IL XVI - The Drowned

[simison]

*has flashbacks to painful lore talk*

 

Okay. 

[bluntblade]

I'm more than happy to can that and focus on the Drowned themselves

[Beren]

Provided his involvement in the Drowned is still cannon, I'd be inclined to keep it. We may not have many chances to hint at his presence, especially as our Remembrancers appear to be unaware.

 

We don't exactly want to suddenly pull him out of thin air like GW did with Cawl.

Edited August 26, 2019 by Beren

[simison]

Why was Hesh so insistent that Rakarth and Be'lakor be involved?

[Beren]

*shrugs*

[simison]

*looks at the three Glorianas* I have a guess, but not a charitable one.

 

Well, since this is now directly affecting publication of the Drowned, let's take another look. This is where I stand. 

 

•  I think the Dark Eldar's invovlement is guaranteed at this point. I do want to emphasize this is an early, early version of the DE, but I do like the idea of giving them some influence over galactic events in this era. 
• That said, I'm not sold on Urien Rakarth. His own bio suggests he's much more involved in the House rivalries than he cares about evil, mad science. So, I'd rather a different Haemonculus is used without ever using the term. While Commorragh is around, we should emphasize that these masters-of-flesh-pain are incredibly rare and the covens are only a fraction of what they will become. 
• I am very iffy on Be'lakor. Hesh had always intended for him to be tied to Molech, and my hostility towards that event is well-known. Also, reading about this Chaos Undivided Daemon Prince revealed that his one consistent trait is to undermine anyone who is gaining favor with the Chaos gods. I'd imagine that would include potential Daemon Primarchs, which makes him helping Morro out more confusing. The only possible motivation I can see is that Chaos is willing to work together to corrupt Morro. But, that makes less sense since Morro is explicitly being courted by Slaanesh. I do want to see Be'lakor do something given he's status as the only Daemon Prince of Chaos Undivided, but I believe he'd be better served in corrupting/interacting with Icarion, Travier, or even Andezo. 

 

While I want to hear from everyone else, I'd especially like to hear from Helter or Rak.

[bluntblade]

I agree with your summation.

[simison]

I had a thought. We could keep the Penumbral Angel, but explicitly make it some entity other than Be'lakor.

[Raktra]

Why was Hesh so insistent that Rakarth and Be'lakor be involved?

*scathing remark implication*

 

Anyways, yeah I’m in agreement. Be’Lakor would probably only really pay proper attention to Icarion if anyone in our lore (see his interactions with Abaddon in 40k and Archaon in old Fantasy as examples).

 

Rakarth, whose name I keep reading as mine, would probably not be too noteworthy at this point in time if I remember rightly. I know he witnessed the Fall, but were Haemonculi specifically as big a thing then? Regardless, it feels off.

[Uberlord Gendo]

I think tying it to entities unknown and unclear makes it more sinister.  As weird and as sinister as Haemonculi are, tying it to such a major one brings it into familiar territory for the 40k player.  Particularly since we're writing all this from in-universe perspectives, having the writers be uncertain as to exactly what fell powers Morro was in league with is a good way to let the reader's imagination run wild.  Dark Eldar?  Slaught?  Other, stranger things?

[Beren]

Changing the names/identities is probably the simplest (and most effective) thing to do here.

[Doctor Perils]

Yeah, I'd actually be in favour of ripping the Dark Eldar out altogether and have a slaaneshi Lovecraftian xenos cabal performing the experimentations. It would provide some necessary foreshadowing too.

 

On the other hand, Haemonculi are already fairly well established, if not quite as horrific as what they will become

The first Haemonculi were originally the masters of the ancient Eldar Empire.[2b]

https://wh40k.lexicanum.com/wiki/Haemonculi

[bluntblade]

Also gives us the opportunity to get deeper into the Lovecraftian shenans

[Beren]

I'd honestly be more hesitant on that part. For one, Morro has history with the Dark Eldar and may k ow to seek them out. For another, I'd rather avoid a similar situation to the Laer and Laer blade, and have it made clear that the Drowned aren't solely being taken for a ride, so as to speak.

