TALE - The Reunited Family

[Demus Ragnok]

A Difference of Opinion Part 2

 

Naihab was sweating in his terminator armor. He shouldn't have been.

He wasn't exerting himself, he was standing still, watching.

The source of his physical reaction was the scene playing out before him.

For twenty three minutes two primarchs had exchanged blows. For twenty three minutes Naihab had watched, standing silent, unmoving, with a knot of emotions in his belly he could not understand. The training hall was silent. All other matches had ceased, everyone watched in silent wonder as two of the Emperors sons spared with bloody intent.

Blood. That was the condition. The primarch Alexandros had pronounced it with a tight expression.

 

“This duel is for honor. The first to draw blood shall be named victor.”, and with a gesture he ordered the cage closed.

 

Alexandros had stood statue still from moment the bout began. Naihab had thought for a moment that he could see the psychic primarch’s aura flash with frustration from time to time.

 

Raktra was armed with a pair of daggers he called “Hell's Teeth”. Niklaas had carried no weapons that day nor had he selected any from the training racks. Neither primarch was armored save for a vest of brass scale that Niklaas had removed before entering the cage.

 

Raktra the Berzerkerkin had attacked relentlessly from the moment the enclosure had sealed. Niklaas had seemed almost passive at first, blocking and slipping blows, maneuvering around the cage. Then suddenly Niklaas took a brief offensive, he side stepped a charging Raktra and landed left hook into Raktras kidney. Raktra spun away with a look of almost surprise, before continuing the onslaught. The match continued in that pattern, with Raktra attacking relentlessly and Niklaas landing sudden powerful body blows.

Which Naihab found odd.

A simple blow to the face could cut Raktra or bloody his nose ending the duel. But Niklaas had passed on openings and attacked only the body of his brother.

 

And then it happened, something Naihab wouldn't truly understand until many years later.

 

Raktra charged Niklaas, both hands raised, daggers in a reverse grip. As Raktra came forward Niklaas clasped him by both wrists, and planted his lead foot on Raktra’s lead foot pinning it. Niklaas then surged forward driving his right knee into Raktra’s gut.

 

Naihab saw the Berzerkerkin’s body go limp for second as the breath left it.

Niklaas pushed his dazed brother away from him and Raktra fell, his foot still pinned under Niklaas’ boot. Before Raktra could recover Niklaas stooped, grabbing one of his brother’s daggers. Niklaas turned facing Alexandros, raised his left hand, palm out, fingers spread. With his right hand he drew Raktra’s dagger across his palm before dropping it to the floor.

 

Alexandros immediately gave the nod to open the cage.

 

“First blood to Raktra” Alexandros shouted, “This bout is concluded”.

 

Niklaas walked away from Raktra, who was standing but still winded, in the cage.

 

“I hope you will overlook my surly temper brother.” Niklaas spoke quietly to Alexandros.

 

A Halcyon Warder apothecary cleaned Niklaas’ left hand, before stepping away.

 

“My engineering companies will begin work within the hour. I will see you on the battlefield.”

 

Niklaas clasped Alexandros’ right hand and departed the training hall. Never looking back at Raktra. Naihab and Jeshimon turned and followed their primarch.

 

It seemed to Naihab that the entire ship was still dead silent.

[simison]

After announcing the terms of the duel, Alexandros stood and watched. He watched as his brothers fought with unnecessary ferocity, for this was not a simple training spar that Alexandros had enjoyed with his other brothers. There was rage here. There were few brothers who he hadn't befriended, but Raktra was one. Always defiant, always ready to come to blows. Despite wise and soft words, it was a rare moment when Raktra heeded him. 

 

The moment Raktra, Darshan peered toward the future. He doubted tragedy was around the bend, but he was taking no chances with this bout. It took him twenty-three seconds to see the end as he had to navigate the thousands of possibilities this one duel spawned. Niklaas wins. But Darshan saw only a pyrrhic victory. A flare of frustration shot through his aura before he attempted to find a happier ending. Alas, the duel was halfway over before Darshan admitted defeat. He could telepathically warn or advise Niklaas, but that usually led to one of two outcomes. Either Niklaas grew angry at the intrusion or was distracted enough for Raktra to claim victory. If he physically stepped into the ring to intervene, both of his brothers would be cross with him and nothing be solved. 

