Warzone: Medusa

[Urriak Urruk]

Note: I am not a complete expert on all Warhammer lore, nor am I completely familiar with the Iron Hands. If you’re reading and feel I have written something incorrect or that mischaracterizes the chapter’s character, please feel free to PM me, this can be easily changed.

 

Note 2: This is an attempt at trying to explain the discrepancies of a Primarch’s return, with the already Grim-Darkness of the Imperium in a seamless way. I am not going to write more on this particular Warzone (which I mostly invented) it is simply an introduction to a possible “new conflict” that is perhaps likely due to the events of Gathering Storm. To add more to it would dilute its possibilities.

 

Note 3: If people like this (or don’t) feel free to leave comments. I’m thinking of making more like it, with protagonist being lesser known characters of lesser known chapters, and how their chapter is coping with the events of Gathering Storm. For example, a Salamander on Armageddon, an Imperial Fist on Necromunda, a White Scar in Damocles.

 

Warzone: Medusa

              Caanok Var overlooked the swath of land before him. Medusa was a treacherous world. With unstable tectonic pressures, the planet was constantly rocked by earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Caanok was well accustomed to it by now. This was his home, the home of the Iron Hands. The world was a test of any new recruits’ mettle, to see if they were worthy of continuing the legacy of the Primach Ferrus Manus. Some lush comely world might suit some lax guardsmen, but not the inheritors of a legion’s legacy. Caanok used to wonder how the Ultramarines were ever successful when they originated from the safe world Macragge. He eventually decided it was because there were so bloody many of them.

              Numbers was something the Iron Hands did not have, especially today. At peak strength a chapter numbered one thousand. But the latest battles had worn their forces down, especially the last siege. They were already calling it the biggest battle between armored forces since Tallarn in the Horus Heresy. They had won, but there was always a cost. And such victory had been short-lived. Kardan Stronos, elected de-facto leader of the chapter, had immediately taken half of the Astartes to reinforce Cadia, which remained under heavy attack.

              And Cadia had fallen, and the Eye of Terror opened a great scar across the galaxy. Caanok didn’t know whether Stronos had even survived the Black Crusade. He had more pressing problems to confront than finding the esteemed Iron Father.

              Medusa was again besieged. The forces of Chaos had splintered after Cadia’s fall, many forces abandoning Abaddon’s leadership to take advantage of the immaterium’s expansion. For a moment, Caanok thought he would be able to salvage resistance in the area, to at least hinder forces around Medusa and Cadia.

              But one warlord had exited the Eye. This foul traitor had not cowed to the call of Abaddon, but was happy to take advantage of Cadia’s fall. Caanok didn’t know what exactly the Soul-Severed wanted, but he had mustered a large force of traitors, and even now his fleet hovered in orbit, preparing for its first assault.

              Eidolon, once Lord Commander Primus of the Emperor’s Children legion, had come to purge Medusa of the Iron Hands. The Wage of Sin hovered in the sky like some purple blight, somehow unnatural and beautiful in both meaning and appearance.

              “Iron Father,” said a mechanized whine.

              Caanok turned to the servitor. The servitor twitched in reaction, making room for the Iron Captain of Clan Avernii. The Astartes was more than nine feet tall, and his fellow captains derogatorily referred to him as a “Metal Oxen.” He did not mind the name, for Caanok was well aware he lacked the imagination of leaders like Stronos. But he had the pure will and determination to do what other might balk at.

              “A message from Terra, to the highest ranking member of the Iron Hands,” said the servitor.

              Caanok was going to insist that just because he was technically captain of the Iron Hands first company, and Stronos was missing, he was not Chapter Master. The Iron Hands never had one, and Stronos was simply appointed temporarily.

              The servitor did not wait for Caanok to explain, and simply began reciting the message. And the words stopped Caanok from thinking of something trivial as ranking.

              When the message concluded, Caanok remained silent for a moment. He stared down on the servitor, as if the automaton was going to impart further clarity. Instead, Caanok said, “Summon the Iron Council.