[simison]

I too would rather we kept the Dark Eldar to give them something to brag about instead of completely ignoring them like canon does for the Heresy. 

[Uberlord Gendo]

I think we've actually got some greater scope in terms of working with the "Dark Eldar".  The Dark Eldar proper don't come about until m32 or 34? when Vect establishes his new order.  At the time of the Heresy, the Dark Eldar haven't really gelled into the Kabal, Coven, Haemonculi system.  It's a much less orderly form of debauchery.  There's probably even clergy of the old gods still running around as well as diverse responses to the birth of Slaneesh, which give us scope for some directions in Eldar thought which aren't represented in 40k fluff-- stuff that doesn't stand the test of time, but can be invoked to give an extra layer of strange savagery to the post-fall world.  I'm thinking Daemon Worshiping Eldar who get tricked by daemons posing as shards of their gods, Eldar who make pacts with other species, etc etc.

[bluntblade]

We definitely have Dark Eldar of a kind as encountered by Vulkan, but certainly there's room for less typical groups

[simison]

We definitely have Dark Eldar of a kind as encountered by Vulkan, but certainly there's room for less typical groups

 

This is why I had the DE involved in Alexandros' origin story. While the Kabals and Covens aren't around in their 'modern' incarnation, the pain/pleasure cults are around and the DE weapons tech is already being used. 

 

Though I do love the idea that some of the proto-DE are still faithful worshippers of the old gods and that leads to several messes/headaches.

[simison]

Given the lack of discussion, I'm going to assume we've achieved agreement. We're removing Be'lakor (though we should give him something to do during the Insurrection) and replacing Rakarth. We'll also try to make sure we capture what the DE should look like at this stage instead of just copy and pasting the 40k version in here. 

 

And with the lore settled, back to editing: 

 

• "deep-fey, Karkassac[,] had"
• "flesh sculptors,[ ]a rare"
• Love the new Eldar fluff
• "been sealed[ ]by a"
• "Morro himself[ ]had the closest"
• "of both [p]romethium both in fuel"
• "Majorum[, t]he Omnium[,] and the"
• " than twenty [immense] Macro-Haulers"
• " for the planet[']s continued viability"
• " of that[.] To their"

[simison]

[With the revised lore, the next step is to expand on how Morro finds Karkassac and meets the Penumbral Angel. Both of whom could use more fleshing as well.]

 

The rumble of an engine distracted Morro from thoughts of his legion. His sea-grey eyes drifted toward the source as he considered his choices. The noise suggested a heavier class of vehicle, but Morro wasn't familiar enough to identify the difference, if there was any, between civilian and military vehicles. It could be a troop transport or it could be a luxury vehicle. 

 

The true danger was the road. Morro had kept his path away from them to facilitate his infiltration. It did not matter if traffic was light. The number of buildings and potential witnesses were too much of a threat. Morro started walking again, frustrated one prey would slip out of his grasp. 

 

Then, he realized the noise was getting louder. The vehicle had turned off the roadway and would now cross ahead of Morro in less than a minute. Morro's path was taking him across a field, but there was another grove Morro could hide within. In four seconds, Morro was in position as his gaze followed the vehicle's movement. A transport, a truck with a gun mount added on its trailer, wound through the light forest. It hadn't even been painted in the planet's military's colors, a commercial logo still bright on the side of the truck and its trailer. 

 

No one was manning the gun emplacement. 

 

Morro's mind conjured attack plans. A few, well-placed grenades would ably disable the vehicle. The trailer was too long for his grenades to cover the length, which would require he handle it himself. His hand reached for the first one. He frowned as he considered his grenades. Although unlikely, there was always the chance a combat situation could develop on his way to his destination where he would need them. He debated it for another second as the truck neared his position. Then he removed his hand from the grenades. He had a better idea.

 

He waited as the truck was about to pass him.

 

He charged. 

 

The sheer muscle and freight that was a Primarch slammed into the truck's side at full sprint. 

