Nature vs. Nurture, the What If? edition

[Kol Saresk]

:(

[Conn Eremon]

You know Kol, you could always contribute a Curze for us.

[Kol Saresk]

I honestly can't even begin to think of a different perspective for Curze. I've been trying to think of a Nocturnean one, but I figure at least get the idea down before I committed to it.

[Conn Eremon]

No problem.

 

As for your remark on the Emperor's path, it is noteworthy that the next closest is Fenris, followed by Prospero and Inwit. Russ is the second found, so perhaps Lorgar Cleftjaw could be the first found.

 

That said, Cthonia was so close Terra was in contact with it even before the Warp storms abated. Be hard to miss, whatever the direction.

[Hyaenidae]

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[Wade Garrett]

I like the idea of the Cleftjaw being the first. That'd be pretty cool.

I don't know about him as Warmaster, but I can see it feeding the rivalry between the Hounds and...the Red Corsairs?

 

Leman looks at him and sees a jumped up savage that thinks the pointy stick is high technology, who's only considered accomplished at void war because he had the Emperor holding his hand and handing him more and bigger ships.

 

Lorgar sees a braggart that preys on the weak and defenseless, not too different from the reavers he grew up fighting, who relies on underhanded trickery to make up for the fact he's too gutless to exchange broadsides with an enemy that is armed and ready to fight back.

 

Also, I was thinking of what a hellhole Fenris is and how the Hounds will be true SPACE MARINES...I'm imagining Lorgar pushing for a giant orbital arcology to be built over Fenris, so his people don't have to live on a seismically unstable iceball infested with monsters.

 

They'd still mine and farm on the planet below, of course. If Goldenbeard doesn't blow both Fenris and the space station up after the Heresy and leave them fleet based and really angry about it.

[Conn Eremon]

Arcologies as in cave networks? Interesting visual for orbital colonies. I'm imagining large metal globes that lack uniform design, shape and size, interconnected by tubes that fire off in every direction with little rhyme or reason to be seen. A massive orbital battle in which these space stations are destabilized causes them to crash into the world, disrupting the already fragile tectonic activity of Fenris in a fiery, cataclysmic event.

[Brother Captain Kezef]

One of the things I've thought about is swapping Kurze and Corax. It's hinted in the books and I think it really goes to the concept that their homweworlds made the Primarchs in more significant ways than their initial creation.

 

If Kurze had been found, like Corax, by freedom loving resistance fighters who taught him family and humanity, as well as justice, I honestly think he'd of turned out very different. Rather than suffer his visions alone, he'd have had support. people who he could discuss the visions with and perhaps deal with them better?

 

Corax, thrown into the cess pit of Nostramo, would he of ended up any different from Kurze? Set apart by his features, I think he'd of been more of a monster, very much like the Crow but without the morality.

[Noctus Cornix]

One of the things I've thought about is swapping Kurze and Corax. It's hinted in the books and I think it really goes to the concept that their homweworlds made the Primarchs in more significant ways than their initial creation.

 

If Kurze had been found, like Corax, by freedom loving resistance fighters who taught him family and humanity, as well as justice, I honestly think he'd of turned out very different. Rather than suffer his visions alone, he'd have had support. people who he could discuss the visions with and perhaps deal with them better?

 

Corax, thrown into the cess pit of Nostramo, would he of ended up any different from Kurze? Set apart by his features, I think he'd of been more of a monster, very much like the Crow but without the morality.

 

Oh you'll see very soon what happens to the Primarch of conscience when he is thrown into a world completely different. ;)

[Brother Heinrich]

Which Primarchs so far are turning traitor, need them to finish up Konrad.

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Brother Heinrich]

Ah dammit, that doesn't work for Primarchs who see the future lol.

 

Edit: nevermind, found a way to craft the tale around it. Gotta love "oh records are unclear on blah blah blah"

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Excessus]

Pfft, tell me about it. Rewriting the Alpha Legion isn't exactly a walk in the park, lol.

