This is the Liber Astartes, PART II

[SickSix]

That was great.

 

Best intro to a forum ever. I only hope I have the strength to persevere the trials of the Liber Astartes myself so that one of my Dark Swords may finally earn a permanent place.

 

**I am only referring to the OP because I haven't read anything else and didn't realize there was a running story going on 45 pages later**

Edited March 15, 2014 by SickSix

[Olis]

SickSix, on 15 Mar 2014 - 02:24, said:

**I am only referring to the OP because I haven't read anything else and didn't realize there was a running story going on 45 pages later**

You might need to come back multiple times, brother, to polish this monster off. We've had a Typo war, a Pater Fistmas visit and, the current story arc, strange goings on in the basement of the Culinarium (canteen).

I would wager that you won't regret sticking with it, though. It may be a lot to read but it has it's moments.

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This was something the Moderati hadn't accounted for. Maybe-Aquilanus was now Definitely-Aquilanus, that much he knew. The pair they had followed dematerialised not long after the argument, stepping into what seemed like a rippling pond of... air. It didn't explain much at all, to be fair, but facing off against Definitely-Aquilanus now offered a new avenue of reasoning.

"Alright. We lower our weapons on the count of three. One. Two... Three."

Nothing happened.

A brief blink and a shift of the eyes out and down, before coming back to Aquilanus, let the realisation click into place. Well, that didn't work. Thought Olis. They continued to point their respective weapons at each other. A call from near the exit back to the Culinarium drew glances from them both but neither weapon faltered. The deadlock ground out for several more seconds before the staring became increasingly foolish. There were other things down here more dangerous than a stand-off.

"So," Olis started, "you aren't the Aquilanus I know." It sounded harsh and accusatory. You're not helping matters. He realised.

"And you are probably an imposter." Came the retort, body language between them staying tense.

"Let's have less of the 'probably's'. Stick to what we know." The Moderati offered. Shooting now instead of talking would likely be a very bad idea. One or both of them could end up as a pile of ash, a not exactly honourable fate by any stretch of the imagination.

"Fair call. You first." Replied Aquilanus.

"Well, we haven't left each others company for a long time." That drew a considered nod. "So it's fair to say we have been the same versions of ourselves during that period." Another nod. "But we are not the versions of ourselves that we are familiar with." It may have been a little supposition but it made sense.

"Alright. My Olis has a Melta. You do not." A succinct and direct 'truth'.

"My Aquilanus speaks to himself and has multiple Frater-personalities rattling around his noggin." Olis stated, perhaps leaving this 'truth' more unvarnished than could have been diplomatic.

"I still don't do that." Aquilanus muttered, sounding just as bemused as he did earlier, maybe some annoyance was creeping in.

"Which logically means you aren't my Aquilanus." Another call sounded. It may have been Ace or Cormac, judging the echo, or it could have been any number of other Fraters. However, with time behaving in an odd manner the caller might just as well have been another Olis, or Aquilanus. There was little to be sure about right now.

"We've drawn blood together. You behave like my Olis and you haven't shot me yet." Aquilanus raised his chin, the helm tilting up in response. A nod of sorts.

"Weapons down?"

"Aye." Muzzles lowered tentatively. The tension drained away, the plug had been pulled. The way out was clear and friends, hopefully, seemed nearby.

"You know, I think this might be more complicated than we had assumed." Ventured Aquilanus.

"How so?" Said Olis, removing his helmet one handed. He was keeping the Caliver handy. The Mk IV pot, now mag-locked to his hip, had seen better days. A eye-piece was cracked along the the line of a score in the armour plating and the ceramite itself displayed a variety of minor scratches and dents. This Aquilanus had fared just as well. Dings and scuffs, cracks and bite-marks.

"These aren't past and future selves we are dealing with." He let the notion hang for a moment before continuing. "It's alternate selves we see. It would explain you not carrying a Mod-issued Melta."

The possibility was, if not frightening, then perhaps galling was the word. Alternate selves? If that was the case then matters were quite a lot worse than mere temporal anomalies. And saying 'mere' seemed very odd, as if treating time travel as trivial was unnatural. Which in a way it was. But not in comparison to this. Olis thought of the silver clockwork ball. It was clearly important, and possibly relevant, for the Liber to know what this thing was and what it did. A gift from Brother Argos rarely failed to have wider significance later on, or so old Moderati notes had claimed.

