War of the Eightfold Path

[simison]

The story so far...

 

The apex of the Great Crusade was fast approaching. The costly Rangdan Xenocides has come to an end, leaving the Galactic North to fall into the Imperium’s hands in due time. Victory after victory suggested the Emperor’s vision of a united galaxy under humanity’s rule was no longer a question of if, but when.

 

It is in this final phase that the monstrous Orks of Ullanor surged forth to threaten the Imperium’s very heart in Segmentum Solar. Warp storms that had provided a check had faded away, allowing the greenskins to pool their strength against outsiders.

 

As virulent as this new assault was, the Emperor called for the greatest of his Sons and generals to join him in purging this threat.

 

That would be the last anyone would have seen of him.

 

At some point in transit to the Ullanor front lines, the Emperor simply vanished.

 

Bereft of his incredible might, the War Council and the Primarchs fought the Ullanor Orks to a bloody stalemate as Malcador launched investigation after investigation into the whereabouts of the Master of Mankind.

 

It was during this time, for a mere Terran hour, the Astronomican failed. Millions of lives and hundreds of ships were lost into the tempest of the Warp. How the guiding light of Terra was restored, none know. But warzones on the verge of success were thrown into disarray as promised reinforcements never arrived.

 

As the years of the Emperor’s absence built upon each other, new threats emerged. Some bold, others subtle. With each additional stress, the Imperium weakened, until one fateful day when one of the Emperor’s own sons chose a new master.

[simison]

Alexandros Darshan VonSalim grinned as he leaned back in his command throne. Pyrrhicles stood at his side; a soft smile on his own face. Time would soon come that matters of war would reassert their importance. For the moment, the two old friends enjoyed a moment of camaraderie. Around them, the command crew of the Elpis fulfilled their duties as they provided the center of operations for both the flagship and the rest of the 35^th Expeditionary Fleet. Their burden was relatively light, consumed as it was by watching over the fleet's travel through the realm of unmitigated imagination and unbridled emotion known as the Warp.

 

Alexandros froze.

 

It did not go unnoticed by his companion. "Alex?" He whispered low.

 

"...out of the Warp."

 

Louder, Pyrrhicles said, "My lord?"

 

Alexandros shot to his feet. "Emergency translation out of the Immaterium!" His voice slammed into the command crew. They paused, taken aback by their master's sudden out. "NOW! I want the fleet out of the Warp in the next thirty seconds. Have the Elpis be the last vessel to translate to realspace!" The crew scrambled to follow the orders as Pyrrhicles watched with growing apprehension. The communications officer especially sent out the Primarch's order.

 

Pyrrhicles' attention split between their efforts and his lord's state. Alexandros stared into the void. "Too slow," he mumbled. Aloud, he said, "I want constant updates of the remaining ships in the Warp."

 

The crew obliged. The 35^th, due in no small part to the Primarch's presence, was one of the larger fleets of the Great Crusade. Hundreds of ships heard and moved to obey his will. The Warp churned as an equal number of tears were forced open in its midst. Imperial warships began the exodus to safety. However several of the holes rippled and collapsed as the burgeoning energy rebounded against the tunnels into reality. They would have to be reopened. 

 

Darshan was aware of all of this and more as he saw the future careen towards his sons. The communications officer's voice grew hoarse as he wore it out in unending updates. A fifth of the fleet had escaped. A third. Half.

 

The future came.

 

The Astronomican, the guiding light of humanity, extinguished before Darshan's horrified Warp-sight.

 

Half of the fleet had yet to translate, but most of those ships did not require the Astronomican's light as they were halfway into realspace.

 

A dozen ships did not enjoy such good fortune. The Warp, already roiling, exploded as the collective horror of mankind crashed into them. Nine ships died outright as their gellar fields collapsed beneath the onslaught. The last three endured, but Darshan saw them sinking deeper into the Empyrean's clutches. Alexandros sat down before collecting his psychic strength and launching it towards the three warships in a telepathic astral form.

 

In theory, a mind comprised of utter discipline and strength could navigate the tides of the Immaterium with success.

