TALE - Just Because

[simison]

A right old can of worms you've opened here, Sim

 

Feel free to argue with my muse, but be careful of her fangs.

[bluntblade]

Hey, I'm miles down the rabbit hole myself now

[simison]

Guilliman stepped onto the lit ring, for there seemed nothing else to do. Almost mirroring him, movement for movement, was another entering the ring. The Lord of Macragge studied his fellow giant as his second foot crossed the threshold of light. When both feet landed within the circle, a flood of memories rushed him. Memories that were not his own. In the memories where a reflection was seen, he saw not his clean features, but the others' bearded face. 

 

Given Guilliman's talents at organization and logistics, he quickly sifted and codified the new memories. He addressed the axe-wielding warrior. "You are... Hectarion. Hectarion of Mycenor."

 

The barbarian Primarch nodded. "Aye," he said, in a manner that reminded Guilliman of Russ. "Guilliman. Roboute Guilliman, is your name, is it not?"

 

"Indeed, it is," Guilliman affirmed. It was getting easier to manage the new memories of this strange brother. No, he thought to himself, that's not quite right. "You are a Primarch, but you're not one I know of. You're not even the Lord of the Second or the Eleventh." Misery touched Hectarion's features, but confusion came to Guilliman as certain memories surged. "No, that isn't right. Leman and Magnus are not Lost. They are known to me, but they have not been erased."

 

Hectarion whispered as realization came to him, "They live, but in only in your realm. Your... dimension?"

 

It should have been impossible, declared Guilliman's logic. The Multiverse Theory was ancient and long since discredited since M23. Yet, he couldn't deny the lion-covered warrior standing before him either. He summoned the memories of Magnus,  of both of them, to the forefront of his mind. They were so similar yet their fates could not have been more different. Or, were they? The Space Wolves on Ultramar had mentioned betrayal and sanction. What if his Magnus had met a parallel dark fate? 

 

"He seems more bitter."

 

Guilliman snapped from his thoughts. "Come again?"

 

Hectarion opened his mouth, but then a screen appeared. It showed Leman Russ, Guilliman's Russ, standing in a strategium. It was the last time Guilliman had spoken with Russ before Horus had begun his rebellion and the onset of the Ruinstorm. Hectarion pointed at their shared brother. "He's carrying a weight on his shoulders that I've never seen before." He paused as he stood in contemplation. "Does it have something to do with the one called Angron? Or... is it something else?"

 

For once in his life, Guilliman didn't have a ready answer. "I don't know. I didn't realize he was different."

 

Hectarion frowned at him. Then, for a brief moment, the disapproval became something darker and more savage. Hectarion gritted his teeth before wrestling with his mood back into something more civil. 

 

Guilliman almost asked before the memories he was given surrendered the answer to his mind. He regarded Hecatrion with wariness. "You are tainted. Tainted with the same power that threw me out into the void above Calth."

 

Guilt covered Hectarion in a thrick shroud before he muttered, "Aye. I fought a daemon and paid the price for it. You fared much better than I. Though you paid a bloody price when this Lorgar and his Word Bearers came for you at Calth."

 

"Yes," Guilliman admitted as he felt the old fury over his brother's betrayal return in force. "You could say it was my Day of Revelation."

 

"But you survived, and your sons won the battle," Hectarion said approvingly. "The planet was scarred, but you broke the Word Bearers and their abominations as I and my sons did on the Day of Revelation. You won and then..." The expression of approval faded as Hectarion considered what came next. "You rallied your worlds, your 500." 

 

Guilliman latched onto the number. "As you did. You too are the master of 500 worlds. The Dominion."

 

"Imperium Secundus." As the words left his mouth, Hectarion's eyes darkened. "You abandoned the Imperium. You abandoned Father."

 

"I did no such thing," Guilliman protested. "The Ruinstorm cut us off from the Imperium. I had to-"

 

Hectarion stabbed a finger towards the Avenging Son. "You had Pharos. You had, have the beacon which lead to your brothers the Lion and Sanguinius to your door. Why didn't you use it to illuminate a system beyond the Ruinstorm? You could've sent scout ships to deem the system secure before marshaling three legions to go to Father's aid."

 

"We don't have proof that plan would've worked."

