Jump to content

About This Club

An Alternate Universe where the Canon Legions have been replaced by Eighteen Legions and the consequences thereof.
  1. What's new in this club
  2. --- Glorianas were the greatest warships of the Imperium with the singular exception of the Emperor's flagship. A flagship that was now missing, leaving the twenty to argue for the vacancy. The public would never hear of that if either Malcador or Alexandros would have any control over it. As far as the masses would know, the Glorianas would serve as they always had: indomitable symbols of the Primarchs and the Imperium. Hopefully, not in that order. A single Gloriana was a strategic asset of incredible value, able to provide a decisive advantage. They were not designed to serve as simple messenger shuttles. Yet, these were not simple times. Therefore, when the Obsidian Guard arrived at the edge of the Sol system with the core of its strength centered around Lord Keath's Gloriana flagship, Herald of Judgement, Malcador and Alexandros set out to meet them aboard Alexandros' own Gloriana, the Elpis. The presence of these two titans of the void would be seen by the greater Imperium, and word would spread. The Imperium may be dealing with a crisis like no other, but its strength was not gone. At Alexandros' insistence, the meeting of the three would happen aboard the Herald of Judgement. Malcador had suggested the Elpis in order to emphasize that the situation was under control with Lukas acting more as a reporting officer instead of the possible impression of hidden panic of Malcador and Alexandros traveling to Lukas. Alexandros' counter-argument that meeting aboard the Judgement would save precious time for Lukas to be updated on the situation and to redeploy his forces as needed, while Alexandros and Malcador would endure the cost in travel time and image. Lukas, unsurprisingly, had agreed with Alexandros' assessment. The trade-off both Primarchs had made toward Malcador would that the meeting between the three of them would take place within Lukas' private quarters. Malcador would not allow the slip-up of any unauthorized information.
  3. Antipaton, Legate off the Third Cohort, asked the next logical question as his gray eyes focused on the other Imperial symbols across the galaxy. Seventeen specific sigils. "What of the other legions?" "Terra has received word from most of them, and the same story repeats itself. Everyone's lost ships and Astartes during the Vanishing, but most of them were on campaign, preventing any crippling losses. Most of my brothers are accounted for with a few exceptions. Lukas is already on his way to Terra, but we don't have confirmation of the whereabouts of Ezharion, Aato, Azus... and Absalom." "If we're lucky, the Warp will have consumed him." Alexandros threw a warning glance at Chukhay, Legate of the Sixth Cohort, who hadn't whispered that low enough, but moved the meeting onward. "Contact will need to be re-established as swiftly as possible, but I have faith that they will be found in good time. Once we've a proper estimate of the reaper's tally, Malcador intends to summon the War Council to discuss and decide the Imperium's response to this calamity." "The War Council hasn't assembled in its entirety for two centuries," Chukhay, a bald native of Balov, observed. "It will take some time. And it will be... contentious." "Not the entire War Council," Alexandros assured. "Simply the higher echelons. Though, yes, that many strong personalities are likely to cause... friction. We will need to be prepared to do all we can to smooth things over as the Imperium recovers. Our goal is straightforward. We need to oversee and ensure the Imperium's continuation, until the Emperor can be found. At which point, we will need only to revert back to custom." Irvin stared at the holographic of the broken galaxy. "My lord, you know of my loyalty. I was born on Terra and swore to the Emperor's cause with the first recruits of the Fifth. Know that it is not out of insubordination that I ask, what if we don't find the Emperor?" "...we will cross that bridge when we must."
  4. Welcome, everyone, to the Brotherhood of the Lost's new club!
  5. We have even more Primarch art, this time Ezharion Kulas of the Tempest Reavers. Art by Slaine
  6. The Kimmastrean Immortal Crusaders were an Imperial Army regiment during the Great Crusade and Five Ruins. A proud and honourable regiment, the Crusaders would serve on numerous campaigns during the later half of the Great Crusade before returning to their home system following the Vanishing. They would find themselves relegated to garrison duty, defending the nearby Hive World of Cierus V. Resentment over this decision would fester within the regiment, until a messenger brought them an offer of proving their martial prowess. Regimental Appearance The Kimmastrean Immortal Crusaders are known for their heavily armoured infantry, even the most basic infantryman equipment in carapace armour. The more elite elements of the regiment would be equipped with a lighter form of power armour. Once the Crusaders joined the forces of Chaos, spikes became a common feature of their uniform, particularly on their backpacks and shoulder pads. Colours & Livery The Kimmastrean Immortal Crusaders wear dark green armour over dark teal clothing, with the more ornate armour having bronze trim. The regiment’s symbol is a sword bisecting a crescent moon.