Philosophy, coordination and teamwork is their nature, the shady planning and sneaking around is just the nurture aspect of being brought up on the shady planet where politics and stabbin in the back was commonplace..

[Noctus Cornix]

Lanista Corax, Lord of the XIX Legion

“Who am I not to be great?... Within my veins flows the blood of something far beyond the confines of mortality. I was born into this world to rule and to conquer. Humanity was born into this world so that it may one day kneel before me. I will unite all the worlds of the galaxy under one absolute rule. Mine.”
- Lanista Corax, Carrion King of Nuceria

Into the frozen the earth the incubation pod plummeted, sailing through bruised clouds of the blizzard in a mantle of fire and smoke before finding home in the mountainside with a titanic clash. From within the massive crater that now engulfed the cliff-face emerged a child, spindly thin of gaunt skin as white as the virgin snow around him. Dark eyes of the purest black gazed upon his new home with the wonder of a newborn yet with the slow understanding of one with enlightenment as a mane of ebony hair whipped in the howling wind. Those same eyes widened as he turned to the sound of a revving chainsword.

It was not long before the crash of the incubation pod caught the attention of those who dwelled upon this world. Lord Zerrith, a highborn of the land who dealt in slave dealings and shipment to the capital of Desh’ea was within these tundras with his slavers in search for runaway slaves. Thinking that the strange and sudden boom was perhaps the work of the slaves, he marched his men forward at the crack of a whip as they trudge through the thick snow while he sailed effortlessly on his grav-chariot. When they reached the crash site they would find it to be the scene of a massacre. Long spindly forms of humanoid xenos clad in green armour lay strewn about in the snow, their bodies’ torn limb from limb in various displays of carnage. And there was the child, seated upon the body of one, naked yet undisturbed by the howling blizzard that assaulted his thin body, a blood-stained chainsword resting loosely in his grasp and upon his shoulder. The slavers could make nothing of what lay before their eyes, starring down at the child. They called out to the child, demanding that he come with them quietly while brandishing their electro staves under the false assumption that he might be one of the runaway slaves. All the while Lord Zerrith merely stood in silence upon his chariot as he observed. Nearly a dozen of the slavers approached the child, threatening to overtake him and drag him into the slave pits. Yet the boy simply turned to them and offered a childish smile before gunning the teeth of his stolen chainsword.

“Enough.” Was all that Lord Zerrith said after 16 slavers lay on the mountainside in various methods of dismemberment, their steaming blood splattered across the once virgin snow. The young boy turned effortlessly to address the man who spoke, his naked form untouched by even a single droplet of blood. The slave master had watched and observed. He saw within this child strength, speed, precision, and a killing intent he had never seen in even the most hardened gladiators of the Arenas. But most importantly, he saw in those dark eyes potential. And for the first and only time in his life, Lord Zerrith stepped down from his chariot onto true and natural ground. He approached the boy, and knelt before him. Removing his own cloak, he wrapped it around the child and without a second thought the two stepped upon his grav-chariot and departed from the mountainside to leave the slaver and xenos bodies to be forgotten in the storm.

The boy would be taken into the estate of Lord Zerrith as his own, his protégé. And for this, he named the child Lanista, an ancient title used for those who oversaw the subjugation of slave and the second of Corax, homage to the boy’s dark eyes and black hair that resembled the rare and much sought after carrion bird that signified the house of royalty on Nuceria. It was here that young Corax was to become not of the pitslaves and fight endlessly in the arenas, but to be of the high-riders, those callous and twisted nobility who lived in decadence and depravity. The boy was quick to learn, gene-encoded memories slowly unlocking pre-emplaced knowledge of diplomacy, combat, and mercantilism. Yet at the same time, something within the growing boy felt… off. Something within him told him that this was wrong. The slavery of human beings was wrong and they should be freed from this turmoil…. But it was something that Lord Zerrith said to the boy that quelled the tremor in his bones. From his lips, the high-rider told the boy that he was not of humanity but of something much greater. They were beneath him, and that it was his ‘divine’ right to guide them. And the boy, it made sense. Already he was fully aware of his capabilities. Only a few years of age and he already stood taller than any noble. He was stronger, faster, more precise and cunning than any gladiator that he had ever faced in his training. And slowly he was unlocking his psychic powers on his own, able to walk unseen through the noble houses at will. He could not understand why the shaking within him spoke of peace, freedom, and equality… But he soon realized that it was a lie. And the Primarch of conscience died.

