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The janitor http://image.bolterandchainsword.com//public/style_emoticons/default/msn-wink.gif

 

Ollanius Pius, He Who Polishs the Throne. http://image.bolterandchainsword.com//public/style_emoticons/default/msn-wink.gif

 

One does not speak badly of Saint Ollanius ! He's the most badass of badasses in 30/40k ! (I'm talking about his old version, not the perpetual :P)

PART 3 (I THINK)

 

 

For Zbruch.  For Icarion.  Koschei had to stop himself from slamming his fist into the ground.  If he had thought his guilt had been punishment enough, he had been wrong.  The air above Hive Primus was clogged with the stink of fire and death, and the streets with bodies.  The worst thing about the experience was that not a single trace of the murderous attackers could be found.  None until now.

                Koschei stared at the thing, still unaware of the Primarch’s presence.  It was green; that much had been true.  It held a crude blade, and was covered in scratches and enflamed spots.

                “Greetings, diseased creature,” Koschei spat.  The thing turned.  Its stomach had been split open, and bloodied intestines dangled freely in the wind.

                “Do we speak to it, sire?” came an inquiry to the Primarch’s left from one of his Goliath retinue.

                Koschei did not answer.  Instead, he lashed out with his power fist into the alien’s chest, sending it careening into a drystone wall.  It left a golden stain on the grey as it crumpled.

                “No, my son,” he said.  “We do not.”

                A stunned silence.  Koschei ignored it as he moved on towards the ruined square.  He walked for a minute more, heading towards the site where the other companies had landed.  He did not expect good news.  The faces of the men who greeted him said that he would not receive it.  Across the square he could see ranks of legionnaires, Babichev’s men, picking through the rubble and corpses.  One turned over a boy, a slice bisecting his torso.

                “No traces, sire,” Babichev called once Koschei was close enough.  “The attackers are nowhere to be found.”

                “Correction, Maksim.”

                Koschei raised his fist, stained in golden liquid.

                “Ah.”

                “Primitive and pathetic.  However those things managed to take this city I do not know.”

                “The damage is not confined to the Hive, Lord Kharkovic,” replied an astartes poring over an auspex.  “The villages we passed on the way were similarly ransacked.”

                The Primarch’s face soured.  He ran a gauntleted hand through his grey hair.  “How many?” he asked.  “How many?”

                The question needed no further clarification.  It hung in the air for a moment, before Babichev himself grudgingly answered.

                “None.  No survivors.”

                Koschei closed his eyes, fists clenched.

                “Have they taken the world?”

                “No reports say otherwise, Sire.”

                The Primarch knelt amongst the bodies.

                “Where on Zbruch were you born, Captain?” he asked quietly, resting a hand on the rubble.

                “Sdradazkia, Sire.”

                Koschei smiled slightly.  “On the coast?”

                “A village a little east of it.  I remember it well.”

                “It is nought but carbon now.”

                None responded to this, hanging their heads slightly.

                “And all the people you remember there are dead.  Slaughtered all, like them.”

                He gestured to the bodies littering the ground.  And then, all as one, the bodies crawled to their feet.

AND PART 4, BECAUSE I WAS IN THE ZONE

 

                Babichev let out a strangled gasp as he saw.  The bodies rose like puppets, turned towards the Godslayers.  Began lurching forth, arms raised, mouths slavering.  The closest legionnaire stood catatonic with confusion.  The Zbruchans seemed to seize on this, leaping upon them and biting at segments of armour.

                “Prival!  Prival! Mey Godslayer, mey Zbruch’dho, mey druz'ya,” barked Koschei, waving his arms.  Still the humans attacked, gnawing and clawing, dragging down even the mighty Space Marines with force of numbers and piling atop them.

                “Do we stop them?” Babichev asked over the vox, loading his bolter in preparation.

                “Wait!” came the Primarch’s reply.  Then:  “Prival!  Prival!  Mey druz’ya!”

                The bodies did not respond.  The first Godslayer died, his screaming cutting out abruptly.

