Nature vs. Nurture, the What If? edition

[no I'm alpharius]

“There is never just one route up the mountain”

Proverb of the Khas Bahun tribe, of the high peaks of Olympia.

The Raptor legion of the Imperium of Man, named after the birds of prey that swooped and soared amongst the highest peaks of their home world, valued mobility, durability and unpredictability above anything else. The Primarch, Temurin, had fought in the bitter unification wars of the planet, taking small units of men into the highest peaks, always moving, always looking for the weakest spot.

 

For a Primarch, his childhood is remarkably well documented. Taken into the home of Dammekos, Tyrant of Lochos, he was bred and trained to be the ruler of their planet. Lessons in the traditional manner of war were accompanied with those in the courtesies and customs of the ruling elite of the planet. These were somewhat wasted on the young Primarch, who often vanished off into the high peaks surrounding his fathers castle. Dammekos' rage was slightly eased with his sons prodigal talent in combat, but there was never any real warmth or affection between the two.

 

Still, as he turned of age, he was given a unit to command in the endless war to control their planet. And, as he had done throughout his youth, Temurin went off into the high peaks, only dropping down to deliver a series of killer blows to the enemies of his father. It was in the last days of the Great War for Olympia, at the battle of the Black Keep, where the first shots of the civil war between Dammekos and his son were fired. Soon, the whole countryside was up in arms against Dammekos. Temurin had assiduously developed alliances and relationships with the rugged tribes of the mountains and those that farmed the land between the city states, using the old honour code of hospitality, asylum and justice. His forces were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

More disturbingly, he disregarded the usual ways of war, using booby traps, explosives and, in one case, the dead bodies of his opponents in the struggle to drive his father back to his keep. At the Retreat of Gandar Amak, many hundreds of Dammekos' men sought retreat down an isolated mountain pass. Only a single apothecary made it back, spared simply to tell the story and help build Temurin's legend. Another story told of a tired patrol making it to a forward operating base, only to find the four occupants sat at the table, beheaded but still holding the hands of cards they'd just dealt. The veracity of the stories, passed through the troops like chinese whispers, was always in doubt but they ensured a steady of flow of defectors from Dammekos' side.

 

With Dammekos' death at the hands of his son came an uneasy peace. The lessons on logistics and supply that Temurin had struggled to understand would have helped heal a world scarred with war. It was in these days following the brutal closure of the war that the Emperor arrived, recognising one of his lost sons. Upon being reunited with his legion, Temurin adopted a highly mobile style of warfare, with small elite groups of soldiers calling in fast and heavy support to break the enemy into chunks that could be disposed of at leisure. Tanks did not have a use in such terrain but speeders, jump-packs and jet-bikes were widely used to support the ground troops. As the legion went off into the stars, leaving a war-scarred planet struggling to heal deep wounds, Temurin’s closest retinue remained those last few survivors of his time on Olympia.

Their appearance on a battlefield, coupled with legends of how they could move almost undetected through the roughest ground, ghosts in their dulled white armour and with faces covered by thick woolen scarves, lead to many compliances delivered without bloodshed. The legion also continued the use of local tribes and contacts to provide food, shelter and information. Often small bands of local guardsmen and militia units, mounted on bikes, horses or the local pack animal, would act as scouts and watchers for the legions, observing, communicating and coordinating.

Seen by some of his peers as fighting an unmanly style of war, Temurin shrugged off criticism with the knowledge that his men were free in the skies, wilds and high peaks and that no single tyrant could ever control the way they fought. This attitude proved successful during the Great Crusade as Temurin was often left free to pursue his own campaigns. But when the Heresy started, and brother fought against brother, neither side could be totally sure where his loyalties lay …

 

 

 

 

-----

 

I've used the same name. I was going for something like Sagarmathu but that's Mother Peak. But Temurin is beautiful.

 

As I said, Cormac, we're on the same page here. Join forces?