Lanista Corax, in little more than a handful of years, held the slave market of Nuceria at his fingertips. Through cunning and intellect, and no shortage of brutal assassinations, all contenders and opposing slaver traders were swept aside or simply disappeared. Blood and flesh was his bread and wine, the constant flow of thousands of lives traded and sold off for a lifetime of menial labor or to be abruptly ended in the meatgrinder of the Arenas. With the Nuceria slave-trade under his command, obtaining complete rule over the wretched world of dark red dirt was child’s play. In weeks he was coroneted as Overlord of Desh’ea and Master of Nuceria. The Carrion King they called him, a grim, cruel, and twisted tyrant who held every facet of the world tugged upon a string like marionettes and he their puppeteer. To oppose him was death or, even worse, the implantation of the Butcher’s nails and to be thrown into the arenas where he would sit upon his throne at the high balcony and observe the brutal ending of thousands alongside the jeering crowds of thousands. The people of Desh’ea were nothing to the young and brutal ruler, the mentality engrained into his mind that humanity itself owed him its very existence and it was but nature that they kneel before him. For it was his birthright.

When The Emperor came to Nuceria, he came with the might of the Imperial Navy. Vast ships of polished gold hung overhead, gunships of genetically engineered warriors sailing across the skies as they marched in neat formation down the streets of Nuceria with its people in awe. But they were not the only ones. Although he knew each Mark of Power armour, the name and diagram of each gunship that flew overhead, he simply could not comprehend what lay before his eyes. Where once he had thought himself powerful as ruler of this worthless, backwater world, now he had come to see what TRUE power was. He knew his father when he first lay eyes upon the man in golden armour, and beyond he saw those who he would call his brothers. It was only natural for he knew that he could not have come from such petty mortal blood. Oh he knelt before the Emperor without a second thought, but he did so not out of loyalty, or servitude. The primarch of Black Hair and dark eyes did so with a hungry smile and the lust for eternal power ever constant in his mind. Here was a taste, a chance for true power, to wield his own army of genetically engineered killers and sail across the stars conquering the worlds of humanity as he saw fit. An empire was being forged, and he was to be a part of it. How could he say no?

[Hyaenidae]

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[Noctus Cornix]

What can I say? You inspire me.

[Brother Heinrich]

Konrad Dominus, Lord of the VIII Legion

 

“From this day hence, we will be the voice of justice and order in this galaxy, the judges and executioners for the wayward sons and daughters of mighty Terra. We are the Arbiter Lords, and we shall be the red right hand of the Emperor.”

- Konrad Dominus, “the Headsman” Primarch of the VIII Legion

 

 

When the 20 demigod sons of the Emperor were scattered to the corners of the galaxy at the dawn of the 31^st Millennium, they arrived on wildly varying worlds where fate and their choices would combine to shape them into beings who would one day change the face of history. One such place was the death world of Baal Secundus, a planet of searing temperatures, scouring radiation storms, and ghastly mutant hordes. Among these numerous horrors, a small population of hardy humans managed to scrape out a miserable existence. Clad in the care-worn relics of ancient radiation suits and wielding crude axes and maces, they fought against the hordes of mutants and monstrous creatures infesting their world. It was into this cauldron of nightmares, that the infantile form of one of the Emperor’s 20 super-human sons was cast.