 

"You didn't even try." Hectarion spit right in front of Guilliman's feet. "Every day, the Stormlord pushes our forces back as we desperately try to find ways to blunt his advance. If we had three legions more, we could finally turn the tide against the Traitors." 

 

Guilliman didn't speak, knowing any words he said would only fuel the Crimson Lion's rage. A rage he wasn't completely in control of. He did see the war, the Insurrection, Hectarion spoke of. Guilliman honestly was unsure of the state of the Imperium, but he didn't know if that was better or worse than what he saw. The simple knowing certainty that the Traitors were expanding their borders, regardless of your best efforts had lead even good men to give into despair. He could not blame Hectarion for the anger he felt, even if Guilliman believed it was misguided. 

 

The moment passed, and Hectarion's anger cooled with some difficulty. "But you still have the chance to make things right. Hope is our only weapon."

 

Reviewing the memories, Guilliman studied the other brothers he did not know. "You have more than hope. You fight alongside some of the finest Primarchs, both of your reality and mine."

 

That drew out a small, tired smile. Before either of them could speak, a table extended from the floor in the room's center. On it were two mugs with a liquid Guilliman didn't recognize. Hectarion did as he eagerly strode forward to claim his vessel. "Perhaps we do. A drink is in order. May the loyal sons of the Emperor prevail, in both your war and mine."

[simison]

Leman stepped into the wall-less room. He did not know where it was or how he had come to this place, everything felt unreal, as though a dream. Before he could decipher the meaning to this place, another entered...

[Nomus Sardauk]

Leman stepped into the wall-less room. He did not know where it was or how he had come to this place, everything felt unreal, as though a dream. Before he could decipher the meaning to this place, another entered...

Oooo, I wonder who he'll meet, himself? Or the Insurrection's VIth Primarch?

[bluntblade]

Jackal? Or maybe we could play a wild card and have him meet Kozja or Pionus?

[bluntblade]

It's a very deep rabbit hole...

 

The Molech thing is an extension of my internal re-retcon of Vengeful Spirit so that Horus' sojourn in the Warp and the whole Emperor getting power from the Chaos Gods is all a big illusion.

[simison]

It'd be nice if GW/BL retcon Molech to something less insipid. Still love that story you posted, Blunt.

[Sigismund229]

I wrote a follow on from blunt's piece, featuring the fall of the Black Guard.

 

 

As he turned away from Magnus, Alexandros' eyes were blinded by the light of an artillery shell's explosion and his body felt like it was submerged in fire. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, he felt slivers of shrapnel ripping through his limbs and he could nothing but ringing in his ears. The time he spent like this could not have been more than a few seconds yet it felt like a lifetime of suffering. Eventually, the fire that he had felt raging around his body subsided and the ripping of shrapnel tearing through him ceased. While the ringing in his ears was still deafeningly loud, his vision was beginning to clear. He could barely see five meters in front of him. Everything past that point was clouded by a fog...no not fog. Poisonous fumes. How did he know that? More importantly, why was he unaffected by the fumes? His senses told him they were toxic enough to eat their way through power armour given enough time, let alone his lungs and skin. Glancing down at his body, Alexandros saw that he was unharmed by having suffered a direct hit from an artillery shell. That was it. This was little more than a psychic illusion, an impression on Alexandros' mind. That was why he knew so much about it. Delving into his memories, he plucked out a name. Romuva. He was on Romuva.

 

From the fumes in front of Alexandros came a group of legionaries in ash grey armour. They wore mkII crusade armour, its pipes rusting and being eaten away by the toxic air, and they had bolters in their fists and what looked like gas masks over their helm grilles. Rad grenades clattered against their armour alongside other types of grenade Alexandros had never seen before. Looking at them, Alexandros saw that they were knee high in gelatinous mud and dirt that seemed to be corroding the lower plates of their armour.

 

Delving deeper into his false memories, Alexandros found another name. Black Guard. II^nd legion. Then he was blocked by an influence he recognised as a pariah. Looking around him he saw no one but the legionaries, who were talking amongst themselves in a guttural language. One of them was going unhelmed, although the lower part of his face was covered by a rebreather. That was a small relief, for the rest of the marine's face looked like something out of Alexandros' worst nightmares. His eyes were totally white, all other colour drained from them, and his skin was steadily rotting away, broken down by the fumes he was walking through.