 

That did not provide immunity from struggle. Darshan quickly became aware of a growing number of Warp predators approaching him, even as his soul was beaten by the Warp's turbulent currents. Darshan shot a lance of his own power against the nearest Warp predators. It 'screamed' within Darshan's mind as its essence melted back into the nonmatter. Darshan reached out to the ship navigators. They radiated with terror. He soothed it and placed an image of escape within their minds.

 

Darshan howled as several of the predators swarmed him. They tried to devour him, eager to claim his thoughts, his emotions, and his memories as their own. He pushed them back with a pulse of power. The pulse of power created respite for the potent telepath. It also shot a bright flare within the Warp. Deeper within, greater predators stirred.

 

The three warships began their escape as three new tears emerged.

 

Darshan knew he could not prevail against the foes now turning their hunger upon him. Not in their own domain. He lashed out, beating back the predators as he maintained his telepathic connection long enough for the last of his sons to flee to safety.

 

The first of the great predators opened a maw that could not exist, the hole the size of a planet surrounded Darshan.

 

The last warship translated.

 

Alexandros collapsed in his throne as he dismissed his astral form. A moment later, the Elpis too returned to reality. Pyrrhicles unconsciously reached out a hand to his friend. Sweat covered the Primarch, but he paid no heed. "He's gone," he breathed, his eyes wide and unblinking. "My god, he's gone."

[talos402000]

"My god". Yeah, he probably shouldn't have said that. Other than that, well written.

[simison]

The two brothers stared at each other. The moment passed with grudging resistance. Alexandros offered a tired smile. "Well, shall I comment on the irony on the situation or shall you do the honours?"

 

Theoderaf's scowled deepened. Long he had avoided his elder brother's fopish attempts to ingratiate himself within Theoderaf's graces. He did not hate him, but their early meetings had quickly proven a difference in perspective that he had personally found irreconcilable. To think events had forced him to this...

 

He harrumphed. "Will you stay true?"

 

Alexandros allowed his smile to fade away. "There is no other path."

 

Another pause. Reluctantly, Theoderaf offered his hand. "For the Imperium."

 

Alexandros clasped it in a strong grasp. "For humanity."

 

With that, a soft feud of centuries died away.

[talos402000]

Once rumblings of discontent reach Malcador's ears, he should make a proclamation in the name of the Emperor that leads to the creation of the chaplaincy, to ensure order and discipline (loaylty) among the Astartes in these hard times. Some Primarchs and their Legions will welcome this, some will obey only out of loyalty, and some will do so resentfully, seeing it as an insult to their honor and the honor of their Legions.

 

Romulus met Malcador's eyes across the round Rhylan chessboard "Are you sure this is the way forward? Some of my brothers will not be happy about this".

 

Grey eyes met violet. "Your brothers are already starting to watch each other with wary eyes and guarded speech", said Malcador as he rolled the dice.

 

"This will help ensure unity amongst them". He moved a knight two squares forward. "Your Quasitores will be our model".

 

Romulus merely grunted as he studied the board.

[simison]

Lukas ran his hand through his beard. Alexandros was not sure when or where the giant of a Primarch had picked up such a human habit. It was one of several apparent contradictions Lukas seemed to wrap himself in. The other was on display as his other hand deftly slid across the screen, putting the finishing touches on his newest architectural design. His huge hand operated the delicate stylus with ease.

 

Lukas paused as he studied his work. "...it feels wrong."

 

"It's necessary," Alexandros repeated.

 

"The shield worlds," Lukas began.

 

"Cannot guarantee containment," Alexandros finished. It was the third time he had repeated the point.

 

Another pause before Lukas sighed. He put the finishing touch upon the work. It was a cannon emplacement designed to smoothly integrate with a previously built tower. It was merely the first in a hundred such works as the Imperial Palace was slowly transformed into a bastion...

[TheBlindPrimarch]

"Fungi und bacteria can both reproduce asexually, they have no Genere...gender, und thus making new organisms that are identical copies to the parent; compared to virus, which requires a host cell to replicate und thus cannot reproduce without one. pourtant, unlike viruses, bacteria und fungi require warm, moist conditions with a suitable food source to provide the conditions for successful reproduction, les éléments constitutifs de la vie. In addition, bacteria und fungi are both considered to be living organisms as they carry out all of the life processes, however viruses are considered non-living as they only reproduce, und require a host cell in order to do this. They are Parasiten. Parasites.

