SR's "What If" Primarch Stories

[Nomus Sardauk]

XX-X

Ygró shivered despite himself, cursing internally at the familiar freezing chill and sensation of suffocating as it swept over him momentarily before, mercifully, fading away. Though he tried to hide it Solon had already noticed his brother's disquiet. "Brother, are you well?" The Primarch of the XIII asked as he sat up from studying the strategic holo-map before them, a note of concern creeping into his tone.

"I'm fine Solon, it's nothing." He waved him off, but Solon seemed unconvinced. "Are you sure? You look rather pale." Ygró gave a humourless chuckle, trying to deflect the issue. "Well you don't get much in the way of sunlight when your homeworld's skies are forever choked with soot and stormclouds. You forget Olympian, not all of us had the good fortune to grow up in a palace on a sun-soaked mountaintop."

Solon frowned, the rebuttal replacing his concern with weary resignation as he realised Ygró would not budge on the issue. "Very well then, shall we continue?" He asked with a sigh, turning the conversation back to the task at hand. Ygró nodded, quietly thankful Solon had finally taken the hint.

The rest of the meeting had proceeded smoothly and Ygró was glad to finally escape Solon's endless babbling as he returned to his personal sanctum aboard his flagship, the Argent Arsenal. The chamber inside was surprisingly spartan in it's decoration for what one might expect of a Primarch, no trophies or campaign banners hung on the walls, no master-forged weapons sat upon racks awaiting battle, even the furniture was plain and functional. The only hint that anyone actually lived in this sparse place was a crude animal hide cloak that lay draped across the bed in place of a proper blanket. Ygró allowed his eyes to linger on the cloak for a moment, but quickly tore them away, memories too painful to remember stirring in the deep waters of his mind.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts Ygró quickly re-assumed his stride, crossing the room and marching into the next chamber. Unlike the first, this chamber was anything but sparse, nearly every wall was covered with viewscreens, cogitators & and other less identifiable machines.
The room was dark but not pitch black, the glow of the numerous screens casting the place in a pale blue twilight. A constant low humming filled the room as Ygró slowly approached the large glass cylinder that sat in the room's centre, tapping a few buttons upon the small control plinth adjacent he disengaged the stasis field, the glass casing swiftly sinking into the cold metal floor in response.

"Hello brother." There, stood before him was his reflection, perfectly captured in solid silver. The figure was a flawless recreation of Ygró, frozen in a confused, almost pleading expression, a cloak identical to the one on his bed clasped around it's shoulders. Despite the agony that expression ignited inside him, Ygró still managed to force a gentle, if sad, smile. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone for so long, but you know Solon, always trying to bore me to death with his precious logistics." He joked half-heartedly. "One day I'll get to introduce you to him, to all of our Brothers." He said quietly, before pulling a holoslate from his belt. Activating the device caused it to light up with a projected image of a planet, the very same world the Argent Arsenal herself currently orbited, alongside elements of the 52nd and 125th Expeditionary Fleets.

The world, Fifty-Two-Nineteen, was home to one of humanity's long lost colonies, but when the Imperial's diplomatic party had attempted to convince the planet to rejoin the fold they had violently refused. The lead negotiator and his aides had been executed and their ship attacked, barely managing to escape to report back this heinous act. In response the two nearby fleets had converged upon Fifty-Two-Nineteen to enact the Emperor's Justice on those who would repay his extended hand of friendship with murder.
None of this was of any concern to Ygró however, all that mattered to him was the testimony given by the crew of the Diplomatic Party's ship about the enemy's technology, of strange machinery capable of transmogrifying matter into almost any form, he had to have it.

Already Ygró's mind was racing with ideas and theories, and more importantly, hope. Turning his gaze back to his silver doppelganger he reached out and laid a reassuring hand upon it's shoulder, a true smile creeping onto his features despite the cold, suffocating sensation descending upon him once more at the touch.
"Fear not Stereós, we'll be together again soon, I promise."