[no I'm alpharius]

Story 1: Childhood

 

He stared out of the windows, a sliver of blue peeked through the clouds, the hint of escape it promised only spoiled by the sheer cliffs that pinned him in like a bird in a cage. He thought he saw something moving up there, hidden amongst the clouds. Doctore was explaining one of the finer points of siegecraft. Temurin stifled a yawn. While physically greater than his peers, mentally, well, he was still a child. He had dreams of soaring through the sky, like the great eagles of myth, of seeing the great columns of hot air, of being more than his father's puppet.

The lesson went on for what seemed like ever, a discourse in supply and logistics that bored him. The wars between city states could be fought by lightning attacks, of plans, counter plans and counter-counter plans. The great fortifications that watched over the lonely paths could be traversed around or climbed over.  It could be a great game, not this intolerable slog. If there was a wall in Olympia, then enough men thrown at it would bring it down, that was the mentality of this place. He had read tales of great heroes, of Troy and the horse that carried soldiers in her womb, of the great Reichsman Skorzeny, who flew to the highest mountaintop to rescue his master's pet ducks. Such things mattered not to his father, who dressed him in fine uniforms and taught him the correct manners of the land. A nonsense, thought Temurin, such pomp and ceremony had no place in the field.

 

Doctore coughed, a subtle indication that Temurin's day dreaming had been noticed. "And, as I was saying, young master, supply routes must be maintained at all cost ..."

Temurin sneaked a final glance out of the windows again, and saw a village nestled amongst the peaks. The clouds moved again and it was gone.

 

Story 2: The Black Keep

 

The siege had gone on for weeks. Shells had been lobbed from nearby peaks, mines dug and vast chasms blown out of the mountainside. Hundreds perished, thousands had broken. And still the Black Keep endured.

Dammekos, Tyrant of Lochos, stood at a grand mahogany table and swept his hands over the map pinned to it. Two staff officers flinched at the sudden gesture.
"The 35th Grenadines? Where are they again?"
"most of them lie broken in.... that ravine. The bridge was blown while they were crossing", the taller of the officers said, as he pointed out the closely spaced lines that indicate a sheer drop.
"and General Malik? I hope he's at the bottom of the pile"
Dammekos turned to a wall bearing tactical organisation charts.
"I still have reserves. And we've made progress over the southern flanks?""
"yes sir, but at some cost"
"expected. Now, tell me one more thing. Where is that idiot son of mine"
The two officers glanced at each other nervously.
"He... We don't know. He took that unit you gave him and vanished into the clouds"

Dammekos waited for the medics to pick the officers off the dirt before striding out of his command tent. Clouds and mist swirled around the flat peak but he had a good view of his target. He could see the broken bridge. He could see where three atomic mines had detonated, ripping valleys all the way to the walls of that castle. That DAMNED castle.

The first explosion took him by surprise. It blossomed up from an outlying wall, opening a crack in the defenses. Three more explosions cut terraces into the hillside. Another explosion ripped through the main keep. Dammekos knew when opportunity presented. He tapped orders into his command pad, directing a reserve unit to the still smoking staircase of rock.

Within the hour, he was in the castle. Corpses lay strewn around the ramparts, the only troops moving wore a mixture of uniforms, with a white sash featuring a stylised bird of prey over their right arms. They barely glanced up as he strode at the head of his elite guard to the main keep. Dammekos paid them little heed either. He wanted to see that dog grovel before he took his head. The door was thrown off its hinges by two massive guardsmen and Dammekos strode in, head held high, sneering at...

"WHAT?! What are you doing here?"

His jaw hung open. His son, that daydreaming, idiot boy lounged on the Black Throne. He raised an eyebrow then idly tossed the severed head of the old master of the keep at his father's feet. Without saying a word, Temurin picked himself off the throne and signalled. Four men appeared from out of the shadows like ghosts, guns all trained on Dammekos.

The small group eased out of the keep. It was then that Dammekos swore. Loudly.

 

------

 

As I edit, stories will probably go here.

[Gorkimedes]

Edited to make stuff better!