 

With a squeal of metal, the truck's nose crumbled inward. The engine shrieked as Morro's mass crushed half of it. The truck whipped to one side. A mere three seconds passed before the out-of-control vehicle slammed into a tree. The tree stopped the truck but at the cost of its trunk. Hazardly chopped at, the evergreen gracefully fell to the ground, one last rumble to complete the event. 

 

Morro pulled himselt out of the engine block without a hint of injury. He glanced into the cabin. Three men occupied it. The driver and two others. All three wore combat fatigues with the co-pilot carrying a rifle. 

 

The driver moaned as he pulled his head off the safety airbag. His companion didn't stir, but Morro could see the man faintly breathing. The co-pilot's head was halfway through the window. His neck broken in the crash. 

 

With his great height, Morro didn't bother with the truck's step as he punched a hand through the door's window. Metal snarled as Morro singlehandedly ripped the door off and casually threw it over his shoulder. The driver stirred enough to see the Primarch loomed next to him. Before he could cry out, Morro smashed his skull. The driver's companion didn't stir. He only jerked once when Morro reached over and snapped his neck with a finger. 

 

His work finished, Morro languidly walked toward the trailer's rear entrance. Several voices rattled around within the closed container. On a whim, Morro slammed his fist against the container. Careful to not punch through the metal, the Primarch's fist left a sizable crater. He smiled as he heard screams erupt from inside. Bright blue lasers shot out from within. To Morro's amusement, they pierced above even his incredible height. Perhaps they thought they faced against some titanic monster? Or maybe fear had pulled their aim high. 

[simison]

Continuing his stride, Morro slammed his fist, lower on the container this time. More screams. More reactionary fire. None of which threatened the Primarch as he neared the container's entrance. His ears noted the screams were diverse. Women and men hid within the hold. 

 

With a final punch, Morro neatly dodged the return las fire as he passed the corner and stood before the container's entry. He glanced at the holes left in the container's size, guaging how much charge was left in the lasrifles. A full charge would have been reduced by half. The odds there was enough firepower within to threaten the Primarch was close to zero. 

 

Morro reached out with both hands before ripping away the container's doors. 

[simison]

He counted a dozen or so individuals cowering at the far side of the container. Four men, seven women, and two children. The men wore the rebels' uniforms, while the women and children appeared to be civilians. The rank smell of fecal matter and urine filled the air as Morro took the first step into the container, hunching over to fit his bulk. The rebels froze, their lasguns silent. In fact, all of the screaming had stopped the moment the mortals had laid eyes upon him. Morro drew his sword...