"My Olis does this too." Aquilanus waved his hand in front of the Moderati's face. "We need to leave."

Edited March 15, 2014 by Olisredan

[Ace Debonair]

Ace marched into one of the many small armouries dotted around the Liber, the better for frater to equip themselves in the event of an attack on the Legio.

Picking up a bolter whose casing was marked with dark blue camouflage paint, he quickly stripped it down and reassembled it, working with the confident skill common to all Space Marines. Satisfied it was in fine condition, Ace mag-locked the bolter to his side moved on to a weapon rack holding roughly a dozen assorted close combat weapons. Behind it, however, was a smaller weapon rack with two chainswords and a chainaxe. Taking the chainaxe, Ace gave it a few experimental swings and made sure to test the engine once or twice.

Finally, Ace picked up a blank data-slate, and set it ready to record on his command. Good. Now he felt properly ready for the task at hand. There was no guarantee his plan would work, of course, but that was perfectly normal for the Liber.

Ace marched back down to the Culinarium, and back down to the second floor and, following his gut instinct, set off down a likely-looking corridor.

Suddenly, there was a crackling noise, and a white-blue spark appeared against one of the walls. It grew and grew until it was big enough to admit a space marine, and then suddenly seemed to become transparent.

There was nothing but solid stone behind where the spark had appeared, but now it looked like a window into another room, one made of polished metal and containing a dozen complicated-looking consoles. A marine, working at one of those consoles, turned around with a grin on his face and swept his large, familiar befeathered hat from his head, bowing low.

"Hullo, me," the marine said. "Hop on through, there isn't much time."

"Hullo yourself," Ace grinned, stepping through the portal. It crackled alarmingly, but held steady. "So it worked, then?"

"Yup." Future Ace laughed. "Genius, if I do say so myself. If I ever learn how to mess with time, I can go back and tell myself how I got this far, which I must have done, because otherwise I'd never have got here in the first place."

There was a pause while both marines pondered the logic of this statement. It didn't take long, because there wasn't any. Future Ace continued;

"Right. I've recorded all the details on the data-slate, so make sure you watch the whole thing. Oh, and also I'll need the blank one so everything balances out."

"Really?" Ace frowned.

"Yep, otherwise there'll be paradoxes and it might screw everything up. I don't exactly understand it, but maybe that's for the best." Future Ace shrugged.

"Fine, fine. Well, I'd better get back, then. Oh, and one last thing - did you find out who took my chainaxe?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Turns out that was me. I hope I can forgive me."

"Just about, especially if I give it back once I'm done with it."

"I can do that." Future Ace winced. "Emperor, this is confusing. Go on, get back through the portal."

"Cheerio for now, then. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Ace grinned as he stepped back through the portal. It crackled again, and Future Ace gave him a thumbs up before switching off the machine, causing the portal to close.

Ace, now comfortably back in his own time, chuckled and opened the data-slate. There was a brief pause, and then His own voice crackled back at him.

"Hullo, me, if I'm listening. I better had be, or I'm going to feel like a right idiot. Now, for throne's sake, listen carefully. Here's what I've got to do..."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The funnest fun.

Worried about the time paradoxes? Concerned I might just have screwed up the timeline and doomed us all somehow? Don't be - I'm not paying attention to them, so they logically can't happen.

Remember, Liber logic is not the same as normal logic.

Not sure what just happened?

I navigated my way through the second floor of the Culinarium, and decided to record what happens afterwards once I know where all the traps are. That way, if I ever get access to a time portal (SPOILERS: I totally do ) later in the story, I can send the data-slate back to my earlier self and swap it for a blank one so it all works out just fine in the end.

Now I can skip all the tedious 'Ace fell in another pit' plotlines.

[Cpt_Reaper]

Because my girlfriend has generously allowed me use of her laptop and due to no internet at home after just having moved I am both on the precipice of insanity and overjoyed to be back in this wonderful sub-forum...in the words of a madman in a blue box...would you like a jelly-baby? Geronimo!