 

Alexandros gritted his teeth behind closed lips. There was nothing he could do but wait for the universe to catch up to what he had foreseen. Raktra fell. Niklaas stole his dagger and cut his own hand. Alexandros announced Raktra as victor. It was superficial, and Alexandros doubted that Raktra was fooled by the stunt. Victory belonged to Niklaas. 

 

"I hope you will overlook my surly temper, brother," Niklaas whispered to him.

 

With a tired smile, Alex nodded before whispering, "We all have our faults, Niklaas." 

 

"My engineering companies will begin work within the hour. I will see you on the battlefield." 

 

They clasped hands as Alex said, "Fight well."

 

After Niklaas left, Alexandros waited on Raktra.

 

 

[Question, Demus, would Niklaas be okay with the nickname? If he wouldn't be, Alex would call him by his preferred name.]

[Demus Ragnok]

Simison, Niklaas doesn't like nick names, he wouldn't say anything but Alex would be able to tell.

[MikhalLeNoir]

Removing NICKY from Gwalchavads adressbook and add Niklaas instead

[Doctor Perils]

Can't he later become an Imperial Saint who gives out presents to children on Emperorstide ? He's already got the red, all he needs is the white beard... 

[Chief Captain Redd]

Well we now know why two of the most similar Primarchs aren't as tight as theives. Daer'dd clearly found a nickname for Niklaas he liked far too much.

[Slips]

*Space Phone Ringing*

 

*Ring-Ring....Ring-Ring...Ring-Ring*

 

*sigh* He looked over at the Caller Identification Tag. Who Could be calling...?

 

 

With a Reluctant and heavy sigh, he picked up the Astropath relaying the call, putting the crown of his forehead into his ear like one would have a Phawne of Old, cradling the rest of his body like one would an infant.

 

*sigh* he couldn't afford to be rude to this caller....

 

"...Hello?"

 

"BROTHER NICKY! GOOD WHATEVER-TIME-IT-IS-WHERE YOU ARE! HOW IS MY LITTLE PAPUSHKA DOING, EH NICKY!?"

 

 

"Brother Daer'dd...P-please you kno-"

 

"KNOW WHAT LITTLE NICKY?"

 

"You know how much I dis-"

 

"HOW MUCH YOU WHAT NICKLY-WICKLY?"

 

He heard some light snickering in the call...

 

"Hey! Who else is on this call!"

 

"WHATEVER COULD YOU BE MEANING NICKY-BRO?" more snickering, louder than before now, barely containing the laughs

 

 

"Look, come on, guys, please..."

 

"COME ON WHAT NICKY? YOU NEED TO- *chuckle* Y-YOU NEED *chuckles and snickers* Y-YOU..." at that point it just erupted into general laughter, he could make out some of the other voices ever so slightly through the mass of laughter... 

 

At that point he just hung up, Dropping the Astropath to the Floor.

 

Emperor-Be-Damned they acted like the most immature juvenile...

 

He rushed off to the the Training Room - He needed to blow off some steam, having nearly lost his temper.

 

*Muttering* "Damn holes..." *mutter-mutter* "Reveal the nickname your mother gave you as a child ONE TIME and you'll NEVER hear the end of it..."

 

On that day, the Fire Keepers Techmarines had to reconstruct Niklaas' entire training room...

[Demus Ragnok]

Can't he later become an Imperial Saint who gives out presents to children on Emperorstide ? He's already got the red, all he needs is the white beard...

That's it I'm redoing his rules

 

Giant mechanical stags.

 

Space sleigh.

 

Magic sack.

 

List of naughty primarchs.

 

 

*Space Phone Ringing*

 

*Ring-Ring....Ring-Ring...Ring-Ring*

 

*sigh* He looked over at the Caller Identification Tag. Who Could be calling...?

 

:cuss

 

With a Reluctant and heavy sigh, he picked up the Astropath relaying the call, putting the crown of his forehead into his ear like one would have a Phawne of Old, cradling the rest of his body like one would an infant.

 

*sigh* he couldn't afford to be rude to this caller....

 

"...Hello?"

 

"BROTHER NICKY! GOOD WHATEVER-TIME-IT-IS-WHERE YOU ARE! HOW IS MY LITTLE PAPUSHKA DOING, EH NICKY!?"

