Nature vs. Nurture, the What If? edition

[Tyrannicide]

Great post, Heathens.

 

I've been sitting here quietly enjoying the hell out of this thread. 

[Wulfkry]

@1000Heathens

 

That story was AWESOME.  I feel like we should start a fan fic section for some of this stuff.

[Conn Eremon]

For some reason, I keep imagining both of your guys Medusa stories, blended together.

 

Fulgrim, platinum hair streaming from his face, framing a noble visage of proud features and silver eyes, a spear of mercury in hands threaded with the same material in lightning bolt patterns, looking to the sky as his Father descends to meet his Lightning Bearing son.

 

Weird, but it appeals to me somehow.

 

Unless Ace wants his own Fulgrim story, I wouldn't be adverse to this. Though it would mean we would still require a Khan story.

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Conn Eremon]

They have all been accounted for, as far as I'm aware. I need to double-check. In the last few pages, I made a post showing all the worlds and Primarchs. I'd prefer you avoid those with multiple incarnations, but it is all your choice.

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Ace Debonair]

Man, Medusa came close to failing in that one. I would assume that there are far less Clans in the Iron Third than in the canon Tenth. Fitting, though, as the III are still decimated and low in numbers upon finding their lord. I like it.

You know, in comparison your Fulgrim is a weakling. Asirnoth was running from the Khan, and he just straight bullied it to death. Course, mine sounds legendary, like his 40k sons talking about it. Yours sounds like a true 30k account.

A weakling that doesn't know how to just give up and die, though.

Fulgrim knows the bitter taste of failure and even after being rejoined to his Legion he never forgets it. With each new brother Primarch welcomed into the fold, Fulgrim looks at the great things they have achieved on their own - subjugating planets, training armies, mastering war, diplomacy, art - and realises that of all the Primarchs he was the only one to fail in his mission so repeatedly and thoroughly.

He sees the glorious art and culture wrought on Terra, and his brothers' worlds (or at least some of them!) and tries to emulate it, creating statues, weapons and armour, grand designs for incredible architecture, paintings that speak to the very soul and music that both inspires and succours listeners. And all Fulgrim can see or hear in these works is the faults. His personal chambers are covered in half-completed masterworks that he's abandoned in a fit of despair and disgust, and keeps only to remind himself never to grow complacent.

And the shame haunts him every time he closes his eyes. And the bile rises, along with the familiar drive to do better. And so Fulgrim keeps going, secretly convinced everyone else sees him as he sees himself - a weak, pathetic failure. Unfit to command. Unworthy to stand beside his Father and Brothers.

So yeah, a weakling, at least in his own mind, who finds fault with everything he does while lauding even the smallest achievement of those around him, seeing only good even in the meanest of deeds his brothers perform.

I don't even know if I've managed to get that across properly though.

And furthermore, I don't know at all if that makes for a decent characterisation or just makes him emo.

For some reason, I keep imagining both of your guys Medusa stories, blended together.

Fulgrim, platinum hair streaming from his face, framing a noble visage of proud features and silver eyes, a spear of mercury in hands threaded with the same material in lightning bolt patterns, looking to the sky as his Father descends to meet his Lightning Bearing son.

Weird, but it appeals to me somehow.

That would be pretty awesome, but I'm not about to steal Cormac's Khan's badassery for myself.

I'm kind of turning my Fulgrim into something of a wreck, though. Fulgrim as a pure and noble hero is never gonna compete with Perturabo and Angron as pure and noble heroes, at least not with me writing him.

[Conn Eremon]

So there's a bit of Alpharius in your Fulgrim. He knows he is a hero, he knows that he is capable. But his older brothers, in this case Pert and Angron, have had such a longer time, and perhaps even an easier time, to build their reputations up that there is nothing he can do but remain behind. 

 

My post that had the list was on page ten, and this is seventeen, so I'm apparently behind. I'll try to work on it tonight.

[Ace Debonair]

So there's a bit of Alpharius in your Fulgrim. He knows he is a hero, he knows that he is capable. But his older brothers, in this case Pert and Angron, have had such a longer time, and perhaps even an easier time, to build their reputations up that there is nothing he can do but remain behind.