Saburo Primus, Son of Lightning, Prince of the Great Dream

In vain the Emperor struggled to prevent the theft of his sons. As the Great Powers pulled the pods into the warp tear he reached out and grabbed one by the side. With all his strength he pulled the incubator back into real space, denying the Four total victory.

The recovered pod had housed the fifth son of the Emperor. When he emerged weeks later he was given the name Saburo, after the son of an ancient warlord who had remained with his father after all his other children had left him. Saburo grew quickly and his mind as swiftly as his body. The world he called home was a world that was all of humanities virtues reborn. First hand the Emperor’s son could see the renaissance of a species and he drank in every word his father said about the great future he was laying out for their people.

When The Emperor began to form the armies that would carry his vision to the rest of the galaxy Saburo was given an opportunity none of his brothers would get. Out of The Emperors twenty legions only the Fifth was shaped by its’ gene-sire from its’ inception. The Prince traveled throughout all the lands of Terra with The Emperors’ biologis seeking not only men with suitable bodies for transformation but also men who lived their lives by the newly reborn virtues. The Prince interviewed each aspirant personally looking for strength, foresight and initiative. Searching for men who could see a better tomorrow and were prepared to take it upon themselves to make it a reality.

After fifty thousand individuals had been successfully reshaped into Astartes Saburo gathered his sons upon the field in front of the Imperial Palace. There he declared that they would be known as The Golden Legion and spoke to them of their place in The Emperor’s Crusade. It was their duty as the first legion to depart from Terra to set an example for those to follow, to carry the light of the Emperor’s truth into the darkness. Humanity could not be allowed to slip back into the dark ages of superstition and depravity. Through force of arm and strength of will the golden age would be protected.

With the onset of the Great Crusade Saburo dove headfirst into the task given to him by his father. On Terra the Prince had been forever under the Emperor’s watch. At the head of his legion Saburo found a chance to truly prove his worth. Alone upon the frontier of human space the success of The Golden Legion was his alone. Thousands of colonies were established and numerous alien empires were erased from existence in a fraction of the time it had taken them to rise.

When human worlds refused to join the growing Imperium The Prince dealt with them swiftly. Short, overwhelming campaigns were waged, designed to show the wayward worlds of humanity the futility of denying the Imperium. These campaigns would often leave the infrastructure of conquered worlds devastated. To show the new citizens of the Imperium that the Great Crusade was waged not out of malice or petty greed The Golden Legion would leave contingents of marines to defend the worlds from harm while they rebuilt.

For decades at a time the fleets of The Golden Legion roared through the void conquering world after world in quick succession. Further into the unknown than any other legion did the Fifth charge, forever hungry to claim new worlds for the Emperor. The Prince found it difficult to balance his desire for speed with his commitment to rebuild and strengthen subjugated worlds. Far form Terra Saburo’s legion was slow to replenish lost numbers and found itself spread thin across newly compliant worlds.

Without the numbers to maintain protracted sieges Saburo and his sons became experts at highly mobile lightning warfare. Attack Speeders and Thunderhawks would carry out rapid strikes across the entirety of contested planets, carrying the Space Marines and their war engines from battle to battle at a pace no mortal army could sustain. Never one to lead from the rear Saburo was often found where the fighting was fiercest. Teleporting into battle with his bodyguard of Terminators the Primarch would crash through the enemy’s mightiest fortifications. Buying a speedy victory with cost and risk.

[Conn Eremon]

I really love that idea, Brotastic, but I'm not seeing much of canon Khan's character in this. I see Horus' upbringing, Guilliman's demeanor, and Lorgar's progress. Though it is certainly true that the Khan would exceedingly different from his canon self, having been moulded from day zero by the Emperor to be exactly what he had wanted him to be, I think there should still be some elements that remain. Things like speedy combat tactics could be reworked, or his free-spirited demeanor curtailed to a point, but all present nonetheless.

 

That said, if you put some more of Khan's canon character back in and sort of meld it with what you already have, I could really see this being a primary contender for the Warmaster title.

[Gorkimedes]

-Combined with first post-

[Wade Garrett]

Terminators on Jetbikes.