 

:cuss

 

"Brother Daer'dd...P-please you kno-"

 

"KNOW WHAT LITTLE NICKY?"

 

"You know how much I dis-"

 

"HOW MUCH YOU WHAT NICKLY-WICKLY?"

 

He heard some light snickering in the call...

 

"Hey! Who else is on this call!"

 

"WHATEVER COULD YOU BE MEANING NICKY-BRO?" more snickering, louder than before now, barely containing the laughs

 

:cuss

 

"Look, come on, guys, please..."

 

"COME ON WHAT NICKY? YOU NEED TO- *chuckle* Y-YOU NEED *chuckles and snickers* Y-YOU..." at that point it just erupted into general laughter, he could make out some of the other voices ever so slightly through the mass of laughter...

 

At that point he just hung up, Dropping the Astropath to the Floor.

 

Emperor-Be-Damned they acted like the most immature juvenile...

 

He rushed off to the the Training Room - He needed to blow off some steam, having nearly lost his temper.

 

*Muttering* "Damn :cuss holes..." *mutter-mutter* "Reveal the nickname your mother gave you as a child ONE TIME and you'll NEVER hear the end of it..."

 

On that day, the Crimson Lion Techmarines had to reconstruct Niklaas' entire training room...

On the one hand, holding the astropath like a phone= priceless.

 

On the other hand, wrong legion.

[Slips]

GOD DAMNIT I KNEW I MADE A MISTAKE

[simison]

So, on the one hand, we have Primarch-Cthulhu. And, on the other, we have Santa-Nik-Primarch. 

 

...carry on, then.

[Raktra]

Cthulhu, Santa and Satan. This is sounding like an episode of Nostalgia Critic.

[Slips]

Dont forget my Aquaman!

[Chief Captain Redd]

And we have a Hulk

[Raktra]

More like Robot Chicken then.

[Raktra]

A Difference of Opinion - The Devil's Lament

Raktra weezed and spluttered, but he had at least pushed himself onto his hands and knees after dropping. Niklaas' surprise blow had caught the very tip of his solar plexus, and of all people in the universe he was uniquely qualified to know how badly that was going to burn for the rest of the evening. Regardless, he was still furious - losing face in front of that insufferable peace-talker Alexandros was one thing, but to have Niklaas renege on the terms of the duel was just insulting. He was the White Devil, he was worth more than this... This condescension.

 

He pulled his dropped knives towards him and stood himself up.

 

"No, you don't end it like this, Niklaas." He wiped the blood from his blade. "You're coming back here and finishing this fi-" his words died in his throat as he noticed he was alone. He turned around several times with his mouth agape, unable to believe the audacity of his siblings. 

Raktra lost his temper, his altered intellect giving way to childish adolescent rage. He cursed and threw punches at thin air, eventually devolving into incomprehensible gibberish and hurling one the his Hell's Teeth at the now-closed door. In his tantrum, his co-ordination was completely lost, and the knife bounced harmlessly handle-first to the floor. He growled one last time.

"I will break you..."

[Demus Ragnok]

A Difference of Opinion - The Devil's Lament

Raktra weezed and spluttered, but he had at least pushed himself onto his hands and knees after dropping. Niklaas' surprise blow had caught the very tip of his solar plexus, and of all people in the universe he was uniquely qualified to know how badly that was going to burn for the rest of the evening. Regardless, he was still furious - losing face in front of that insufferable peace-talker Alexandros was one thing, but to have Niklaas renege on the terms of the duel was just insulting. He was the White Devil, he was worth more than this... This condescension.

 

He pulled his dropped knives towards him and stood himself up.

 

"No, you don't end it like this, Niklaas." He wiped the blood from his blade. "You're coming back here and finishing this fi-" his words died in his throat as he noticed he was alone. He turned around several times with his mouth agape, unable to believe the audacity of his siblings. 

Raktra lost his temper, his altered intellect giving way to childish adolescent rage. He cursed and threw punches at thin air, eventually devolving into incomprehensible gibberish and hurling one the his Hell's Teeth at the now-closed door. In his tantrum, his co-ordination was completely lost, and the knife bounced harmlessly handle-first to the floor. He growled one last time.

"I will break you..."

I think there may just be a little fight when we all get to Terra.

