The Liber Astartes' Thought Experiments

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

"Do they... do they crusade still, brother?"

 

The voice was feeble. Old. Unbefitting of its owner. Andronas nodded, then remembered the old astarte was blind. "Yes, honored one. The chapter goes forward, as you have decreed. Vriskan is many, many light years from the front line now."

 

A sigh answered Andronas. "Good, good. Give me a bolter, so that I may join them, one last time."

 

The young marine raised an eyebrow at this request. "My lord, you've been clutching a bolter for the past forty years."

 

"I have been... waiting to die that long?"

 

The old astarte was decrepit, barely able to speak, let alone move. Many tales told of how even the weakest astarte was able to kill a normal human, but this simply wasn't true.The last century of the six hundred year lifespan had not been kind to former Chapter Master Marthanian, the very first of the Storm Krakens. In his long and historic career he had set the path that the Chapter would take for the millennia to come. Now, he was little more than a skeleton barely holding itself together, thin fingers wrapped around a weapon he would never use. He couldn't even lift it anymore. It was a fate that none in the chapter wanted.

 

"Yes, honored one."

 

"I have... never taught... the Krakens to wait... for anything. Take my... life. I have lived... by this bolter. I will... die... by this bolter."

 

Andronas made a tally on the datapad he was carrying. This was the fourteen hundredth time he had asked for death in the last decade. Momentarily he would become confused, and the conversation would begin anew, all recollection of a death wish lost. The novice wondered how many more times it would happen, before Marthanian's tomb was finally filled.

Edited March 31, 2015 by Dark Apostle Thirst

[Conn Eremon]

By the God-Emperor, yes, an old, infirm Space Marine. We're told they must exist, yet have almost no examples.

 

It does raise some questions. Is the first Chapter Master now little more than an ancient, withered tutor for novices to patiently endure (because damn it all, this man was everything you can only hope to be a tenth of, so get out your datapad and you write down every single golden insight he provides, and if I hear one more complaint from you, I'll use your head for a new servo-skull, where you will be doing this anyways, is that understood?), if he is unable to even notice he's still holding onto a bolter for four decades?

 

And this revered hero has asked for death how many times, and it has not been granted to him? Is it that the Chapter has a certain cold/detached pragmatism to it, and so feel no sympathetic need to honor his request, or are not burdened by anachronistic warrior creeds?

 

Honestly, I really liked that tidbit, because it was very telling of the Storm Krakens.

[Conn Eremon]

Last week we saw how easily ancient legends can come to an end, or become mere shadows of their former glory. Often, it is the lives of these legends that most impacted our DIYs, but we explored how relevant the ends of those lives can also be. While these legends were far back in our DIY's past, not all are necessarily restricted to such.

 

Which brings me to our new experiment.

 

TERTIUM EXPERIMENTUM

A Progenitor's Judgment

 

There is always one legend, unique to every DIY, that can never be repeated and yet can live on indefinitely. The origin story. Its relevance to a DIY can be exceeding, but what it represents cannot be duplicated for the remainder of that DIY's existence. However, while one would think of it then as being restricted solely to the past, as the DIY's hazy, half-remembered origins, there is an aspect to it that can, and often will, live on separately. That which the DIY originated from.

 

Everything in 40k began somewhere, from something. With DIY Chapters, it's easy. Where does your gene-seed come from? But maybe the actual source of gene-seed and the progenitor they believe in are not one and the same, or perhaps there's an additional generational gap separating you from an original source. Maybe you can trace your lineage readily as a true inheritor of the Imperium's savior, Roboute Guilliman. Perhaps your connection is not directly through the Ultramarines, but through one of the Ultramarine successors. Or perhaps you bear within you the gene-seed of another sort, but it was the sons of Guilliman who took part in the initial shaping of your Chapter. The Primarch and Chapter names can be swapped to be anything.

 

And it's not just DIY Chapters that started from somewhere. Renegade Astartes Warbands may have been formed from the remains of a former Legion, or, if chimeric, Legions, or perhaps they were once of the loyal Chapters who saw the truth behind the veil. Minor Orders of the Sisterhood were formed from Major Orders. Regiments hailed from home worlds they statistically never see again. Everything originated from something, and that something lived on past this point of origin. Perhaps not always. The Tanith First and Only have a progenitor in their home world of Tanith, however their home world did not survive their formation. For the purpose of this exercise, if the progenitor is no more, you can either shift the timeline to when the progenitor last existed, or as a simple exercise just imagine what they would still be like if they were around.

 

And that brings us to the third experiment. I want you all to consider who your DIY's progenitor is, whether it is their true or perceived progenitor. Whether it is a single being, a parent group, or even a special place. I want you to write about this progenitor, introduce us to them and their role in your DIY's creation. And I want you to consider how far your DIY has come since then. How much you have your DIY change in the intervening years, often millennia long. Do they even exist still, what the progenitor created? Or has it changed so much as to be unrecognizable?

 

Take your progenitor, and look at your DIY's current, present state, such as the close of the 41^st millennium. Tell us, what does your progenitor see? Are they proud? Or are they disappointed? What does it matter to your DIY? Would they change, if asked?

 

Inspire, and be inspired!

[Dark Apostle Thirst]

By the God-Emperor, yes, an old, infirm Space Marine. We're told they must exist, yet have almost no examples.

 

It does raise some questions. Is the first Chapter Master now little more than an ancient, withered tutor for novices to patiently endure (because damn it all, this man was everything you can only hope to be a tenth of, so get out your datapad and you write down every single golden insight he provides, and if I hear one more complaint from you, I'll use your head for a new servo-skull, where you will be doing this anyways, is that understood?), if he is unable to even notice he's still holding onto a bolter for four decades?

 

And this revered hero has asked for death how many times, and it has not been granted to him? Is it that the Chapter has a certain cold/detached pragmatism to it, and so feel no sympathetic need to honor his request, or are not burdened by anachronistic warrior creeds?

 

Honestly, I really liked that tidbit, because it was very telling of the Storm Krakens.

For the Storm Krakens... it's like the phrase larger than life, you know? This husk of an astarte has exterminated dozens of xeno races; the amount of blood those infirm hands have personally spilled is enormous. He's lived longer than pretty much everyone anyone in the Chapter will ever meet, and over that entire career he's not only kept the Storm Krakens from falling into calamity but ensured they would be prospering for a long time to come. His words and actions have added a significant portion to the Imperium, and would eventually lead to Krakensreach.

 

To the chapter, he's nothing less than everything they aspire to, and they don't feel worthy of killing him. There's a certain weight to the action of slaying such a monumental figure, regardless of how decrepit he might be now, and the kind of arrogance it would take is almost traitorous. He'll die when he dies, but until someone comes along that could meet his success and reputation, it's up to him or old age to end it.

[Guest]

To answer the first Experiment I hope it fits

 

 

A Father's Love.

 

I remember my sons as children, they would run about pretending to be Todesengel fighting imaginary Orks, Eldar or some other alien race, always victorious they would run into the house telling me how many they killed. Franz always seemed to kill more but I always suspect Eckhart would let his younger brother win.

 

After their pretend wars they would always ask me to tell them stories of my great Grandfathers brother Hartmann he was the first of our ancestors to be chosen to become one of the Emperors Angels. But I knew very little, my Grandfather told me of the one day he seen Hartmann after forty years he was resplendent in his deep red armour, the white winged sword on his shoulder, he did say something to my great Grandfather but he would never tell us what his brother said.

 

But I digress I was talking about Franz and Eckhart, I did not want to lose my sons, but they were determined to be chosen by the Blades of Alaric. It was in their sixth and seventh year when the Chaplain came to their academy he was the personification of Death I could never forget the massive armoured Space Marine, I do know know what armour he wore, his skull mask leering.