---


Howdy-hoo folks, hope you enjoyed that, this hear is a little short story thingamabob I've been working on on-and-off over the past month or so that was inspired by the Dornian Heresy, the Corax Coup and the Alt Heresy Application Thread that preceeded it. For those of you still scratching your heads wondering what the hell you just read this is a short story featuring two, or rather three, alternate Primarchs whose concepts I came up with after a little messing around with a D20 dice roll generator, mixing and matching Primarchs and their homeworlds as the Corax Coup did.

Admittedly, I have manually swapped one or two around for what I thought to be more interesting matches but I was paticually taken with this one, 20-10, the twin Primarchs Alpharius Omegon landing on the harsh deathworld of Medusa. I thought long and hard about this one and I will admit to being very inspired by Ace Debonair's Medusan Fulgrim in the CC thread, but eventually I came up with Ygró Stereós, Primarch(s) of the XX Legion, who defeated the metal wyrm Asirnoth that terrorised Medusa, but paid a terrible price for it.
That price, as it turned out, was Stereós's life, as in it's death throes the great wyrm lashed out to drag one of the brothers down with it into the molten lava. Ygró would have died that day had his brother not seen the danger and pushed him out of harm's way, but in doing so Stereós was dragged down with the dying monster. When he re-emerged moments later Stereós was forever changed, from head-to-toe his skin was shining silver, and after his first few steps the strange metal cooled, hardened itself and leaving the young primarch an inanimate statue. Since that fateful day Ygró has blamed himself for his sibling's demise, desperately searching for a way to restore Stereós, whom he has kept hidden from the Emperor and the other Primarchs, deathly afraid of what might occur should they learn of his failure.
Also featured briefly in this story is Solon Nikomedes (Solon=Wisdom, Nikomedes=To think of victory), my alternate Rouboute Guilliman who was raised on Olympia instead of Macragge. I like to think he's more pragmatic and less honour-focused than canon Rouboute thanks to Damnekos's influence, but he's not all withdrawn, bitter and cruel like Perturabo is. Possibly uniting Olympia partially through diplomacy rather than Perturabo's absolute conquest while quietly minimising Damnekos's power & influence, effectively keeping him under house-arrest in his pleasure-palace until his death without Damnekos even realising he's been usurped.

As for their Legions I hadn't really decided on names for them yet, though I know I had "Iron Snakes" pegged as a candidate for the XX in reference to the canon chapter of the same name and because I wanted their symbol to be a pair of silver snakes coiled around each other to subtly reference the twins thing. Solon's Legion I haven't considered much yet, but I was thinking maybe the Steel Legion, keeping in with the metal theme but also referencing the Roman-esque nature of canon Rouboute.

So, with all that said and done, your thoughts brothers and sisters?

P.S. I kind of wanted to add a Metal Gear Solid theme to the twins, so their names are Greek for Liquid=Ygró & Solid=Stereós (plus the reference to Arsenal Gear with the ship name), or at least I think so, unfortunately it turns out it's really damn hard to find what the greek words for liquid and solid are, so if any Greek-speaking frater notice I any mistakes and can correct me please inform me and I'll amend it, thanks!

[Skalpynock]

A very pleasant read. Looking forward to see your other homeworld/primarchs combinations, and wondering whether Ygro allowed the XX^th to keep to their mysterious ways, or (assuming the rediscovery order stays the same) he had more time to change them.

[Nomus Sardauk]

A very pleasant read. Looking forward to see your other homeworld/primarchs combinations, and wondering whether Ygro allowed the XX^th to keep to their mysterious ways, or (assuming the rediscovery order stays the same) he had more time to change them.

Thank you brother, glad you found it enjoyable, I may do another story later on but for now this'll probably be it until I more properly figure out the other combos.