Sort of, only Fulgrim thinks he's the weakest Primarch. Even Heathen's Nostroman Dorn conquered his planet before the Emperor arrived, for example. Wade's Fenrisian Lorgar didn't want to be a warrior but nevertheless got the job done when the time came.

Fulgrim didn't. He gave of his utmost with every battle but fell short. He wants to be great, so much that it almost hurts, but keeps seeing perceived faults in everything he does.

And he probably wonders, in his darkest moments, if the Emperor even kept his word, or if he somehow interfered with the battle.

To be fair, even in canon Ferrus couldn't hurt Asirnoth without giving it a quick wash in molten magma, and I've always thought of Ferrus as one of the biggest badasses amongst the Primarchs. You've gotta be pretty -ing hardcore to decide 'punching it didn't work, better burn my arms off and drown it', right?

[no I'm alpharius]

Jagad Tai, lord of the Arena

 

The games were the highlight of the calendar. Harvest was in, nights were growing darker and colder. It was one last celebration of summer. Claudia stood in the box, staring at the rust red sand.

 

"Word reaches ear that my brother fights again this year", she said to the va st bearded man who had joined her.

 

Would you refuse him?"

 

Claudia smiled. Her brother was certainly a force of nature. She had not been there when he had been found, but that story was soon turning into legend. Her father often recalled it after a few ales, voice switching from a conspiratorial whisper to thunderous roar for the punchlines. 

 

 

-

"You see, you can't ignore omens. A twin-tailed comet heralds great and interesting times. I rallied my honour guard and set off into the hills. We could see the path the comet tore through the land, and in the distance, fires burning through the dry grass. It still took a day to reach that place. Would you believe it, he was ALIVE!"

 

"He seemed so small, then, but he was tough. Tough as boots, Sergeant said. The landing site, though, was surrounded by bodies. Lithe creatures in alien armour, broken and torn. And your brother, sat in the middle of them, smiling. Hah, it was then I knew I had found a son. I signalled four men forwards. Only then did he seem to notice us, only then did he pick up a long piece of torn metal and stalk towards us."

 

"They were good men as well. Shame. Sergeant ran forwards to defend them, but all that did was add another body to the pile. I dismounted, and kneeled before the child. Me, lord of the eastern ranges, owner of the finest lanista in all Nuceria, kneeling before a child. Can you imagine that?"

-

 

The first bouts were meagre fare. Heavyweights of little guile and less mobility slugged it out. Claudia found a brief highlight to be the execution of two escaped slaves by unleashing a drunken rhino into the Arena. One barely realised what was happening before the beast tore a chunk out of his chest and trod the rest of him into the dirt. Her father roared with laughter at that. He'd had several ales now. She was not drinking, leaving a beaker of finest wine untouched.

-

 

"The little Bastard took to fighting immediately. The nobles fight on horses. He could outride us all within weeks. He's got an appetite for drink and food that would put me to shame, and as for the servant girls, oh, the bruises he leaves after a night with one. But the fighting? Every style. Armed, unarmed, always with a laugh and a smile. When he was only months old, he was as tall and strong as my best gladiator. I let him spar with the Thraxian sometimes. It's like he has some sense of brotherhood with them. But he always comes back to roost at night. He knows where the fun is"

 

-

 

Claudia smiled as the penultimate bout came to its bloody conclusion. Two Reenlender brothers, all wirey muscles and dreadlocks fought a monster of a man. In the end, one had taken such a blow to the back he could barely stand, but as the giant edged closer, his brother found the neck joint and, in a spurt of dirty red, the bout was over. It was Jagad's turn next. The crowd was roaring louder and louder. A noble? Fighting in the ring? All the bread and all the circuses couldn't provide such a spectacle. 

 

Nine gladiators, dressed in armour reminiscent of the Astartes of legend strode into the Arena. The crowd hushed. The sun was setting and dull red flares illuminated the killing ground. The gate opposite her, slowly opened. Jagad was a demigod made real. Touching seven foot, dressed in pristine white armour, black hair pulled into a topknot. Her brother, her lover, the father to her son. She smiled as he strode across the sand.