 

Wait, what?

[Conn Eremon]

Yeah, I don't even think the Khan had those. I'm thinking teleportation is fast enough.

 

I still like it. The name still seems odd, Conservators, but it isn't a deal breaker.

[Wade Garrett]

Heh...

 

Khan: (waving a bottle of kvass)

"Uhmuhgone mek muh Terminerminators ride BIKES!"

 

Russ: (waving a bottle of mjod)

"Them young...stupid Wolves! Give'em 'spensive petjacks..packjets...flying smokie thingies!"

 

Roboute Guilliman: (sipping from his coffee mug)

"I'm going back to my planning chamber and beat my forehead on my desk a few hundred times."

[Wade Garrett]

Lorgar:

"You're going to ritualistically inflict pain on yourself? Sounds awesome, big bro! Can I come too?"

 

Dorn:

"This notion intrigues me as well."

 

Angron:

"MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEEEEEAAAD!"

 

Guilliman:

"I am not literally going to...wait. Angron, what does that have to do with anything being discussed?"

 

Angron:

"I HAVE TORTURE MACHINES IN MY BRAIN!"

 

Guilliman:

"I...see."

 

Lion El Johnson:

"So, Roboute. You admit you have a 'planning chamber'. And just what do you plan in there...IS IT TREASON AGAINST FATHER? IS IT?"

[Conn Eremon]

Leman Russ:

HEY! Dat right dere be my line! We go usselves a feud!

[Wade Garrett]

Russ:

"Heh. Megs, they totally think I'm Leman."

 

Khan:

"I know, right? We are so awesome at this, Alf."

 

Johnson:

"What are you two drunkenly babbling about? Is it...TREASON!?"

 

Angron:

"WHY ARE YOU SO ANGRY ALL THE TIME? YOUR BROTHERS AREN'T DEEEEEEAAAAD!"

 

Some Notes Towards A Short Summary of My Life, Broken Into 24 Hour Intervals And In Chronological Order, by Roboute Guilliman

 

Dear Notes Towards,

I have the most screwed up family ever. I honestly can't imagine how this group could become even more dysfunctional.

[Conn Eremon]

Emperor:

Boys, I have something to tell you. You're adopted. I mean, you already were adopted, before I found you, but well. What I'm trying to say is I'm not your father. Malcador is. I'm just his thought-puppet. Somebody had to be the Emperor, right? Right? While I'm saying this, I gotta tell you something else. Sanguinius isn't your really reals brother. Yeah, he's actually just a mutant.

 

 

Dear Notes Towards,

 

I hate you.

[Wade Garrett]

Lorgar:

"NOOO! You're not my real dad! Poppa Kor would never..."

 

Emperor:

"I just said that. You're a bit slow, aren't you? Did 'Poppa Kor' use lead paint in your nursery?"

[Ace Debonair]

Horus: Dibs on being next Emperor!

 

Jonson: Dibs on bei- darn it, beaten to it again!

 

Dorn: Dude, that's treason!

 

Jonson: And that is my line, not yours!

 

Guilliman: Now let's not do anything stupid or rash here, guys. Let's ju-

 

Lorgar: Dibs on being first to use malevolent space entities to power up my legion!

 

Fulgrim: Dibs on killing the first guy to side with fake-dad!

 

Ferrus: Dibs on being first to side with fa- uh, never mind.

 

Perturabo: Dibs on blowing up the Imperial Palace!

 

Dorn: But bro, I was gonna keep the palace...

 

Perturabo: ...Dibs on blowing it up anyway.

 

Angron: SHUT UP ALL OF YOU I HAVE A HEADACHE

 

Horus: Man, I can't wait to sit in not-dad's chair. Say, Lorgar, what's all this about malevolent space thingies...?

 

Jonson's Legion: *Half-listening to Lorgar and Horus*

 

Sanguinius: *Quietly sobbing in the corner*

 

 

Dear Notes Towards:

Today my brothers discovered a new depth of stupidity. I could write a book about their exploits one day, except reliving those moments would make me want to lock myself in stasis away from all this idiocy.