 

As for the nature of the XX in this, I like to think their way is a mix of the Alpha Legion's secretive infiltration & sabotage but with the Iron Hand's straightforward brutality & tech expertise.

 

Rather than lots and lots of interweaving plots the Medusan XX analyse their foe from stealth, then systematically dismantle their ability to fight back with overwhelming precision strikes, smart warefare you know? They don't give a damn about honour or glory, all they care about is crippling the enemy ASAP and seizing any tech marked out by Ygró.

To this end their marines possess a great deal of cybernetics like the Iron Hands but these bionics are cutting edge stuff, filled with hidden tools and weapons to assist the marine in his current mission (think Adam Jensen's arms from Deus Ex). I like to think their Legion's "signature unit" would be Recon Squads, but rather than wearig camo cloaks like other legions they wear full-on light bending fabrics that render them practically invisible (think Vector from Resident Evil: Racoon City).

[Skalpynock]

Archaeotech assassins? That's something I can get behind.

[Nomus Sardauk]

Oh yes, I forgot to mention this in my original post but in case anyone was confused as to what the "cold suffocating sensation" at the start is, simply put it's Ygró getting flashes of what Stereós feels.

During my development of Ygró's character I thought to myself "well what's to stop him from just accepting Stereós is dead and moving on?" It was then I remembered the old line about Alpharius Omegon being "one soul in two bodies" and came up with the idea that because of their spiritual link every now and then Ygró will just appear to zone out for a few seconds. What is happening is he's suddenly yanked out of his body and is feeling what he believes Stereós must be feeling, imprisoned in the cold metal skin of Asirnoth.

As a result he's constantly being reminded of his brother's suffering and that further increases his survivor's guilt. Every day that passes without a cure is another day Stereós must endure the cold suffocating hell that is his existence, while his lesser sibling (as Ygró views himself) gets to enjoy the perks of life.

 

Whether or not this guilt leads to treachery later on down the line is something I've thought about but not decided on yet. I've no intention of starting up my own alt-heresy like the Dornian Heresy or Corax Coup, but if any one was started up on the BnC I wouldn't object to someone adopting my concepts into that universe so long as they asked first.

 

EDIT: Okie-doki, as Skalpynock was interested in some of my other Primarch-Homeworld combos I thought I'd give you a choice of what one you'd like to see next, your choices are:

 

A ) 10-9: Ferrus Manus-Baal

B ) 18-6: Vulkan-Fenris

C ) 9-15: Sanguinius-Prospero

[Nomus Sardauk]

XVIII-VI

The scruffy youth raced through the crowd with his mother, heart pounding in his chest as she led him by the hand to avoid being separated in the rush of village folk. The rapid clanging of the Alarm Bell echoed over the panicked cries of the people as the women, children, elderly and sick were rushed as fast as they could move to the longhall at the heart of the village. Carved into the solid rock of the mountainside the village nestled against, it was their last refuge from what was coming.

All around them the men were arming themselves, every male old enough to properly hold a weapon was donning their ringmail vests, iron helmets and wooden shields. Swords, axes, spears, daggers and bows were made ready as the boy saw his father, Hjoldir Long-Arm, wade through the crowd toward them. The boy's mother cried out to Hjoldir as she spotted him, embracing her husband with one arm as they met.

"Elainin! Thank the Gods, I feared you were both still out picking picking herbs!" Hjoldir exclaimed in relief. "Fear not love, we were within sight of the village when we heard the bell, are we under attack?" Hjoldir glanced at his son before turning back to Elainin, fear creeping into his expression. "Elainin, listen to me carefully, you have to get to the longhall right now, barricade the doors once everyone is inside and don't open them for anything, do you understand?"


Elainin stared at him in confusion, she'd never seen him this scared before. "...Hjoldir, what is it? What's wrong?" For a long moment he seemed unable to look her in the eyes, before finally meeting her gaze. "The scouts reported back, the banners... It's them Elainin, they've come for us." He whispered. "The Kaargul." She replied, voice wavering as realisation washed over her, her mind drifting back to tales of bloodstained banners bearing serpent icons carried by men-turned-monsters as they annihilated whole tribes as sacrifices for the evil spirits they venerated.