 

The great ornate doors of the even greater Hall of the Liber Astartes swung open, a single figure walking through. Dark green robes flowed over obsidian and platinum power armour, his non-codex approved hair length would have blown in the breeze where it not plastered to his face by rain water. The Astartes looked around cautiously, unsure what would occur upon his entering the venerated fortress. While he had visited infrequently, he had caused some...events.

A servitor rolled up to the mysterious warrior, a data-slate bursting to life in it's hands...claws...whatever they were.

 

"Unit 7622 at your service. This unit welcomes you on behalf of the Frater Liber. Welcome Lord Astartes. Designation: Eleventh Company Dark Master."

 

"Call me Cappy. It's just easier that way," he commanded in the rapid-fire speech common of Terra Australis.

 

"Input received. Parameters amended: Designation Cappy. Inquiry: What is your purpose? Records indicate unit Cappy was last seen in the Campaign Council."

 

"That is where I am headed. Now either get out of my way or you can test the effect of my plasma pistol on servitor's ability to function."

 

Without waiting for the unit to reply, Cappy took off for the Campaign Council at a brisk pace. This time he would be careful not to gain the attention of those he wished to avoid. Cappy was, despite spending many days wandering the vast halls of the Liber, still to make a name for himself. Despite starting both a Campaign and an attempt to chronicle the deeds of the various Chapters documented within the Liber, his own Angels of Shadow spent more time buried in piles of data and forgotten.

 

No more. No more would he stand idly by while his brethren ran around like a bunch of noise marines on red cordial. He wanted to join in, to be counted. Damn it, he'd make a name for himself or die trying.

 

"Darn it," he muttered to the gloom. "Where is the Campaign Council again?"

 

Once more he set off. Hopefully I don't run into any bowling-wielding Marines. I am too tired to deal with criticism on my Angels right this very second.

[Olis]

Alright. I need a recap. Who is where exactly?

I know me and an alternate Aquilanus are now back in the Culinarium (while 'our' Aquilanus is probably still down there somewhere), Ace is currently screwing with time travel during what appears to be a dimensional overlap (what could possibly go wrong? ), Cormac and Madwolf might be near or in the Culinarium (I'm not even close to being sure) and Ludovic is still unaccounted for in the Armourium (I think - correct me if I'm wrong). There's also 11th Company Dark Master here who's just arrived. I honestly do think I need a proper sitrep.

Edited March 16, 2014 by Olisredan
Typo. Kill it quick!

[Conn Eremon]

Oh sure, put everybody else's name in bold. :p

 

I was placing myselves in the earliest unexplored levels. About a quarter of the way through the tutorials, to put it in video game parlance.

Edited March 16, 2014 by Cormac Airt

[Olis]

Oh sure, put everybody else's name in bold.

Apologies, brother, the problem was apparently fixed while you were typing out your post. ;)

[Ace Debonair]

I'm rambling around the second floor somewhere, armed with some foreknowledge of where all the traps are, although not necessarily knowing where anyone/everyone else is.

I'd take it as a favour if nobody runs into any Alternate Aces for a little while - this will be confusing enough with the time travel stuff without going into three million alternate history versions of me.

I still have no idea how to get to my end goal yet, but I think I can sort of see the first few steps I need to take.

I'd write it up now but I desperately need sleep, and also I'd rather get another bit of story from another Liberite in so I'm not cluttering the thread too much.

EDIT:

Olis, I'd say my plan was foolproof and nothing could possibly go wrong, but on the other hand I think it's an open secret that I'm probably the most Qualified Fool in the whole Legio.

Also, welcome to the madhouse again Cappy. Enjoy your stay and try not to shoot before asking questions unless you really have to.

Edited March 17, 2014 by Ace Debonair

[Conn Eremon]

Olis, I'd say my plan was foolproof and nothing could possibly go wrong, but on the other hand I think it's an open secret that I'm probably the most Qualified Fool in the whole Legio.

You should see what we say about you when we message each other!

 

I mean uh, surely that's not the case. :sweat:

[Nomus Sardauk]

Alright. I need a recap. Who is where exactly?

I know me and an alternate Aquilanus are now back in the Culinarium (while 'our' Aquilanus is probably still down there somewhere), Ace is currently screwing with time travel during what appears to be a dimensional overlap (what could possibly go wrong? ), Cormac and Madwolf might be near or in the Culinarium (I'm not even close to being sure) and Ludovic is still unaccounted for in the Armourium (I think - correct me if I'm wrong). There's also 11th Company Dark Master here who's just arrived. I honestly do think I need a proper sitrep.