The reproductive similarities between these micro-organisms include that they all contain genetic material which must be duplicated in some way to produce a new organism; und they all need to reproduce successfully in order for the species to survive."

 

Koschei turned to his brother, as it appeared that he had finally finished talking.

 

"This is meaning what Brother?"

 

Gustave waved a dataslate in Koschei's direction with a rare smirk on his face.

 

"It means I was wrong. I thought perhaps the Ork were a virus of sorts. An ancient malattia...a sickness. I see now, they are in fact, comment dit-on en gothique... A fungus."

 

"If they are mushroom, they can be taken care of like mushroom infestation...we will burn them out."

 

Koschei moved with purpose out of his brother's lab. Gustave had returned to examining his dataslate. 

 

"Yet they spread like a virus across the galaxy...perhaps a hybrid? Was für eine interessante Möglichkeit."

Edited February 12, 2020 by TheBlindPrimarch

[simison]

Alexandros' green eyes slid over the amphitheatre. As usual, he was struck by his father's unending insistence on combining ancient human civilization with the cutting edge of technology. Over a floor of polished marble, rings of seats of expensive silk and strength could comfortably seat a thousand individuals, ranging in all sizes from Borgalder to Primarch. Next to each set was a thin strand of metal that combined speaker, microphone, and translator, all in one.

 

Alexandros doubted there would be enough seats. For the incoming gathering would be the entirety of the War Council. Never before had the august, impromptu ruling body of the Imperium assemble in its full strength since the first day the Emperor declared the Great Crusade had begun. The War Council was without a doubt the greatest gathering of military might and intelligence of humanity.

 

It was, however, woefully inadequate to proper administration. Alexandros glanced to his side at the wizened 'mortal'. Malcador, right hand of the Emperor, was the closest thing to a chief administrator the Imperium could boast of. The last two years had been hard on the ancient man as he had been forced to bring discipline to a haze of bureaucracy more concerned with war than with its aftermath. Alexandros had suffered with him. As the most politically adept of the Primarchs, Alexandros had withdrawn from war entirely the day of the Emperor's disappearance. Leaving war to his second, Lord Commander Irvin Ruel, he and the Order of the Open Hand had stretched themselves to their uttermost to reassure the Imperium that it could survive for a time without its ruler.

 

With each day, Alexandros secretly feared it would not be a temporary absence.

 

The main entrance opened with an almost inaudible whirr. Alexandros and Malcador turned as a giant marched into the room, his foots moving at a military clip though no warriors traveled with him. Alexandros offered his customary smile as he offered his arm. "Brother."

 

Ash-Blooded, Lord of the Sixth Legion, gripped Alexandros' forearm in an ancient greeting of warriors. "Brother," he replied, his voice tinged with an electronic buzz. The Shadow Warriors and their master held to a code of honor without fail; one of its precepts demanding they remained helmed in most situations. Though his face was covered, Alexandros could easily imagine a smile mirroring Alexandros' own.

 

"It is good to have you here. This will be quite the event in Imperial history," Alexandros began as they released grips. The Ash-Blooded offered only a curt nod to Malcador. In theory, the two individuals were equally ranked. The Emperor had never truly raised Malcador above his sons. Unofficially, the cold reaction edged on disrespect. It would be merely the first of many incoming conflicts that Alexandros was already mentally preparing himself to juggle.

 

"It has been a long time coming," the Ash-Blooded agreed as he surveyed the amphitheatre. "How soon will the others arrive?"

 

"Days," Alexandros answered. "I expect Lukas will be arrive before the sun has set here. At least for our brothers. The other Council members do not have the benefit of Glorianas to protect and speed their passage to the throneworld. Our current estimation is that the last Council member will arrive in two weeks."

 

"Two weeks," the Ash-Blooded repeated flatly. Alexandros offered a consoling smile. The Ash-Blooded was a true creature of war. He would not relish such a lengthy departure from the Great Crusade nor of the politicking he would have to endure with it. Even if he did understand how necessary it was.

 

"It is what it is. However, that can wait until later. I'm sure you already know where your quarters are, and I have something to show you." The Ash-Blooded's visor focused on Alexandros in an open gesture of curiosity. "You'll like this," Alexandros started as he lead the Ash-Blooded away from Malcador, who watched silently. "A trophy from the galactic edge."