 

They both ran to me, excitement in their eyes, “We have been chosen Father.” They said in unison. My heart broke a little, Do not get me wrong I was proud of my sons, they were model students if not the Todesengel they would have wanted to become Officers in the Imperial Guard. I hugged them for the last time ruffling their hair I told them how proud I was of them, all the while I held back my tears.

 

I love my sons, I have missed them for so many years. I am a very old man now and I wish I could see my sons one last time.

Edited March 31, 2015 by Brother Arkley

[Guest]

To answer Experiment II.

 

The needless death of Torsten the 1st Paladin of the Blades of Alaric.

 

 

Torsten and Tancred fought back to back, the Paladin and Grand Cross had been brothers for over five hundred years all the way back to the Great Crusade.

 

Chaos forces were closing in on the two Brothers, the teleportation co-ordinates were off, the rest of the 1st Company were at least twelve minutes away. Chaos does not however wait, the noise of the distinctive chain axe was the first thing they both heard.

 

“It looks like we are dealing with Angrons bastards.” Tancreds said, his voice growled over the vox.

 

“I will only be to happy to sent them back to him in pieces” Torsten laughed.

 

The first World Eater vaulted over the small wall near the two, his chain axe already screaming, Torsten moved with speed bringing his axe in from a low angle straight into the World Eaters chest, the ancient axe ripped though the corrupted power armour with ease, the Berzerker slumped to the ground with out making much sound as his axe let out its last roar.

 

Two more Berzerkers found them seconds later, again the first fell to that axe, as it cleaved into his groin slicing up through his torso. Tancred parried the second berzerkers chainsword with the Blade of Alaric as he fired his bolt pistol into his opponents helmet, the first shot failed to penetrate the power armour but the second found its mark as it went though the soft armour of the mouth grill dropping the Berzerker where he stood.

 

Ten minutes till reinforcements...

 

As more of the forward Chaos scouting force found them the two dealt with another eight of Angrons sons,

 

Six minutes till reinforcements....

 

The two marines stood in silence, when a rasping voice came over their vox.

“Is that how the Sons of the Lion fight now? In a small hovel? Where is your pride Lion Son?”

 

Tancred did not respond to the baiting, he knew it would be suicide Space Marines are not stupid and he was not ready to sell his life in a pointless fight, but he knew Torsten this was a challenge and Paladins never refused a challenge.

 

“I am Paladin Torsten of the Blades of Alaric, Son of Lion El'Jonson, and I will be your end Traitor.”

 

“Oh there is some courage in the 1st Legion after all. Let me introduce myself, You can call me Kyrax.”

 

Tancred turned to Torsten “You surely cant expect this traitor to be honourable.”

 

“No Tancred I do not but I can't allow his slight to go unanswered” He replied flatly.

 

“Kyrax I challenge you to single combat, is there any honour left in you dogs?”

 

“You will find Brother that not all of us are mindless killers, and I accept.”

 

Four minutes till reinforcements......

Torsten stepped out of the small ruined house, Tancred stood behind him, Kyrax stood about twenty meters away. The World Eater wore the new MKVII power armour no doubt taken from some long dead space marine he killed, his armour just as corrupted as his brothers stood near him. Kyrax wore no helmet, his skin was pale white, in his hand he carried a Sword of some kind its red hue giving of a palatable malice.

 

Torsten too wore MK VII power armour but in the black of the original Legion colours, the white winged sword on him breastplate as well as the left shoulder, on the right was the stylised head of a Calibanite Lion, His axe was held in both hands the head covered in dried blood of the World Eaters he killed today.

 

Kyrax and Torsten weighted each other up for what seemed a few minuted, the World Eater smiled and charged

 

Kyraxs speed was unnatural and Torsten barely got his axe up in time to defend himself, the red blade bit into the haft of the great axe and shattered the haft, Torsten staggered back but Kyrax was upon him so quickly.

 

Torsten did not truly feel the blade as it penetrated his chest, he felt his spirit being siphoned out of him. The Paladin fell without a word.

 

Tancred pulled his blade up ready to defend himself but he had to admit Kyrax might be beyond his skill, but death was not for him today.

 

Kyrax looked at him and said. “I expected more from a Paladin, but I will keep my word you will survive today Brother knowing you should have died.”

 

Tancred gripped his bolt pistol and fired the bolt ricochetted of the left pauldron of Kyraxs armour.

 

Reinforcements arriving in ten seconds.....

[Father Mehman]

“It seems so pointless some days,” the aged man said as he watched three children fight with wooden sticks. Two of them, boys, one of them a brother, had the upper hand on the young girl. They laughed at her at first for trying to play “men’s work” with them, but that was before she had picked up a stick and hit her brother across the knee. “And to think it has been three decades since my landing; this planet’s rediscovery.”

 

“What would you have me do then, Father?” the apprentice voiced from the doorway.

 

Not taking his eyes off the three fighters, two of whom were inching further to their prey, the elder said, “Nothing. I would have you do nothing. Sometimes these things play out on their own. What these tribes have to know is that, in the grand scheme of the galaxy, you are either the hunter or the hunted.”

 

That said, two screams echoed across the village, the origins of which happened to be the combatant ill-disposed to battle. The apprentice made way to go over and stop the fight as it became apparent quite quickly that the two boys were going to teach a most harsh lesson to the interloper. Instead, the old man walked over and placed his hand on his shoulder. He looked at the younger man and pointed to the girl.

 

The would-be fencer knocked her opponents off balance with a great, bloodcurdling scream. Stunned, the girl took it upon herself to knock the teeth out of one boy and jabbed the other so hard his stomach emptied itself across the dirt. She stood there, panting like some wolf of the wild before throwing her stick down and wiping the blood from her face. It was not her opponent’s blood but she looked content enough with her actions.

 

“Sometimes, my son, you are both at different times,” said the missionary as he patted the back of the priest’s neck. With a grunt, he picked up his eviscerator from beside the bench and fixed it across his back. “It may seem pointless at times but, every once-in-a-while, lessons do pay out. Come, let us go return these stalwart attackers to their mothers and then go give the village Mass, shall we?”

[Conn Eremon]

I have a lot of DIYs (like, a lot a lot), and obviously they all have progenitors, but I only have one DIY whose progenitor is another of my DIYs: The Emerald Tigers, and their progenitors the War Consuls. So, using them for this experiment I can expand on two of my DIYs. I'm going to provide some background on both, but it's less to include others in on their lore and more for me to get my thoughts in order about how the one might relate to the other. That said, it's still background on my DIYs, so C&C is welcome!

 

 

Some War Consuls background:

 

The War Consuls are a 2nd Founding successor of the Ultramarines Legion (77th Chapter), and they bring the warrior nature of the XIII and their Primarch to the fore. When the Legion breaks down and the War Consuls separate from their brothers, their primary focus is to be everything that the Ultramarines can be. This isn't some later Founding Chapter trying to one-up the Ultramarines Chapter, or to emulate such a revered, powerful Chapter. No, the War Consuls are as much Ultramarines as the Ultramarines from the very beginning, because they were both of the Legion. They didn't suddenly become lesser for it, just because they didn't retain their Legion's name. Everything that makes the Ultramarines who they are in those days can be found in the War Consuls as well.

