The Silver Templars

[Dominicus]

Sorry to any who read this about the long wait, I had final exams and needed to study. Back to the story now.

 

CHAPTER XII

 

The daemon swayed back from Alpharius' initial swing, but was too lost in thoughts of ecstasy to react to the Alpha Legion's primarch's backswing. An arm fell from the daemon's serpentine form, and it screeched in pleasure. It lunged at Alpharius, the scales of it's body hissing along the rock as it moved forwards. It's many arms flashed, and Alpharius stumbled backwards, wounds cut across his face and armor. He roared in pain, and swung his blade at the daemon's head, his eyes ablaze with mixed emotions of fury and sadness. Curze crept around the edges of the duel, watching Fulgrim's twisted body, possessed body sway and slither away from and around all of Alpharius' attacks, and precisely jabbing and stabbing at him with his multiple blades.

 

As Curze waited for his opening, he saw his father locked in a duel of will with Magnus. Lightning flared between the two as each struggled to gain the upper hand. Magnus tore away from the deadlock and waved his claws in a complex pattern. The Emperor did not move, and though Curze could see his father's mouth moving and his neck muscles bulging as he yelled at Magnus, Curze could not make out the words. As the Emperor yelled at Magnus, Curze could only watch as a ball of fire began to grow in Magnus' hands. Curze ran forwards, but he knew he wouldn't make it in time. He could only watch as Magnus, the only being in the universe equal to the Emperor in psychic might, unleash the fireball towards his father, and he roared with anger as he watched the warp-fire wash over him, blocking him from view. Then Magnus began to laugh in triumph.

 

Curze roared and charged.

 

He swung his sword two-handed at Magnus' head, and grinned maniacally as the flat edge of the blade connected with the back of the Cyclop's head. The daemon-primarch was sent flying through the air, the enormous red scaly wings on his back flailing as he tried to slow himself down. He crashed head-first into a rock protruding from the rock, completely demolishing the rock and sending millions of tiny shards flying everywhere. Curze knelt and turned his face away from the blast, letting the rocks bounce harmlessly off of his armor.

 

As he felt the last of the shards hit his Mk IV power armor, he stood and shook his head, letting more rock fragments fall from his short brown hair. He glanced over towards where Magnus had crashed, but could see nothing through the thick dust cloud that encircled the area. Curze took a deep breath, and walked forward towards the dust cloud, eyes wide and wary, sword held in front of him, ready for anything.

 

+++

 

Alpharius circled away from Fulgrim, panting hard, sweat gleaming on his forehead. He had not out this hard since Guilliman had faced him on Eskrador, though he had lost that fight. He grimaced as he remembered his failure, his fall to pride, his turning from his father. He felt shame, but he knew that now was not the time. He delved deep inside himself, and turned that shame into anger, hate, and rage towards the thing that was occupying his brother's body.

"Fulgrim, if you can hear me," Alpharius growled, " I will free you." The serpentine daemon laughed maliciously in Alpharius' face.

" Yes, yes, he can hear you. He struggles even harder against his bonds, harder than ever," the daemon moaned. " His anger and pain taste so wonderful."

 

Alpharius roared and ran towards the serpent, his blade burning with dark blue light. He swung for the daemon's arms slowly forcing the daemon back as he lopped off the arms one by one. The serpent stabbed and slithered, but Alpharius was faster, jumping lithely in his heavy Mk VII power armor around the stabs, and his ripostes were perfectly placed to inflict body wounds, or remove a limb. He leaped up onto the daemon's back, and, pushing off from it's neck, kicked it to the ground.

 

As the daemon fell, Alpharius landed on the serpent's spine, breaking in, and he drove his blazing sword through the daemon's spine and into the ground, skewering it and holding it in place. The daemon screeched in pain and pleasure, and struggled to free itself, but it had too few arms left to operate, and was efficiently pinned by the Alpha Legion primarch.

 

Alpharius looked around triumphantly, and saw Curze enter the dust cloud. He looked further, and saw the fireball cast by Magnus still encircling the Emperor. He could see the Emperor's hands flashing through the blaze, trying to halt and end the warp sorcery that confined him.

 

Alpharius grimaced and leapt from the daemon, running full pelt towards the dust cloud.

 

One way or another, Alpharius thought, this will end now.

+++

 

It was dark inside the dust cloud. Curze could't see anything, and only the guiding light of his sword assured him that the ground was still there. He knew that Magnus was somewhere in this, and he knew that Magnus would not be lying crumpled on the ground.