 

 

 

[Lord_Ikka]

Morrigar reeled, his mouth tasting of salt, bile, soot. The Primarch's meditation room of the Riven's flagship, Last Light, was ringed in shattered holo-lights. The aftermath of a failed psychic sending reverberated through the room and its occupants. Four of his Heirarch-Praetors staggered to their feet, their eyes turned towards Morrigar.

 

"Lord, what has happened?", Heirarch Vallus spoke softly. His fellows looked at him and then their gene-sire, faces marked with the psychic stigmata of bleeding eyes, ears, and mouths.

 

Morrigar rose from his kneeling position, and unclamped the skull faced helm from his head. "The Emperor is gone my sons. I felt him disappear as the Astronomicon faltered."

 

The crimson scars crossing his facee seemed to flair brighter as he turned his cold blue gaze towards the galactic east. He spoke quietly, but with authority, "Go to the astropaths, raise the other fleets of the XVth legion. Establish contact with my brothers, with Terra. Find out what they know, what happened. Make no mention of this to anyone other than the Heirarch Order."

 

Armored fists double-tapped their chests, the Heirarchs moved out of the meditation chamber vox-channels buzzing. Morrigar stalked to his armory, lifting his spear from its resting place. Moving quickly, the Primarch made his way to the bridge. Arriving at the bridge, Morrigar summoned his advisors, the Battle-commanders, Heirarch-commanders, and mortal naval officers whom controlled various sections of the legion.

 

"We are breaking orbit and moving from this system immediately."

 

Battle-Captain Syl Finnas of the 2nd looked at his lord, "Sire, we have yet to finish our compliance campaign. Has there been an emergency communication?"

 

The battle-captain's face was curious, with a slight hint of stubbornness. Like most of the members of the legion's battle-chapters, Finnas had little to no psychic ability; the compliance-chapters contained the majority of the psychic-latent or active legionnaires who would have felt the loss of the Astronomicon.

 

"Yes. There has been an emergency." The words ground out of Morrigar. "We will leave the 2nd and 43rd battle-chapters here, along with the 7th compliance-chapter. Together with their battle-barges and a screening element of naval frigates, they will finish bringing this system to heel."

 

Turning his head, Morrigar spoke to his flagship captain, "Captain Yulen, gather the fleet. I want us moving out as fast as possible."

 

The human nodded, "Of course my Lord. What is our destination?"

 

"Set course for Terra."

 

[simison]

Alexandros was impressed. It had taken seven hours, 14 minutes, and 37 seconds before the shouting began. He had expected the Council to last only four hours before the shouting began. It was the nature of the beast. Two-thousand souls discussing how to guide and command the most powerful empire in the galaxy. It was inevitable.

Yet, he was surprised by who had triggered the shouting. The first few hours had passed peacefully. It opened with Malcador declaring the Emperor not to be lost to the Imperium for all the time. Efforts were underway to discover what had happened and where he might be found. Caelum and others had voiced their strong approval and had made promises to dedicate entire swaths of their legions and armies to this singular task. It should have been a moment of unity for the War Council. Unfortunately, Alexandros’ senses, both natural and supernatural, had detected subtle frictions, even at that early point.

Between the initial roll call and this first point on the agenda, several hours had passed. Then the obvious question had arrived. Who would lead in the Emperor’s absence? Most of the Conclave had planned on simply replacing the Emperor with a regent. They were after all a military body. The chain of command disliked sharing power at the top.

That assumption was now called into question. Koschei, Lord of the Godslayers, had neatly shattered it with his declaration: “We should form a council.”

As Alexandros watched, the brief moment of unity of earlier died quickly and loudly. It was then he made a second realization. The motion for a council was far stronger than he expected. Perhaps an entire quarter of the members was voicing their approval. Among them was the Lord of Mars, which did not surprise Alexandros. However, it did seem half of his brothers supported the idea and rallied around their idealist of a Primarch. 

It was at that point, Darshan began to peer into the future.