 

~~~

[simison]

Shoalmaster Tanna saluted as his Primarch approached. Tanna stood in the middle of an abandoned quarry with a new tunnel behind him. In the mouth of the tunnel was a hades breaching drill on standby, fresh rubble rolling off of it. The Lord of the Sixteenth held one of his blades aloft as he cleaned it with a piece of cloth that suspiciously looked like a bloodied and torn woman's dress. "My lord, we await your orders."

 

Without looking at Tanna, Morro demanded, "What is the status of the Acheron road?"

 

"Milord, due to a deposit of osmium, the diggers are running several hours behind schedule, but we will break beneath the capital city on the scheduled day."

 

"Unacceptable," Morro declared as he threw away the cloth. "I have sworn Tarth will not enjoy another hour beyond the appointed time and no rock will prove me a liar. Take me to the dig point. Correction must be implemented."

[simison]

Designs of the Impure Prince

 

Morro allowed himself a moment to revel in the pleasure of the kill. The rebel leader aimed an intricate plasma, coils glowing blue, pistol at Morro's head, but Morro did not think of it as a threat. The man shook so hard, no doubt the shot would go wide. Instead, Morro's eyes locked on the man's magnificent cape. It was of exquisite quality in a luxurious red. Morro spun one of his shotels, his famed curved swords, in his gauntlet as he debated on how to seize the cape without spilling blood on it. Skewering wasn't an option. Even if Morro controlled his strike so that the blade didn't pierce through the man's body, the man might flail and drive himself deeper on the shotel. 

 

Decapitation? No, the outpour would undoubtedly fall upon the cape.

 

Legs, Morro decided as he stepped forward, sheathing a shotel. The rebel leader screamed as his finger closed on the trigger. Before the man could blink, Morro swung. The man's legs went flying off to the side. In the instant before gravity could assert its hold, Morro's other hand flashed and closed around the man's head. 

 

The man's screams were muffled by Morro's hand as he held the man aloft. Blood poured out of the man's stumps. 

 

"My lord."

 

Morro leaned his head to one side, his dark hair pooling to one side, as he spoke into the vox system built into his armor. "Speak."

 

"We've secured the enemy headquarters and are transitioning into sweeps of the city to eliminate the last of the rebel forces. Estimated time to complete annihilation of enemy forces is two hours and fifteen minutes." 

 

The man's screams whittled as his flesh paled. Morro ran calculations and recalled previous city subjugation operations as handled by other legions. The Drowned's progress was definitely proceeding faster than a similar operation completed by the Eagle Warriors, who tended to use a bit too much flash and awe in their strikes, but slower than the Predators, due in no small part to their expertise in mobility warfare. 

 

"Pull Shoal Shishi-Revi'i from the city perimeter. If they slip through the cracks, we'll hunt them, but I want the city secured in two hours."

 

"It will be done, my lord."

 

Morro terminated the vox connection as he noted the rebel leader had finished bleeding out, heralded by the man dropping his unused plasma pistol. As Morro claimed the cape for his own purposes, he wondered what luxuries the ruler of this world had to offer him. Governor Saul Tarth had the benefit of occupying his station for three decades before he committed the mistake of turning against his Imperial masters. Overseeing Ivah had seen the man's wealth skyrocket due in no small part to Ivah's status as a key trade center in South Tempestus. 

 

Which lead to the current restrictions upon Morro's war plans. The Drowned were to inflict as little collateral damage to allow Ivah's trade to be restored as quickly as possible. At the same time, the campaign was to be completed as soon as possible. It was a bit difficult since Tarth had spent the last five years pouring as many Thrones as he could into a new Ivah military, which was why a legion had been summoned to bring Tarth to heel. 

 

In truth, Morro knew the War Council had not wanted the Drowned or Morro near this campaign. Fiscal, not military, motivation had forced their hand. By chance, the Morro's personal fleet, the Kelyfos, had been the closest legion when Tarth had declared his independence. So the Drowned would serve the retribution the Imperium desired against Tarth's arrogance. 

 

And re-open the Ivah markets as soon as possible.

 

No longer concerned with the man flailing in his death throes, Morro pinched two fingers on the back of the man's uniform before delicately cutting off the cape from the corpse. Once the cape was no longer attached to its former master, he dropped the corpse. Morro gingerly wrapped it before securing it to his armour. He threw a final glance over the city. With only rodents left to hunt, Morro would not bother remaining as he marched out of the marble office. At the doors, his personal guard awaited, surrounded by the dead who had dared to resist them. Morro wondered if any of them harbored disapproving thoughts as they had watched Morro take his new spoil. 

 