 

The arrival of the godchild was chronicled in the oral histories of one of the small human tribes of Baal, known as the Frater Securis. These fireside tales spoke of a meteor that burned through the night sky and struck the mountains near the clan-domus of the Frater Securis tribe. The elders of the tribe took the meteor to be an omen that the sky father’s judging gaze was upon them and that, should they fail to act, they would be found wanting in his eyes. So it was that they sent their hardiest warriors into the perilous Baalite night to investigate the meteor strike. When they came upon the crash site they found, to their astonishment, the pale form of an infant boy. Strangely, the boy did not cry out or wail, he simply gazed upon the haggard men in their patchwork rad suits with eyes the shade of midnight. It was as if he were weighing their worth and judging the strength of their conviction. Despite the eeriness of the boy’s manner, the men swaddled him up and brought him back to the clan elders. Upon hearing the warriors account, and inspecting the child themselves, the elders declared that the boy’s miraculous arrival was a sign to show the sky father’s favor for his people. Out of respect for the sky father, eternal judge of all, the people of the Frater Securis tribe named the child Konrad Dominus or, ‘Lord Konrad’ in Imperial Gothic.

 

In the years that followed, Konrad grew swift and strong. His adoptive clan-family marveled at his strength and perfectly sculpted physique, while his raven hair grew long with the years and his skin tanned under the glaring gaze of Baal’s harsh sun. His eyes however, remained a deep, piercing blue. Some have speculated that this may have been a biochemical reaction to the massive levels of radiation on Baal Secundus, though where the gene-wrought mysteries of the primarchs are concerned; only the Emperor knows the truth. By the time boy was only twelve years of age, he was hunting with the veteran warriors of the clan. He absorbed knowledge like a sponge, soon surpassing all of his tutors and eventually, even the clan elders. The tight-knit bonds of the Baalite clan-families instilled in the growing boy a fierce loyalty to family and the honor of the tribe. With the survival of the clan forever balanced on a knife-edge by the hostile environment and mutant hordes of Baal, the tribes took the matter of internal law very seriously. Anyone who endangered the clan, whether through theft, violence, or outright incompetence, was cast out or executed.

 

One day, whilst out hunting alone, Konrad was set upon by a den of Baalite Fire Scorpions. The venom of these terrifying creatures has been known to liquefy a man’s internal organs with minutes of a sting and their claws have enough force to cut plasteel. The boy primarch however, was no mere mortal man. Using only a crude iron axe he was able to fell the malicious creatures, however not before suffering numerous wounds from their deadly, toxin-coated stingers. Struggling to maintain consciousness, the boy-warrior staggered back towards the clan-domus, all the while fighting the darkness that threatened to overwhelm him. In his wounded state, mind clouded by the toxins coursing through his veins, he stumbled into a chasm in the rock and fell down into the waiting darkness below. The fall knocked young Konrad into an unconscious state where he lay for several hours, as his body attempted to heal the horrendous damage it had suffered. While in this fugue state, he was wracked by horrifying nightmares; brother killing brother, the galaxy aflame and the death of a long-lost father. When he awoke, his demi-god physique healed and whole once more, he immediately clawed his way up from the black chasm of pain and terror. Upon extricating himself, Konrad raced home only to find to a scene of horror and tragedy. While he had lain helpless and wounded at the in the depths of the crevasse, a roaming band of cannibal mutants had descended upon the clan, butchering men, women, and children alike. Blessedly, a few survivors had managed to hide away from the mutant’s predations and upon seeing Konrad return, rushed from hiding with tears in their eyes. Konrad was devastated, though life was harsh upon Baal; he had never expected to lose almost everyone he had grown to love and respect in the space of one terrible day. It has been recorded here, that this was one of only two times in his entire life, when the Primarch wept.