It meant this was goodbye.

Hot, bitter tears of anguish washed down Elainin's face as she clung to Hjoldir, burying her face in his shoulder in a futile attempt to hide her pain as he wrapped his ringmail-clad arms around her, gently stroking her head and whispering soothing words in her ear as she squeezed him tighter.

Slowly he pulled away, cupping her chin with one hand as they locked eyes. "Hush love, no tears now." He said softly, his own eyes overflowing with sorrow.

"Remember the promise I made to you all those years ago? When I first went off to battle after we married and you were afraid I wouldn't come back? No matter what happens..." "...You'll always find your way back to me." She finished, wiping her tears away. "Aye, that's right. And nothing will stop me, not the Kaargul, not the Gods themselves, I'll find you." She gave a sad smile at that. "You better, or else." She replied, trying her best to sound threatening, before pulling him into a last kiss.

When then finally, regretfully pulled away from each other Hjoldir's gaze full upon his son, the young lad looked up at him, defiantly holding back his tears as Hjoldir knelt down and pulled a shortsword from his belt and handed it to him. "You take care of your mother little cub, you're the man of the house now, you understand?" The boy nodded solemnly, taking the preoffered weapon as his emotions warred within him. "I-I can help, I can fight beside yo-" He said, but was silenced as Hjoldir placed both hands on his shoulders. "No. Your place is here, with the others, you younglings will be needed to rebuild the tribe." "But I-" He tried to protest, only to be hushed by his father as he stood, the sound of clashing steel could be heard in the distance now. "I'm proud of you Bjorn, now take your mother and go, go and live!"

Before Bjorn could reply Hjoldir donned his warhelm and ran off, sword in hand as Elainin held Bjorn close in a vice-like grip, dragging him kicking and screaming towards the longhall as they watched Hjoldir disappear into the crowd to join the defence. As the two passed through the great oak-and-iron doors into the longhall the last of Bjorn's strength gave out and he broke down, furiously sobbing while his mother held him close, the gate slamming shut behind them.

-----

An eternity. That's what it felt like to Bjorn as he and his mother huddled with the others in the darkness, the flickering torches on the stone walls casting a feeble glow as they waited for news of the battle's result, for good or ill. Idlely he toyed with his shortsword, examining the engraving of a two-headed wolf, the God Morkai he recognised, upon the side. The God of the Dead... Bjorn thought to himself bitterly as he cast his eyes towards the barred doors. Perhaps I'll be seeing him soon. His eyes widened suddenly as he noticed a shadow on the other side of the door through the miniscule gap beneath them, someone was there. Or perhaps we all will.

Jumping to his feet, Bjorn quietly made his way over to the gate, ignored his mother as she called for him to come back. Dropping onto all fours, he peered underneath the ancient gate, straining to hear as the sound of voices reached his ears, loud enough to know he wasn't imagining things but too faint to understand. He was still struggling to hear when he felt his mother seize him by the arm, pulling him away from the door and back towards the others. "Ma, let me go! There's someone out there!" He hissed, trying to slip free of her grasp. "Aye, and they'll find us if you keep tempting the wyrds poking around that d-"

-WHAM-

Elainin's words died in her throat as something heavy slammed against the doors, shaking loose a shower of dust and cobwebs with it's force. A collective gasp of fear escaped the other villagers as they swiftly backed away from the direction of the noise, meanwhile Bjorn and his mother remained frozen in place, Elainin by fear, Bjorn by curiousity.

-WHAM-

The pair watched in awe as the great wooden bar holding the door shut bent, cracks forming in the centre as it did so. "Oh ancestors no." Elainin whispered "They know we're in here."