Not in the first instance in which Primarch found himself at cross-purposes with his own legion. The Drowned had always had a tendency toward the reserve when it came to decoration. It was a trait they had not inherited from Morro. The Lord of the Drowned had always enjoyed the finer things in life and would not break with it because his sons were different. Perhaps no unspoken criticism laid in the room. For as ostentatious Morro might be, his ruthless tactics were a seamless extension of the Drowned' own martial spirit. Or, vice versa since Morro could claim birth before the Sixteenth.

 

The Demersal Guard, however, kept their silence as Morro walked past them. With honed practice, they fell into step with their liege lord as they exited. Comprised of sixteen chosen warriors, Morro did not offer a hint of gratitude towards them. In terms of martial purpose, they were of little value against most opponents, whom he could slay with ease. No, the few beings that could threaten Morro would be the sole situation they had military value to him for either a knife in the flank or a pawn to be sacrificed. Outside of those truly rare events, as far as he was concerned, their true purpose was to emphasize Morro's position as a Primarch. From the contrast in height to their lethal weapons, the Demersal Guard elevated their Primarch in glory when they accompanied him. 

 

Bodies lined the hallway, their red blood contrasting with the alabaster stone. Morro claimed half of the dead by his hand. It had been an amusing exercise, seeing if he could maintain double the threshold of kills in ratio to the Demersal Guard. 

 

The most amusing kills were the ones who screamed, "For Tarth!" Or, "Defend Dukoh!" Others may have used battle cries to rally their comrades or to strike hestiation into their enemes. This worthless mob, however, had shrieked theirs like terrified children. It was a pleasing sound to Morro, added with the irony that neither Tarth cared for his fodder or Dukoh was worth dying for. The sole reason Morro fought here was so that Tarth knew the Impure Prince had landed at this particular city. Dukoh was the eighth largest city on the planet. Nothing noteworthy about the city, from economy to military. Any well experienced strategos would be utterly befuddled by Morro's strategic decision. To a novice such as Tarth, no doubt he would be expecting some ploy and would soon be sending his armies to counter. 

 

Which is what Morro wanted him to do. 

 

Dukoh was worthless to the Drowned, until Morro marched through its streets. Now, it served as a weapon by dint of his presence. His weapon. 

 

It was a lesson some of his ...brothers hadn't learned. Oh yes, they certainly understood themselves well enough as a strategic resource and their potency as a martial symbol. Yet, few of them truly grasped their utility in misdirection. Off-hand, Morro knew the Jade General and Bahmut had demonstrated a proficiency for it. Pakal never revealed himself before striking the killing blow, ironically ensuring he never wielded the ability. 

 

Then you had the glory-hungry fools who insisted upon their infuriating codes of honor. Mycenor, Niimiika, Darzalas. Always parading around, insisting they were too valuable to waste in such a role. Morro inwardly sneered at the thought. 

 

Outside the mayoral palace was a landing site designed for large craft. Probably for a luxury or a pleasure yacht, but it was the perfect size for an warhawk-pattern stormbird. The Hel's Wing was not Morro's favorite, but it was undeniably one of his more practical transport options. Speed was what he required now. As he stepped into the troop bay, he demanded a final check-in from his field commanders, shouting over the roar of the Hel's Wing's engines. 

 

To his satisfaction, they were meeting his expectations. It was important all city resistance was negated quickly to allow the Drowned to prepare the city for Tarth's incoming counter-attack. If all timetables were met, quite the surprise would await the rebel forces. 

 

The carrier ramp closed, heralding their path into the skies. Morro calculated the incoming counter-push would take fifteen hours, which meant he would have to place himself on standby so as to leave the illusion that he may or may not be in Dukoh. Standby, however, did not mean idle. 

 

The Hel's Wing swept over the city, taking care to fly by the few remaining combat zones. Each time, they flew low enough to lay down a barrage or two against remaining rebel forces before moving onto the next one. Morror counted six interventions before they reached past the city limits and out into the countryside. The carrier bay opened again as Morro stepped towards the exit. The hurtling winds did nothing to deprive him of balance as he glanced over the tactical feed being fed by the stormbird's auspex. No humans in range. 

 

With confirmation, Morro walked off the ramp. Five hundred meters flew by, the earth rushing up to embrace him. His heartbeat at utter ease, the Primarch landed upon the planet, creating a small crater. The Hel's Wing turned about and flew back to the city. The cacophony of the war machine receded as the background chatter of a forest replaced it.

 

Morro walked onward without issue. Two kilometers to west was his next destination. Although he traveled alone, he feared nothing. The only rebel forces this far from Dukoh would have been broken remnants allowed to run to spread the tale of defeat. In fact, Morro hoped he would cross across a few shattered units. Although he had been forced to sacrifice air travel for the next phase of the plan, an hour of downtime was unavoidable. Spilling blood would be a quick way to resolve that particular boredom. 

 

