it all was the Eternal Crusader.
Deep within the bowels of the great battleship there was a huge chamber of white marble, the walls lined with frescos while rows of braziers filled the air with incense. A titanic statue of the God Emperor in his aspect as the warrior-king dominated the room, His bronze gaze looking down in judgement upon the lone knight kneeling at the center of the sanctum.
"I suffer not the unclean to live." The flat edge of his longsword was pressed against his forehead as he spoke in a low voice. "I uphold the honour of the God-Emperor. I abhor and destroy the witch. I accept any challenge, no matter the odds."
Finally, with a whine of servo-motors the age-scarred templar stood, sheathing the Black Sword at his hip, before turning towards the chamber entrance.
"Enter."
Another warrior stepped into the temple, the thumping footfalls of his terminator warplate echoing in the vast chamber.
"Praise be!" He said, his fist ringing against his chestplate. "We have arrived, High Marshal."
"Praise be." Sigismund said, lifting his gaze to look over the other warrior's youthful features. "You are late, Bohemond. Yours was the last Crusade to return."
"I offer no excuse, my lord."
Sigismund nodded in approval. "Still, you reached us before the Traitors did. Come."
The old knight swept out of the room, the young warrior following in his footsteps as they walked through the cavernous internal workings of the vessel at a brisk pace, passing by countless menials and Servitors.
"Is it true?" Bohemond finally asked, breaking the silence. "Lord Dorn himself is on his way here?"
The expression that passed through the High Marshal's features was impossible to read. "So they say."
Eventually the two of them reached a set of ornately carved adamantium doors that swung open to admit them, each pulled by a trio of hulking Servitors.
The Eternal Crusader had been built as a warship of the Legions of old, and though of all the Chapters of the Imperium they came closest to their ancient glory and splendor, it's muster deck was large enough to admit the entirety of the Templars.
Thousands of black-armored warriors stood in silence, skull-helmeted Chaplains passing among the ranks. At the fore of the formation were the high leadership of the Chapter, Marshals, Castellans, and the Masters of Sanctity, Forge and the Apothecarion, standing before a beautifully engraved marble stage.
Everything came to a still as the High Marshal entered, even the Chaplains pausing in their sermons as they took their own place in the line of battle.
Bohemond joined the other Marshals of inner circle while Sigismund strode onward, taking his rightful place on the stage, before turning to address his gathered warriors. As one, thousands of knees met the deck with a resounding thump.
"My brothers." Sigismund began. "It was here, seven centuries ago, that we cast the accursed traitors into the abyss, so that they may never again plague the realms of the God-Emperor. It was here that we made a vow, that when they returned, no matter how long it took, we would stand ready. And though many of those who took that oath with me now stand at His side and some of you have never set foot upon this system, it is an oath that binds us all as brothers, as Black Templars, as His Angels of Death! And now, that vow is called upon once more, for the Traitors move towards the Cadian Gate even as we speak. In times like these, He On Terra requires only one thing of us: that we suffer not the unclean to live."
He surveyed the ranks upon ranks of black-and-gold armored warriors, girded in faith and with weapons of war.
"Rise, my Templars, rise and take your oaths, here and now, with the God-Emperor as your witness." Sigismund said with a sweep of his arms, and when he next spoke, every warrior in the muster deck joined their voices to his. "Lead us from death to victory, from falsehood to truth. Lead us from despair to hope, from faith to slaughter. Lead us to His strength and an eternity of war. Let His wrath fill our hearts. Death, war, and blood; in vengeance serve the Emperor and the name of Dorn! NO PITY! NO REMORSE! NO FEAR!"
Sigismund nodded in satisfaction as the voices died down and, in one smooth motion, drew the Sword of the High Marshals, the blade that had been forged to forever remind the Templars of their darkest hour, and of the deeds of the traitors who even now sought to return to finish what they had begun. "We will hold the Cadian Gate, as we held Terra herself! By the power vested in me by the God-Emperor, I declare the Cadian Crusade!"
NO FOUR GODS. NO PEACE. NO OTHER WARMASTERS. NO RIFTS. ONLY CHAOS. STANDING UNDIVIDED.
We are returned! Death to the False Emperor!