                “Kill them!” Babichev ordered his company.  “Kill them!”

                The bolter fire begun.  Babichev revved his chainsword, running toward a fallen Goliath.  His armour was holding for now, but the onslaught was unending.  He swung downwards, bringing his blade through the closest of the attackers.  They were attackers and nothing more; any more thought was unbearable.  It fell.  He decapitated a second, but the body stood and scrambled towards him.  He hefted his boltgun, firing a round into the human’s chest.  The resulting explosion shredded his opponent, showering the surrounding area in gore.

                “Aim for the heart!” he exclaimed over the vox, before empting his clip into the last tangle of limbs pinning down the terminator.  The bodies were blasted free of Babichev’s brother, who leapt to his feet, reaching for his glaive.

                “Stop!”

                The shout was piercing and desperate.

                “Stop!”

                It was Koschei, eyes red and wild.

                “Stop it!”

                Babichev carved the arms free of another corpse moving to attack, ramming his chainsword through his attacker’s ribs.

                “Enough!” The Primarch was screaming now, hefting his dagger.  Babichev realised it was not directed at the Zbruchans.  “Please!  Please make it stop!”

                As if on his command, the corpses froze, locked in place by some invisible force.  And amidst this forest of bodies, a flash of orange.  The first fallen Godslayer clambered to his feet unsteadily.

                “Beregites chto vy khotite, Kharkovic.”

 

                It was the voice of an old friend.

TAKE TWO.

 

"My lord," the data-servitor croaked, a skin of dust shedding with the unexpected movement of its head. Malcador waved away a serf to address the matter personally.

"Is it them?" He asked, his voice almost wavering from a sudden rush of anxiety.

"Confirmed. Contact established with the Hooded Guillotine." A slow breath left Malcador's lips, the combination of the room temperature and psychic shiver causing a small layer of frost to temporarily form on his wrinkled lips. Three months silence from the primarch and his legion finally broken, a scramble to gather the High Lords and summon the Warmaster himself to commune with his wayward son.

"After this time, may he yet be returned to us?" Wondered Malcador, daring to hope.

It was scarcely five minutes since the signal had been received, but the hammering of his ancient heart and the monotonous drone of data-devouring servitors stretched this time into an eternity. As what could only be a breaking point was reached, the door to the chamber split open, and Alexandros entered the room.

All sound, what little there was, ended. His psychic aura soothed everything around him, all bowing heads in reverence, all shying their unworthy eyes from his glory. He bade Malcador stand beside him.

"Servitor," he said, at once soft and booming. "Open the link."

 

A few moments of flickering, distance between Terra and wherever the Berserkers may be interfering momentarily. A few quick flicks of hololithic symbols boosted by a psychic pulse from Alex and the image solidified, Raktra's face coming into view almost as clear as if he were there in person.

"Warmaster." The word came laden with distaste. Though barely an expression could be seen behind the mask, Raktra's eyes blazed. "I want to share a series of thoughts with you that I've had recently. The nature of the crusade, of the legions, of our father." He began to walk, but the camera stayed focussed just on his head and shoulders. "The Emperor told me when I was found, that part of his grand vision for mankind was the removal of religion. The abolition of the belief in gods and deities, to keep the destructive nature of faith in check. And yet, he continues to preach about the human form." A strangled sound came from somewhere off-screen, quickly silenced. "He made the Thunder Warriors, he made the primarchs, he made the astartes. All men that hail from a kingdom a level above human. Only shackled to humanity in the most token of ways. But so many of us have been censored for trying to bring ourselves beyond even that, emulating his actions, to bring greater hell upon the enemies of Mankind. All under the guise of preventing perversion of the sacred human form." He laughed. "'Sacred'. How ironic that a word so deeply rooted into religious teaching would be his choice to define the race." Raktra pointed to his eyes. "You all know what my legion can do, that I do greater than all others. I see every weakness of the flesh laid bare before me. Every old cut, once-broken bone, every nerve cluster. I see better than any can comprehend the imperfection of man, and know better that we can always strive to improve. But you shackle us with damned decrees and ivory tower hypocrisy."