[MikhalLeNoir]

A Difference of Opinion - The Devil's Lament

Raktra weezed and spluttered, but he had at least pushed himself onto his hands and knees after dropping. Niklaas' surprise blow had caught the very tip of his solar plexus, and of all people in the universe he was uniquely qualified to know how badly that was going to burn for the rest of the evening. Regardless, he was still furious - losing face in front of that insufferable peace-talker Alexandros was one thing, but to have Niklaas renege on the terms of the duel was just insulting. He was the White Devil, he was worth more than this... This condescension.

 

He pulled his dropped knives towards him and stood himself up.

 

"No, you don't end it like this, Niklaas." He wiped the blood from his blade. "You're coming back here and finishing this fi-" his words died in his throat as he noticed he was alone. He turned around several times with his mouth agape, unable to believe the audacity of his siblings. 

Raktra lost his temper, his altered intellect giving way to childish adolescent rage. He cursed and threw punches at thin air, eventually devolving into incomprehensible gibberish and hurling one the his Hell's Teeth at the now-closed door. In his tantrum, his co-ordination was completely lost, and the knife bounced harmlessly handle-first to the floor. He growled one last time.

"I will break you..."

 

Man...that fits so perfectly. And the best Part is, that he didn't recognized, that he was ko. Love it

[simison]

The Jade General watched Alexandros' pain with a scientist's satisfaction. The nature of pariahs was well known to cause discomfort or pain to psykers, in addition to denying them their gifts. Yet, it was also true that, like their psyker counterparts, there were varying strengths of pariah-hood. Several times his legionnaires had faced xeno psykers of prodigious strength that resisted their talents. Whatever achievement they felt they had accomplished enduring his sons quickly died the moment they faced him. No psyker had ever been powerful enough to resist the Jade General's aura. 

 

Which made this encounter truly remarkable. His genetic brothers of psyker nature had avoided the presence of their pariah siblings. It was practical. 

 

Thus, when Alexandros suggested the two of them personally meet for a strategy briefing, the Jade General had been surprised. A novel feeling that didn't stop him from accepting. Finally, he'd have a chance to match the strength of his aura against one of the most powerful psykers in existence. Now, they were on the bridge of the Elpis, Alexandros' flagship. The Jade General (and Alexandros, no doubt) could feel the barriers between Alexandros and himself fight for dominance. It reminded the Jade General of two magnets, their polar opposites rejecting each other. 

 

The difference was the Jade General felt no personal discomfort from the conflict. Alexandros, on the other hand, wore a pained grimace, his signature grin nowhere to be seen. Refusing to acknowledge his pain, the Shield-Lord finished his side of the briefing, highlighting Imperial planned advances on the holo-display. Since the Jade General's nature was being resisted, he was very curious as to how much power Alexandros had accessed to. He wondered if Alexandros would be willing to meet the Jade General in a private interview to confirm the Jade General's hypothesis. 

 

Alexandros stepped back once he was done. His turn, the Jade General bowed to his audience, a cultural holdover from his homeworld. "Honorable commanders and soldiers of the Imperium, I will conclude our briefing, beginning with the known positions of the enemy forces," he announced in a measured tone. 

[Chief Captain Redd]

Father had told me first, I'd wept with pride. I had to know, so I could do what I did best, create.

This was not a common blade for a son, or a legendary weapon crafted for one of my brothers to carry whilst conquering worlds, no. This was authority, raw power, the weight of the very Imperium and the God king that built it, forged into a symbol, a weapon yes, but a sign. All of that to be carried in spear wielded by my Brother Alexandros.

I'd set The Dragon and her support fleet into geosynchronous orbit over the Palace on Terra. I worked by my hands only, for every detail to be perfect. My tools hummed for a month, my forges too hot for mortal smiths, the Palace attendants became annoyed. And Constantine couldn't get a single sparring match out of me.

But by the fething stars, she was perfect, the Spear of Terra. My blood was in her metals, so perfectly attuned she'd be to the power Alexandros. She'd carry the flame of father into the darkest corners and she'd lay low our most terrible enemies. This was the weapon, the authority of our future Warmaster.