-WHAM-

The bar bent again, causing the cracks to spread as the doors were forced ajar even further by the impact. Gritting his teeth Bjorn shook free of Elainin's grip and drew his blade, holding it two-handed as he stood before the door and the others. "Everyone get back." He said with a conviction that surprised even him. If I'm to die today, then I'll die fighting to protect my people.

-WHAM-

With a immense crack the bar split completely, as the doors swung open Bjorn took a deep breath, screamed the fiercest battlecry he could muster and charged.

"My son!" Bjorn had no time to process what he was seeing as Hjoldir snatched him up in arguably the most painfully tight hug he'd ever experienced, his father was alive! All around them, the other surviving village warriors rushed forward to find their loved ones as the tribesmen and woman within the longhall, realising they were safe, did the same. Hjoldir released Bjorn, only to be pounced upon by Elainin, who did the same to him "Y-you're alive! By the Gods, you're alive!! B-but how?! How did you win?!" She asked, tears of joy streamed down her face as she stumbled over the words in excitement. Hjoldir's expression became concerned, then pointed over in the direction he'd just came. "It was him, He saved us."

Bjorn and Elainin followed his direction, then froze in shock at what they saw. There behind the crowd of villagers, silhouetted against the setting sun and surrounded by the butchered corpses of dozens of Kaargul tribesmen, was Death Incarnate.

The titanic figure stood facing the sun, gazing at them over it's shoulder in strange silence. It easily stood over twice the height of a grown man and was clad in crude-looking leather armour augmented with iron plating, on his shoulders sat a fur cloak made from the pelt of a monsterous Ice Troll and in his right hand was a battleaxe so huge Bjorn reckoned it could cleave a boulder in half with ease. While all these things were certainly impressive, it was the stranger's features, not his dress, that truely terrified them. Blood-red eyes like glowing coals were set unto a face whose complexion was of the darkest jet, as if he were formed of shadow itself, while an unruly mane and beard of equally dark hair framed an otherwise noble, even handsome face.

"He appeared just after the Kaargul began their attack, came barreling out of the forest like an avalanche and slaughtered his way through their rear lines." Hjoldir explained, eyeing the ebon giant warily. "By the end they were fleeing for their lives, and Kaargul never retreat." Elainin gave him a worried look. "But, what is it...?" She asked quietly as the giant turned and began to lumber back into the forest from whence it came.

Bjorn watched in awe as the figure took one last glance at them before disappearing into the treeline. In that fleeting moment, he swear the giant looked right at him, those glowing crimson spheres boring into him.

"Morkai."

-----

"Bjorn!"

Jarl Bjorn Redaxe of the XVIII Legiones Astartes snapped out of his slumber, rousing to his senses back to full awareness as he looked at whoever had addressed him. There in the doorway to Bjorn's personal quarters stood a fellow Marine of the XVIII, his armour coal-black save for the heraldric fields on it's shoulder pads, the right bearing the red-and-iron markings of Bjorn's 3rd Great Company while the left was snow white upon with the head of a jet black hound with red eyes emblazoned upon it. Recognised the marine as his pack-brother Gunnar Blacktooth, Bjorn swiftly rose to his feet.

"Hmm? Oh, it's you Gunnar. Well, what's so important you had to interrupt my meditation? News from the front?" He asked as he retrieved his Frost Axe Gravenfang from it's wall rack, frowning when Gunnar shook his head. "No my Jarl, quite the opposite, the Primarch has arrived early!"
If Bjorn wasn't fully awake yet, he was now. "What?! The main body of the fleet wasn't supposed to arrive for another six days!" He roared, eyes widening in disbelief. "It seems the tides of the Empyrean have been generous milord." Gunnar replied as Bjorn stormed past him into the hallway, quickly falling in behind his Jarl as the pair made their way to the bridge of the Battle Barge Tindalos.