 

It's as bad as last Christmas Athiestic Winter Festival, when dad made Horus Warmaster and forgot to get the rest of us anything.

 

EDIT:

Wait, no Christmas in 30k.

[no I'm alpharius]

Feeling creative. 

 

Atanarjuat, Inwit.

----------------------------------------------------------

Night was falling. It fell quick this time of year. A light snow swept around on a group of five humans, tucked away in the foothills of the great mountain chain that straddled the ball of ice and rock that they called Home, Inwit in the tongue of their kind.

"We need to hurry," insisted the oldest and largest of the team, a larger man, with grey hair and large mutton chop sideburns framing a stern face. This was not his first winter, it could always be his last. 

 

"They come at night, they always come at night" muttered one of his companions. The five strained at a sled loaded with lichen scraped from the rocks, a few snow hare carcasses and thin pieces of windblasted wood. They trudged, step after step after aching step, through the snow and into a valley. They were soon to be home, in the bubble of warmth, with their family, with their clan. Just a few more miles.

 

The group looked at the horizon behind them, as the snow fall got thicker and visibility fell. They knew the reapers liked it as it got dark, as they could see further into the gloom. Their clan had suffered hard at the hands of the cruel wyches, with the strongest and toughest stepping out to stop the madness and getting cut down. Red blood scarred onto white snow.

A strange cackling echoed around the valley. They were too late. Figures flitted along the edges of their vision. One of the group dropped his strap, giving up. He stood in the snow, defiant but they could see the tears falling down his cheeks. The larger man ran to the sledge and pulled out an antique fire arm. One shot was all it contained. It was meant to be for fending off the larger creatures that lived amongst the ice. If one fell with him, maybe a son, a daughter might live elsewhere.

Something else moved in the mist and snow. Something running towards them. From the ice sheet. Someone. Not with the unnatural speed of the reapers, but still fast.

It was a boy. A teenage boy, dressed in furs and seal flesh. Running through the snow.

 

The reapers had stopped moving. There were five, dressed in black armour, ridged with spikes and spines. They stared at the humans and then at the boy now standing in front of them and then back at the group.

 

"No"

 

The word echoed up and down the valley.

 

"Face me"

 

The boy spread his stance, arms raising into a guard position.

As the reapers leapt towards him, the leader of the group swore he saw his saviour smiling.

 

-----------------------------------------

 

"When you stop moving, you die"

 

Proverb of the Nunaut tribe, Inwit

The White Scars legion became experts at infiltration and long distance reconnaissance. Tough soldiers but with a taciturn approach to their peers amongst the other legions, they had few friends outside of the close knit communities. For the legion, only comradeship forged in the ice wastes of their planet was of value.

[Gorkimedes]

-Combined with first post-

[Ace Debonair]

-=-= Lasartine Bron, Primarch of the White Scars =-=-

When the Primarch of the V Legion was discovered by the Archduke of Bron House on the ice world of Inwit, it was seen as a sign of great things to come. The patriarch of Bron house named the child Lasartine. The boy grew to maturity far swifter than an ordinary man, and it was easily apparent to all who met him that Lasartine Bron was destined for great things. In time, just before the patriarch passed away, he named Lasartine his successor.

Lasartine loathed life on Inwit. Men fought constantly, either in wars of words or more traditional forms of combat. Trying to reason with his opposite numbers only seemed to lead to further aggression on their part. It seemed that the only language they truly understood was threats and violence. Lasartine swore to end the wars by unifying the planet under his banner no matter the cost, and went at his task with terrifying fervour. Clad in darkened steel and wielding a blackened sword, Lasartine led his army against the nearby House Gaoth, and slaughtered their soldiers. Stories abounded of how Lasartine would literally tear men in half with feral, terrifying savagery, or brutally hack apart enemies long after they were slain, gripped by a terrifying rage. Lasartine Bron was now a name spoken in fear by many, and he used his reputation like another weapon, spearheading negotiations with other Noble Houses and calling for their surrender. Those that chose to resist were destroyed within days, and stories of yet greater deeds of savagery would spread like wildfire on the bleak planet. The remaining Houses, too afraid to seek war with Lasartine, fell in line and complied with his demands to surrender.