 

-

"I still call him Little Boots sometimes, I think he likes the irony. He always says he has the advantage the moment he enters the Arena. He does not fear whatever he faces. He says there's much worse out beyond the stars. He's taken on some of the superstitions of the gladiators , you know. They have this ritual, where they cut a wound into the flesh for each fight. If you lose, you rub the sacred ground into it. It turns red or black. If you win, it heals naturally. It's where he gets his nickname from. He's never lost. He is the White Scar"

[Ace Debonair]

Dude, that is one twisted Khan.

I can't decide if that's awesome or just terrifying!

EDIT:

So I've just seen Forgeworld's Phoenix Guard terminators, with their flashy spears and armour that would look incredible in purple and silver with black shoulders.

Forgeworld, get out of my head and stop having my ideas before I do! It's bad enough when Cormac does it, but at least he doesn't want £45 for the results!

[godking]

 

 

 

i'm curious, master Heathens, how come Dorn suffered the same mental damage as Curze?

 

or was that Curze, but they found him on Inwit?

 

It was Dorn, for real-ski's. The thought in my head was the imprint that the emperor cast into his flesh, the noble and honourable soul we know, the very nature of Dorn, won out in the hell of Nostromo, the nurture aspect,  but in the worst possible ways. I intentionally placed him on the one world that he would never be able to cast his image upon the people, and the people made sport out of this honest, loyal, noble young boy (the scars upon scars, slave contract tattooed into his skin) They broke his body, and his mind, and when he finally grew into adulthood, they mocked his teachings because it still amused them. Eventually, his mind and spirit snapped, and he became the monster he was in our realities Iron Cage, but without brothers to check him; I think he wanted to die, but he had too much pride to do it himself, and those he killed could not fight against him. Insanity + a moral code +a world of sinners = death on an epic scale.

Very unlikely scenario.

 

Nobody is enslaving a non brain damaged Primarch for long.

 

There where still rulers and laws on Nocturne Dorn takes over a city the moment he is able to and eventually conquers the planet of sinners whether they want to  or not.

 

And unlike Curze Dorn has the ability to actually build a society rather then relying on fear alone.

 

First off, says who? Angron was enslaved, and was unstable, not brain damaged, or stupid. He'd be far more difficult to control, yet he was.

 

Please explain "take over a city" in a world where everyone want's their own, screw the other guy. With what army? Who would listen to the little child who speaks of morals , pride, and respect? He'd be ridiculed, and treated like a pariah. Curze had to gut hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions for the overlords of that city to pay attention, and then only through fear; it was the only thing such a society was able to understand. Dorn would never have been able to tap into such a cruel world, unless he killed every person. Which, in my short story, he did.

 

Dorn was able to build a society because he was raised that way. He was taught right from wrong. Had curze been born on Macragge, he, too, could have made something good in his life. I went the other way around, and tore down something noble in my short story.

 

All the primarchs were born with an imprint of their father, but not an understanding of humanity as we understand it. No true understanding from good or evil. How they were raised determined the path they took following those principles, whether for good or ill.

 

That's the whole point of this thread, exploring that nature, and how they were nurtured from birth (or leaving the pod, whichever). Not what's unlikey from what we already know of the primarchs.

Angron was enslaved as a child and for lack of a better word brainboxed.

 

Dorn on whatever planet he lands is still a primarch.

 

And Nostromo Dorn would clearly not have the exactly the same moral code as main timeline Dorn.

 

Nostromo Dorns view of right and wrong would be might makes right .

 

And Dorn's main character strength is not his sense of right and wrong but his pure pigheaded unrelenting stubborness.

 

If Nostromo Dorn decides to take over a gang and then a city and then eventually the planet he will do it there will always be men willing to follow leaders  especially a primarch.

 

Nostromo Dorn would be an unyielding tyrant unwilling to accept a view other then his own view of what right and wrong is.