A glorious declaration rings across the Eye of Terror. All across its time- and endless expanse psykers and com officers scream out in pain or go mad, as they hear the news ringing in their minds and ears: Ezekyle Abaddon, one, only and true Warmaster of Chaos is calling all the servants, commanders, captains, slaves, warbands, legionaires, princes and daemons of the Black Legion to present themselves at his flagship, that ancient vessel called the Vengeful Spirit. A new time is upon the true warriors of freedom and truth, he claims. For too long they had hidden in the shadows, unworthy of beings of their status, of their holy and universal mission. No longer. Once more with bolter, sword and mind ready to strike down the god's foes they shall confront the enemies of freedom, leaving behind petty squabbles of the past that lesser, more narrow minded men cling to. Indeed where others would make this a mission of personal glory or in the service of a single grandfatherly god, Abaddon seeks no personal glory or power. He merely knows himself to be the most capable and beloved servant of the foul powers and thus their chosen instrument that will slay the false emperor. Thus his call did not merely go out to the Black Legion, but to all servants of the corrupting powers, with the love of Nurgle, the wisdom of Tzeench, the joy of Slaanesh and the vengeful determination of Khorne calling on them all to make themselves present at his court to swear themselves to this most holy mission granted to Abaddon by the gods themselves. After all, Abaddon was determined to leave behind squabbles of the past and thus swore to crush any who would stand in his way to bring forth his destiny. And he would not fail where his father the failure and false warmaster Horus had failed. After all he had spend the last hundred years locked away in his command room writing a great tome: Horus' Hubris, a detailed and impersonal listing of all of Horus' failings so that both he and all of his eternal servants could avoid taking those steps. As he was the champion of chaos. And chaos was might.
The Immaterium is host to all manner of oddities. Some bizarre, others capable of driving those of less flexible minds to insanity, should they be fortunate.
Yet perhaps, it has never encountered something like this before.
Ezekyle Abbadon and Thagus Daravek
The two great rivals within the Eye for a mantle fit for only one.
Both know that true victory requires the other dead, that their endless spiral of skirmishes must come to a bloody end at some point in order to begin the True War.
The Long War
Yet to escape requires running the gauntlet of the Warps grasping tides,
Paying it's heavy toll in souls and ships,
To navigate and make sense of a realm lacking reason or sanity.
It is upon one of these many inconclusive battles that the twin would-be Warmasters encounter a strange astartes moving through the fog of war.
Lacking sigil or insignia, armor the colour of bone flaked ash.
"You are lost." The warrior intones, as though speaking from script.
"What toll would you pay to find your way?"
Abaddon would regard the astartes with an arrogant smirk. "Lost? Nothing could be further from the truth. Look around you. Behold my works. My ships and servants. My power. Does this seem like that of a man lost? A man without purpose? Without path?" Abaddon roared a laugh. "No, my path his clear. Thrice my eyes were opened. When the lies became clear. When Horus failed. And when I realized my fate. My path is clear. My way is clear. My fate is something I know. To bring forth the Immaterium to the galaxy. To slay the false Imperator by myown hand. It is not a path I seek." He sneered. "It is power. Power to do as I must. Power to do as I was bid. As I was chosen to do." Using Horus' gauntled he made a vague gesture encompassing his fleet, himself, his very life. "What would I pay you ask? What have I not paid, I, Ezekyle Abaddon fling back at you. What have I not endured? What have I not done in my devotion? In my clear eyed determination? There is only price I have not paid. Myself. I have not given up my path. My will. My freedom. I did that before for another master. But no longer. No slaves. No masters. Only the gods. I am free now." He spat before the emissary's feet. "Take what you want from me, messenger, for you have taken it before. Anything but my will. For that was your promise. And once I have had my revenge. Once I have proven myself his better. Done what he couldn't. Then you may take me and make me as his brothers. But until then, my freedom is mine."
THE WARMASTERS' NEGOTIATE
On the Flagship of the legion host, the battle barge The Inevitable Victory, Warmaster Thagus sat and thought. He knew he would not enjoy what he was about to do, but he also knew the gods required it of him. So he banished his guards from the room, lest he snap one of them in the anger he knew would come, and keyed his comms to that of the Vengeful Spirit, hovering motionless on the other side of the system. It took a moment but eventually the Vid screen connected with its counterpart on the other ship.