 

The differences begin to show as time progresses with a very simple truth: the War Consuls don't keep up. They stumble. They fail, in their own eyes. And it hits them deep when they do. A depression sets into their character, passed down into later generations. They failed their Primarch, as they see it. And so they recreate themselves in the image of their own failure. There's one thing that the War Consuls will always succeed at, and that is, quite obviously, making war. Everything else that makes one a son of Guilliman is excised. Because they don't feel that they are worthy of those traits anymore. The tragedy is in that they very likely could be as they once were, if they would only overcome their own doubts and at least try, but they never will.

 

At some point before their perceived fall from grace, when they still stood shoulder to shoulder, if not taller, with any other Chapter hailing from Ultramar, the War Consuls were involved in the Founding of the Emerald Tigers.

 

 

Some Emerald Tigers background:

 

The Emerald Tigers are sons of Guilliman, but they don't necessarily think of themselves as such, at least not as one would expect. They're the Emperor's mighty Angels of Death first and foremost. Roboute Guilliman was one of the most prominent, successful and wise Primarchs of all who had stood beside their lord father to the very end, and as such their primogenitor is a bit of a focus for them. But for the Emerald Tigers, it's always the Emperor and only the Emperor. All of the nine Loyalist Primarchs are of relative importance to the Chapter's beliefs, but of less relevance than their own legends and ancients. The Conn Eremon that I spoke of in the last experiment, for instance, is of greater significance to the Chapter than any of the Primarchs. It isn't that they have a lesser opinion than the Primarchs, far from it. They just weren't of the Chapter. As loyalists, their devotion is to the Emperor and the Emperor alone. As Emerald Tigers, their reverence is aimed at their own past. The only parent they recognize is Mother Tara and Father Terra. The Primarchs exist outside of these, but are no less integral because of it. It's almost like the classical era of Europe, when the Greeks had their own religious practices, but viewed the religions and deities of other prominent cultures as no less 'real' or relevant as their own, just not their own.

 

 

The experiment:

 

Well, first of all, the War Consuls would be disappointed, but also frustrated. The Emerald Tigers, as the War Consuls view things, would probably be more successful than the War Consuls are. It doesn't help that the Emerald Tigers, merely half a century before this 'judgment' takes place, actually went through a similarly rough crucible as the War Consuls did all those thousands of years ago, but the Emerald Tigers came out of it stronger than ever before. But their belief system would be terribly at odds with the War Consuls. Their identity of failure has caused them to exaggerate the capabilities and expectations of Guilliman and his truest heirs, and so to see one of their own child Chapters actively ignore their genetic heritage would not go over well. Now, the Emerald Tigers certainly don't actually ignore this heritage, but they clearly don't pay it its requisite dues, as the War Consuls would expect and demand. I think if the War Consuls ever really did check up on the Emerald Tigers (and I never really considered that they did), than the War Consuls would disavow the Emerald Tigers as one of their own. And it wouldn't even be just because of their hatred for a Chapter that would desert its patriarch, but because it would be too hard for them to countenance this Chapter as one of their own, as sons of Guilliman. They don't believe in the ideals of their primogenitor as they should, and yet they have accomplished more than the War Consuls have (though in reality, they really haven't). To accept the Emerald Tigers would be to accept that truth, and so disavowing them is in fact the War Consuls hiding from that truth.

 

The Emerald Tigers, on the other hand . . . wouldn't care. The War Consuls have their place in their past, but to them it is only in the past. The relevance of the War Consuls to the Emerald Tigers is in the act of creating the Emerald Tigers, and as far as this Chapter is concerned, the War Consuls of now are not the War Consuls of then. The opinion of the War Consuls of now has no bearing on the Emerald Tigers, who would only find significance in the opinion of the War Consuls of then, who are now mere shadows of their former selves by their own hand. And this attitude would both infuriate the War Consuls, and vindicate their decision to disavow.

 

 

The conclusion:

 

While it says a lot about these two DIYs to consider the progenitor DIY judging the child DIY, and thinking through it helped solidify a few things I had been juggling in my head on how the Emerald Tigers approach the Primarchs in their belief system, I think I will keep these two separated. In my head, that's how it has been, that aside from the War Consuls creating the Emerald Tigers, the two are ultimately unrelated and disconnected. I don't think it will provide anything of value if I dedicate space in either of their articles for this train of thought.

[Azekellon]

Sanguinius' sight reached far into the past and future, and he saw unheard of histories and impossible futures. His sons would survive his brother's treachery, but the cost.

 

His sons would mourn him, this was true, but none would forget his death, such was the pain to come. Scores and scores, lost to his memories and reminiscence, and he, the proxy of the Emperor (praise be his name), could do nothing while his sons were tested in an ongoing and horrible manner.

 

One by one, splinters split off from his Legion and grew, he saw. One, marked with a weeping eye, was shining bright, but would be horribly scarred by their past.

 

The cost.

 

The weeping eye was rent in two, one half remaining pure, the other corrupter beyond redemption.

 

Nero.

 

Sanguinius wept silently for his lost sons, who went the way of his errant brothers. However, he was resolute at the same time. It was a choice, and it would always be that way with the damning forces of Chaos.

 

A bark of vox brought Sanguinius to the present. "My liege, the Emperor rises! He demands you in his throne room immediately! Horus' ship has lowered its shields!"

 

Sanguinius smiled warmly. "Tell Him I'm coming, Azkaellon."

Edited April 7, 2015 by Azekellon

[Conn Eremon]

Nicely done, Azekellon, but I'm interested in knowing how Sanguinius would have truly seen this successor chapter, and how the chapter might react if they knew. Did Sanguinius weep to see sons in peril, in conflict with each other, or because he sees his progeny as a whole to have fallen far from the path he had expected of them?

 

 

 

But asides from that, it's time for a new experiment!

 

 

QUARTUS EXPERIMENTUM

The Final Days

Warhammer Fantasy Battles has undergone a tremendous change, as its End of Times has finally arrived and just as quickly gone. Warhammer 40k exists in a different context however, as its own End of Times has been its perpetual state ever since the lore became more solidified a couple decades ago, and will remain so in the foreseeable future. It typically goes without saying that any DIY created exists in this current age. It is very rare that you see a DIY that is already gone before the close of the 41st Millennium.

 

This means that pretty much everybody's DIY lives in the most turbulent, violent and destructive time in the history of the setting, which is saying quite a bit. We all know the lore, how Games Workshop and its child companies present this time. It is not a time of peace or success for the Imperium of Man, where arguably the majority of DIYs reside. The Imperium is losing wars on every front. The Tyranid menace was only barely stopped in Ultramar scant centuries prior, and now greater Hivefleets stab into the galaxy from every angle. Entire Sectors go dark as the oldest race of the galaxy awakens, and find the young races have no place in their Necron dynasties. The Orks, beasts that have plagued humanity since they traveled to the first star not of their birthworld, have amassed in greater numbers seen since the age of the Emperor and the Primarchs, but there are none of their quality to contain this tide. And the greatest threat of all, the sins of humanity's past burst free from the gates of hell to cast a dead god from his throne.

 

The purpose of this week's experiment is to actively incorporate this basic truth of the setting into our DIYs and to consider the consequences of their existence at this time. How many of our DIY Chapters are in the Pacificus Segmentum, which has in its totality gone dark from numerous uprisings and rebellions? What is happening to your DIY in this darkness? How many of our DIY regiments are being funneled to stop an Ork horde, when you're handicapped not just because of the poor equipment, with so many Forge Worlds at maximum output but failing to meet demand, but of the Imperium's armies being spread so wide and thin that you must face alone what Imperial tactical-savants insist require a minimum of thirty times your number? How many of our DIY Sisterhoods find themselves surrounded by cults and conspiracies without end, faced with the unenviable decision to burn down every world they come upon but far from capable of following through on their own? How many of our DIY warbands have found themselves chained to Abaddon's will, forced into an endless chain of battles that sap at your strength, all so the Warmaster's own can strike deep into the heart of the Imperium without wounds of their own to show?