[Kol Saresk]

Umm, question. Isn't the point of a "what if" scenario being a different scenario, regarding of how likely or unlikely it is? And if something is unlikely, isn't it still possible, no matter how improbable? So wouldn't then be up to how the author decided to interpret that event?

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

Heathens, I was thinking about your Nostramon Dorn, would it be more likely that the VII would schism during the heresy with those who refused to become like their father going one way and those who were broken going the other? Personally, I could see a Sigismund leading a penitent Crusading Chapter in the 41st Millenium waging war against his progenitor Legion seeking to right the wrongs. Or, if Dorn is loyal, (which I seem to think your not intending...) then he could lead a traitor warband out to kill his father in revenge.

[Wade Garrett]

You know, the whole "Fulgrim on Barbarus" idea could be a lot more than just "Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday Primarch".

 

 

REST OF POST DELETED BECAUSE I HAVE A BETTER IDEA I'LL POST LATER.

[Rune Priest Ridcully]

Jagad Tai, lord of the Arena

 

The games were the highlight of the calendar. Harvest was in, nights were growing darker and colder. It was one last celebration of summer. Claudia stood in the box, staring at the rust red sand.

 

"Word reaches ear that my brother fights again this year", she said to the va st bearded man who had joined her.

 

Would you refuse him?"

 

Claudia smiled. Her brother was certainly a force of nature. She had not been there when he had been found, but that story was soon turning into legend. Her father often recalled it after a few ales, voice switching from a conspiratorial whisper to thunderous roar for the punchlines. 

 

 

-

"You see, you can't ignore omens. A twin-tailed comet heralds great and interesting times. I rallied my honour guard and set off into the hills. We could see the path the comet tore through the land, and in the distance, fires burning through the dry grass. It still took a day to reach that place. Would you believe it, he was ALIVE!"

 

"He seemed so small, then, but he was tough. Tough as boots, Sergeant said. The landing site, though, was surrounded by bodies. Lithe creatures in alien armour, broken and torn. And your brother, sat in the middle of them, smiling. Hah, it was then I knew I had found a son. I signalled four men forwards. Only then did he seem to notice us, only then did he pick up a long piece of torn metal and stalk towards us."

 

"They were good men as well. Shame. Sergeant ran forwards to defend them, but all that did was add another body to the pile. I dismounted, and kneeled before the child. Me, lord of the eastern ranges, owner of the finest lanista in all Nuceria, kneeling before a child. Can you imagine that?"

-

 

The first bouts were meagre fare. Heavyweights of little guile and less mobility slugged it out. Claudia found a brief highlight to be the execution of two escaped slaves by unleashing a drunken rhino into the Arena. One barely realised what was happening before the beast tore a chunk out of his chest and trod the rest of him into the dirt. Her father roared with laughter at that. He'd had several ales now. She was not drinking, leaving a beaker of finest wine untouched.

-

 

"The little Bastard took to fighting immediately. The nobles fight on horses. He could outride us all within weeks. He's got an appetite for drink and food that would put me to shame, and as for the servant girls, oh, the bruises he leaves after a night with one. But the fighting? Every style. Armed, unarmed, always with a laugh and a smile. When he was only months old, he was as tall and strong as my best gladiator. I let him spar with the Thraxian sometimes. It's like he has some sense of brotherhood with them. But he always comes back to roost at night. He knows where the fun is"

 

-

 

Claudia smiled as the penultimate bout came to its bloody conclusion. Two Reenlender brothers, all wirey muscles and dreadlocks fought a monster of a man. In the end, one had taken such a blow to the back he could barely stand, but as the giant edged closer, his brother found the neck joint and, in a spurt of dirty red, the bout was over. It was Jagad's turn next. The crowd was roaring louder and louder. A noble? Fighting in the ring? All the bread and all the circuses couldn't provide such a spectacle. 

 

Nine gladiators, dressed in armour reminiscent of the Astartes of legend strode into the Arena. The crowd hushed. The sun was setting and dull red flares illuminated the killing ground. The gate opposite her, slowly opened. Jagad was a demigod made real. Touching seven foot, dressed in pristine white armour, black hair pulled into a topknot. Her brother, her lover, the father to her son. She smiled as he strode across the sand.