"Do you think you can stop me?" a voice whispered from behind Curze. The Night Haunter twisted around, searching for the origin of the voice.

"You can't hide forever, Magnus, you wretch," Curze grumbled, " Once a hunt begins, it cannot be stopped, not until you are dead, or I am."

The voice laughed maliciously, and the sound burned Curze's ears; it seemed to come from every direction, as if Magnus...

As if Magnus was the dust itself.

Curze slashed at the air around him, tearing a hole in the cloud, but nothing, no scream of pain, no grunt of discomfort, nothing.

" Face me like a man, Magnus, like a true primarch, like a true warrior," Curze yelled into the nothingness around him. " Stop hiding behind your foul sorceries, and face me!" Only the faint sound of that horrible burning laughter echoed around the Night Haunter's head, and his frustration was raised to a new level. His face contorted into a snarling visage that children dream of only in nightmares, and he ripped his blade through the air, and it whistled as the dust blew around it.

" Over here," the voice sounded. Curze turned sharply on his heel, and saw Magnus standing there, resplendent in gold armor, his face uncorrupted, his one eye blazing with hatred and rage, his red hair waving around his unarmored head. Curze gasped at the sight of his brother so perfect, as he once was, uncorrupted; as he was meant to be.

" Come Konrad," Magnus said, sizing up Curze as the two brothers circled each other, Magnus hold a brilliant blue sword carved with the eye-burning, brain-melting runes of Tzeentch, the Night Haunter wielding his own power blade, hand-crafted by the Emperor himself for Curze and Alpharius. " We both know that this isn't the real you."

" And what exactly is the real me, Magnus?" asked Curze patronizingly.

" The real you created the Night Lords as they are known today; the bringers of terror across the galaxy. Mothers use your sons as a means to gphave there children eat food the do not like, 'Eat that grox, or the Night Haunter will get you!'" Magnus chuckled. Konrad's eyes were filled with pain, and sorrow, at what his beloved Legion had become; murderers and rapists, a thorn in the side of the Imperium. Visions of his sons inflicting torture and pain across the galaxy flashed across his eyes. He roared in anger, and lunged at Magnus, his eyes burning with hate and his sword carving the air before him, vengeance and a yearning to atone for his sons' failings nagging at his mind.

 

His blade glided through the air, the blow directed at Magnus' head. Magnus pivoted on his right foot and drew his sword in front of his face, and the two master-crafted blades, one of Chaos, one of the Emperor, clashed in a shower of sparks. The two primarchs fought for the upper hand, each pushing deep within themselves to find more strength.

 

Curze broke away from the deadlock and dropped to one knee, slicing at Magnus' legs. The blow connected, and a deep red wound was cut into Magnus' left leg, black tainted blood spilling from the gash. Curze rolled backwards as Magnus screamed in pain and skated his sword downwards, where Curze' shead had been a moment ago. Magnus let his momentum drag him down, and in doing so dodged a stab directed for his primary heart by the Night Haunter. He flipped onto his back and, as Curze launched himself overtopping of the fallen primach, Magnus dragged his sword down Curze's chest and stomach, splitting the armor and scoring a shallow, long wound from Curze's neck to just below his stomach. Curze growled in pain and landed hard, twisting at the last moment so that he would not land on his fresh wound.

 

Magnus lay on the ground, laughing at the simplicity of inflicting a wound on Curze. He moved to get up, but felt a stabbing pain in his right shoulder. He looked over, and saw Alpharius standing there, his power sword gone, his combat dagger driven into Magnus' shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Alpharius had one foot on the dagger, holding it in place.

 

"Brother, did it ever occur to you that I have two arms?" Magnus growled. Alpharius looked bis fallen brother in the eyes .

"Yes, but I have only one blade," he answered. Magnus laughed, that same burning, unnatural laughter, and begin to move his other arm towards the dagger. Alpharius stood there still, nonchalantly inspecting his armor gauntlets, one foot holding the combat knife in place. Magnus' hand was mere inches away from the knife hilt when his left side was slammed back down again, a searing pain burning through his shoulder.

 

Curze stood, a vivid red gash down his chest, holding his power sword in Magnus' shoulder. The Tzeentch sorcerer was pinned, and his two brother stood on his legs to keep the Cyclops from breaking free.