"So where is the Primarch now?" Bjorn demanded as they walked. "The 32nd Expeditionary Fleet only arrived a few minutes ago sire, they're currently still waiting on the last of the Fleet to re-enter realspace before the Primarch takes passage across from the Hringhorni to meet with us, so we've got some time yet to prepare." Gunnar answered calmly, the doors before them parting as they strode onto the bridge. "Captain on deck!" He announced as they passed through, the crew quickly pausing in their work to salute Bjorn. "At ease." He growled as the two of them reached the centre of the bridge where a vast Hololith displayed the Tindalos's position over the embattled world of Thirty Two-Six-Fifteen as well as the newly-arrived vessels further out, the menacing shape of the immense Gloriana-class Battleship Hringhorni dominating the growing fleet as the smaller ships crowded around her.

Bjorn stared at the Hololith for a moment, as if deep in thought, before turning back to Gunnar. "Assemble the Company, let's give our Father a fitting welcome."

-----


It was said that Space Marines knew no fear, especially those of the XVIII, but if Bjorn was truely honest with himself as he watched the ebon Thunderhawk touch down before him and his awaiting Company, he had to admit he more than a little afraid of his Gene-Father.
Ever since that first time he had laid eyes upon the Morkaison, surrounded by slaughtered Kaargul, he had viewed him with fear, fear for the terrible violence he was capable of, fear of very how easy it would have been for the dark giant to turn that gore-stained axe upon Bjorn's tribe.

And yet, as the assault ramp struck the deck and the omnious forms of the Draugar, the Primarch's Terminator bodyguard, marched forth to take position either side of the gunship, he knew he also looked upon his gene-sire with hope. Hope, because he employed his skill at the murder-make against Mankind's foes rather than upon them, hope, because he had resisted the red haze and spared Bjorn's tribe.
He had given them a chance to survive, to rebuild and, as fate would have it, to repay their debt to him years later when the Allfather descended upon Fenris to reunite with his lost son. When he did, he brought with him his Angels of Death, the XVIII Legiones Astartes, who quickly took Fenris as their new homeworld, allowing Bjorn and many other youths to repay the Morkaison by becoming the first of a new generation of Legionnaires where they would crusade across the stars to unite the scattered remnants of mankind under the Imperium's banner.

"Third Company, present arms!" Bjorn roared, smiling to himself as the assembled marines of the Third Great Company stood to attention, saluting neatly as the familiar sound of heavy, lumbering footfalls echoed from within the Thunderhawk.
With the same awe he'd felt so many years ago, Bjorn watched in stunned silence as Vermundr Morkaison, Primarch of the XVIII, stepped out into the hangar bay, his glowing eyes immediately locking onto Bjorn. Slowly, he stepped down off the assault ramp and came closer until he stood in front of Bjorn, towered over him as if the Jarl were still the child he was when they had first met. Clad in charcoal-coloured power armour beautifully engraved with Fenrisian rune-script, Vermundr sported a magnificent white Thunderwolf skin cloak whose forelimbs wrapped around his armoured collar whilst the beast's head was draped over the Primarch's right pauldron, and in hand he carried an breathtaking battleaxe whose dual-bladed heads bore the engraved image of his namesake. Compared to their first meeting, Vermundr's visage had changed greatly, his hair was pulled back into a noble raven mane and his beard was braided neatly, but beneath it all he remained as intimidating as ever.

"Hail Father, I welcome you aboard." Bjorn said, saluting as he held Vermundr's crimson gaze. For a long moment Vermundr gave no reply, then slowly, a broad smile crossed the giant's features

"Hail little Bjorn, my how you've grown."


----------

Whew! Okay, I've been working on this one (read: struggling with writer's block) for quite a while, but I'm proud to finally introduce you all to the second in my little Alternate Primarch "what if" stories, this time featuring my Fenrisian Vulkan; Vermundr Morkaison! The more astute among you may have noticed I carefully refrained from mentioning the XVIII Legion's name in this story, for those of you who're wondering why that is, well, I basically couldn't decide on a name, but I have narrowed it down to a few ideas including; Grim Hounds, Black Fangs & Sons of Morkai.