He wondered when was the last time any of his brothers completed a lone foot march. He doubted Alexandros, that infuriating Shield-Lord of the Halcyon Wardens could stomach the idea of traveling anywhere without a few dozen followers fawning over him. Niklaas, perhaps, if the situation demanded it. The Lord of the Fire Keepers, was a practical man, willing to make the hard choices without the veneer of a false idealism. In no reality could Morro imagine Yucahu forcing himself to travel via feet. The Fourth Legion's Star-Born seemed allergic to dirt. 

 

A snap broke Morro's reverie. He paused as he focused his hearing. Eighty meters off his left were nine individuals, two of which were dragging a tenth. A small grove of trees obscured the view between the Primarch and the group. Their gait dragged and shambled in his direction. Morro stared with merciless sea-grey eyes before he moved towards the group. Morro may not have possessed the bulk some of his brothers did, but any watchers would have been baffled as the giant demigod of war crossed the field without noise. He could hear more now. 

 

He could hear the stomp of heavy boots against the grass. The metallic jingle of loose equipment. The low moans of the wounded. Two members were whispering to each other, but Morro could hear them clearly. They complained about Tarth, the war. Most importantly, they regretted following Tarth into rebellion.

 

Perfect, Morro thought as he reached for his blades. 

 

He paused. A whim dictated he had not used only his fists in some time. He obeyed as he neglected his blades, clenching his hands into fists. He waited until the group was no more than two strides from his location. 

 

The lead soldier never saw or heard him. Morro doubted the mortal realized he'd been decapitated as his severed head flew through the air. He was already moving. In the second of reaction time afforded to them, the soldiers were barely aware something was wrong. A Drowned squad, even during a nasty withdrawal, would have maintained combat intervals and kept watch for new threats. These poor fools bunched themselves and half of them stared at the ground as they walked. 

 

All the easier, Morro thought to himself as he raced toward a trio. 

 

Their minds, only now registering something was awry, reacted with the alacrity of a slug. A kick caved the chest of one rebel, while a lashing fist sent another's broken body flying. Morro headbutted the third, rewarded with a satisfiying crack as the man's skull splintered beneath the force. 

 

The remaining rebels finally understood they were being attacked. The hapless fools raised rifles and screamed at each other as they tried to identify the threat. It took another precious moment for them to realize they faced a Primarch. By that point, Morro had slain two more of their comrades. 

 

Then, with realization descending, did the fear hammered into them. Of the remaining four, only two did not break. One fumbled with his rifle. His hands shook so hard, Morro was surprised the man didn't drop it. The other couldn't run. Shrapnel lacerated throughout the man's torso, leaving him unconscious. The two soldiers carrying their wounded companion unceremoniously dropped him as they sprinted away. 

 

For the one who possessed the courage to defy the Impure Prince, Morro showed mercy. With a single finger, Morro slammed it through the man's chest and heart. Before the man's body fell to the forest floor, Morro chased after the cowards, his adamantium boots crushing the unconscious soldier to death. The two soldiers reached a total of eight paces before Morro was upon them. Two giant fingers wrapped around their necks before Morro slowly lifted them off of the ground. They screamed and begged for their miserable lives, but Morro tuned them out.

 

Instead, he, ever so slowly, squeezed. 

 

First, they couldn't breath, clawing at his digits as their bodies thrashed about. Then their windpipes collapsed under the pressure. With an audible snap, animal panic seized them even though death was now inescapable. 

 

Morro continued to squeeze.

 

Finally, bones crunched beneath Morro's grip. Their nervous systems were pulverised. Their frantic flailing ceased. 

 

Morro released the corpses to flop upon the earth. Silence returned to the small forest as he basked in the kills for a moment. Then he turned and resumed his journey. 

 

He studied the blood covering his index finger. The red contrasted nicely with the sea-green of his armor. He wondered how his bout of unarmed combat would have compared with the Jade General's martial arts. No doubt the latter would have done it with more finesse and aplomb than Morro's own demonstration due to simple experience. The Jade General was the sole Primarch who spent as much time wielding his fists and feet as he did with bladed weapons. Morro decided it would be a worthy investment if he could gain a few holo-recordings of the Jade General in battle for his own personal study. 

 

He checked his tracker. Another three kilometers to the next point. With nine kills, he considered sprinting the rest of the way. At top speed, he could be there in a few minutes. 

 

Hesitation held him at his current pace. At top speed, he ran the small risk of missing the presence of the enemy. Small yet significant. Significant enough to cause him to abandon the idea. He would not the risk of anything threatening his plans. 

 