 

----------------------------------------

 

              The Iron Council was a collection of Iron Captains, Venerable Dreadnoughts, and other esteemed veterans of the Iron Hands. Normally numbering 41, the council on Medusa could only be consist of 32 members, with Stronos and his forces missing.

              Caanok stood in front on the collection of Astartes, who sat in a semi-circle in front of a plain iron table. “Play the message again,” ordered Caanok. The servitor whined as the recording began.

              “This is the Primarch Roboute Guilliman of the Ultramarines. I have returned to the Imperium to relieve humanity from a fate prolonged 10,000 years ago. I have launched a new offensive, an Indomitus Crusade, and will endeavor to save all of the Emperor’s willing and faithful from enemies both xenos and traitor. As sons of my loyal brother Ferrus Manus, I ask for the assistance of the Iron Hands in this conflict. Already traitors seek to divide the galaxy, and alien empires to snap up the pieces. We will be victorious. Humanity will stand.”

              As the servitor became silent, Iron Captain Sind Grolvoch sighed. “So the rumors are true.”

              “Impossible,” said one of the Dreadnoughts. “Roboute Guilliman was killed by the Daemon Fulgrim ten thousand years ago. This message was sent by an imposter, who claims the title of Primarch!”

              At this the council devolved, as each member spoke their mind at once. Some argued that such a message must be trusted, others that it was clearly nothing but heresy, and still more demanding that there simply was not enough evidence either way.

              Caanok slammed his war hammer onto the table, making a shock rumble through the room.

              “The message is irrelevant,” said the Iron Captain.

              “Irrelevant?” said Grolvoch. “A Primarch has returned and you call it irrelevant?”

              Canook lifted his hammer from the table, his voice rising in volume. “Whether or not Roboute Guilliman has returned, Terra is a galaxy away. This Indomitus Crusade will not reach us, not before the horde of Eidolon descends on Medusa. This conundrum of a Primarch is nothing more than a distraction from our true enemy.”

              “But if Terra has been seized by imposters-”

              “Then we will tear down these false idols. But for now, defense of Medusa is paramount.” Caanok pointed out one of the windows, at the Wage of Sin. “An old enemy has come to settle a score. He represents every wrong against our father, every sin of the traitors and every one of their failings. He is more than just a threat, he’s an opportunity.”

              Caanok strode forward, circling the table as if it was covered with defensive strategems. “On Istvaan 10,000 years ago, our legion was broken. Our father slain, and our forces shattered. We still carry the shame of that defeat. But today, the Omnissiah has given us an opportunity for redemption.”

              He stopped, again pointing his hammer at the Wage of Sin, as if issuing a challenge. “We shall make this world their hell. Every step they take will cost them, every loyal Astartes will cost them ten. And so help me brothers, I will cast Eidolon down myself with your aide.”

              Caanok lowered his hammer. “For now, he is all that matters.”

              The vote to decide who would command overall leadership in the upcoming Siege of Eidolon was won by Caanok Var. The result was unanimous.

[deathspectersgt7]

I Dig It. Looking forward to the others. Do a Iron Champion on Armageddon instead of IF .

[Urriak Urruk]

Warzone: Armageddon

 

              Chapter Master Frederic looked over Hive Volcanus. He wasn’t even close to the top of the hive, and didn’t want to be. He needed a view over the city and surrounding area, and if he was actually at the top of the Hive he would have been above the dark clouds of Armageddon. It would have completely negated the point of the view.

              “Enjoying the view?”

              Frederic turned to watch Marshal Brant of the Black Templars approach.

              “There is nothing to enjoy about this world,” Frederic said dryly. “This world is practically cursed. The home of our first Triumph, and yet a reminder that we achieved nothing in 10,000 years.”

              Brant grimaced at that. “Nothing? All of our brother lives spent, and you say it was for nothing?”