  7. Art of Araphel, Primarch of the Iron Revenants Credit to Slaine.
  8. Legionary and Armorial of the Amathame Brotherhood, the militant arm of the Alabaster Order Art by Algrim Whitefang
  9. The Rise of the Royal Syndicate Date: 004.M31 Location: Sialea, Segmentum Tempestus The Imperial government of Sialea was on a shaky footing even before the Vanishing, with the real power on Sialea being in the hands of the gangs of the underhive and the Imperial government only being needed to send the planet’s tithe to Terra. Following the Vanishing and the disruptions to warp travel, the heads of the gangs met and decided that without the Imperium there was no need for the imperial government. United in a new Royal Syndicate, the gangers poured out of the underhives and cleared out the government buildings across Sialea, killing the governor and dumping his body. Most of the PDF stepped aside rather than fight in a pointless resistance, with only a few trying to hold their defences. After the government was overthrown, the gangers returned to the darkness and ruled the planet from the underhives. The Godslayers led by Veliteľ Radousek Sirota, receiving reports of the planet’s failure to pay the tithe and disappearance of the governor, headed to Sialea with the aim of re-establishing the Imperium’s connection with the planet. The initial reports gave them optimistic expectations, as they faced little resistance from the orbital defences or aircraft. It was discovered later that the gangers did not have the expertise to operate the defence systems, and the pilots of the few fighters only had experience piloting skimmers. The Godslayers easily landed, retook the Governor’s Palace and all the key administrative buildings. This was not the end of the campaign as the Godslayers expected, as the military forces of the Syndicate had pulled back into the underhives. As the Godslayers moved to finish them off, they ran into increasing numbers of booby traps and ambushes. While the Godslayers never lost any of the large scale engagements, there was a constant stream of casualties as the gangers were adept at navigating the sprawling underhives. The gangers also had access to numbers of soldiers that the Godslayers had severely underestimated, with civilians also press-ganged into service to not waste their specialist elements. After several months of underhive fighting, the Godslayers were able to successfully pacify the world. A major breakthrough came when Veliteľ Sirota secretly negotiated the support of dissent elements of one of the three major gangs, resparking old gang grudges that paralysed the Syndicate forces in that hive. At the end of the conflict, Veliteľ Sirota had lost nearly half his own Kapitola and hundreds more from other units, but was able to claim victory. Not only did he bring the hives to heel, he also discovered several hidden or lost STC Templates pre-dating Imperial rule of the planet, and handed these over to Koschei.
  10. Tarriq Daviduus Tarriq had always been small in stature compared to his brothers. He had trained harder than most to make up for this, and although his aiming and target practice was above average, his combat drills left much to be desired. Indeed, his brief service in the assault companies was unremarkable, save for his undauntable spirit and the marks of a leader inside his soul. Were he only more skilled with a blade, it is doubtful he would have been reassigned. However, tactical brilliance and an unwavering spirit only gets you so far in a brutal melee. After his fourth consecutive major injury, he was reallocated to the Legion's armoury as a tank gunner. After all, even a blunted tool can be put to good use. Within the turret of his first Predator, he quickly garnered attention for his unerring marksmanship, and knowledge of the vehicle and its tactics. By the time he had served with distinction as both a gunner and a driver, it was only a matter of time before he received a command of his own. When it happened, during a compliance campaign, unremarkable save for the large number of armoured units available to nascent human inhabitants, he was up against poor odds. With a handful of armoured units, Tarriq was required to hold position against a superior enemy force, including illegally modified Leman Russ variants. Tarriq's force began by setting up tank traps and ferrocrete barriers. Able to hide their own vehicles behind them, their Predators’ high turrets were still on display whilst the enemy Leman Russ were unable to make use of them effectively. Tarriq, leading the Predator Destructor pattern Squadron, and a singular damaged Predator with Lascannons, held their preordained positions for 23 hours, their chosen battlefield littered with the corpse of their foes. Even the Predators under his command seemed inspired by his masterful leadership and calm disposition, their machine spirits working harder than ever, overcoming crippling damage to remain operational for as long as possible. By the time the relief force arrived in the form of the massed armour formations of the Imperial Army, they found an immobilised Predator with a gash in its Hull and its pilot on display, mercilessly trading fire with a Leman Russ. Its commander, Tarriq himself, firing his bolt pistol at the enemy driver's vision slits. The limping Predator Annihilator, shielded by its commander, was