 

Looking ahead, the legionnaire seemed to look right through Alexandros, looking straight ahead. Barking something in his and his companions guttural language, he opened up with his bolter. Turning to look in the direction they were firing, Alexandros saw Astartes in silver armour that bore hazard stripes begin to fall to precise shots that hit them in the neck and other exposed joints. Most fell face first into the muck, blood spurting up from their wounds. One had his helm's filters shattered and was forced to remove it, although mere seconds later he began to cough dissolved and rotting flesh from his lungs all over his breastplate and his skin began to rot. Iron Warriors. The name sprang unbidden into Alexandros' mind but he knew it was what the legionnaires in silver were called.

 

They soon retreated and were followed by the Black Guard, relentlessly advancing through the muck and grime of their home's soil. When they were gone, Alexandros bent over to examine the Iron Warrior's bodies. Their armour bore the same rusty and corroded tubing as the Black Guard's and through the gaps in their armour Alexandros could see and smell rotting flesh. Removing one's helm, Alexandros saw a proud, dark haired legionary, now slack jawed and rotting in the air. Going through the memories Alexandros found a name and a principal carved so deep into the warrior's mind not even death could remove them. Olympia. From Iron cometh strength. From strength cometh will. From will cometh faith. From faith cometh honour. From honour cometh Iron. Shaking his head in sadness, Alexandros stood up. He heard the steady crump of siege guns and heavy artillery in the background and saw several shells land nearby, throwing up enormous clouds of dirt and mud. Shaking his head he muttered "What is this hell?".

 

" This is the Siege of Romuva" came the deep, unhurried voice of Magnus. "Romuva is the Black Guard's home. It's being invaded by the Iron Warriors and Death Guard at the Emperor's command. It was hell before but with the siege...matters have not improved". Swiping his hand, Magnus temporarily parted the toxic gases to show a wider part of the battlefield. What it revealed was horrific beyond description. Above them, there was no sunlight. Only thick clouds of ash and industrial smoke. What little light there was on this cursed world's surface came from chemical fires or rents in the earth, which emitted a dull orange glow. Out of those same rents came fresh waves of toxic air and heat, heat that then became trapped under the industrial waste clouds that blocked the sun, elevating temperatures to unnaturally high levels. Each time Alexandros breathed, the air burned his throat and clawed at his lungs as though trying to immolate them.

 

As if the natural misery of the world wasn't enough, the battle raging on it had turned the landscape into a twisting complex of trenches and shell holes. In one such hole, Alexandros saw a legionnaire in grubby white and green armour, his rotten entrails falling out of a rent in his stomach and being gnawed on by a creature as big as Alexandros' fist, despite being riddled with mould. In the distance, a flamer sprayed chemical flames everywhere, silhouetting a giant in power armour, his cloak blowing behind him and a scythe in his hands, like the reaper of old Terra. An apt image for this place.

 

"Why is Tzeentch showing me this?" asked Alexandros.

 

Magnus shook his head and said "He isn't. I am. A parting gift if you will. You will see scenes like this before the Insurrection is over, and worse. Harden yourself to it and never give in. For as long as you fight, hope remains and for as long as hope remains, Chaos shall never win. Humanity will endure. Our father's dream will endure. But if you give in to despair, his dream will wither and die. Never give in".

 

Smiling Alexandros said " My thanks Magnus. I missed our conversations".

 

Magnus smiled back "As did I". Leaning forwards, he embraced Alexandros. As he did, a wind rushed over the Warmaster and when it was gone, he was back in Molech's tunnels, the Spear of Terra in his hand.

Edited November 5, 2016 by Sigismund229

[bluntblade]

It'd be nice if GW/BL retcon Molech to something less insipid. Still love that story you posted, Blunt.

 

 

Well He went to Molech because ultimately He wanted something or wanted to do something in the RoC.

I wish it would be explained or at least hinted at what He did there.

 

He stole/won the powers to create Primarchs. It was directly stated by Horus. And Gods of Chaos has no reasons to lie, then it's the truth

 

Directly stated by the Chaos Gods' most famous complete and total dupe. 