 

[simison]

Bureaucracy, it had never been a strong suit for the Revenant himself, he was never one to be as invested in politics as Alexandros, though that wasn’t to say he knew the importance of it. For the majority of the council he stood, in full plate, waiting and slowly getting more frustrated with the back and forth arguments. It felt cyclic by nature, one option was debated until exhaustion, before moving onto the next, then back to the first once more. Araphel wasn’t like some of his brothers, he understood why the mortals had a say, why the Mechanicum had a say, everybody deserved a say in the future of the Imperium, to a degree anyway.

 

It was the idea of a Warmaster that intrigued him most. One Primarch, elevated above them all to take control and maintain the crusade for the Imperium. That was an idea with true merit, even the thought of it brought a small smile to the usually stony-faced Colossus. There was a couple of his brothers he could see the role suited for, to a degree he could see it being a good fit for himself, yet he knew that the others didn’t always see eye to eye with himself.

 

Yet at least he knew how the Emperor had truly ruled the Imperium, the paranoia of the Revenants was akin to that of their ‘Father’ that was for sure. That might be enough to make him a good choice, a choice that could defend what the Imperium truly stood for. Or maybe they needed a force for good, a charismatic leader, the lenses of Araphel’s white emotionless helm trace over the figure of Alexandros, he’d known him a long time, everybody loved him to some degree. Even now he watches Lukas interacting with him, offering him a weapon it seemed.

 

“A council would be the best option! The Imperium is divided, we have the Army, the Mechanicum, a council would give each of us a true say in the development of the Imperium as a whole!”

 

 

A few nods, murmurs of approval, Araphel swears he can see the circuitry of multiple Mechanicum members light up. The idea was weak, and yet the amount of generals promoting the idea, a couple of his brothers even nodding as though it was the wisest plan of action, this disappointed the Revenant.

 

“There they are again, Thaniel. I see it now, the visions of vultures coming to prey on the rotten remains of the Imperium, a disgrace.”

 

The Primarch feeds his words through the vox link to Thaniel in private; there was no point airing his opinion just yet. A flutter of wings above him and Araphel peers upwards, watching as the crows fly high up through the rafters of the council chambers. The first captain follows the gaze of his Primarch and shakes his head, “My lord...”

 

“No. They must know, Thaniel. Know where the First stand.”

 

As the two speak in private, one of the Lords Militant of the Army is preaching about the idea for a council fervently, each mouthful of words causing his jowls to quake. A man that had obviously not seen war for a very long time, perhaps one that had never seen an Astartes in action. The Revenant’s eye twitches lightly.

 

His grip tenses for just a moment.

 

A Primarch steps forwards.

 

The stride of the Revenant is quick, stepping forwards from his place with his brothers, not noticing the look of confusion from the Ash-Blooded who had been by his side. In one fluid motion, almost too quick for the mortals to comprehend, the Primarch had crossed the space, hand snapping to the scruff of the Lord Militant's collar, and Araphel is pulling him from his feet until they are face to face.

 

“Shoot me.”

 

Araphel’s voice is distorted as the vox-speaker amplifies it so that the room can hear his words, yet it does nothing to hide the cold rage that is seething underneath the mask of his helmet. The Lord Militant squirms, if for a moment, but after hearing the words looks at the Primarch with shock, he does not act.

 

“In case you misunderstood, General, I said shoot me.” The Primarch’s free hand gestures to the plasma pistol on the General’s hip, the light glow feint upon the dirty white armour of the Revenant. Even still the Military General did not act, it was requiring all of his focus to attempt to keep his calm in front of every high ranking official within the Imperium.

 

This did nothing for the rage that Araphel felt, the room was silent, every pair of eyes upon the Primarch of the First. His free hand moves up towards the helmet, and he wrenches it free, armour whining as the magnetic seal is forced to detach. With a clatter that echoes throughout the chambers, the helmet hits the floor. Finally the Lord Militant snaps, flinching as the sound takes him off guard, a lone tear rolling down his cheek.

 

“Shoot me or I will kill you, General.”

 

The threat is real, Araphel was not known for his jokes after all. He moves the Lord Militant’s face closer until they are inches apart, his voice a growl as he speaks, “I smell the piss, the :cuss. I can taste your fear in the air around you, your own indecisiveness, this fear, is what you will allow to kill you, not myself. Do you not think a plasma pistol could kill me point blank? Do you think I am bluffing?” The mortal attempts to look away; Araphel shakes his head, “They were genuine questions General. You served, I have respect for yourself and all the mortals that go to war. It is easier for the legionaries, for my brothers, my cousins. We are bred to think past this fear that is consuming you.”