I'm lost somewhere deep in second level of the culinarium at the moment, so I'm much further in than the others but on the flip side that probably means I'm much closer to a grisly death than they are.

"Join the Legio they said, meet interesting new people and purge them from existence them they said..."

[Conn Eremon]

Don't worry, there are many more replacement yous, things as they are at these points in time.

[Olis]

As duplicates go, these Liberites weren't as hostile as anticipated. On the other hand, the group as a whole were beginning to freak out just a little. When the Moderati and his dimension-hopping colleague-duplicate were back in the full glare of the Culinarium lumin strips, the Liberites they had heard calling earlier all took a collective step back. One of them had even drawn his chainsword and pointed it at them.

 

This reality, thankfully, wasn't too far removed from wherever the pair could legitimately call 'home' - they could see Ludovic, in a pinny no less, rubbing shoulders with Shinzaren, Ace, another Aquilanus and, of course, an Olis. Here, however, he was not a Moderati. He bore his markings and heraldry from his parent chapter and still carried his trusty bolter of old.

 

So who had been elevated to Mod-hood in his stead? 

 

Stood amongst two other Moderati was none other than Heru, easily identified if for no other reason than he happened to be looking in their general direction. Heru Talon, a Moderati? Anything was possible, Olis supposed. It could have been anyone, given the right reality. One of the others he didn't recognise but the third was definitely a familiar face. 

 

"Cormac?" He barely managed to utter. The 'other' Cormac left the huddle and approached. 

 

"Now this is something." He turned to the 'other' Ace. "Turns out you were correct this time, Ace. Looks like we won't have to send you down after Madwolf's party after all."

 

Aquilanus held up his hand. "Hang on. Correct about what?" 

 

"The Geller Field is fluctuating in such a way that Ace believes it to have breached other realities. To top it off we might even have to contend with temporal anomalies."

 

Olis and Aquilanus shared a look. This was going downhill much faster than they had realised. Instead of there being one problem, it was in fact two problems intertwined. 

 

"So," ventured Olis, "any ideas to get us out of this mess?"

[Ace Debonair]

Ace looked around the corner warily.

 

There it was, a tripwire extending vertically down the middle of the corridor, with a horizontal one at ankle height tied to it, both barely visible in the dingy light that flickered overhead. Just like the data-slate advised, Ace crept past it, sticking to the left-hand-side of the wall. On the right side was a pressure plate, also barely visible, linked to some primitive but functional explosives.

 

Whoever had built these corridors had obviously expected horrible security in the basement and overdesigned it thoroughly.

 

Just then, there was a blue spark appearing a little further down the wall, and as it grew into an astartes-sized portal, Ace heard his own voice echoing through it.

 

"Hallo? Anyone there?"

 

"Hallo yourself," Ace replied, moving into view of the window and giving his future self a cheerful wave.

 

"Ah, good. I'm not sure I've got the right time, but I did say I'd give it back when I was done with it. Hopefully my timing's good." Future Ace tossed a familiar Chainaxe through the portal. The portal snapped shut suddenly as the axe hit the floor, and there was a growling from around the corner. As another group of the strange, distorted shadow creatures he'd fought earlier with Cormac and Madwolf came around the next corner, Ace grinned a predatory grin and revved up both chainaxes.

 

"Oh, I'd say my timing was pretty damn good."

Edited March 18, 2014 by Ace Debonair

[Olis]

"So, let me get this straight." Aquilanus said, sat on a creaking table. "You suggest we turn back around and find an Ace down there." He shared a look with his fellow traveler. Traipsing into the basement levels again to face the murk and the daemon-hounds and the multitude of alternates, didn't sound too inviting a concept in the relative safety of the Culinarium.

"Pretty much, yeah." This 'other' Ace nodded. Various other Fraters nodded too, adding to the impression that this reality was full of mostly gormless, jittery, easily-led astartes. The Moderati stood apart still, enigmatic in their exclusion.

"Despite the effects of this 'abnormality' looking, for all the world, to be getting worse - fueled, no less, by the warp." An arched eyebrow accompanied this summary.