 

This is the danger in taking anything at this level of the lore at 100% face value (especially when it's never written that way), because then anything that contradicts it or doesn't mention it is considered wrong. The Emperor making a deal with the Chaos Gods is one of those "Lost Legions" kinds of things. I don't know anyone that "knows" it's true. Or what the point of the deal would really be, to what benefit, etc.

 

It's possible, sure, but I know various folks in power that believe it's true and others that believe it's nonsense.

Hey hey

[simison]

That is the one thing I hate about 40k fiction. This whole 'flexible truth' feels more like a crutch than anything clever, and an excuse to simply retcon things whenever they want to. 

[bluntblade]

Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it works, sometimes I just don't see the point - see the thing that happens to a certain Chapter in The Beast Arises.

[Chief Captain Redd]

Well our own history is pretty flexible in the way it can be looked at; the time between the End Times and the Heresy is 2.5x that roughly of our own recorded history if you start around the time of Gilgamesh.

[Skalpynock]

Nine Astartes awaited around her. Ominous figures, even when sat around a table, for Koravan, mere emissary of the Council of Terra. She had come with an important missive, one important enough to justify the mobilisation of the entire Fourth Legion. Eight Admirals, and Dakkar, Yucahu's equerry – the Primarch had judged better to send an Astartes for the first fleet, to keep all representatives of the Fleets on equal footing. They were pondering the facts, and the implication of their mission. Of course, they would obey; the Warmaster had given his support to the Council on this matter. Yet censuring an entire legion was no easy decision to take, especially for the Void Eagles. The Crimson Lions would have complied without discussion, but the Eagles were not so single-minded. The different liveries of the admirals told as much.

Qalie was the first to break the silence. "This course of action seems rational. Legions have no right to govern, as much as Lords Vallant and Darzalas seem to think otherwise." his voice was an unnerving monotone, perfectly articulated but lacking much in humanity.

"I'm not entirely set on that "rationality" you speak so much about," answered Maloran, still unconsciously twisting his braided hair "we are only one legion. Are we really ready to risk extinction, should things go awry? The Star Lords are more numerous than us, and their colonies well-defended. One-on-one, we stand no chance in space battle."

Antique servos became to whirr as the fist of an ancient armour descended on the table. Sohrak Mashyan, last lord of the Morning Stars, when they were still a legion. White shoulderpads were all that was left of his former colors. "Planetary assault is not the solution there. The old ways are far more suited to the situation. Attempting diplomacy with the higher echelons of each major colony, and should they refuse, we shall strike our sentence. A Legion should not waste itself, neither with trade or the slaughter of lesser targets, who most likely have done nothing wrong but follow orders."

"I'm with you on this one, old man." Limtoc nodded, a bloodthirsty smile on his face, and a hand agitated around the haft of his axe "A sword to the face is the only justice these coin-lords deserve. The Crusade is a war, not a fething investment venture. Waste of gene-seed, all of 'em!"

Then another Terminator suit groaned into life. Unlike Mashyan's gleaming Cataphractii plate, this one was fire-blackened, and of an experimental model, a bastardisation of Indomitus and Tartaros, adorned with flags of broken skulls drenched in blood. Amaros Alvator, the dreaded Son of Nothingness, chuckled. "Brothers, remember that we are the Starborn. We have the single largest combined fleet of all the Legions, the least ethical cogboys in the galaxy, and enough ordnance to blow up Segmentum Solar if we felt like it. The only reasons to even bother landing are leaving planets to give the Imperium, and getting to use these:" He raised a hand, his claws coming to life in purple lightning and the scream of chainblades, "Speaking of which, Calius, what have your madmen made since last time? I remember talk of overcharging Termies?"

The man who answered him was a wreck of augmetics and targeters, cables digging deep into his skull. "Ah, the Saturators. Perfectly serviceable, stability issues have been rectified. I've taken six star-forts and seven planets with them, only three percent losses due to overheat, nine percent to general bombardments, two percent to enemy fire. Conclusion: ready for deployment in the entire legion. About the Star Lords, it looks like they're trying to get as much Forges on their side as possible. Wouldn't surprise me if they were diverting the other legions' supplies for themselves. The dogs."

"Meanwhile, some of us are still crawling in Mark Two beyond repairability." Limtoc pointed the dents in his chestplate. They were deep, white ceramite showing through the broken brass "Mistress Koravan, "every measure necessary" includes right of salvage, right?"

