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One, so, is it just a aspect shrine for titan pilots?

 

Two, less than one week to go for the challenge. We're going back to the Legions for this next month:

 

 

Remaining Legions:

 

I - Harbingers
III - Crimson Lions
IV - Void Eagles
V - Halcyon Wardens

VI - Iron Bears
VII - Berserkers of Uran
VIII - Godslayers
IX - Warbringers
X - Fire Keepers
XII - Wardens of Light
XIII - Eagle Warriors
XIV - Dune Serpents
XV - Grave Stalkers
XVI - The Drowned
XVII - Warriors of Peace
XVIII - Steel Legion
XIX - Scions Hospitalier
XX - Predators

To call the birth of She-Who-Thirsts a calamity did not seem to accurately portray the sheer magnitude of evil to occur in a single day. In a single hour, Cassion's existence shattered. His life of relative ease died with his parents, and only the burning coals of his rage and grief to navigate this new, cruel fate. 

 

The single worst memory from that day was the hole in his memory. The Aeldari had always been a passionate race, but, though he had been spared by the nightmare deity, he had blacked out beneath the deluge of emotion. When he had returned to coherence, his home was destroyed. 

 

And the nobles arrived only a moment later.

 

With everything they had known upended, the Noble Houses of Il-Kaithe now turned to Kurom's son to lead them, desperate for a symbol of past stability. 

 

Half-dressed and reeling from his own loss, Cassion agreed, if for no other fact that he wanted to learn and to strike back at the tragedy which consumed them. 

 

The Prince of Il-Kaithe now flew above the craftworld's landscape in a sky-runner. The automated transport offered him a rare moment of silence and solitary. He leaned back in his seat as he controlled his breathing, working out the twitchy rage and the quick frustration threatening his self-control. With a week now past the catastrophe, the emergencies were fewer but numerous enough to deny him sleep. 

 

The latest news might change that scant progress. 

 

The sky-runner hurried onto its destination: the craftworld core. 

[Corrosion of Saltwater]

 

Morro allowed himself a moment to revel in the pleasure of the kill. The rebel leader aimed a rifle at Morro's head, but it was of no 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 in his hand 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 one of the shotels. 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 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 Halcyon Wardens (who wasted too much time on words) and Eagle Warriors (who tended to use a bit too much flash and awe in their strikes), but slower than the Crimson Lions (who's raw aggression gave them an undeniable advantage in speed) and the Predators (due in no small part to their expertise in mobility warfare). 

[Does this work better?]

 

 

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. 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.

Morro noticed the rebel leader, some fool colonel, had expired at last. 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, 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.

Edited by simison

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. 

Edited by simison

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. They served two purposes. One, which Morro would never admit, was to offer a decisive advantage against the few beings who could challenge him in direct combat. Two, which Morro flaunted, 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. 

 

 

[How about now?]

Edited by simison
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