 

-

"I still call him Little Boots sometimes, I think he likes the irony. He always says he has the advantage the moment he enters the Arena. He does not fear whatever he faces. He says there's much worse out beyond the stars. He's taken on some of the superstitions of the gladiators , you know. They have this ritual, where they cut a wound into the flesh for each fight. If you lose, you rub the sacred ground into it. It turns red or black. If you win, it heals naturally. It's where he gets his nickname from. He's never lost. He is the White Scar"

That is awesome, and brings up the interesting point of what the emperor's reaction to ebing a grand father would be like.

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[no I'm alpharius]

Ridcully: there are two clues that may indicate The Emperor's grandchild possibly not making it to term.

[Adra'Melek]

Ace, I'd hold back a little on how that effected Fulgrim on your planet. Does it crush his spirit or give him pride that he DID achieve what he wanted eventually. If this gets put together and expanded on through to the heresy we'd probably want to balance it off loyalist/traitor and I can see your Fulgrim going either way with a little tweak.

[Adra'Melek]

[Record Not Available]

Primarch of the II Legiones Asrates

 

[Record not available]

 

That was awesome. Fantastic, original and compelling. Shame it can't be released for viewing but trust me it's the best.

[High MarshalGR]

Ok, Lion El' Johson on Macragge as I said I would, still true to my word: (the traditional not native to the English language)

 

======================================================================================================================

 

Celsus Rex, Primarch of the First Legion, Animus Angels

 

Whispers were flowing all around the city of Providentia about the mysterious appearance of the new member of the Senate, Celsus Rex. His appearance was seemingly out of nowhere, and he made sure the files kept about his naturalization were erased. Various Senate members were more than suspicious about his origins but had no ground to step on against him, since he was an excellent Senate member: Brought in the Senate by one of the more popular to the public members, Konor, who had a keen sense when it came to introducing fair in heart and mind people to the politics. Celsus quickly revealed his charismatic mind, allowing him to make really difficult decisions and manage problems in a flash. So well presented and accurate were the ideas he presented that no one could logically argue against them. He was also known for his supreme swordmanship skills, having a three years old undefeatable streak. He was indeed a man of marvel, but his enemies were moving in the shadows, ready to strike from within. 

 

The Senate consisted of two parties essentially, only theoritically it was a one-way political machine moving towards the common good. Insiders though broke in mainly two parties: The previous Oligarchs, who were brought down many years ago by the public and then adjusted to the new order, and used thin legalistic tricks in order to become absorbed by the new Aristocratic rule, who were honorable commoners given the title of Aristocrats while having no economical power. The first Aristocrats were chosen by the public after the Oligarchs were overthrown. Those two parties constantly clashed due to having different bases to begin with. Celsus belonged to the latter, entering the Senate with no tithes to prove economical status, only by his unmatchable chivalry. The banners surrounding the hall wrote "Courage and Honor", the motto the first Aristocrats chose for the Senate, and the charasteristics expected out of each and every member.

 

Celsus was too smart and pragmatical, and came up with many ways to shut the Oligarchy's party down when the time was proper. This wasn't welcomed by them, so they were constantly plotting against him. His charisma to inspire fear or awe depending on the situation and skillfully being ahead of everyone made this arrangment really difficult to handle. Commoners and rulers alike admired his fiery pride, his devotion to his duties and honesty, earning him the nickname Amplus Eques, meaning Honorable Knight in High Gothic. But every human has a weak spot... And they found one he had: The trust he had upon the Aristocrats. That was what they would use against him, his blind trust. Nikolae was their man, a member of the Aristocrats they had bought by money, in essence a spy ready to be used. They would do it the painless way, using a lethal toxin extracted from a local plant named the Death Lotus. Nikolae would use it in his water when he wasn't watching... It would be over in a matter of minutes. Not the first time they dealt with an immense threat this way, so it was a tried and true path.