The emissary struggled to look at the Astartes in the eyes. They were imposing presences, and the informality with which they spoke made her feel uneasy. It was a serious meeting, not a casual discussion. Yet she mustered enough will to repeat the exact words decided on Terra. "Any. Means. Necessary."

This sentence was a tipping point for Mashyan. "Are you really thinking about bombing an entire legion into oblivion, just because our cousins are trading rather than pursuing the Crusade? Have you really no idea of the consequences? Have you fought alongside the Wolves of Fenris and the Damned Sons of Magnus? Brothers, if I can call you that, do you really see what we are preparing to do? They have failed, perhaps, but so have the Warbringers, and yet I am glad that the Ninth still stand among us to this day. I will not force myself to forget a part of History again."

Mili Ayelat put his bolter upon the table, an habit he had taken from his Cthonian predecessor. "In any case, I stand ready to fight. Someone has to do it."

Acao Culica followed, a krak grenade serving as his token. "History may revile us, or forget us. I say we already are, so we might as well do it right."

Trinkets and weapons subsequently amassed on the rockrete slab. A red skull jaw, Limtoc's chainsword, a Martian sigil, a targeter, Maloran's waveblade. Only the two Terrans took no part in the oath. Mashyan's abstention was obvious. Dakkar's wasn't. Koravan turned to him, intrigued. "What says you, Voidborn?"

"Speaking for myself, I would abstain. But I know the will of our Father." He removed a chain from his neck, its pendant a golden Aquila and a brazen eagle. With great care, he put it on the pile. "Aquila Regnat, brothers."

[Doctor Perils]

Yarhar!!! Great discussion, and would have lead to an even greater story :)

[bluntblade]

So that's another alternate pairing of Lost Legions, I guess

[Kelborn]

Inspired by the latest discussion about MoM, LotD, etc.

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"Your time has come. This will be the dawn of a new Imperium. MY IMPERIUM!"

Abaddon lunged with both, Drach'nyen and the Talon and stabbed out through the ancient corpse on the golden throne. At long last, the Long War was over. He had won. No one was left to stand in his way.

The corpse Emperor furled. There was no blood. There was no smacking noise when Abaddon gripped His heart. Just a quiet hiss as if the body had waited for this moment to happen. His last breath mere more than escaping air.

Abaddon could feel the pleasure of his sword. It impaled the corpse on its precious throne. He pulled out his right hand, covered in the fearsome Talon of Horus. In his grasp, he held the dead, wrinkled heart which should have stopped its work eons ago. He looked at it and with a grieve smile, he squeezed it until it was no more. He opened his hand but instead of the bloody remains of his grandfathers heart, he was met by golden light. So intense that he could barely looked at it. The entire throne room was covered with the expanding rays of blazing light.

Abaddon's allies screamed in vain. Their demon infested bodies were not able to withstand it. Were the light hit them, their flesh and armor were set ablaze, scorching them until only ash remained.

He could hear a familiar voice. One he have not heard since ten thousand years.

"So this is what you have become. Your father would be proud of you."

The voice rang in his mind, so powerful, so almighty that he struggled and had to lean heavily on Drach'nyen to avoid falling to his knees.

"You are dead! How can this be?"

The golden light was ascending from the Talon, wandering through the room until it stopped right before him. It seemed as it was the source of the voice.

"Indeed, you have killed me. You succeeded where your father and so many others had failed."

Visions flooded Abaddon's mind. Visions of other possibilities, other dimensions, other fates.
One vision showed him a renegade Dorn, battling against the Emperor. In his wake, Sigismund walked in his fathers shadow, unbeaten in combat but unable to uphold his fathers vision.
Another vision showed him the Emperor fighting alongside a red haired Primarch. He did not knew this one. The stranger carried a spear and shield. He was clad in purple armor and the title of warmaster came to Abaddons mind.
Another vision showed the strange Primarch and the Emperor fighting against yet another unknown Primarch. Words and names like the Corax coup, the Dornian Heresy, Icarion, Alexandros, Suzerainty, the Day of Revelation, Andezo, Daer'dd were whispered throughout these visions. None made sense. All seemed to be true and false at the same time.