 

Is your DIY on the brink of destruction, caught at the very moment of being overrun, a prime example of the grim reality of this setting? Or is your DIY holding true, striking back and shining in the ocean of black like an ever-dwindling expanse of stars in night sky, only delaying the inevitable? I urge you all to cast aside favoritism as you contemplate this exercise. Threaten everything about your DIY. Bring the endless war of the 41st Millennium to your DIY's front door, and kick it in.

 

As you write, I want you all to assume as a given that if the timeline were to advance, all you would see is the carcass of your DIY, overcome by the insurmountable odds you now set before them.

[Azekellon]

Holding resolute, never relenting. Semper paenitens, In servitutem cadere. The Angeli Dolorem had always aspired to be known on the scale of the IX, but were damned forever to anonymity. 

 

But, there was a line to be held, an objective to be taken, a foe to fell. No Son of Sanguinius would let the Flaw interfere with duty, despite the alluring call, the damnable need.

 

Forbes IV. A hive system, good for nothing but manufacturing warm bodies to clog the guns of the enemy. 7th Captain Kax Lupus hated the dinginess of such clustered humanity, but he realized the necessity of manpower.

 

Quantity has a quality all of its own, an ancient Terran general had said.

 

Kax could not disagree.

 

Cramped quarters had dominated every human beings' life, he reflected. None could disagree with the spread of the Imperium's power, but nor could they deny the vast majority was contested space. Cramped quarters, indeed.  Stepping into the deck of the Deathwind drop pod, he did a quick check of himself.

 

Lucid, check.

 

Chainswords, check.

 

Command vox, check. 

 

But what was nagging at him, pulling at his memories? It felt as if a hook was dug into his brain, and tugging at the hard right, dragging him to a

 

No. Not there, not while he still had any say.

 

"Captain?" 

 

Kax turned to face the Chaplain standing behind him, his ash grey armor contrasting deeply with the crimson handle of his Crozius. The bright red almost seared at Kax's eyes, nearly blinding him. Kax scrubbed at his eyes, as memories flashed through his head he had no recollection of having.

 

The Chaplain removed his Skull Helm, and maglocked it to his hip. "Is everything alright, brother? You seem troubled."

 

Kax scrubbed harder, and just like that, the memories were gone. All that remained was a dull headache, pounding hard in his temples.

 

"Not anymore, Brother. Sanguinius casts his gaze upon me this day," he grunted as he slid his helm over his shaved head. He wanted to hide his face, to be separate, so his moment of weakness would go unnoticed.

 

The Chaplain nodded slowly, and drew his hand away from his bolt pistol. Had the Captain fallen, well. He didn't want to consider the consequences. "For the Emperor, my brother, we will prevail," the Chaplain intoned, as Kax checked the dataslate on his wrist. 

 

"Aye."

 

The Chaplain hesitated. This was a crucial moment.

 

"We all have our burden to bear, brother," the Chaplain observed. "We would do well to bear it as one."

 

Kax stopped in mid-type, and considered. 

 

"I will bear it as long as I can brother, but if I need help, you will be notified," Kax said, turning back to the dataslate.

 

The Chaplain stood sentinel for another moment before leaving. He did not live to see the following day.

[paulJam]

Hidden Content

He had been buffeted by fragment after fragment of vision during the preceding weeks, but none had shaken him as much as the one that occurred an hour ago.
 
Haral Dalan now watches the preparation rituals, standing a few meters back from the enclosure.
 
A servitor loads cannon rounds into the motionless dreadnought’s hopper.  Was he in there anymore? Had he given up on us?
 

These were unworthy thoughts, he knew, unbecoming. The dreadnought’s pilot certainly would never have thought that way.

 

The first hives had started making contact days before. The lights they had worked for centuries to strengthen and nurture snuffed out in a matter of hours.
 

The force they had been accumulating, mistakenly considered massive, had not been sufficient.

 

‘Underwhelming,’ was the adjective that swam through Dalan’s mind.

 

Already three systems were being eaten alive.

 
So very many of the enemy…
 
The Astartes were the sword of the emperor no doubt, but what good is sword do against a roiling sea of magma?
 
“Commander Dalan,” says the pilot, his voice still recognisable through the interface.
 
Dalan takes a few steps closer.
 

“Commander Talar. We will be arriving soon.” The pilot would hold the honorific for the remainder of his life. This Dalan knew with grave certainty.

 
“I know,” it pauses, “You came to tell me this?”
 
No.
 
How have I failed the Chapter so badly? How could we have prepared better?
 
He is a soldier who had successfully led so many battles. How can he be expected to accept unavoidable defeat? Or worse, unavenged defeat?
 
“Brother Dalan, we all knew this day would arrive eventually. For those of us with foresight it could make our efforts seem meaningless, if we forget our purpose.”
 
It was a point the entombed marine never let his charges forget, to the point that it was one of the few adornments painted in small, stark letters on his chassis. ‘Duty’
 
“I have been lucky to have that burden pass from me since my resurrection,” states the dreadnought, “though of course I never forget the visions that have already passed.”
 
Dalan had watched the combat pic-caps of the battle of Forge many years after the event. Seen the demeanour of the Astartes turn as their Commander had fallen.
 
How would they react tomorrow, he wonders, when the dreadnought’s transport is destroyed casually on the way to the surface? Would there be any one to even acknowledge Talar’s final passing.
 
“Commander,” Dalan asks, “did you even question, contemplate, what could have been done differently?”
 

“Of course Brother,” the massive metal power fist land with barely a jolt on Dalan’s shoulder armour; a subtlety of movement by the massive war machine that only experience could impart.

 

So much experience wasted.

 

“You have nothing to be ashamed of Brother Dalan. Our efforts here were built with purity of purpose, but nothing lasts forever,” the dreadnought settles back into it’s enclosure.

 

“When my time comes… again… I will be facing His enemies,” a trace of uncharacteristic humour lies in the slightly metallic voice.

 

Dalan nods, “Thank you Brother.”

 

He knows.

Edited May 19, 2015 by paulJam

[Father Mehman]

The gun placed against his temple felt like cool release or even a horrible joke. He was unsure about which outcome it would inevitably turn out to be as memories- his life, in fact- came and went in his mind’s eye. First, there was the razing of Ostheim; hell, the razing of the whole damn star system by those wretched blasphemers. He spent his time worshipping the Emperor Almighty: morning, mid-day, and evening prayers all facing towards Holy Terra, giving tithes to the regimental shrine on-board the newly consecrated Ostheim Pilgrim, doing his part in raising his children the correct way so that they knew duty doesn’t end with death, reading the Magnum Sumatari with his wife daily so that they might grow closer with the Emperor in life and death. He was not alone in doing those pious acts either. Over one thousand enlisted men, all with some sort of family, did what he had done and still the damned overwhelmed their planet.

 

The fighting was terrible- Ostheim was these men and women’s home world and nothing would, nothing could, compare to the carnage enacted during what was supposedly an extended leave of combat. The 93rd Ostheim Infantry Regiment was on furlough for their successes against the Traitorous Powers when hidden cells of cult activity made themselves known by unleashing the fell powers of the Warp against their own brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers. The fighting was contained and close to being finished when the ships of the enemy exited through Heim’s Mandeville Point. That was when the Ostheim Pilgrim, an ancient troop carrier, was made-over to carry families, supplies, and artefacts from its namesake.