"Yep." An underwhelming response. "You'd do well to attempt to find an Ace from your own realities, though. Dealing with an alternative could lead to... interesting results."

"That's going to be a tough task." Olis stated. 'Tough' was an extreme understatement.

"Needles in a haystack of needles." Aquilanus nodded.

"That's if your realities still exist." The utter neutrality on this 'other' Ace's face belied the danger of the notion.

"I beg your pardon?" The Moderati spluttered.

"Well, accurate predictions and calculations are somewhat sparse at the moment but, if I'm correct, we're already seeing some realities dissipating from too much interaction between the others. The bending of time and space here is what's doing it. They're being worn out, I suppose."

An ever-expanding silence followed on from that bomb-shell, accompanied by a lonely drip from the Culinarium's washing area. Olis thumbed the safety on his Caliver. On-off. On-off. On-off. This was all too much. First the hounds and the murk, then this alternate-Aquilanus, then dimension hopping followed by a revelation of such a magnitude that the delivery of it could only be considered anti-climactic. Comedic, even.

"Better get a move on, then!" Cormac called out.

Olis shook his head. If it wasn't so serious, he would have laughed. The 'other' Olis still had an inane grin on his face from when he'd found out the dimension hopping pair that had stumbled into his reality's Culinarium had a version of him in it. A version of him that was a Moderati. No doubt it's going to go to his head. The Moderati lamented. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"We need to go." Urged Aquilanus. They really, really did.

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I've just realised that whenever I say 'The Moderati', people could get confused now that Aquilanus is a Mod. For clarity; I only ever refer to myself with that statement.

(Also, if you think I'm misrepresenting the 'other' you's, or making mistakes, then do please let me know and I'll amend matters. )

Edited March 19, 2014 by Olisredan
Typo. Again. Just stamp on it until it stops moving.

[Brother Argent]

Well as for a sit rep I am still in the elevator from the dddol, understandable now we have jumped high up on the website again. I do intend on writing something soon to bring me to where the rest of the fun is going on, or at least one version of me... Thank you for time paradoxes people...

[Olis]

Thank you for time paradoxes people...

Golden opportunity to reinvent yourself, if you've got the inclination, SP. Good to see you back, brother.

Edited March 19, 2014 by Olisredan

[Ace Debonair]

Olis, so far so good. So long as my alternate selves aren't too radically different form regular me, I don't mind them showing up.

I got plans in place, after all...

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

It had been a short fight, Ace mused, shifting his grip and throwing one of his chainaxes into the last enemy. Madwolf was right - disabling the arms, or in this case lopping them off with a chainaxe, made the strange shadow creatures almost pathetically easy to kill.

Retrieving his weapon, Ace continued down the corridor, avoiding the cunningly placed tiles that would trigger pitfall traps on the unwary.

After a considerable length of time spent navigating through the blind spots of a series of crude automated turrets, Ace arrived at a door. It was fairly low - too short for an Astartes - and heavy. It was covered in the same pale green paint seen on the Culinarium door.

Strange - this hadn't been in the dataslate. Nevertheless, Ace pushed the door open suddenly and burst into the room, weapons drawn. There was a sound of many voices yelling in shock and fear, and Ace felt a lasgun round deflect off his armour, Instinctively he moved to throw a Chainaxe at the offender, but a sixth sense made him pause.

Inside the room were a clan of serfs. These weren't the gibbering sort usually found in the Culinarium, either - they were smartly dressed and looked comparatively sane.

"Er." Ace frowned. "Hallo. Have you seen an oven around here at all?"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Another step closer to completion.

It's a shame I can't find all the posts that inspired this story, actually, so everyone knows who to blame afterwards.

Edited March 19, 2014 by Ace Debonair

[Brother Cambrius]

It's been a good while since I posted here, so I think I'd better explain what happened to me during all the madness I think.

BEWARE! LONG POST AHEAD OF CAMBRIUS MADNESS!

++++++++

Cambrius cursed further Autonian words beneath his breath as he stalked the corridors beneath the Culinarum, continuing the search for a new oven. He casually wiped the grisly, malefic blood that stained his Power Mace after executing a mutant foodstuff that had become a being of its own. He had now idea how he'd clean out that much mashed potato and barbecue sauce form his vents and weaponry. Something for Ace to play with later perhaps?