When the visions faded, he realized that he had fallen to his knees, gasping for breath. He looked up and stared into a pair of blazing eyes within a ageless face, framed by long, black hair. A man, taller than even his father Horus stood before him, covered in golden and richly ornamented power armor. He recognized it and quickly looked at the throne.

Drach'nyen was still impaled on it. But the corpse...

The corpse was gone.

"You have seen what I have seen before I met your father for the last time. All the possible futures. All the alternate universes. So diverse, yet they all share the same moment of truth: my death. You have served your purpose, Ezekyle. Because of you, I was able to rise again. Because of your piteous Black Crusade, I am able to rally the strongest of my Astartes and unite the galaxy once and for all. Because of you, the flawed ones of my Primarch project will be destroyed and I can start anew. My Legions will march again. Thank you, son of the sixteenth."

Abaddon was lifted up into the air. He tried to resist, he tried to call out for the dark gods, but it was futile. His arms and legs were stretched. He could not move anymore, only his head was his to control.

All across the room, blazing flames appeared out of nowhere, hanging still in the air. Some appeared on his armor as well, burning through it like tinder. A pain which he had never felt before rose inside him. These flames did not only burn metal and flesh.

They burned his soul as well.

Slowly, the flames across his body expanded, consuming his armor, his flesh, his very being. He tried to scream but even that was not permitted anymore. Though panic was about to take over, he still observed his surrounding. The hovering flames intensified and grew in size until they were as big as the Emperor. He meanwhile looked at them as if he expected something. The flames grew even more in size and Abaddon was able to see silhouettes. They looked like Astartes, clad in power armor, armed with boltgun and blades. As they were getting closer to the seemingly flame portals, he could see more details. Golden armor with black details. Blazing eyes. Covered in flames. They passed the portals and marched in perfect lines. The stream of marching Legionnaires did not stop. He recognized symbols etched on their helmets: Dark Angels, Salamanders, Iron Warriors, Grey Knights, Minotaurs, Howling Griffons, Blood Ravens and Lunar Wolves. All of them carried a single rune on their foreheads, representing their heritage. Some where unknown to him as well, a skull with crossed swords, a dragons head, a tri-foiled snake, a sword carrying lion.

"These are the fallen warriors who have given their lives for the Imperium. Regardless of time and heritage, they all have a place at my side now. They all will unite the galaxy under mankind's rule. And these will be my generals."

All of the sudden, two giants appeared through one portal. Like the Legionnaires, these two were clad in the same livery of golden and black armor. Their eyes were blazing as well. Breathless, Abaddon watched these two walked towards their sire.

One was a bit more bulkier, with short, black hair. A grim face observed its surroundings as if evaluating danger, possibilities and outcomes. A scar across his throat resembled an old wound which was done to him eons ago. His hands, once silver, were now clad in massive, silver gauntlets. Like his massive backpack, covered with all kind of archeotech, these gauntlets proofed his talent of blacksmithing and tinkering.

The second one's armor was more golden and ornamented than his brothers. Impressive, white wings framed his backpack. Golden hair, a seemingly beautiful face and a warm smile were what Abaddon needed to recognize him. A huge, razor-sharp sword was secured in its sheath.

These were the ones who had fallen ten thousand years ago. Reborn like their father, they would lead his armies. They knelt down and he laid his hands upon their heads.

"My sons. Your deaths mean nothing now. You are my wrath incarnate. You will be both, leader and champion of our new Imperium. You will lead our armies and unify mankind again. Go. Help your brothers. Prepare them for our final Crusade!"

Abaddon could do nothing, his body was finally consumed by the flames of wrath of Him. And then the great Despoiler, the chosen one, the warmaster, the man who slayed the Emperor, Ezekyle Abaddon, was no more. Edited November 29, 2016 by Kelborn

[MikhalLeNoir]

Just because it is cool^^

[Kelborn]

Yeah, it's canon verse but that could happen with Raiden as well. ;)

 

MAYBE GW is planing something like this. ^^

Would be cool.

[MikhalLeNoir]

Naaah. You know in broverse it is Gwal^^ ( if all plays out according to plan^^ the masterplan) Edited November 29, 2016 by MikhalLeNoir

[Kelborn]

I'm considering to post that in either one of the MoM threads or separately in another sub forum to open up yet another Endtimes discussion.

 

Just because: for fun.