[MikhalLeNoir]

Ohhh daer'dd can make me the grandfather and peacekeeper tonfas for sure now that he has time after the.spear of terra was created;)

[Chief Captain Redd]

Ohhh daer'dd can make me the grandfather and peacekeeper tonfas for sure now that he has time after the.spear of terra was created;)

Haha, sorry I get distracted :p

[Chief Captain Redd]

I appreciate the arcane in old technology, I understand the quantum interactions of high Xenos tech better than most of races that made it. But the archaic that's more fun, it's weighting gems and gears, unbound electron fields, raw copper. That's what I like about Gwal, he's old, like father. So to build blades for him. I got lost in my vaults. Weapons that all I'll do to is tear apart, my brothers would kill me for the so called waste. But Gwal understands it, making something far greater than the sum of it's parts. I don't dare give away much, but crystalline titanium alloys from meteors older than should exist, and an entropic field generator from a once over zealous H'rud colony. And an old earth Tesla quantum field rip current of rogue bosons and gluons, though I'd never read of shiny metal skeletons on Terra. On one I etch a tomahawk, one side is a wicked bite of a blade, the other side a peace pipe, I hope we find it one day. Peace.

[MikhalLeNoir]

I hope we really find it;)

[AlphariusOmegon108]

Alexos was sat in his personal chamber, his eyes were surrounded by a black glow. His Quarith wings folded to his back. His ears were bleeding, he was sat still, feeling hundreds of souls turmoiling around him.

A hundred dead children were placed in front of him in an questionable pattern, their body shivering in a dark pattern.

Alexos slowly opened his eyes, a dark void being the only thing left. His quickly degrading lips cured into a smirk. The smirk of a deamon. He suddenly felt his body shiver, and as if someone had commanded it, the children stood up. Their frail bodies trembling, blood pouring out of a million slashes and cuts in their flesh. Alexos smiled even more when he noticed how they seemed to slowly become smaller. He knew what it meant, Sagitarii had told him.

 

One of the children walked up to him, putting a black disease covered a hand on the swelling leg of Alexos.

 

"Alexos" The child said in a hundred voices, the others slowly repeating the words in mumbling raspy voices. "Alexos.. Alexos the ascended.. Alexos.. Maru.. Travier.."

 

Alexos stood up, his hulking body growing larger, dark mist slowly leapt from where once the blood leapt from the children. It crawled towards Alexos, embracing him as a loving Father would.

 

Alexos blacked out, his huge body falling to the ground, the ground shuddering with the impact. He heard something laugh, he felt something claw at his soul. He felt how he died, giving birth to something immeasurably more powerfull. A low whisper appeared, it was the last thing the Primarch would ever hear with his mortal ears.

 

"Welcome my friend, welcome"

[Big Bad Squig]

Remember this thread?

 

Just a little something to prove work is in fact being done: the meeting of Koschei and the Emperor, which I was hoping I could put into my legion entry.  Any ideas on how to format that so it would fit?

 

 

 

The sky-ships drifted down through the clouds, one by one slowly descending towards the rocky ground.  Koschei watched from the tower.  They were not organic, that much was sure, festooned with gold that shone even from this distance.  His hand drifted to his knife on instinct.  Something felt wrong.

                Below him, panic.  Waves of men and women came crashing around the tower’s foot, all seeking safety that their homes clearly no longer provided.  The mass of bodies darted and changed like a flock of birds.  He could already hear their feet as they clattered up the steps.

                “Guard!” he shouted, unsheathing his knife and marching down the steps.  On his cry, ranks of Zbruchan Guard darted from their positions on the tower’s battlements, following Kharkovic.  He turned to the closest.  “Regent.”

                “Sir.”

                “Take your Goliaths.  Get the people out of the watchtowers – if this goes south, large structures will inevitably be the first attacked.”

                “With all due respect, sir, do we really know what ‘this’ is?”

                Koschei turned away, raising the knife above his head. 

“Advance!”

He strode forward, feeling an energy that had been missing for a long time.  Those following struggled to keep up, weighed down by shields and weapons.  Slowly, Koschei crested the hill above the ships.  They were still, waiting for him to make his move, and yet he felt something.  A presence, jabbing at his mind, stronger even than that of the old High Lord.  He narrowed his eyes.  Growled.