 

After a few close calls with the Traitors in the void, the two carriers, The Emperor’s Own and Ostheim Pilgrim, managed to reach the easiest Warp breach-able point in local space and escaped forever from their once shining worlds. Never were they to set foot on another planet so lush with life, so pristine with beauty, as their Ostheim. They were never to set down on any planet again.

 

That’s when the painful memories came to him and he could hear the trigger being pulled to its glass break. Three years ago, as an Emperor’s Day gift, his wife had blessed him with a special trigger system that was said to have its roots back in ancient Terra. He was a practical man and saw what she saw in the gift- a gift wanted that was given for the purpose of honouring the fallen ages- but he saw its true purpose: to kill the enemies of man that much easier. Nine months to the day after Emperor’s Day, they were given the gift of life twofold. The trigger wavered.

 

His children were rambunctious but they were good-natured and had level-enough heads for younglings. Day and night, they could be found running the hallowed halls of the venerable ex-troop carrier helping others as they saw fit. They would even engage the guardsmen posted at vital points within the ship by grabbing their canteen or some such part of their kit and then proceed to play keep-away or hide-and-seek. This being a family carrier, security was lax. There were no threats to the ship’s infrastructure or plasma housing. No one but the Tech-priests knew their secrets anyway.

 

While en route to their new Departmento Munitorum war to face against more of the Warp-tainted cancer in the Sector, the impossible became possible as the God Emperor turned His gaze away from the 93rd Ostheim Regiment. The 7th Company were the first of the companies to be shuttled back from Ostheim Pilgrim, after seeing their families for the last time until after the battle on the surface of the backwater planet. They said you could see the internal explosions first and he knew this to be accurate as he was on the bridge when it happened. Jetting air from compromised compartments on the ancient troop carrier made it look like some slowly deflating sport ball. After the air, there was nothing for a few moments, but then fire replaced the precious oxygen like flares in the night sky.

 

All across the bridge, klaxons were screaming and rushed Naval crew were shouting out evasive maneuvers for the imminent disaster that was preparing to happen right in front of his eyes. Instead of listening to the reports or trying to find out what was happening aboard the other carrier, he stood there, statuesque. He was numb and unfeeling- his mind knew all hope was lost. All of the other companies had perished, their families with them. He was one man lost in a sea of confusion, shoving, and yelling and he felt that he was the only person left alive in the universe, let alone the galaxy.

 

The trigger once again reached its breaking point, the finger inside it shaking slightly. On the ground of a backwater planet, the siege machines of some other Militarum regiment firing-off rhythmically, Rune Dagrson, former major of the 7th Company “Timber Wolves”, field-promoted Oberst of the 93rd Ostheim Infantry Regiment, spared a moment to think about the afterlife and all he saw was darkness. With an exhale he went past the breaking point of his modified bolt pistol and nothingness met him.

 

After hundreds of years of service, and of all days, the glorious bolt pistol misfired and no munition came rushing through the barrel to end Dagrson’s life. With that, the Oberst allowed a single tear to escape his eye before he stood, straightened his tunic, and left the tent to address his men on their next course of action.

[NovemberIX]

I'm gonna start on my Quartus piece first, loop back round to the Primaris that I've been working on for a while, and maybe take a shot at the other two later....

 

"Time has stopped before us, The sky cannot ignore us, No one can separate us, For we are all that is left, The echo bounces off me, The shadow lost beside me, There's no more need to pretend, 'Cause now I can begin again" - M3 poet Bi'lee Korg'an

 

 

"Shock wave warning, All hand BRACE BRACE BRACE"

The vox speaker rang across the decks of the Defiance Radiant, it was just one of hundreds of ships in the battle space, fighting and navigating a conflagration of munitions, vented atmosphere, plasma, and debris. The view out of the observation windows afforded the chance to see that entropy was playing in fast forward, the defenses that had been built up for thousands of years suddenly became so much ash and vapor, the atmosphere of the home world  was on fire, and the land below that cracking. The greatest defeat in the history of the chapter was here.

 

The initial firestorm flash incinerated the exposed biomass of the world, even the deepest of waters boiled away. The infrastructure though scorched has survived, until the shaking started. The few hives that dotted the world fell with titanic force, millions died instantly. Chasms opened and land was thrust violently into they sky, from the northern hemisphere, the forge Kantaris was launched into space upon it's very bedrock.

 

Sudentor ceased to be a planet, the home world was now an expanding field of asteroids.

 

"All ships, rally at Kantaris, Aleph Incursion is imminent"

 

The voice of the Space Marine Captain ordered across the battered fleet. Raging torches of light all pushed towards the trail of luminous dust left behind the wayward forge. 

 

"Aleph Incursion in 15"

 

It was enough time for the Defiance Radiant to get into position. Those on board prayed to the God-Emperor to deliver them. All around, ships that weren't so lucky began to explode, whether it was from continued fire from Arch-Traitor ships, debris in the wake of Kantaris, or the stress of the transition, only the Emperor knew.

 

"Aleph Incursion in 10"

 

Ahead of Kantaris forge, space seemed to be tearing open, sparks peeling off bluntly to show a roiling sea of potentiality. 

 

The voice on the vox was counting down time, with barely anything to spare the Defiance Radiant was in it's position. Light beginning to wash over the too few allied ships in the formation.  A small tearing noise was building into a crescendo till it sounded like a roar, and suddenly all was white, taking all sensation with it.

 

A faint tremble passed through all the ships and then all was dampened.

 

Slowly as sensation returned a beep could be heard, the fleet wide vox had connected once more.

 

"Incursion successful, fleet losses at 65 percent, all ships casualty and damage reports"

 

From the void, all that was visible was the glittering hulk, and a precious few ships. They had survived the day, but at what cost?

[Conn Eremon]

I'm going to hold onto this experiment for another week, as we have now done this for four weeks and four experiments. Just to give a chance for people to revisit past experiments, if they like, and to allow me a bit more time to prepare the next suite of experiments.

 

Because starting next Tuesday, we will begin to delve into the wonderful world of 'what if.'

Edited April 14, 2015 by Conn Eremon

[Iron_Aquilifer]

My first post after a long time in lurking.  Apologies for dealing with all previous experiments at once, but I decided that I liked the premise of each too much.

 

My DIY chapter is the Aquilifers.  They are quite shamelessly inspired by the Soul Drinkers.  They are a Cursed Founding chapter, chimeric in nature which I explain as being filthy Mechanicus tampering in order to create a "perfect" gene strand from the Blood Angels, Imperial Fists and Iron Hands (Iron Hands added due to the Mechanicus wanting another loyal chapter).  Obviously it does not go well.  Bloodlust, mutations, heresy ect.  While the chapter was able to deal with their defects, the end came when their Chief Apothecary not only corrupted much of their last "pure" gene-seed reserves in order to attempt to fine a cure, but also led many of his brothers in rebellion against the Chapter Master.

 

 

Narrative Shift:

 

“We should get back inside,” urged Taelgo, motioning to his daughter to return to the house.

 

“I want to watch a little longer,” the little girl replied.

 

The sky was burning, that was the only way he could explain it.  Streaks of red and orange and purple stretched before him like the painting of a madman.  Tongues of white and blue flame spat this way and that, consuming the once grey heavens.  That does not look good.  It was closing in on the village, crawling forward like a wave from the deep sea.  The closer it got, the more prominent the danger.

 

“Now Ogdia!”

 

Tearing her eyes away from the strange scene, the girl ran in to her father’s arms.  Gratefully lifting her up in his embrace, the former soldier carried her back within their home.  Locking the door as he went, Taelgo ushered his child towards their safe room.  As the girl scurried in to the small room, he went in to the kitchen.  There, he scavenged enough supplies to last a few days.  Food, laspistol, medical kit.  It could end up being nothing or it could be the start of something very bad.