able to deal with the foe, just in the nick of time. Rewarded for his skill and tenacity, Tarriq found himself ascending the ranks, a hero in the making. Indeed, his masterful command was responsible for a number of victories, the Fire Keeper's armorium remaining a small, but skilled part of the Legion. Upon Ullanor, during the disastrous decision to build a veritable fortress Palace to welcome the Imperial Regent, he was one of the few to speak out against the frivolous display of artsmanship and skill, advising the maintenance of the defensive lines. Unfortunately, the Chaplain Sovereigns disagreed, their belief being that there was a legal responsibility for the Legion to ensure the safety of their guests. Even with the entire armorium at his disposal, when Tarriq relented and took his assigned role as the armoured shield of the new foundations, he chose his favoured mount, the Predator Destructor, the Loyalty of Obsailes. Later analysis would dictate that his decision was perhaps his fatal mistake. Yet the facts remain, that as the Ork horde fell upon the armoured convoy, fighting with minimal infantry support, it was Tarriq in his Predator that was personally responsible for the crippling of their armoured elements. Against all advice and odds, Tarriq took his Squadron into the front lines, and then advanced on into the Ork lines. He engaged the enemy wagons and gun vehicles without support, and it became apparent that it was a losing battle. Unwilling to let the mainstay of the Ork firepower reach the defensive lines intact, Tarriq continued his manoeuvres, the Squadron operating in perfect synchronicity, weaving through enemy fire, breaking the lines of infantry, and slowly whittling down the enemy armour. As the conflict drew to a close, the Loyalty of Obsailes, with both its sponsons damaged, one track lost, the gunner dead, and the armour compromised in a dozen places was the sole survivor. Ork boyz in their dozens were swarming the tank, even as Tarriq hauled the corpse of the gunner out of his seat and took command of the main turret, with its final shot. The last of the Ork vehicles, a monstrous gun wagon of impossible armour, given its speed hurtled towards the defensive lines. Its momentum, let alone its firepower, would give the Orks the breach they needed. The heavy front armour of the monster shrugged off the shots of a dozen tanks, the gun opening up in kind. Tarriq was said to have ordered that no tank break position, as he made his final shot, even as the first Orks hauled themselves into his vehicle. The shot was true, a virtually impossible shot, arcing through the air, and descending into the rear upper armour of the beasts' vehicle, detonating the ammunition stored within. Even as it exploded in a ball of flames, the Loyalty of Obsailes and its commander were lost, not in a blaze of glory, but with the angry descent of a horde of axes, swords and meaty fists. There was nothing of the vehicle to be salvaged, the Ork lootas clearing it up quickly, and of Tarriq's armour and geneseed, there was no sign. Perhaps, if Tarriq had not been pressed in the Legion's vainglorious display of majesty, his skill and knowledge could have been put to better use during the day's to come.
  11. Exiles and Adventurers The earliest roots of the Second legion can be traced back to the warlike Terran state of Jurfik. Located in the north of the Albyonic territories once called Angle-land, Jurfik’s warlike people had not only survived the wars of the Age of Strife, they had in fact thrived. When the Emperor revealed himself to Mankind, Jurfik's empire was at its zenith. From its heart in Jurfik itself, it stretched out across the north of Terra, spanning much of Albyon and Hibernia, either as conquered territory or vassal states, western Norsca and Frysa. At the head of this empire were the warrior kings of Jurfik. While they ruled their empire alongside their Thegns, these kings were warriors first and foremost, as evidenced by their frequent wars with the realms of Ursh, the Jermani and the Suomen nomads. They took the technology and gene-lore of Albyon for their own armies, fielding proto-Dreadnoughts and ironclad gene-brutes against their enemies. However, Jurfik’s succession was frequently disputed as, upon the king’s death, rival petty kings would each seek to install himself as king of all Jurfik or to carve out a larger realm for himself from amongst Jurfik’s vassal kingdoms. The resulting civil wars were often brief and brutal, with one side rapidly emerging as the victor and the losers being forced to flee along with their supporters. These exiles often sought to find pay as mercenaries in the armies of Terras other rulers, with many winding up in the armies of Kalaggan, the tyrant of Ursh. However, when his realm was conquered by the armies of the Emperor, the exiles from Jurfik found another employer: the Emperor of Mankind himself. While many of the warriors who took up employment as mercenaries in the Emperor’s armies were too old to attempt the process that would transform them into legionaries, the youngest of their number were not. So, while their elders became soldiers of the Imperial Army, these young warriors found a place in the Emperor's armies as warriors of his Legiones Astartes and while some were taken into the Ist Legion, the vast majority were recruited to the IInd Legion.