Twenty minutes passed as he walked. He wished he could pass the time with campaign updates, but any such information bursts could alert Tarth's intelligence network. It was not that he felt uncomfortable being solitary. His early life had been spent away from humanity with darker... creatures treating him as prey. On this pathetic world removed from such mega predators, this lonely walk was quite pleasant. No, he wanted to know if his marines were failing his expectations. 

 

The rumble of an engine distracted Morro from thoughts of his legion. His merciless eyes drifted toward the source as he considered his choices. The noise suggested a heavier class of vehicle, but Morro wasn't informed enough to identify the difference, if there was any, between civilian and military vehicles. It could be a troop transport or it could be a luxury vehicle. 

 

The true danger was the road. Morro had kept his path away from it to facilitate his infiltration. It did not matter if traffic was light. The number of buildings and potential witnesses were too much of a threat. Morro started walking again, frustrated one prey would slip out of his grasp. 

 

Then, he realized the noise was getting louder. The vehicle had turned off the roadway and would now cross ahead of Morro in less than a minute. Morro's path was taking him across a field, but there was another grove Morro could hide within. In four seconds, Morro was in position as his gaze followed the vehicle's movement. A transport, a truck with a gun mount added on its trailer, wound through the light forest. It hadn't even been painted in the planet's military's colors, a commercial logo still bright on the side of the truck and its trailer. 

 

No one was manning the gun emplacement. 

 

Morro's mind conjured attack plans. A few, well-placed grenades would disable the vehicle. The trailer was too long for his grenades to cover the length, which would require he handle it himself. His hand reached for the first one. He frowned as he considered his grenades. Although unlikely, there was always the chance a combat situation could develop on his way to his destination where he would need them. He debated it for another second as the truck neared his position. Then he removed his hand from the grenades. He had a better idea.

 

He waited as the truck was about to pass him.

 

He charged. 

 

The sheer muscle and freight that was a Primarch slammed into the truck's side at full sprint. 

 

With a squeal of metal, the truck's nose crumbled inward. The engine shrieked as Morro's mass crushed half of it. The truck whipped to one side. A mere three seconds passed before the out-of-control vehicle slammed into a tree. The tree stopped the truck but at the cost of its trunk. Hazardly chopped at, the evergreen gracefully fell to the ground, one last rumble to complete the event. 

 

Morro pulled himselt out of the engine block without a hint of injury. He glanced into the cabin. Three men occupied it. The driver and two others. All three wore combat fatigues with the co-pilot carrying a rifle. 

 

The driver moaned as he pulled his head off the safety airbag. His companion didn't stir, but Morro could see the man faintly breathing. The co-pilot's head was halfway through the window. His neck broken in the crash. 

 

With his great height, Morro didn't bother with the truck's step as he punched a hand through the door's window. Metal snarled as Morro singlehandedly ripped the door off and casually threw it over his shoulder. The driver stirred enough to see the Primarch loomed next to him. Before he could cry out, Morro smashed his skull. The driver's companion didn't stir. He only jerked once when Morro reached over and snapped his neck with a finger. 

 

His work finished, Morro languidly walked toward the trailer's rear entrance. Several voices rattled around within the closed container. On a whim, Morro slammed his fist against the container. Careful to not punch through the metal, the Primarch's fist left a sizable crater. He smiled as he heard screams erupt from inside. Bright blue lasers shot out from within. To Morro's amusement, they pierced above even his incredible height. Perhaps they thought they faced against some titanic monster? Or maybe fear had pulled their aim high. It could be the crash had crippled their aim.

 

Continuing his stride, Morro slammed his fist, lower on the container this time. More screams. More reactionary fire. None of which threatened the Primarch as he neared the container's entrance. His ears noted the screams were diverse. Women and men hid within the hold. 

 

With a final punch, Morro neatly dodged the return las fire as he passed the corner and stood before the container's entry. He glanced at the holes left in the container's size, guaging how much charge was left in the lasrifles. A full charge would have been reduced by half. The odds there was enough firepower within to threaten the Primarch was close to zero. 

 

Morro reached out with both hands before ripping away the container's doors. 

 

He counted a dozen or so individuals cowering at the far side of the container. Four men, seven women, and two children. The men wore the rebels' uniforms, while the women and children appeared to be civilians. The rank smell of fecal matter and urine filled the air as Morro took the first step into the container, hunching over to fit his bulk. The rebels froze, their lasguns silent. In fact, all of the screaming had stopped the moment the mortals had laid eyes upon him. Morro drew his shotel...

 