And so gathering his voice Thagus Spoke 'Cousin, I believe it's time we end our struggle. For too long we have let the Emperor's dogs alone. I know we hate each other, you with your delusions of grandeur and me understanding the Gods' destiny for me. I think it's time we put it behind us and work to fulfill the gods will. Maybe we can be brothers in the future, a man of your talents would make an excellent servant. Also would you be so kind to ask Khayon how many times he has tried to kill me; the last few were so pitiful I may have missed them.'
On the other ship silence rained as Abbadon glowered at the screen. The only noise came form the shifting of a marine on guard duty who was rewarded for breaking the silence by being bisected by a quick swipe of the tallon. Eventually though, after cleaning the viscera from his claws Abbadon responded '26. He did not rid himself of the fools and lickspittles among the knowers of the immortal truth when he had the chance. I shall not be such a fool.'
Thagus was honestly puzzled by this response and looked as confused as a necrotising super human could 'Am I to take that as a no? I am a tad disappointed little Abbadon. I had thought you were an aspiring champion of the gods not some hack soothsayer spouting banal proverbs about your failure of a gene-father. Though I shouldn't be surprised after all; given you are fruit of the poisoned tree that was Horus.'
The response was quick '28. He did not let his brethren come at him.'
This, not having cleared the situation for Thagus continued his confused expression until again at last he spoke 'Are you quoting a self help codex at me?'.
At this the battle of barbs started in earnest with the two war lords trading insults as two school children might, though with significantly more visceral subject matter. Eventually in an effort to redirect the conversation to more productive topics Thagus, rather brusquely, reiterated his initial offer 'While your pitiful attempts at rhetoric are amusing could we bring back this conversation to the matter of the day. We both know what will confirm my title throughout the myriad hosts of the gods and we both know were it is. We cannot afford to waste yet more marines and ships in our little war while our enemy gathers its strength.'
Not entirely wanting the trade of sneers to end; Abbadon retorted 'So as a weak and incapable worm as you are are, you come crawling to me begging for a truce then? And you wonder why chaos has not blessed you as it did me.'
The answer form Thagus was to be expected 'May I ask you how the gods have somehow blessed you uniquely?'
Never one to miss an opportunity for insult Abbadon spoke 'If you had been, you too would know it in your heart. If they had blessed you as they did me, you would never think of coming crawling before your betters begging for peace.'
Thagus was quiet for a moment before he answered in his sickly-sweet almost jovial voice 'Ah, so you have gone insane. That certainly clears your earlier ramblings about proverbs up.'.
'Sanity?' Abbadon laughed, though it sounded more like a deafening shout to a normal human 'Truly you have revealed yourself to be wavering in your devotion to still use meaningless terms made up by the false Imperator! But very well, if it keeps you out of my path to destiny I shall tolerate your feeble forces aiding my assault on the Cadian gates. Let us see if the imperial shall spare you as I did. After all their blades unlike mine would not be stained by your blood.'
Thagus put his head in his hands in mock despair 'I have seen chaos spawn more cogent than you, Luna mongrel, but the goals of the gods must take precedence over the irritation of your preening delusions so I will let your forces assist mine as I burn the Imperium.'
Thagus reached for the off switch on the vid screen, but even as he did Abbadon still talked. 'Ha, Chaos Spawn? I have seen ULTRAMARINES more attuned--------' The vid screen was turned off mid scentence as Thagus relaxed back in his throne his task finished.
Aboard the Vengeful Spirit Abbadon still spoke '---- then again, any bullet that sends one of yours to the gods shall mean one more warrior of mine paving my fated path!' Realizing as he had finished that he had been cut off he snarled becoming once again apoplecticly angry, though he soon calmed after using another of his unfortunate marines as an improvised stress ball.
"Take what you want from me, messenger, for you have taken it before. Anything but my will. For that was your promise. And once I have had my revenge. Once I have proven myself his better. Done what he couldn't. Then you may take me and make me as his brothers. But until then, my freedom is mine."
I would drown the stars in blood, burn worlds to the mantel in the name of the gods, I will make a trillion voices scream out in Despair, loathing and Pain. I will make whatever sacrifice is necessary; you need only tell me what I must do.'