  12. Afeahamra Alsuwa’Qan On Azus’ homeworld of Dhul’hasa, there was one clan that did not seek conquest or kingship, they sought infamy and wealth. Holding a single, unassailable mountain fortress, the Alsuwa’Qan Clan were expert assassins and infiltrators, trained not to challenge their opponents on the plains but to eliminate key targets before their opponents even arrived. They would even sell their services to other clans, though even then would be enacting their own agenda. When Azus Bahmut conquered Dhul’hasa, he stood outside their fortress and gave them one day to surrender or be destroyed. The Master of the Alsuwa’Qan Clan spoke with his fellow warriors, and that night the top assassins of the clan were sent to kill Azus. The next morning, the heads of the assassins were posted on stakes in front of the fortress. As the Master declared he would surrender to his inner circle, Azus appeared from the shadows and accepted the surrender, and the Alsuwa’Qan Clan joined Azus. The Alsuwa’Qan Clan fought against the xenos invaders of Dhul’hasa, and when Azus was reunited with his legion he brought the lessons from the Alsuwa’Qan with him. Adding the name of Dhul’hasa’s venomous snakes to its own, the Afeahamra Alsuwa’Qan was formed by those handpicked by Azus himself, with a new Master chosen to lead this shadowy group. No one even within the legion knows who the members of the Alsuwa’Qan are, with most not even knowing that the Afeahamra Alsuwa’Qan exists. The ranking officers of the legion who are aware do not command them, only able to request the removal of specific targets from high command and then have them sometimes mysteriously disappear. The members of the Alsuwa’Qan are spread across all of the Hordes, with their commanders not knowing which of their brothers are a part of the group. Only Azus and the Master know who the members are, or what their assignments are. The Afeahamra Alsuwa’Qan is divided into different tribes based on preferences over methods of assassination, similar in philosophy to the clades of the Officio Assassinorum. Whilst they differ in methods, they all work from the shadows to remove their targets, whether through poisons or a blade to the back. Unlike the clades of the Assassinorum, it is not unusual for multiple Alsuwa’Qan members to be sent on the same mission, often working together to coordinate a single strike against a target.
  13. Valkten Chosen Terminators On the eve of particularly troublesome and dolorous battles, the Ochranic Cavaliers kneel before Absalom, their heads bowed in reverence. Then, he chooses those among them that will serve in the Valkten for the next battle. This selection, although temporary, since it only lasts for a single deployment, is viewed as a great honour, an acknowledgement of a Cavalier's skill by their Primarch, who rewards them above all their peers. Adorned in relic Tartaros terminator armour in resplendent black and gold, armed with master-crafted weapons, they follow Absalom to war, the aftershocks to the Amber King's earthquake, or strike out on their own, charged with assignments of vital importance for the success of the Legion. There is also a hidden purpose to this practice; the cultivation of intense competition in the ranks of the Cavaliers, the contest for their Father's fickle favour gruelling and never-ending. By using this subtle manipulation, Absalom sows the seeds of competition and rivalry, thus ensuring that his elite warriors will never stop honing their skills and improving. Art by Wilph
  14. Paradis Trovato Paradis Trovato is the barren Civilised World that is the homeworld of Gustave Dunant and the Alabaster Order. Once a lush, temperate garden world, the population had spread throughout the planet, and coexisted peacefully. Science, the arts, and philosophy were common focuses. A deadly disease known as the Ravager Plague broke out and swept across the world, infecting all the animals, humans and even plant life. The surviving humans were forced into living in domed mega-cities, with the rest of the planet being a barren wasteland roamed by nomadic tribes of scrappers. The Dome Dwellers fare little better, and appear as a people besieged by an invisible foe. All inhabitants wear Personal Protective Equipment (oftentimes worn or recycled), and any sign of sickness is violently cast out. Medicae Adept Reine Lanicca Reine Lanicca is a human woman, and is basically Gustave's research assistant. She's a brilliant doctor, and is unique in Gustave's circle as being someone who actually seems to understand Gustave's drive. She's probably best described as being in the height of her physical prime, with black hair, and glasses. She's prone to pushing her glasses up sub-conscientiously, and she chews on her stylus when she's thinking.