Having lost his team early on in the ensuing chaotic madness that was the maze beneath the dreaded Mess Hall of the Liber, time itself had lost meaning as he searched through the myriad of corridors and passageways, finding a number of strange and quirky discoveries and artefacts. He continued to carry a distinctive remote trigger on his belt, after discovering it in a cobweb-ridden sanctum after dealing with a handful of lost Typos that roamed the darkened passageways.

The Son of Doom's stomach turned slightly as he remembered seeing poor Serfs being reduced to half-formed rounded pieces of wood as they was warped into "surfs" by the malefic creatures. Striding through another skull-decorated nave, filled with ancient scrolls and long-since deactivated hololiths that once displayed the legacies of Chapters now long lost to the dust and damage of time. Cambrius paused a moment and rested his hand upon a flickering plinth that bore a distinctive red skull in front of a hammer. It was a sad loss that the data of the chapter had been decimated, but after everything that had occurred in the recent past of the Liber, sacrificed were necessary, lest the Legio would have fallen to absolute anarchy as the Typos ran amok within the order's hallowed halls and infected the other sections.

The air suddenly felt greasy and slow for a moment and Cambrius tensed, holding his mace in a combative stance as he scanned the nave. The texture of the air reminded him of the Warp's energy when the Librarius were called to combat. The thought of their immense and mind-bending abilities brought a sparkle to the Son of Doom's remaining green eye, oh how he longed to see a Typo have their spine ripped out and bent into a pretzel again, courtesy of Octavlug and Ferrus Manus' minstrations. All was silent for a moment, even the hissing of fading lumen globes disappeared into the all consuming silence, before a howling roar of wind blasted through the corridor, blowing away the cobwebs and detritus of the hallways, forcing Cambrius to shield his face from flying shrapnel as a result. Strangely gale brought more light and power to the fading and flickering lumen globes as he cast a glance as he placed his Mark VI helmet onto his head to protect him further from the whipped up shrapnel. Eventually, the winds of change dissipated and Cambrius stayed still for a moment. Things has changed in the Legio. He could feel it in his bones and geneseed. Just like when Olisredan and Messor became the new Moderati of the Liber.

Opening his comm channel for the first time in a while, hoping beyond hope someone might hear him this time, Cambrius called, "This is Brother Cambrius in the...ah Emepror knows where I am! Has something happened whilst I've been on this thrice damned odyssey for Ludovic?"

Static was Cambrius' only reply as he sighed loudly and marched on, too stubborn to stop and try and find his way back. Dorn would have been proud of his progeny's enduring defiance.

A sudden high-pitched mewling caught his attention and he immediately sprinted for cover and drew out his Stalker pattern boltgun and took aim behind the cover of a fallen iron-coloured bookshelf. No matter what its intended purpose was, every object in the Legio could be used for defence when called for. Cambrius grinned at that thought before it was wiped away with mild horror as what could only be described as the melding of a gargantuan serving trolley and a whole dairy gone sour dragged itself along the corridor. Squeezing his finger on the trigger, Cambrius felt no soothing kick and heard no bark of judgement from his prized boltgun, instead he was left with a squelching noise from the rifle's barrel as mutated mashed potato oozed out before escaping with a small pop. He cursed a few more Autonian words as he noticed the mutated creature reared up at seeing him and began to lumber towards the Son of Doom. Drooping his boltgun and raising his power mace, Cambrius thumbed the activation rune but was greeted with only a small sizzle as the circuitry fried from malefic barbecue sauce. More curses erupted from beneath his beaked helmet as Cambrius made ready to thwack the monster with an un-powered mace, hoping blunt force would be enough. Rolling to the left quickly as the monster tried to slam itself down onto him, Cambrius swung with all his might and was greeted with a loud clang as he dented a rusted serving tray that had formed part of the monster's arm. The monster released a roar of pain and slammed Cambrius across the corridor, making him lose his mace as he impacted with the wall.