"...are acceptable." it concluded, with no more emotion as if reading the script from a tombstone. Across Daravek's fleet, the toll was paid, in flesh and souls, his sorcerers decimated as some of his finest psykers were taken away by mysterious warriors, his slaves harvested of a fresh crop of psychic children, ripped away from their tribes and families, never to be seen again.
Yet, with that price, came freedom.
Abbadon is left within the warp, his rival vanished before his eyes.
Thagus Daravek successfully bypasses the Cadian Gate through paths unknown even to him, now located on the edge of Eye Space. 5SP Lost.
Thagus slowly regained his bearings. He coughed spitting bile across the marred marble bridge of his flagship.
'Alber, What the bloody hell happened.' he groaned to his chief Librarian
silence
'ALBER!'
At this point he managed to get to his feet and he noticed that his librarian was now were to be seen. his armor and weaponry remained but the man inside it had gone, the suit of battle-plate crumbling to the ground. It was then he noticed that he could see the stars.
An hour later and he had realized the toll. His physkers were all but gone. Still thouugh, it was worth it. He could see the stars once again; and he would set them ablaze.
The Temple of the Eternal Crusade was a chamber truly cavernous in it's scope, stretching as far as the eye could see. Banners were draped along the walls, each marking a successful Crusade conducted by the Templars, starting from the days of the Great Scouring and ending in the present day. Though hundreds of standards had been hung up, only a minuscule fraction of the available space had been used up.
Sigismund, High Marshal of the Black Templars and the Emperor's Champion, waited alone, his weathered features so still he might be mistaken for a statue. Age had marked the First Templar, a thin white beard framing his jaw, but he stood tall and proud, burning with life.
Lord-Inquisitor Dorn was not nearly as imposing in aspect, but the Inquisitorial Rosette clad around his neck gave the skull-helmed man a certain aura of power and gravity. He was accompanied by a small retinue consisting of a scribe-servitor and a Feral-World guard, as they too stood watching, waiting.
They did not have to wait long.
In an instant, it felt as if a ripple had passed through the air. The Sword-Brethren standing at the entrance stood aside, and a Demigod stepped into the Temple.
"Sigismund." Rogal Dorn acknowledged the presence of one of his sons, the greatest among them all. His mere presence was domineering even if his physical appearance by itself wasn't, an indecipherable overwordly charisma coming from the Primarch.
"Lord Dorn." Sigismund greeted his gene-sire with a bow of his head, though his expression remained unchanged.
"...And the Lord-Inquisitor." The Primach's eyes fell upon the Inquisitorial Rosette. He would let them speak first before addressing the matter of his presence in Cadia.
"My Lord," Inquisitor Dorn said as he fell to his knees before the Primarch, "It is an honor to be grace with your presence and a comfort to know that you will be personally leading us in this trying time."
The Primarch nodded at that, there was no further word spoken for a few seconds but then he spoke again with a small hint of exasperation in his voice. "You may present yourself."
"I am Lord Inquisitor Dorn, my liege," came the Inquisitor's artificial voice, one that even within it's metallic tone held a degree of reverence.
"I have been made aware recently that our forces were gathering here... My inquiries led me to believe you were preparing for something. What that would be that I am not privy to?" Rogal Dorn saod calmly, his steps heavy as he approached the two. "Lord Inquisitor Dorn, you requested a detachment of the Grey Knights to be deployed from Titan to Cadia. This I can understand, Cadia stands at the frontier gate of the Eye but you requested the Officio Assassinorum as well." He stated, his question obvious.
"Yes, Lord Dorn," the Inquisitor said as he rose to his feet, cybernetic eyes meeting those of the Primarch, "It is my belief that the threat we shall soon face will not be some mere horde of Neverborn monsters, but rather the return of those who fled within the closing days of the Great Heresy." As he spoke there was a conviction and fear within the Inquisitor's voice, it told of countless nights spent pouring over data from his astropaths, ravings of mad prophets and countless other sources in an attempt to divine the nature of their foe....and of how he wished that what he had found wasn't the case. "I requested agents of the Officio as I believe their skills will be needed in the days to come, for they are some of the few who stand a chance at cutting the head from the beast."
"I concur with the Lord-Inquisitor." Sigismund stated calmly. "All of the warning signs are there, if one knows where to look." He almost said more, but bit back. He knew his Primarch more closely than perhaps anyone alive, and knew better than to speak of the visions that came to him during times of prayer. Faith and conviction would not persuade him, only reason and logic.