When at last Inwit was united under his banner, other planets persisted in making tiresome threats and demands. Lasartine and his armies would call for their surrender, and make gory examples of all those who resisted, leaving behind piles of impaled or burnt corpses. These stories of a dark-armoured, merciless destroyer seemed at first to many to conflict with the out-of-battle look image Lasartine cultivated - that of a humble, white-clad statesman - but anyone who met him only had to stare into his eyes to see the planets burning within.

Eventually the whole system owed allegiance to Lasartine, who now stayed with his army on his grandly constructed fortress-craft named the Phalanx.

When the Emperor arrived at Inwit, Lasartine was quick to pledge his allegiance, seeing in his Father's dream a continuation of his own - all of humanity united under one banner, with no more wars or empty threats of such. For such a dream, no cost was to great to pay. If one city had to burn to break the rebellious spirit of a dozen others, Lasartine Bron would gladly be the one to start the fire.

The Primarch took his place at the head of his Legion, which he named the White Scars after the jagged ice fields of Inwit, where he was first found.

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

I had way too many ideas and couldn't decide which ones to cut out.

My plain Inwit-Khan was kinda dull, so I thought I'd rub some grimdark on it and make him more evil.

So now we've got a Khan who wants unified humanity no matter the cost, even if it means forging a terrifying reputation to keep everyone in line. (And possibly because he hates the duties of actually ruling and longs to just haul off and fight something )

So he's either a noble and heroic soul behind a dark mask of terror or a brutal, murderous archfiend who masquerades as a diplomat and necessary evil.

Any good?

EDIT:

Found another blasted typo.

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

Andras Tyrion, Archduke of Inwit, Lord of the Harbingers, Legio V

 

 

 

Laughing, the three of them raced each other on horseback through the snowy forest. Onwards they pushed the horses faster and faster. Andras Tyrion glanced behind a triumphant smile cutting across his features as he saw his brothers begin to fall behind, as normal. Turning to face the front he felt the rope hit his throat, his back hit the ground and the nothing.

 

Coming to, he looked around the smoky half-light trapped inside what appeared to be a cave. “Kol?” he called out, softly, “Rian?” There was no reply from his brothers, yet as his vision cleared he saw two more bodies lying just out of reach. Somehow he could see the almost invisible rise and fall of their chests and hear the thud of their heartbeats. At least they were alive. Slowly he scanned the ‘room’, if he could call it that, which they were chained in. So, he had been captured which meant that they were to be hostages against father. Great, he thought to himself, just fantastic. His thoughts were disturbed by the clanging of metal feet on rock. Looking up he saw an armoured figure descending steps carved into the rock, followed by another and then another.

 

“So, our guest awakes,’ sneered the first man. “Let me introduce myself I’m Undias.” Andras started at him unblinkingly, his brown eyes bore into those of Undias’. For some reason the almost feral stare of his prisoner unnerved him. Barking a quick command to the first of his companions he moved forward, loosening his cosh. Andras steeled himself for the inevitable blow. To his surprise, horror and rage it fell on Rian smashing into his head. With a yell Kollarion woke up staring in horror.

 

“So, boys. You see how little I care for your lives. We need only one of you, do not try me”, Undias threatened as he swaggered to stand over Andras. This would be his first, and last, mistake. Neither of the three would ever speak of what occurred after that moment, all that is known is that, emerging from the cave, came Andras covered in blood and carrying the sword of Undias in one hand, and a chain in the other.

 

"No-one harms my family. No-one!"

  ~  Last words head by Undias

 

----------

 

Khan on Inwit...lets see where this takes me

EDIT: I was inspired...I hope you like this interpretation.