  15. Salainen Fighter Squadron The Salainen Fighter Squadron are a group of light flyers created by the Primarch Aato Väyrynen and the Sky Reavers legion during the Great Crusade. Inspired by the flyers of Aato’s homeworld of Maaparatiisi, the Salainen were made as small as physically possible whilst still being able to be piloted by an Astartes. Only the Astartes of the Sky Reavers could hope to pilot such aircraft, as the support systems had been stripped to their bare minimum and as such the pilots rely more on their genetic resilience to G-Forces to remain conscious during the manoeuvres the Salainen are capable of. This reduced size and payload is by design, as Aato spotted a niche that the Sky Reavers in particular required filling. Once the Primaris Lightning Strike Fighters and Xiphons cleared the skies of enemy aircraft, the greatest threat came from ground-based anti-air weapons. The Salainen Fighters would be deployed to deal with this, as the loss of several Salainen was worth preserving the other flyers and their more experienced pilots. The Salainen were designed to be easy to produce by the Mechanicum, easily replaceable and being simple enough for multiple Forge Worlds to be able to produce it. Commensurate with the Fighter’s small size, the weaponry built in is similarly reduced from regular flyers. The primary weapon is a unique creation of the Sky Reavers’ Rautasiipi, the Koivun Sonic Cannon, created in an attempt to recreate the mechanisms of Aato’s own sidearm Thunder. The Cannon can be fired in focused or alternating frequencies, able to cause vehicles to rupture from the resonance of the blast or strafe the enemy infantry overloading any sound dampeners. Alongside this cannon is a simple multi-laser for additional firepower.
  16. Renovatio, 838 Crassus gritted his teeth. "We are more than pieces of hardware." VonSalim quirked an eyebrow. Crassus blinked. Darshan asked, "Are you?" The winds of Afric blew around them, catching their respective capes in gentle embrace. Crassus' resolve shook as he stood, once again, at Three Flags. His blue eyes flashed to the East where he could see the shield towers protecting his past enemies from airstrikes. Crassus remembered too-late the other side of his Primarch. A mind-witch of terrifying strength and skill. As he turned his head, Crassus caught something in the corner of his eye. Behind him was the Albyon Slayer, the first tank he had driven. The tank he would soon ride into the upcoming battle. Alarmed fury filled him as he noted its state. The pintle-mounted volkite caliver fizzled with damage as it dangled off the turret. One of the treads had come loose. Corrosion wrapped around the cannon's barrel. Never would Crassus allow his steed to fall into such deplorable condition. "Well, Prefect?" Darshan asked as he stepped up to the vehicle of war. "Would you go to war in this?" "Of course not!" Crassus spat back, indignant anger rocking his voice. Only to realize a moment later he had completely walked into a trap. Darshan knocked his knuckles against the tank. "So, if you wouldn't take this into war, why would you try to persuade me to allow you?" "Can you not see me, my lord?" Crassus argued as he gestured to himself. "I am a keen edge, ready to do battle. I'm in the training rooms daily, waiting for the day I can rejoin my brothers on the front line. What more do you want of me?" "To stop being blind," Darshan countered. "You think nothing but the body when it is your mind that is breaking. This tank," he emphasized with a wave of a hand, "is your mind. You have blindly trusted in the psycho-conditioning to prevent the damage that is now infecting you. This is what I see every time you ask to be deployed." Before he could stop himself, Crassus said with not a light touch of sarcasm, "You told me that spending time in the sanctum would improve this." "It would if you actually used it instead of stewing in your own self-righteous misery," Darshan declared, his voice hard. "Worse, you inflict your petty attitude upon your brothers with this paltry refuge of a sanctum, abandoning your responsibilities as a leader, one of my four Brigadiers no less. You shame yourself with this puerility and you shame me as both your commanding officer and as a father." Again, the worst part of facing a telepath is that they knew every thought, which meant Crassus had no chance at hiding the vindictive spark of satisfaction at frustrating VonSalim. This time, however, Crassus felt shame. It wriggled around the vindictiveness as Crassus did his best to ignore both of them. Although he reined the unwanted emotions in, he did not offer a retort. It was then he realized something. "What is your purpose of this meeting, my lord?" "Lord Araphel and I have agreed on a tactical plan to cripple the Scaran threat and prevent a campaign of attrition that will waste years in this system. However, it all hinges upon a decapitation strike against the Scaran queen. Even with Araphel and I personally involved with this attack, it is an extremely risky gamble that will see a horrific blood price. You will be the sole Brigadier to be deployed to my side." The thrill of war shouted within Crassus' being, but his mind was already shifting with suspicion. "Given our conversation, I would not imagine you would reward me, my lord." "Make no mistake, this is no reward," Darshan affirmed as he stared down at his officer. "You will unleash your rage at the enemy, and it will serve a purpose. However, in half of the futures I have foreseen, you are slain in this upcoming battle. In a third of the other futures, you are maimed, interred within a dreadnought, to be forever denied the exhilaration of commanding your beloved Praefectus and riding into war. Only in that final sliver of possibility do you emerge from the battle whole."