"And what is that belief based on, Inquisitor?" The Primarch asked, his eyes scrutinizing as he looked down upon the Inquisitor search of answers. The Grey Knights may have been justified but the rest? It was still up to the question.
"To be brief my Lord, cold logic and the sheer malicious stubbornness of those who fled into the eye all those years ago. I do not believe those monsters will give us the luxury of dying within that hell nor to I think their masters will allow it." the Inquisitor said, the sheer contempt in his artificial voice for the traitors almost palpable, "I have no doubt that they are what is coming and I wish to ensure that all that they find is their death."
Dorn nodded in satisfaction to the Inquisitor's answers- he understood what he spoke of better than anyone. His gaze was one of approval as it swept over the mortal, the least he would want right now were raving fanatics about delusions. But he still had one last question, and so his gaze turned to his gene-son. The Inquisitor had been born recently and would not live long, but his former First Captain was a veteran of a thousand years.
"Sigismund. Why would you believe Chaos will launch an attack now but not a few centuries prior or merely a few years prior? What makes this time so special?" Dorn asked pointedly, his voice rumbling as his eyes gained more focus.
"Because the Warp is in turmoil, like it has not been since the days of the Heresy. On a thousand worlds, the populations have seen the same nightmares of demonic faces." Sigismund began, his gaze unwavering as he met Dorn's. "Because the Imperium has grown soft over the long centuries, as the horrors of war fade into memory. Those who even remember our great enemy are few and far between, derided as lunatics and doomsayers."
He nodded towards the Lord-Inquisitor. "Even among the Space Marines, we veterans are a dying breed. Many of my Templars have never even laid an eye on a Heretic Astartes. There has never been a better time to strike. And because they must strike. You saw how they turned upon one another after Horus fell. The years will not have been kind to them in the Eye, and if they do not soon attack they will lose the ability to threaten the Imperium. They are coming. I am absolutely certain of it."
Then Sigismund exhaled deeply, the weight of years pressing down on him for just an instant, before it was gone. "But if you do not believe me, believe this: there is no greater danger to the Emperor's realm than the Legions of the Eye. If we are wrong, the Imperium will still stand. Our borders are as secure as they have ever been. But if we are right... if we are right, and the invasion is coming, this could be the fulcrum upon which humanity's fate rests."
As he spoke the fire had slowly returned to the eyes of the old knight, the same zeal and clarity of purpose that had driven him to rise to the rank of First Captain and take his place among the legends. "The Cadian Gate is the greatest defensive asset we have, able to contain and corral any large-scale incursion. But if even a fraction of a fraction of the forces that fled from us during the Scouring were to return, it's current garrison would be swept aside like wheat before scythe, and leave the way open for the Traitors to return. This is something we absolutely cannot allow, not when we have just begun to recover from the wounds of the Heresy."
Rogal Dorn remained silent for a few tense seconds as he considered the words of his gene-son. "Very well." He acknowledged. There wasn't much to add, he was glad that Sigismund was thinking more than believing. That was a notable improvement in the eyes of the Primarch, so he was pleased. There were still a few formalities to perform later on.
Parlay with a Deamon
A circle of cultists and sorcerers chanted aboard the frigate The Inspired Plan. Their voices raised to the rafters of the bare hanger; with each word increasing in volume. The sacrifice had been made. Soon the last words were spoken. 'COME FORTH VIZIER OF TZEETCH.'
The pressure drops, a warp wind blows, the world glow blues and purples, the weak and cultists' clasp their had, bleeding from the nose, and drop dead a wizened two head daemon appears, staring directly to the soul of those that look upon it "You are foolish to summon me" One Head caws, " why does the warmaster call?" the other sings
Stepping over the still twitching remains of cultists and the hastily retreating forms of the few sorcerers that survived Thaghus looked up at the daemon. 'I wish counsel, What is the nature of the sword. Why dose it call to me in my dreams . What power dose it grant, what price dose it take.'
"it is a sword than contains the bound soul of a peer" "is a symbol of he who will be warmaster" "it seeks to drink the blood of loyalists, and seeks one to hold it" "power seeks out power" "it is a blade the cleaves truly, and fell" "you cannot comprehend the power it represents" "the price has already begun" "the price will never end" The words swam out of their mouths, the heads moving rapidly and unnaturally.