"Brothers, why do you do this? We are the same, we worship the same powers," Magnus moaned, the pain in his shoulders almost too much to bear.

"Aye, we were the same at one time, brother," Alpharius said quietly," but now we are different. We have repented for our sins, and our father forgave us. He would forgive you too, Magnus, and..." Alpharius paused, unsure of how to go on.

"And what, Alpharius?" Magnus asked impatiently.

" And he would embrace you as he has us, take you back. He needs you, Magnus, more than you will ever know," Alpharius whispered. Magnus' face remained impassive, but it was obvious to both his brothers that he was thinking hard.

 

Out of the corner of Curze's vision, the giant fireball encasing the Emperor was moving closer towards them, inch by inch. Curze grinned and looked back at Magnus.

"Well, it would seem that our father has decided to settle this himself," Curze muttered. "Better get ready."

 

Magnus struggled harder against his bonds but his brothers held him fast. He began to utter guttural syllables under his breath, preparing for a psychic attack that would fry both Curze and Alpharius in an instant. He reached the last few syllables before the fire reached his and swathed his head and mouth, choking the words from him. Curze and Alpharius leapt back as their father took over.

 

Inside the ball of fire, the Emperor lifted Magnus from the ground. He was nullifying Magnus' sorcery, and the daemon-Primarch knew it.

"Let me go, Corpse-God," Magnus hissed, his throat burning as he breathed in the hot air around him.

"Not until I get my son back," the Emperor said calmly, and Magnus stiffened in his grasp. The Emperor was flooding Magnus' body with his consciousness, cleansing his body of corruption and taint, and driving Tzeentch from his son's very soul.

 

Magnus' legs spasmed, and he screamed in pain as his mutations were stripped from his body, and his very soul was changed to it's purest form once more. The Emperor dropped Magnus, gasping for breath, the exertion of his psychic cleansing draining him of his energy.

 

Magnus stood up, and he was radiant; tears of joys and sorrow streamed down his face, and he gazed at his father.

" I am so sorry, father," Magnus whispered," my quest for knowledge turned me against you. You of all people." Magnus shook his head, staring at the ground. " I will be forever ashamed."

"If any should be sorry, my son, it is I," the Emperor said, his eyes filled with emotion. "I pushed you away, I thought that you were on Horus' side, and I turned you against me." The Emperor grasped his son by the shoulders.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked Magnus. Magnus nodded, and father and son embraced each other in a clatter of battle plate, tears of joy running down both of their faces unashamedly.

 

"All right, enough love, we have issues to deal with," Curze cut in, his obvious distaste of the blatant show of affection clear on his face.

"Aye, we do," the Emperor said. "Magnus, I will need your help saving your brother Fulgrim. I am weakened by cleansing you, and I need your lowers to free your brother."

Magnus' face lit up, and he nodded ferociously. "Just tell me what to do, father," the cyclopean giant answered.

 

The four walked over to wear the daemon was pinned. It's spine broken and skewered to the ground by Alpharius, it struggled pathetically to free itself, knowing what was to come next as soon as it saw two of the most powerful oysters to ever roam the galaxy in the forms of Magnus and the Emperor. Their boots crunched on the rock as the drew closer, and the daemon struggled harder.

 

Deep in it's mind, Fulgrim's soul laughed in a feral manner.

 

Both the Emperor and Magnus grasped the daemon, beginning to focus their psychic powers to the task at hand of banishing the daemon from Fulgrim's body.

 

"Your end is near," whispered Fulgrim to the daemon. "My brother and father have come to destroy you, and let me reclaim my body and my honor."

"Shut up, filth," the daemon hissed, the pain of the cleansing evident it's voice, "I will kill you before they destroy m-". The daemon was cut off as it's essence was destroyed by Magnus' and the Emperor's psychic cleansing. The mutations that had rendered him a killing machine were stripped away as the daemon left his body.

 

Curze and Alpharius watched in slack-mouthed awe as their brother and father reformed Fulgrim's body before their very eyes. As they finished weaving their psychic cleansing, Fukgrim's perfect body relaxed on the ground, his shock-white hair framing his perfect face. His eyes snapped open, and sat up, rubbing his eyes like a toddler. Then he saw the Emperor before him and jumped to his feet, before dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

 

"Father, I failed you! Let me reclaim my honor in your eyes, in any way you wish, my lord, my father," Fulgrim said, his perfect voice smooth as velvet.