 

They procceded according to the plan... But what they couldn't estimate was that he was a Primarch with an organism pretty different to the one a human possessed. This was the factor that allowed Celsus to survive with the symptoms most humans have when they are ill. This act however enraged Celsus deep within. His way of putting trust to humans came into question by no other than himself. Was trusting others a wise selection? His mind was in an inner turmoil trying to solve the puzzle... The same mind that could solve huge problems in seconds couldn't come up with an answer. He felt like no one was to be trusted anymore, so he would take care of every single Senate member he thought corrupted in the quickest and most efficient way possible: Execution. His mind calmed once he thought it all through, and was ready to put everything in it's place the following day.

 

Keeping the fact he was alive a secret, Celsus entered the Senate with his usual style. Oligarchs never thought it possible, and their surprise was so easy for even a child to track, but he held his righteous rage within for the time being... He had a plan after all. He used the element of surprise to track his real enemies, who were something more than obvious to notice, and afterwards make them confess their guilt inside the Senate. This would justify their execution and would put him in a more favourable position between those who were innocent. Using his keen intelect, he managed to get almost all of the moral authors of his murder attempt to confess, and those who didn't were found guilty by the audience itself. Celsus then executed them and went forward to make a public announcent of the facts. Everything went his way. He felt deep within no one could win him. He would emerge victorious no matter what.

 

Celsus then, becoming the head of the Senate, first between equals, began waging war upon opposing factors and creating an Empire, named the Rexus Empire. Thus he took control of the trades with the planets communicating with Macragge. Under his rule Macragge flourished even more than it did before and his fair rule made him the most popular Senate member alive. He was satisfied by the attention he took, which he repaid by offering progress and freedom to his people along with the wisdom of the Senate. He legalised the selection factors for all public positions and managed to ensure a good state mechanism based on chivalry and knighthood which became an intersellar between the worlds, earning him the title of Angel for the prosperity he offered to Macragge.

 

It wasn't long before the Imperium became interested in the work of Macragge, a result only a Primarch would offer his homeworld. The Emperor came in contact with Celsus Rex but their discussion was deleted from the Imperial records. What is known though, is that Celsus Rex assumed command of the I Legion, named Animus Angels after the work of their genetical father.

==========================================================================================================================

Anyway, with the limitations a short story comes with.

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Wade Garrett]

 The Charnel Guard

 

Forward, FORWARD!

Every breath was an exercise in agony, each inhalation of the swirling vapors slicing into his lungs like a thousand blades. HIs vision, already shrouded by the choking mists, had faded completely to black as his eyes literally boiled in their sockets. Even his sense of touch was fading as his skin blistered and cracked. The boy couldn't remember a time when he wasn't staggering through this burning, hating miasma, but he would not fall. No surrender. No submission. NEVER. The excruciating sensation of his body corroded in the toxic atmosphere was nothing compared to the fire inside him, that burned all the brighter at the mere thought of giving in. He threw everything he had into one last step, his final defiant roar emerging a tortured wheeze and then...a breeze.

 

Air filled his lungs...AIR! Not the searing hell of poisonous fumes he'd been flailing his way through for as long as he could remember. Tears ran from his blind eyes, not from the pain of his wounds, as great as it was, but the sheer joy of feeling pure, clean air on his skin.

 

=I=

 

Of all the Emperor's twenty sons, one was forever set apart from his brothers. Where nineteen of them were demi gods, majestic avatars of power and human potential, Angron, the Lord of the Twelfth, was a broken, sickly thing, wormed through by cancers, a legacy from his immersion in the unimaginably toxic atmosphere of the world of Barbarus as a child. Most of his brothers shunned him, either from a thinly veiled distaste for the weakest member of their divine family or, some said, seeing in his slowly degenerating visage the unwelcome notion that for all their abilities and accomplishments, they too would one day feel the unwelcome caress of mortality.