  17. The Grand Race Aato Väyrynen walked through the doorway and unfurled his arms with a theatrical flourish. “...And here is our command deck, the beating heart of the ship.” Ezharion Kulas looked around admiringly at the well-lit and shining command centre, the room having a natural flow to it that Ezharion imagined made rapid movements in a crisis less chaotic. Ezharion made some mental notes as he glanced behind him and saw the wonder of Kilvek Feldas and his entourage of veterans and smiled to himself. “I know, I know. It’s not spikey enough”. Aato japed as Ezharion turned to face him. Ezharion laughed a low chuckle as he put his arm around Aato’s shoulders. “Now that you mention it, it could do with a few more spikes. Too many monitors, too few spikes.” Aato joined his brother in laughing and led him to the command throne. The throne was sleek and crafted to fit Aato’s unique figure. Ezharion crouched down and examined the intricacies of the circuitry and the inputs built into the arms. Aato wondered if he would press any of the buttons just to see what they did. It was hard to tell how much of Ezharion’s barbarian appearance was a show and how much was genuine, much like his other brother Hectarion. Aato hoped that Ezharion would prove more intellectually stimulating than he had found the Lord of Mycenae. Ezharion straightened up and concluded his analysis of the command throne. “Well brother, your boasts were certainly well-founded, your Gloriana is magnificent. I only wish I had seen it before I spoke with Fabricator-General Hal about the Whisperwind. Hopefully I can see it in action against a worthy foe.” Aato raised his hand with a wry smile. “The tour’s not over yet, Ezharion. There’s one stop left, perhaps the most important room on the Lightning Bound. Follow me.” … The two brothers arrived at a truly gigantic room, around the size of the Gloriana’s hangar but empty of all vehicles. The room was surrounded by huge stands of seats, Ezharion calculating in less than a second that the whole legion may well be able to in the arena. The centre of the room was empty, the floor covered in a hard, rough surface, and a few Sky Reavers were there relaxing and racing. They all stopped as they saw Aato and Ezharion enter and stood to attention. Aato waved his hand and the Reavers relaxed. “This is the Grand Hevosareena, the greatest racetrack in perhaps the entire Imperium. The truest test of an individual’s endurance and physical prowess. This is the spiritual heart of the Lightning Bound. Without it, the ship is a mere vessel rather than a home.” Aato smiled with pride as he stood overlooking the track. “I hear our sons and the mortals take bets on which of us is the fastest in a race. They think they do it out of earshot, but I am guessing you have heard it too.” Aato made a gesture of looking surprised, but his grin was mischievous. “Well, since we are here, it would be a great shame not to put it to the test, don’t you think?” “Only if you are willing to lose in front of your sons on your home field.” Ezharion retorted. Aato beckoned over the Sky Reavers who were watching the two Primarchs. “Arttu, spread the word. A Hevoskurssi is being held.” … The seats of the Grand Hevosareena began to fill rapidly as Reavers of both stripes filed in and mingled. The energy grew as more arrived and both sides placed bets and wagered various trophies and tokens. Aato and Ezharion stood at one end of the stadium, the two beings stretching and warming up despite their superhuman physiology. Finally, Aato judged that the seats were full enough, and he raised his hand. A wave of silence rippled out as the various conversations ended. A sole Sky Reaver walked forward, the lithe form marking him out as Aato’s equerry Otto Saari, and halting by the start line. Aato sunk into a low crouch, his armour moving without a sound as it readied himself. Ezharion joined him, deactivating his thrusters but powering up his power pack. Aato turned his head to his brother. “If I win, I get your thrusters, right?” “Only if I get that unique jet pack of yours if I win.” Otto raised a volkite serpenta and began counting down. 3. 2. 1. The serpenta lit up as the Primarchs burst forward.