He nodded to himself, rather content with the answer as it might contain some useful information when he had time to tease the answers in his mind 'Do you know where the ferrymen took their toll and what has become of my servants, oh servant of the God of fate?'
"yes, Yes I do know"
At this he scowled, nodded and made the best impression of a shrug that a pus ridden plauge marine could.
'I guess i'm not going to get anything more on that subject. I have one last question for you, oh great Seer. Will Abbadon or me earn the gods favor and become Warmaster?'. As he said the word Abbadon he spat on the ground.
'The warmaster will be the heir of horus" "no one ever truly gains the favor of the gods"
Thagus thought he saw a smile on the abominations mouth. He in turned smiled and spoke as sweetly as possible 'Execllent I now know which head lies'.
He turned to leave the room, the few surviving sorcerers limping with him. As he left though the deamon called after him.
'Mind as you navigate the tides of warp and fate, you succumb not to it's gyres'.
"Before I could crawl, I survived on beetles and grubs, grown fat and wyrd in the fleshsoil of Lamagard
Before I could walk I ate mutant lizard and twisted rats
Before I could run I devoured the overconfident young of warp-born predators
When I could run, I feasted on the flesh of kings and warlords, grown complacent in their fortresses of sinewwood and bonesteel
Now I stride between the stars, the whole of that living world groaning in fear and obeisance, and set my sights on the fresh bones of Empire."
Vrethkur sat on the throne in the center of the bridge of her flagship, the Hades class Heavy Cruiser, Harbinger of Abomination, as it tore its way from the purity of the warp into the tentative almost-reality that encompassed the evershifting 'space' within the Eye. Within her mind Vrethkur felt the stirring of the beast which laid, deceptively quiescent, beside her bonesteel throne. It was a Flesh Hound known to her as Huthqral and it was the greatest of its kind she had ever encountered. Its scaled hide was so dark it had the purplish hue of dried gore, its ships and shoulders ended in a total of 8 limbs marking it apart as blessed of Khorne. She had encountered it when it had torn its way through the nonexistent barriers between the realms of true Chaos and the world of Lamagard, it had followed the scent of one of the skinwalker shamans that made up her then quite primitive warband, the man having apparently done something to offend the inscrutable will of the Bloodhungry. This was not decidedly not to Vrehtkur's advantage, for if nothing else the skinwalker was a useful follower and had proven his worth on more than one clash with their rivals in the Shattered Teeth mountains. She had intercepted and wrestled with the beast, her own four arms beating and tearing at its Daemon-flesh even as her will beat at its own. Before this the most potent Daemon she had bound to her will had been the occasional Fury encountered in the upper caps of the Teeth.
She had emerged victorious, gaining a potent weapon, the beginnings of her reputation as a Daemon Binder, and a potent Gift from the Bloodfather himself. Huthqral's mind epitomized the inconsistent and contradictory nature of the powers of Chaos. It embodied the martial ideals of fidelity and honor. It had accepted her as its master, and its mind was filled with the loyalty and devotion of the ideal hound, its desire to serve her blazed forth... and yet, she felt its hatred. Its rage at being bound and shackled to her will. Its fury roiled off of it and manifested the roaring forge-heat that rolled off its scaled hide. It would kill at her command, it would throw itself heedless at any who threatened her. It would take any opportunity to turn on her and tear her apart for the indignity of its servitude. It was her loyal hound. It was the purest savagery of every species' most feared and untamed predator condensed into Daemonic flesh. She stroked the beasts fiery scaled hide as the rest of the ships she had brought to Xana II emerged and took up rough formation around her flagship.
She stood, Huthqral padding forward as she entered the chamber which was part holographic communications station, part sorcerous mind-caster. The Chaotic glyphs etched into the chamber pulsed sympathetically with those etched and tattoed into her own flesh and she reached out through it to seek out and contact a roughly corresponding facility on the Dark Mechanicum world below, her message impressing itself into whatever daemonic device or bound psyker the corrupted children of Mars had built for the purpose.