"Rise, my son, never kneel before me," the Emperor said, pulling Fulgrim to his feet by his shoulder greaves. "And you will have a chance to reclaim your honor. But first, there are other issues we must attend to."

"And what would they be?" asked Alpharius, as he and Curze walked over to join Magnus, Fulgrim, and their father.

"It is time for you to be reunited with you legions," the Emperor said. Each primarch looked at each other and grinned, each joyous that they would soon be reunited with their beloved legions.

 

The Emperor set off walking towards the end of the rock, where a bridge had appeared. He turned and beckoned towards the bridge.

"Lets go."

[astartes88]

aye lad good to see it back up!!!

[Dominicus]

Chapter 11 finally done, now I can move on to reuniting the Loyalist primarchs with their sons.

 

Comments and critique drive this story, so please, post!

[Mr Yellow]

Just read this, when it got to the bit about Khârn being killed I thought hmmm... then Dante and Mephiston rock up I was thinking this story could get a bit far fetched (if one was doing a regular bit of story telling) but then you went for the end of times battle saga which works very well.

I would say the silver templars fluff is laid on a bit thick the whole thing that they are nearly as good as the best at everything, pretty much the best chapter...that's the Ultramarines isn't it and I'm sure the other chapters that dedicate themselves to particular modes of warfare might have cause to go 'hang on'. But that's my take on things, i know it's ironic to talk about not being too far fetched in the realm of science fiction.

There's the occassional spelling mistake but otherwise it is a sound and engaging piece of writing and I look foward to reading more.

[Dominicus]

Thanks LamenterMarine, the spelling mistakes come from my confounded iPad trying to spell-check every word I write.

And now, moving on...

 

CHAPTER XIII

 

Voices roared across the auditorium.

 

The Black Templars were on their feet, weapons half-drawn with safeties off, yelling hoarsely at the Librarians in the center of the room, cursing them as mutants and unworthy to be servants of the Emperor. Calgar, Tu'shan, and Dante were also on their feet, delivering the Templars insults back at them in defense of their Chief Librarians.

 

The other Chapter representatives were arguing amongst themselves, some trying to downplay the significance of the missing bodies, others roaring out praises to the Emperor and that he has reclaimed his sons, while others proclaimed the Final Battle, the last fight between Chaos and the Imperium. Only the Librarians at the center of the auditorium remained silent, knowing what they had seen and felt no need to emphasize it anymore.

 

As the wars of words raged on, the main doors of the auditorium boomed open, and the blazing light of the plant's sun filled the doorway. Every Astartes in the building turned their attention to the sudden interruption, all arguments forgotten at the intrusion. Bolters and bolt pistols were drawn, safeties were turned off, and every Marine in the building sighted on the doorway.

 

From the blinding light stepped nine beings of enormous size, and though they were new sigts to every Astartes who saw them, were also instantly recognizable. First came Corax, his black armor refracting the light as it hit him. Every warrior in the auditorium knew he was there, but their senses seemed tom refuse to register his presence, as though he was just a shadow. He instantly walked towards the Raven Guard table, where Shrike had hurriedly vacated his seat as to allow the Rave Guard primarch to sit. Corax nodded his head gratefully towards Shrike, before seating himself behind the table, his sons all standing around him in awe of what they were seeing.

 

Next came Leman Russ, to an enormous racket of howling whoops and cheers from the Space Wolves. He raised his arms in a gesture for silence, and looked around the room.

"Point those bloody guns elsewhere, before I have to do it myself," he boomed, and instantaneously every bolter in the room was pointed downwards or re-holstered. Russ, satisfied that his order had been followed by all so swiftly, strode towards his sons.

 

Behind his came the Lion, his nose krinkled with disgust.

"By the Emperor, Leman, you stink like a wet dog," complained Jonson as he walked over towards Azrael and Belial, who were already kneeling. Jonson heard Russ bark a reply and shook his head, before turning his attention to the two great warriors kneeling before him.

"Do not kneel for me," Jonson said, "kneel only to the Emperor."

"Yes, my lord," both Azrael and Belial said in synchrony, before rising and allowing Jonson to pass them.

 

Guilliman was the next to appear, and was met by a massive roar of joyfulness from Marneus Calgar. He stepped calmly to where Calgar was, and was surprised to see two massive gauntlets on the ground before him.

"The Gauntlets of Ultramar," Guilliman mused, bending down to pick up the two matching power fists. "Marneus, these are yours, I presume?"