  18. Martius, 837 The sound melody of waves washing upon the beach both soothed the giant and evoked childhood memories of more innocent times. So long as he kept his gaze on the beach, Alexandros could relive the watery games he had played with the other boys in town. A moment of reverie between destruction. The moment broke as past command combined with future duty. Alexandros opened viridian eyes as his ears caught the approach of military boots. Powered and unpowered. He turned away from the beach, eyes glancing at the broken port which occupied the rest of this island. Despite their name, space marines had an odd relationship with naval combat. Overlap certainly, but not quite a true mastery of this ancient battlefield. But victory was victory. The true focus of his attention came into view as a military delegation rounded the corner of a toppled warship. Three of his sons led five mortals toward the Primarch. The gold-trimmed shields served as badges of office as opposed to war gear at this moment. Ruel had not relented in his campaign to establish a proper bodyguard for the Lord of the Fifth, despite Alexandros' considerable advantages. They were a source of amusement to him. These three warriors formed a triangle around the mortals. Only one of them wore armor, a pristine set of carapace armor in camouflage. Alexandros had little doubt it would see use soon enough. Yet, it was the mortal at the front of the delegation who demanded Alexandros' address. He wore an immaculate black dress uniform with golden epaulets. He was old, easily in retirement age in some cultures as lines criss crossed his face. It was a less than ideal situation, but Delos had not seen true war since Alexandros had driven off the xenos years ago. Suhag was the best the planet offered, discounting Alexandros. The delegation came to a halt before saluting. "My lord," the lead Warden stated. "I present Manoj Suhag, Grand Commandant of the First Scion Army."
  19. Sol, 836 The guilt amused him. That did not lessen guilt’s sting, but it created an odd combination of emotions that Alexandros wasn't used to. His hair had grown back, and the burn 'scars' had faded. In another month, none would be able to see any wound had been inflicted against the Lord of the Fifth. That too had been another calculation. He had allowed the budding Delian rebellion to take its shot against him. Had thrown himself between the bomb and the audience. And now was mostly healed after a few weeks. In one move, Alexandros had ended the rebellion before it could truly gain momentum. He was still embarrassed he had to say good-bye to his mom with a third of his face a different color. Her lined, worried eyes wouldn’t stop glancing at the new skin. He put on a reassuring smile, even as he knew it would do little to appease her. Instead, he opened his arms. He could feel the inaudible huff of mixed frustration, surrender, and love before she embraced him. Her arms wrapped tight around as much of his torso as she could stretch. He could have wrapped his arms around her twice. Instead, he used the same hug he had use since he was a boy. His hands criss crossed at the center of her back, while his arms drooped to the side. He enjoyed her presence as she whispered, “Be safe, my son.” She pecked him on the cheek before releasing her tight hold. He returned the gesture on her forehead. “Always, Mom.” She reluctantly stepped back with a last, “Write often.” "I will," Alexandros reassured her before turning his attention to the man stepping past Cassandra. Demetrius had more gray streaks in his dark beard. An unbidden thought within the Primarch wondered how many more good-byes the Great Crusade would allow them. Demetrius laid a hand on Alexandros' shoulder. It was a subconscious habit that had started when Alexandros had outgrown the man's height. A small way a father kept his dignity before his giant son. "We love you, son. As you return to the stars, remember the most important lesson." "The greatest man is the one who lifts others," Alexandros intoned with a fond smile. Demetrius nodded with his own matching smile. "Just so." Only now did he briefly embrace his son before joining his wife. After them was a small parade of good-byes to half-siblings and relatives. Tomorrow, Alexandros would be locked into a ceremonial departure as the Halcyon Wardens deployed to the Great Crusade. Tonight, in his private quarters, Alexandros said farewell to his little family, the ones who mattered. One last woman held out her hand to him, palm down. She was the most controversial member of Alexandros' mortal family. But promises, even if derailed, had to be respected. She had midnight curly hair as she smiled up at him. Brown eyes glowed with mischief and warmth. "Must you insist upon this tradition?" "Ah, you wound me, my lady Myrsine," Alexandros said as he placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "Although our paths had to part ways, did we not share something special?" She rolled her eyes at his declaration but noticeably brightened as he gently kissed the back of her hand. It was a game they had played since their engagement had ended. "That would be Senator Myrsine to you, Prime Minister." "I'm afraid I must decline," Alexandros ruefully replied. "I know too many senators." With a sigh, she admonished, "Stay alive, Alex. Your death would cause no small headache in the Senate." "I live to serve, my dear."