 

=I=

This would be the last day. The warrior knew it, could see the grim knowledge written on the faces of his brothers and sisters as they tried desperately to shore up their final defensive line. The necromancer warlords who dwelt in the choking hell above had finally become annoyed by his increasingly effective resistance, and come together to end the irritating interruption to their tyranny over the people of the valleys. The fires his forces had set as they retreated still burned bright, consuming their fallen as well as the unfortunate enemy who had been trapped in the blazing deathtraps their trenches had become. He'd learned that early on....had to burn the dead, or the enemy's twisted magicks would see them rising once more. True victory in this war was impossible as long as the necromancers survived, and they had learned to keep well out of his reach, directing their armies from afar. His entire body suddenly shook in a racking, hacking coughing fit, spittle flying from his lips. Angron reached a hand up to wipe his mouth and it came away red. He frowned at the sight, then laughed derisively. At the very least he'd at finally be done with the thousand ailments that slowly sapped at this strength.

 

Then, a light, burning gold blotting out the flickering red from the burning fortifications. He thought it was the sunrise, but it grew brighter and brighter, a false dawn a thousand times more brilliant than the true one ever was, as if the sun had descended below the churning smog to bear witness to his final fight. He turned to face the glow...and beheld a giant, clad in armor of purest gold. The man's face was never still, flickering between a thousand images at once...a cold eyed killer with a liar's smile, a saint whose features hid infinite sorrow, more, always changing, never still. Behind the vision stood an army,  a bodyguard clad in gilded plate like pale reflections of their master, flanked by a legion of axe bearing knights in armor as white as purity itself.

 

=I=

 

Beyond his obvious physical deficiencies, Angron was one of the few Primarchs to never conquer his home world, his life the saga of an endless struggle against psyker tyrants who descended from mountain peaks leading armies of mortal soldiery and walking abominations made by dead flesh infused with the power of the warp. Even ruined as he was, the Primarch was still a mighty champion by human standards, raising a smith's hammer and farmer's sickle against the raiders who descended upon the village where he dwelt as a child. The people rallied to him, inspired by his refusal to kneel before the necromancers, odds of success and his own tortured health be damned.

 

They might not have been able to take the fight to their overlords, but under Angrons supervision the lowlands of Barbarus became a maze of fortified redoubts, trenches, palisades, and bunkers, with sentinel towers where beacon fires could be lit when watchers saw another marauding army descending from on high.  At first the magician rulers found him a amusing diversion, but as their armies where beaten back, more and more peasants flocked to Angron's banner, and those among them who were arrogant enough to march with their armies were killed, they came together in a great league to end his uprising once and for all.

 

Wave after wave of the undead were thrown against his fortifications. The Primarch and his militia destroyed ten, twenty times their number of walking corpses, but the warlords simply breathed new sorcerous life into the shattered lumps of flesh and bone and hurled them at the defenses again. Angron was driven back to one final redoubt, where he and his warriors swore a final oath: If the last wall was taken, they would slay their own children, then set fire to the entire fortress around them. None of them would ever have their flesh or soul enslaved by the black kings of the mountains. It was then, when all seemed lost, that the Emperor descended from the skies, bringing Angron's sons, the War Hounds, with him.

 

=I=

"I despise him." Khârn knew that Dreagher was sneering behind his helmet, where none of the assembled Astartes could see his face...although to be fair, he  sneered post of the time now, ever since they found their Primarch.

 

"Quiet, brother." he answered on the same private vox channel. In front of them, Angron gestured for the leaders of the planet to rise, the gesture slow and ponderous in his Terminator armor.

 

"Ignoring me won't make it go away, Khârn. Banning the pit fights, all this digging in the dirt and 'fortifying positions'...he wears that armor as a shield for a thousand weaknesses. Delvarus says..."

 

"He is our father and you WILL show some respect." Khârn snarled, letting his hand fall to the chainaxe strapped to his side. The War Hounds had valued brotherhood above all us, but this new Legion, this...Charnel Guard had a divide in its ranks, between those who still pined for the old ways and those who embraced the new. It was a cancer within them, in its own way as deadly as the physical ruination steadily overtaking their gene sire.