As his troops drew closer, something changed.  Hatches and doors on the largest ship slid open.  A moment of ominous stillness.  Then, all at once, a tidal wave of bodies swept out of the openings, barrelling forward and then stopping, standing completely motionless in two columns on either side of the main entrance.  Koschei noted that the figures looked Zbruchan in shape, yet they were so much larger – although not yet his height.  They wore what he assumed to be armour, with segmented plates that overlapped like the carapace of an insect.  The largest figures were bedecked in gold, carrying long glaives with blades that glowed, while the smaller ones wore mainly black.  They held a variety of blades, hammers, and elongated devices that looked similar to trimmed down crossbows.  Which, Koschei saw a moment later, were all trained on his head.  He held out his hand to stop his Guard, instead stepping forward alone.

“Greetings!” he shouted across the plains.  The figures’ glowing eyes followed his every movement.  “What business have you with me?”

The figures stood in stunned silence.

“Well?  Or have you made such a dramatic entrance simply to stare and say nothing?”

The wind whistled across the rocky plains.  Koschei took a tentative step forward, and was met by a cacophony of clicking as the figures pulled at their mysterious crossbows.

“Afraid of me?” he asked.  He felt the presence again, poking and sifting through his thoughts.

“Do you know what happened to the last man who tried to do that to me?  Come and find out, for I tire of waiting.  Tell me why you are here, face to face!”

Almost immediately, he regretted his words.  Out from the entrance, there stepped two enormous men, larger even than Koschei himself.  The first wore a suit of banded chainmail and plate.  In place of fingers, he had a set of black-tinted claws that shone in the light, the framework of which extended down his forearms.  His face was the same as that of Koschei’s, and any other Zbruchan he had met.  They were the same.

Yet it was the second man that drew Koschei’s attention.  Gilded armour, covered in jewels befitting a High Lord.  A sword billowing with flame.  And eyes that saw inside of Koschei’s soul.  It was him he had felt before, intruding on his thoughts.

“At ease,” the clawed one murmured, advancing.  The figures lowered their weapons.

“My son!” called out the swordsman, throwing open his arms.  Koschei’s stomach lurched.  He felt uneasy.

“My son?  My father was split in two by a sword before my eyes.  I smelt his blood, and the smell of his flesh being set alight.  The ash that was once his skin rose on the wind and blew past my face.  You,” he spat.  “You are no father of mine.”

“I am sorry,” the man replied.  “But I have come to take you home.  I created you.  To lead.  To rule over a legion of men.  To burn worlds beneath your feet.  All you need do is swear your loyalty to me.  We can save our race.  You and I, uniting the stars.”

“I shall be no tyrant,” Koschei replied, his knuckles growing white as he clutched the knife.  “Nor any puppet of a king.  Not again.  I kneel before none, nor do my people.”

“Please,” the man said.  “Allow me to discuss this with you.”

Koschei felt the man’s mind against his once more, smothering him with its assault.  Something within him broke.

“Stay out,” he hissed, stepping towards the swordsman.  “And stay off my world.”

He bolted forwards, blade above his head.  As he ran, the swordsman raised his hand, sending forth a gust of force to restrain him.  It dissipated before it came within ten feet of Koschei.  The man growled, parrying Koschei’s downward strike before responding with a slice for his sword arm.  It barely grazed his flesh.

“Stop!” the other man pleaded.  Koschei hissed in reply, lunging for the swordsman’s chest.  Parried again.  Next, he fainted left, then sliced right, but the man anticipated the move and made to parry again.  Before he could reach the blade, Koschei flicked it beneath the sword and hammered into the sword’s other side, knocking the man’s arm aside.  He drew his knife above his head.  Then, he felt claws on his arm.  The other had snatched the knife from his hands.  Roaring, he barged into the thief, who – despite Koschei’s momentum – barely moved half an inch.  He heard a sword being sheathed behind him, and he turned to attack the swordsman who was now unarmed.  The other man grabbed his arm at the last moment, pulling him backwards.  He stumbled.  The clawed man caught him, wrapping a muscled bare arm around Koschei’s throat.

“Calm down, brother,” he growled through his shaggy beard.  “I don’t want to have to get violent.”

The swordsman turned away, striding back through the tunnel of golden-armoured warriors.

“He’s going to be a difficult one,” the other man shouted after him.

“That’s exactly what we said of you, Daer’dd,” came the reply, before the swordsman was swallowed up by the ship, and disappeared from Koschei’s view.