Removing himself from the stonework, Cambrius turned and saw the mutant charge at him again. Thinking quickly, he picked up the remote trigger on his belt and switched it on, hoping beyond hope it'd blow something up and distract the beast or maybe even provide him with something to kill it. The trigger glowed an ominous green before the Son of Doom made a prayer to Dorn and the Emperor before he felt himself being lurched downwards by the solar plexus. Everything felt empty for a moment before he felt solid once more as a loud crack emanated from where he stood, which was now somewhere completely different and away from Culinarum, as the pale green painted walks were now non-existent. Instinctively reaching for his boltgun, Cambrius felt only air as he remembered he'd dropped the rifle and lost his mace from the impact into the wall. He silently cursed once more before he heard a faint pop at his feet.

Looking down, he discovered a pair of gaudily wrapped ammo boxes and he let loose a gasp of surprise and mild awe as he knelt down and glanced at the label on both of them. Pater Fistmas had been and he'd missed it down beneath the Culinarum?! 'At least he ensures all his gifts get delivered in the end...' Cambrius thought as he unwrapped both presents and a broad grin swept across his face beneath his helmet. Hefting up a unique Combi-Flamer, a design that he himself has commissioned, the Son of Doom shook the weapon and heard the wonderful sloshing of prometheum within the tank. Excellent. Mag-locking it to his thigh, Cambrius lifted up the weapon in the other box and his grin threatened to become so wide his head would split in half. A pair of small one-handed power-scythes were held in his grip, lovingly called "Fire-Scythes" by his own Chapter. Strapping them to his belt, Cambrius made a small prayer of thanks to Pater Fistmas before he took in the location around him. He knew where he was, he was in the hall that contained the lifts to the Deepest Darkest Depths of the Liber! Looking up at one of the lifts in question, he noted one was active, but the number has been paused at 33-Beta. Walking up to the control panel and giving it a small "reboot" with his foot, he heard a clang and whirring of movement as it became unstuck and transported its passenger up to Cambrius' level. Little did he know what lurked behind the gothic bronzed doors.

++++++++

TL:DR - Cambrius has been stuck beneath the Culinarum for months and manages to escape by dumb luck, receiving some long overdue new toys after losing his own, courtesy of Pater Fistmas and has just fixed a stuck lift to the DDDotL that carries a legend of the Liber.

Hope you enjoyed my rambling stuff and I hope I didn't break anything in the process of writing this.

Cambrius

[Brother Cambrius]

Aaand I think I broke it...whoops.

Cambrius

[Aqui]

I've just realised that whenever I say 'The Moderati', people could get confused now that Aquilanus is a Mod. For clarity; I only ever refer to myself with that statement.

Of course, when referring to myself, the term "Many man" © Dark Apostle Thirst should be straight forward enough

[Ace Debonair]

Nothing is broken.

Emperor's Unwashed Socks, It's only been a day, Cambrius. No need to panic yet!

[Ace Debonair]

The serfs looked at Ace, with much the same expression used when a guardsman sights an enemy tank and hopes it's not heading his way.

 

"So this is one of the mighty Space Marines?" One of them opined, quietly. "He looks like an idiot."

 

Ace diplomatically ignored the remark for the moment, instead pointing at a serf at random.

 

"Oven. Have you seen one? If so, where?"

 

"Uh, no sir. No ovens in these parts. This used to be a forge for kitchen tools, sir."

 

Ace looked around, intrigued. There was an anvil and a primitive forge, and the serfs seemed to have turned the area around it into a crude kitchen of sorts, cooking food over an open fire that sat under a large vent.

 

By the Throne, Ace thought, actual rational serfs in the Culinarium. The Adepta Sororitas must have been praying for us to get a miracle.

 

Ludo might be an acceptable cook when not using a hellish abomination as an oven, but the Culinarium was simply too big for one person to run alone. As a result, he'd attempted to retrain the crazy serfs who lived on the first floor. Like many things in the Imperium of Man, cooking and recipies were treated almost as rituals, heavy with a rather bewildering devotion.

 

There were mobs of serfs who were entirely devoted to the worship and exultation of Trifle, said to be the Emperor's favoured dessert. Others instead were tasked with maintaining the Blessed Salt, First Amongst Condiments, and there were dozens of other factions within the hundred-ish strong mob of lunatics.