 

=I=

Angron brought to his Legion a skill for fortification and combat engineering shaped to a razor's edge by a lifetime of application. He also brought a tremendous value attached to the lives of those under his command, likewise brought about by his wars on Barbarus. A single warrior there had been a precious commodity, and so he had learned to use static defenses, traps, siege engines, and a thousand other devices to maximize the effectiveness of his fighters and keep them alive. "Sweat more now, bleed less later!" was a common refrain as Angron stomped along the front line in his cataphracti battle armor, supervising the raising of palisades and digging of trenches.

 

Much more welcome to the warriors under his command was Angron's affinity for incendiary weaponry of all types, fire having been one of his most effective tools against the nightmarish creations of the necromancers. Flamers became standard issue for the Twelfth's Astartes, with the newly orange and black armored ranks of the "Charnel Guard" making more use of the hilariously lethal phosphex grenades and munitions than any other. For all that, under Angron's leadership they soon became used as a garrison and reserve force, fortifying and reinforcing what other Legions had taken, a role that did not sit well with many of the original Terran legionaries.

 

=I=

 

"You want the Legion to make common cause with traitors, and you think if you threaten me with death I will let you do it? You poor, sad fools...you may be blood of my blood, but you never truly understood me. My first memory as a child was death drawing ever closer to me, and I have lived with it every day since then. It holds no mystery for me, no terror...if you DOGS want to shed the blood of your own kin, you can start here and now."

[Conn Eremon]

I like that, Wade. Interesting that it isn't Olympia here that inspires a talent for siege-craft, but Barbarus.

 

Here's my brief flash of inspiration. For now I'm going to work on trawling the thread more carefully and get an accurate picture of everything.

 

- - - - - - -

 

Space is supposed to be quiet. It wasn't. Absent all other sounds, his own breathing sounded thunderous. He could turn on the vox to hear his brothers again, but it hurt too much to listen. The sounds of battle plagued every link, and he couldn't decide what was worse to hear. The death cries of his brothers, listening as more and more die, or their cries of victory, knowing he is unable to be a part of it. No, he decides. The worst part is the realization that the former was beginning to drown out the latter. So he closed his vox channels, all but one.

 

He floated there, useless, and watched as light and fire danced across his vision. The ships were so tightly packed, few shots were wasted. His visor flickered over the many vessels, streaming data for each of them. The entire fleets of the two Legions were present, each greater in size and power than any other fleet in the Imperium. Drab grey clashed with red and gold. The destruction they visited upon each other was overwhelming. Whole worlds would have turned to glass and shattered under these heavy blows, and yet still they fired upon each other. Though neither Legions were ever as numerous as others, still he could see countless boarding torpedoes crossing paths with each other as they sought to kill each other from inside and out. He could no longer see the gaping wound in the side of the ship that had so forcibly thrown himself and others into the void. He craned his head around, but the streaming data and tightly packed ships made it impossible for him to pinpoint its location. He only hoped someone had heard his call. Given its nature, he was certain that if it had been heard it would be acted upon as soon as able. Thinking that pulled his thoughts down to what he held tightly to him, and with an effort he wrenched them away.

 

His mind instead drifted to why he and his brothers were here. It had been Lord Angron's order. Somebody needed to take charge, to answer the Warmaster's perfidy. Who else but Angron, who should have been Warmaster in the first place? The Imperial Hounds were tasked with assembling their fleets and rendezvous with Leman and his fleets. The greatest naval commanders the Imperium possessed would be gathered in one spot. With such a force, not even the Warmaster and his hordes would be able to command the void. It was hoped that, together, they would force the Warmaster to earth and isolate them, prepare them for the hammerfalls of the gathering loyalist attack. Now, he could not help but wonder, as he saw a Destroyer-class vessel bearing his own colors begin to open fire on their own ships. Had they been sent to a trap? Had even the noble King of Battles thrown in his lot against the Emperor? Was there any hope of winning this war?

 

Though his thoughts were black and of worse images of the future than any could envision, he allowed himself to become lost in them. Anything to ignore the silence that came over his one remaining open channel. And so Freyr, Imperial Hound and Hearthguard to Lorgar Cleftjaw, tumbled through space, lost within himself, tightly gripping his liege lord's limp form.