"To the Forge Lords of Xana II, I am Vrethkur the Fourfold and I come as an envoy of the Warmaster Thagus Daravek, Battle-King and Lord of Hosts. I have brought a harvest of slaves and sacrifices to barter for the renowned products of the Daemon Forges of your world, and also a proposal in the Warmasters' name. In exchange for those slaves I have already brought and more to come, as well as STC's, technology, and a sizeable percentage of the slaves acquired in our upcoming campaign against the forces of the Imperium, we would seek the services of ships of or produced by Xana II."
The Marquis sat on the grass by the pool's edge, propping himself with both arms, legs swinging lazily in the cool water. A few servitors, luxurious and well crafted models, attended to him with refreshments and food.One combed and washed his long hair. Another played a soft melody while another, a multi armed thing that once had been a particularly annoying foe, prepared a massage table. Meanwhile, above the group, high up in the ceiling of the large gardens, artificial lightning and weather machines replicated a warm and breezy summer's day.
If the Heart's Desire was Orestes' Palace, then the gardens were his inner sanctum. Placed deep within the bowels of the mighty starship, an sphere encompassing several levels above and below. And in the middle of this spherical garden, the Marquis' private quarters. Expansive and wealthy as befitting a man of his station.
The atmosphere of relaxation was broken by the approach of of stomping on marble. Saffar half turned towards the newcomer, smiling as his chief lieutenant made his way over the tiled pathway. Always mindful to not step on the grass or the flowers with his heavy boots.
"I was waiting for you, dear Encelaus." The Marquis spoke up genially as he pulled himself to his feet. "I take it you have caught the old rat?" Saffar asked, clasping his hands in anticipation.
"Everything done proper and right, Your Excellency." Encelaus replied with a self satisfied smile. "We did run in a little bit of trouble back in the outer system." He shrugged. "But nothing that I couldn't deal with. A couple of witnesses, but no one who is actually going to be missed. Hardly anything that can be traced back to Your Excellency."
"Excellent work as alway, dear." Saffar clapped his hands again. "Then everything has gone as planned! One loose end dealt with." The Rogue Trader then raised his arm - the cybernetic one - and with a snap of his fingers one of the servitors quickly made its way towards the pair, holding a tray of drinks. It silently filled a couple of glasses from a green crystal bottle and presented the tray, preprogrammed empty smile never leaving its face.
Saffar took his drink first, as was protocol, but Encelaus wasted no time in downing the cup. Nor did he had any reservations about sipping straight from the bottle. Saffar watched in silence, nursing his mostly full glass while the servitor bowed and withdrew.
"Is this the Xeno stuff we looted from the Lady Dumas." He finally asked.
"Oh God Emperor no!" Saffar laughed. "If this were Dumas' vintage, both of us would already be dancing with imaginary courtesans by now. No, this is Baron Leukon's stock. Or at least the few bottles we didn't sell off."
Encelaus brightened at that. "Now that was a battle, wasn't it Your Excellency?" He smiled at the memory, taking another sip. "Almost makes me wish the entire Imperium could know about it. If it weren't for the fact we all would prolly get hanged for it."
"I'm sure the same goes for everyone else in our line of work." Saffar agreed. "But as long as you keep doing your job well we won't have to worry about that."
Encelaus nodded slightly before asking. "Speaking of job, Your Excellency, now that our work here is done, are we gonna depart soon?"
"In a few days. I'm not in a hurry." Saffar replied. "We still need to finish resupplying and getting the new combat servitors on board." He looked up to Encelaus. "Besides, since you have done your work so well we aren't really at a risk of receiving unwanted visitors. Isn't that right, Field Captain? I would hate to have the Inquisition interrupting my massage.."
"Well, I reckon that if the Inquisition shows up here, Your Excellency, an interrupted massage is gonna be the least of our problems." Encelaus deadpanned.
"Be as it may, you have done well, Field Captain. You are dismissed. But try not to get too drunk too soon. I still want you back after dinner to test out the new training servitors."
"No need to worry about that, Your Excellency." Encelaus grinned. "We both know there isn't enough booze in this ship to get me really drunk." He paused to take a long drink to emphasize the statement before giving one perfunctory bow and turning on his heel. That bottle by itself would be enough to train and equip a PDF platoon in the average Imperial world. And Encelaus would drink it the same way he drunk the cheap swill the ship slaves made on their ramshackle stills.
Some people really haven't any appreciation for the finer things in life.