My idea with this story is that unlike Leman in the canon, Vermundr is never adopted by human parents on Fenris due to his frightful appearance, but he is drawn to people because he longs for companionship. I decided Vulkan would keep his trademark red eyes and jet black complexion, partly because I can't really imagine him without them and mainly because I though it would be interesting to see how the superstitious Fenrisians react to a huge red-eyed, jet-black demigod running around. Eventually I came up with the idea that they see Vermundr as the physical avatar of Morkai, the two-headed wolf god of death that guards the gate to the underworld, this line of thought was inspired by the infamous folktales in Britain of the ghostly Black Dogs, sometimes called Hellhounds, that are said to be bad omens and portents of death. So while the tribes love him for protecting them from monsters and chaos-worshipping raiders like the Kaargul they're also still afraid of him, so he remains on the fringes of society, living apart from the tribes he protects while being distantly venerated and left offerings of food and Mjod in thanks for his work. I think perhaps the only people Vermundr really interacts with back in those days would be native Priests of Morkai or Rune Priests, who teach him how to speak and such.

Once Vermundr is reunited with the Emperor the XVIII Legion begins recruiting from the tribes he used to protect, creating a new legion identity somewhat similar culturally to the canon Space Wolves, but is far more dour and level-headed in personality, with a bit of the Dwarven Legion of the Dead from the Dragon Age franchise thrown in. Each Legionnaire believes he is already dead, his previous life is over and he has been chosen by Morkai and the Allfather to become one of his Angels of Death, hence they fight without fear of injury or death as they have been remade into death incarnate.
However I've also considered that maybe this attitude comes back to metaphorically bite them later on, as Vermundr, after years of loneliness of Fenris grows overly attached to his new sons, so when they all start dying in battle over the course of the Great Crusade, this hits Vermundr in a big way and despair sets in, opening the door to potential treachery down the road...

Anyway, that's my ideas behind Vermundr, I can't wait to hear what you guys think of him.

[Bjorn Firewalker]

I looked up the meaning of the name "Vermundr"; at http://www.nordicnames.de/wiki/Vermundr, I learned it either meant "Man-Protector" or "Alert Protector"- a good choice for the alternate Vulkan.

[Nomus Sardauk]

I looked up the meaning of the name "Vermundr"; at http://www.nordicnames.de/wiki/Vermundr, I learned it either meant "Man-Protector" or "Alert Protector"- a good choice for the alternate Vulkan.

Thank you very much, I found the name whilst browsing a list of Norse names & meanings online and thought it was a perfect fit, so I'm glad you agree. :)

[Midgard]

Interesting choices for both stories, and I have enjoyed them a lot! Looking forward to hopefully seeing more!

[Nomus Sardauk]

Interesting choices for both stories, and I have enjoyed them a lot! Looking forward to hopefully seeing more!

Thanks! :D I'm glad you found them enjoyable, it's always nice to know other people share my interest in this sort of thing.

I'm not sure what Primarch-Homeworld combo I'll tackle next but I've got a couple of potential candidates whose concepts I'm still fleshing out, hopefully you'll find them as interesting as I do once they're done. :)

[Skalpynock]

From your earlier post, I'd really like to read of the Baalite X^th. Love your Fenrisian Vulkan, his legion feels like rational Space Wolves.

[Midgard]

One question - who is the Chthonian Primarch here? I would presume that he would be the prime candidate for the Warmaster position, unless totally unsuitable. I would find it interesting if it was either Lion el'Jonson (he wants it... badly), Magnus (if he was the original choice of Chaos to lead the rebellion... how much could he have done if he was the Warmaster?), Angron (totally unsuitable due to Nails, but how much of it was due to the Nails and how much due to his own flaws?), Lorgar (a non-militant Primarch being the first one found), or Curze (broken from the get-go... does he have leadership potential, or does he end up one of the two "Lost and Purged"?).