              “Ever since the Primarchs disappeared, this Imperium has rotted,” said Frederic. He knew this was drawing Brant’s ire, but didn’t care. He had learned that the Black Templar’s had exhorted their brother chapter the Celestial Lions to the brink of destruction, and was still angered over their recklessness.

              Frederic waited for Brant’s retort. Instead, there was a moment of silence. “I actually mean to speak with you on that subject.”

              “You mean the Indomitus Crusade,” replied Frederic.

              Everyone had heard the news now. Roboute Guilliman had returned to Terra. Somehow, as if by some miracle (though some called it sorcery), Guilliman had produced some new, “Primaris Marines.” They were shrouded in mystery, but Guilliman’s crusade was already rapidly liberating planets from threats both traitor and xenos.

              “Aye,” said Brant. “He’s playing with the Emperor’s work.”

              Frederic turned to face Brant, for the first time taking Brant entirely seriously. “A serious accusation, Marshal. And you bring this charge to me?”

              Frederic was a higher rank than Brant. Frederic was Chapter Master of the Iron Champions, a successor chapter of the Imperial Fists. Brant was only a Marshal of the Black Templars, but Frederic did not presume to claim superiority over the fierce Templars.

              “You are a son of Dorn, same as I,” said Brant. “I believe you may share my doubts.”

              The man is looking for allies, thought Frederic. And this is too big for him to think himself. Is this the work of the High Marshal?

              “Explain your doubts then. In detail. I have not thought too long on the Primarch’s return. My attention has been focused on the fighting here.”

              That was a lie, of course. Frederic had thought long on Roboute Guilliman’s return. He took some hope in it, but also some trepidations. He did not like the idea of “superior” marines arriving to relieve them. Vat-grown astartes are not the same as those descended from the Legions, no matter how optimized their gene-seed and weaponry.

              “I’ve heard these Primaris Marines are to be distributed among the various chapters. But I’ve heard some talk among the Sons of Guilliman, and the Fire Angels. They think they deserve special treatment, extra allotment of these Primaris.”

              Frederic frowned. “Why do they think that?”

              “Because they are successors of the Ultramarines! They say that they are loyal devotees of Guilliman, and therefore should have precedence.”

              The Chapter Master made a half-grin. “I doubt your High Marshal would be very interested in these Primaris anyway.”

              “He’s not, I can assure you of that.” Brant had straightened, clearly more confident now that Frederic was goading him on. “But he’s concerned. What if they start voicing more deviant thoughts? Like reforming the XIII Legion?”

              Frederic held his arm out to Brant. “I’m glad you brought these concerns to me, Brant. If the High Marshal seeks counsel on such matters, please tell him that I am always glad to assist him.”

              The two locked arms, but quickly stood back as a third Astartes stepped onto the balcony.

              “Lovers quarrel, eh?” It was Adder, captain of the 2^nd company of the Marines Malevolent.

              Neither Frederic nor Brant replied, though Brant scowled and Frederic placed a hand on the knife strapped to his waist.

              This only made Adder’s smile deepen. “All you descendants of Dorn are so serious. Come along, now. Tu’Shan has news.”

              The three Astartes left the balcony, weaving through the hallways back to the room that the Chapter Master of the Salamanders was using as the command center.

              When they entered, Tu’Shan was speaking with a captain of the Black Dragons chapter. The Salamander lifted his scarred face to meet Adder’s gaze.

              “Well old drake? What’s the big news? Some of these almighty Primaris, here to finish this war for us?”

              Tu’Shan didn’t answer, and instead motioned to a nearby servitor. He twisted a dial, and some vox switched on.

              At first, Frederic thought it was simply static. Then he realized it was chanting, though through such guttural, unnatural voices it was hard to make out words. But then he filtered out the lines.

              “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD CRUSADE! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE! RAGE FOR THE RED ANGEL!”

              The servitor ended the transmission.

              “If you thought this world was a bloody hell before,” said Tu’Shan. “Then it’s going to feel like paradise to what’s coming.”