"Yes, my lord," Calgar responded, his head bowed before the primarch, his metallic augmetic hands visible free of their coverings.

"Keep them, my son. You have earned them," Guilliman said, handing the two gauntlets to Marneus, who slid them on and reattached them in seconds.

"Thank you, my lord. I will kill many enemies with these gauntlets in your honor, and in the Emperor's name," said Calgar. Guilliman chuckled slightly, and a slight smile cracked his ever-serious face.

"Of course you will."

 

A massive being in white armour followed Guilliman, and his features were instantly recognizable to the White Scars, who stood stock-still at the sight of Jaghatai Khan. Khan walked over to the table and sat between Kor'sarro Khan and Jubal Khan.

"My lord," Kor'sarro said, bowing his head in the presence of his primarch. Jaghatai inclined his head in return towards his son, his long drooping mustache swaying as he did so.

 

Twin flashes of bright light glinting from metal and a black head with glowing red eyes announced the arrival of Ferrus Manus and Vulkan. The two primarchs were talking amiably with one another, in yet another discussion about forging weaponry.

"I always said, you have to cool the blade quickly repeatedly for the best shine," Vulkan stated, his red eyes glinting with humor.

"Only if you want a dull blade that could't cut through a grox steak," Manus chuckled, shaking his head as he looked up to see both Chapter contingents leap up at the sight of their primarchs, the magnificence of the beings before them bringing overwhelming exultation to them. Tears of joy flowed unashamedly down their faces, and they smiled and grinned like young schoolchildren who had just recieveda treat. Both primarchs walked through the ranks of their Chapter contingents and greeted each Astartes personally, quickly talking with their sons before sitting at their respective tables.

 

Rogal Dorn was a giant in his golden armour, his white hair and beard framing is ever-serious features. He strode confidently towards his sons, who stood silent and shocked at the sight of their gene-father. He nodded curtly to each of them as he passed, and sat down beside Vladimir Pugh.

"Give me a report on the defenses here," Dorn snapped, and Pugh, without missing a beat, began rhyming off his observations of the building's defenses.

 

Last came another being in gold armour. White wings, purer than fresh-fallen snow, unfurled and spread out behind him as he stepped through the door. Sanguinius looked every inch a demi-god, his caring, soft features betraying his joy at his reunion with his sons in a heartbeat. His sons immeadiately fell to their knees, their faces tear-streaked and their eyes wide with shock. It was said that, when the first son of Sanguinius laid eyes upon his father, he and all his brothers were cured of the Black Rage in a mere second, their gene-seed becoming pure once more. Sanguinius joined his sons and sat down amongst them, chatting in a fatherly manner with them, reveling in his chance to lead his beloved Legion again.

 

Dorn stood up and knocked his hand hard on the table in front of him. Silence descended upon the room, the friendly chatter gone as all eyes turned to gaze upon the Imperial Fists primarch. Dorn looked around him, and once he was sure he had the undivided attention of everyone in the room, he leaned on the table, his eyes blazing with dtermination.

" We have work to do," he said, and with that, the primarchs began the long explanation of the events that led to their return, and what was to come in the very, very near future.

\

DONE CHAPTER

 

Comments and critique wanted

 

*EDIT* Thanks Rogue, keep on lurking for more soon!

[astartes88]

Just what i need to improve my mood after a day where things didnt go my way lol.

[Rogue Pilot]

DUDE XD

 

I have been a long time lurker for this thread, but this drove me to comment. This is one of the coolest storys in the B&C Librarium. A few minor mistakes, but they dont hinder fluencey. Even though this is soooo far fetched, I want this to be true!

 

Keep up the Great Work!!!!

 

P.S Sanguinus Next :cuss

[Dominicus]

Back to the grind =]

Sorry for the extended absence, but my summer was crazy, and...well, no-one cares about my personal life, only the story, so here we go.

 

CHAPTER XIV

 

The auditorium was silent except for the occasional heavy tread of armoured boots as Rogal Dorn paced back and forth before his seated brethren. The other primarchs were at complete ease, the reunions over, chatting amiably with one another about the receptions they had received from their sons.

"Rogal, if you don't stop pacing, you will make a trench deeper than any you have ever surrounded a fortress with," quipped Ferrus Manu good-naturedly, and was rewarded with a light chuckle from his brothers.