[Nomus Sardauk]

From your earlier post, I'd really like to read of the Baalite X^th. Love your Fenrisian Vulkan, his legion feels like rational Space Wolves.

 

Ah, about that... Yeah, sorry to disappoint you but since I posted that I've swapped around the Tenth's homeworld due to general disatisfaction with the only concept I could of for them, unfortunately I felt they'd end up being too similiar to their canon selves without really bringing anything new to the table besides maybe them being somewhat nicer to people. It's annoying because I had initially wanted to go for a Mad Max style for them (mainly because I saw Fury Road and couldn't stop imagining Ferrus with Furiosa's grease warpaint) with a heavy emphasis on armoured warfare before I realised that's exactly what the Iron Tenth do in the canon, plus their scavenger nature would be in direct parallel to the Medusan way of life.

 

That said, tell me something, how does a Chogorian Ferrus strike you? Perhaps this quote will give you an idea of what I'm going for...

 

"If you always put limits on what you can do, physical or anything else, it'll spread over into the rest of your life. It'll spread into your work, into your morality, into your entire being. There are no limits. There are plateaus, but you must not stay there, you must go beyond them. If it kills you, it kills you. A man must constantly exceed his level."

~Bruce Lee

 

One question - who is the Chthonian Primarch here? I would presume that he would be the prime candidate for the Warmaster position, unless totally unsuitable. I would find it interesting if it was either Lion el'Jonson (he wants it... badly), Magnus (if he was the original choice of Chaos to lead the rebellion... how much could he have done if he was the Warmaster?), Angron (totally unsuitable due to Nails, but how much of it was due to the Nails and how much due to his own flaws?), Lorgar (a non-militant Primarch being the first one found), or Curze (broken from the get-go... does he have leadership potential, or does he end up one of the two "Lost and Purged"?).

 

I haven't actually decided which Primarch will land on Cthonia yet, I can't remember who I rolled for that world initially but I've swapped it around several times as I've had trouble trying to find an interesting take on how each character might develop there. I have a small list on my Ipod detailing the matchups, concepts, ideas and notes and Cthonia's just one of those ones that keep playing hard to get with me...

[GoogleusMaximus]

The Lion for Cthonia

[Skalpynock]

Now, I don't know what you rolled for these specifics, but in Scars Magnus alludes to how the Khan should have ended up on Chemos. Have you given any thought experiment on that?

[Nomus Sardauk]

Now, I don't know what you rolled for these specifics, but in Scars Magnus alludes to how the Khan should have ended up on Chemos. Have you given any thought experiment on that?

I don't really remember the original roll results unfortunately, but a Chemosian Jagahtai you say? Hmm, any other hints at what could have been in Scars?

[Dizzyeye01]

I'd say it would be quite interesting to see Roboute land on Cthonia, not only because of howmuch he would be change by the world itself (managing to enforce order and such) but how he would effect the Great Crusade and the outcomes of the rest of the primarchs being found.

[Ace Debonair]

Pretty good stuff so far.

I'm wondering - do Vulkan's Legion still inherit the coal-black skin and glowing red eyes of their Primarch, or are they more like the canon Space Wolves in appearance?

[Nomus Sardauk]

@Dizzyeye: I've currently got Rouboute on Olympia (Solon Nikomedes in the first story) but of course nothing's set in stone, the question is, what new angle could I bring with a Cthonian Rouboute? What would he bring to table? I need to think...

 

@Ace Debonair: To be honest I hadn't given it much thought, perhaps it could be an individual thing? Some marines inherit them during the implantation, some don't? Sticking to the whole "superstitious" angle I've got going for them, perhaps the eyes and skin tone manifesting is taken as a sign of future greatness for that marine?