 

He had not survived years of war by being careless.

 

“Ogdia, I want you to know that I love you, okay?”

 

:cuss.  That had the wrong affect.  Her eyes were beginning to gleam over with tears ready to fall.

 

“Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

 

“Daddy, you’re scaring me.”

 

I know I am baby.

 

“We are just being safe, that is all.”

 

He hoped that others would be doing the same as him.  It meant that if nothing happened he wouldn’t be the butt of every joke for the next decade.  Despite his fear, or because of it, sleep stole on the cowering couple quickly and quietly.

 

The first tremor went by unnoticed.  However it was quickly followed by seven others in quick succession.  They were not the worst Taelgo had ever witnessed, but the number caused his heart to race.  Something was happening.  Something bad.

 

“I am going to go see what is happening, you stay here.  Promise me that you will stay put.”

 

The little girl nodded, breathing with a pant and wide eyes staring.

 

“I will be no more than a minute.  Don’t worry.”

 

Opening the door slowly, Taelgo peered out at the inside of his house.  Nothing.  Taking a step forward, then another, he made his way towards a window.  He could hear something, muted by distance and thick walls.  Reaching a window, he heard the first gunshot.

 

It was loud, louder than any weapon stored in the village.  Another joined the first.  Then the screaming could be heard.  He could not see anything out of the ordinary on the street, aside from that there was no one there.  Straining his sight, the man tried to spot someone, anyone, anything.

 

“Target acquired!” declared a metallic voice.

 

His first instance was to throw himself down on to the floor.  The shot blasted his window open, embedding itself in the far wall before erupting.  A missile?  No, it was too small a detonation.  Where had it come from?  He hadn’t seen the shooter, though the voice put him somewhere off to his right.

 

On all fours, he raced back to the safe room.  Upon reaching it, he managed to swallow a breath.  Blood gushed through his veins.  His chest could barely contain his heart.  Calm, calm for her.

 

“Odgia honey, I need you to lock the door for me.”

 

“Why?” came the wavering voice, high and innocent.  “Daddy what is going on?”

 

Thanking the Emperor for his foresight in installing sound-proofing, Taelgo took another liquid breath.

 

“Just do it for me honey, daddy needs to stay outside for a minute longer.”

 

He heard the distinctive click of the lock as another round burst in to his home.

 

“Squad Thaddeus, infection noted.  Sweep and clear.  Purge them all.  Let the Emperor’s light guide the faithful.”

 

They did not come in through the front door.  No, that would have been too obvious.  The wall was blown in, debris flying in all directions.

 

“Emperor protect me!” the villager cried as he fired in to the cloud, willing the invaders to fall to his shots.

 

A shadow entered through the breach, vast in size.  Eyes burning a deep gold peered out of the grey gloom.  A bolt struck one, merely dimming the light.  It did nothing at first, those burning orbs twisting to fix him in a chilling stare.  He stood there, paralysed.  The mist was settling on the ground, leaving the giant to be examined.

 

Astartes?

 

“What do you want?” Taelgo cried, falling to his knees, hands making the shape of the Aquila on his chest.  “God-Emperor protect me.”

 

“Follow his light,” announced the marine, before raising his bolter.

 

The weapon barked once.

 

Twice.

 

Stepping over the deceased man, the giant came upon a locked door.  He opened it, the lock breaking without resistance.

 

A little girl looked up, tears streaming down her face.  She cowered behind a toy, some sort of angel or saint.

 

The weapon barked once.

 

Twice.

 

---

 

A Hero's Fall^[1]

 

They were on his heels, a dozen wolves chasing the scent of blood.  There could be no rest, no respite.  This was a hunt.  This was sport.

 

“Apothecary Elyph, what is your status?”

 

I am not talking to you traitor.  They were all after him.  He had a duty, a duty to the chapter and the Emperor.  Yes, he would keep running.  Yes he would fight them to the end.  He remembered his oath.  They had chosen to omit too many of the words.

 

He clambered up the side of a rhino, its tracks having been blown out by a well-placed krak missile.  The stormbolter was still attached, and praise to the Emperor, it was fully functional.  He could still cause damage.

 

“Elyph, brother, you know that what we are doing is for the best of the chapter.  We need to do this, before we are rendered a footnote in someone else’s history!  We should not be forgotten!  We are the Emperor’s finest!  That is not a fancy title: that is a fact.  No man had a right to challenge that.”

 

Oh I will.  They expected him to run, escape, flee.  They expected him to give up the fight.  He was a standard-bearer for humanity.  He had no choice but to fight.

 

“Join your brothers, Elyph.  We will reforge the chapter.  Gone will the brittle iron be.  We will be true adamantium.  We will become the sword of the Emperor.”

 

War had moulded him in to a fighter.  Service had strengthened him.  Ten years he had given the chapter.  The brothers against him had together thousands.  If war had made him a fighter, it had cast them as weapons.  Service had sharpened them to a razor edge.  They were the best the chapter had to offer.

 

“This is Apothecary Elyph to all brothers loyal to the Emperor.  Chief Apothecary Calver has turned from the light of the Emperor.  He and his fellow traitors have cast aside their loyalty to the chapter and the Imperium.  The Apothecarium has attempted foul experiments on the gene-seed within their possession.  I have purged the taint to the best of my ability.  Forgive my own heresy, the seed could not be saved.”

 

He chose his position as well as he could.  There was no need for an escape route, no need for cover.  His death would unite the chapter as Tiberius’ had led to its fracture.  A better death I cannot think of.

 

They almost ran straight past him, so far gone were they in the lust of the hunt.  They were enjoying it too much to even consider the possibility that it would end so abruptly.

 

“Raise it high!”

 

The battle-cry on his lips, the Apothecary opened fire.  Tongues of flame leapt out of the weapon, spitting heavy rounds in to his brothers.  One fell before he could react, his armour bursting apart with each impact.  A second was caught in the fire, near half of his body being tore off with every miniature explosion.

 

“For the chapter!” came the reply as the squad turned to rush him.

 

Bolterfire filled the sky between the solitary loyalist and his brothers, blowing up rocks and ripping apart flesh.

 

Two more traitors fell to the fire, one having his head pulverized while the other had his chest emptied.  As they fell, so too did Elyph’s weapon.

 

One arm laying limb at his side, the apothecary took a step forward.  Sergeant Ragulus led with his chainsword.  Elyph embraced the blade with relish.

 

“You are too blind to see the righteousness of our cause,” Ragulus spat over the churning of his brother’s flesh on the end of his weapon.

 

“You are too dead to see the honour of mine.”

 

For the chapter.  He thrust his Narthecium forward, firing the Carnifex in to Ragulus’ skull.

 

The two died in each other’s arms.

 

---

 

A Progenitor's Judgement^[2]

 

They will be beautiful.  These were his sons, adopted as they were.  Emotion was frowned on of course, being as it was illogical.  Even so.  They were doing it!  Truly they had learned from the mistakes of the Dark Ages.  They had learned from the Emperor.  The Emperor was just a man, a man not of the Mechanicus.  If he could create them without the knowledge, then they could no worse than replicate him.

 

The other teams were focussing on removing the taints, the imperfections.  Their vision was too limited.  The imperfections did not have to be removed.  They could not be removed.  What was there to replace them?  No, the road to perfection lay in creating a new gene strand.  The angelic savagery of the Blood Angels moulded by the discipline of the Imperial Fists, strengthened by the loyalty of the Iron Hands: truly Angels of Death.

 

They will be beautiful.

 

---

 

The Final Days

 

“Brothers, this is the hour!”