 

That day was a catalyst for the burgeoning demi-god. He vowed henceforth to cleanse Baal Secundus of the mutant filth polluting its soil. In the years that followed the massacre of his family Konrad grew to his full, fearsome stature. He became the very image of grim justice; his massive physique laced with scars and long onyx hair framing his lean face like an executioner’s hood. Konrad swiftly united the warrior clans of Baal and led them against the mutant hordes populating the wastes. He was the ultimate leader, strong, swift, decisive, cunning, and beloved by his warriors. In battle he carried a massive bearded-axe forged by his own hand, with which he reaped a bloody tally among the mutant hordes. Soon his warriors began calling him, ‘The Headsman,’ for the way he coldly slaughtered the mutant filth. Before long, Konrad had chased down and executed every last remaining mutant on the surface of Baal Secundus, thus ushering in a new era of prosperity for the beleaguered Baalite people. As the campaign against the mutants drew to a close however, Konrad started suffering the dread nightmares triggered in his youth with increasing regularity. Even as he was crowned Lord over Baal Secundus, the nightmares continued to eat away at him.

 

It was during his most savage bout of night terrors yet, that the Emperor, master of mankind, arrived on Baal Secundus. None barred his way as he strode into Konrad’s chambers. Several of Konrad’s Primarch brothers accompanied him, though the historical accounts seem conflicted on which ones. Upon entering the room they found Konrad, his scarred body thrashing upon the floor. Kneeling by his tormented son’s side, the Emperor calmly placed one golden hand upon his son’s fevered brow. The moment he felt the golden touch of Mankind’s father, Konrad’s nightmares evaporated and his eyes snapped open. Only a handful of words passed between them then, which were recorded by the noted remembrancer Ignatius Vandooral.

 

 

“Be at peace my son, for your brothers and I have come to take you home.”

 

“My home is with you father, they however, are not my brothers.”

 

 

Though this seemed a rather hostile greeting towards his fellow primarchs, it soon became clear that Konrad was nothing but the most devoted son of the Emperor, following his edicts without question and persecuting the foes of mankind with brutal efficiency. Upon taking command of the VIII Legion, which was known at the time as the Viper Guard, Konrad swiftly set about molding them to his vision. Amongst the legion, all of whom had already forged tight bonds in the Emperor’s crusade, Konrad found common ground. Through their respect of brotherhood and sense of honor, Konrad found it easy to incorporate the Baalite values of family, honor, and justice. Renaming the legion, “The Arbiter Lords,” Konrad vowed to be the force of Imperial law and judgment in a chaotic galaxy. At his command, the legion also re-painted their war-plate from a vibrant green, to midnight black with the right arm daubed crimson. Their iconography was changed to the double bladed axe of an executioner, grim and clear in it’s intent. Thus were the Viper Guard reborn as the Arbiter Lords, the red right hand of the Emperor. Throughout the early years of the Great Crusade Konrad remained staunchly by the Emperor’s side, eternally faithful to his long-lost creator. Though glad to be at his father’s side, Konrad remained dour and cold, for even though the nightmares had abated, he remembered well the betrayal they foretold…

[Hyaenidae]

DELETED

[Excessus]

Heathens...marry me...

[FunkyMonkey]

Wow, that's an amazing story about Alpharius and Omegon.  I like the split you did.  When I first read the bold, I was like "huh" Legion XXI?  But after reading, it made sense as an contingency to deal with the conflict.  Also interesting how you split the Justaerins and the Catulans.  I always thought in normal Horus Heresy, the Catulans were the first strike and the Justaerins were the finishing blow, but you've adapted the differences in Alpha Legion tactics well.

[No Foes Remain]

I have to say that this thread it filled with awesomeness. Keep it up.

[Ace Debonair]

Wait, you made Russ into a pirate?

Well, this might be interesting...

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

The Claws of Liberation

The wardens of Lycaeus were disturbed in their vigil over the imprisoned by a great shockwave that turned out to be a pod, marked with the emblem 'XVI', that contained a yound infant. The leader of the prison saw fit to take in the child, adopting him and naming him Luperos, after a hero raised by wolves in ancient Kiavahr myths.