Edited November 30, 2016 by Kelborn

[MikhalLeNoir]

Do it. But for promotion add all primarch names of the botl to it^^

[simison]

I'm considering to post that in either one of the MoM threads or separately in another sub forum to open up yet another Endtimes discussion.

 

Just because: for fun.

 

Since the insulting thread has locked down, I'd advise against posting in the AoD version. At least, that one is behaving. Now, if they ever re-open the Black Library MoM thread, have at it, but if you wanted out sooner, nobody could stop you positing it separately.

[Kelborn]

Well, Olis opened the BL thread again and BAM it's posted. ^^

Let the flames begin. ^^

[Sigismund229]

Wqs rereading the Unremembered Empire and began wondering what of the CL had sent out Watch Packs following Vizenko

 

"And why exactly" asked Kozja "Are you here?".

 

In front of him were five of the Emperor's gold armoured Custodes. But around them were a horde of a hundred or so Crimson Lions. Whereas the Custodians were helmed and standing regally tall, the Crimson Lions had their barbarian features exposed to the world. Where the Custodians amour was plain save the Imperial aquila, the Crimson Lions' was festooned with elaborate immitations of the knotwork and tatoos with which the warriors of Mycenae decorated their bodies. Where the Custodes held their long broad bladed guardian spears, the Lions gripped their brutal axes, with several filling the otherwise quiet chamber with the sound of their axes being sharpened.

 

One of the Custodians stepped forwards and answered "Following the Vizenko Prosecution, it was decreed that you were to be overseen by the Emperor's Custodian Guard. We are here to fulfill that function".

 

"I wasn't talking about you" Kozja said coldly. "I meant them" he said nodding in direction of the Crimson Lions.

 

"I confess, I am unaware of the reason why we were joined by the Lions" the Custodian replied.

 

"Well then" said Kozja, turning his cold gaze upon the Lions "Do none of you have an answer? Or are you so backwards you don't know gothic?".

 

At that, one of the Lions rose from where he had been crouching, his mouth split by a half grin that exposed a canine sharpened and capped in adamantium. Like all of them, he was tall, his eyes a stony grey and his face covered in blue and red swirls. His hair, dyed an unnatural blonde, its roots still dark, was shaved on one side, on the other left to grow long enough to hang down over his eyes and about his shoulders was a heavy fur edged cloak, held in place by a gold chain from which hung trophies, a wolf's tooth here, an Eldar soulstone there. More tellingly, he wore a heavy gold torc around his neck, indicating his status as a rix.

 

"We speak it well enough" he replied, his accent bearing the lilt of all those who came from Mycenae, "I am Sluaghathan Blackblade" then, sweeping his sword behind him across the other Crimson Lions, he said "This is my braethreac". Then, he twisted his body and shrugged his cloak off of his left shoulder guard, revealing it to be a dull bronze, on it a bright crimson lion rampant, twin silver stars either side of its head. "We are of Cinnithead Mycenor".

 

"You haven't answered my question" Kozja said icily "Why are you here?".

 

"We are here because this is where the ruirech orders us to be" Sluaghathan answered, meeting Kozja's eyes without faltering.

 

Refusing to be baited by these barbaric scum, Kozja repeated "Nevertheless. You came for a reason".

 

"Where one errs, he will err again. Where one errs, others will follow" stated Sluaghathan. "The ruirech has sent out a braethreac to every primarch who was against the decision of the Vizenko Prosecution. We are to prevent any erring".

 

Kozja chuckled "He could not accept the Emperor's judgement? Where is his oh so famed loyalty?".

 

Never breaking eye contact with Kozja for a second, Slughuathan answered "Or perhaps he knew he could be seen to act where the Gachathair could not. For elements of a legion to be attached to another is far from unknown. For Custodes to be appointed to moniter a primarch..." Slughuathan grinned "Now that is a very serious matter indeed".

 

"Science is not something I expect savages to understand" Kozja said haughtily.

 

However, far from being insulted, his comment led to a number of barks of laughter from the Crimson Lions and those who didn't broke into a grin. Slughuathan's snorted in laughter and said "Savagery does not stop us swinging an axe".

 

Raising an eyebrow, Kozja said "Was that meant to be a threat rix?.

 

"Just a reminder" replied Slughuathan "Now we need quarters. Your hearth will do".