 

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, packed tightly on the field.  In each direction they stretched, blocking out the rest of the world as they focussed on their Chapter Master.

 

“This hour we rip out the cancer which has threatened to consume us!  We are here to purge it with the holy flame of our bolter and our faith in the Emperor!”

 

Four hundred they numbered, neophytes of a dozen battles standing beside the veterans of a hundred campaigns.  Four hundred where once there had been near eleven hundred.  How far we have fallen.  Did he blame himself for this position?  For this death of the chapter’s soul?

 

“This hour our bolters will preach the word of the Emperor.  They will sing the litanies of war to which we have dedicated ourselves.  They will defend the realms of man as the Emperor demands of us!”

 

The assault would unleash the fury of an Astartes chapter, the wrath of four hundred caged beasts.  There would be quarter, no clever ploys.  They would rain fire down upon the traitors.  They would deliver swift death to all who opposed them.  The end was theirs to make.  The stain would be cleansed.  The chapter would be freed.

 

“It has been an honour my brothers.  Raise it high!”

 

“Hold it strong!” came the reply.  “For the chapter!”

 

“For the Emperor,” he whispered.

 

---

 

[1] - Apothecary had been responsible for the first breakthrough in a potential cure for the mutations ravaging the chapter.  It has his efforts which allowed the Apothecarium to develop a serum which stemmed the degrading of the gene-seed.  However he did not truly become a legend until his death, remaining loyal to his chapter.  The destruction of the gene-seed and his forewarning of the treachery not only removed the traitor's advantage, but also played a large role in the eventual victory.

[2] - Disgusted.  Just disgusted.  Did not really know how to "accurately" show it without the induction of prophesy (which I dislike) or writing a long-ass post/story from noble beginnings to corruption to eventual destruction.

 

Anyway, many thanks for reading.  Criticism is most definitely welcome.

[Iron_Aquilifer]

I'm going to hold onto this experiment for another week, as we have now done this for four weeks and four experiments. Just to give a chance for people to revisit past experiments, if they like, and to allow me a bit more time to prepare the next suite of experiments.

 

Because starting next Tuesday, we will begin to delve into the wonderful world of 'what if.'

My body is ready

[Conn Eremon]

Oh yes, this is a thing that a certain someone should have prepared and posted a day before . . .

 

No excuses, I straight up forgot and don't have anything ready. I'll put a post-it note on my laptop to remind myself to have something by tonight. To keep things even, I'll extend (again) the last experiment until next Tuesday, I'm just going to make sure I have something ready when it comes. And set my phone to yell at me every Monday evening from now on.

 

There is a purpose to keeping this last experiment though, as I think it's the most valuable one so far, and one I myself need to take to heart for at least one of my DIYs (that Pacificus Segmentum reference was rather pointed). I would definitely like to see some more thoughts expressed on that front, and I need to contemplate it myself.

 

But maybe I can take this opportunity to see what everyone is thinking. How are these experiments working for you? Are they just fun to explore, or are they actually helping you develop your ideas? Have they been relevant to your interests or DIYs? What would you like to see explored? What do you think would make a good experiment?

 

I would love to hear your thoughts and suggestions, and would be happy to include your ideas for future experiments.

[paulJam]

There is a purpose to keeping this last experiment though, as I think it's the most valuable one so far, and one I myself need to take to heart for at least one of my DIYs (that Pacificus Segmentum reference was rather pointed).

the intrigue !!!

does it rhyme with ETL?

 

But maybe I can take this opportunity to see what everyone is thinking.

I enjoyed the process, so thank you for putting the idea out there.

I would be keen to have another crack at a similar exercise next Liber Month, and see what new perspectives develop over that time span.

 

Are they just fun to explore, or are they actually helping you develop your ideas?

both.

 

Have they been relevant to your interests or DIYs? What would you like to see explored? What do you think would make a good experiment?

The timing was fortuitous for me as i was already in rewrite mode for my chapter fluff.

On a superficial level it added a few paragraphs to stuff i was already doing. On a deeper level being reminded to look at stories from less obvious perspectives is invaluable.

 

As for the last perhaps we could open a thread with suggestions for topics for next time.

[Iron_Aquilifer]

Do not worry about it, I completely understand ;)

 

 

                                 But maybe I can take this opportunity to see what everyone is thinking. How are these experiments working for you? Are they just fun to explore, or are they actually helping you develop your ideas? Have they been relevant to your interests or DIYs? What would you like to see explored? What do you think would make a good experiment?  I would love to hear your thoughts and suggestions, and would be happy to include your ideas for future experiments.

 I am really enjoying them.  It is not only looking at the chapter from a different perspective, but also seeing what drives them and how they react to different events.  And I agree with above: a different thread for suggestions so that this is just creative goodness

[Conn Eremon]

 

There is a purpose to keeping this last experiment though, as I think it's the most valuable one so far, and one I myself need to take to heart for at least one of my DIYs (that Pacificus Segmentum reference was rather pointed).

the intrigue !!!

does it rhyme with ETL?

 

Sorry, I meant valuable in the crafting of 40k lore, as it forces people to consider that their DIYs are probably not in a 'good' predicament during the commonly used 'present day.' Even I have a Chapter that I wanted everything to go right for, and so left it on a more positive note. But this 40k, and the present day is that moment just before midnight, that moment just before everything ends. This is not a time of positive endings.

 

I appreciate the feedback guys. I'll think on creating a separate topic for future experiment suggestions, but it might take a bit as there are some things to consider.

 

Now, I finally have a chance to write about my own contribution to this experiment.

 

 

The Fall of the Pacificus

 

Currently, my Emerald Tigers have utterly destroyed their greatest rival a century prior, a Chaos Warband, which was allied to another Warband at this time, earns itself a Star Fort, the close alliance of a Knight House, and during this time had accumulated an additional two companies' worth of Marines to face the threat. I always like to throw the worst at my DIYs, but with the Emerald Tigers, I clearly allowed them to pass through their crucible unscathed and better than ever.

 

I need to change that. It's just not fair to the setting, whatever my favoritism to this particular DIY. So what I'm going to do is connect the Emerald Tigers to the wider Imperial concern going on in the Segmentum Pacificus. Basically, the whole Segmentum has gone dark, with what little is coming out speaking of widespread rebellions and wars. One of the greater chunks of the Imperium is just gone, and nobody is really sure what is happening in there. It's not like the Imperium can do an investigation or widespread crusade, because it's facing the worst threats to existence from pretty much every corner.

 

My Emerald Tigers are in this Segmentum. I can't just have them be better than ever, when they're now stuck, alone, and surrounded by rebels and traitors for Sectors around. So like I said, let's connect them.

 

The Emerald Tigers go to war with the Highborn and the Eyes of Tivan warbands in the last century of the 41st Millennium. The Highborn are their true rivals, and it is the Eyes of Tivan who they are allied with. Now, I had these two Warbands causing extensive havoc across the Sector the Emerald Tigers are based in, causing a Sector-wide series of rebellions and wars that occupy the Emerald Tigers' full attention. They then strike together for the Emerald Tigers home world, nearly destroying it. The Emerald Tigers do run the traitors off their world and out of their Sector, with the aid of a Knight House whose own world the Tigers had just aided in saving, and a Star Fort gifted to them in return for their services in aiding a series of Forge Worlds in that Sector. I really did give them too much, didn't I?

 

Okay, so here's the changes. The Star Fort is an early gift, they have had it for thousands of years. The Highborn destroy it during their assault on the Chapter. It's one of the first losses the Tigers have in this particular war. The war itself starts off with an incredible number of uprisings and rebellions across dozens of worlds in the Sector, which are all linked to various Cults that, in truth but unknown to the Chapter, are connected to the Highborn. The Star Fort is the first open battle between the Chapter and the Highborn, and the Chapter loses.