  20. Abidius, 836 "My lord, can at least the Fifth Legion prosecute the Great Crusade? We can easily arrange for our most advanced cruiser to offer both speed and protection for this private matter." Alexandros couldn't help but notice that Irvin hadn't used the new legion title. At the same time, the former Storm Rider hadn't subconsciously used the old legion name. Progress, Alexandros noted to himself as he delicately snipped off an unhealthy branch from the Balovian Imle. It was one of five trophies he would be taking from his first protectorate. It was by far the most temperamental trophy, even within the precise artificial environment of the Primarch's personal quarters. "Irvin," Alexandros began as he switched tools. "You know how I value the symbolic as much as I do the practical." "I do," the former Legion Master admitted. Even with Alexandros crouched over in his hobby, the two were almost eye-level. "But we've been involved in non-combat duty for near two years now. I understand your intentions, but I must insist the Emperor will not appreciate any additional delay." Alexandros waved a casual hand. "I'm not asking for another year off, even if the Great Crusade can withstand it. No, I understand that duty calls, but it must wait for one duty prior." With a satisfied nod, Alexandros finished his effort on the Imle. "I am a warlord in both senses of the term. It has been almost seven years since I've fulfilled my duties as prime minister, and the Wardens do not yet think of Delos as their new home. Now that they match my vision of what a legion ought to be, it is time I properly introduced them to their wards, their people." He rose to his full stature, forcing Irvin to look up to him. A calculated message, but one the lord commander was unlikely to realize. One day, he would. "Besides, I have an assassination attempt I must endure."
  21. 835 "Humanity craves symbols," The red-haired giant declared with a sweep of his arm. "For they are the physical manifestation of what separates us from the animal: thought. We use symbols for the mundane, the sacred, and the personal. All three purposes are aligned today," Alexandros, Lord of the Halcyon Wardens, declared to the three legionaries before him. Three more stood behind him, across the table. Directly behind the Primarch was Irvin Ruel, Lord Commander and second-in-command of the legion. The bald Terran veteran was, as always, the image of discipline and bearing, unwavering in his stance. To Ruel's right was the scarred Praetor Niemann, Chief of the Destroyers. Niemann did not try to match his superior's precision as he watched the proceedings with mild amusement. To Ruel's left was Theodor Vonsmith, High Forge Lord of the Fifth Legion. The man was one-third machine in appearance and cold detachment in demeanor. Each man had been hand selected by Alexandros as the scene was broadcasted to the reformed Fifth and to the entirety of Balov. The newest protectorate had played an important role as participant and witness as the Storm Riders of the Unification Wars transformed into the Halcyon Wardens of their gene-sire's vision. Alexandros reached for the central of three items lined on the table, sitting comfortably above red velvet. The giant hands slid around the perfect circle before gently lifting it up from its place. Alexandros moved with deliberate and solemn purpose as he addressed the legionary in front of him. Third Lieutenant, in the old rank nomenclature, Vonsaza stood rigid, unused to the pomp and attention of the masses. That did not stop Darshan from sensing the fierce pride burning within the man's soul. He had possessed the two qualities Alexandros had sought throughout his entire legion: the most lives saved and a receptive heart. Alexandros held the shield between them. "With this, I formally create the Order of the Shield."
  22. 834 And so it went, the living wall of Warden shields deflecting danger as the breachers advanced down the hallway, whittling away at the mob with precise shots. They were less than thirty metres from the hallway's exit when the last Ork succumbed to its wounds. Not a moment passed before a new danger arrived. Ten Orks filled the mouth of the hallway in a well-rehearsed drill. Every one of them had a rocket pack strapped to their back. The big Ork commanding them bellowed, "Take aim!" All of them bowed forward, the rocket packs aimed at Alexandros' line. Next to Alexandros, scarred Jorg muttered. "Are they serious?" Alexandros answered, "Without a doubt." "FIRE!" As one, the Orks ignited their packs. With only seconds before impact, Darshan identified two who'd end up crashing into the walls and killing themselves, removing any threat they might have posed. To the three breachers in front of him, Darshan sent a single telepathic command. Cease fire. Alexandros leaped over their heads. With four seconds to impact, he squeezed the trigger on his plasma blaster twice. The two plasma missiles melted two others as one of them crashed into a wall. Alexandros landed in front of his sons before bracing himself behind his shield. Volkites burned down another. Then impact. Blood exploded and bone shattered as several of the brutes crashed into hapless breachers, killing marines and Orks both. Alexandros' arm shook as one then a second Ork dashed themselves against his shield, forcing him back a couple of centimetres. To the surprise of many, the nob slammed into the primarch and remained there. Its' rockets still firing, it pushed against Alexandros' strength. It peered over the shield's edge and screamed "WAAAAAGH!" into Alexandros' face. Alexandros grimaced. "If I ever fail to exterminate your species, I will introduce the concept of dental hygiene to you lot," he promised before shoving the muzzle of his plasma blaster against its forehead.

  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use.