 

On the other hand, here were sixty sensible people in the Liber. Ace decided he'd have to bring them back to the first floor, if only for the rarity value. Of course, he'd have to keep going further into the Culinarium yet, and find the cause of all these disturbances with space and time. First, however, he had to take charge of things here, to make sure the serfs were ready to move when the time came.

 

"Huh. I thought all the serfs down here were mad. Most of you seem quite sane, apart from the one who thought I didn't hear him call me an idiot." Ace turned and stared at the serf in question, who visibly wavered for a moment before replying.

 

"M-merely a jest, sir."

 

"Ha ha. Who's in charge here?"

 

"That would be Officer Mausland, sir," the serf replied, even as Ace's eye was drawn to the elderly gentleman across the room from him. The man stood up and gave Ace a very sour look.

 

"Officer Deric Mausland, formerly of the Buntari 3rd Light Infantry division, reporting. It's been sixteen years since we saw any members of the Legio down here.  Might I ask where in the name of sanity you've been?"

 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

~*~*~*EPIC CALLBACK MOMENT*~*~*

 

Remember Deric Mausland? No? That's because he last featured in this story in 2010.

 

In our world he was a scribe whose prospective Chapter fit into 40K like a large square peg fits a tiny, triangular hole.

But since we're doing alternate history stuff, I might as well give him another moment of glory.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

Ace removed his helmet and sighed heavily.

 

"Imperial Guard, eh? Well, I've got to tell you, Officer Mausland, you might not be where you think you are any more. The Culinarium's been over-run by alternate realities, and the laws of time aren't-"

 

"I know all that, sir." Mausland thundered. "It was your lot who got us into this damned mess. 'Just wait in here', one of your lot said. 'Just wait in here, we'll be two hours at the most'."

 

"Don't give me attitude right now, sunshine." Ace responded, dismissively. "I don't have time for your grizzling. Your regiment will have pledged itself to the Legio, right? Then that pledge still holds. I'm going to try and put a stop to this madness, and if it works out, I want your regiment ready to move back to the first floor of the Culinarium. Heck, you can all retire there and become cooks," Ace said, with a shrug. "Emperor knows the serfs we've got are crazier than the heretics."

 

"And what makes you think you're going to make it back?"

 

Ace grinned, and, as quick as a flash, pulled the Chainaxe his future-self had given him free. Before Deric could even flinch, Ace had spun it around and thrust the handle at the Officer.

 

"I'll be coming back for this. Don't lose it, or I'll pull your arms off."

 

 

Mausland paused for a moment, and Ace could see him thinking the situation over. He was an old man, and nobody, no matter how stubborn, wanted to die of old age in a labyrinthian kitchen on the basis of some sixteen-year old orders given by a probably long-dead marine. Eventually, Mausland nodded.

 

"You heard the Space Marine, break camp! Everyone check your weapons, pack your gear, and be ready to move on his word." As the remains of the Buntari 3rd Light Infantry division scurried around and started packing up, Deric gave Ace a puzzled look.

 

"So what exactly are you planning?"

 

"I'm still working it out," Ace replied quietly, almost drowned out by the bustle and noise of the regiment. "But I know I'll have this axe again, one way or another, so I'm just hoping you last long enough to give it back to me."

 

"Oh." Mausland looked blank for a second, then saluted smartly. "In that case I wish you all the luck in the galaxy, sir."

 

Ace nodded affirmation, then set out of the far door at an easy lope. Checking his data-slate again, it seemed that at least he was back on the right path once more.

 

 

And, Ace thought, as he carefully edged around another cunning trap, it was almost as if he had been heading this way since the beginning.

Edited March 23, 2014 by Ace Debonair

[Conn Eremon]

Democratically? I do believe you might have meant diplomatically.

[Ace Debonair]

Damn, that was fast.

From post to C&C in a minute - that might be a new Liber record!

EDIT:

Fixed!

EDIT EDIT:

Also it's gone 11pm now (I don't learn ) so I'd expect more weird mistakes to be in there somewhere!

Edited March 23, 2014 by Ace Debonair

[Aqui]

Damn, that was fast.

From post to C&C in a minute - that might be a new Liber record!

EDIT:

Fixed!

EDIT EDIT:

Also it's gone 11pm now (I don't learn ) so I'd expect more weird mistakes to be in there somewhere!

Sorry, but it's AdeptA Sororitas, not AdeptUS