 

Araphel releases his grip, allowing the man to fall back to his feet. He loses his balance and ends up on his knees for Araphel simply to turn around to address his brothers now. “You think the idea of a council is a fair one. I understand why, I understand why the Mechanicum may call for one. Yet you all have motives, what will you do when you are staring down the barrel of war, or death. You’ll have a council, with mortals on it, who cannot make the decisions necessary in the time required. That is weakness. Whether we like it or not, whether you believe it or not, brothers, our minds can process information at a rate the mortals cannot comprehend. Just as we could not comprehend how the Emperor could process the day to day running of the Imperium. To this I say it makes no sense for us to set up a council, for someone other than one of ourselves to take the place of Warmaster and run the Imperium until we find our Father.”

 

Araphel turns away from his brothers to look at the crowds of humans, “This is not the time for such a thing as fear to dictate the actions of the Imperium. We must continue the Crusade in His name. I will not follow a council, and when I refuse to do so, what will it do? Will the Council declare war on myself? Tell me I must listen? Or else what? What would you mortals do to keep everybody in line if somebody, anybody, refuses to listen. Will you make the decision required? I know I would, I know many of my brothers would make the decisions necessary in a heartbeat to keep this Imperium running.”

 

“Do not make me laugh, I have no respect for a council.”

[simison]

Lukas looked around the chamber, his eyes passed over Tech-Priests who barely passed as human anymore speaking in their hushed binaric speech, the Army Commanders that each utilized a different dialect of High Gothic, then his brothers. Some were loud, but it was the quiet ones that interested him the most, and the quietest of them in particular.

 

He stood, the servos of his Cataphractii Plate whining in protest after such prolonged inactivity, and bade his companions remain seated as he marched to where the Lion of Delos sat. “So why have you remained silent, in all the years I’ve never known you there hasn’t been a single debate you abstained from. Nor do I think you can abstain from this even if you felt inclined.”

 

Alexandros opens his mouth and smiled like he was in a vid-pict. Which he was technically, “I’m thinking, weighing the arguments. I take it you’ve come to persuade me to your line of thinking, hmmm?”

 

“I won’t bother, you will come to your own conclusions soon enough,” Lukas retorts, sending a mind impulse to the servo arm on his back, which extended around his armored torso carrying a cloth-covered object two meters long. Lukas picked up the wrapping and the servo arm retracted back to its former position. In the Primarch’s Terminator-clad hand it looked like a dagger, “I came to give you this.”

 

“Clever oratory has been traded for bribery then,” Alexandros said, taking it and removing the cloth. Beneath was a leaf-shaped sword in a beautifully engraved scabbard.

 

Lukas shook his head, “I borrowed Xiphos for the dimensions and shape. The blade is pure Auramite, the guard Adamantium, the pommel may appear as a jewel but it can detached in emergencies and armed, as it’s a Krak grenade. I have left the naming of such a weapon to you, its owner.”

[simison]

Niklaas was surprised at his own confusion. Around him the shouting continued as the two camps lobbed argument, rationale, and persuasion at each other. Not all were engaged, however. Several of his brothers kept their own counsel, biding their time.

 

Nor were the silent members less renowned. The Jade General, Alexandros, and himself represented a significant force if they could be persuaded one way or another.

 

Yet, what did he want? On the surface, the answer was straightforward. He wanted stability and protection. That would require strength and justice. Those two concepts were always much more simpler when he had to contemplate them on his own. Here, among so many others, the answer did not seem as simple. He was not a political animal. He disdained the trappings and glories sought by so many of the others. But, that did not give him insight into what was the most just path. The Emperor was a singular figure. None of them could hope to match that strength. Did that mean their only hope was to pool their abilities into a council? Or was this bickering merely a prelude of the chaos to come? Did he want to chance one of his vainglorious brothers assuming command of the entire Imperium? Or would they be as poisonous in a council; their voices magnified by the air of legitimacy?

 

He rumbled with discontent to himself. And continued to watch. As silent as a tower.