 

I'll keep the progress of the war the same. The Emerald Tigers are spread thin across the whole Sector, fighting an enemy that is using the Imperium's own citizens as its catspaws. Their Chapter Master Cormac Airt falls in battle, struck down by some Warpborne malady concocted by the Highborn. He is taken back to their home world to be treated by the Chapter's Apothecarion. The First Captain assumes the interim mantle of Chapter Master by dint of rank and seniority, but he pretty quickly finds himself not up to the task. It isn't that he is simply bad at the job, he is the elite commander of the Chapter's veterans for a reason. It's more that this particular war requires someone even greater than he to see the Chapter truly victorious. But he is the best they got right now. Under his leadership, the Emerald Tigers take to pretty much every front in this Sector, rapidly decapitating enemy commands and breaking the backbones of these rebellions with precision strikes and debilitating assaults, concentrating on worlds of particular importance to a continued war effort. The Highborn and the Eyes of Tivan, who themselves have only rarely committed their forces to battle up to this point, unleash everything they had on the Chapter's very home world. Whole continents burn, daemonic hosts rampage. The Chapter revives its most ancient hero, Conn Eremon, to lead the planetary defense. This Contemptor dreadnought, famed as the Ender of Wars for millennia, falls to the axe of Brute Tyrke, Chaos Lord of the Eyes of Tivan. The once and future Chapter Master, Cormac Airt, limps to the defense of the Chapter's Fortress-Monastery, the Chapter now unable to meet the enemy threat beyond their own walls.

 

I'll still have salvation come in the form of the First Captain arriving with those Chapter forces he had with him (he had the biggest chunk, but still only like 20% of the Chapter's total strength), but I'll remove the Knights (I've just connected these Knight Houses to a Forge World in Segmentum Solar anyways). The returning forces spearhead the orbiting traitor forces, with plenty of boarding assaults. The First Captain will still sacrifice his own life in the destruction of the Highborn flagship. Cormac Airt will succeed where Conn failed, killing Brute Tyrke. Not in a duel, but by outmaneuvering forces until he is surrounded by an Emerald Tiger kill-team and put down. The Highborn Chaos Lord will decide to retreat rather than fight on. The Eyes of Tivan will do what they do, unleashing their fury on all around them. The Emerald Tigers who killed their lord, the Highborn who are now abandoning them. Maybe the Eyes of Tivan don't leave this world. Perhaps I will fully kill them here.

 

I won't have the Emerald Tigers save their world this time. All that will remain is what is left of their Fortress-Monastery. The world is still on fire, the daemonic hordes yet rampage (perhaps alongside the Eyes of Tivan). I'll have the Chapter cut its losses. Evacuate their home world of what is most important. As their ships, crewed by natives of this very world, listens to the few remaining vox calls for salvation, for mercy, they will take only the Chapter's own resources. And then they will kill their world. At this point, it wouldn't even need a full Exterminatus, for the terrible work of the Warp had already brought the planet to the edge of destruction. The Chapter will now be fleet-based. Running low on resources. Deprived of their recruitment pool. Led by an ailing, dying commander. Their Sector in flames, not yet fully saved from the ravages of rebellion. And the last thing the Chapter had heard from the wider Imperium, before losing all contact with the outside realm, was that the enemy had burst free from the Eye with a force greater than ever before seen.

 

And this is the Emerald Tigers now, at the close of the 41st Millennium.

 

Suitably grimdarked, I feel. 

[paulJam]

as it forces people to consider that their DIYs are probably not in a 'good' predicament during the commonly used 'present day.' Even I have a Chapter that I wanted everything to go right for, and so left it on a more positive note. But this 40k, and the present day is that moment just before midnight, that moment just before everything ends. This is not a time of positive endings.

 

Take as given that the wh40k-verse is not nice... but I think that there's still scope for successes within the narrative.

 

If there weren't room for success then chapters wouldn't get founded, every battle would be a loss for humanity, and the imperium wouldn't continue.

 

There's possibly little appeal in writing a history for a chapter that spends 50 years getting founded just to get squished by the first passing nid hive fleet. Might be amusing to write... once.

 

I definitely agree that a chapter (or any force) that mary sues to victory without challenges (guilty... though i like to think of my project as being in the early stages of development) is hardly the most challenging literature to write or consume.

 

Enduring struggle is probably the theme i take from the universe, rather than 'crap, we're all going to die' (though that may still happen (as well)).

 

There's no reason why we can't write alternate ending, alternate time lines (bleak or uplifting) or build up a mighty force just to crush it all the more spectacularly (bigger battles are always better yeah?)

 

Don't think i was necessarily disagreeing, just suggesting that there are many valid possibilities.

Edited May 1, 2015 by paulJam

[Conn Eremon]

QUINTUS EXPERIMENTUM

A Breaking Point

Before Horus Lupercal betrayed the Emperor, he was his most favored son. Before Abaddon unleashed the army of hell that will see Terra burn again, he was the paragon of loyalty. The history of Mankind is rife with references of betrayal. Servants rise up against their lords. Brothers visit death upon brother. The son brings down the work of the father. It is our curse. It is our destiny. It is who we are. It is in every one of us. Everyone has that moment, a breaking point where you will turn on those who rely on you, betray those who would trust you.

Sometimes it is weakness, when duty becomes a burden too great to bear. Sometimes it is strength, when one must choose damnation as the price for freedom. More often than not, it's both. Just as it can be both to resist, to stand firm and loyal, to be too afraid of reprisal. In the setting of Warhammer 40k, it is not the wrong choice. It might not be the right choice, but it's not the wrong one either. Everyone has that point, but not everybody ever reaches it. The Imperium exists on the backs of those who never reach this point, in spite of the near constant betrayal of those who do.

As stated previously, this experiment is about exploring 'what if?' The Liber Astartes is filled to bursting with ideas and explorations on how a Space Marine Chapter can exist for thousands of years and never reach that point. What I am interested in seeing is an exploration of where that point is, and what happens when it is crossed. What would it take for your Chapters to spit upon its oaths to the Emperor? What would it take for your regiments to turn its guns on its own? For your Sisterhoods to deny the God-Emperor? And most importantly, what happens next?

This experiment doesn't exclude those that had already passed this point, for there is another side to it. What if your warband had never turned its bolters on unsuspecting brothers, but instead stood beside them? What if your cultists had ignored the whispers, finding strength in the God-Emperor's light? What if the strength they had found within themselves to defy everything they had once stood for was simply not there? What if they had found something more in a loyal death over a traitor life?

Explore the breaking point. Explore what would have happened to your DIY if they had reached that point differently. The decision they did make had consequences, not the least of which what could have been. Explore those consequences.

[Iron_Aquilifer]

If I could stick to just one then that would be great.  So many possibilities, so many alternative timestreams.  Hopefully will get one up tonight.

[Wade Garrett]

Hmmmm....

 

Warriors of the Ninth, This is the Cleftjaw. I speak with the authority of the Ruling Council and the Lord Regent himself. You stand accused of the highest treason.

 

Konrad...Lanista wants you brought back alive. But I don't have the stomach to hand a man over for torture, not even you. You have three hours to send anyone that can't hold a weapon out into the wilderness. Then the Hounds come for you."

All frequencies broadcadt by Lorgar "Cleftjaw", Primarch of the Legio XVII "Imperial Hounds" prior to the Five Days Battles, held by most historians to be the beginning of the "War of the Sons"

Edited May 4, 2015 by Wade Garrett