 

The Imperial Fists primarch stopped pacing and rounded on Manus, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"How can you laugh in a time like this, brother?" he asked in a menacing tone. "Half of the Eastern Fringe has been lost to the Tau, the Tyranids Hive Fleets have joined together to form a threat like never before that has left, at last count, fourteen systems lifeless." Dorn was breathing heavily, and even his massive armour could not cover his heaving shoulders.

"The Cadian Gate has been pushed to the limit by Abbadon's Fourteenth Black Crusade, and the orks of Charadon have united completely under Snagrod's banner. Even now, as we sit here calmly, they burn their way across the Ultima Segmentum. All of this is happening to our Imperium, and you can laugh?"

 

Dorn snorted and turned away from his brothers. The building was silent for several minutes, Dorn trying to rein in his rage and regain composure whilst his brothers mulled over the information they had just been told. Sanguinius stood, silent as a ghost, unfurled his wings, and walked calmly towards Dorn. He gently laid a red-armoured hand on his frustrated brother's golden shoulder pauldron.

"Brother, we all know what is at stake in the galaxy; humanity is threatened at every side by xenon and traitors alike. But remember this," Sanguinius said, his voice as smooth as a silk cloth, "when we let our rage control our thoughts, and turn us against those we hold most dear, is when we start to destroy ourselves." Dorn turned, and Sanguinius' hand fell off of his shoulder as the Blood Angel primarch's gaze met Dorn's own.

"Instead, we should let them try to destroy us," Dorn replied, finishing the proverbial saying. It was an old saying their father had passed on to them, one from a time on ancient Terra. It had always held the primarchs in line, no matter what issue threatened to overwhelm their sanity.

 

Leman Russ stood up and clapped his hands together, his beard unable to hide the savage snarl that formed on his lips.

"The we should start planning how to beat them, should we not?" the Space Wolf asked.

"Indeed," said the Lion as he, too, stood to face Russ. "But first, Leman, do us all a favour and wash yourself." The primarchs laughed at this, the tension in the room broken. Even a shadow of a smile creeped its way across Dorn's face.

"Very funny, Jonson," Russ mumbled under his breath as the nine primarchs stood and made their way over to the Strategium, war on their minds and fury in their souls.

[Dominicus]

CHAPTER XIV PART II

 

Andriar sat on the floor of his chambers, legs crossed, hands placed palm-down on his knees as he meditated on the day's event. The chamber was very spartan, with only an oversized cot, an armour rack, and a small footlocker at the end of the cot occupying the emptiness. His gleaming silver armour hung on the rack, freshly polished, his bolt gun, power sword, and lightning claw all resting alongside it. Andriar opened his eyes as his meditations came to a close, staring at the northern wall of his room. An enormous mural of the Emperor's final battle with Horus was displayed, with Horus laying wounded on the ground at the Emperor's feet.

 

Andriar heard the door creak behind him, and knew instantly that the being entering the chamber was Astartes, simply due to the sound of clanking battle plate. The Silver Templar captain sighed and rose to his feet, brushing the ritual ashes from his legs and chest as he stood to his full height. Bulky muscle rippled under his tanned skin as he rolled his shoulders, loosening them after seven hours or prayer.

"Is that you, Hriad?" Andriar asked quietly, his gaze still lingering on the wall mural. "Have the primarchs called for us yet?"

"No," grumbled a deep voice, the door slamming loudly behind the visitor. Andriar was on his feet in a flash, crouched in a deep fighting stance with his combat knife in hand. When he saw who the intruder was, the blade dropped from his hand, and he fell to his knees, head bowed in respect.

"My lord, I apologize," Andriar murmured, his eyes darting back and forth on the floor as he sought reason as to why the visitor was here.

"Rise, Andriar, Captain of the Silver Templars Third Company," the voice said, and Andriar hastily rose to his feet, slowly lifting his head to regard the figure before him.

 

Roboute Guilliman, resplendent in his golden armour, stood tall before the Silver Templar captain. His golden armour shone brightly in the dim half-light, votive candles sending flickers of light across his shoulder cauldrons as the flames danced. The room seemed to get smaller; the prim arch was gargantuan, not only in stature, but in reputation. Andriar drank in the sight, gazing at the intricate bolt-gun strapped to his lord's hip, the master-crafted power sword, forged by Vulkan himself, that Guilliman rested his right hand on. Eventually, Andriar even dared to look at the vivid red scar that slashed it's way across Guilliman's neck, the only visible reminder of his battle with the Daemon-Primarch Fulgrim.