 

-------------------

 

"Death follows us, let us, then be its Harbingers"

  ~  Andras Tyrion to his Brethren, the Harbingers

 

 

Bron Tyrion, High Seat of House Tyrion and Duke of Rallwaran a rich and prosperous region of Inwit was out for, as he later put it, ‘a stroll through the woods looking for raiders when I stumbled across a weird capsule’. He would state frequently that finding this capsule was the greatest thing to happen to the House – above even becoming the Archdukes. Inside this capsule, marked by a great V, was an infant babe. Swaddling him up in his rich cloak Bron took him back to the Castle where he was to be raised as his own son alongside Kollarion and Rian.

 

The babe grew fast, soon taller and stronger than both the 16 year old Kol and 14 year old Rian. As he grew he mastered the martial skills becoming adept with the sword and gaining a reputation as a natural when it came to horses. His father was away frequently, fighting Daradian and Undias, rival lords, who sought to reduce the power of their House. It was during that time that the three brothers were captured by Undias. It is said a change came over them after their escape and rescue, while on the outside Andras remained carefree and wild, he would frequently be caught brooding. He and his brothers demanded that they be allowed to fight, after all had they not proved themselves in that cave? Bron agreed declaring them to be of age, and skill, sending them to the front.

 

All three refused to join the infantry regiments Bron had desired them to do so organising a cavalry unit instead. Lead by Andras they would disappear for days at a time, annoying many of the commanders at the outset. But their worth was soon made apparent as the Tyrion armies pushed in finding destroyed supply routes, massacred forces and more evidence of their raids. General Akmiel soon gave them his approval to form a larger force under Andras’ total command which terrorised its way across their foes supply routes. Finally, a daring raid into the heart of the enemies camp saw Andras tear Daradian apart, limb by limb. Without his leadership, his army fell apart to be mopped up by Akmiel. Taking the head of Daradian, Andras mounted it upon a spike and encased it in silver.

 

The Harbingers were born, those warriors who pledged their allegiance to Andras and rode with him revelling in the speed and power of the beasts which carried them forward. Armed with curved blades which had been forged to grant them every advantage they swept through their foes at all times creating havoc and wreaking destruction across the landscape.

The successes of House Tyrion would not be ignored. And so it was that Bron Tyrion was found dead, murdered, in his room. Grieving the three brothers and their Harbinger’s returned to the mighty Palace where their mother met them. It was then that a new High Seat had to be chosen from among them and their cousins, but there was no doubt who was worthy enough to take the seat. Choosing Andras he was named High Seat and Duke. Knowing that the assassin sent came from the most powerful Lord after Bron at that time, Indrias self-proclaimed Archduke of Inwit Andras planned his vengeance.

 

Taking the armies of Tyrion the two sides clashed, the Harbingers clad in their usual White armour led the war. Again they slaughtered their way across the lands of Indrias until Andras and his warriors came to the mighty Citadel of Inwit. Under the cover of night the warriors burst into the citadel and slew every inhabitant. Indrias himself was found, and killed by Andras his head joining that of Daradian’s and the Harbingers returned, leaving behind a flaming ruin.

 

Over the next five years the warriors of Inwit would expand across the system bringing order and peace to the worlds. No warlord could stand against Andras, and it is said the number of heads he collected grew. When the Emperor arrived at Inwit, it is said Andras met him on the Phalanx, an ancient Space Fortress which he had taken to be his home. Flanked by his brothers he met the shining Lord of Mankind. It is said that he initially refused to kneel to the Emperor stating that he would kneel to no man who was not family, particularly an upstart Lord in Golden armour. In response to this it is said that Angron, the Battle-King of Macragge laughed, although the Emperor waved him silent. Sharing visions it is said that Andras saw what the Emperor knew, and, although it felt like an age for him, merely moments had passed. Sombre from what he had seen he knelt and swore allegiance to the Emperor. When he was introduced to the V Legion, he realised why the V had always been his personal symbol and he renamed them the ‘Harbingers’ for, as he said to them, ‘Death follows in our wake’.

[Conn Eremon]

I like how Bohemond's second story steals Ace's name.

I had way too many ideas and couldn't decide which ones to cut out.

Clearly.