"Raktra-" began Alex.

"I. Am. Talking!"

The camera now pulled back as another grunt of pain came, and now the source was revealed - a marine Alex knew to be a chaplain of the legion, forced to his knees with his arms shackled, the back of his head gripped tightly by Raktra.

"And now you have this," he waved his arm and suddenly a dozen more feeds sprang up, lining the room. All those still possessed of sentience felt their jaws drop. The entire chaplain corps, over one hundred astartes, were lined up and restrained in the same manner as the one kneeling in front of the primarch.

"The chaplains. Forced upon us because he disliked our ideals, to enforce his will and spread his word. Again the painful religious irony rears. He insists that none refer to him as a god, but he demands worship and sacrifice in his name. He professes that faith is a cancer, but thrusts priests upon us to keep us in line. He denied a heaven or hell, but send us against angels and daemons in his name." Raktra's grip moved from the back of his prisoner's head to the scalp. "All that he ever taught is a lie. Nothing but plastic shamans dispensing false wisdom from your pulpits, hiding behind a human shield and mask of honour."

Raktra raised a fist, and as one the Berserkers who stood behind their chaplains stepped forward, hands placed either side of their captives' heads.

"Brother," Alex tried once more. "I implore you-" Raktra cut him off again.

"We were never brothers." His other hand now placed itself on the chaplain's head.

"No gods. No masters."

A chorus of cracks rang out, like branches in the wind, and the feed cut out.

"Raktra I will find you, you motherless bastard. No matter what Alex or father order me to do, I will come after you and I will rip your head from your pathetic body and exterminate every last one of your sons of a whores and piss on their corpses. I will raise Uran to the ground. No trace of your existence will remain and I will kill anyone who so much as thinks of speaking of you. Consider that as you run"

Hectarion Mycenor following the ambush of his legion

Squig, I confess I'm confused over the nature of Koschei and the Godslayers. If I remember right, when Koschei first meets the Emperor, his warp suppressant nature was so powerful as to nullify the greatest living psyker in the galaxy. Yet, here, surrounded by his sons, his nature does nothing to even weaken a small Warp infestation. Can you explain to me how this warp suppressant nature works and how it's different from being a pariah?

 

Because I do like this work. You captured the horror and desperation facing Koschei and his legion as they are forced to re-kill the people they are sworn to protect.

 

 

Raktra, I'm thoroughly impressed by how well you were able to switch the Emperor for the Warmaster. Obviously, it required only a few tweaks, but you did excellent work at writing them and placing them. 

Maybbe the difference between a pariah and a warp supressant is, that pariah powers manifest passivel and the warp supressant must maybe be activated through concentration. So when the godlsayers are on zbruch( am i the only one who always read zbrush?) tgey are to shocked and confused, so that they are not able to keep the concentration and so their powers don't work
The version where Koschei is able to nullify the emps was thrown out a little ago. I think (although even I'm not really sure) that koschei's nature as a suppressant only works with denying psychic powers rather than warp entities themselves.

Actually, the more I think of this, the more brilliant it looks. Specialization is a hallmark with our psyker and pariah legions. The Harbingers emphasize Divination, while the Halcyon Wardens' Parisada limits themselves to Telepathy & Divination. And the Fire Keeper psykers can master Pyromancy and no other. 

 

Touching on the Chaos perspective, Nurgle's primary rival has always been Tzeentch. So, to have a Koschei is a boon to Nurgle in two ways. One, having an anti-psyker psyker among his court gives Nurgle a powerful weapon against Tzeentch. Two, it works as a subtle insult against Tzeentch, who is left with the actual pariah to patron. 

 

In fact, Tzeentch really does get screwed in the Insurrection. The one legion and Primarch he ends up getting are a bunch of Pariahs, which are of dubious use to him since he literally can't see them. The Grave Stalkers is the smallest legion, and then K'awil dies when Kozja and Jade defect, denying him even that. In the meantime, Khorne gets Raktra, Nurgle has Koschei, and, theoretically, Slaanesh will have Coch'ise. 