Luperos grew quickly and strongly, living a life of comparative luxury alongside the wardens. However, he chafed at the brutal treatment of their charges. His adoptive father quickly grew tired of Luperos' complaints that the prisoners were suffering unduly, and soon after began an even more brutal regime to demonstrate his intolerance of Luperos' attitude. When Luperos saw a guard whipping an old man to death, something inside him snapped, and the young man flew into a rage, strangling the guard to death with his own whip.

Luperos was immediately set upon by the other wardens. Though difficult, they eventually restrained the young Primarch. His adoptive father branded Luperos a traitor and beat him unmercifully, tearing out his right eye as the mark of a betrayer. Luperos was cast into the prison pits and made to work like any other inmate. Luperos would not be broken, however. He would shield his fellow prisoners from beatings and intimidate guards into easing up on the weary and worn down prisoners. Eventually the inmates came to call him Lupercal, or 'Wolf Guardian', for his burning ferocity and his iron resolve.

At nights the enslaved would crowd around the Primarch, training him in the arts of combat and debating with him on philosophy. Lupercal planned to escape and free Lycaeus, casting down the vile wardens. Using his boundless natural charisma, he rallied the inmates and laid out his strategy to them. When the supply ships came from Kiavahr, Lupercal led an army of crudely equipped but determined prisoners to board and conquer the handful of vessels, taking the supplies and ships for themselves.

When enforcement patrols flew up from Kiavahr, they were lured into areas where the slaves could board the ships. It wasn't long before the wardens of Lycaeus began to starve and Kiavahr ran dry of the resources they needed to hunt Lupercal and his crew. At the same time, small task forces led by Lupercal and his most trusted lieutenants struck at the prison compounds, freeing any still enslaved within and adding them to his motley band.

Then came the final stage of the battle - Lupercal and his army stormed the underworld headquarters of the wardens. Starved and terrified, they put up a pitiful fight, and Lupercal's men massacred them with cries of vengeance and hate in their hearts.

Lupercal confronted his adopted father, who pleaded with his one-time kin to spare him, promising him everything. Lupercal drew the man close and said unto him:

"No man should live under the heel of a tyrant. If I took you prisoner, I would be just like you."

He then broke the man's neck with one quick movement and cast him down. The battle was over, but hatred against those who allowed slavery on Lycaeus burnt inside Lupercal, and his crew moved with him to topple the nobility of Kiavahr.

The war against Kiavahr was brutally one-sided and over within mere weeks. Lupercal and his raiders, now armed with the warden's own weapons, armour and ships attacked each major city in sequence, cutting off their supplies and communication, and giving them the simple choice: 'Join me or die.' Many cities raised the black flag of Lupercal and his crew, casting down their nobility and living only as equals, but some chose to defy him. Those cities were razed and destroyed, leaving only ash and rubble.

When the Emperor and his Primarchs came to Kiavahr, they were met in the central plaza of the capital by a one-eyed, battered giant, surrounded by loyal followers. Lupercal stared at his fathers and brothers, and though he felt an immediate kinship with them, he remained carefully aloof. When the Emperor spoke of joining the Imperium, Lupercal snarled.

"I bend my knee to no man." He declared. "As long as there are tyrants in this life, I exist to bleed them dry."

When the Emperor refused to leave without his Son, Lupercal laughed and challenged the Emperor to personal, unarmed combat, with the loser swearing allegiance to the winner. The Emperor agreed to the terms, and the battle commenced. The brawl lasted for more than a day, before the Emperor finally brought Lupercal down with a barrage of punishing strikes to his blind side. It was said for years afterwards on Kiavahr that the battle could easily have gone either way.

Lupercal went on to serve faithfully alongside his brothers, assured by his Father that the only way to free humanity was to first unite humanity.