~~~

 

Shoalmaster Tanna saluted as his Primarch approached. Tanna stood in the middle of an abandoned quarry with a new tunnel behind him. In the mouth of the tunnel was a hades breaching drill on standby, fresh rubble rolling off of it. The Lord of the Sixteenth held one of his blades aloft as he cleaned it with a piece of cloth that suspiciously looked like a bloodied and torn woman's dress. "My lord, we await your orders."

 

Without looking at Tanna, Morro demanded, "What is the status of the Acheron road?"

 

"Milord, due to a deposit of osmium, the diggers are running several hours behind schedule, but we will break beneath the capital city on the scheduled day."

 

"Unacceptable," Morro declared as he threw away the cloth. "I have sworn Tarth will not enjoy another hour beyond the appointed time and no rock will prove me a liar. Take me to the dig point. Correction must be implemented."

Edited September 9, 2019 by simison

[simison]

[Cleaned.]

 

Dare

A curious thing, a dare in the mind of a child. It can inspire acts of unusual bravery or, more commonly, stupidity. Whichever is open to the interpretation of the observer. An adult would see the latter; the more youthful, the former. In this instance, the youthful ruled. The older boys had told them the tale of the swampland. About how every generation, any boys who have not yet trodden the road to manhood are claimed by the things that rise from those dank, dark waters.

 

And here lay the dare. Spend a night in the swamps, and none would ever poke fun at them again. With apprehension, the group of boys set out with their lumen globes and sleeping bags, the sun still peaking ever so slightly above the weeping trees, bathing the sky the colour of a deep bruise in its final rays. They picked their way over the gnarled roots along the drier rises between the trees; a misstep in either direction would see them fall into the blackening waters, which would leave them sodden and stinking. It would also risk disturbing the local creatures, which had not yet risen from their daytime slumber to seek an opportune breakfast from a floundering child.

 

The boys found themselves a nice patch of mossed earth large enough to accommodate this small merry band. Five in all, between 10 and 12 summers each, they played and talked as boys do 'til the last of the natural light fell, and the night rose. The boys made to cease their games, but then there were only four. In a panic they took their globes and set out to find their lost friend calling his name, their shrill voices dying in the breeze as it whipped through the dangling limbs of the weeping trees. A shriek and a splash, they ran back to each other, only three now, fear making its way into their hearts.

 

They dare not split again for fear of losing another.

 

Cautiously, they crept deeper into the swamp, less hard earth to be found. The brackish fluid started creeping around their ankles, cold, uncaring. Onward they went stepping over twisted roots, stepping over a twisted arm. Bringing their globes together, they saw their friend for the last time, pale and lifeless, a bloodied ring upon his neck, like suckers from the tentacled creatures of the seas they learnt of in the school house. They fled toward home. They fled as best they could. Roots tripped them, branches ensnared them, the earth slipped beneath them.

 

Another splash, only two now, eyes watering from the terror coursing through them. The harsh breeze stung their eyes.

 

A dull thud, another boy fell, but the last did not turn to stop. 

 

Then a crack as his nose split.

 

Blood pouring down his face, white light spiking his vision he felt a biting on his neck. His vision cleared to see two dead white lights staring down at him. He raised his globe that he desperately clung to, a shimmer of sea green edged in rose copper.

 

An affirmative ping.

 

The boy yelped as he was dragged back into the swamp, the black and brackish water enveloping him. He saw his friends for the last time, being carried away into the depths of the night by the same monsters that held him.

 

The Drowned had claimed their tithe.

Edited September 10, 2019 by simison