 

I'm curious what effects this will have on the Chaos realm, post-Insurrection.

Doesn't Slaanesh claim Morro rather than Coch'ise? It's been a bit unclear through the different iterations of the plan.

 

Hm, perhaps. It wouldn't be the first thing I've forgotten due to the size of the project *glances at Raiden*.

 

Let me bring up the line-up again:

 

Icarion - Chaos Undivided

Alexos - Chaos Undivided

Raktra - Khorne

K'awil - Tzeentch

Koschei - Nurgle

??? - Slaanesh

 

Morro and Coch'ise are the last available Primarchs for corruption. 

 

In fact, Tzeentch really does get screwed in the Insurrection. The one legion and Primarch he ends up getting are a bunch of Pariahs, which are of dubious use to him since he literally can't see them. The Grave Stalkers is the smallest legion, and then K'awil dies when Kozja and Jade defect, denying him even that. 

 

That's an interesting thought, seeing as Tzeentch is typically the most scheming and usually gets what he wants.  Do we have a motive for the defection of Kozja and Jade, because it has occured to me that the withdrawal of Godslayers to Zbruch could be a catalyst (relative lack of possible pursuers, etc.).  Also, K'awil dies?

 

Malal!

 

Teehee.

 

I like that a fair bit (although I am partisan; Dune Serpents started off as Malal's buddies)!  Are we acknowledging Malal in this timeline?

The motive is the corruption growing in the traitor legions. Jade sees it, is disgusted by it, and persuades Kozja that they need to get out before they are affected. So, it could be the Godslayers return that act as a catalyst. What is the timeline for the Godslayers as it stands now?

 

We haven't discussed Malal's existence yet. Most of what I know of him and how he operates comes from thegoodthebadandtheinsulting blog. I am curious about including him since, as I understand, Malal operates through super-powered champions and single powerful units. And I'm lightly flirting with the idea of Malal defeating/crippling Tzeentch.

I meant less that the Godslayers departure was a motive than an opportunity for the revolutionaries to escape, but their return works as a more extreme motive.  I sorta like the Malal Tzeentch thing - as much as Tzeentch is a good god, it would further distinguish our universe and mean that we could have a little more breadth of options for god-disciples later on in the timeline.

That's a point, it'd make defecting easier with one less traitor legion to fight against. Would you mind explaining to me the timeline so I can better visualize the timing of events? 

 

This is true. And, since one of Tzeentch's themes is that he is the god of change, he might very well be sabotaging his own plans to keep the wheels turning. Which is why I think there can be a real opportunity for Malal to strike a blow against him and take some of his 'territory', so to speak. Malal is able to use the overlap of their 'roles' and exploits as an attack vector when Tzeentch isn't able to increase the strength of his forces in the Insurrection. Although Malal is supposed to be the god of anarchy, as the Dark Knight's Joker shows, his champions can be devious monsters in support of those goals. 

Or we could have Malal use the opportunity to try and usurp Tzeentch following K'awil's death and so a brief civil war breaks out between Malal's legion(Ghost Walkers?) and the Grave Stalkers?

 

Although we are working with a hand tied behind our backs somewhat as we just know so little about the Ghost Walkers

Edited by Sigismund229

Or we could have Malal use the opportunity to try and usurp Tzeentch following K'awil's death and so a brief civil war breaks out between Malal's legion(Ghost Walkers?) and the Grave Stalkers?

 

Although we are working with a hand tied behind our backs somewhat as we just know so little about the Ghost Walkers

 

Fair; the Jackals and the Ghost Walkers have gotten little love recently (although I'm sure for valid reasons).

 

@simison:  I don't have dates, but the rough outline of the Godslayers is:

  - Turn to Icarion

  - After a fair amount of time fighting for the traitors (5-10 years-ish), return to defend Zbruch

  - Emerge after c. 6  months as the corrupted Godslayers

Edited by Big Bad Squig
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