Only thing I felt odd was that you say that his vision of a unified Inwit was spurred by his distaste for the overly violent lifestyles perpetuated by the great Houses. And then you show how exceptionally and unnecessarily brutally violent his first 'unification' attempt is.

And I thought that was weird. And I thought to myself "Why, that'd be as if Angron didn't want to fight anymore and then went off to rampassacre a planet!"

And then I thought "Wait. That is actually an accurate depiction of Angron."

And then I was okay with it.

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

I like how Bohemond's second story steals Ace's name.

Unintentional I assure you...the name of his father can easily be changed, I was actually thinking of Brom from Eragon and thought a shift in letters in the name would work.

[Ace Debonair]

I like how Bohemond's second story steals Ace's name.

I had way too many ideas and couldn't decide which ones to cut out.

Clearly.

Only thing I felt odd was that you say that his vision of a unified Inwit was spurred by his distaste for the overly violent lifestyles perpetuated by the great Houses. And then you show how exceptionally and unnecessarily brutally violent his first 'unification' attempt is.

And I thought that was weird. And I thought to myself "Why, that'd be as if Angron didn't want to fight anymore and then went off to rampassacre a planet!"

And then I thought "Wait. That is actually an accurate depiction of Angron."

And then I was okay with it.

Like how my Horus likes to preach freedom and then conquers places in his father's name.

Also I did kinda write that at eleven pm and was basically half-asleep. I'll go back and edit it later on, and hopefully make something coherent out of it.

Lasartine Bron's mindset can be summed up as somewhere between 'make people too afraid to fight against me' and 'one last great atrocity in the name of everlasting peace'.

[Conn Eremon]

Nice set up for a fall. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

[Ace Debonair]

Nice set up for a fall. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I figured I'd have a go at making The Khan a bit more obviously dark than Fulgrim and Horus.

There's a sentence I never thought I'd type.

I've edited and updated Lasartine Bron's story a bit, and it's a little more coherent now I think.

[Conn Eremon]

I'm thinking it could raise a nice duality in the Legion. Those armored in white, those armored in black. A nice visual of their own thinking processes, seing everything as black and white. Either you lay down your arms and join us peacefully, or we horrifically and brutally massacre your entire people.

 

I'm picturing a retinue of pearlescent white, led by a serene, calm Bronn, asking this world to join the Imperium with flowery words that would make Iterators weep. Alas, the offer is rejected. Bronn nods his head, thoughtfully. He and his retinue leave. He doesn't tell them that they will return, but they do; armoured in black they do return.

 

In some ways, I can see him getting rebuked. He's only bringing in worlds that accept compliance. Otherwise, he wrecks them. Leading to his fall.

 

That said, this is Warhammer 40k, and such an attitude does have its place. A Primarch who could have fallen might yet remain.

[Ubermensch Commander]

Cormac Airt, on 11 Oct 2013 - 10:55, said:

I'm thinking it could raise a nice duality in the Legion. Those armored in white, those armored in black. A nice visual of their own thinking processes, seing everything as black and white. Either you lay down your arms and join us peacefully, or we horrifically and brutally massacre your entire people.

 

I'm picturing a retinue of pearlescent white, led by a serene, calm Bronn, asking this world to join the Imperium with flowery words that would make Iterators weep. Alas, the offer is rejected. Bronn nods his head, thoughtfully. He and his retinue leave. He doesn't tell them that they will return, but they do; armoured in black they do return.

 

In some ways, I can see him getting rebuked. He's only bringing in worlds that accept compliance. Otherwise, he wrecks them. Leading to his fall.

 

That said, this is Warhammer 40k, and such an attitude does have its place. A Primarch who could have fallen might yet remain.

The Black and White Armor tied into the negotiations also mirrors the historical practice of the successors of Temujin, if memory serves. Show up at a city, park outside in a white tent. If on the first offer they surrended, all would be spared. The next day was a red tant, and the women would be spared. Upon the third offer, it was a black tent and none would survive.

 

Edit: Also, great Khan there, Ace.