In a speech not long afterwards, Lupercal renamed Lycaeus to 'Liberation', a permanent reminder of his long-term goal for humanity, and named his Legion the [Astral Claws/Sons of Liberty/Astral Wolves].

EDIT:

So, Freedom-hungry Pirate Horus, who abolishes leadership (save that of the Emperor) on the worlds he claims and treats all men as his equals.

The Forum ate my last post and regurgitated it with weird formatting. DAMNABLE TYPOS!

EDIT EDIT:

Cleaned up the writing and plot slightly.

Hopefully that reads more like an awake, literate person wrote it and less like the gibberings of a sleep-deprived lunatic frantically mashing a keyboard in a futile effort to communicate the ideas circulating in what passes for his brain.

[High MarshalGR]

I wonder what would've happened if the Emperor went in the opposite direction...

 

I have an opinion here. The fact is, the Emperor is canonically the current avatar of Order in the 40k universe, the anathema for the Chaos Gods, their greatest enemy and fear because what he represents is the exact opposite of what they collectively are. I think that if the Emperor wasn't tmmune to the influence of Chaos and went down it's path, two things could happen: Another one takes the role of the avatar of Order, whatever he's/hers origin may be (Eldar, Human, Necron etc), or Chaos remains alone and destroys itself, as it's nature ordains (Malal, the reminder that Chaos is Chaotic). 

 

EDIT: I would like to write myself about a hypothetical Primarch with a different homeworld as well. If you want me to give it a go, tell me some stuff you need so that I can choose one.

[Adra'Melek]

Minor point. Was Horus found on Cthonia? Doesn't Betrayal suggest he was just found early. Even that he was found on Terra as a child. What about different Primarchs being found as children and being raised by the Emperor to reach their intended potential (that would be an interesting one for Curze).

 

Not much of a writer for crafting an actual story but like to try Curze on Nocturne.

 

Konrad Curze (as named by the Emperor at birth) was found by the blacksmith N'bel after his pod crashed on Nocturne. He was a pale babe with black eyes and was named Nusku by his father. Nusku's physical development was astonishing,his skin quickenly darkening in response to the powerful solar radiation, his build thickening in response to the high gravitational field. He would spend his formative months watching his adopted father work the forge, shaping metal, crafting practical items with great skill.

 

Throughout his short childhood there was great danger on the death world, be in unstable environment or alien raiders. Nusku felt overwhelmed by his fear, his dreams raked with visions of death (he believed) conjured within his fearful mind. The worst came when he saw his father carried off by the raiders to be tortured on their sadistic whim. Nusku withdrew into himself until the next raid. At this point the dream appeared to be played out in is own mind. As the moment came for N'bel's abduction something in him broke and the fear he had created in himself broke. He intercepted the alien raiders and slew them. His reactions prompted those natives caught out to fight back. Nusku fought with a ferocity that surprised all including himself. Eventually the raiders were fought off and Nusku realised that not only were the dreams he experienced visions of the future, they could also be changed.

 

From that point on Nusku lead the locals in their defence. He could not only predict when the next raids occurred and how they would carried he, he could see devastating quakes and eruptions. This allowed the Nocturians to prosper as never before. The years watching N'bel on the forge informed Nusku's methods of leadership. Nocturne was the forge to make the people. The attacks, earthquakes, eruptions and savage creatures were the anvil. And he would the blacksmith. It was no good making a brittle people, succeptable to shattering. They needed to malleable, strong but malleable.

 

When the Emperor arrived looking for his lost son he found them waiting for him. Nocturne had developed a global civilization intead of the disperate tribes with mastercrafted artwork mingling with the practical. Nusku's greeted his father "Father, welcome. We are ready to do our part in forging the Empire. Now where are my Salamanders?"

 

Yadda, yards. Nusku foresees the heresy and tries to warn the Imperium. XXX expects this and sends the XXX to stop them.